in the season, able once more to occupy my old gable-chamber, than
I also began to provide myself with a little apparatus. A small
air-furnace with a sand-bath was prepared, and I very soon learned to
change the glass alembics, with a piece of burning match-cord, into
vessels in which the different mixtures were to be evaporated. Now
were the strange ingredients of the macrocosm and microcosm handled
in an odd, mysterious manner, and before all I attempted to produce
neutral salts in an unheard-of way. But what busied me most, for a long
time, was the so-called _Liquor Silicum_ (flint-juice), which is made
by melting down pure quartz-flint with a proper proportion of alkali,
whence results a transparent glass, which melts away on exposure to the
air, and exhibits a beautiful clear fluidity. Whoever has once prepared
this himself, and seen it with his own eyes, will not blame those who
believe in a maiden earth, and in the possibility of producing further
effects upon it by means of it. I had acquired a peculiar dexterity
in preparing this _Liquor Silicum_; the fine white flints which are
found in the Maine furnished a perfect material for it; and I was not
wanting in the other requisites, nor in diligence. But I became weary
at last, because I could not but remark that the flinty substance was
by no means so closely combined with the salt as I had philosophically
imagined; for it very easily separated itself again, and this most
beautiful mineral fluidity, which, to my greatest astonishment, had
sometimes appeared in the form of an animal jelly, always deposited
a powder, which I was forced to pronounce the finest flint dust, but
which gave not the least sign of anything productive in its nature,
from which one could have hoped to see this maiden earth pass into the
maternal state.
Strange and unconnected as these operations were, I yet learned many
things from them. I paid strict attention to all the crystallizations
that might occur, and became acquainted with the external forms of
many natural things, and inasmuch as I well knew that in modern times
chemical subjects were treated more methodically, I wished to get a
general conception of them, although, as a half-adept, I had very
little respect for the apothecaries and all those who operated with
common fire. However, the chemical _Compendium_ of Boerhaave attracted
me powerfully, and led me on to read several of his writings, in which
(since, moreover, my tedious illness had inclined me towards medical
subjects,) I found an inducement to study also the _Aphorisms_ of this
excellent man, which I was glad to stamp upon my mind and in my memory.
[Side-note: Character of the Letters from Leipzig.]
Another employment, somewhat more human, and by far more useful for
my cultivation at the moment, was reading through the letters which I
had written home from Leipzig. Nothing reveals more with respect to
ourselves, than when we again see before us that which has proceeded
from us years before, so that we can now consider ourselves as an
object of contemplation. Only, in truth, I was then too young, and the
epoch which was represented by those papers was still too near. As
in our younger years we do not in general easily cast off a certain
self-complacent conceit, this especially shows itself in despising what
we have been but a little time before; for while, indeed, we perceive,
as we advance from step to step, that those things which we regard as
good and excellent in ourselves and others do not stand their ground,
we think we can best extricate ourselves from this dilemma by ourselves
throwing away what we cannot preserve. So it was with me also. For as
in Leipzig I had gradually learned to set little value on my childish
labours, so now my academical course seemed to me likewise of small
account, and I did not understand that for this very reason it must
be of great value to me, as it elevated me to a higher degree of
observation and insight. My father had carefully collected and sewed
together my letters to him, as well as those to my sister; nay, he had
even corrected them with attention, and improved the mistakes both in
writing and in grammar.
What first struck me in these letters was their exterior; I was shocked
at an incredible carelessness in the handwriting, which extended
from October, 1765, to the middle of the following January. But, in
the middle of March, there appeared all at once a quite compressed,
orderly hand, such as I used formerly to employ in writing for a prize.
My astonishment at this resolved itself into gratitude towards the
good Gellert, who, as I now well remembered, whenever we handed in our
essays to him, represented to us, in his hearty tone of voice, that
it was our sacred duty to practise our hand as much, nay, more than
our style. He repeated this as often as any scrawled, careless writing
came into his sight; on which occasion he often said that he would
much like to make a good hand of his pupils the principal end in his
instructions; the more so as he had often remarked that a good hand led
the way to a good style.
I could further notice that the French and English passages in my
letters, although not free from blunders, were nevertheless written
with facility and freedom. These languages I had likewise continued
to practise in my correspondence with George Schlosser, who was still
at Treptow, and I had remained in constant communication with him, by
which I was instructed in many secular affairs (for things did not
always turn out with him quite as he had hoped), and acquired an ever
increasing confidence in his earnest, noble way of thinking.
Another consideration which could not escape me in reading through
these letters, was that my good hither, with the best intentions, had
done me a special mischief, and had led me into that odd way of life
into which I had fallen at last. He had, namely, repeatedly warned me
against card-playing; but Frau Hofrath Böhme, as long as she lived,
contrived to persuade me, after her own fashion, by declaring that
my father's warnings were only against the abuse. Now as I likewise
saw the advantages of it in society, I easily suffered myself to be
led by her. I had indeed the sense of play, but not the spirit of
play; I learned all games easily and rapidly, but I could never keep
up the proper attention for a whole evening. Therefore, when I began
very well, I invariably failed at the end, and made myself and others
lose; through which I went off, always out of humour, either to the
supper-table or out of the company. Scarcely was Madame Böhme dead,
who, moreover, had no longer kept me in practice during her tedious
illness, than my father's doctrine gained force; I at first excused
myself from the card-tables, and as they now did not know what else
to do with me, I became even more of a burden to myself than to
others, and declined the imitations, which then became more rare,
and at last ceased altogether. Play, which is much to be recommended
to young people, especially to those who have a practical sense, and
wish to look about in the world for themselves, could never, indeed,
become a passion with me; for I never got further, though I might
play as long as I would. Had any one given me a general view of the
subject, and made me observe how here certain signs and more or less
of chance form a kind of material on which judgment and activity can
exercise themselves--had any one made me see several games at once,
I might sooner have become reconciled. With all this, at the time of
which I am now speaking, I had come to the conviction, from the above
considerations, that one should not avoid social games, but should
rather strive after a certain dexterity in them. Time is infinitely
long, and each day is a vessel into which a great deal may be poured,
if one will actually fill it up.
[Side-note: Taste for Drawing Revived.]
Thus variously was I occupied in my solitude; the more so, as the
departed spirits of the different tastes to which I had from time to
time devoted myself, had an opportunity to reappear. I thus went again
to drawing; and as I always wished to labour directly from nature,
or rather from reality, I made a picture of my chamber, with its
furniture, and the persons who were in it; and when this no more amused
me, I represented all sorts of town-tales, which were told at the time,
and in which interest was taken. All this was not without character and
a certain taste, but unfortunately the figures lacked proportion and
the proper vigour, besides which the execution was extremely misty. Sly
father, who continued to take pleasure in these things, wished to have
them more distinct; everything must be finished and properly completed.
He therefore had them mounted and surrounded with ruled lines; nay, the
painter Morgenstern, his domestic artist--the same who afterwards made
himself known, and indeed famous, by his church-views--had to insert
the perspective lines of the rooms and chambers, which then, indeed,
stood in pretty harsh contrast with those cloudy-looking figures. In
this manner he thought constantly to compel me to greater accuracy,
and, to please him, I drew various objects of still life, in which,
since the originals stood as patterns before me, I could work with more
distinctness and precision. At last I took it into my head to etch
once more. I had composed a tolerably interesting landscape, and felt
myself very happy when I could look out for the old receipts given me
by Stock, and could, at my work, call to mind those pleasant times. I
soon bit the plate and had a proof taken. Unluckily the composition
was without light and shade, and I now tormented myself to bring
in both; but as it was not quite clear** to me what was really the
essential point, I could not finish. Up to this time I had been quite
well, after my own fashion; but now a disease attacked me which had
never troubled me before. My throat, namely, had become completely
sore, and particularly what is called the _uvula_ very much inflamed;
I could only swallow with great pain, and the physicians did not know
what to make of it. They tormented me with gargles and hair-pencils,
but could not free me from my misery. At last it struck me that I had
not been careful enough in the biting of my plates, and that by often
and passionately repeating it, I had contracted this disease, and had
always revived and increased it. To the physicians this cause was
plausible and very soon certain on my leaving my etching and biting,
and that so much the more readily as the attempt had by no means
turned out well, and I had more reason to conceal than to exhibit my
labours; for which I consoled myself the more easily, as I very soon
saw myself free from the troublesome disease. Upon this I could not
refrain from the reflection that my similar occupations at Leipzig
might have greatly contributed to those diseases from which I had
suffered so much. It is, indeed, a tedious, and withal a melancholy
business to take too much care of ourselves, and of what injures and
benefits us; but there is no question but that with the wonderful
idiosyncrasy of human nature on the one side, and the infinite variety
in the mode of life and pleasure on the other, it is a wonder that
the human race has not worn itself out long ago. Human nature appears
to possess a peculiar kind of toughness and many-sidedness, since it
subdues everything which approaches it, or which it takes into itself,
and if it cannot assimilate, at least makes it indifferent. In case
of any great excess, indeed, it must yield to the elements in spite
of all resistance, as the many endemic diseases and the effects of
brandy convince us. Could we, without being morbidly anxious, keep
watch over ourselves as to what operates favourably or unfavourably
upon us in our complicated civil and social life, and would we leave
off what is actually pleasant to us as an enjoyment, for the sake of
the evil consequences, we should thus know how to remove with ease many
an inconvenience which, with a constitution otherwise sound, often
troubles us more than even a disease. Unfortunately, it is in dietetics
as in morals; we cannot see into a fault till we have got rid of it; by
which nothing is gained, for the next fault is not like the preceding
one, and therefore cannot be recognised under the same form.
[Side-note: Survey of Works Written at Leipzig.]
In reading through those letters which had been written from Leipzig
to my sister, this remark, among others, could not escape me,--that
from the very beginning of my academical course, I had esteemed myself
very clever and wise, since, as soon as I had learned anything, I put
myself in the place of the professor, and so became didactic on the
spot. I was amused to see how I had immediately applied to my sister
whatever Gellert had imparted or advised in his lectures, without
seeing that both in life and in books, a thing may be proper for a
young man without being suitable for a young lady; and we both together
made merry over these mimicries. The poems also which I had composed
in Leipzig were already too poor for me; and they seemed to me cold,
dry, and in respect to that which was meant to express the state of the
human heart or mind, too superficial. This induced me, now that I was
to leave my father's house once more, and go to a second university,
again to decree a great high _auto-da-fé_ against my labours. Several
commenced plays, some of which had reached the third or the fourth act,
while others had only the plot fully made out, together with many other
poems, letters, and papers, were given over to the fire, and scarcely
anything was spared except the manuscript by Behrisch, _Die Laune des
Verliebten_ and _Die Mitschuldigen_, which last I constantly went
on improving with peculiar affection, and, as the piece was already
complete, I again worked over the plot, to make it more bustling and
intelligible. Lessing, in the first two acts of his _Minna_, had set up
an unattainable model of the way in which a drama should be developed,
and nothing was to me of greater concern than to enter thoroughly into
his mind and his views.
The recital of whatever moved, excited, and occupied me at this time,
is already circumstantial enough; but I must nevertheless again recur
to that interest with which super-sensuous things had inspired me, of
which I, once for all, so far as might be possible, undertook to form
some notion.
I experienced a great influence from an important work that fell into
my hands; it was Arnold's _History of the Church and of Heretics._
This man is not merely a reflective historian, but at the same time
pious and feeling. His sentiments chimed in very well with mine, and
what particularly delighted me in his work was, that I received a more
favourable notion of many heretics, who had been hitherto represented
to me as mad or impious. The spirit of contradiction and the love of
paradoxes stick fast in us all. I diligently studied the different
opinions, and as I had often enough heard it said that every man has
his own religion at last, so nothing seemed more natural to me than
that I should form mine too, and this I did with much satisfaction. The
Neo-Platonism lay at the foundation: the hermetical, the mystical, the
cabalistic, also contributed their share, and thus I built for myself a
world that looked strange enough.
[Side-note: Concoction of a System of Theology.]
I could well represent to myself a Godhead which has gone on producing
itself from all eternity; but as production cannot be conceived without
multiplicity, so it must of necessity have immediately appeared to
itself as a Second, which we recognise under the name of the Son;
now these two must continue the act of producing, and again appear
to themselves in a Third, which was just as substantial, living, and
eternal as the Whole. With these, however, the circle of the Godhead
was complete, and it would not have been possible for them to produce
another perfectly equal to them. But since, however, the work of
production always proceeded, they created a fourth, which already
fostered in himself a contradiction, inasmuch as it was, like them,
unlimited, and yet at the same time was to be contained in them and
bounded by them. Now this was Lucifer, to whom the whole power of
creation was committed from this time, and from whom all other beings
were to proceed. He immediately displayed his infinite activity by
creating the whole body of angels; all, again, after his own likeness,
unlimited, but contained in him and bounded by him. Surrounded by such
a glory, he forgot his higher origin, and believed that he could
find himself in himself, and from this first ingratitude sprang all
that does not seem to us in accordance with the will and purposes of
the Godhead. Now the more he concentrated himself within himself, the
more painful must it have become to him, as well as to all the spirits
whose sweet uprising to their origin he had embittered. And so that
happened which is intimated to us under the form of the Fall of the
Angels. One part of them concentrated itself with Lucifer, the other
turned itself again to its origin. From this concentration of the
whole creation, for it had proceeded out of Lucifer, and was forced
to follow him, sprang all that we perceive under the form of matter,
which we figure to ourselves as heavy, solid, and dark, but which,
since it is descended, if not even immediately, yet by filiation, from
the Divine Being, is just as unlimited, powerful, and eternal as its
sire and grandsire. Since now the whole mischief, if we may call it so,
merely arose through the one-sided direction of Lucifer, the better
half was indeed wanting to this creation; for it possessed all that
is gained by concentration, while it lacked all that can be effected
by expansion alone; and so the whole creation could have destroyed
itself by everlasting concentration, could have annihilated itself with
its father Lucifer, and have lost all its claims to an equal eternity
with the Godhead. This condition the Elohim contemplated for a time,
and they had their choice, to wait for those Æons, in which the field
would again have become clear, and space would be left them for a new
creation; or, if they would, to seize upon that which existed already,
and supply the want, according to their own eternity. Now they chose
the latter, and by their mere will supplied in an instant the whole
want which the consequence of Lucifer's undertaking drew after it. They
gave to the Eternal Being the faculty of expanding itself, of moving
itself towards them; the peculiar pulse of life was again restored,
and Lucifer himself could not avoid its effects. This is the epoch
when that appeared which we know as light, and when that began which
we are accustomed to designate by the word creation. Greatly now as
this multiplied itself by progressive degrees, through the continually
working vital power of the Elohim, still a being was wanting who might
be able to restore the original connexion with the Godhead; and thus
man was produced, who in all things was to be similar, yea, equal to
the Godhead; but thereby, in effect, found himself once more in the
situation of Lucifer, that of being at once unlimited and bounded;
and, since this contradiction was to manifest itself in him through
all the categories of existence, and a perfect consciousness, as well
as a decided will, was to accompany his various conditions, it was
to be foreseen that he must be at the same time the most perfect and
the most imperfect, the most happy and the most unhappy creature. It
was not long before he, too, completely played the part of Lucifer.
True ingratitude is the separation from the benefactor, and thus that
fall was manifest for the second time, although the whole creation
is nothing and was nothing but a falling from and returning to the
original.
One easily sees how the Redemption is not only decreed from eternity,
but is considered as eternally necessary, nay, that it must ever
renew itself through the whole time of generation[4] and existence.
In this view of the subject, nothing is more natural than for the
Divinity himself to take the form of man, which had already prepared
itself as a veil, and to share his fate for a short time, in order,
by this assimilation, to enhance his joys and alleviate his sorrows.
The history of all religions and philosophies teaches us that this
great truth, indispensable for man, has been handed down by different
nations, in different times, in various ways, and even in strange
fables and images, in accordance with their limited knowledge; enough,
if it only be acknowledged that we find ourselves in a condition
which, even if it seems to drag us down and oppress us, yet gives
us opportunity, nay, even makes it our duty, to raise ourselves up,
and to fulfil the purposes of the Godhead in this manner, that while
we are compelled on the one hand to concentrate ourselves (_uns zu
verselbsten_), we, on the other hand, do not omit to expand ourselves
(_uns zu entselbstigen_) in regular pulsation.[5]
[1] "Bildende und Redende Kunst." The expression "speaking art " is
used to produce a corresponding antithesis, though "_belles lettres_"
would be the ordinary rendering.--_Trans._
[2] "Pratische Philosophen, bewusstlose Weltweisen." It is impossible
to give two substantives, as in the original, since this is effected by
using first the word of Greek, then the word of German origin, whereas
we have but one.--_Trans._
[3] Winckelmann was assassinated---_Trans._
[4] "Das Werden," the state of becoming, as distinguished from that
of being. The word, which is most useful to the Germans, can never be
rendered properly in English.--_Trans._
[5] If we could make use of some such verbs as "inself" and "unself,"
we should more accurately render this passage.--_Trans._.
NINTH BOOK
"The heart is often affected, moreover, to the advantage of different,
but especially of social and refined virtues, and the more tender
sentiments are excited and unfolded in it. Many touches, in particular,
will impress themselves, which give the young reader an insight into
the more hidden corner of the human heart and its passions--a knowledge
which is more worth than all Latin and Greek, and of which Ovid was
a very excellent master. But yet it is not on this account that the
classic poets, and therefore Ovid, are placed in the hands of youth.
We have from the kind Creator a variety of mental powers, to which we
must not neglect giving their proper culture in our earliest years, and
which cannot be cultivated either by logic or metaphysics, Latin or
Greek. We have an imagination, before which, since it should not seize
upon the very first conceptions that chance to present themselves, we
ought to place the fittest and most beautiful images, and thus accustom
and practise the mind to recognise and love the beautiful everywhere,
and in nature itself, under its determined, true, and also in its finer
features. A great quantity of conceptions and general knowledge is
necessary to us, as well for the sciences as for daily life, which can
be learned out of no compendium. Our feelings, affections, and passions
should be advantageously developed and purified."
This significant passage, which is found in the _Universal German
Library_, was not the only one of its kind. Similar principles and
similar views manifested themselves in many directions. They made
upon us lively youths a very great impression, which had the more
decided effect, as it was strengthened besides by Wieland's example;
for the works of his second brilliant period clearly showed that he
had formed himself according to such maxims. And what more could we
desire? Philosophy, with its abstruse questions, was set aside--the
classic languages, the acquisition of which is accompanied by so much
drudgery, one saw thrust into the background--the compendiums, about
the sufficiency of which Handel had already whispered a doubtful word
into the ear, came more and more into suspicion. We were directed
to the contemplation of an active life, which we were so fond of
leading, and to the knowledge of the passions which we partly felt,
partly anticipated, in our own bosoms, and which, if though they had
been rebuked formerly, now appeared to us as something important and
dignified, because they were to be the chief object of our studies,
and the knowledge of them was extolled as the most excellent means of
cultivating our mental powers. Besides this, such a mode of thought was
quite in accordance with my own conviction, nay, with my poetical mode
of treatment. I therefore, without opposition, after I had thwarted
so many good designs, and seen so many fair hopes vanish, reconciled
myself to my father's intention of sending me to Strasburg, where I was
promised a cheerful, gay life, while I should prosecute my studies, and
at last take my degree.