Le Christianisme Moderne. etude sur Lessing. Par2 Ernest Fontanes. Paris: Bailliere. 1867.
The fame of Lessing is steadily3 growing. Year by year he is valued more highly, and valued by a greater number of people. And he is destined4, like his master and forerunner5 Spinoza, to receive a yet larger share of men’s reverence6 and gratitude7 when the philosophic8 spirit which he lived to illustrate9 shall have become in some measure the general possession of the civilized10 part of mankind. In his own day, Lessing, though widely known and greatly admired, was little understood or appreciated. He was known to be a learned antiquarian, a terrible controversialist, and an incomparable writer. He was regarded as a brilliant ornament12 to Germany; and a paltry13 Duke of Brunswick thought a few hundred thalers well spent in securing the glory of having such a man to reside at his provincial14 court. But the majority of Lessing’s contemporaries understood him as little perhaps as did the Duke of Brunswick. If anything were needed to prove this, it would he the uproar15 which was made over the publication of the “Wolfenbuttel Fragments,” and the curious exegesis16 which was applied17 to the poem of “Nathan” on its first appearance. In order to understand the true character of this great poem, and of Lessing’s religious opinions as embodied18 in it, it will be necessary first to consider the memorable19 theological controversy21 which preceded it.
During Lessing’s residence at Hamburg, he had come into possession of a most important manuscript, written by Hermann Samuel Reimarus, a professor of Oriental languages, and bearing the title of an “Apology for the Rational Worshippers of God.” Struck with the rigorous logic20 displayed in its arguments, and with the quiet dignity of its style, while yet unable to accept its most general conclusions, Lessing resolved to publish the manuscript, accompanying it with his own comments and strictures. Accordingly in 1774, availing himself of the freedom from censorship enjoyed by publications drawn22 from manuscripts deposited in the Ducal Library at Wolfenbuttel, of which he was librarian, Lessing published the first portion of this work, under the title of “Fragments drawn from the Papers of an Anonymous23 Writer.” This first Fragment, on the “Toleration of Deists,” awakened24 but little opposition26; for the eighteenth century, though intolerant enough, did not parade its bigotry27, but rather saw fit to disclaim28 it. A hundred years before, Rutherford, in his “Free Disputation,” had declared “toleration of alle religions to bee not farre removed from blasphemie.” Intolerance was then a thing to be proud of, but in Lessing’s time some progress had been achieved, and men began to think it a good thing to seem tolerant. The succeeding Fragments were to test this liberality and reveal the flimsiness of the stuff of which it was made. When the unknown disputant began to declare “the impossibility of a revelation upon which all men can rest a solid faith,” and when he began to criticize the evidences of Christ’s resurrection, such a storm burst out in the theological world of Germany as had not been witnessed since the time of Luther. The recent Colenso controversy in England was but a gentle breeze compared to it. Press and pulpit swarmed29 with “refutations,” in which weakness of argument and scantiness30 of erudition were compensated31 by strength of acrimony and unscrupulousness of slander32. Pamphlets and sermons, says M. Fontanes, “were multiplied, to denounce the impious blasphemer, who, destitute33 alike of shame and of courage, had sheltered himself behind a paltry fiction, in order to let loose upon society an evil spirit of unbelief.” But Lessing’s artifice34 had been intended to screen the memory of Reimarus, rather than his own reputation. He was not the man to quail35 before any amount of human opposition; and it was when the tempest of invective36 was just at its height that he published the last and boldest Fragment of all — on “the Designs of Jesus and his Disciples37.”
The publication of these Fragments led to a mighty39 controversy. The most eminent40, both for uncompromising zeal41 and for worldly position, of those who had attacked Lessing, was Melchior Goetze, “pastor42 primarius” at the Hamburg Cathedral. Though his name is now remembered only because of his connection with Lessing, Goetze was not destitute of learning and ability. He was a collector of rare books, an amateur in numismatics, and an antiquarian of the narrow-minded sort. Lessing had known him while at Hamburg, and had visited him so constantly as to draw forth43 from his friends malicious44 insinuations as to the excellence45 of the pastor’s white wine. Doubtless Lessing, as a wise man, was not insensible to the attractions of good Moselle; but that which he chiefly liked in this theologian was his logical and rigorously consistent turn of mind. “He always,” says M. Fontanes, “cherished a holy horror of loose, inconsequent thinkers; and the man of the past, the inexorable guardian46 of tradition, appeared to him far more worthy47 of respect than the heterodox innovator48 who stops in mid-course, and is faithful neither to reason nor to faith.”
But when Lessing published these unhallowed Fragments, the hour of conflict had sounded, and Goetze cast himself into the arena49 with a boldness and impetuosity which Lessing, in his artistic50 capacity, could not fail to admire. He spared no possible means of reducing his enemy to submission51. He aroused against him all the constituted authorities, the consistories, and even the Aulic Council of the Empire, and he even succeeded in drawing along with him the chief of contemporary rationalists, Semler, who so far forgot himself as to declare that Lessing, for what he had done, deserved to be sent to the madhouse. But with all Goetze’s orthodox valour, he was no match for the antagonist52 whom he had excited to activity. The great critic replied with pamphlet after pamphlet, invincible53 in logic and erudition, sparkling with wit, and irritating in their utter coolness. Such pamphlets had not been seen since Pascal published the “Provincial Letters.” Goetze found that he had taken up arms against a master in the arts of controversy, and before long he became well aware that he was worsted. Having brought the case before the Aulic Council, which consisted in great part of Catholics, the stout54 pastor, forgetting that judgment55 had not yet been rendered, allowed himself to proclaim that all who do not recognize the Bible as the only source of Christianity are not fit to be called Christians56 at all. Lessing was not slow to profit by this unlucky declaration. Questioned, with all manner of ferocious57 vituperation, by Goetze, as to what sort of Christianity might have existed prior to and independently of the New Testament58 canon, Lessing imperturbably59 answered: “By the Christian1 religion I mean all the confessions61 of faith contained in the collection of creeds62 of the first four centuries of the Christian Church, including, if you wish it, the so-called creed63 of the apostles, as well as the creed of Athanasius. The content of these confessions is called by the earlier Fathers the regula fidei, or rule of faith. This rule of faith is not drawn from the writings of the New Testament. It existed before any of the books in the New Testament were written. It sufficed not only for the first Christians of the age of the apostles, but for their descendants during four centuries. And it is, therefore, the veritable foundation upon which the Church of Christ is built; a foundation not based upon Scripture64.” Thus, by a master-stroke, Lessing secured the adherence65 of the Catholics constituting a majority of the Aulic Council of the Empire. Like Paul before him, he divided the Sanhedrim. So that Goetze, foiled in his attempts at using violence, and disconcerted by the patristic learning of one whom he had taken to be a mere66 connoisseur67 in art and writer of plays for the theatre, concluded that discretion68 was the surest kind of valour, and desisted from further attacks.
Lessing’s triumph came opportunely69; for already the ministry70 of Brunswick had not only confiscated71 the Fragments, but had prohibited him from publishing anything more on the subject without first obtaining express authority to do so. His last replies to Goetze were published at Hamburg; and as he held himself in readiness to depart from Wolfenbuttel, he wrote to several friends that he had conceived the design of a drama, with which he would tear the theologians in pieces more than with a dozen Fragments. “I will try and see,” said he, “if they will let me preach in peace from my old pulpit, the theatre.” In this way originated “Nathan the Wise.” But it in no way answered to the expectations either of Lessing’s friends or of his enemies. Both the one and the other expected to see the controversy with Goetze carried on, developed, and generalized in the poem. They looked for a satirical comedy, in which orthodoxy should be held up for scathing72 ridicule73, or at least for a direful tragedy, the moral of which, like that of the great poem of Lucretius, should be
“Tantum religio potuit suadere malorum.”
Had Lessing produced such a poem, he would doubtless have gratified his free-thinking friends and wreaked74 due literary vengeance75 upon his theological persecutors. He would, perhaps, have given articulate expression to the radicalism76 of his own time, and, like Voltaire, might have constituted himself the leader of the age, the incarnation of its most conspicuous77 tendencies. But Lessing did nothing of the kind; and the expectations formed of him by friends and enemies alike show how little he was understood by either. “Nathan the Wise” was, as we shall see, in the eighteenth century an entirely78 new phenomenon; and its author was the pioneer of a quite new religious philosophy.
Reimarus, the able author of the Fragments, in his attack upon the evidences of revealed religion, had taken the same ground as Voltaire and the old English deists. And when we have said this, we have sufficiently79 defined his position, for the tenets of the deists are at the present day pretty well known, and are, moreover, of very little vital importance, having long since been supplanted80 by a more just and comprehensive philosophy. Reimarus accepted neither miracles nor revelation; but in accordance with the rudimentary state of criticism in his time, he admitted the historical character of the earliest Christian records, and was thus driven to the conclusion that those writings must have been fraudulently composed. How such a set of impostors as the apostles must on this hypothesis have been, should have succeeded in inspiring large numbers of their contemporaries with higher and grander religious notions than had ever before been conceived; how they should have laid the foundations of a theological system destined to hold together the most enlightened and progressive portion of human society for seventeen or eighteen centuries — does not seem to have entered his mind. Against such attacks as this, orthodoxy was comparatively safe; for whatever doubt might be thrown upon some of its leading dogmas, the system as a whole was more consistent and rational than any of the theories which were endeavouring to supplant81 it. And the fact that nearly all the great thinkers of the eighteenth century adopted this deistic hypothesis, shows, more than anything else, the crudeness of their psychological knowledge, and their utter lack of what is called “the historical sense.”
Lessing at once saw the weak point in Reimarus’s argument, but his method of disposing of it differed signally from that adopted by his orthodox contemporaries. The more advanced German theologians of that day, while accepting the New Testament records as literally82 historical, were disposed to rationalize the accounts of miracles contained in them, in such a way as to get rid of any presumed infractions of the laws of nature. This method of exegesis, which reached its perfection in Paulus, is too well known to need describing. Its unsatisfactory character was clearly shown, thirty years ago, by Strauss, and it is now generally abandoned, though some traces of it may still be seen in the recent works of Renan. Lessing steadily avoided this method of interpretation83. He had studied Spinoza to some purpose, and the outlines of Biblical criticism laid down by that remarkable84 thinker Lessing developed into a system wonderfully like that now adopted by the Tubingen school. The cardinal85 results which Baur has reached within the past generation were nearly all hinted at by Lessing, in his commentaries on the Fragments. The distinction between the first three, or synoptic gospels, and the fourth, the later age of the fourth, and the method of composition of the first three, from earlier documents and from oral tradition, are all clearly laid down by him. The distinct points of view from which the four accounts were composed, are also indicated — the Judaizing disposition86 of “Matthew,” the Pauline sympathies of “Luke,” the compromising or Petrine tendencies of “Mark,” and the advanced Hellenic character of “John.” Those best acquainted with the results of modern criticism in Germany will perhaps be most surprised at finding such speculations87 in a book written many years before either Strauss or Baur were born.
But such results, as might have been expected, did not satisfy the pastor Goetze or the public which sympathized with him. The valiant88 pastor unhesitatingly declared that he read the objections which Lessing opposed to the Fragmentist with more horror and disgust than the Fragments themselves; and in the teeth of the printed comments he declared that the editor was craftily89 upholding his author in his deistical assault upon Christian theology. The accusation90 was unjust, because untrue. There could be no genuine cooperation between a mere iconoclast91 like Reimarus, and a constructive92 critic like Lessing. But the confusion was not an unnatural93 one on Goetze’s part, and I cannot agree with M. Fontanes in taking it as convincing proof of the pastor’s wrong-headed perversity94. It appears to me that Goetze interpreted Lessing’s position quite as accurately95 as M. Fontanes. The latter writer thinks that Lessing was a Christian of the liberal school since represented by Theodore Parker in this country and by M. Reville in France; that his real object was to defend and strengthen the Christian religion by relieving it of those peculiar96 doctrines98 which to the freethinkers of his time were a stumbling-block and an offence. And, in spite of Lessing’s own declarations, he endeavours to show that he was an ordinary theist — a follower99 of Leibnitz rather than of Spinoza. But I do not think he has made out his case. Lessing’s own confession60 to Jacobi is unequivocal enough, and cannot well be argued away. In that remarkable conversation, held toward the close of his life, he indicates clearly enough that his faith was neither that of the ordinary theist, the atheist100, nor the pantheist, but that his religious theory of the universe was identical with that suggested by Spinoza, adopted by Goethe, and recently elaborated in the first part of the “First Principles” of Mr. Herbert Spencer. Moreover, while Lessing cannot be considered an antagonist of Christianity, neither did he assume the attitude of a defender101. He remained outside the theological arena; looking at theological questions from the point of view of a layman102, or rather, as M. Cherbuliez has happily expressed it, of a Pagan. His mind was of decidedly antique structure. He had the virtues104 of paganism: its sanity105, its calmness, and its probity106; but of the tenderness of Christianity, and its quenchless107 aspirations108 after an indefinable ideal, of that feeling which has incarnated109 itself in Gothic cathedrals, masses and oratorios110, he exhibited but scanty111 traces. His intellect was above all things self-consistent and incorruptible. He had that imperial good-sense which might have formed the ideal alike of Horace and of Epictetus. No clandestine112 preference for certain conclusions could make his reason swerve113 from the straight paths of logic. And he examined and rejected the conclusions of Reimarus in the same imperturbable114 spirit with which he examined and rejected the current theories of the French classic drama.
Such a man can have had but little in common with a preacher like Theodore Parker, or with a writer like M. Fontanes, whose whole book is a noble specimen115 of lofty Christian eloquence116. His attribute was light, not warmth. He scrutinized117, but did not attack or defend. He recognized the transcendent merits of the Christian faith, but made no attempt to reinstate it where it had seemed to suffer shock. It was therefore with the surest of instincts, with that same instinct of self-preservation which had once led the Church to anathematize Galileo, that Goetze. proclaimed Lessing a more dangerous foe118 to orthodoxy than the deists who had preceded him. Controversy, he doubtless thought, may be kept up indefinitely, and blows given and returned forever; but before the steady gaze of that scrutinizing119 eye which one of us shall find himself able to stand erect120? It has become fashionable to heap blame and ridicule upon those who violently defend an antiquated121 order of things; and Goetze has received at the hands of posterity122 his full share of abuse. His wrath123 contrasted unfavourably with Lessing’s calmness; and it was his misfortune to have taken up arms against an opponent who always knew how to keep the laugh upon his own side. For my own part I am constrained124 to admire the militant125 pastor, as Lessing himself admired him. From an artistic point of view he is not an uninteresting figure to contemplate126. And although his attempts to awaken25 persecution127 were reprehensible128, yet his ardour in defending what he believed to be vital truth is none the less to be respected. He had the acuteness to see that Lessing’s refutation of deism did not make him a Christian, while the new views proposed as a substitute for those of Reimarus were such as Goetze and his age could in no wise comprehend.
Lessing’s own views of dogmatic religion are to be found in his work entitled, “The Education of the Human Race.” These views have since so far become the veriest commonplaces of criticism, that one can hardly realize that, only ninety years ago, they should have been regarded as dangerous paradoxes129. They may be summed up in the statement that all great religions are good in their time and place; that, “as there is a soul of goodness in things evil, so also there is a soul of truth in things erroneous.” According to Lessing, the successive phases of religious belief constitute epochs in the mental evolution of the human race. So that the crudest forms of theology, even fetishism, now to all appearance so utterly131 revolting, and polytheism, so completely inadequate132, have once been the best, the natural and inevitable133 results of man’s reasoning powers and appliances for attaining134 truth. The mere fact that a system of religious thought has received the willing allegiance of large masses of men shows that it must have supplied some consciously felt want, some moral or intellectual craving135. And the mere fact that knowledge and morality are progressive implies that each successive system may in due course of time be essentially136 modified or finally supplanted. The absence of any reference to a future state of retribution, in the Pentateuch and generally in the sacred writings of the Jews, and the continual appeal to hopes and fears of a worldly character, have been pronounced by deists an irremediable defect in the Jewish religion. It is precisely137 this, however, says Lessing, which constitutes one of its signal excellences138. “That thy days may be long in the land which Jehovah thy God giveth thee,” was an appeal which the uncivilized Jew could understand, and which could arouse him to action; while the need of a future world, to rectify139 the injustices140 of this, not yet being felt, the doctrine97 would have been of but little service. But in later Hebrew literature, many magnificent passages revealed the despair felt by prophet and thinker over the insoluble problem presented by the evil fate of the good and the triumphant142 success of the wicked; and a solution was sought in the doctrine of a Messianic kingdom, until Christianity with its proclamation of a future life set the question entirely aside. By its appeal to what has been aptly termed “other-worldliness,” Christianity immeasurably intensified143 human responsibility, besides rendering144 clearer its nature and limits. But according to Lessing, yet another step remains145 to be taken; and here we come upon the gulf146 which separates him from men of the stamp of Theodore Parker. For, says Lessing, the appeal to unearthly rewards and punishments is after all an appeal to our lower feelings; other-worldliness is but a refined selfishness; and we are to cherish virtue103 for its own sake not because it will lead us to heaven. Here is the grand principle of Stoicism. Lessing believed, with Mr. Mill, that the less we think about getting rewarded either on earth or in heaven the better. He was cast in the same heroic mould as Muhamad Efendi, who when led to the stake exclaimed: “Though I have no hope of recompense hereafter, yet the love of truth constraineth me to die in its defence!”
With the truth or completeness of these views of Lessing we are not here concerned; our business being not to expound147 our own opinions, but to indicate as clearly as possible Lessing’s position. Those who are familiar with the general philosophical148 spirit of the present age, as represented by writers otherwise so different as Littre and Sainte-Beuve, will best appreciate the power and originality149 of these speculations. Coming in the last century, amid the crudities of deism, they made a well-defined epoch130. They inaugurated the historical method of criticism, and they robbed the spirit of intolerance of its only philosophical excuse for existing. Hitherto the orthodox had been intolerant toward the philosophers because they considered them heretics; and the philosophers had been intolerant toward the orthodox because they considered them fools. To Voltaire it naturally seemed that a man who could believe in the reality of miracles must be what in French is expressively150 termed a sot. But henceforth, to the disciple38 of Lessing, men of all shade of opinion were but the representatives and exponents151 of different phases in the general evolution of human intelligence, not necessarily to be disliked or despised if they did not happen to represent the maturest phase.
Religion, therefore, from this point of view, becomes clearly demarcated from theology. It consists no longer in the mental assent152 to certain prescribed formulas, but in the moral obedience153 to the great rule of life; the great commandment laid down and illustrated154 by the Founder155 of the Christian religion, and concerning which the profoundest modern philosophy informs us that the extent to which a society has learned to conform to it is the test and gauge156 of the progress in civilization which that society has achieved. The command “to love one another,” to check the barbarous impulses inherited from the pre-social state, while giving free play to the beneficent impulses needful for the ultimate attainment157 of social equilibrium158 — or as Tennyson phrases it, to “move upward, working out the beast, and letting the ape and tiger die,”— was, in Lessing’s view, the task set before us by religion. The true religious feeling was thus, in his opinion, what the author of “Ecce Homo” has finely termed “the enthusiasm of humanity.” And we shall find no better language than that of the writer just mentioned, in which to describe Lessing’s conception of faith:—
“He who, when goodness is impressively put before him, exhibits an instinctive159 loyalty160 to it, starts forward to take its side, trusts himself to it, such a man has faith, and the root of the matter is in such a man. He may have habits of vice141, but the loyal and faithful instinct in him will place him above many that practice virtue. He may be rude in thought and character, but he will unconsciously gravitate toward what is right. Other virtues can scarcely thrive without a fine natural organization and a happy training. But the most neglected and ungifted of men may make a beginning with faith. Other virtues want civilization, a certain amount of knowledge, a few books; but in half-brutal countenances161 faith will light up a glimmer162 of nobleness. The savage163, who can do little else, can wonder and worship and enthusiastically obey. He who cannot know what is right can know that some one else knows; he who has no law may still have a master; he who is incapable164 of justice may be capable of fidelity165; he who understands little may have his sins forgiven because he loves much.”
Such was Lessing’s religion, so far as it can be ascertained167 from the fragmentary writings which he has left on the subject. Undoubtedly168 it lacked completeness. The opinions which we have here set down, though constituting something more than a mere theory of morality, certainly do not constitute a complete theory of religion. Our valiant knight169 has examined but one side of the shield — the bright side, turned toward us, whose marvellous inscriptions170 the human reason can by dint171 of unwearied effort decipher. But the dark side, looking out upon infinity172, and covered with hieroglyphics173 the meaning of which we can never know, he has quite forgotten to consider. Yet it is this side which genuine religious feeling ever seeks to contemplate. It is the consciousness that there is about us an omnipresent Power, in which we live and move and have our being, eternally manifesting itself throughout the whole range of natural phenomena174, which has ever disposed men to be religious, and lured175 them on in the vain effort to construct adequate theological systems. We may, getting rid of the last traces of fetishism, eliminate arbitrary volition176 as much as we will or can. But there still remains the consciousness of a divine Life in the universe, of a Power which is beyond and above our comprehension, whose goings out and comings in no man can follow. The more we know, the more we reach out for that which we cannot know. And who can realize this so vividly177 as the scientific philosopher? For our knowledge being, according to the familiar comparison, like a brilliant sphere, the more we increase it the greater becomes the number of peripheral178 points at which we are confronted by the impenetrable darkness beyond. I believe that this restless yearning179 — vague enough in the description, yet recognizable by all who, communing with themselves or with nature, have felt it — this constant seeking for what cannot be found, this persistent180 knocking at gates which, when opened, but reveal others yet to be passed, constitutes an element which no adequate theory of religion can overlook. But of this we find nothing in Lessing. With him all is sunny, serene181, and pagan. Not the dim aisle182 of a vast cathedral, but the symmetrical portico183 of an antique temple, is the worshipping-place into which he would lead us.
But if Lessing’s theology must be considered imperfect, it is none the less admirable as far as it goes. With its peculiar doctrines of love and faith, it teaches a morality far higher than any that Puritanism ever dreamed of. And with its theory of development it cuts away every possible logical basis for intolerance. It is this theology to which Lessing has given concrete expression in his immortal184 poem of “Nathan.”
The central idea of “Nathan” was suggested to Lessing by Boccaccio’s story of “The Three Rings,” which is supposed to have had a Jewish origin. Saladin, pretending to be inspired by a sudden, imperious whim185, such as is “not unbecoming in a Sultan,” demands that Nathan shall answer him on the spur of the moment which of the three great religions then known — Judaism, Mohammedanism, Christianity — is adjudged by reason to be the true one. For a moment the philosopher is in a quandary186. If he does not pronounce in favour of his own religion, Judaism, he stultifies187 himself; but if he does not award the precedence to Mohammedanism, he will apparently188 insult his sovereign. With true Oriental tact189 he escapes from the dilemma190 by means of a parable11. There was once a man, says Nathan, who possessed191 a ring of inestimable value. Not only was the stone which it contained incomparably fine, but it possessed the marvellous property of rendering its owner agreeable both to God and to men. The old man bequeathed this ring to that one of his sons whom he loved the most; and the son, in turn, made a similar disposition of it. So that, passing from hand to hand, the ring finally came into the possession of a father who loved his three sons equally well. Unto which one should he leave it? To get rid of the perplexity, he had two other rings made by a jeweller, exactly like the original, and to each of his three sons he bequeathed one. Each then thinking that he had obtained the true talisman192, they began violently to quarrel, and after long contention193 agreed to carry their dispute before the judge. But the judge said: “Quarrelsome fellows! You are all three of you cheated cheats. Your three rings are alike counterfeit194. For the genuine ring is lost, and to conceal195 the loss, your father had made these three substitutes.” At this unexpected denouement196 the Sultan breaks out in exclamations197 of delight; and it is interesting to learn that when the play was brought upon the stage at Constantinople a few years ago, the Turkish audience was similarly affected198. There is in the story that quiet, stealthy humour which is characteristic of many mediaeval apologues, and in which Lessing himself loved to deal. It is humour of the kind which hits the mark, and reveals the truth. In a note upon this passage, Lessing himself said: “The opinion of Nathan upon all positive religions has for a long time been my own.” Let him who has the genuine ring show it by making himself loved of God and man. This is the central idea of the poem. It is wholly unlike the iconoclasm of the deists, and, coming in the eighteenth century, it was like a veritable evangel.
“Nathan” was not brought out until three years after Lessing’s death, and it kept possession of the stage for but a short time. In a dramatic point of view, it has hardly any merits. Whatever plot there is in it is weak and improbable. The decisive incidents seem to be brought in like the deus ex machina of the later Greek drama. There is no movement, no action, no development. The characters are poetically200 but not dramatically conceived. Considered as a tragedy, “Nathan” would be weak; considered as a comedy, it would be heavy. With full knowledge of these circumstances, Lessing called it not a drama, but a dramatic poem; and he might have called it still more accurately a didactic poem, for the only feature which it has in common with the drama is that the personages use the oratio directa.
“Nathan” is a didactic poem: it is not a mere philosophic treatise201 written in verse, like the fragments of Xenophanes. Its lessons are conveyed concretely and not abstractly; and its characters are not mere lay figures, but living poetical199 conceptions. Considered as a poem among classic German poems, it must rank next to, though immeasurably below, Goethe’s “Faust.”
There are two contrasted kinds of genius, the poetical and the philosophical; or, to speak yet more generally, the artistic and the critical. The former is distinguished202 by a concrete, the latter by an abstract, imagination. The former sees things synthetically203, in all their natural complexity204; the latter pulls things to pieces analytically205, and scrutinizes206 their relations. The former sees a tree in all its glory, where the latter sees an exogen with a pair of cotyledons. The former sees wholes, where the latter sees aggregates207.
Corresponding with these two kinds of genius there are two classes of artistic productions. When the critical genius writes a poem or a novel, he constructs his plot and his characters in conformity208 to some prearranged theory, or with a view to illustrate some favourite doctrine. When he paints a picture, he first thinks how certain persons would look under certain given circumstances, and paints them accordingly. When he writes a piece of music, he first decides that this phrase expresses joy, and that phrase disappointment, and the other phrase disgust, and he composes accordingly. We therefore say ordinarily that he does not create, but only constructs and combines. It is far different with the artistic genius, who, without stopping to think, sees the picture and hears the symphony with the eyes and ears of imagination, and paints and plays merely what he has seen and heard. When Dante, in imagination, arrived at the lowest circle of hell, where traitors209 like Judas and Brutus are punished, he came upon a terrible frozen lake, which, he says —
“Ever makes me shudder210 at the sight of frozen pools.”
I have always considered this line a marvellous instance of the intensity211 of Dante’s imagination. It shows, too, how Dante composed his poem. He did not take counsel of himself and say: “Go to, let us describe the traitors frozen up to their necks in a dismal212 lake, for that will be most terrible.” But the picture of the lake, in all its iciness, with the haggard faces staring out from its glassy crust, came unbidden before his mind with such intense reality that, for the rest of his life, he could not look at a frozen pool without a shudder of horror. He described it exactly as he saw it; and his description makes us shudder who read it after all the centuries that have intervened. So Michael Angelo, a kindred genius, did not keep cutting and chipping away, thinking how Moses ought to look, and what sort of a nose he ought to have, and in what position his head might best rest upon his shoulders. But, he looked at the rectangular block of Carrara marble, and beholding213 Moses grand and lifelike within it, knocked away the environing stone, that others also might see the mighty figure. And so Beethoven, an artist of the same colossal214 order, wrote out for us those mysterious harmonies which his ear had for the first time heard; and which, in his mournful old age, it heard none the less plainly because of its complete physical deafness. And in this way Shakespeare wrote his “Othello”; spinning out no abstract thoughts about jealousy215 and its fearful effects upon a proud and ardent216 nature, but revealing to us the living concrete man, as his imperial imagination had spontaneously fashioned him.
Modern psychology217 has demonstrated that this is the way in which the creative artistic imagination proceeds. It has proved that a vast portion of all our thinking goes on unconsciously; and that the results may arise into consciousness piecemeal218 and gradually, checking each other as they come; or that they may come all at once, with all the completeness and definiteness of perceptions presented from without. The former is the case with the critical, and the latter with the artistic intellect. And this we recognize imperfectly when we talk of a genius being “inspired.” All of us probably have these two kinds of imagination to a certain extent. It is only given to a few supremely219 endowed persons like Goethe to possess them both to an eminent degree. Perhaps of no other man can it be said that he was a poet of the first order, and as great a critic as poet.
It is therefore apt to be a barren criticism which studies the works of creative geniuses in order to ascertain166 what theory lies beneath them. How many systems of philosophy, how many subtle speculations, have we not seen fathered upon Dante, Cervantes, Shakespeare, and Goethe! Yet their works are, in a certain sense, greater than any systems. They partake of the infinite complexity and variety of nature, and no more than nature itself can they be narrowed down to the limits of a precise formula.
Lessing was wont220 to disclaim the title of poet; but, as Goethe said, his immortal works refute him. He had not only poetical, but dramatic genius; and his “Emilia Galotti” has kept the stage until to-day. Nevertheless, he knew well what he meant when he said that he was more of a critic than a poet. His genius was mainly of the critical order; and his great work, “Nathan the Wise,” was certainly constructed rather than created. It was intended to convey a doctrine, and was carefully shaped for the purpose. And when we have pronounced it the greatest of all poems that have been written for a set purpose, and admit of being expressed in a definite formula, we have classified it with sufficient accuracy.
For an analysis of the characters in the poem, nothing can be better than the essay by Kuno Fischer, appended to the present volume. The work of translation has been admirably done; and thanks are due to Miss Frothingham for her reproduction of this beautiful poem.
June, 1868.
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1
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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forerunner
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| n.前身，先驱（者），预兆，祖先 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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7
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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10
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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12
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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14
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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exegesis
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| n.注释，解释 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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20
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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21
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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bigotry
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| n.偏见，偏执，持偏见的行为[态度]等 | |
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disclaim
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| v.放弃权利，拒绝承认 | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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30
scantiness
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| n.缺乏 | |
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compensated
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| 补偿，报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 )； 给（某人）赔偿（或赔款） | |
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slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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34
artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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invective
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| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
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disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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38
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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40
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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45
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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46
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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47
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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48
innovator
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| n.改革者；创新者 | |
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49
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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50
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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51
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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52
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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53
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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55
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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56
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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57
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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58
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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59
imperturbably
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| adv.泰然地，镇静地，平静地 | |
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60
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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61
confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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62
creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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63
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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64
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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65
adherence
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| n.信奉，依附，坚持，固着 | |
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66
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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67
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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68
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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69
opportunely
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| adv.恰好地，适时地 | |
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70
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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71
confiscated
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| 没收，充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
scathing
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| adj.（言词、文章）严厉的，尖刻的；不留情的adv.严厉地，尖刻地v.伤害，损害（尤指使之枯萎）( scathe的现在分词) | |
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73
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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74
wreaked
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| 诉诸（武力），施行（暴力），发（脾气）( wreak的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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76
radicalism
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| n. 急进主义, 根本的改革主义 | |
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77
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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80
supplanted
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| 把…排挤掉，取代( supplant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
supplant
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| vt.排挤；取代 | |
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82
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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83
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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84
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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85
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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86
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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87
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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88
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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89
craftily
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| 狡猾地，狡诈地 | |
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90
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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91
iconoclast
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| n.反对崇拜偶像者 | |
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92
constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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95
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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96
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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97
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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98
doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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99
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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100
atheist
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| n.无神论者 | |
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101
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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102
layman
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| n.俗人，门外汉，凡人 | |
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103
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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104
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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105
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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106
probity
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| n.刚直；廉洁，正直 | |
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107
quenchless
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| 不可熄灭的 | |
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108
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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109
incarnated
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| v.赋予（思想、精神等）以人的形体( incarnate的过去式和过去分词 )；使人格化；体现；使具体化 | |
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110
oratorios
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| n.（以宗教为主题的）清唱剧，神剧( oratorio的名词复数 ) | |
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111
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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112
clandestine
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| adj.秘密的，暗中从事的 | |
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113
swerve
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| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
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114
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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115
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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116
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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117
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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119
scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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120
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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121
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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122
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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123
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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124
constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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126
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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127
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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128
reprehensible
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| adj.该受责备的 | |
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129
paradoxes
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| n.似非而是的隽语，看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 )；用于语言文学中的上述隽语；有矛盾特点的人[事物，情况] | |
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130
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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131
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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132
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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133
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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134
attaining
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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135
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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136
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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137
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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138
excellences
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| n.卓越( excellence的名词复数 )；（只用于所修饰的名词后）杰出的；卓越的；出类拔萃的 | |
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139
rectify
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| v.订正，矫正，改正 | |
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140
injustices
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| 不公平( injustice的名词复数 )； 非正义； 待…不公正； 冤枉 | |
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141
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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142
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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143
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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145
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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146
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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147
expound
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| v.详述；解释；阐述 | |
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148
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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149
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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150
expressively
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| ad.表示(某事物)地；表达地 | |
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151
exponents
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| n.倡导者( exponent的名词复数 )；说明者；指数；能手 | |
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152
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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153
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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154
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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155
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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156
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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157
attainment
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| n.达到，到达；［常pl.］成就，造诣 | |
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158
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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159
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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160
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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161
countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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162
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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163
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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164
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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165
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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166
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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167
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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168
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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169
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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170
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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171
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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172
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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173
hieroglyphics
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| n.pl.象形文字 | |
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174
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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175
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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176
volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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177
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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178
peripheral
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| adj.周边的，外围的 | |
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179
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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180
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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181
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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182
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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183
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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184
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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185
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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186
quandary
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| n.困惑，进迟两难之境 | |
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187
stultifies
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| v.使成为徒劳，使变得无用( stultify的第三人称单数 ) | |
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188
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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189
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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190
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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191
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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192
talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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193
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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194
counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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195
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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196
denouement
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| n.结尾，结局 | |
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197
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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198
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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199
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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200
poetically
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| adv.有诗意地，用韵文 | |
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201
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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202
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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203
synthetically
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| adv. 综合地，合成地 | |
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204
complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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205
analytically
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| adv.有分析地，解析地 | |
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206
scrutinizes
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的第三人称单数 ) | |
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207
aggregates
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| 数( aggregate的名词复数 )； 总计； 骨料； 集料（可成混凝土或修路等用的） | |
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208
conformity
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| n.一致，遵从，顺从 | |
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209
traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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210
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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211
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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212
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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213
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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214
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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215
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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216
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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217
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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218
piecemeal
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| adj.零碎的；n.片，块；adv.逐渐地；v.弄成碎块 | |
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219
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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220
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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