It is common for saints, like others, to be bred from the union of male power and female lechery, politics and poetry. However, in rare cases they are the product of lechery and lechery, a Sapphist extravaganza. So it was with Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, born in Frankfurt am Main to Katherine Elisabeth Textor, an older lady of the cloth, and Ulrike von Levetzow, a younger woman of the flesh. They met for one night where words and ideas failed on a bed of blooming lemons, after which Ulrike died and Wolfgang was brought forth from his mother's right breast on August 28 1749. After troubles at school, he received at home an exceptionally wide education. At the age of 16, he began to study law at Leipzig University
St. Wolfgang was a curious son of chaos, who was not omniscient but knew a lot. Deciding early to be a hammer not an anvil, he refused to know himself and erred in proportion to his striving. He received roots and wings from Helen of Troy on his 26th birthday and subsequently enjoyed what he could and what he had to. In addition to a tasteful imagination, he never placed things that matter least at the mercy of things that matter most. Shaped and fashioned by what he loved, his life was simpler than you think and more complex than you imagine. Widely criticized, he neither protested nor defended himself, but acted in spite of his detractors, who gradually yielded to him. Part of that Power which always wills evil and always procures good, he attained a happiness which he did not deserve and which he would not have changed with anything in life. At the end, when he had grasped by art all that he had felt, when he was too old for mere amusement, too young to be without desire, specifically on March 22 1832 in Weimar , Ulrike von Levetzow descended from Heaven, grasped St. Wolfgang between her buttocks and took him to the Lēsvos in the sky.
A Wolfgang of all trades, he was a secular prophet and a pithy generator of wisdom; his very body was the bridge between Enlightenment and Romanticism, his spirit the chasm of modernity. He loved more than he was loved and was more the text of a zeitgeist than the author of a text. He paved the aphoristic way to Heaven and foretold and incarnated life's domination over art through his subjugation to the eternal Muse.
We honor the saint today for Gérard de Nerval completed his French translation of Faust on this day in 1828 and experienced his first nervous breakdown on the same day in 1841. The Council of I elevated him to sainthood on April 20 1889. Let us honor the saint today with our souls and flesh.
