Concerning Culture-Philistinism, David Strauss makes a double
confession, by word and by deed; that is to say, by the word of the
confessor, and the act of the writer. His book entitled _The Old Faith
and the New _is, first in regard to its contents, and secondly in
regard to its being a book and a literary production, an uninterrupted
confession; while, in the very fact that he allows himself to write
confessions at all about his faith, there already lies a confession.
Presumably, every one seems to have the right to compile an
autobiography after his fortieth year; for the humblest amongst us may
have experienced things, and may have seen them at such close
quarters, that the recording of them may prove of use and value to the
thinker. But to write a confession of one's faith cannot but be
regarded as a thousand times more pretentious, since it takes for
granted that the writer attaches worth, not only to the experiences
and investigations of his life, but also to his beliefs. Now, what the
nice thinker will require to know, above all else, is the kind of
faith which happens to be compatible with natures of the Straussian
order, and what it is they have "half dreamily conjured up" (p. 10)
concerning matters of which those alone have the right to speak who
are acquainted with them at first hand. Whoever would have desired to
possess the confessions, say, of a Ranke or a Mommsen? And these men
were scholars and historians of a very different stamp from David
Strauss. If, however, they had ever ventured to interest us in their
faith instead of in their scientific investigations, we should have
felt that they were overstepping their limits in a most irritating
fashion. Yet Strauss does this when he discusses his faith. Nobody
wants to know anything about it, save, perhaps, a few bigoted
opponents of the Straussian doctrines, who, suspecting, as they do, a
substratum of satanic principles beneath these doctrines, hope that he
may compromise his learned utterances by revealing the nature of those
principles. These clumsy creatures may, perhaps, have found what they
sought in the last book; but we, who had no occasion to suspect a
satanic substratum, discovered nothing of the sort, and would have
felt rather pleased than not had we been able to discern even a dash
of the diabolical in any part of the volume. But surely no evil spirit
could speak as Strauss speaks of his new faith. In fact, spirit in
general seems to be altogether foreign to the book--more particularly
the spirit of genius. Only those whom Strauss designates as his "We,"
speak as he does, and then, when they expatiate upon their faith to
us, they bore us even more than when they relate their dreams; be they
"scholars, artists, military men, civil employés, merchants, or landed
proprietors; come they in their thousands, and not the worst people in
the land either!" If they do not wish to remain the peaceful ones in
town or county, but threaten to wax noisy, then let not the din of
their _unisono_ deceive us concerning the poverty and vulgarity of the
melody they sing. How can it dispose us more favourably towards a
profession of faith to hear that it is approved by a crowd, when it is
of such an order that if any individual of that crowd attempted to
make it known to us, we should not only fail to hear him out, but
should interrupt him with a yawn? If thou sharest such a belief, we
should say unto him, in Heaven's name, keep it to thyself! Maybe, in
the past, some few harmless types looked for the thinker in David
Strauss; now they have discovered the "believer" in him, and are
disappointed. Had he kept silent, he would have remained, for these,
at least, the philosopher; whereas, now, no one regards him as such.
He no longer craved the honours of the thinker, however; all he wanted
to be was a new believer, and he is proud of his new belief. In making
a written declaration of it, he fancied he was writing the catechism
of "modern thought," and building the "broad highway of the world's
future." Indeed, our Philistines have ceased to be faint-hearted and
bashful, and have acquired almost cynical assurance. There was a time,
long, long ago, when the Philistine was only tolerated as something
that did not speak, and about which no one spoke; then a period ensued
during which his roughness was smoothed, during which he was found
amusing, and people talked about him. Under this treatment he
gradually became a prig, rejoiced with all his heart over his rough
places and his wrongheaded and candid singularities, and began to
talk, on his own account, after the style of Riehl's music for the
home.
"But what do I see? Is it a shadow? Is it reality? How long and broad
my poodle grows!"
For now he is already rolling like a hippopotamus along "the broad
highway of the world's future," and his growling and barking have
become transformed into the proud incantations of a religious founder.
And is it your own sweet wish, Great Master, to found the religion of
the future? "The times seem to us not yet ripe (p. 7). It does not
occur to us to wish to destroy a church." But why not, Great Master?
One but needs the ability. Besides, to speak quite openly in the
latter, you yourself are convinced that you Possess this ability. Look
at the last page of your book. There you actually state, forsooth,
that your new way "alone is the future highway of the world, which now
only requires partial completion, and especially general use, in order
also to become easy and pleasant."
Make no further denials, then. The religious founder is unmasked, the
convenient and agreeable highway leading to the Straussian Paradise is
built. It is only the coach in which you wish to convey us that does
not altogether satisfy you, unpretentious man that you are! You tell
us in your concluding remarks: "Nor will I pretend that the coach to
which my esteemed readers have been obliged to trust themselves with
me fulfils every requirement,... all through one is much jolted" (p.
438). Ah! you are casting about for a compliment, you gallant old
religious founder! But let us be straightforward with you. If your
reader so regulates the perusal of the 368 pages of your religious
catechism as to read only one page a day--that is to say, if he take
it in the smallest possible doses-then, perhaps, we should be able to
believe that he might suffer some evil effect from the book--if only
as the outcome of his vexation when the results he expected fail to
make themselves felt. Gulped down more heartily, however, and as much
as possible being taken at each draught, according to the prescription
to be recommended in the case of all modern books, the drink can work
no mischief; and, after taking it, the reader will not necessarily be
either out of sorts or out of temper, but rather merry and
well-disposed, as though nothing had happened; as though no religion
had been assailed, no world's highway been built, and no profession of
faith been made. And I do indeed call this a result! The doctor, the
drug, and the disease--everything forgotten! And the joyous laughter!
The continual provocation to hilarity! You are to be envied, Sir; for
you have founded the most attractive of all religions--one whose
followers do honour to its founder by laughing at him.