will always return to the path which nature has once prescribed for him.
Thus it happened also with me in the present case. The trouble I took
with the language, with the contents of the Sacred Scriptures
themselves, ended at last in producing in my imagination a livelier
picture of that beautiful and famous land, its environs and its
vicinities, as well as of the people and events by which that little
spot of earth was made glorious for thousands of years.
This small space was to see the origin and growth of the human race;
thence we were to derive our first and only accounts of primitive
history; and such a locality was to lie before our imagination, no less
simple and comprehensible than varied, and adapted to the most wonderful
migrations and settlements. Here, between four designated rivers, a
small, delightful spot was separated from the whole habitable earth, for
youthful man. Here he was to unfold his first capacities, and here at
the same time was the lot to befall him, which was appointed for all his
posterity; namely, that of losing peace by striving after knowledge.
Paradise was trifled away; men increased and grew worse; and the Elohim,
not yet accustomed to the wickedness of the new race, became impatient,
and utterly destroyed it. Only a few were saved from the universal
deluge; and scarcely had this dreadful flood ceased, than the well-known
ancestral soil lay once more before the grateful eyes of the preserved.
Two rivers out of four, the Euphrates and Tigris, still flowed in their
beds. The name of the first remained: the other seemed to be pointed out
by its course. Minuter traces of paradise were not to be looked for
after so great a revolution. The renewed race of man went forth hence a
second time: it found occasion to sustain and employ itself in all sorts
of ways, but chiefly to gather around it large herds of tame animals,
and to wander with them in every direction.
This mode of life, as well as the increase of the families, soon
compelled the people to disperse. They could not at once resolve to let
their relatives and friends go forever: they hit upon the thought of
building a lofty tower, which should show them the way back from the far
distance. But this attempt, like their first endeavor, miscarried. They
could not be at the same time happy and wise, numerous and united. The
Elohim confounded their minds; the building remained unfinished; the men
were dispersed; the world was peopled, but sundered.
But our regards, our interests, continue fixed on these regions. At last
the founder of a race again goes forth from hence, and is so fortunate
as to stamp a distinct character upon his descendants, and by that means
to unite them for all time to come into a great nation, inseparable
through all changes of place or destiny.
From the Euphrates, Abraham, not without divine guidance, wanders
towards the west. The desert opposes no invincible barrier to his march.
He attains the Jordan, passes over its waters, and spreads himself over
the fair southern regions of Palestine. This land was already occupied,
and tolerably well inhabited. Mountains, not extremely high, but rocky
and barren, were severed by many watered vales favorable to cultivation.
Towns, villages, and solitary settlements lay scattered over the plain,
and on the slopes of the great valley, the waters of which are collected
in Jordan. Thus inhabited, thus tilled, was the land: but the world was
still large enough; and the men were not so circumspect, necessitous,
and active, as to usurp at once the whole adjacent country. Between
their possessions were extended large spaces, in which grazing herds
could freely move in every direction. In one of these spaces Abraham
resides; his brother Lot is near him: but they cannot long remain in
such places. The very condition of a land, the population of which is
now increasing, now decreasing, and the productions of which are never
kept in equilibrium with the wants, produces unexpectedly a famine; and
the stranger suffers alike with the native, whose own support he has
rendered difficult by his accidental presence. The two Chaldean brothers
move onward to Egypt; and thus is traced out for us the theatre on
which, for some thousands of years, the most important events of the
world were to be enacted. From the Tigris to the Euphrates, from the
Euphrates to the Nile, we see the earth peopled; and this space also is
traversed by a well-known, heaven-beloved man, who has already become
worthy to us, moving to and fro with his goods and cattle, and, in a
short time, abundantly increasing them. The brothers return; but, taught
by the distress they have endured, they determine to part. Both, indeed,
tarry in Southern Canaan; but while Abraham remains at Hebron, near the
wood of Mamre, Lot departs for the valley of Siddim, which, if our
imagination is bold enough to give Jordan a subterranean outlet, so
that, in place of the present Dead Sea, we should have dry ground, can
and must appear like a second Paradise,--a conjecture all the more
probable, because the residents about there, notorious for effeminacy
and wickedness, lead us to infer that they led an easy and luxurious
life. Lot lives among them, but apart.
But Hebron and the wood of Mamre appear to us as the important place
where the Lord speaks with Abraham, and promises him all the land as far
as his eye can reach in four directions. From these quiet districts,
from these shepherd-tribes, who can associate with celestials, entertain
them as guests, and hold many conversations with them, we are compelled
to turn our glance once more towards the East, and to think of the
condition of the surrounding world, which, on the whole, perhaps, may
have been like that of Canaan.
Families hold together: they unite, and the mode of life of the tribes
is determined by the locality which they have appropriated or
appropriate. On the mountains which send down their waters to the
Tigris, we find warlike populations, who even thus early foreshadow
those world-conquerors and world-rulers, and in a campaign, prodigious
for those times, give us a prelude of future achievements. Chedor
Laomer, king of Elam, has already a mighty influence over his allies. He
reigns a long while; for twelve years before Abraham's arrival in
Canaan, he had made all the people tributary to him as far as the
Jordan. They revolted at last, and the allies equipped for war. We find
them unawares upon a route by which, probably, Abraham also reached
Canaan. The people on the left and lower side of the Jordan were
subdued. Chedor Laomer directs his march southwards towards the people
of the Desert; then, wending north, he smites the Amalekites; and, when
he has also overcome the Amorites, he reaches Canaan, falls upon the
kings of the valley of Siddim, smites and scatters them, and marches
with great spoil up the Jordan, in order to extend his conquests as far
as Lebanon.
Among the captives, despoiled, and dragged along with their property, is
Lot, who shares the fate of the country in which he lives a guest.
Abraham learns this, and here at once we behold the patriarch a warrior
and hero. He hurriedly gathers his servants, divides them into troops,
attacks and falls upon the luggage of booty, confuses the victors, who
could not suspect another enemy in the rear, and brings back his brother
and his goods, with a great deal more belonging to the conquered kings.
Abraham, by means of this brief contest, acquires, as it were, the whole
land. To the inhabitants he appears as a protector, savior, and, by his
disinterestedness, a king. Gratefully the kings of the valley receive
him; Melchisedek, the king and priest, with blessings.
Now the prophecies of an endless posterity are renewed; nay, they take a
wider and wider scope. From the waters of the Euphrates to the river of
Egypt all the lands are promised him, but yet there seems a difficulty
with respect to his next heirs. He is eighty years of age, and has no
son. Sarai, less trusting in the heavenly powers than he, becomes
impatient: she desires, after the Oriental fashion, to have a
descendant, by means of her maid. But no sooner is Hagar given up to the
master of the house, no sooner is there hope of a son, than dissensions
arise. The wife treats her own dependant ill enough, and Hagar flies to
seek a happier position among other tribes. She returns, not without a
higher intimation, and Ishmael is born.
Abraham is now ninety-nine years old, and the promises of a numerous
posterity are constantly repeated: so that, in the end, the pair regard
them as ridiculous. And yet Sarai becomes at last pregnant, and brings
forth a son, to whom the name of Isaac is given.
History, for the most part, rests upon the legitimate propagation of the
human race. The most important events of the world require to be traced
to the secrets of families, and thus the marriages of the patriarchs
give occasion for peculiar considerations. It is as if the Divinity, who
loves to guide the destiny of mankind, wished to prefigure here
connubial events of every kind. Abraham, so long united by childless
marriage to a beautiful woman whom many coveted, finds himself, in his
hundredth year, the husband of two women, the father of two sons; and at
this moment his domestic peace is broken. Two women, and two sons by
different mothers, cannot possibly agree. The party less favored by law,
usage, and opinion must yield. Abraham must sacrifice his attachment to
Hagar and Ishmael. Both are dismissed; and Hagar is compelled now,
against her will, to go upon a road which she once took in voluntary
flight, at first, it seems, to the destruction of herself and child; but
the angel of the Lord, who had before sent her back, now rescues her
again, that Ishmael also may become a great people, and that the most
improbable of all promises may be fulfilled beyond its limits.
Two parents in advanced years, and one son of their old age--here, at
last, one might expect domestic quiet and earthly happiness. By no
means. Heaven is yet preparing the heaviest trial for the patriarch. But
of this we cannot speak without premising several considerations.
If a natural universal religion was to arise, and a special revealed one
to be developed from it, the countries in which our imagination has
hitherto lingered, the mode of life, the race of men, were the fittest
for the purpose. At least, we do not find in the whole world any thing
equally favorable and encouraging. Even to natural religion, if we
assume that it arose earlier in the human mind, there pertains much of
delicacy of sentiment; for it rests upon the conviction of an universal
providence, which conducts the order of the world as a whole. A
particular religion, revealed by Heaven to this or that people, carries
with it the belief in a special providence, which the Divine Being
vouchsafes to certain favored men, families, races, and people. This
faith seems to develop itself with difficulty from man's inward nature.
It requires tradition, usage, and the warrant of a primitive time.
Beautiful is it, therefore, that the Israelitish tradition represents
the very first men who confide in this particular providence as heroes
of faith, following all the commands of that high Being on whom they
acknowledge themselves dependent, just as blindly as, undisturbed by
doubts, they are unwearied in awaiting the later fulfilments of his
promises.
As a particular revealed religion rests upon the idea that one man may
be more favored by Heaven than another, so it also arises pre-eminently
from the separation of classes. The first men appeared closely allied,
but their employments soon divided them. The hunter was the freest of
all: from him was developed the warrior and the ruler. Those who tilled
the field bound themselves to the soil, erected dwellings and barns to
preserve what they had gained, and could estimate themselves pretty
highly, because their condition promised durability and security. The
herdsman in his position seemed to have acquired the most unbounded
condition and unlimited property. The increase of herds proceeded
without end, and the space which was to support them widened itself on
all sides. These three classes seemed from the very first to have
regarded each other with dislike and contempt; and as the herdsman was
an abomination to the townsman, so did he in turn separate from the
other. The hunters vanish from our sight among the hills, and reappear
only as conquerors.
The patriarchs belonged to the shepherd class. Their manner of life upon
the ocean of deserts and pastures gave breadth and freedom to their
minds; the vault of heaven, under which they dwelt, with all its nightly
stars, elevated their feelings; and they, more than the active, skilful
huntsman, or the secure, careful, householding husbandman, had need of
the immovable faith that a God walked beside them, visited them, cared
for them, guided and saved them.
We are compelled to make another reflection in passing to the rest of
the history. Humane, beautiful, and cheering as the religion of the
patriarchs appears, yet traits of savageness and cruelty run through it,
out of which man may emerge, or into which he may again be sunk.
That hatred should seek to appease itself by the blood, by the death, of
the conquered enemy, is natural; that men concluded a peace upon the
battle-field among the ranks of the slain may easily be conceived; that
they should in like manner think to give validity to a contract by slain
animals, follows from the preceding. The notion also that slain
creatures could attract, propitiate, and gain over the gods, whom they
always looked upon as partisans, either opponents or allies, is likewise
not at all surprising. But if we confine our attention to the
sacrifices, and consider the way in which they were offered in that
primitive time, we find a singular, and, to our notions, altogether
repugnant, custom, probably derived from the usages of war; viz., that
the sacrificed animals of every kind, and whatever number was devoted,
had to be hewn in two halves, and laid out on two sides: so that in the
space between them were those who wished to make a covenant with the
Deity.
Another dreadful feature wonderfully and portentously pervades that fair
world; namely, that whatever had been consecrated or vowed must die.
This also was probably a usage of war transferred to peace. The
inhabitants of a city which forcibly defends itself are threatened with
such a vow: it is taken by storm or otherwise. Nothing is left alive;
men never: and often women, children, and even cattle, share a similar
fate. Such sacrifices are rashly and superstitiously and with more or
less distinctness promised to the gods; and those whom the votary would
willingly spare, even his nearest of kin, his own children, may thus
bleed, the expiatory victims of such a delusion.
In the mild and truly patriarchal character of Abraham, such a savage
kind of worship could not arise; but the Godhead, [Footnote: It should
be observed, that in this biblical narrative, when we have used the
expressions, "Deity," "Godhead," or "Divinity," Goethe generally has
"die Götter," or "the Gods."--TRANS.] which often, to tempt us, seems to
put forth those qualities which man is inclined to assign to it, imposes
a monstrous task upon him. He must offer up his son as a pledge of the
new covenant, and, if he follows the usage, not only kill and burn him,
but cut him in two, and await between the smoking entrails a new promise
from the benignant Deity. Abraham, blindly and without lingering,
prepares to execute the command: to Heaven the will is sufficient.
Abraham's trials are now at an end, for they could not be carried
farther. But Sarai dies, and this gives Abraham an opportunity for
taking typical possession of the land of Canaan. He requires a grave,
and this is the first time he looks out for a possession in this earth.
He had before this probably sought out a twofold cave by the grove of
Mamre. This he purchases, with the adjacent field; and the legal form
which he observes on the occasion shows how important this possession is
to him. Indeed, it was more so, perhaps, than he himself supposed: for
there he, his sons and his grandsons, were to rest; and by this means
the proximate title to the whole land, as well as the everlasting desire
of his posterity to gather themselves there, was most properly grounded.
From this time forth the manifold incidents of the family life become
varied. Abraham still keeps strictly apart from the inhabitants; and
though Ishmael, the son of an Egyptian woman, has married a daughter of
that land, Isaac is obliged to wed a kinswoman of equal birth with
himself.
Abraham despatches his servant to Mesopotamia, to the relatives whom he
had left behind there. The prudent Eleazer arrives unknown, and, in
order to take home the right bride, tries the readiness to serve of the
girls at the well. He asks to be permitted to drink; and Rebecca,
unasked, waters his camels also. He gives her presents, he demands her
in marriage, and his suit is not rejected. He conducts her to the home
of his lord, and she is wedded to Isaac. In this case, too, issue has to
be long expected. Rebecca is not blessed until after some years of
probation; and the same discord, which, in Abraham's double marriage,
arose through two mothers, here proceeds from one. Two boys of opposite
characters wrestle already in their mother's womb. They come to light,
the elder lively and vigorous, the younger gentle and prudent. The
former becomes the father's, the latter the mother's, favorite. The
strife for precedence, which begins even at birth, is ever going on.
Esau is quiet and indifferent as to the birthright which fate has given
him: Jacob never forgets that his brother forced him back. Watching
every opportunity of gaining the desirable privilege, he buys the
birthright of his brother, and defrauds him of their father's blessing.
Esau is indignant, and vows his brother's death: Jacob flees to seek his
fortune in the land of his forefathers.
Now, for the first time, in so noble a family appears a member who has
no scruple in attaining by prudence and cunning the advantages which
nature and circumstances have denied him. It has often enough been
remarked and expressed, that the Sacred Scriptures by no means intend to
set up any of the patriarchs and other divinely favored men as models of
virtue. They, too, are persons of the most different characters, with
many defects and failings. But there is one leading trait, in which none
of these men after God's own heart can be wanting: that is, unshaken
faith that God has them and their families in his special keeping.
General, natural religion, properly speaking, requires no faith; for the
persuasion that a great producing, regulating, and conducting Being
conceals himself, as it were, behind Nature, to make himself
comprehensible to us--such a conviction forces itself upon every one.
Nay, if we for a moment let drop this thread, which conducts us through
life, it may be immediately and everywhere resumed. But it is different
with a special religion, which announces to us that this Great Being
distinctly and pre-eminently interests himself for one individual, one
family, one people, one country. This religion is founded on faith,
which must be immovable if it would not be instantly destroyed. Every
doubt of such a religion is fatal to it. One may return to conviction,
but not to faith. Hence the endless probation, the delay in the
fulfilment of so often repeated promises, by which the capacity for
faith in those ancestors is set in the clearest light.
It is in this faith also that Jacob begins his expedition; and if, by
his craft and deceit, he has not gained our affections, he wins them by
his lasting and inviolable love for Rachel, whom he himself wooes on the
instant, as Eleazar had courted Rebecca for his father. In him the
promise of a countless people was first to be fully unfolded: he was to
see many sons around him, but through them and their mothers was to
endure manifold sorrows of heart.
Seven years he serves for his beloved, without impatience and without
wavering. His father-in-law, crafty like himself, and disposed, like
him, to consider legitimate this means to an end, deceives him, and so
repays him for what he has done to his brother. Jacob finds in his arms
a wife whom he does not love. Laban, indeed, endeavors to appease him,
by giving him his beloved also after a short time, and this but on the
condition of seven years of further service. Vexation arises out of
vexation. The wife he does not love is fruitful: the beloved one bears
no children. The latter, like Sarai, desires to become a mother through
her handmaiden: the former grudges her even this advantage. She also
presents her husband with a maid, but the good patriarch is now the most
troubled man in the world. He has four women, children by three, and
none from her he loves. Finally she also is favored; and Joseph comes
into the world, the late fruit of the most passionate attachment.
Jacob's fourteen years of service are over; but Laban is unwilling to
part with him, his chief and most trusty servant. They enter into a new
compact, and portion the flocks between them. Laban retains the white
ones, as most numerous: Jacob has to put up with the spotted ones, as
the mere refuse. But he is able here, too, to secure his own advantage:
and as by a paltry mess (/of pottage/) he had procured the
birthright, and, by a disguise, his father's blessing, he manages by art
and sympathy to appropriate to himself the best and largest part of the
herds; and on this side also he becomes the truly worthy progenitor of
the people of Israel, and a model for his descendants. Laban and his
household remark the result, if not the stratagem. Vexation ensues:
Jacob flees with his family and goods, and partly by fortune, partly by
cunning, escapes the pursuit of Laban. Rachel is now about to present
him another son, but dies in the travail; Benjamin, the child of sorrow,
survives her; but the aged father is to experience a still greater
sorrow from the apparent loss of his son Joseph.
Perhaps some one may ask why I have so circumstantially narrated
histories so universally known, and so often repeated and explained. Let
the inquirer be satisfied with the answer, that I could in no other way
exhibit how, with my life full of diversion, and with my desultory
education, I concentrated my mind and feelings in quiet action on one
point; that I was able in no other way to depict the peace that
prevailed about me, even when all without was so wild and strange. When
an ever busy imagination, of which that tale may bear witness, led me
hither and thither; when the medley of fable and history, mythology and
religion, threatened to bewilder me,--I liked to take refuge in those
Oriental regions, to plunge into the first books of Moses, and to find
myself there, amid the scattered shepherd-tribes, at the same time in
the greatest solitude and the greatest society.