Magnificent Rebels by Andrea Wulf
Some of my favorite parts—chief among them that I've found a new hero in Caroline Schlegel-Schelling.
A friend recommended Andrea Wulf’s Magnificent Rebels after I wrote a short piece about Romanticism making a comeback in SF. While wanting to better understand the origins of the first Romantics was the reason I started this book, it also happens to be one of the best books I’ve read on collaborative circles—up there with John & Paul (Ian Leslie), Collaborative Circles (Michael Farrell), and The Equivalents (Maggie Doherty). It’s a fabulous read. Strong recommend!
Magnificent Rebels is the story of the “Jena Set” of 1790s Germany—Goethe, Schiller, the Schlegels, Novalis, Schelling, Fichte, Alexander von Humboldt, Hegel towards the end, and especially Caroline Schlegel(-Schelling)—who, through their friendships, rivalries, collaborations and experiments, launched Romanticism as a movement. It’s ultimately a portrait of a short-lived but explosive circle whose conversations transformed the modern idea of the self.
Some of my favorite bits below—chief among them that I've found a new hero in Caroline Schlegel-Schelling:
The Jena Set started a new journal, Athenaeum, to ‘symphilosophise.’ “The Athenaeum was their attempt to work collectively as a group. They wanted to ‘symphilosophise’ — a new term they invented. They added the prefix ‘sym’ to words such as philosophy, poetry, evolution, and physics.” “The new journal would be their communal work of art.” Reminds me of the Almanac created by Kandinsky and other members of the Blue Riders in the 1910s.
Fragments. They published lots of what they termed ‘fragments’ in the journal – “these fragments allowed them to publish the greatest variety of ideas in a very few pages.” “My whole self was in fact a system of fragments,” said Friedrich. “Fragments became the foundational texts of a new movement, launching Romanticism to the public stage.” I like this idea. Sort of, thoughts in progress. Curated tidbits.
Romanticism’s undefinableness: “Though the meaning of the term ‘romantic’ may have been confusing, it was the unwieldiness of the concept that the group liked: their definition was never meant to be a neat entry into a dictionary.”
But also sort of what they mean by it: “They wanted to romanticise the entire world, and this meant perceiving it as an interconnected whole. They were talking about the bond between art and life, between the individual and society, between humankind and nature. Novalis explained: “by giving the commonplace a higher meaning, by making the ordinary look mysterious, by granting to what is known the dignity of the unknown and imparting to the finite a shimmer of the infinite, I romanticise.”
The term romantics in this context came from the French word roman—a novel. “It was on the pages of Athenaeum that the term ‘romantic’ was coined.” It came from the French word, roman. “Like a novel, a tale in verse.”
Poetry at the center (and what they meant by poetry): “At the center of everything was poetry. The friends turned to the original ancient Greek term poietikos—creative or product. For them romantic poetry could be anything: a poem, of course, but also a novel, a painting, a building, a piece of music or a scientific experiment.”
The role of imagination: “It was the most important faculty of the mind, they insisted, because reason alone was not enough to grasp the world.” “Alexander von Humboldt would go even further when he insisted on the importance of imagination in the natural sciences. It was like ‘a balm of miraculous healing properties,’ he said.”
Romanticism as the ultimate exercise in stitching across disciplines: “The poet is but the highest degree of thinker...this didn’t mean they turned against science or philosophy—quite the opposite, they wanted to bring together what had been separated for too long. And that could only be done through imagination.”
I’ve found a new hero in Caroline Schlegel:
“Caroline united strength and clarity of thought with the tenderness of the most loving heart…Much like Schlegel six years previously, Schelling was captivated by Caroline’s seemingly contradictory qualities—her sensitivity and tenacity, her refinement and courage, her sharp mind and gentle soul. She was a magnificent woman, he said, a masterpiece of the gods.”
“Hers was a life lived to the full. She had taken risks, made mistakes and also suffered great pain, but, unlike most women, she had lived her life—determined, confident, and in control of her own destiny. She had also been part of something bigger than an individual life. Caroline had been the heart of the Jena Set. Muse, collaborator, writer and lover, she had been the conductor of their great symphony.”
Editor-in-chief. Curator-in-chief. Orchestra conductor. Brilliant. Incisive. Married 3 times (not aspirational per se, but each one was meaningfully better than the last, so we have to give her that). First one was bad. Second time to Schlegel—intellectual partners and friends. Final one to Schelling, 12 years younger than her (very George Eliot’s second marriage of her) and they were really in love—mind, body and soul. And then she tragically dies of dysentery at 46!
“Caroline was told her natural literary genre was rhapsody.” Rhapsody!
“Her many letters reveal how easily she jumped from razor-sharp literary criticism to gossipy news and political developments. Within a page or even a paragraph, she could astutely dissect a play or poem, make editorial suggestions on her husband’s or friends’ work and joke about their adversaries. Caroline’s strikes were perfectly aimed but never bitter or aggressive. Confident in her judgement, she dispensed criticism with a smile. Her thoughts, ideas and suggestions were at the heart of the friends’ work and ambitions—but while everybody else tried to claim a piece of land on which to insert their stake, Caroline was like a river that flowed through the landscape, irrigating the dry soil and turning it into fertile fields.”
Jena’s unravelling. Schiller falls out with everyone (except Goethe). The Schlegels get cliquey. People start gossiping. Everyone’s always getting really sick—tapeworms, gout, skin infections, etc. (grim!). Caroline’s daughter dies. Summer is cold. The Battle of Jena happens. People move. Things disintegrate. “Fichte was shocked. What was happening in Jena? Were they all out of their minds?” It unravels physically, spiritually, mentally, emotionally.
Ideas that came from the Jena Set. “We are morally obliged to turn inwards in order to be good members of society. Only if we are fully aware of ourselves—our needs, our wishes, and of our thoughts-can we truly embrace each other. This emphasis on the Ich means being self aware as the prerequisite for being concerned for the other. Only through self-awareness can we feel empathy for others. Only through self-reflection can we question our behavior towards others. Self-examination in that sense is for the greater good.” Also reminds me of Eliot: know thyself and know things generally.

Thank you for the interesting read! It is interesting that you mention George Elliot here. I think she played a similar role for the materialists and the X-club in the 1860s. Again, it was a small group that shaped people's ideas for decades to come.
Wulf's book on Humboldt, The Invention of Nature, is a masterpiece. I'm excited to read this one of hers too.