As a result of the World War, this old Germany collapsed. It

Gustav Stresemann, statesman of a wounded nation, once declared with solemn clarity: “As a result of the World War, this old Germany collapsed. It collapsed in its constitution, in its social order, in its economic structure. Its thinking and feeling changed.” In this utterance, Stresemann gives voice to the immense transformation that swept across Germany in the aftermath of the First World War. His words are not the lament of nostalgia, but the recognition that an entire civilization had been shaken to its very foundations. A nation that once strode with pride across the continent found itself broken, humbled, and forced to see the world with new and bitter eyes.

The origin of this quote lies in the turmoil of post-war Germany. Stresemann, who would later guide the Weimar Republic through its most fragile years, witnessed the ruin of the German Empire in 1918. The Kaiser’s throne was toppled, the imperial constitution discarded, and a republic born out of desperation rather than triumph. In the wake of defeat came revolution, street battles between communists and nationalists, hunger in the cities, and the crushing weight of reparations imposed by the Treaty of Versailles. When Stresemann spoke of collapse in constitution, social order, and economic structure, he was naming the reality his people lived daily.

The meaning of his words is that war does not only destroy armies on the battlefield—it unravels the very fabric of a society. The “old Germany” was not merely defeated militarily; its laws, traditions, and sense of stability dissolved. The war tore apart faith in institutions, toppled hierarchies, and left millions disillusioned. Even thinking and feeling changed, for the horrors of trench warfare, the humiliation of defeat, and the despair of poverty reshaped how Germans saw themselves and the world. The soul of a nation cannot endure such a storm unchanged.

History bears witness to this truth. Consider the hyperinflation of 1923, when the German mark became so worthless that families carried money in wheelbarrows to buy bread, and savings vanished overnight. Here was the collapse of the economic structure Stresemann described. Or think of the young soldiers returning from the front, embittered and broken, struggling to reintegrate into civilian life. The collapse of the social order was evident in the rise of violent paramilitary groups, street clashes, and the erosion of trust in democracy. In all this, Stresemann’s words echo with prophetic weight: Germany’s old identity had died, and something entirely new—fragile, unstable, uncertain—had been born.

The tragedy is that this transformation, left untended, paved the way for darker forces. In the void created by collapse, demagogues rose, promising to restore greatness and heal humiliation. The Weimar Republic struggled valiantly, with Stresemann himself striving for reconciliation with former enemies and stability at home. Yet the bitterness of defeat, the loss of pride, and the hunger for redemption became fertile soil for extremism. Stresemann’s recognition of collapse was honest and clear, but his warning was not fully heeded. Less than two decades after the war, Germany again plunged into catastrophe, this time under the banner of Hitler.

And yet, Stresemann’s insight remains more than a tale of despair—it is a lesson for all nations. He teaches us that when societies endure upheaval, when their constitutions fail, their economies crumble, and their social orders disintegrate, their very ways of thinking and feeling are altered. Such moments are dangerous crossroads. Out of collapse can come renewal, but also ruin; from ashes can rise democracy or tyranny, hope or hatred. The future depends on how wisely the generation of collapse responds.

The lesson for us, children of tomorrow, is clear: beware of thinking that war’s end is the end of its destruction. The visible ruins are only the beginning; the invisible scars upon society, thought, and spirit last far longer. When collapse comes—whether to nations or to individuals—do not cling blindly to the past, nor surrender recklessly to rage. Instead, build carefully, honor truth, and strive for reconciliation. For in times of collapse, every choice carries the weight of destiny.

Practical wisdom demands this: guard against leaders who exploit collapse with promises of easy redemption. Support efforts that rebuild trust, justice, and stability rather than fueling bitterness. And in your own life, when you face collapse of plans, of hopes, of certainties, remember Stresemann’s words: thinking and feeling will change. Let that change not be consumed by despair, but guided by wisdom, humility, and the courage to rebuild anew.

Thus, let Stresemann’s voice ring across generations: the old may collapse, but from its ruins can rise something better—if we choose wisely.