GERMANY; ^ BAHONESS STAKL.HOLSTEm, TRANSLATED FR0:M THE FRENCH, THREE VOLUJMES IJV r;. U PUBLISHED BY EASTBLTIN, KIRK A:m3 C I AT TEE LITEEAKT ROOrtrs, 1814, Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2015 https://archive.org/details/germany21stae CONTENTS. CONTINUATION OF PART SECOND. OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. C'HAP. XXIV. Luther, Attila^ The Sons of the Valley^ The Cross on the Baltic^ The Tioenty -fourth of G'ha . XXV. Various Pieces of the German and Danish Theatre = 19 Ghap. XXVI. Of Comedy - , - . . 30 Chap. XXVII. Of Declamation - - ^ . ► 42 CfiAP. XXVIII. Of JVovels - = . . - $Z Chap. XXIX. Of German Historians, and of J. de Miil- ler in particular „ 75 CuAP. XXX. Herder 82 Chap. XXXI Of the Literary Treasures of Germany, and of its most renormed Critics, A. W. and F. Schlegel 86 Chap. XXXII. Of the Fine Arts in Germany - - 97 PART THE THIRD. PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. Chap. I. Of Philosophy - - . - - , 109 Chap. 11. Of English Philosophy - . - . H4 Chap. III. Of French Philosophy . « - . 127 Chap. IV. Of the Ridicide introduced by a certain Species of Philosophy - - - . . , . Chap. V. General Observations upon German Philosophy 141 Chap. VI. Kant I49 Chap. VU. Of the most celebrated Philosophers before and after Kant - - . . . . , ^66 Chap. ^' m. Ivfnence of the new German Philosophy over the Development of the Mind - ^ . . 182 CONTE-NTS-, Chap. IX. Influence of the new German Philosophy on Lit- erature and the Arts - Page 186 Chap. X. Lifluence of thenew Philosophy on the Sciences 192 Chap. XI. Infiuence of tlie new Philosophy upon the Char- acter of the Germans 204 Chap. Xn. Of the moral System^ founded upon persotial Interest - - 208 Chap. XIII. Of the moral System founded upon JVational Interest 214 Chap. XIV. Of the Principle of JMorals in the new Ger- man Philosop/ty - 223 Chap. XV. Of scientific Morality - - - - 229 Chap. XVI. Jacobi - - 232 Chap. XVII. Of Woldemar 237 Chap. XVIII. Of a ro7nantic Bias in the Affections of the Heart - - - 239 Chap. XIX. Of Love in MarHage - - - - 243 Chap. XX JModern Writers of the ancient School in Ger- many - 249 Chap. XXI. Of Ignorance and Frivolity of Spirit in their Eelations to Morals 255 PART THE FOURTH. RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. Chap. I. General Considerations upon Religionin Germany 261 Chap. 11. Of Protestantism _ . _ - . 267 Chap. III. Moravian Mode of TVorsMp • - - 275 Chap. IV. Of Catholicism ------ 279 Chap. V. Of the reIigio7is Disposition called Mysticism 288 Chap. VI. Of Pain 299 Chap, VII. Of the religious Philosophers called Theosophists 307 Chap. VIII. Of the Spirit of Sectarismiii Germany - 310 Chap. IX. Of the Contemplation of JVature - - 317 Chap. X. Of Enthusiasm 328 Chap. XI. Of the Infuence of Enthxisiasm on Learning 332 Chap. XII. Influence of Enthusiasm upon Happiness'. - 337 PART IL iCONTINUED.) OF LITERATURE x\ND THE ARTS. CHAPTER XXIV. Luther^ Attila^ The Sons of the Valley^ The Cross on the Baltic^ The T%v en ty -fourth of February^ by Wer- ner. Since Schiller is no more, and Goethe has ceased to write for the stage, the first dramatic author of Ger- many is Werner : nobody has known better than he how to throw over tragedy the charm and the dignity of lyric poetry ; nevertheless, that which renders him so admirable as a poet, is prejudicial to his success in the representation. His pieces, which are of a rare beauty, if we look only at the songs, the odes, the reli gious and philosophical sentiments that abound in themj are extremely open to attack, when considered as dra- mas for action. It is not that Werner is deficient in theatrical talent, or even that he is not much better acquainted with its effects than the generality of Ger* VOL. II. A 6 GF LITERATURE AND Tim ARTS. man writers ; but it seems as if he wished to propa- gate a mystical system of love and religion by the help of the dramatic art, and that his tragedies are the means he makes use of, rather than the end he propo- ses to himself. " Luther," though entirely composed with this se- cret intention, has met with the greatest success on the stage of Berlin. The reformation is an event of high importance for the world, and particularly for Germany, which was its cradle. The hardihood and reflective heroism of Luther's character make a lively impression, especially in a country where thought fills up by itself alone all the measure of existence : no subject, then, is capable of m-ore strongly exciting the attention of Germans. Whatever regards the effect of the new opinions on the minds of men, is extremely well painted in this play of Werner's. The scene opens in the mines of Saxony, not far from Wittemberg, the dwelling-ptace of Luther: the song of the miners captivates the im- agination ; the burthen of this song is always an ad- dress to the upper earth, the free air, and the sun. These uneducated men, already laid hold of by Lu- ther's doctrine, discourse together about him and about the reiormation ; and, in the obscurity of their subterraneous abodes, employ their minds about lib- erty of conscience, the er^quiry after truth, this new day, in short, this new light, that is to penetrate the darkness of ignorance. In the second act, the agents of the Elector of Sax- pny come to throw open to the nuns the doors of their convents. This scene which might be rendered com- ic, is treated with an affecting solemnity. Werner in- timately com.prehends ail the diversities of Christian worship ; and if he rightly corxeives the noble simpli- city of Protestantism, he also knows the severe sanc- tity of vows made at the foot of the cross. The ab- bess of the convent, in casting off the veil which had covered the dark ringlets of her youth, and now con- ceals her whitened locks, expe? iences a sentiment of alarm at once pathetic and natural ; and expresses her OF THE DRA^iAS OF A^TLRNER. ■7 sorrow in verses harmonious aiul pure as the solitude of her religious retirement Among- these female re- cluses is she who is afterwards to be united to Lutner, and she is at that moinent the most adverse of ail to his infmeace. Among the beauties of this act. must be reckoned the portrait of Charles the Fifth, of that sovereign whose soul is weary of the empire of the world. A Saxon gentleman attached to his service thus expres- ses himself concerning him : " This gigantic man," he says, '» has do heart enclosed within his frightful " breast. The thunderbolt of the Almighty is in his hand ; but he knows not how to join with it the " apotheosis of love. He is like the young eagle that " grasps the entire globe of earth in one of his talons, " and is about to devour it for his food.'' These few words are worthy to announce Charles the Fifth ; but it is more easy to paint such a character, thau to make it speak for itself. Luther trusts to the word of Charles the Fifth, al- though a hundred years before, at the Council of Con- stance, John Huss and Jerome of Prague had been burnt alive, notwithstanding the safe conduct of the Emperor Sigism.und. On the eve of repairing to Worms, where the Diet of the Empire is held, Lu- ther's courage fails him for a few moments ; he feels himself seized v.-ith terror and misgiving. His young disciple brings him the fiute on which he was accus- tomed to play to restore his depressed spirits ; he takes it, and its harmonious concords reproduce in his heart all that confidence in God, whicli is the wonder of spiritual existence. It is said that this moment ex- cited great sensation on the Berlin stage, and it is easy to conceive it. Words, however beautiful, cannot ef- fect 50 sudden a change of our inward disposition as music; Luther considered it as an art appertaining to theology, and powerfully conducive to the deveiop- inent of religious sentiment, in the human heart. The part of Charles the Fifth, in the Diet oi Worms, is not exempt from affectation, and is consequently wanting in grandeur. The author has attempted to 8 OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. ?piit in opposition the pride of the Spaniards and the rude sitnpjicity of theGernians; but, besides that, Charles the Fifth was endowed with too vast a g-enius to belong either to- tliis or that nation exclusively, it seems to me that Werner should have taken care not to represent a rnan, of an arbitrary will, as openly, and above ail uselessly, proclaiming that wili. It loses itself, as it were by beine^ expressed ; and despotic sovereigns have always excited more fear by what they concealed than by what they displayed to sight. Werner, with all the wildness of his imagination, possesses a very acute and a very observing mind ; but it seems to me that, in the part of Charles the Fifth, lie has made use of colours that are not varied like those of nature. One of the fine situations of this play, is the pro- cession 10 the Diet of the bishops, the cardinals, and all the pomp of the Catholic religion on one side ; and of Luther, Melancthon, and some of their disciples of the reformed fahh, clothed in black, and singing in their na ional tongue the canticle, beginning. Our God ■2s our place of strength^ on the other. External mag» nificence has often been boasted as a means of acting upon the imagination ; but when Christianity displays itself in its pure and genuine simplicity, that poetry Avhich speaks from the bottom of the soul bears the palm from ali others. The act in which Luther pleads in presence of Charles the Fifth, the princes of the empire, and the diet, opens with the discourse of Luther; but only its peroration is heard, because he is judged to have already said all that concerns his doctrine. After he lias spoken, the opinioiis of the princes and deputies are collected respecting his suit. The different inter- ests by which men are agitated, fear, fanaticism, am = bition, are all perfectly characterised in these opinions.. One of the voters, among others, says much in favour of Luther and of his doctrine ; but he adds, at the same time, " that, since all the world affirms that the empire is troubled by it, he is of opinion, though « much against his inclination, that Luther ought to O? THE DRAMAS OF -WERNEH. 9 <^ be burnt." One cannot help admiring, in the works of Werner, the perfect knowieds;c of mankind thai he possesses, and it were to be wished that he would descend fr©m his reveries a little oftener, and place his foot on the earth to deveiope in his dramatic wri- tings that observing: spirit. Luther is dismissed by Charles the Fifth, and shut up for some time in the fortress of Wurtzburg, be- cause his friends, with the Elector of Saxony at iheir head, believed him to be more secure there. He re- •appears at las<. in Wittenberg, where he has estab- lished his doctrine, as well as throughout the North of Germany. Towards the conclusion of the filth act, Luther preaches in the middle of the night in the church against ancient errors. He announces their speedy disappearance, and the new day of reason that is about to dawn. At this instant on the stage of Berlin, the tapers are seen to go out one after another, and the first break of morning appears through the windows of the Gothic cathedral. The drama of Luther is so animated, so varied, that it is easy to conceive how it must have ravished all the spectators ; nevertheless we are often distracted from the principal idea by singularities and allegories, which are ill suited to a historical subject, and partic- ularly so to theatrical representation. Catherine, on perceiving Luther, whom she de- tested, exclaims : — " he is my ideal 1" and immedi- ately the most violent love takes possession of her soul. Werner believes that there is predestination in jove, and that beings who are made for each other, recognize at first sight. I'his is a very agreeable doc- trine of metaphysics, and adnnrably well fitted for madrigals, but which would hardly be comprehended on the stage ; besides nothing can be more strange than this exclamation of idealism as addressed to Martin Luther ; for he is represented to us as a fat monk, learned and scholastic, very ill suited to have applied to him the most romantic expression that can be borrowed from the modern theory of the fine arts, 16 OF LITERATURE AND Tlffi ARTS. | Two ang'els, under the form of a youn^ mars, tho disciple of Luther, and a yoiinj^ girl, the friend of Catherine, seem to pass through the whole perform- ance with hyacinths and ])alms, 9s symbols of puri- ty and of faith. These two ang-els disappear at the end, and the imag-ination follows them into the air i but the pathetic is less strongly felt when fanciful pic- tures are made use ot to embellish the situation ; it is a new sort of pleasure, no longer that to which the emotions of the soul give birth: for compassion ccn- iiot exist without sympathy. We wish to judge of characters on the stage as of really existing persons ; to censure or approve their actions, to guess them, to comprehend ihem, to transport ourselves into their places, so as to experience all the interest of real life, "without dreading its dangers. The opinions of Werner, in respect to love and re- ligion, ought not to be slightly examined. What he feels is assuredly true for him ; but since, in these rc" spects particularly, every individual has a different point of view and different impressions, it is not right that an author should make an art which is essentially universal and popular, conduce to the propagation of bis own personal opinions. Another very fine and very original production of Werner's is liis " Attila." The author takes up the history of this scourge of God at the moment of his appearance before the gates of Rome. The first act opens with the lamentations of women and childreru who have just escaped from the ashes of Aquileia * and this exposition-into action not only excites interest from the first, but gives a terrible idea of the power of Attila. It is a necessary art for the stage, to make known the principal characters, rather by the effect they produce on those about the'm, than by a portrait, how striking soever. A single man, multiplied by those who obey him, fills Asia and Europe with con- sternation. Wiiat a gigantic image of despotic will does this spectacle afford us. Next to the character of Attila is that of a prin- ces of Burgundy, Hiidegonde, wiio is ab®ut to be tJF THE DRAMAS OP WEENER. u iinited to him, and by whom he imagines himself be= loved. This princess harbours a deep feeiing- of ven- geance against him for the deaths of her father and lover. She is resolved to marry, only that she may assassinate him; and, by a singular refinement of ha* tred, she nurses him when wounded, that he may not die the honourable deatli of a soldier. This woman is painted like the goddess of war; her fair hair and her scarlet vest seem to unite in her person the images of weakness and fury. It is a mysterious character, which at first takes strong hold on the imagination ; but, when this mystery goes on continually encreas- - ing, whcH the poet gives us to suppose that an infer- nal power has obtained possession of her, and that not only, at the end of the piece, she immolates Attila on the wedding night, but stabs his son, of the age ot fourteen years, by his side, this creature loses all the features of womanhood, and the aversion she inspires gains the ascendency over the terror she is otherwise calculated to excite. Nevertheless, this whole part of Hildegonde is an original invention ; and, in an epic poem, which might admit of allev orical personages, this Fury in the disguise of gentleness, attached to the steps of a tyrant, like perfidious Flattery, might doubtless produce a grand effect. At last, this terribie Attila appears, in the midst of the flames that have consumed the city of Aquileia ; he seats himself on the ruins of tiie palace he has just de- stroyed, and seems charged w-itn the task of accom- plishing alone, in a single day, the work of ages. He has a sort of superstition, as it were, that centres in his own person, is himself the object of his own worship, believes in himself, regards himself as the instrument of the decrees of heaven, and this conviction mingles a certain system of equity with his crimes. He re- proaciies his enem.ies with their faults as if he had not conmiitted more than all of them ; he is a ferocious, and yet a generous barbarian, he is despotic, anci yet show^s himself faithful to his word ; to conclude, in the isaidst of ail the riches of the warid he lives a soldier^ 12 OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. and asks nothing of earth but the enjoyment of sub« duing her. Attila performs the functions of a judge in the pub* lie square, and there pronounces sentence on the crimes that are brought before his tribunal, with a natural in- stinct that penetrates deeper into the principles of ac- tion than abstract laws, which decide alike upon cases materially different. He condemns his friend who is guilty of perjury, embraces him in tears, but orders that he shall be instantly torn to pieces by horses ; he is guided by the notion of an inflexible necessity, and his own will appears to him to constitute that necessity. The emotions of his soul have a sort of rapidity and decision which excludes all shades of distinction ; it seems as if that soul bore itself altogether, with the irresistible impulse of physical strength, in the direc- tion It follows. At last they bring before his tribunal a man who has slain his brother ; having himself been guilty of the same crime, he is strongly agitated, and refuses to be the judge of the culprit. Attila, with all his transgressions, believed himself charged with the accomplishment of the divine justice on earth, and, when called upon to condemn another for an out- rage similar to that by which his own life has been soiled, somethmg in the nature of remorse takes pos- session of him to the very bottom of his soul The second act is a truly admirable representation of the court of Valentinian at Rome. The author brings on the stage, with equal sagacity and justice, the frivolity of the young emperor, who is not turned aside by the impending ruin of his empire from his ac- customed range of dis->ipations ; the insolence of the Empress-mother, wno knows not how to sacrifice the least portion of her animosities to the safety oi the stale, and who abandons herself to the most abject baseness, the moment any personal danger threatens her. The courtiers, indefati gable in ii.trigue, sliii seek each other's ruin on the eve of the ruin of all ; and an-, cient Rome is punished by a barbarian for the tyranny she exercised over the rest of the world ; this picture is wortiiy of a poetical historian like Tacitus. ©F THE BH ATvIAS OF 13 In the midst of charactei s 6o true, appears Pope Leor a sublime personage furnished by history, and the princess Honoria, whose inheritance is claimed by Attila for the purpose of restoring it to her. Honoria sec ret jy imbibes a passionate love for the p.roud con- queror whom she has never beheld, but whose glory has enflamcd her imagination. We see that the au- thor's intention has been to make Kildegonde and Ho- noria the good and evil genius of Attila ; and from the moment we perceive the allegory which we fancy to be wrapped up in these personages, the dramatic interest •which they are otherwise calculated to inspire grows co!d. This interest, nevertheless, is admirably reviv- ed in many scenes of the play, particularly when At- tila, after having defeat- d the armies of ihe emperor Valentinian, marches to Rome, and meets on his road Pope Leo, borne in a litter, and preceded by ail the pomp of the priesthccd. Leo calls upon him, in the name of God, to abstain from entering the eternal city. Attila immediately expe- riences a religious terror, tiil that moment a stranger to Ins soul. He fancies that he beholds - St. Peter in heaven, standing with a drawn sword to prohibit his ad- vance. Tiiis scene is the subject of an admirable pic- ture of Raphael's. On one side, a calm dignity reigns in the figure of the defenceless old man, surrounded by other men, who all, like himself, repose with con- fidence in the protection of God ; and on the other, consternation is painted on the formidable countenance of the king of the Huns ; his very horse rears v/ith afTright at the blaze of celestial raciiance, and the sol- diers of the invincible cast down their eyes before the white hairs of the holy man, who passes without fear through the midst of them. The words of the poet finely express the sublime design of the painter; the discourse of Leo is an in- spired lymn ; and the manner in which the conversion of the warrior of the north is indicated seems to me also truly admirable. Attila, his eyes turned towards heaven, and contemplating the apparition which he TOL. ir. " B J4 OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. tliinks he beholds, calls Edecon, one of the chiefs of his army, and says to liim, " Edecon, dost thou not perceive there on high a " terrible giajit? Dost thou not behold him even above " the place where the old man is made conspicuous by t " the refulgence of Heaven ? EDECON. " I see only the ravens descending in troops over the dead bodies on which they are going to feed. ATTILA. <' No ; it is not a phantom : perhaps it is the image of " him who is alone able to absolve or condemn. Did not the old man predict it t Behold the giant whose ^' head is in heaven, and whose ieet touch the earth ; " he menaces with his flames the spot upon which " we are standing ; he is there, before us ixjotionless ; " he points his llaming sword against me, like my " judge. F.DECON. " These flames are the light of heaven, which at «^ thTS moment gilds the domes of the Roman tern- s' pies. ATTILA. " Yes, it is a temple of gold, studded with pearls, that he bears upon his whitened head ; in one hand " he hold his flaming sword, in the other two brazen " keys, encircled with flowers and rays of light ; two " keys that the giant has doul^tiess received from the " hands of Odin, to open or shut the gates of Val- « haila." From this moment, the Christian religion operates on the soul of Attila, in spite of the belief of his an- cestors, and he commands his army to retreat to a, distance from Rome. The tragedy should have eiided here, and it already contains a suflicicnt number of beauties to furnish out many regular pieces ; but a fifth act is added, in which Leo, who, for a Pope, is much too deeply initiated in the mystic theory of love, conducts the princess Ho- Roria to Attiia's cam.p, on the very night in v/hiclv Hildegondc marries and assassinates him. m THE DEAMAS O? WERNER. 15 The Pope, who has a foreknowledge of this event, predicts without preventing- it, because it is necessary that the fate of Attila should be accomplished. Ho- noria and Pope Leo offer up prayers for him on the stage. The piece ends with a Hallelujah^ and, rising to heaven like a poetical incense, evaporates instead of being concluded. Werner's versification is full of admirable secrets of harmony, l)ut we cannot giver in a translation any idea of its merit in this respect. I remember, ampng other things in one of his tragedies, the subject of which is taken from Polish liistory, the wondeiful ef- fect of a chorus of young phantoms appearing in the air : the poet has found means to change the German into a soft and tender language, which these wearied and uninterested shades articulate with half formed tones ; all the words they pronounce, all the rhymes of the verses, seem like vapour. The sense of the words. also, is admirably adapted to the situation ; they paint a state of frigid repose, of dull indifference ; they reverberate the distant echoes of life, and the pale re- flection of faded impressions casts a veil of clouds over universal nature. If Werner admits into his tragedies the shades of the departed, v.'e sometimes also find in them fantastic personages that seem not'yet to have received any earth- ly existence. In the prologue to the " Tartare" of Beaumarchais, a Genius questions these imaginary beings whether tkey v»'ish to have birth ; and one among them anav/ers, « I do not feel myself at aU f eager about it." This lively answer may' be applied to most of those allegorical personages v.-hich thcv take pleasure in bringing forward on the German thea- tre. ^Werner has composed, on the subject of the Tem- plars, a piece in tv/o volumes, called The Sons of - the Valley a piece, which possesses great interest for those who are initiated into the doctrine of secret orders; for it is rather the spirit of these orders, tiian lihe historical colour that is principallv remarkable in them. The poet seeks to connect the Free-masoirs 16 OP LrrERATURE AND THE ARTS. yvith the Templars, and applies himself to the task of shewing that ibe same traditions and the same spirit have been always preserved among- both. The imagi- Tiation oi Wrrner sinijularly delischts itself in these associatioi^s, which have the air of someth ing Ruper- Tsatural, because they miiltipiy, in an extraordinary degree, the force of each, by giving a like tendency to all. 'I'his play, or this poem, of the Sons of the Valley, has caused a great sensation in Germany ; I doubt whether it would obtain an equal degree of suc- cess amos^g ourselves. Another composition of Werner's, well worthy of notice, is that which has for its subject the introduc- tion of Christianity into Prussia and Livonia. This elraD>atic romance is entitled T/ie Cross on the Baltic. There reigns throughout a very lively sentiment of all that characterizes the north, the amber-fishery, moun- tains rough with ice, the ssperity of the climate, the rapid influence of spring, the hostility of nature, the rudeness Avhich this warfare instils into man ; and we recognize in these pictures a poet who has had re« coiirse to sensations, he has himself experienced, for all that he describes and expresses. I have seen acted, at a private theatre, a piece of Werner's composition, eniitled The twenty-fourth of Fibruarij : a piece on which opinions would be great- ly divided. The author supposes that, in the solitudes of Switzerland, there dwelt a family of peasants, v/hich had rendered itself guilty of the most atro- cious crimes, and was pursued by a paternal maledic- tion Irom father !o son. The third of these accursed generations presents the spectacle of a man who by an outrage has caused the death of his father: the son of ihis uiihappy wretch has, in his childhood, kiiied his own sistt-r in a cruel sport, but without knowing what he was about. After this frigluful event he has disap- pcart-d. The labours of the parricidal father have been ever siiice visited by continual bad fortune ; hia fields have become barren, his cattle have perished ; the n osi frightful poverty overwhehTiS him ; his cred- itors threaten t© seiz^his cettagcj and tiirow him int^ GP THE DHAMAS OF WERNER 17 prison ; his wife wanders alone in the midst of tlie Al- pine snows. AH at once the son arrives, after an ab- sence of twenty years. He is animated by tender and religious sentiments, and inspired with true repent- ance, though he had been guilty of no criminal in- tention. He returns to his father's house ; and as he is too much altered to be reco9;nized by him, forms the resolution of concealing from him his name at first, in order to gain his affection before he confesses him- self to be his son ; but the father, in his misery, be- comes greedy and covetous of the money that is car- ried about him by his guest, whom he believes to be a vagabond foreigner of suspicious character; and when the hour of midnight strikes, on the twenty- fourth of February, the anniversary of the paternal malediction by which the whole family is visited, hs plunges a knife into his son's bosom. The latter, in his last moments, reveals his secret to this double criminal, the assassin of his father and of his child, and the miserable wretcii goes to deliver himself up, to the tribunal that must condemn him. These situations are appalling ; it cannot be denied that they produce a great effect ; nevertheless, the poetical colour of the piece, and the gradation of mo- tives derived from the passions, are much m.ore to be admired than the subject on which it is founded. To transfer the fatal destiny of the house of Atreus to people of the lower ranks cf society, is to bring- the contemplation of crimes too familiarly before the eyes of the spectators. The splendour of rank, and the distance of ages, give to wickedness itself a spe- cies of grandeur which agrees better v»'ilh the ideal in art ; but when the knife is presented to you instead of the poniard, v/hen the situation, the manners, the characters are such as you may meet with every day, you are frightened, like children in a dark room, but it is not the noble horror tliat tragedy ought to awa» ken. Still, hovv^ever, this potency of the paternal cursej, v,-hich seems to represent a providence upon earth, agitates the soul very forcibly. The fe.talityj of U^e- VOL. II, B 3 18 ©P UTERATURE AND TOE AnT&i ancients is the sport of destiny; but fatality, in the Christian doctrine, is a nnoral truth under a terrifyin£f form. When man does not yield to remorse, the very agitation which that remorse makes him experience, drives him headlong to the commission of new crimes ; conscience, repulsed, changes itself into a phantom that disturbs the reason. The wife of tlds guiity peasant is haunted by the re- rnembrance of a ballad containing the recital of a par- ricide ; and alone, in her sleep, she cannot help mut- tering it in an under voice, like those confused and involuntary fancies, of which the dismal recurrence seems an inward presentiment of fate. The description of the Alps, and of their vast soli- tude, is extremely beautiful ; the abode of the cul- prit, the hovel in wnich the scene passes, is far fi om any other habitation ; no church bell is heard there^ and the hour is announced only by a rustic clock, the last piece of furniture that poverty has not yet resoiv» cd to part with ; the monotonous noise of this clock,^ in the deep recesses of mountains where the sounds of human existence never reach, produces a strange shuddering-. We ask, what has time to do in a place like this ; to what purpose the division of hours that no interest varies ? And when that dreadful hour of erime is heard to strike, it recalls to us the fine idea 4>f the missionary who imagined that in hell the damn- ed spirits are incessantly asking ; — " What's o'clock and that they are answered,—*^ Eternity.*' — Werner has been reproached for admitting into his tragedies situations that are better adapted for the fetautiesof lyric ^ poetry than for the development of theatrical passions. He may be accused of a contrary fault in the " Twenty-fourth of February.'* The sub- ject of this piece, the manners it represents, bear ^oo strong a resemblance to truth, and to truth of a descriptio.ii too atrocious to be admltied into the cir- cle of the fine arts. The fine arts are placed between heaven and earth, and the genius of Werner some- times rises above, sometimes sinks beneath, this m^^ tivs region of fiGtios,. @F THE DRAMAS dF KOTZEBUEr. 1^ CHAPTER XXV. Various Pieces of the German and Danish Theatre^ raraatic works of Kotzebue have been transla* ted into several languages. It would therefore be su- perfluous to employ ourselves in making thern known. I shall only observe that no impartial jude,-e can deny him a perfect understanding of theatrical effects. The T%vo Brothers^ Misanthro/iy and Refientance^ The Hus- sites^ the Crusader,s^ Hugo Grotius, Jane de Mo7itfau- €on^ The Death of Rolla^ iffc. excite the most lively interest wherever they are performed. It must still be confessed, that Kotzebue knows not how to give to his personages either the colour of the times in which they lived, or national features, or the character that history assigns them. These personages, to whatever age or country they belong, always appear to be con- temporaries and feiiow countrymen ; they are invested vnth the same philosophical opinions, the same mod- ern manners, and whether he is painting a man of our own days, or a Virgin of tiiC Suii, nothing is to be dis- covered in either but a picture of the present times, at once natural and pathetic. If the theatrical genius of Kotzebue, which is unique in Germany, could be joined to tlie talent of painting characters such as his- tory transmits them to us, and if his style of poetry elevated itself to the height of those situations of which he is the ingenious inventor, the success of his pieces would be equally lasting and brilliant. Besides, nothing is so rare as to find united in the same individual the two faculties which constitute a great dramatic author; dexterity in his trade, if we may so term it, a. d the genius that embraces the uiii- verse: this problem is the great difficulty of human iiaturo itself j and it is always ejusy to distint^uish among 20 OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. men, those in whom the talent of conception, and thai of execution predominate ; those who stand in relation with all times, and those who are exclusively the por- tion of their own: nevertheless, it is in the union of opposite qualities that phsenomena of every descrip- tion consist. The greater number of Kotzebue's pieces are dis- tinguished for some situations of striking beauty. In " The Hussites," when Procopius, the successor of Zisca, besieges Naumburg, the magistrates come to the resolution of sending all the children out of the- town to the enem.y's camp, to ask m.ercy for the in- habitants. These poor children must go a.lone, to im- plore the compassion of fanatic soldiers, who spare neither age nor sex. The burgomaster is the fu'st to offer his four sons, the eldest of whom is only twelve years old, for this perilous expedition. The mother entreats that one at least may remain with her ; the fa- ther appears to consent, and sets himself about sum- ming up the faults of each of his children, in succes- sion, that the mother may declare who are those for Vvhich she feels herscif the least interested ; but when- ever he begins to throw blame upon either of them, the mother assures him that that is the one which shs prefers to all the rest, and the unhappy woman is at last forced to agree that the cruel choice is impossible, and that it is better they should all partake the same lot. In the second act, we are introduced into the camp of the Hussites ; all the soldiers, of menacing figures, repose in tlieir tents ; a slight noise awakens their at- tention ; they perceive in the plain a crowd of children, marching in procession, with oaken boughs in iheir hands: they cannot conceive the signification of this, and taking their lances, place themselves at the en- trance of the camp to defend the approach. The chil- dren advance fearlessly in front of the lances, and the Hussites involuntarily recoil, angry at finding them- se ves affected, and unable to comprehend wliat it is they expeilence. Procopius comes out of his ttnt j he causes the burj^omaster, who had ioilowed his chii Tim dp: AM AS OP KOTZiEBDS. 21 dren at a distance, to be brought before him, and or* tiers him to point out which are his. The burgomas- ter refuses ; Procopius's soldiers lay their hands on him, and immediately the four children rush into their father's arms. " You know them now," says the bur- gomaster to Procopius, " they have named them- selves." The piece ends happily ; and the third act is full of congratulations ; but it is the second that af- fords the greatest theatrical interest. Scenes fit for a novel constitute all the merit of the play of " The Crusaders." A young girl, believing her lover to hai'C perished in the wars, has taken the veil at Jerusalem in a reli.:4;ious order consecrated to the care of tiie sick. A knight dangerously wounded is brought to the convent. She enters, veiled, and, without iifiing up her eyes to look upon nim, kneels to dress his wound. The knight, in this moment of an- guisn, articulates the name of his mistress; and the unfortunate object of his iove thus recognizes her lov- er. He forms the design of eloping with her: the abbess discovers the plan, and the consent of her nun to its accomplishment. She condemns her, in he? rage, lo be buried alive ; and the unhappy knight, v^an- dering in vain round the church hears the organ and the voices which are performing, underground, the burial service of one who is still alive, and who loves him.. This situation is harrowing to the soul; but all ends, in like manner, happily. The Turks, led by the young knight, come to the deliverance of the victim. An Asiatic convent in the thirteenth century is treated in the same manner as the cloistered victims during the French revolution ; and a few sentiments, which are very gentle, but a littu too easy, termii:iate the piece to the satisfaction of all the spectators. Kotzebue has comp sed a drama from the historical anecdote of the imprisonment of Groiius by the Prince of Orange, and his deliverance by his friends, wiio dis- cover the means of conveying him out of the fortress where he is confined, hid in a chest of books. Tnero are some situations in this piece worthy of notice ; a young ofiicerj in love with the daugnter of Grotiusj 22 OF LlTEPvATURE AMD THE AETS. learns of her that she is trying to procure the escape of her fatlier, and promises to assist her in this pro- ject ; but the governor, his fiiencl, being obliged to quit his charge for twenty-four hours, comniits the keys of the citadel to his care. The governor is him- self liable to the pain of death, if his prisoner escapes during his absence. The young lieutenant, in this manner made responsible for the liff" of his friend, pre- vents his mistress's fatlser from saving himself, by forc- ing him back into his prison at the moment when he was ready to enter the boat prepared for his deliver- ance. The sacrifice made by this young lieutenant, in thus exposing himself to his mistress's indignation is truly heroic ; when the governor returns, and the offi- cer no longer fills the place of his friend, he finds means of drav.'ing on himself, by a nobie falsehood, the capital punishment denounced against those who shall have attempted, a second time, to rescue Grotius, and have at last succeeded in it. The joy of the young man, when his sentence of death insures him the re- turn of his mistress's esteem, is of the most affecting beauty ; but, in the conclusion, there is so much mag- nanimity in Grotius, (who returns to deliver himself itp again to save the young man's !:fe.) in the prince of Orange, in the daughter, and in the author himself, that all we can do is to say amen to the whole. The situations of this piece have been transferred to a French play, but they are there ascribed to unknown characters, and neither Grotius, nor the prince of Orange, is named in it. This is v/iscly done, for there is nothing in the erior to any that I have vet cited ; the celebrated Sheridan has made a play from it enti:ied '^Pizarro," which was at- tended with the greatest success in England; a single expression at the conclusion of the piece produces an admirable effect. Rolla, the chief of the Peruvians, has for a long time fought against the Spaniards ; he loved Cora, a Virgin of the Sun, and has nevertheless generously labourt;d to vanquish the obstacles that separated her from Aionzo. A year after their mar- riage, the Spaniards cany off the infant son of Cora ; Rulla exposes himself to every danger to recover him, and brings him back at last, covered with blood, in his cradle ; Pwolia observes the mother's te rror at the sight. *' Calm yourself," he says to her, this blood is " mine !" and he expires. Some German writers have not, I think, done jus- tice to the dramatic talent of Kotzebue ; but it is fit to acknowledge the estimable motives of this prejuuice ; Kotzebue has not always paid sufficient respect, in his plays, to strict virtue, and positive religion ; he has indulged himself in this error, not from adherence to system, as I conceive, but' merely to produce, occa- sionally, a more powerful effect on the stage ; it is net less true, however, that he deserved to be censured in this respect by rigid critics. He seems hin^iseif, for some years past, to have conformed to more regular principles,- and so far from his geiiius losing by t^iat conformity, it has in reality been considerably the gain- er. Elevation and " strength of sentiment always held by some secret ties to the purity of morals. Kotzebue and the greater part of the German vrri- teis had borrowed the opinion of Lessing, that prose is tne language proper for the theatre, and that trage- dy should be brought as nearly as possiole to the style of common life j Goethe and Schiller, by tneir latter '24 m iJTEEATUilE AND THE AW^. "works, and the writers of tl>e nev/ School, have ov^'r^ turned this system ; these writers may rather be re- proached with the contrary excess, that is, a poetiy too exalted, and which turns aside the imagination from theatrical effect. In those dramatic authors whO) like Kotzebue, adopted the principles of Lessing, we almost always meet with simplicity and interest ; " Agnes de Bernau," " Julius of Tarentum," " Don Diego," and " Leonora," have been represented with great and deserved success ; as these pieces have been translated in the collection of Friedel, it is useless to quote from them. It seems tome that " Don Diego" and " Leonora," particularly, might, with some altera- tions, succeed upon the French stas>e. It would be necessary to preserve the touching picture of that deep and melancho y passion which foiebodes misfortune, even before any reverse has announced it ; the Scots call these presentiments of the heart, a man's second sight ; they are wrong in calling it the second, it is the first and perhaps the only true sight. Among the prose tragedies that are elevated above the rank of melo-drame, some essays of Gei stenberg deserve to be noticed. It bas entei ed into his imagin- ation to choose the deatt- of Count UgoliiiO for the sub- ject of a tragedy ; tiie uiiity of place is there of ne- cessity, since the piece begins and ends in the tower "Where Ugoiino perishes with his three sons : as lor the unity of time, more tlian twenty-four hours are need- ed to make a man die of Imngcr ; but in the other respects tiie event is the same, audits progress is only mai-ked by the increase of horror. There is nothing" more sublime in Daute than the picture of this unhap- py father, who has seen his three sons perish by his side, and who gluts himseli m heli v/itli feeding on the scull of the ferocious enemy who made him his victim ; but this episode is net fit tor the sui.jectof a dramatic piece. A catastrophe is not cnougii to furnish out a tragedy ; the piece of Gersienberg contains energetic beauties, and the moment when we hear the prison wailed up causes the most terrible impression that the mind is capable of expericncm^-, it is that of living OF Tlia DRAMAS ©F GESSTENBER&. 25 death ; but despair cannot sustain five acts ; the spec- tator must either die or admit consolation ; and we may apply to this tragedy what a lively Aniericaii, Mr. G. Morris, said of the French in 1790, thty have fia.^ fied the hounds of Liberty. To pass the bounds of the pathetic, that is to say, to carry it beyond that degree of emotion which the strength of the soul is capable of supporting, is the same as to destroy the eifect. Klinger, known by other writings, fu'l of depth and sagacity, has composed a very interesting tragedy, called " The Twins." The rage experienced by him who passes for the younger of the two brothers, nis rebellion agaiiiSt the right of primogeniture, the ef- fect of an instant, is admirably painted in this piece ; some writers have pretended that to this species of jealousy is to be ascribed the destijiy of the Iron Mask ; however that may be, it is easy to comprehend how the hatred wiiich this right of primogeniture is capa- bie of exciting may oe more violent between twins. The two brotiu^ £ l,c out together on horseback ; they wait for theu- rciDiT]. the clay pabses without their re- appearing; but in ihc erening ihe hoi se of the eider is discovered returning alone to the paternal mansion : a cii cumstance so simple as this can hardly be found in any of our tragedies, and yet it freezes the blood in oui veins : the brother has slain his brother, and the father, in his indignation, revenges tlie death of one son on the only survivor. This tiageciy, fuil of warmth and eloqu ence, would produce a prodigious effect, I conceive, if made to relate to celebrated personages ; but one finds a difficulty in conceiving passions so vio- lent exerting themseives for the birth-right of a casiie on the banks of the Tyber. I. cannot be too often re- peated, that tragedy requires historical subjects or re- ligious traditions which awaken great recoiiectioiss in the minds of the spectators; for in fictions, as well as in real life, imagination falls back on the past, however eager she may be after the future. The writers of tne new school in Germany have, more than all others, of the bombast (du grandio^ej in the manner of conceiving the fine arts j and all their VOL. II. C 2Q OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. productionsj whether successful upon the stage or not, are combined according to reflections and "senti" rnents nf which the analysis is interesting ; but men do not analyze in the theatre, and it is in vain tr> demon- strate that such a piece ought to succeed ; if tiie spcC" tator remains cold, the dramatic battle is lost ; success, with some few exceptions, is tne test of genius in the arts ; the public is almost always a very sensible judge v/hen its opinion is not influenced by passing circum- stances. TJie greater part of those German tragedies wliich are not destined even by their authors for rcprtserta- tion, are nevertheless very beautiful poems. One of the m.ost remarkable is " Genevieve of Brabant," of which Tieck is the author: the ancient iegend t^/at makes this saint live fo ten years in a desert on heibs and fruits, without any other support for her child tr.an the milk of a faithful doe, is admirably well treated in this romance in dialogue. The pious resignation of Genevieve is paii;ted in the colours of sacred poetry, £ind the character of the man who accuses, after having attempted in vain to seduce her, is traced with a n.as- t.er's hand; this guiity person preserves amidst all his crimes a sort of poetical imagination which gives a gloomy originality to his actions as well as his re- morse. The exposition of this piece is made by St. Boniface, who relates the subject ol it, and begins in these terms: " lam St. Boniface, who comiC hither to "tell you," &c.: It is not by chance that the author adopted this form ; he shews too much depth and too much art in his other writings, and particularly in the very work which cpens in this manner, not to shew us clearly that it was his intention to render himself sim- ple, like a contemporary of Genevieve ; but by omt of pretending to revive arcient times, we attain a ( er- tain affectation of simplicity, wuich only makes people laugii, whatever sober reason wc miay give tnem for being aff'ected. Without doubt v/e should know how to transport ourselves into the age the manners of which it is our intention to paint ; yet we must not al- together forget our own. The perspective of pictures. OF THE BE AM AS OF COLLIN. whatever be the object they represent, shGuld always be taken according to the point of view in which they are to be contemplated. Among- the authors who have remained constant to the imitation of the ancients, Collin deserves the first rank- Vienna prides herself in this poet, one of the most highly esteemed in Germany, and perhaps for a long while past the only poet of Austria. His tragedy of " Reguius" would succeed in France if it^ were known there. In Collin's manner there is a mixture of elevation and sensibility of Roman austerity and re- ligious madness, that seems made expressly to recon- cile the taste of the ancients with that of the moderns. That scene in his tragedy of " Polysena,'' in which Caichas commands Neoptolemus to sacrifice the daughter of Priam on the tomb of Achilles, is one of the finest things that has ever been heard. T.'ie ap- peal of the infernal deities, demanding a victim to ap» pease the ghosts of the slain, is expressed v/ith a gloomy strength, a subterraneous terror, that seems to lay open to us the abysses underneath our feet. No doubt we are continually recalled to the admiration of ancient subjects, and up to the present time all the efforts of tne moderns to draw out of their own funds suiiicient to place tliem on an equality with the Greeks, have never succeeded ; it is nevertheless desirable to reach that noble emulation ; for not only does the prin- ciple of imit?J.ion exhaust itself, but the spirit cf our age makes itself constantly felt in the manner of cur treating the f-Joles or the facts of antiquity. Collin himself, for instance, though he has conducted his play of Polyxena with great simplicity through the iormer acts, renders it comiplicated towa'\ls the con- ciusion by adii^ersity of incidents. The French have incorporated the gallantry of the age of Louis XIV. Wita faUOj:,"cts taken from antiquity; the Italians often treai them witii po :ipcus affectation ; the English, al- ways -natural, have imitated only the Romans on their stage, because they perceived in them some relation with t:^.emselves. The Germans introduce the philos- ophy of nietapnysic&j or a variety of romantic evei.ts, 28 OF LITERATLmS AND THE ARTS, into their trag-edies, founded on Grecian subjects. N'® writer of our days wii! ever attain to the composition of ancient poetry. It would be better, tlien, that our relig-ion and our manners should create for us a mod- ern poetry, whose beauty should consist in its own pe- culiar nature, like that < -i the ancients. A Danish v/riter, CEhlenschlager, has himself trans- lated his own plays into German. The analogy be- tween the two languages admits the possibility of writing equally well in both, and Ba.g-gesen, also a Dane, had already given tiie example of a great gen- ius for versificat'cn in a foreign idiom. A line dra- anntic imagination discovers itself in the tragedies of CEaiensclilager. They are said to have met with great success on the stage of Copenhagen: in the closet they are calculated to excite interest under two principal relations ; first, because the author has some- times found the means of reconciling the regularity of the French drama v/ith the diversity of situations which the German taste requires ; and secondly, be- cause he has represented in a manner, at once true and poetical, the history and the fables of ancient Scandinavia. We are little acquainted with the North, which touches upon the confines of the habitable world ; the lon^^ nights of the northern countries, during which only the reflection of the snow seems to enlighten the earth ; the darkness which bounds the horiz;m in the distance, even when the vault of heaven is illuminated by the stars, all seem to give the idea of unknown space, of a nocturnal universe by which our world is encircled. The air, so piercing as to congeal the breath, drives all warmth backv/ards on the soul, and nature herself, in these climates, appears made only 10 concentrate man within himself. The heroes of northern poetical fiction have some- thing gigantic in them. In their character, super- stition is united to strength, while every where else it seems to partake of weakness. Images, drawn from the rigour of the climate, characterise the poetry of the Scandinavians ; they call vultures the woives of the air : the boiling lakes formed by volcanoes preserve during winter the birds tiiat seek refnge in the at- mosphere by which these lakes are surrounded ; ia these regions of cloud every thing is impressed witii a character of grandeur and gloom. The Scandinavian nations possessed a sort of phys- ical strength that seemed to exclude deliberation^ and impelled the will, like a rock precipitating itself to the bottom of the mountain. The iron men of Germ.any cannot make us sufficiently comprehend these inhab- itants of the extremity of the earth : they unite the irritability of passion to the persevering coldness of resolution ; and nature herself has not disdained to paint them with a poet*s pencil, when she placed in Iceland a volcano v;hich vomits torrents of fire from a bosom of eternal snow. CEhlenschlager has created for himself an entirely new career, in taking for the subjects of his plays the heroic traditions of his country ; and, by following this example, the literature of the North may one day become equally celebrated with that of Germany. - It is here that I choose to terminate the review which I meant to give of those pieces of the German theatre which partake in any degree of the character of tragedy. I shall not sum up the defects and beau- ties which this tablet may present lo us. There is so much diversity of genius and of system among the dramatic poets of Germany, that tlie same judgment cannot apply to all. Bcbides, the greatest praise that can be bestowed upon t lem is th.it ver) div-^rsity : for, in the empire of literature, as in others, uikaaimity is almost always a sign of servitude. vol,, ir. 30 OF UTEEATUilB AND THE ARTS. CHAPTER XXVL Of Comedy. -1- HE Ideal*' of tragic character consists, says W Rchlegel, in the -victoi^y obtained by the will over destiny^ or over our passions ; that of comedy^ on the contrary^ expresses the empire of physical over moral existence : ivkence it follows that gluttony and pol- troonery are^ in all places an inexhaustible ttibject of plf-asantry. The love of life appears to man the most ridiculous and the most vulgar of feelings, and the laufi^hter which seizes upon mortal beings, "when con- templating the object of one of their fellow mortals suftv ring under the apprehension of death, must be confessed to be a noble attribute of the human under- standing. But when we quit the circle, a little too common,^ of these universal pleasantries, when we arrive at tlie ridiculous t^xtravagancies of self-iove, we find that they partake of an infinite variety, according to the habits and tastes of each nation. Gaiety may flow either from natural inspiration, or social relations ; in the former case, it is suitable to men of all countries ; in the latter it differs with the difference of times, places^ ana customs ; for the efforts of vanity being always di- rected towards making an impression on others, it is necessary to know what is attended with most success at ouca an epoch, and in such a place, in order to as- certain to what particular object those efforts should be applied : tnere are countries in which fashion ren- ders ridiculous even fashion itself, which appears to have for its object to place every man out of the reach of ridicuiej by giving to ail a similar mode of exist- ©N" GERMAN* COMEDY. 31 In the German comedies, the great world is, in gen-? erai, but badly described; there are tew good models to be imitated in this respect : Society does not attract distinguished characters, and its greatest charm, which consists in the agreeable art of reciprocal pleasantry, would not succeed among them ; it would soon dash in pieces the self-love which is accustomed to enjoy itself in tranquility, and it might easily also wither that virtue which would take offence even at an inno- cent pleasantry. The Germans seldom bring forward on the stage, objects of ridicule taken from the manners of their own nation ; they do not observe others, and are still less capable of examining themselves, under external re- lations ; they would fancy that in so doing, they were in a manner waiiting to the fidelity which they owe to themselves. Besides, susceptibility, which is one of the characteristic features of tiieir nature, renders it very difficult to them to handle pleasantry with light- ness ; they irequently do not understand it, and, when they do understand it, it vexes them, and they dare not make use of it in tiieir turn ; it is like a gun, which they are afraid of seeing burst in thv'^ir hands. There are not, then, many specimens in Germany of tiiat species of comedy which has the absurdities of society for its object. Natural originality would be better perceived among them ; for every man lives af- ter his own fashion in a country where the despotism of custom does not hold its sittings in a great capital ; but, althouj^h there is a greater freedom of opinion in Germany than in England itself, English originality is invested with more lively colours, because the move- ment that exists in the political state in England, gives better opportunity to every man to display himself as he is. In the south of Germany, particularly at Vienna, a sufficient vein of gaiety is discoverable in the farces. The Tyroiese buhbon, Casperle, has a character pe- culiar to himself; and in ail these pieces, of some- what low comedy, both authors and actors make it tl'jeir rule to haye no preteasioa to elegance,, and es- OP UTERA.TURE AND THE ARTS. tablish themselves in the natural, with an energy and decision, which amply compensates the want of arti- ficial refinements. The Germans prefer strong to delicate humour ; they seek truth in their traf^edies, and caricature in their comedies. All the intricacies of the heart are known to them ; but the refinement of social wit does not excite them to gaiety ; the trou- ble that it costs them to comprehend, deprives them of the enjoyment of it. I shall have occasion to speak elsewhere of Iffland', the first actor of Germany, and one of her most lively writers ; he has composed several pieces, which are excellent in the delineation of character, and the rep- resentation of domestic manners ; and these family pictures are rendered the more striking, by the per- sonages of a truly comic cast that are always introdu- ced into them : nevertheless, we may sometimes find with these comedies the fault of being too reasonable ; they are too carefully adapted to fulfil the purpose of the motto in front of the stage : to correct by laughing f corriger les moeurs en riant.) They have too many young people in debt, too many fathers of families who have become embarrassed. Moral lessons arc not the province of comedy, and there is even some danger in admitting them into it ; for when they prove fatit;'uing, it is too possible that the impression produ- ced at the theatre may become the ha!3itual feeling of real life. Kotzt'bue has borrowed from a Danish poet, Hoi- berg, a comedy which has met with great success in Germany ; it is entitled ^' Don Ranudo Colibrados •/* it is a ruinetl gentle-nan, who tries to pass himselt iff for a man of foriune, and employs in making a snevv, the little money he has, which is scarcely sufficient to keep himself and his family from starving The subject of this piece serves as an appendage and contrast to Moliere's, " Bourgeois G ennUiomme who wishes to pass for a gentleman : there are many lively, and some truly coiuic scenes in the " Poor Nobleman but it is a barbarous sort of comedy. Tne point of ridicule that Moiierg has seized is intrinsically gay, but there ex GERMAN COmDV. ^ is real misery at the fouDdatior, of that which the Danish poet has adopted ; no doubt, it almost always requires great intrepidity of genius to treat human life as a jest, and comic force supposes a character at least of indifference ; but it would be wrong to push this force so far as to brave the feeling of compassion ; art itself would suffer by it, to say nothing of delicacy ; for the slightest impression of grief is sufBcient to tarnish all that is poetical in the full abandonment of the soul to gaiety. The comedies of Kotzebue's own invention, in gen- eral, bear marks of the same talent as his tragic pie* ces, the knowledge of stage effect, and an imagination fruitful in the invention of striking situations. It has been for some time past pretended, that to laugh or cry proves nothing in favour either of comedy or tragedy; I am far from being of this opinion : the desire of live- ly emotions is the source of the greatestpleasures that can be derived from the fine arts ; but we must not conclude from thence that tragedy should be changed into melo-drame, or comedies into Bartholomew Fair farces, but real talent consists in composing in such a manner, as to produce in the same play, or even in the same scene of a play, food for the tears or the laughter of the populace, and an inexhaustible subject for the reflexions of the thinking pan of the audience. Parody, properly so called, can hardly be admitted on the German stage ; tlieir tragedies almost always aflbrding a mixture of heroic and subaltern personages, give little room to this species of humour. The pompous majesty of the French theatre is alone capa- ble of givin-c^ force to tlie contrast of a burlesque We remark in Shakspearc, and sometimes in the German ■writers also, a bold and singular manner of displaying, even in tragedy, the ridiculous side of human nature ; and when the power of pathos can be set in oppobition to this impression, the effect of the whole becomes greater. The French is the only theatre in whic: tr-e boundaries of comedy and tragedy are dislinctly mark- ed ; every where eise, genius, like the let of nature^ employs gaiety as the means of snarpenlni^ si^i^^' OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. I have seen at Weimar some of Terence's plays lite- rally translated into German, and played with masks, nearly resembling those of the ancients ; these masks do not cover the whole countenance, they only substi- tute more comic or more regular features to the real features of the actor, and give to his person an expres- sion analogous to thafof the character he is to perform. The physiognomy of a great actor is vastly superior to this ; but the middling class of performers gains by it. The Germans seek to appropriate to tliemselves, the ancient and modern inventions of all countries ; never- theless, they possess nothing really national, in respect of comedy, but popular buffoonery, and pieces in %vhich the marvellous furnishes matter for pleasantry. An example of this may be cited in an opera which is performed on all the stages from one end of Ger- many to the other, called The Nymph of the Danubcj or The Nymph of the Spree, just as the piece hap- pens to be played at Vienna or at Berlin. A knight lias become the object of a fairy's passion, and is sepa- rated from her by circum.stance ; a long while afier he marries, and chooses for his wife a very worthy woman, but who has nothing seductive, either of wit or imagina- lion : the knight accommodates himself as well as he can to this situation, wliich appears to him so much the more natural, as it is common ; for few persons understand that it is superiority of soul and of intel- lect that most nearly approaches to the original of our nature. Tlie fairy is unable to lose the remembrance of her lover, and pursues iiim by the wonders of her art ; every time that he begins to establish himself in his domestic economy, she drav/s his attention by pro- digies, and thus av/akens in him the recollection of their past affection. If the knight approaches the banks of a river, he hears its waves murmuring the lays which the fairy was accustomed to sing to him ; if he invites guests to his table, winged genii place themselves at the board, and spread a general consternation among the prosaic friends and relatives of his wife. Wherever he goes, Sowers, dances, and coacerts, spring- up to harrass. QX GERMAN COMEDY. 35 like phaiitoms, Ibe life of the faithless lover ; and on the other side maiignarjt spirits a^iuise themselves in tomientin,^ his servant, wlio, in his way also, de- sires nothing so much as never m.orc to hear or speak of poetry: at last, the fairy is reconciled to the knig^ht, on condition that he shall pass three days with her in every year ; and his wife wiilin^ly consents to let her husband derive from the society of the fairy that enthu- siasm which seems so Vv-eli lo ensure the enj( yment of what Vv-e love. Tne subject of this piece appears to be more inc^-enious than popular ; but the marvellous scenes are mixed and varied in it with so much art, that it equally amuses ail classes of spectators. The new literary scnool, in Germany, has a system in comedy, as well as in evci y tliini^- else ; the delinea- tion of m.anners does not suffice to exciie its interest, it requires imaginati oii in the conception of the sub- jects, and in the hivention ol the characters ; the m.ar- velious, allegory, history, no diversity of comic situa- tions appears too much for it. The writers of this school have given the name of ike arbitrary con ic C comique jirbitriarr^J to that free range of all the ideas without restraint and without determinate end. Tiicy rely, in this respect, on the example of Aristo- phanes, not assuredly because they approve the licen- tiousness of his pieces, but they ar. struck with the vein of gaiety which they exhibit, and they would wil- liiigly introduce among the moderns that daring co.uedy which makes sport of the universe, instead of corfining itself to v/hat is ridiculous m the different classes of society. The efforts ot the new school tend, in general, to give m.ore force and independence to the understanding in every province ; arid whatever successes they exptrience in this attempt, world be a victory for litera.'ure, and still more for the energy of the German character itself ; but it is always ciiffi uit to intiucnce,by general ideas, ihe spontaneous e ff usions of the imagination; and besides, a comedy, caicuiated to lead the poi)Uiacej like that of the Greeks, would never a!:;ree with the actual state of European society. Aristophanes lived under a government so repub- @F LITERATURE, ANC THE ARTS. Hcan, that the people had a share in every part of Itj and affairs of state \vere easily transferred from the forum to the theatre'. He lived in a country where philosophical speculations vvere almost as familiar to all men aS the chefs-d'oeuvre of art, because the schools vvere held in the open air, and the most abstract ideas vvere clothed in the brilliant colours which the 'sky and nature lent to them ; but how create anew all this animation of life amidst the frosts of our at- mosphere, and wi h f>ur domestic habits of existence ? Modern civilization has multiplied the means of ob- serving the human heart: man is better acqriahitr-d with man ; and the souL as it were, dissrminatcr!, of- ff rs to the writer a thousand new shades of varie ty. Comedy takes advartage of these shades, and when able to 9,ive them the relief of dramatic vsituations, the spectator is delighted to recognize on the stage, char- acters such a* he may easily meet vvilh in tlie worid ; but the introduction of the people at large into come- dy, of chorusses into tragedy, of allegorical pers n- ages, of sects of philosophy, in short, of ail t!;at pre- sents men en ?7iasse, and in an abstract manner, would never please the spectators or our times, they re- quire specific names and individual characters ; they seek the interest of romance even in comedy, and society on the stage. Among the writers of the new school, Tieck pos- sesses, most of all, the true fet-ling of pleasantry ; not that he has composed a si.igie conicdy thut can be acted, or that those he has written are wtdl arianged, but they display brilliant traces of very orii^inal i-u- mour. At first he seized, in a uianner which reminds us of La Fontaine, the handle lor pleasajjtry which animals are calculated to furnish. He has com):osed a comedy entitled Pui-s in Boots," w hich is adii.ira- bie in this manner. 1 know not wnat eficct would be produced on the stage by speaking aninials ; perhaps they are more amusing to be imagined than to lv seen ; but these animals personified, and acth)g like Hien, give, notwithstanding, an idea of tne real comcuy which nature inspires. ON' ^;ESMA^-Y COMEBV. 35' Tieck also interests us by the direction he has Itnown how to g-ive to his talent for ridicule ; he bends its whole force against a calculating and plodding spir- it ; and as mest of the pleasantries of society have for their object to cast ridicule upon enthusiasm, we love the author who ventures himself foot to foot against prudence, selfishness, all those qualities that pretend to the appellation of reason, behind v/hich the n id- dling sort of people think themselves securely placed to shoot their arrows against superior characters or abilities. They rely on what they cali a just medium to censure every thing distinguished ; and while eie- gance consists in the superfluous abundance of objects of external luxury, it seems as if this same elegance interdicted all luxury in the mind, all exultation in sentiments, in short, all that does not immediately tend to improve the prosperity of worldly affairs. Modern selfishness has found out the art of praising reserve and moderation in all things, so as to mask itself under the semblance oi' wisdom ; and it was only at length perceived that sucii opinions might well an- nihilate genius, generosity, love, and religion : what would it leav€ that is worth the pain of living ? Two of Tieck's comedies, " Octavian," and " Prince « Zerbin," are, both of them, very ingeniously com- bined. A son of the Emperor Octavian (Ein imagina- rv personage placed by a fairy tale under the reign of King Dagobert), while yet an infant in the cradle, is lost in a forest. A citizen of Paris finds him, brings him up with his own son, and makes himself pass for his father. At twenty years old, the heroical inclina- tions of the young prince betray him under every cir- cumstance, and nothing is more striking than the con- trast between his character and that of his pretended brother, whose blood ^does not belie the educaiion he has received. The efforts of the sage citizen, to cram the head of his adopted son with lessons of domestic economy, are altogether useless : he ser.ds him to market to purchase some bullocks ; the yoimg man, on his return, sees a hawk in the hands of a hunts- mai. ; and, enchanted with its beauty, exchanges the VOL. n. D OF LiTERATXJRE AND THE AUtS. 4)ullocks for the hawk, and comes back quite proud oF having ©btained such a bird at such a price. Another time, he meets a horse, and is transported with its warlike air: he enquires the priae of it^, and, when he is informed, angry at their asking so little for so no- ble an animal, he pays twice the value for it. The pretended father for a long time resists the young man's natural propensities, which animate him •with ardour in the pursuit of danger and glory ; but ivhen he finds himself at last unable to prevent him from taking arms against the Saracrns, who are be- sieging Paris, and when he hears his exploits made the subject of universal praise, the old citizen, on his side, is seized by a sort of poetical contagion; and no- thing is more pleasant than the whimsical mixture of what he was, and of what he wishes to become, of his vulgar language, and the gigantic images with which Lis discourse is filled. At last the young man is re- cognized for the Emperor's son, and each individual rcturr.s to the rank which is suitable to his character. This subject furnishes a number of scenes full of wit and true comic humour ; and the contrast between common life and chivalrous sentiments was never bet- ter represented. " Prince Zerbin" is a very lively painting of the astonishment of a whole court, at witnessing in its sovereign a propensity to enthusiasm, devotement, and all the noble imprudencies of a generous character. All the old courtiers suspect that he is mad, and advise him to travel to set his ideas right as to things as they rea;ly are. They assign to him a very reasonable man for his governor, to bring him back to the positive knowledge of life. One fine day in summer, he is walking abroad with his pupil in a beautiful wood, while ti-e birds are heard to sing, the wind gently stirs the leaves, and animated nature seems, on all sides, to be addressing a prophetic language to man. The governor perceives in these vague and multiplied sensations, nothing but noise atid confusion ; and when he returns to the palace, he congratulates him- self on seeing the trees converted into household fur- ox GEKMAX COMEDY. 3? niture, all the productions of nature rendered subser= vient to utility, and artificial order instead of the tu- multuous movement of natural existence. The cour- tiers are reassured when, on his return from his trav- els, Prince Zerbin, enlightened by experience, prom- ises to concern himself no longer about the fine arts, poetry, and exalted sentiments, or any thing else, in &hort,'but what tends to the triumph of selfishness over enthusiasm. What the generality of men are most afraid of, is the being taken for dupes, and who think it much less ridiculous to appear wrapped up in themselves, under every circumstance, than deceived even in one. There is, therefore, wit, and a noble employment of wit, m turning incessantly into ridicule all personal calcula- tion ; enough of it will always remain to keep the vrorld in motion, while, one of these days, the very remembrance even of a nature truly elevated, may vanish altogether. In Tieck's comedies is to be found a gaiety arising out of characters, and not consisting in witty epigram ; a gaiety in which the imagination is inseparable from, the pleasantry; butsometim.es this very imagination sets comic humour at a distance, and brings back lyr- ical poetry into scenes v'here we expect to find only the ridiculous in motion. Nothing is so difficult to the Germans, as to abstain from abandoning them.selves, in all their works, to reverie ; and yet comedy, and the theatre in general, are hardly proper for it ; for of all impressions, reverie is precisely that which is the most solitary; we can hardly communicate its inspira- tions to the most intimate friend : how is it possible, then, to associate with them an assembled multitude r Among these allegorical pif^ces, must be reckoned The Triumph of Sentimentality^" a little comedy of Goethe's, in which he has very ingeniously availed him- self of the double absurdity of affected enthusiasm and real inanity. The principal personage in this piecer seems to be prepossessed with all the ideas which im- ply a strong imagination and a profound intellect ; and yet he is in truth only a prince well educated^ higliljc m OP LITERATURE ANB THB ARTS. polished, and very obedient to the rules of propriety; lie has taken it into his head to add to all this a sensibil- ity at command, the affectation of which continually betrays him.. He thinks he loves the gloom of forests, the m»oonlight, and starry nights ; but, as he is afraid of cold and fatigue, he has scenes painted for him to represent these various objects, and never travels with- out being followed by a great waggon, in which all the feeauties of nature are carried after him. This sentimental prince also fancies himself in love "with a woman, whose wit and genius have been high?y extolled to him. This woman, to try him, puts in her place a veiled puppet, which, as we may suppose, says nothing in the least degree improper, and whose si- lence passes for the reserve of good taste, and the melancholy thoughtfulness of a tender soul. The prince, enchanted with tliis. companion,, accord- ing to his v/ishcs, asks the puppet in marriage ; and only at last discovers that he is unhappy enough to have chosen a mere doll for his wife, while his court afforded him such a number of women, v/ho might Iiave united in themselves all the principal advantages «f such a partner. It cannot, however,- be denied, that ingenious ideas are not enough to furnish out a good comedy, and the French, in the quality of comic writers, have the ad- vantage over all other nations. The knowledge of Bien, and the art of making use of that knowledge, se- cures to them the highest rank in this department ; but we might perhaps sometimes wish, even in Slo- iiere's best pieces, that reasoning satire held less place, and that imagination iiad more scope in them. The f Festin de- Fierre" is, among all his comedies, that which has the nearest resemblance to the German sys- tem : a prodigy that makes one shudder, serves as the moving principle to the most comic situations-; and the greatest effect:-, of the imagination are mingled with the most lively shades of pleasantly. This sub- iect, equally witty and poetical, is borrowed from the Spainards. Bold conceptions are very rare in Fi ance ; i'h iitergLiure, they like to work in safety ; but vybenc^^- ox GERMAN CO^ffiBY. 41 er a fortunate circumstance has ericourap;ed them to risk themselves, taste directs boldness witn wonder- ful address ; and a foreign invention, thrown into meth- od by the art of a Frenchman, will always be a first rate production of genius. ▼•I.. II. OF LITEFvATURE AND THE ARTS. CHAPTER XXVII. Of Declamation^ T J HE art of declamation, leaving only recollections Ijehind it, and being incapable of erecting any durable monument, it has followed that men have reflected l5Ut little upon what it is composed of. Nothing is so easy as the moderate exercise of this art, but it is not un.justiy that in its perfection it excites so high a de- cree of enthusiasiTj, and, far from depreciating this impression as a transient emotion, I think that regular causes niay be assigned to it. We seldom attain, in Jife, to penetrate the secret thoughts of men : affecta- tion and falsehood, coldness and modesty, exaggerate, vary, restrain, or conceal whatever parses at the bot- tom of the heart. A great actor puts in evidence the ,signs of truth in sentiments and in characters, and dis- eovers to us the certain marks of real inclinations and emotions. So many individuals pass through life with- out considering the danger of their passions and their ,£trength, that the theatre often reveals man to man, 5ind inspires him with a holy dread of the tempests of the soul. In fact, what words are capable of painting them like an accent, a gesture, a look ! Worcis tell us less than accent, accent less than physiognomy, and the inexpressible is precisely that with which a sublime actor brings us acquainted. The same differences that exist between the tragic system of the Germans and that of the French, are also to be found in their miode of declaiming ; the Ger- mans imitate nature as closely as they are able, they have no affectation but that of simplicity ; but even this may be an aflectation in the fine arts. The Ger- man actors sometimes touch the tieart deeply, and ,S0inetimes leave the spectat©r iii a state of perfec'i' OF DEGLAMATieS'. 4S frigidity ; they then trust themselves to his patience, and are sure of not being deceived. The Engiish have more of majesty than the Germans in their mode of reciting verses, but they nevertheless want the habitu- al pomp which the French nation, and above all French tragedy, require of their actors ; our style will not ad- mit of mediocrity, for it brings us back to the natural only by the very beauty of art itself. The second rate actors, in Germany, are cold and quiet; they are of- ten wanting in tragic effect, but are hardly ever ridicu- lous : it is the same on the German stage as in socie- ty ; we meet with people who sometimes fatigue us, and that is all ; while, on the French stage, we be- come impatient if our emotions are not excited: tur- gid and unnatural sounds then disgust us so entirely of tragedy, that there is no parody, how vulgar soever, which we do not prefer to the insipidity of mannerism. The accessories of art, machinery, and decorations, ought to be more attended to in Germany than in France, since these means are more frequently employed in the former nation. Iffland has been able to accomplish, at Berlin, all that can be desired in this respect: but at Vienna, they neglect even the necessary means for the good representation of the material parts of trag- edy. Memory is infinitely more cultivated by the French than by the German actors. The prompter, at Vienna, used to furnish most of the actors with ev- ery word of their parts ; and I have seen him follovv- ing Othello from one side scene to another, to prompt him with the verses which he had to pronounce at the bottom of the stage on poignarding Desdemona. The theatre at Weimar is infinitely better ordered in all respects. The prince, himself an intelligent man, and the man of genius, the connoisseur in the arts, who preside there, have found the means of uni- ting taste and elegance to that boldness which encour- ages new adventures. On this stage, as on all others in Germany, the same actors play both comic and tragic parts. It is said that this diversity stands in the way of their ever becoming eminent ia either. Yet the greatest of the- 44 OF LITERATURE AM) THE ARTS, atrical geniusses, Garrickand Talma, have united thetsi both. The flexibility of organs, which transmits dif- ferent impressions with equal facility, seems to me the seal of natural talent ; and in fiction, as in reality, melancholy and gaiety are possibly derived from the same source. Besides, in Germany, the pathetic and the humorous, so often succeed and are mingled with each other in tragedies, that it is very desirable for the actors to possess the power of expressing both alike ; and the best German actor, Iffland, has given the ex- ample of it with deserved success. I have not met, in Germany, with any good actors in high comedyj marquisses, coxcombs, 8cc. What constitutes grace in this description of parts, is that which the Italians call the disinvoltura, and which the French would ex- press by the air degage. The habit which the Ger- mans possess, of giving importance to every thing, is precisely that which is most contrary to this easy light- ness. But it is impossible to carry originality, the comic vein, and the art of painting characters, to a greater length than Iffland has done in his parts. I do not believe that we have ever seen on the French stage a genius more varied, or more unexpected than his, or an actor who ventures to render natural defects and absurdities with so striking an expression. There are certain given models hi comedy, avaricious fathers, spendthrift sons, knavish servants, duped guardians; but Iffland's parts, such as he conceives them, can en- ter into none of these moulds : each of them must be designated by its iianie ; for they are so many individu- als remarkably different from each other, and in ail of "Whom Iffland appears to exist as in himself. His manner of playing tragedy is also, in my opin- ion, of grand effect. The calm simplicity of his de- clamation in the fine part of Walstein, can never be effaced from the memory. The impression he produ- ces is gradual ; it seems at first that his apparent cold- ness will prove incapable of exciting any emotion; but, as the piay goes on, that emotion grows upon us in a continually accelerated progression, and the smal- lest word exercises a [^rcat power when there reigns OF D^iCLAMATION. 4$ in the general tone a noble tranquility that sets off et- ery shade, and constantly preserves the same colour of character amidst all the variations of passion. Iffland, who is as superior in the theory as in the practice of his art, has published several remarkab?y sensible works on declamation ; he gives at first a sketch of the different epochs of the history of the German theatre, the stiff and heavy imitation of the French, the larmoyante sensibility of dramas, of a na- ture so prosaic, as to have made the writers even for- get the art of versifying; finally, the return to poetry and ima£;;inatIon that constitutes the prevailing taste in Germany at the present time. There is not an accent, not a gesture of which Inland has not been able to dis^ cover the cause as a philosopher and an artist. One character in his pieces furnishes him with the most ingenious observations on comic performance ; it is that of a man advanced in years, who ail at once abandons his old sentiments and habits, to clothe him- self in the costume and opinions of the new g;eneration, T.'ie character of this man has nothing wicked in it, and yet he is as much led astray by vanity, as if it had been intrinsically bad. He has suffered his daughter to con- tract a reasonable-, tiiough obscure alliance, and then, on a sudden, advises her to obtain a divorce. With some fashionable toy in his hand, smiling graciously, and balancing himself, now on one foot, then on the other, he proposes to his child to break the most sacred ties : but the existence of old at^e that discov- ers itself through a forced elegance, the real em.ba?- rassment straggling through his apparent indifference, these are traits which Iffland has seized with admirable sagacity. In treating of Francis Moor, the brother of Schil- ler's Captain of the Robbers, Ifiland examines in what manner tlie parts of villains should be played. " The actor," he says, " must t^ke pains to make it appear hy *' what motives the character has become what it is, " what circumstances have contributed to the deprava» " tion of the soul ; in short, the actor should become the sedulous defender ©f the part he represents." lii 46 OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. fact, there can be no truth, even in villainy, unless Wis attend to the shades of character which evince that man becomes bad only by degrees. Iffland reminds us also of the prodigious sensation excited, in the play of Emilia Galotti, by Eckhoif, for- merly a very celebrated German actor. When Odoard is informed by the prince's mistress that the honour of his daughter is threatened, he v;ishes to conceal from this woman, whom he despises, the indignation and grief that she excites in his soul, and his hands un- known to himself, were employed in tearing thepltime on his hat, with a convulsive motion that produced an effect truly terrible. The actors who succeeded Eck- hoff took care to tear their plumes also ; but they fell to the ground without any body's remarking it ; foi;= genuine emotion was wanting, to give to the most in* different actions that sublime truth which agitates the ■feouls of the spectators. Iffland's theory of gestures is very ingenious. He laughs at those arms of windmills that can answer no. purpose but in the declamation of moral sentences ; and he thinks that, in general, gestures few in number, and confined within narrow limits, give better indica- tion of real passions ; but in this respect, as in many others,, there are tv/o very distinct classes of talent, that which bears the character of poetical enthusiasm, and that which springs from the spirit of observation ; the one or the other must predominate, according to the nature of the pieces and of the parts. The ges- tures which are inspired by grace, and by the senti- ment of the beautiful, are not those best adapted to characterize particular personages. Poetry expresses perfection in general, rather than a peculiar mode of existence or feeling. The art of the tragic actor con- sists then in presenting in his attitudes the image of poetical beauty, without neglecting the distinguishing traits of character : the dominion of the arts always consists in the union of the ideal with the natural. When I saw the play of The Trjemy -fourth of Feb- nmry^ performed by two celebrated poets, A. W. Sphiegei and Werner, I was singularly struck by their OF DECLAMATIOiS*: 47 tBode of declamation. They prepared their effects by- long anticipation, and plainly discovered that they '^vould have been vexed to be applauded at the begin- ning. The whole was always present Lo their thought ; and a partial success, which might have injured that general effect would have appeared to them only in the light of a fault. Schlei>el made me first perceive, by his manner of acting in Werner's play, all the interest of a part which I had scarcely observed in the reacling. It was the innocence of guilt, the unhappiness of a worthy man, who has committed a crime at the age of seven years, when he did not yet know what was crime ; and who, although at peace with his conscience, has been unable to dissipate the uneasiness of his imagina- tion. I judged the man who was represented before me, just as we penetrate a real character, by m.otions, looks, and accents, which betray it unconsciously. In France, the greater part of our actors never appear not to know what they are about ; on the contrary, there is something studied in all the means they make use of, and the effect is always foreseen. Schroeder, of wiiom all the Germans speak as an admirable actor, could not bear to have it said that he played weil at such or such a moment, or that he spoke well such or such a verse — Have I played the part -well ? he would ask ; have I been the very person I represented ? — and, in fact, his genius seemed to change its nature with every change of part. In Fiance they would not dare to recite tragedy, as he often did, in the ordinary tone of conversation. There is a general colour, an established accent, which is of strict necessity in the Alexandrine verse ; and the most impassioned movements rest on this pedestal as on an essential postulate of art. The French actors, in general, look to receive applause, and deserve u, at almost every verse ; the German actors pretend lo it only at the conclusion of the piece, and scarcely ever obtain it sooner. Tne diversity of scenes and of situations in tlie Ger- man pieces, necessarily gives room to mucn greater variety in the talents of the perioniiers. The uumb Of literature anb Tim akts. show tells to more advantage ; and the patience of the spectators permits a number of details which render the pathetic more natural. The wit of an actor, in France, consists almost entirely in declamation ; in Oermany there is a much greater number of accesso- ries to this principal art ; and even speech itself is sometimes hardly necessary to affect the audience. When Schroeder, playing the part of King Lear, in a German translation, was brought sleeping upon the stage, it is said that this sleep of wretchedness and old age, drew tears even before he was awakened, before his lamentations had made known his sufferings ; and "when he bore in his arms the body of his yomig daugh- ter Cordelia, slain because she would not abandon iiim, nothing could be so fine as the strength given him by despair. A last hope supported him, he tried if Cor- d.eiia breatiied stiii ; he, so aged himself, could not be- lieve that a being so young could have died already. A passionate grief, in an old mian half consumed, pro- tluced the most distressing emotion. The German actors, in general, may be justly cen- sured for seldom pui ting in practice the knowledge of the arts of design, so largely spread abroad in their nation : their attitudes are not fine j the excess of their simplicity often degenerates into awkwardness, and they scarcely ever equal the French in the nobleness ai]d elegance of their deporiment and motions. However, for some time past, the German actresses have studied the art of attitude, and perfect themselves in that sort grace, which is so necessary on the stage. In Germany, they never applaud till the end of the act, or very seldom interrupt tne actor to testify to him the admiration he inspires. The Germans look upon it as a sort of barbarism to disturb, by tumultu- ous marks of approbation, the deep emotion with which they love to be penetrated in siU nee. But this is an additional difficulty for tlie actors ; for it requires ar* astonishing force oi genius to dispense, in declaim- ing, with the ent oviiagement of the puljiic. Inai^art Winch is entirely of emotion, assenibiies oi spectalor-s OF DECLAMATIOjC. corr.riiunicate an all powerful electricity "\Thich nothing can suppiy. From an habitual exercise in the practice of the art, it may happen that a good actor, in repeating- a per- formance, shall pass over the same tracks, and em- ploy the same methods, without the spectators ani- mate him anew; but the first inspiration almost al- ways proceeded from them. A sins^ular contrast de- serves to be remarked. In those fine arts, of v.-hich the creation is solitary and reSective, we lose whatev- er is natural when we think of the public, and it is self-iove only that makes us think of it. In those v.-hich are of sudden impression, above all in declama- tion, the noise of the plauaits acts upon the soul like the sound of military music. Tnis ai-imating sound makes the blood circulate more swiftly, and it is not cold vanity that is satisfied by it. Wlien a man of genius appears in France, in vrhat- ever line, he attains almost a ways to a degree of per- fection without exam-pie; for he u. ites the boldness that makes hin; deviate from the common roarl to good taste, vrhici'i ii is of io mucn importance to preserve •when the originality of taleiu do^s noi suffer from it. It therefore seems to me that Taimaraay be cited as a model of boldness and moderation, of nature and of dignity. He possesses ail tiie secrets of he different arts; his a titudes recal the fine statues of antiquiiv ; liis drafieric, when he least thhiks ab<.utit, is fjiL^ed in all bis motions, as if he had had time to arrange it with the greatest care. The expression of nis couhtenai'ce, that of his eye, ought to be studied by aii pai .tei's. Sometimes he enters v>-ith his eyes only iiali open, and, on a sudden, feeling makes rays of light bpiL:g ir.mi them which seem to illuminate the whole theatre. The sound of his voice agitates from the moment he speaks, before even tne sense of the words he ut- ters can have excited any emotion. Where any de- scriptive poetiy accidental; y fincis place in a tragedy, he has brought out its btauti-^s witli as mucr. feeling as if he v. ere Pindar nimseif rcciiii g the odes of his own composition. Ouiers iiave ueea ot time to excite VOL. II, E ^0 OP LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. emotion, and they do well to take time for t!ie purpose * but in the voice of this irsan there is I know not what iiQagic which, at its first accents, av/akens all the sym- pathies of the heart. The charm of music, of paint- ing-, of sculpture, of poetry, and, above ail, of the language ot" the soul, these are the means he employs to deveiope in his auditor, all the force of the generous or of the terrible passions. What knowledge of the human heart he displays in J'lis manner of conceivissg his parts ! he becomes their second author by his accents and his physiognomy. When QLdipus relates to Jocasta how he has killed ■Lai us, witi'iouL knovv-ing him, his recital begins thus : J'etois jeune et snjitrbe. Most actors, before him, thought it necessary to act the word siifierbe^ and used to draw up their heads as a sign of it; Talma, who feels that all the recollections of the proud CEdipus be- gin to affect Irim in the nature of remorse, pronounces in atinrid voice these words, calculated to rem.ind him of a confidence that he has lost. Phorbas arrives from Coi inth at the nionicnt when CEdipus has first conceiv- ed doubts respecting his birth ; he demands a private conierence with him. Other actors, before Talma, siiade haste to turn to their follovrers, and dismiss them "with an air of m.ajesty: Taima remains with his eyes fixed upon Phorbas : he ctinnot lose him from his sight, and only makes a sign by waving his hand to those arcuntl him. He has said nothing yet, but his bewil- dered motions betray the troubje of his soul ; and %vhen, in the last act, he exclaims on quilting Jocasta^ Oui, L:iius est mon pex'e et je suis voire fils, "sve think we see open before us the cavern of T^ena- rus, into which mortals are dragged by perfidious destiny. In Andromache, when Hermione, out of her senses, accuses Orestes of having assassinated Pyrrhus with- out her participation, Orestes answers, Et ne m'avez-yous pas "Vous-mema ici tautdt ordoraae son. trepasf OF RECLAMATION. It is said that Ls Kain, in reciting^ this verse, laid an emphasis on every word, as if to recal to Hermione all the circumsiances of the order he had received from her. This would be very well before a jiuli^e ; but, before a woman one loves, the despair of finding- her unjust and cruel, is the only sentiment that fills the soul. It is thus that Talma conceives the situa- tion ; an exclamation escapes from the heart of Ores- tes : he pronouncies the lirst words with emphasis, and those that follow with a sound of voice gradually v/eakenin^: his arms fail, his countenance bet^omes in an histantpale as death, and the emotion of the spec- tator augments in proportion as he seems to lose the power of expressing' himself The manner in wluch Talma recites the succeeding, mon. iogue is sublim.e The kind of innocence that^ returns to the soul of Orestes only to torture it, whcjy he repeats this verse i J'assassine a regret un roi que je revere, inspires a compassion which the genius of Racine it- self could hardly have foreseen altogether. Great ac- tors have almost always made trial of themselves in the madness of Orestes ; but it is there above all that the grandeur of gestures and of features adds wonder- fully to the effect of the despair. The power of grief is so much the more terrible, as it displays itself through the very repose and dignity of a noble nature In pieces taken from the Roman History, Talma displays a talent of a very different nature, but not less remarkable in its v/ay. We understand 'i'acitus bet- ter after having seen hira perform the part of Nero; he manifesto in tliat part a great sagacity ; for it is only by sagacity that a virtuous irdnd seizes the symptoms of guilt; nevertheless, he produces a still stronger eiTect, I think, in those parts where we love to aban- don ourselves, in listening to him, to the sentiments he expresses. He has done Bayard, in Du Beiloy's play, the service of setting him free from tiiose airs ef rodomontade which other authors had thought it 5% OP LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. necessary to besto\y upon Inm : this Gascon hero is again become, thanks to Talma, as simple in tragedy as in history. His costume in this part, his plain and appropriate gestures, recal the statues of kni.^ht& that we see in old churches, and we feel astonished that a man who possesses so truly the feeling of an- cient art, has been able to transport himself also to the cSiaracter of the middle ages. Talma sometimes plays the part of Pharan in a tra- gedy by Ducis, on an Arabian subject, Abuffar. A number of enchanting verses sheds a wonderful charm over tliis tragedy ; the colours of the east, the pensive iT^elancholy of the south of Asia, the melancholy which belongs to those regions where the sun consumes in- stead of embellishing nature, make themselves ad- mirably felt in this work. The same Talma, the Gre- cian, the Roman, the chivalrous, becomes an Arab of the desert, full of energy and of love; his looks arc guarded, as if to avoid the heat of the sun's rays ; his gestures evince an admirable alternation of indolence and impetuosity; sor/ietimes fate overwhelms liim, sometimes he appears more powerful than nature her- self, and seems to triumph over her ; the passion -ivhich devours him, the object of which is a woman "ivhom he believes to be his sister, is concealed in his -bosom ; one would say, by his uncertain pace, tliat he •wishes to fly from himself; his eyes turii themselves away from her he ioves, his hands repel an image which he thinks he always sees at his side, and when at last he presses Saiema to his heart, with tliis simple word^ J'ai froiclj" he finds m,eans of expressing at once the shudder of sou!, and the devouring ardour which he endeavours to hide. Many faults may be found in the plays of Shakspeare adapted to our theatre by Ducis ; but it v/ould be great injustice to deny them beaulies cf the fust order; the genius of Ducis is in his heart, and it is there that he is great. Talma performs his characters like a friend to the talent of this noble old man. The scene of the witches, in Macbeth, is changed into recitation on the French stage. Tahr.a should be seen endeavouring to OF DSCLAMAtlO^r render something vulgar and uncouth in the accent of the witches, and to preserve, at the same time, all the dignity exacted by our theatre. Piir des mots inconnus, ces etres monstrueux S'iipiJeloient tour a tour, s'applaudiSsOient entre eux, S'approchoient, me montrolent avec un r.s farouche; Leur doig-t mysterleux r,e posoit sur leur bouche. Je leur parle/et dans i'ombre ils s'echappent soudain, L'uu avec un poignard, 1' autre un sceptre a. la mam i L' autre d'un long serpent serroit le corps Uvide ; Tou3 trois vers ce palais ont pris un vol rapide,^ Et tous trois dans les airs, en fuyan; loin de moi^ M'ont laisse pour adieu ces mots ; Tu seras roi. *rhe low and mysterious voice of the actor in pronoun- cing these verses, the manner in which he piaced his finger on his mouth, like the statue of silence, his look, which altered to express a horrible and repulsive recollection; all were combined to paint a species of tlie marvellous new to our theatre, and of v»'hich no for- mer tradition could give any idea. Othello has not latterly succeeded on the French stage ; it seems as if Orosmane prevented our rightly understanding Othello ; but when Talma performs thi^ part, the fifth act occasions as strong an emotion as if the assasshiation actually passed before our eyes ; I have seen Talma, in private company, declaim the last scene with his wife, whose voice and figure are sq "well suited to Desdemona; it was enough for him to pass his hand over his hair, and knit his brow, in or- der to become the Moor of Venice, and terror occu- pied all at th ; distance ©f two paces from him, as if all tlie illusions of the theatre had encompassed hirn. Hamlet is his glory among the tragedies of foreign style ; the spectators do not see the ghost of Hamltt'^ father on the French stage, the apparition passes only in the physiognomy of Talma, audit is certainly notat alji tiie less terrifying. When, in the midst oi a calm ancjl melancholy c nversation, he all at once perceives the spectre, all his motions are foUo\Yed hi the eyet> tto YOL. II, E ^ 0F LITERATURE ANB THE ARTS. contemplate him, and we cannot doubt the presence cf the phantom attested by such a look. When Hamlet enters alone in the third act, and re- cites in fine French verses the famous soliloquy. To bt or not to bcy La mort, c'est le sonameil, c'est un reveil peiit-etre^ Peut-etre. — Ah ! c'est le mot qui g-lace, epouvtmle, L'homnie, au bord du cercueil, par le doute arrete ; Devant ce vaste abime il se jette en arriere, Kessaisti I'esistenee, et s'attaclie a la terre ; Talma used no gesture, he only sometimes shook his head as if to question earth and heaven respecting the nature of death. Without motion, the dignity of med- itation absorbed all his being. He \vas one man, among two thousand silent spectators, interrogating thought concerning the destiny of mortals 1 In a few years ail that was there will exist no longer ; but others will assist in their turn at the same imcertainties, and will plunge, in like manner, into the abyss without know-- ing its depth. When Hamlet wishes to make his mother swear, on the urn that encloses the ashes of her husband, that she had no part in the crime w .ich caused his destruc- tion, she hesitates, is troubled, and ends by confessing her guilt". Then Hamlei draws the dagger which his father commands him to plunge into the maternal bosom ; but at the moment when he is about to striker- tenderness and compassion overcome him, and, turn- ing back towards the shade of his father, he exclaims, Grace, grace, mon fiere I with an accent in Avhich all the emotions of nature seem at once to escape from the heart, and throwing himself at the feet of his mother, who has swooned away, he speaks to her these two lines which contain a sentiment of inexhaust- ible pity, Yotre crime est horrible, execrable, odienx, Mais il n'est pas plus grand que la bonte des cieu^s- 0F DECLA^-IATIOX; 55 To conclude, it is impossible to think of Talma without recollecting Manlius. This juece produced little effect on the stae^e : it is the subject of Otway's Venice Preserved, applied to an event of Roman His- tory. Manlius conspires against the senate of Romcj he confides his secret to Servilius, whom he has loved for fifteen years : he confides it to him in spite of the suspicions of his other friends, who distrust the weak- ness of Servilius, and his iove for his v.ife, the con- sul's daughter. What the conspirators feared actually takes place. Servilius is unable to hide from his wife the danger to which her father's life is exposed : she immediately runs to reveal it to him. Pvlanlius is ar- rested, projects discovered, and the senate condemns, him to be thrown headlong from the Tarpeian hill. Before Talma, people had scarcely discovered in this piece, which is feebly written, the passion of friend- ship wi-.ich Manlius experiences for Servilius. When a i.ote of the conspirator Rutiiius, gives to understand tiiat the secret is betrayed, and betrayed by Servilius, Manlius enters with this note in his hand ; he draws nigh to his guilty friend, already devoured by remorse, and siievvinghim the lines which accuse him, pronounces these wo'^ds, Q//.-^7z dis-lu ? I ask all who have heard them, can the countenance and the tone of tiie voice ever express, at one time, so many different impres- sions ; that rage, softened by an inward feeling of pity^ that indignation, rendered by friendship alternately more lively and more feeble, how make them under- stood if not by tiiat accent which passes from soul to soul, witfiout the internsediatv office ev en of words ! Manlius draws his dagger to strike Servilius with it, his i:iand seeks his heart, and trembles lest it should fiiid it : the remembrance of so many years, during' which Servilius was dear to him, raises as it v/ere a eloud of tears between his revenge and his friend. The fifth act has been less spoken of, and Talma is perhaps still more admirable in that than in the fourth. Servilius has encountered all hi^zards to expiate his fault, and preserve Manlius. At the bottom of his heart he has resolved, if his friend should perish, to M UTRRATUFvE AND THE ARTS. take his lot. The grief of Manlius is softened by the regret of Servilius ; nevertheless he dares not tell him that he forgives his frightful treason ; but he lakes the hand of Servilius in private, and presses it to his- hcart ! his involuntary motions seek the guilty friend, v/hom he wishes to embrace once more before he parts from him for ever. Nothing, or scarcely any thing in the play itself, pointed out this admirable beauty of a feeling soul still paying respect to ancient affection, in spite of the treason that has b.'oken it. The parts of Pierie and Jaffier in the English play indicate this situ- ation very forcibly. Taima has found means of giving to the tragedy of Manlius the energy it wants, and nothing d es so much honour to his talent, as the truth with which he expresses the invincibility of friendship* Passion may hate the oi^ject of its love but when the tie is formed by the sacred relations of the soul, it seems that crime itself is incapable of destroying it, and that we look lor remorse just as, after a long ab- sence, v;e should look for the return. In speaking somewhat in detai* about Talma, I do not consider myself as having rested on a subject for- eign to that of my work. This artist gives as much as possible to French tragedy of what, either justly or ur- justly, the Germans accuse it of wanting: originaiity and nature. He knows how to characterize foreign manners in the different parts he represents, and no actor more frequently hazards great effects by simjDle expedients. In his mode of declaiming, he has artifi- eialiy combined Shakspeare and Racine togeiher. Why shuuid not dramatic writers endeavour also to unite in their compositions what t!ie actor has been able to amalgamate so happily in his performance I OF NOTSI^. CHAPTER XXVIIL Of A^ovcis, f^F all fictions, novels bein^ the inost easy, there is no career in which the writers of i^iodern nations have more generaily essayed themselves The novel Constitutes what may be called the transition between real and imaginary existence. The history of every individual is, with s-nyie modifications, a novel suffi- ciently similar to those which are printed, and person- al recollections often, in this respect, take place of invention. It has been attempted to give more im- portance to this species of compositions, by mixing ■with it poetry, Instory, and philosophy ; but it seems to me that this is to alter its nature. Moral refiec- ticras, and em passioned eloquence, may find room in novels ; but the interest of situations ought always to be the first principle of action in this sort of writings, and nothiiig can ever properly supply its place. If theat - icai effect is the indispensable c ndition for all pieces for representation, it is equally true that a nov- el can be neither a good work, nor a happy fiction, Hi less it inspires a lively curiosity; it is in vain that we would supply the want of this oy ingenious digres- siofis, the expectation of amusement frustrated, Vr^ould cause an insurm.ountabie fatigue. The multitude of love taiCs published in Germany has somewhat turned into ridicule the light of the moo;i, tne harps that resound at evening through the valley, in short all known and approved metnods oS" softly soothing the soul ; and yet we are endued with a natural disposition that delights itself in these easy sorts of reafiing, and it is the part of genius to take hold of a disposition which it would be in vain to think, •5S OF LTTEEATTJRE AND THE ARtSi of corabating. It is so sweet to love and to be lo'^- €d, that this hymn of life is susceptible of irifinite modulation, without the heart experier.cing any lassi- tude ; thus we return with pleasure to t!ic first meio-' dy of a song en\beilished by brilliajit variations. I shall not however dissemble that novels, even those "which are most pure, do mischief; they have too well discovered to us the most secret recesses of senti- ment. Nothing can be experienced that we do not remember to have read before, and all t'ne veils of the heart have been rent. The ancients would never thus have made of the human soui a subject of fiction ; it remained a sanctuary for them, into which their own looks would have feared to penetrate ; but in fine, if the ciass of novels is once admitted, there nuist be in- terest hi it ; and it is, as Cicero said of action in hig Orator, the conditien trebly necessary. The Germans, like the Englisii, are very fertile in iiovels descriptive of domestic life. The delineation of manners is more elegant in the English, but more diversified in the German. There is in England, not-r withstandiiig the independence of characters, a gener- ality of manner h)spired by good company; in Ger* many nothing of this sort is matter of convei^itioii. Many of these novels, founded on our sentiments and manners, wii ch hold among books the rank of dramas in the theatre, deserve to be cited; but that which is Tvithcut equal and without parallel is Werter : there VJQ heboid ail that the genius of Goethe was capable of producing when em passioned. It is said that he now attaciies little value to this work of his youth ; the effervescence of imagination, v*?hich inspired him almost v^ith enthusiasm for suicide, may now appear to him deserving of censure. In youth, the degrada- tion of existence not having yet any commencement, the tomb appears only a poetical image, a sleep sur- rounded with figures weeping for us on their knees ; it is no longer the same in middle hfe, and we then learn why religion, that science of the soul, haS; mingled the horror of murder with the attempt u^oii ©ne'ji own existence,. Nevertheless, Goeihe would be much in the wrong j6id he despise the admirable talent thai is discoverable an VVerter : it is not oniy the sufferings of love, but the maladies of the imagination, so prevalent in our times, of which he has painted the picture : tiiose tiioughts that press into the mind, without our being able to change them mto acts of the will ; the singular contrast of a life much more monotonous than that of the ancients, and of an internal existence much mr re tumultuous, cause a sort of dizzmtss like th.at wi^ich we experience on the brink of a precipice, when ri;e v-ery fatigue of long coritemplating the abyss below may urge us to throw ourselves headlong. Goethe has been able to join to this picture of the inquieluries of the soul, so piiilosophicai in its results, a ficjion, s-imple, but of prodigious interest. Ii it has been thought necessary in all the sciences to strike the eyes by outward images, is it not natural to interest the heart, in order to impress it with grand senti- inents i Novels, in letters, always suppose more of seiiti* ment than of fact ; the ancients would never have thought of giving this form to their fictions; audit is only for two centuries past that philosophy has been sufficientiy introduced into ourselves, to enable the analysis of our feeiihgs to liold so great a place in our books. This manner of conceiviiig novels is certainly not so poetical as that which consists entirely in reci- taiion ; but the human ::iind is now much less dispc- sed to be gratified by events even the best combined, than by observations on what passes within the i:eart. Tills disp osition is the consequence of those great in- tellectual changes thut nave taken place in man : he has in general a much greater tendency to fail back upon himself, and to seek religion, iove, and sentiment, in the most inward recesses rif his being. Many German writers have composed tales of ghosts and v/ilches, and think that tiiere is more of genius in these inventions, than in a romance fouriued on uie circumstances of ordinary life : it is very weli ibr those who are led to it by natural inciinalioii ; but 69 OF LITERATURE AND TEE AETS. in general verse is necessary for the marvellous, prose is inadequate to it. When ages and countries, very different from those we live in, are represented in fic- tion, the charnn of poetry must apply the want of thai pleasure which the resemblance to ourselves would make us experience. Poetry is the winged mediator that transports times past and foreign nations into a sublime region, where admiration fills the place of •sympathy. Romances of chivalry abound in Germany ; but tliey should have been more scrupulous in fastening them upon ancient traditions : at present, they take the trou- ble of investigathig these preci ns sources; and in a book called " The Book of Heroes," they have found a number of adventures related v^'ith force and naivete ; it is of importance to preserve the colour of tnis an- cient style and of these ancient manners, and not to prolong, by the analysis of sentiments, the recitals of times i'j which honour and love acted on the heart of man, like the fatality of ti>.e ancierts, wirhout their rellecting on the motives of actions, or admiiting any uiicertanity into '"heir operations. Phiiosophicai romance has, for some time past, taken Ihe lead, in Germany, of all other sorts ; it does not resemble that of the French ; it is not, like Voltaire 's, a g-enerai idea expressed by a fact in form of apologue, but it is a picture of human life altogether impartial, a picture in which no empassioi.ed interest predonii- irates ; different situations succeed eacli other in all rar.ks, in all conditions, in ail circumstances; and the %vriter is present to relate them. It is upon these principles that Goethe has conceived his IViihclm Meister^ a work greatly admired in Gernia:.y, but little known elsewhere. Wilhelm Mcister is full of ingenious and lively dis- cu^ibions ; it would make a philosopliical work oftiie first order, if the intrigue of a novel were i ot intro- duced into it, the interest of which is r.ot worth what is sacrificed to it; we find in it very dtiicaie arid nii- nutt pic tures ol a certain cjass society, more uu- iiierous in Germany thai:i ii\ other countries j a CAass m NOVELS. 61 .irt which artists, players, and adventurers, inix with those of the bourgeois who love an independent life, and with those of the nobility who esteem themselves the protectors of the arts ; every picture, taken sepa- rately, is charming ; but there is no other interest in the tout-ensemble but what v/e may feel in knowing- the opinion of Goethe on every subject ; the hero of his novel is an intruding third person whom he has placed, we know not why, between himself and his reader. Amidst all these personages in Wilhelm Meipter, more intelligent than important, and these situations so much more natural than prominent, a charming episode is scattered through many parts of the work in Avhich is united all that the warmth and originality of geiiius of Goethe is capable of producing of most animated. A young Italian girl is the child of love, and of a criminal and frightful love, which has taken hold of a man consecrated by oath to the worship of the divinity ; the lovers, already so culpable, discover after their marriage that they are brother and sister, and that incest has been rendered for them the pun- ishment of perjury. The m.other loses her reason, and the father runs over the world like an iinhappy wanderer who refuses any shelter. The miserable •fruit of this fatal love, without support from its birth, -is carried away by a troop of rope-dancers ; they ex- ercise it to the age of ten years, in the wretched play which constitutes their own subsistence ; the cruel treatment they rnake it undergo excites the interest of Wilhelm, and he takes into his service this young -^i"!? in the dress of a boy which she has worn ever since her birth. There is developed in this extraordinary creature, a singular mixture of childishness and depth of un- derstanding, of seriousness and imagination ; ardent like the women of Italy, silent and persevering like a person of reflection, speech does not seem to be her natural language. The few words she utters, how- ever, are soiemn, and answerable to sentiments much stronger than those natural to her age, and of which TOL. II. F OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS, she does not herself possess the secret. She become^ attached to Wiihelm with love and reverence ; she serves him as a faithful domestic, she loves him as an cmpassioned wife : her life having been always un- happy, it seems as if she had never knov/n childhood, and as if having been doomed to suffering in an age ■which nature has destined only for enjoyments, she existed oniy for one solitary affection with which the beatings of her heart begin and end. The character of Mignon (this is the young girl's name) is mysterious like a dream ; she expresses her regret of Italy in some enchanting verses v/hich all people know by heart in Germany : " Dost thou know the land where citron-trees flourish r" &c. In the end, jealousy, that passion too strong for so tender organs, breaks the heart of the poor girl, who be- comes a prey to grief before age has given her strength to iitruggie against it. To comprehend all the effect of this admirable picture, it would be necessary to enter into ah the de- tails of it. We cannot represent to oui seives with- out emotion the least of the feelings that agitate this young girl ; there is in her I know not what of magic simplicity, that supposes a profundity of thought and feeling ; we think v.'e hear the tempest moaning at the bottom of her soul, even while we are unable to fix upon a word or a circumstance to account for the hiexpressibie uneasiness slie makes us feeh Notwithstan,ding tins beautiful episode, we perceive in Wiihelm Meister the singular systeiii that has de- veloped itself of late in the German school : the re^ citais of the ancients, even their poems, however in- ternally animated, are calm in appearance ; and we are persuaded that the moderns would do well to im- itate the tranquility of the anciL^nt authors; but in re- spect of imaguiatiijn, what is not prescribed hi theory seiCiom succeeds in practice. Everts like those of tnc liiad mterest of tnemselves, and the less theauthoi's own sentiments are brought forward, tne greater is the nupression made by me picture ; but if we set ourselves to describe romantic situations with the im- OP NOVELS. 63 partial calmness of Homer, the result could hardly be very alluring. Goethe has just produced a novel called The Affin- ities of Choice^ which is extremely obnoxious to the censure I have been remarkini^. A happy family has retired into the country ; the husband and wife invite, the one his friend, the other her niece, to partake their solitude ; the friend falls in love with the v/ife, and the husband with the young girl, her niece. He abandons himself to the idea of recurring to a divorce in order to procure an union with the object of his at- tachment; the young girl is ready to consent: unfor- tunate events happen to bring her back to the feeling of duty ; but as soon as she is brought to acknowledge the necessity of sacrificing her love, she dies of grief, and her lover shortly follows her. The translation of the Affiniries of Choice has not met with success in France, because there is nothing characteristic in the general effjct of the fable, and it is difficult to comprehend with vvhat view it was con- ceived ; this uncertainty is not a matter for censure in Germany ; as the events of this world often furnish only undecided results, people are satisfied to find in novels which pretend to describe them the same con- tradictions and the same doubts. Goethe's vvork con- tains a liuiuber of refined sentiments and observations ; but it is true that the interest often languishes, and tliat we find almost as many vacancies in the novel as in the ordinary course of human life. A novel, how- ever, ought not 10 resemble the memoirs of individ- uals; for every thing is a matter of interest in what hue really existed, wiiile fiction can only equal the ef- feci of trutn by surpassing it, that is to say, by pos- sessing greater strength, more unity, and more ac- tion. The description of the Baron's garden and the em- bellishments made in it by the Baroness, absoi bs more than a third part of the whole story ; and it does not dispose the reader to be moved by a tragic catastro- phe : the d. ath of the liero and heroine seems no more than a fortuitous accident? from the heart not being 64 OF LiTERATimF ANB TKE AKTO long beforehand prepared to feel and to partake the pain they siifTer. This work affards a sin8:ular mix- ture of a life of convenience with stormy passions; an imagination full of grace and strength draws near to the production '>f grand effects to let them eo all cf a sudden, as if it were not worth the pain to bring them forth ; one would say that the author has been injured by his own emotion, and that by mere cowar- dice of heart he lays aside the one-haif of his talent for fear of making himself suffer in trying to move ■liis readers. A more important question is, v/hether such a work 5s morai, that is, whether the impression derived from it is favourable to the improvement of the soul : the mere events of a fiction have nothing to do with this question ; w^e so well know their dependence on the •\viii of the author, that they can awaken the conscience of no man ; the morality of a novel consists therefore in the sentiments it inspires. It cannot be denied that there is in Goethe's book a profound knowledge of the liuman heart, but it is a discourapjng knowledge ; it .represents life as at best very indifferent in whatever jnanner it passes; when probed to the bottom, sad and mournful, only tolerably agreeable wdien slightly bkimmed over, liable to moral diseases v/hich must be cured if possible, and must kill if they cannot be cu^ red. The passions exist, the virtues also exist ; there are some who assure us that the first must be counter- ^acted by the second ; others pretend that this cannot be ; ■see and judge, says tl\e v/riter v/ho sums up w^ith im- partiality the arguments which fate may furnish for an.^t iigainst each method of viev/ing the subject. It would be v/rong to im.agine, however, that this scepticism v/as inspired by the materializingi; tendency uf the eighteenth century ; the opinions of Goethe are much more profound, but they do not present any greater consolation to the soul. His writings offer to us a contemptuous philosophy that says to good as well as to evil : It ought to be so bectuise it is so ; a wonderful imagination, which rules over all the other. facnJtiesj and grows tiie€l of genius itself as having iti or X0VELS: 65 ft somethinf>' too involuntary and too partial ; to con- clude, what is most of all defective in this romance is a firm and positive feeling of religion ; the principal personages are more accessible to superstiton than to faith ; and we perceive that in their hearts, religion, like love, is only the effect of circumstances, and lia-- ble to vary with them. In the progress of this work, the author displays too much uncertainty; the forms he draws and the opinions he indicates leave only doubtful recollections ; it must be agreed that to think a great deal sometimes leads to the total unsettling of our fundamental ideas ; but a man of genius like Goethe should serve as a guide to his adniirers in an ascertained road. It is no longer time to doubt, it is no longer time to place, on every possible subject, ingenious ideas in each scale of the balance ; we should now abandon ourselves to confidence, to enthusiasm, to the admiration w^hich the imm.ortal youth of the soul may alv/ays keep alive vrithin us ; this youth springs forth again out of the very ashes of the passions: it is the golden bough that can never fade, and v/hich gives entrance to Sibyl intf) the Elysian fields. Tieck deserves to be mentioned in many different styles of composition ; he is the author of a novel cal- led Sternbald, whicn must be read with g-reat delight 5- the events are but few, and even tlmse few are not conducted to the denoaemei-.t ; but we can no where else, I believe, meet v/ith so pleasing a picture of the life of an aitist ; the auti-or places his hero in the fiae age of the arts, and supposes him to be a scholar of Albert Durer, the contemporary of Raphael. He makes him travel in diaerent countries of i.urope, and paints with the charm of novelty the pleasure tiiat must be caused by external objects when we beloiig to no country and no station exclusively, but are at liber- ty to range through all nature in search of inspiraiion and example. Tnis state of existcrice, wanderhig and at the same tim^ contempiat've is tlioroughly lu.der- stood no where but in Germany. Iri Frriicn lomavices -^ve always describe social maiiiiers aiiU ^ue inteixourije 66 OF LITERATURE ANB THE ARTS' of society ; yet there is a great secret of enjoyment m this sort of imat^ination, which seems to hover over the earth while it traverses, and mixes not at all in the active interests of the world. Unhappy m.ortals hardly ever receive from fate the blessing a destiny in which the events succeed each otbc'- in the regular concatenation they wish for ; but insvjated impressions are for the most part sufficiently gentie, and the present, v/hen it can be contemplated apart from recollections and apprehensions, is still the happiest moment of life. There is a sort of poetical philosophy, then, of great wisdom in those instanta- iieous enjoyments which compose the artist's exist- ence ; the new points of viev/, the accidents of light ■which embellishes them, are for him so many events that have their beginning and ending in the same day, and have nothing to do with the past or the future; the affections of the heart unveil the face of nature, and we are astonished, in reading Tieck's novel, by all the wonders that surround us without our perceiv- ing it. The author has mingled in his work several detach- ed pieces of poetry, some of Vvdiich are extremely fi;:e. When verses are introduced into a French novel, they almost always interrupt the interest, and destroy the harmony of the whole. It is not so in Sternbald ; tne story is so poetical in itself, that the prose seems like a recitative which follows the verse, or prepares the way for it. Among others, there are some stanzas on the spiing, as enchanting as nature herself at that sea- son. Infancy is represertcd in them under a thoiisand different shapes : man, the plants, the earth, the hea- ven, ail things there are so young, all things so rich in hope, that the poet appeai s to be celebrating the ii/ sr fine days, and the hrsL flowers, that ever attired tlie world. We have, in French, several comic romances, and one of the most remarkable is Gil Bias. I do not thiiik any work can be mentioned among the Gcrmans,^ in W'iiicii the affairs of lif(; are so agreeably sported wiih. Tne Germaiis have hardly yet attained a real world; OF NO^'ELS. 67 Jiow can they be supposed capable already of laiig-hing' at it ? Th-^t serious kind of e:aiety whicii turns nothing- into ridicule, but amuses without intending it, and makes others lau^h without lauQ;hing itself ; that gaie- ty, which the English call humcur^ is to be found also in many of the German writers ; but it is almost im- possible to translate them. When the pleasant 17 con- sists in a ohilosophical sentiment happily expressed, as in Swift's Gulliver, the change of language is of 110 importance ; but Sterne's Tristram Shandy loses almost all its beauty in French. Pleasantries, which consist in the forms of language, speak to the mind a thousand times more, perhaps, than ideas ; and yet these impressions so lively, excited by shades of re- finement so subtle, are incapable of being transmitted to foreigners. Claudius is one of the German authors who have most of tliat national gaiety, the exclusive property of every foreign literature. He has published a collection of various detached pieces on different cubjects ; some are in bad taste, others unimportant, but there reigns in all of them an oviginality and a truth which render the least things attractive. This v/riter, v/hose style is clothed in a simple, and sometimes even in a vulgar habit, penetrates to the bottom of the heart, by the sincerity of his sentiments. Ke makes you weep, as he makes you laugh, by exciting sympathy, and by giving you to recognize a fellow -creature and a friend in all he feels. Nothing can be extracted from the writings of Claudius, his talent acts like sensation, and to speak of it, it is necessary to have felt it. He re- sembles those Fleniish painters v/ho sometimes rise to the representation of what is most noble in nature, or to the Spanish Muriilos \y\-\o paints poor beggars with the utmost exactness, and yet often gives them, uncon- sciously, some traits of a noble and profound impres- sion. To mix the comic and the pathetic with suc- cess, it is necessary to be eminently natural in both ; as soon as the artificial makes its appearance, all con- trast vanishes; but a great genius fiili of simplicity may successfuiiy represeiU a« unioii; of which the QS OF LTTEBATURE AND TFIE AliTS. only charm is on the countenance of childhood, a smile in the midst of tears. Another writer of later date and greater celebrity than Claudius, has acquired great reputation in Ger- many by works which might be called novels, if any known denomination could suit productions so extra- ordinary. J. Paul Richter is possessed of powers cer- tainly more than sufficient to compose a work that would be as interesting to foreigners as to his own countrymen, and yet nothing that he has ])ublished can ever extend beyond tlie limits of Germany. His ad- mirers will say that this results from the originality even of his genius ; I think that his faults are as much the cause of it as his excellencies. In these modern times, the mind should be European ; the Germans encourage their authors too much in that wandering spirit of enterprise, which, daring as it seems, is not always void of affectation. Madame de Lambert said to her son : — my friend, indulge yourself in no follies that will not afford you a very high degree of pleasure. — We might beg J. Pa.ul never to be singular except in spite of himself; v/hatever is said involuntarily al- ways hits some natural feeling ; but when natural orig- inality is spoiled by the pretension to originality, the reader has no perfect enjoyment even of what is true, from the remembrance and the dread of what is other= wise. Some admirable beauties are to be found neverthe» less, in the works of J. Paul; but the arrangement arid frame of his pictures are so defective that the most luminous traits of genius are lost in the general con- fusion. The writings of J. Paul deserve to be consid- ered in tv.'o points of view, the pleasant and the se- rious ; for he constantly mixes both together. His manner of observing the human heart is full of delicacy and vivacity, but his knowledge of it, is merely such, as maybe acquired in the little towns of Germany, and in his delineation of manners, confined as it is, there is frequently something too innocent for the age in whic!i we live. Observat'ons so delicate and almost laii^ute, on the moral aff'^ctioiis; r^cai a iittie to-o^j.; OP NOAnEL&. recollection the personage in the fairy tales who went by the name of Fine Ear, because he could hear the grass g-row. In this respect Sterne bears some analogy to J. Paul ; but if Paul is very superior to him in the se- rious and poetical part of his works, Sterne has more taste and elegance in his pleasantry, and we see that he lias lived in societies less confined and more brillianto Thoughts extracted from the writing s of J.Paul, would however form a very remarkable work ; but we perceive in reading them his singular custom of collecting from every quarter, from obsolete books, scientific works, Sec. all his metaphors and allusions. The resemblances thus produced are almost always very ingenious ; but when study and attention are required to enable us to find out a jest, scarcely any but the Germans would consent thus to laugh after a serious study, and giv?- themselves as much trouble to understand v/hat amus- es them, as what is calculated for their instruction. At the bottom of all this, we find a mine of new ideas, and if v/e reach it, v/e are enriched ; but the au- thor has neglected the stamp v/hich should have been given to those treasures. The gaiety of the French is derived from the spirit of society ; that of the Italians from the imagination ; that of the English from orig- inality of character ; the gaiety of the Germans is phiic« sophic ; they jest with things and with books, rather than with men. Their heads contain a chaos of knowledge, which an independent and fantastic imagination com- bines in a thousand different ways, sometim.es origin- al, sometimes confused ; but in which v/e always per- ceive great vigour of intellect and of sou]. The genius of J. Paul frequently resembles that of Montaigne. The French authors of former times are ill general more like the Germans, than writers of the age of Louis XIV ; for it is since that time that French literature has taken a classical direction. Paul Pcichter is often sublime in the serious parts of his v/orkb : hut the continued melancholy strain of his language sometimes moves till it fatigues us. When the imagination is kept too long in the clouds, the col- ours are confused, the outlines are effaced, and is^q. ■70 OF LITERATURE AKD THE ARTS. retain of all that we have read, rather a reverbera* tion of the sound, than a recoliection of the sub- stance. The sensibility of J. Paul, aftects the soul, hat does not su ficiently strengthen it. Th^ poetry of hh style resembles the sounds of an harmonica, which delit^ht us at first, but g^ive us pain a few minutes afterwards, because the exaltation excited by them has no determinate object. We give too great an advan- tage to cold and insipid characters, when we represent sensibility to them as a disease, while on the contrary, it is the most energetic of all our moral faculties, since it imparts both the desire and ability to devote our- selves to the v/elfare of others. Amongst the affecting episodes which abound in the v/'itings of J. Paul, v/here the principal subjects are seldom more tiian slight pretexts to introduce the episodes, I v.'ili now quote three, taken by chance, to give an idea ©f the rest» An Englisii lord is blind in consequence of a double cataract, he has an opera- tion performed on one of his eyes ; it fails, and that eye is lost without resource. His son, without informing him of it, studies with an oculist, and at the end of a year, he is judged cap^ible of operating on the eye "which may yet be preserved. TliC father, ignorant of liis son*b intention, thinks he is placing hirnaeif in the hands of a stranger, ai,d prepares himscif with forti- tude for the moment which is to decide whether ihc rest of his life is, or is not, to be passed in darkness ; he even directs that his son should be sent from his chamber, that he may not be too much affected by being present at so important a decision. The son approaches his father in silence ; his hand does not tremble; for the circumstance is too momentous to admit of the common signs of tenderness. All his soul is concentrated in a simple thought, and even the excess of his serjsibility gives that supernatural presence of mind, wnich would be succeeded by frenzy, if hope were lost. At length the operation succeeds, and tne father, in recovi ring- his sight, beholds the instrument of its restoration in the hand of his own son I 71 Another novel by the same author also presents a ver^ affecting situation. — A y« ung blind man requests a de- scription of the setting- sun, whose mild a; d pure rays, he says, he feels in the atmosphere, like the farewell of a friend. The person whom he interrogates, describes nature to him in ail its beauty ; but he mingles in his painting an impression of melaiicholy, calculated to console the unfortunate being who is deprived of sight. He incessantly appeals to tise Bei'.y, as to the living source of all the living wonders of the world ; and bringing every thing within the scope of that intellec- tual sight which the blind man probabiy enjoys in a more perfect manner than we do, he makes his soul perceive what his eyes can no longer behold. I will now venture a translation of a very strange compo'sition, but which will assist us in forming an opinion of the genius of John Paul. Bayle has soraewuere said, that atheism does not shelter us from the fear of eternal suffering it is a grand thought, and it offers to us a wicie field for re- flection. The dream of J. Paul which I am now going [ to mention, may be considered as this thought ex- I tended to action. This dream in some measure resembles the delirium . of a fevtr, and ought to be considered as such. In I every respect except that of displaying the powers of [ imagination, it is extremely liable to censure. " The ii:tention of this fiction,'* says John Paul, " will excuse the boldness of it. If my heart were " ever so wretched, so dried up, as that all the senti- « ments which affirm the existence of a God, were « annihilated in it, I would again read over these " pages ; they would deeply affect me, and in their " perusal, I should recover my hope of salvation and « my faith. Some men deny the existence of a God " with as much indifference as others admit it; and it is « possible t^> believe in it for twenty years, and yet not « perhaps till the twenty-first to find the solemn mo- ment hi which whh transport we discover ihe rich ac- " ccmpaniment of tliai beiiet, the viviiying heat of that fouiuahi of naphtha. OF LITERATURE AKD THE ARTS-. « A Dream. « When, in childhood, we are told that towards mid° " night, at the hour when sleep has most povver over « our souls, dreams become more troubled, the dead " rise from their 2:raves, and in solitary churches, imitate " the pious practices of the IWms: ; death frightens us " on account of the dead. When darkness approach- es, we turn our eyes from the church and its black- " ened casements: tiie terrors of c.^ikihood, stiil more " than its pleasures, take wings and flutter round us " during the night of the lis/htly slumbering soul. " Av) I extinguish not those scintillations ; leave us to " our dreanis, however sad. They are still nsore pleas- ing than our real existence ; they brrng us back to ^' that age in which the stream of life still receives a " rejection oi the heavens. I was reclining one summ.er evening, on tlie sum- " mit of a hili, and falling asleep there, I dreamt, " that I awoke in the middle of the night in a church- ^' yard. The clock struck eleven. The tombs were all half open, and the iron gates of the church, mov- ^' ed by an invisible hand, opened and shut again with " great noise. I saw shadows flitting along the wails, " which were not cast on it by any bodily substance : other livid spectres rose in the air, and children alone « still reposed in their coffins. There was a greyish heavy stifling cloud in the sky, which was strained " and compressed into long folds by a gigantic phan- " torn. Above T)\e I heard the distant fall of avaian- " ches, and under my feet the first commotion of a " a mighty earthquake. The church shook, and the " air was agitated by piercing and discordant sounds. " The pale lightning cast a mournful iignt. I felt " myself impelled by terror to seek shelter in the tern- " pie : two splendid basilics were placed before its for- " midable gates. " I advanced amidst the crowd of unknown shades " on whom the seal of ancient ages was imprinted ; " thty all pressed round the despoiled altar, and ti;eir ^ breasts only breathed and were agitated with vio- 73 ^ lence ; one corpse alone which bad been lately buried *' in the church, reposed on its winding sheet; there was yet no motion in its breast, and a pleasin.^ dream ^ gave a smile to its countenance ; but at the approach of a living being it awoke, ceased to smile, and " opened its hea^y eyelids with a painful effort; the " socket of the eye was empty, and where the heart " had been, there was only a deep wound ; it raised its " hands and joined them to pray ; but the arms iength- ened, were detached from the body, and the clasped hands fell to the earth. "In the vaulted ceiiino: of the church v/as placed " the dial of eternity ; no figures or index were there, ^ but a black hand went slowly round, and the dead " endeavoured to read on it the lapse of time. " From the high places, there then descended on the ^' altar a figure beaming with light, noble, elevated, nut " who bore the impression of never-ending sorrow ; the " dead cried out ; O Ciudst ! is there then no God ? he replied : There is none. — All the spectres then began " to tremble violently, and Christ continued thus: I " have traversed worlds, I have raised myself above " their suns, and there also, there is no God ; I have ^' descended to the lowest limits of the universe, I « looked into the abyss, and I cried :-— O Father, where « art thou ? yet I heard nothing but the rain which fell drop by drop into the abyss, and the everlasting and " ungovernable tempest alone answered me. Tnea « raising my regards to the vault of heaven, I saw only « an empty orbit, dark and bottomless. Eternity re- « posed on chaos, and in gnawing it, slowly also de- « vourcd itself ; redouble then your bitter and piercinp- " complaints ; may shrill cries disperse your spirits, f jr all hope is over. " The spectres in despair vanished like the white va- « pour condensed by the frosc ; the church was soon " deserted ; but all at once (terrific sight) the dead children, who were now awakened in their turn in « tae church-yard, ran and prostrated themselves be- " fore the majestic figure which was on the altar, say- in:, to him ^—Jesus, have we no father ?— and re- TOL. II. Q - OF UTEEATXJUE ANB THE ARTS. " plied with a torrent of tears : — We are all orphansj " neither I nor you have any father. — At these words, " the temple and the children were swallowed up, and " all the edifice of the world sunk before me into the *^ immensity of space." I shall add no observations on this singular essay, the effect of which must depend entirely on the spe- cies of imagination possessed by the reader. I was struck by the gloomy cast of the talents it displays, and it appeared to me a fine idea, thus to carry beyond the grave the horrible despair which every creature would necessarily feel if deprived of God. I should never lay down my pen if I were to analyse the multitude of witty and affecting novels to be found in Germany. Those of La Fontaine in particular, ■whicn are read at least once by every one with so much pleasure, are frequently more interesting in the detail than of the general plan or conception of the subject. To invent becomes daily more uncommon ; and be- sides, novels which delineate manners, can with difficul- ty be rendered pleasing in different countries. The great advaiitage, therefore, which may be derived from the study of German literature, is the spirit of emu- lation which it imparts ; we should rather seek in it the means of writing well ourselves, than expect from it ■works already written which may be worthy oi bt'm^ traosinittcd to other nations. ©F GEIcMAX HISTORIANS. Hp CHAPTER XXIX. Of Gervmn Historians^ and of J. de JS'xUlUr in par- ticular. History is the portion of literature most nearly connected with the knowledge of public aftairs ; a great historian is almost a statesman ; for it is scai ce- 1> possible to form a right judgment of political events, without being, in a certain degree, able also to conduct them ; thus we see that the greater num- ber of historians are well acquainted with the govern- ment of their country, and write only as they might have acted. In the first rank of historians we must reckon those of antiquity, because there is no period in which men of superior talents have exerted more influence over their country. The Englisn historians occupy the second rank ; but the appellation of great, belongs rather to tlieir nation, than to any particular individual ; and its historians are therefore less dra- matic, but more philosophical than those of ancient times. The English affix more importance to gener- al, than to particular ideas. In Italy, Machiavel is the only historian who has considered the events of his country in a coniprehensivo, though in a terrible man- ner; all the others have seen the world in their ov^n city; but this patriotism, confined as it is, still im- parts interest and spirit to the writings of Italy.* It has been always remarked that in France, me- moirs are much better than histories ; the intrigues of * 31. de Sismtindi ha?, in his v^-riting•s, revived the partial in- terests of the Itiihan repubhcs, by coiviiectmg- lliem ^vith the great subjects of enoimy which are intereistiiig- tQ the whole £iniian race* OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. courts formerly determined the fate of the kingdom-, it was therefore very natural that in such a country^ private anecdotes should contain the secret of his- tory. It is under a literary point of view that we should consider the German historians ; the political exis- tence of the country has not hitherto had power to give a national character to that class of writers. The talents peculiar to each individual, and the general prin- ciples of the historic art, have alone influenced this sort of production of the human mind. It appears to m& that the various historical writings published in G-^r- iviany, may be divided into three principal classes : learned history, philosophical history, and classical liistory, as fa.r as the acceptation of that word is corifi- jied, as the ancients understood it to be, to the art of narration. Germany abounds with learned historians, such as Mascou, Schopflin, Schlozer, Gatterer, Schmidt, Sec. Tiiey have m.ade protoimd researchesy ar;d have given us works where every thing is to be found by those "who know how to study them ; but such writers are fit only to refer to, and their works would be beyond all others estimable and liberal, if their only object Jiad been to spare trouble to men of genius, who are desirous of writing history. Schiller is at the head of the philosophical histori- ans, that is to say, of those who consider facts, as so luany reasons for the support of their own opinions. The History of the Revolution in the Low Countries is written with as mucli warmth and interest, as if it were a plea in a court of justice. The Thirty Years "War is an epoch which caiied forth the energies of the German nation. Schiller has written its history with a sentiment of patriotism and love of knowledge and liberty, which does great credit both to his heart and his genius; the traits with which he characterizes the principal personages, are of a very superior kind, and all his reflections are derived from the concentrations of an elevated mind ; but the Germans reproach Schiiler with not having- sufficiently traced fcict^-up t«- 77 {y^civ sources ; he could not entirely nil the great oiitlii-es chalked out by his uncommon talents; and the erudition on which his history is founded is not suiTicienlly extensive. I have frequently had occasion to observe, that tne Germans were the first to feel ail the advantages which imagination might derive from iearninp: ; circumstantial details a^ one give colour aixl life to i-iisto y: on the surface of our knowledge we scarcely find any tning more than a pretext for reason and arguineiit. Schi ler's history was written in that part of the eig;iteentn century, when ideas were used only as weapons of hostile aruunient, ai>d his style is a little tiiiCtUiCd with the poit mical spirit so prevalent in al- most all the writings of that period. But when the object aimed at is toleration and liberty, and that we acivance towards it by means and sentiments so nobie jis those of Schiller, v.'e are always sure of compo* sing a fiiie work, even though more or less room might be desirable in the part assigr.ed to facts and refiec lions.* By a singular contrast, it is ScJdiier, the great dramaiic poet, who has mingled perhaps too much philosophy, and consequently too many general ideas in ids narrations, and it is IMuller, the most learned of historians, who has been truly a poet in bis* manner of describing both men and events. In the History of Switzeiiand we must distinguish the learn* ed man and the able v/riter ; and I think it is oniy by this means tnai we shall succeed in doing justice to Mliller. He was a man ol" unparalleled knowledge, and his abilities in that respect, ready frightened those "vvho were acquainted witn them. We cannot con- ceive how tne head ot one m.aji could contain such a world of facts and of dates. The six thousand years which are known to us, were perfectly arranged hi his memory, and his studies had been so deep, that they were as tresh as if they were recoiiections. Thero * Among-st philosophical historians, we must not forg-et ISf. Heeren, wnoliasjusc pubushed Thoughts on thv; Crusaders," ill whiCh perfect nTipartiahiy is the resuii of tmgoniiuoil kiiowf' edge jid sireiig-ih oi judgment. TOL. II. G ^ OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. is not a village in Switzerland, not a noble family of ■^vhich he did not knov/ the history. One day, in con- sequence of a wager, he was requested to give the pedigree oi the sovereign counts of Bugey : he re- peated their names one after another immediately, only lie did not clearly recollect whether one of those he jnentioned had been regent, or sovereign in his own aight, and he seriously reproached himself for this de- fect of memory. Men of genius among the ancients %vere not subjected to that immense labour of erudi- tion which is augmenting with every century, and their imaginations vi'ere not fatigued by study. It costs anuch more to acquire distinction in our days, and we ©we some respect to the persevering toil which is jnecessary in order to gain possession of the subject 4.]nder investigation. The death of Muller, of whose character there are :s'arious opinii^ns, is an irreparable loss to literature, ,and it seems as if more than one man were taken from «.Hs, when such talents are extinguished.* Muller, who may be considered as the true classical liistorian of Germany, constantly read both the Greek and Latin authors in their original language ; he cul- tivated literature and the fine arts as subservient to history. His unbounded erudition, far from diminish- ing his natural vivacity, was rather the foundation from ^vhencehis imagination took its flight, and the striking Iruth of his pictures was the result of the scrupulous fidelity with which they were drawn ; but though he made admirable use of his learning, he was ignorant ef the art of laying it aside when necessary. His his» .tory is much too long ; he has not sufficiently com- pressed the different parts of it together. Details arc * Amongst the disciples of Mlillsr, the Baron de Hormayi*, who wrote the Austrian l*iutarchy, should be considered as oner cf the first ; we know that his history is composed, not from. l^ooks, but from original manuscripts. Doctor. Decarro, a learn- ed. Genevese settled at Yienna, by whose beneficent activity the discovery of vaccmation has been earned into Asia, is about m publish a translation of these lives of \h$ gr^at Jjieii pf A^te.a^ wlftich Will ex-Cite grtat if»t«i-^st, SF GEHMAN' HISTORIANS, T9 fiecessary to give interest to the recital of events ; but we ought to choose amongst those events such as are worthy to be recited. The v/ork of Mllller is an eloquent chronicle; if, however, all histories were thus conducted, the life of man would be entirely spent in reading the lives of men. It were much to be wished, therefore, that Miiller had not suffered himself to be led astray even by the extent of his knowledge. Nevertheless, read- ers who have the more time at their command, be- cause they make a better use of it will always feel new pleasure in perusing those noble annals of Switzerland. The preliminary chapters are chefs-d'oeuvre of elo- quence. No one has known better than Miiller how to display in his writings the most energetic patriot- ism ; and now he is no more, it is by his writings alone that we can appreciate him. He describes, with the skill of a painter, the scenes in which the principal events cf the lielvetic confederation took place. It would be wrong to become the historian of a country we have never beheld. Situations, places, nature it- self, are like the body of the picture ; and facts, hov/- ever well they may be related, have not the character of truth, if the external objects with which men are surrounded, are not, at the same time, brought for- ward to our view. That erudition which led Miiller to ascribe too much importance to every particular fact, is extremely use- ful to him, when the object is an event really deserv- ing of being animated by the powers of imagination. He then relates it, as if it bad passed but yesterday, and knows hov/ to give it all the interest which we should feel from a circumstance still present to us. In history as weil as in fictions, v/e ouglitas m.uch as possible, to leave to the reader the pleasure and op- ponunity of anticipating the characters of men and the progress of events. He is soon tired v.dth what is toid him, but he is delighted with what he iiimseif discovers ; and we assimilate literature to the interests of life, when we know hov/ to awaken the anxiety of ^^xpecuu^D by a iiiere rcciialj tlie judgment of ibp 80 • OP LITEUATURE AND THE ARTg. reader is exercised on a ^rorcl, on an action winch makes him at once understand the character of a man and often the spiiit even of a nation or of a century. The conspiracy of Riilli, as it is related in the His- tory of Miiiier excites very great interest. That peace- ful valley, where men equally peaceable, resolved on the most perilous actions at the command of con- science; the calmness of their deliberation, the solem- nity of their oath : their ardour in the execution of it : an irrevocable determination founded on the will of man, while all without is changeable, what a picture ! The imagery alone awakens thought ; the heroes of this event, as the author relates ii, are absorbed by the grandeur of their object. No general idea pre- sents itself to their mind, no rejection occurs to di« minish the iirmnebS of the action, or the beauty of the recilal. At the battle of Granson, in which the duke of Bur- gundy attacked the small arrny (jf the Swiss Cantons, a simple trait gives the most affcctii g idea of those times and manners. Charles already occupied tlie heights, and thought Mmself master of the army which he saw at a distance on the plain ; when all at once, at the rising of the sun, he perceived the Swissy who, according to the cusi om of their fathers, fell on their knees before the battle to implore the protection of the Lord of Lords ; the Burgundians thought they were kneeliijg thus, in order lo yield up their arms, and began to siiout triumphal. tly ; but all at once tiiose Christian soldiers, fortified by prayer, rose from tlie ground, fell on their adversaries, and at lerjgth obtain the victory of which their pious ardour had rendei ed them so worthy. Circumstances of this sort are often found in Mlliier's History, and his language affects the soul, even when what he says is not hi itself pathetic;, there is sometL\ing grave, noble, and chaste in his styie, winch powerfully awakens the recollection of ancient times. Miiiler had nevertheless much versatility ; but gen- ius asbuoics ail forms without being on that account subjected to the charge of hypocrisy. It is what it ap-^ OF GERMAN mSTOIlLi:N"S. pears to be, but it cannot al'vaj^s continue in the same disposition, and external circumstances give it differ- ent modifications. It is above all to the colouring of his style that MUller owes his power over the ima^^ina" tion ; the old words which he makes use of so much to the purpose, give an air of Germanic faith which inspires us with confidence. Nevei theiess he is wrong- in attempting to unite the coi^ciseness of Tacitus with the naivete of the middle ages; these two imitations are inconsistent with each other. There is even no one but Miiiier witi] whom tiie old German phraseolo- gy sometimes succeeds ; in every one else it is affecta* tion. Sailust alone among tiie ancient writers ventur- ed to make use of the forms and language of a period anterior to his own; in general this sort of imitation is unnatural to us; nevertlieless the chronicles of the middle ages were so familiar to Mliller, that he often tinintentioiia;ly wrote in the same style. Those ex« pressions must certainly have been natural to him siiic& they in pire al! that he wished us to feel. In reading Miiiier we have pleasure in believing that lie possessed at least some of the virtues which he knev/ so well how to appreciate. His last will, which has been just published, is unaoubtedly a proof of his disinterestedness. He leaves no fortune but directs his manuscripts to be sold in order to pay his debts. He adds, that if the produce is sufficient to discharge them., he bequeaths his watch to his servant, " who " will not," he says, receive without tender emotion, " the watch which he has daily wound up for twenty " years.'* The poverty of a man possessed of s.ucli distinguished talents is always an honouj-abie circum- stance of his life : a thousandth part of the genius which confers a high literary reputation would certain- ly be sufficient to ensure the success of all the calcu- lations of covetousness. It is a fine thing to devote one's talents to the pursuit of fame, and we always leel esteem for those who ardently aspire after an obieot ■\yhicn lies beyond the grave. $% or UTERATURE AND THE ARTS. CHAPTER XXX. Herder. J. HE men of literature in Germaiiy, as a united bd» dy, form in many respects the raost respectable as- semblage which the enlightened world can present to us, and among these, Herder deserves a distinguished place : his mind, his genius, and his morality united, have rendered his life illustrious. His writings may be considered in three different points of view, those of history, literature and theology. He was much occupied in the study of antiquity in general, and of the oriental languages in particular. His book enti- tled " the Philosophy of History" has more fascina- tion in it than almost any other German production. We do not indeed find that it contaiiis the same depth of po- liiical observation as the work written by Montesquieu on the greatness and decline of the Romans; but as Herder's object was to penetrate the genius of the .earliest periods of time, perhaps the quality he most eminently possessed, which was imagination, proved more serviceable to him in that pursuit than any other would have done : that sort of torch is necessary when -we walk in darkness : Herder's various chapters on Persepolis and P>abylon, on the Hebrews and Egyp^ tians, form a delightful kind of reading ; it seems as if we v/ere walking in the midst of the old world vvitli an historical poet, who touches the ruins with his wand, and erects anew before our eyes, all the fallen edifices. In Germany, so extensive a degree of information is expected even from men of the greatest genius, that some critics have accused Herder of not possessing a sufficient depth of learning. But what strikes us, on the contrary, is the variety of his knowledge : all liie.- 83 languages Avere familiar to him, and his " Essay on « the poetry of the Hebrews," is the work in which' we most readily discover how far he could adopt the spirit of foreign nations. The genius of a prophetic people, with whom poetical inspiration was an emana- tion from the Deity, was never better expressed. The ■wandering life of that nation, the manners of its peo- ple, the thoughts of which they were capable, the im- agery habitual to it, are ail pointed out by Herder with great sagacity. By the help of the most ingenious combinations, he endeavours to give us an idea of the symmetry of Hebrew versification, of that return of the same sentiment and of the same image in differ- ent term.s of which every stanza offers us an example. Sometimes he compares this striking regularity to two rows of pearls which surround the hair of a beau- tiful woman. " Art and nature," says he, " throup-h all their varieties, still preserve an astonishing uni- ^' formity.'' Unless we were able to read the Hebrew Psalma^ in the original language, it is impossible t® acquire a better idea of the charm with which they are accompanied, than by wliat Herder says of them. His imagination was straitened in the countries of the west ; he delighted in breathing the perfuines of Asia and in transfusing into his works the pure incense wnich his soui had collected.— It was he who first made Spanish and Portuguese p(;etry known in Ger- many ; the translations of W. Schlegei have since naturalized them. Herder pubiished a coliection en- titled " Popular S ngs." It contaiL.s ballads and de- tached pieces, on which the national chasacter and im- agination of the peopie are strongly impressed. We may study in them that natural poetry wnicii precedes cultivation. Cultivated literr.ture becomes so speedily lactitious, that it is good, n^.w and then, to have re- course to the orighi oi" all poetrv, that is to say, to the in pression made by natur e on man before he had ana- lysed-both .he universe and iumseif. The fiexibiiity of the German language alone, perhaps, admits a trans- lation ct those naivetes p-euliar lo that of diflerent countries wuiiouc whicJn we cannot enter inio tiie spirit ^4 OF LITERATURE AND THE AR'JS. of popular poetry; the words in those poems have iii themselves a certain grace, which affects us like a flower we have before seen, like an air that we have heard in our childhood : these peculiar impressions contain not only the secrets of the art, but those of th-e soul, from v/hich art originally derived them. The Germans in literaiure, analyse their sensations to the very utmost, even to those delicate shades which no language can convey to our ideas; and we may re- proach them with attaching themselves too much, in every respect, to the endeavour of making us compre- hend what can never be expressed. I shall speak, in the fourth part of this work, of Her- der's tlieoiogical writings ; history and literature a e ' often found united in them. A man of so sincere a heart as Herder must naturally mingle religion with •all Ins thougl;ts and aii his thoughts with religion. It has been said, that his writings resemble an animated conversation : it is true that he has not made use of that methodical form in his works, which is given to books in general. It was under the porticos, and in the gardens of the Academy, that Plato explained to his disciples the system of the intellectual world. We find in Herdei that noblenegligence of genius ever im- patient to acquire new ideas. What we call a well made book is a modern invention. The discovery of the art of printing has rendered all the apparatus of logic, divisions, recapitulations. Sec. necessary to us. The greatest tmrnber of ancient W{)rks of philosophy, are treatises or dialogues, which we consider as wi it- ten conversations. Montaigne also, gave himself up , to the natural course of his thoughts To be allowed such a privilege, however, we should possess a deci- ded superiority of intellect. Order supplies the want of that superiority ; for if mediocrity were thus to de- viate ai random, we shouid commonly be brought back to the pomtfrom wdiich we begun, with the fatigue of having- taken many a vy^arisome step; but a man of _ genius interests us the more, by shewhig himself as he is, and by n^aking his books appear rather as ex- temporaneous effusions Uim laboured composUi9ns. i HERBEE. 85 Herder possessed, it is said, admirable powers of conversation, and from his writings we are sensible that it must have been so. We also perceive from them, what indeed all his friends attest the truth of, that there never was a better man. When literary genius inspires those who do not know us, with a dis- position to love us, it is that gift of heaven from whicli <3n earth we gather the most delightful fruit. tOL» 11.. H OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS^ CHAPTER XXXI. . Of the Literary Treasures of Germany^ and of it@ most renonvned Critics^ A, W. and F. SchlegeL In the picture which I have, now p;iven of German literature, I have endeavoured to point out the prin- cipal works ; but I have been obliged to omit naming a t>;^at number of men, whose writings, being less known, conduce mor to the instruction of those wno read tnem, tha« to the reputation of the authors themselves. Treatises on the fine arts, works of erudition and phi- losophy, though they do not immediately beiong to lit- erature, must however be counted amongst its treas- ures. There is in Germany a fund of ideas and knowl- edge, which the other nations of Europe will not for a long time be able to exhaust. The poetical genius, if Keaven ever restores it to us, may also receive a happy impulse from the love of nature, of arts and philosophy which is kindled in the countries of Germany ; but at least, I dare afiirm, that any man who now wishes to devote himself to a se- rious work of whatever sort, whether history, philos- ophy, or antiquities, cannot excuse himseif from be- coming acquainted v/ith the German %vriters, who have been occupied with the study of those subjects. France may boast oi a great number of learned men of the first rank, but they have seldom united knowl- edge and political sagacity, while in Germany, they are now almost, inseparable. Those who plead in fa- vour of ignorance, as a pledge of grace, mention many very sensible men who have had no instruction ; but they forget that those men have deeply studied the human heart, such as it shews itself in the world, and OF GERMAN CRITICS, &c. 87 that their ideas are derived from that source. B ut if those men, learned in society, would judge of litera- ture without being acquainted with it, they would be as tiresome as citizens are when they talk of the court. When I began the study of German literature, it seemed as if I was entering on a nev/ sphere, where the most striking light was thrown on all that I had be- fore perceived only in a confused manner. For some tiine past, little has been read in France except me- moirs and novels, and it is not wholly from frivolity, that we are becom.e less capable of more serious reading, but because the events of the revolution have acpus- tomed us to value nothing but the knowledge of men and things ; we find in German books, even on the most abstract subjects, that kind of interest which confers tlieir value upon good novels, and which is excited by the knowledge which they teach us of our own hearts. The peculiar character of German litera- ture, is to refer every thing to an interior existence ; and as that is the mystery of mysteries, it awakens an unbounded curiosity. Before we proceed to philosophy, which always makes a part of learning in countries where the em- pire of literature is free and powerful, I will say a few words on what may be considered as the legislation of that empire, I mean criticism. There is no branch of German literature v/hich has been carried to a greater extent, and as in certain cities there are more physiciaiis than sick people, there are sometimes in G-o many more critics than auti^ors ; but the analyses of Lessing;, who was the creator of style in German prose, are made in such a manner, that they may , tliemselves be considered as works. Kant, Goethe, J. de Mliller, the greatest Gern^an writers of every various kind, have inserted in the periodical pieces, what they call recensions of diiier-- eat piibiicatioi:S, and these 7'ece?isions contain the most profound philosopliical theory, and positive knowledge. AiaousSt the younger writers, Schiller and the two Schiegeis nave suev/u themselves very superior to ail f8 OP LJtERATURE AND TIIE ARTS. Other critics. Schiller is the first amon.^ the dlsciplei of Kant, who applied his philosophy to literature ; and indeed, to judge from the soul, of exterior objects, or from exterior objects to know what passes in the soul> is so different a progress, that all connected with either^ must be sensible of it. Schiller has written two treatises, " on the naif and the sentimental," in "which, genius unconscious of its own powers, and gen- ius which is self-observant, are analysed with great «ai»aclty ; but in his Essay on Grace and Dignity,*"' xmd in his letters on the JEsihetic^ that is to say, the theory of the beautiful, there is too much of metaphys- ics. When we mean to speak of that enjoyment of the arts of which all men are susceptible, we should dwell on the impressions they have received, instead of permitting the use of abstract forms, which make us Jiose the trace of those impressions. Schiller was a man £>f literature by his genius, and a philosopher by his in- clination to reflection ; his prose writings border on the confines of the two regions ; but he often treads a lit- tle forward on the highest, and returning incessantly to what is more abstract in theory, he disdains the ap- jplication as a useless consequence of the principles he has laid down. Animated desc?-iptions of the chefs-d'cEUvre of liter- ature give much more interest to criticism than gen-* eral ideas which skim over all subjects without char* acterizing any. Metaphysics may be termed the sci» ence of what is immutable ; but all that is subjected Xo the course of time, is explained only by the mix- ture of facts and refiecnons : the Germans would iittain complete theories, independent of circumstan- ces, on all subjects; but as that is impossible, we must not give up facts from a fear lest they should cir^ Gumscribe ideas ; and examples alone in theory, as well as in practice, engrave precepts deeply in the jmemory. The quintessence of thoughts which some German works present to us, does not like that of flowers, con- centrate the most odoriferous perfumes; on the cou- f rary; we may say with greater truth, that it is only a cold B9 remnant of emotions that were full of life. We might, however, extract from those works a multitude of very interesting observations ; but they are confounded with each other. The author^ by great exertion of mind leads his readers to that point v/here his ideas are too line and delicate for him to attempt transmitting them to others. The writings of A. W. Schlegel are less abstracted than those of Schiller ; as his knowledge of literature is uncommon even in Germany, he is led continually to application by the pleasure which he finds in com- paring different languages and different poems with each other ; so general a point of view ought almost to be considered as infallible, if partiality did not some- times impair it ; but this partiality is not of an arbiti-ary kind, and I v/ill point out both the progress and aim of it ; nevertheless as there are subjects in which it is not perceived, il is of those that I shall first speak. W. Schlegel has given a course of dramatic litera- ture at Vienna which comprizes every thing remarka- ble that has been comp<(sed for the theatre from the tiine of the Grecians to our own days; it is not a bar- ren nomenclature of the works of the various authors, he seizes the spirit of their different sorts of litera- ture, with all the imagination of a [>oet ; we are sensi- ble that to produce such consequences extraordinary studies are required ; but learning is not perceived in this work except by his perfect knouiedge of the chefs- d'cKuvre of composition. In a few pages we reap the fruit of the labour of a whole liie ; every opinion form- ed by the autiior, every epithet given to the writers of whom he speaks, is beautiful and just, concise and animated. W . Schlegel has found the art of treati;,g the finest pieces of poetry as so many wonders of na- ture, and of painting them in lively colours which do not mjure tne justness of the outline ; for we canriot repeat too often, that imagination,, far from being an enemy to truth, brings it forward more than aiiy other faculty of the mind, and ail those who depend upi.-n it as an ex-, use for indefinite terms or exaggerated expres- sions, are at least destitute of poetry as of ^ood sense, YOL. li. H 3 ^0 OF LI-f^ERATUl^E ANB TIIE ARTS. An analysis of the principles on which both tragedy and comedy are founded, is treated in W. Schlegel's course of dramatic literature with much depth of phi- losophy ; this kind of merit is often found among the German writers ; but Schiegcl has no equal in the art of inspiring his own adnjiration ; in general he shews himself attached to a simple taste, sometimes border- ing on rusticity, but he deviates from his usual opin- ions in favour of the opinions of the inhabitants of the south. Their jeux cle mots and their concetti are not the objects of his censure; he detests the afTectation ■which owes its existence to the spirit of society, but that which is excited by the luxury of imagination pleases him in poetry as the profusion of colours and perfumes would do in nature. Schlegel, after having acquired a great reputation by his translation of Shaks- peare, became equally enamoured of Calderon, but Avith a very different sort of attachment to that with ■which Shakspeare had inspired him ; for while the English author is deep and gloomy in his knowledge ©f the human heart, the Spanish poet gives himself up -with pleasure and delight to the beauty of life, to the sincerity of faith, and to all the brilliancy of those vir- tues which derive their colouring from the sunshine of 4:he soul. I was at Vienna when W. Schlegel gave his public course of lectures. I expected only good sense and instruction where the object was only to convey infor- mation ; I was astonished to hear a critic as eloquent as an orator, and who far from falling upon defects "which are the eternal food of mean and little jealousy, sought only the means of reviving a creative genius. Spanish literature is but little known, and it was the subject of one of the finest passages delivered during the sitting at which I attended. W. Schlegel gave us a picture of that chivalrous nation, whose poets were all warriors, and whose warriors were poeis. He mentioned that count Ercilia, " v/ho composed his poem of the Araucana in a tent, as now on the shores q{ the ocean, now at the foot of the Cordilleras while he p:\ade war on ;he r^voU€4 Ssiyages. QarcilassQ^ OP GERMAN CRITICS, Sic. 9 1 ©ne of the descendants of the Incas, wrote poems on love on the ruins of Carthaj^e, and perished at the sieg'e of Tunis. Cervantes was dangerously wounded at the battle of Lepanto ; Lope de Vega escaped by miracle at the defeat of the invincibie armada ; and Calderon served as an intrepid soldier in the wars of Flanders and Italy." Religion and war were more frequently united amongst the Spaniards than in any other nation ; it was they, v/ho, by perpetual combats drove out the Moors from the bosom of their country, ami who may be con- sidered as the van-guard of European Christendom ; they conquered their churches from the Arabians, an act of their v/orship was a trophy for their arms, and their triumphant religion, sometimes carried to fanaticism, was allied to the sentiment of honour, and gave to their character an impressive dignity. That gravity tinctured with imagination, even that gaiety which loses nothing of what is serious in the warmest affections, shows itself in Spanish literature, which is vvholly composed of " fictions and of poetry, of which reli- " gion, love, and warlike exploits are constantly the object. It might be said, that when the new world " was discovered, the treasures of another hemisphere " contributed to enrich the imagination as much as the " taste ; and that in the empire of poetry as well as in that of Charles V. the sun never ceased to enlighten " the horizon." All who heard W. Schlegel, were much struck with this picture, and the German language, which he spoke with elegance, added depth of thought and af- fecting expression to those high-sounding Spanish names, which can never be pronounced without pre- senting to our imaginations the orange trees of the kingdom of Grenada and the palaces of its Moorish sovereigns.* * William Schlegel, whom I hear mention as the first literary critic of Germany, is the author of a French p.-.mplilet lately published under the title of "Reflections on the Continental System." This same W. Schlegel printed a few years ago at Pa?)'^. ^ comparison hetvre^a the J?h?sdra of Euripides and thttt 92 OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. We may compare W. Scblegel's manner of speak- ing of poetry, to that of Winkelmann in describing statues ; and it is only by siich a method of estimating talents, that it is honorable to be a critic : every artist or professional man can point out faults and inaccuracies which ought to be avoided, but the ability to discover genius and to admire it, is almost equal to the posses- sion of genius itself. Frederic Schlegel being much engaged in philo- sophical pursuits, devoted himself less exclusively to literature than his brother ; yet the piece he wrote on the intellectual culture of the Greeks and Romans, contains in small compass perceptions and conclusions of the first order. F. Schlegel has more originality of genius than almost any other celebrated man in Germany ; but far from depending on that originality, though it promised him much success, he endeavour- ed to assist it by extensive study. It is a great proof of our respect for the human species, when we dare not address it from the suggestions of our own minds without having first conscientiously examined into all that has been left to us by our predecessors as an in- heritance. The Germans in those acquired treasures ol the human mind, are true proprietors: those who depend on their own natural understandings alone, are mere sojourners in comparison with them. After having done justice to the uncommon talents of the two Schlegeis, we wiii now examine in what that paniality consists of which they are accused, and from which it is certain all their writings are not exempt. They are evidently prepossessed in favour of the mid- dle ages, and the opinions that were then prevalent ; chivalry witiiout spot, unbounded faith, and unstudied poetry^ a; pear to them inseparable ; and they apply themselves to all that may enable them to direct the Blinds and Uiiderstandings of others to the same pref- erence. W. tochlegel expresses his admiration for of Racine : it made a great noise among the literary people of that piuce ; but no one covild deny that W. Schlegel, diougli a German, wrote French well enough to be fully competent to the tusk of cntxciZing Kacme. OP GBRMAX CRITICS, &c. the middle ages in several of his writings, and partic-* ularly in two stanzas of which I will now give a trans- lation. " In those distinguished ages Europe was sole " and undivided, and the soil of that universal country " was fruitful in those generous thoughts W'hich are " calculated to serve as guides through life and in " death. Knighthood converted combatants intobreth- " ren in arms: they fought in defence of the same " faith ; the same love inspired all hearts, and the f poetry \\hich sung that alliance, expressed the same " sentiment in different languages.'* " Alas ! the noble energy of ancient times is lost : our age is the inventor of a uarrow-minded wisdom, *' and v/hat weak men have no ability to conceive is in « their eyes only a chimera ; surely nothing truly great " can succeed if undertaken with a grovelling heart. " Our times, a'as ! no longer know either faith or love ; " how then can hope be expected to remain v/ith « them." Opinions, whose tendency is so strongly marked, must necessarily affect impartiality of judgment on works of art; without doubt, as I have continually re- peated during the whole course of this work, it is much to be desired that modern literature should be founded on our history and our religion : it does not however follow that the literary productions of the middle ages should be considered as absolutely good. The energetic simplicity, the pure and loyal character v/hich is displayed in them interests us warmly ; but in the other hand, the knowledge of antiquity and the progress of civilization have given us advantages which are not to be despised. The object is not to trace back the arts to remote times, but to unite as much as we can, all the various qualities which have been develop- ed in the human mind at different periods. The Schlegeis have been strongly accused of not doing justice to French literature, there are however no. writers v/ho have spoken with more enthusiasm of the genius of our troubadours, and of that French cjiivairy which was unequaJied in Europe, when it 94 OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. united in the his^hest degree, spirit and loyalty, grace and frankness, courage, and gaiety, the most affecting simplicity with the most ingenuous candour ; but the German critics affirm that those distinguished traits of the French character were effaced during the course of the reign of Louis XIV ; literature, they say, in ages \vhich are called classical, loses in originality what it gains in correctness ; they have attacked our poets, particularly in various ways, and with great strength of argument. The general spirit of those ^ .'itics is the same with that of Rousseau in his letter against French music. They think they discover in many cf our tragedies, that kind of pompous affectation, of which Rousseau accuses Lully and Rair.sau, and they affjm that the same taste which gives the preference to Coypel and Boucher in painting, and to the Cheva- lier Bernini in sculpture, forbids in poetry that raptur- ous ardour which alone renders 'i r. divine enjoyment; in short, they are tempted to apply to our manner of conceiving and of loving the fine arts, the verses so frequently quoted from Corneilie ; " Othon a la princesse a fait un compliment, " Plus en homme d esprit qu'e: veritable amant.*' W. Schlegel pays due homage however to most of our great authors; but what he chiefly endeavours to prove, is, that from the middle of the 1 7th century, a constrained and affected manner has prevailed through- out Europe, and that this prevalence has made us lose those bold flights of genius which animated both writers and artists in the revival of literature. In the pictures and bas-reliefs where Louis XIV. is some- ti.nes represented as Jupiter, and sometimes as Her- cules, he is naked, or clothed only with the skin of a lion, but always with a great wig on his head. The writers of the new school tell us tnat this great wig may be applied to the physiognomy of the fine arts in the 17th ceutuiy: an affVcted sort of po iteness, deiived from factitious greatness, is always to be discovert^d in them. or GERMAN CRITICS, &c. 95 It is interesting to examine the subject in this point of view, in spite of the irinumerable objections which may be opposed to it ; it is however certain that these German critics have succeeded in the object aimed at, as, of all writers since Lessing, they have most essen- tially contributed to discredit the imitation of French literature in Germany ; but from the fear of adopting Prench taste, they have not sufficiently improved that of their own country, and have often rejected just and striking observations, merely because they had before been made by our writers. They know not how to make a book in Germany, i and scarcely ever adopt that methodical order which classes ideas in the juind of the reader; it is not there- foi-e because the French are impatient, but because their jucigment is just ai d accurate, that this defect is i so tiresome to them ; in German poetry fictions are i FiOt delineated with tnose strong and precise ouiiir-.cs li which ensure the effect, and the uncertaiijty of the im- !; agination corresponds to the obscurity of the tnoUj.,nt. ! Li short, if taste be found wanting in those strange and ; vui.^ar pleasantries which c nsiitute what is called I co?nic in some of their works, it is not because tliey I are natural, but because the aftectation of energy is at least as riciicuious as that of gracefulness. " I am myseif lively," said a German as he jum.ped out of window : when we attempt to make ourselves any thing, we are nothir-g : v/e snould r.ave recourse to the good taste of the French to secure us from the excessive exaggeiation of some German authors, as on the other hand we shouia app.y to the solidity and depth of the Germans to guarci us irom the dogmatic fiivoiity of some inaividuais amongst the men of lit- erature in France. Different nations ought to serve as guides to eacli other, and all wouid do v/rong to deprive themselves 01 the information they may mutually receive and ira- p irt. Tiiere is something very singular in the differ- ence Vv'hich subsists between nations : the climate, the aspect of nature, the language, the goverrmient, and above ail the events of nistory which have in them- §6 OP LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. selves powers more extraordinary than all the otheus united, all combine to produce those diversities ; and no man, how superior soever he may be, can guess at that which is naturally developed in the mind of him who inhabits another soil and breathes another air ; we should do well then in all foreign countries, to wel- come foreign thoughts and foreign sentiments, for hospitality of this sort makes the fortune of him who exercises it. OF THE FINE ARTS IN GERMANY. 97 CHAPTER XXXir. Of the Fine Arts in Germamj^. T^IIE Germans in general understand toe arts better than they practise them ; no sooner is an impression made on their minds, than they draw from ii a number of ideas. They boast much of mystery, but it is with the purpose of revealing it, and no sort of originality can be shewn in Germany without exciting a general endeavour to explain from whence it is derived ; this is a great disadvantage, particularly with respect to the arts, where ail is sensation ; they are analyzed before this inspiration is felt, and it is in vain afterwards to say, it was wrong to analyze them, must denounce the practice, for we have tasted the fruit of the tree ^of knowledge, and the innocence of genius is lost. I certainly do not recommend, with respect to the arts, that ignorance which I have always condemned in literature ; but we should distinguish the studies which relate to the practice of the arts, from those whose only object is the theory of genius ; these carried too far, stifle invention ; we are perplexed by the recollection of all that has been said on the subject of every different chef-d'ceuvre, and think we perceive between our- selves and the object we mean to describe, a number of treatises on painting and sculpture, on the ideal and the real, till as artists we feel that we are no longer in immediate communion with nature. Without doubt the spirit of those various treatises is encouragement ; but genius is wearied by being brought too forward, as on the other hand it is extinguished by too much restraint ; and in all that relates to the imagination, there is requir- •ed so happy a combination of obstacles and facilities, that ages may pass away before we arrive exactly at the VOL. II, I OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. point most favourable for the display of the human min<\ in its highest degree of perfection. Before the period of the reformation, the Germans had a school of painting which that of Italy would not have disdained. Albeit Durer, Lucas Cranach, and H ibein, have in their manner of painting some affin- ity with the predecessors of Raphael, Perugino, An- drea Mantegno, &c. Holbein approaches nearer to Leonardo da Vinci; there is however in general more hardness in the German than in the Italian school, but Hot less expression and coliectedness in the counte- naiices. The painters in the fifteenth century had very little knowledge of the means which facilitate the prac- tice of their art, but simplicity and modesty are every "where displayed in their works; we see in them no pretensions to grand effect, we perceive only the ex- pression of that strong and vivid emotion, for which ail men of genius endeavour to find a language, that they may not leave the world without imparting a por- tion of their soul to their contemporaries. In the paintings of the fourteenth and fifteenth cen- turies, the folds of the drapery are quite straight, the head-dresses a little stiff, the attitudes very simple ; but there is something in the expression of the figures %vhich we are never tired of contemplating. Tiie pic- tures on scriptural subjects, produce an impression like that which we feel from the Psalms, where poetry and piety are so charmingly united. The second, and the finest epoch of the art of paint- ing, was that in which the painters preserved the truth of the middle ages, and added to it all the more re- cently acquired splendour of the art : nothing among the Germans corresponds to the age of Leo X. To- wards the end of the seventeenth century, on to the mid- dle of the eighteenth, the fine aits almost every where fell into a singular decay ; taste degenerated into af- fectation ; Winckeln:ann then exerted the greatest in- fluence not only over his own country, but over the rest of Europe ; and it was bis writings which directed the Hiinds of different artists to the study and admi- ration of the monuments of antiquity : he was better OF THE FINE ARTS IN GERMANY. 99 skilled in sculpture than in poetry ; and he therefore led painters into the practice of placing coloured stat- ues in their pictures, rather than the animated forms of living nature. Painting also lost much of its charni by being so nearly allied to sculpture ; the illusion necessary to the one is directly contrary to the im- moveable and decided forms of the other. When painters take their models exclusively from the re- mains of ancient beauty, as it is only in statues that it can be discovered, we may address to them the re- proach which has been applied to modern classical literature, that it is not from the inspiration of their own minds, that they produce the effects of their art. Mengs, a German painter, has given us many phi- losophical thoughts, in his writings, on the subject of his art : he was the friend of Winckeimann, and partook in his admiration of the antique ; but he never- theless avoided the faults for which the paintere, form- ed by the writings of Winckeimann, have generally been censured, and wh^ch are mostly confined to their copying the chefs-d'oeuvre of antiquity. Mengs had even taken Corre,^io for his model, wdiose pictures, of all others, are the farthest removed from any rcsem- 'blance to sculpture, and whose chiaro scuro recals to our minds the vague, but delightful impressions of melody. The German artists had, almost all of them, adopt- ed the opinions of Winckeimann, till the period when the new literary school also extended its influence over the fine arts. Goethe, vvhose universal genius meets lis every where, has shewn in his writings, th3.t he com.- prehends the true spirit of painting much better than Winckeimann ; nevertheless, convinced like him, that subjects drawai from the Christian religion are not fa- vourable to the art, he endeavours to revive our en- thusiasm for ancient mythology, an attempt which it is impossible to succeed in ; perhaps, Vrith respect to the fine arts, we are not capable of being either Chris- tians or Pagans : but at whatever period a creative imagination shall again spring up from amongst merr, 100 OF LITERATURE AXD TRE ARTS, 'it will assuredly not be in an imitation of the ancientsj. that its effects will be perceived. The new school maintains the same system in the fine arts, as in literature, and affirms that Christianity is the source of all modern genius ; the writers of this school, also characterize, in a new m.anner, ail that in Gothic architecture agrees with the religious senti- ments of Christians. It does not follow however from this, that the moderns can and ought to construct Gothic churches ; neither art nor nature admit of repetition : it is only of consequence to us, in the present silence of genius, to lay aside the contempt which has been thrown on all the conceptions of the middle ages ; it certainly does not suit us to adopt them, but nothing is. more injurious to the development of genius, than to consider as barbarous every thing that is original. ^ I have already said in speaking of Germany, that there are very few modern buildings which are at all ^^emarkable ; in the north, v^e see nothing in general but Gothic edifices, and the dispositions of soul which they tend to excite are encouraged both by nature and poetry. Gorres, a German writer, has given an inter- esting description' of an ancient church. " We see," said he, " figures of knights kneeling on a tomb-stonc 4Mvilh their hands joined together; above them are placed some wonderful curiosities from Asia, which " aie intended to attest, as so many dumb vv'ltnesses, the voy&ges of the deceased to the Holy Land. The dark, arches of the church cover those vv'ho rest beneath " them with their shade ; we might almost imagine our- " selves in the midst of a forest, the branches and leaves i' of which have been petrified by death, so that they will no longer m©ve or be agitated, v/hen succeeding *i ages like the midnight storm shall roll through tiieir lengthened vaults. The church resounds with the ^« majestic tones of the organ ; inscriptions in letters i« of brass, half destroyed by the humid vapours oi i' time, confusedly indicate those great actions which ^' are now become fabulous, after having been so long considered as incontesiably true;" OF THE FINE ARTS IX GERMANY. 101 In speaking of the arts in Germany, we are led to mention writers rather than artists. The Germans are in every respect, stronger in theory than in practice, and northern climates are so little favourable to those arts which strike our eyes, that we might almost be induced to think, the spirit of reflection was bestowed on them merely because their inhabitants should be enabled to observe and appreciate the beauties of the south. There are many galleries of pictures and collections of drawings in Germany, which indicate a love of the arts in all ranks of people. In the houses of the nobil- ity and most distinguished men of literature, there are very fine copies of the chefs-d'oeuvre of antiquity ; that of Goethe is remarkable in this respect; his ob- ject is not merely the pleasure which is felt from the sight of fine statues and pictures, he thinks both the genius and the soul are affected by it. " I should be a *' better man," said he, " if I had always under my " eyes the head of the Olympian Jupiter, which was " so much ada^ired by the ancients." — Several distin- guished painters have established themselves at Dres- den ; the chefs-d'oeuvre which adorn the Gallery are the objects of attraction, and excite both skill and em- ulation. The virgin of Raphael with two children gaz- ing on her, is in itself a treasure of art: there is- in this figure an elevation and a purity which is the per- fect ideal of religion and inward fortitude. The sym- metry of the features is in this picture only a symbol ; the long garments as an expression of modesty, ren- ,der the countenance still more interesting, and the physiognomy, even more admirable than the features, is like supreme beauty manifesting itself in that which is terrestrial The Christ, who is in the arms of his mother, seems at most about two years of age ; but the painter has wonderfully expressed the powerful, energy of the divine being, in a countenance as yet scarcely formed. The looks of the angelic children ' Who are placed at the bottom of the picture, are de- lightful ; the innocence of tha^. age, alone, can appear ehaiming by the side of celestial candour j tiieiras^- VOL. II. I 2 i 02 OF LITEItATUPtE AND THE AETS. tonishment at the sight of the Virgm, beaming with holiness and beauty, does not resemble the surprise which men might feel ; they appear as if they adored her with confidence, because they acknowledge in her, an inhabitant of that heaven from which they had just descended. The Night of Corregio is, next to the Virgin of Raphael, the finest chef-d'cEUvre in the Dresden Gal- lery. The adoration of the shepherds has often been "^vell i^presented ; but as novelty of subject goes but [ a little way in the pleasure we receive from painting, : it is sufficient to observe the manner in which Corre- , gio's picture is conceived, in order to admire it : it is in the middle of the night that the child is placed on : the knees of its motlier, and thai it receives the horn- [ age of the astonished shepherds; the light which beams from the holy aureola with which his head is ■ surrounded, has something in it truly sublime ; the personages placed in the back-ground of the picture, and far from the divine infant, are still in darkness ; an | emblem of the obscurity with which human life was environed before it was enlightened by revelation. Amongst the various pictures of modern artists at Dresden, I recollect a head of Dante, v»^hich in char- ' acter was a little like the figure of Ossian in the fine picture of Gerard. This analogy is a happy one. Dante and the son of Fingal may take each other by the hand through successive ages, and through the clouds that hang over them. A picture of Hartmann's, represents the visit of Magdalen, and the tv/o other Mary's, to the sepulchre of Jesus Christ; the angel appears to announce to them that he is risen ; the open tomb which no longer - encloses any mortal remains, and those women of ^ most admirable beauty lilting their eyes towards hea- ' yen to behold him whom they have just been seeking ' in the shades of the sepulchre, form a painting at once ■ picturesque and dramatic. Schick, another German artist, now settled at Ronie, has, since his residence in that place, composed a pic- ture which represents the first sacrifice of Noah after ; OF THE FINE ARTS IN GERMANY. 103 the deluge ; nature, revived by the waters, seems to have acquired a new freshness ; the aninials appear fa- i-niliarized with the patriarch and his children, as having escaped together from the flood. The verdure, the flowers, and the sky are painted in lively and natural colours, which recal the sensations excited by the land- scapes of the east. Several other artists endeavoured like Schick, to follow in painting, the new system in- troduced or rather revived, in literary poetry ; but the arts require the assistance of riches, and v/ealth is dis- persed through the different cities of Germany : and besides this, the greatest progress which has hitherto been made in that country, results from properly un- derstanding, and copying in their true spirit, the v. orks of the ancient masters : original genius has not yet decidedly displayed itself. Sculpture has not been cultivated vAih much suc- cess amongst the Germans ; in the tirst place, because tliey want the marble which renders the chefs-d'oeuvre of the art immortal, and also because they have no just idea of that delicacy and grace of attitude and gesture which gymnastic exercises and dancing alone, can ren- der natural and easy to us ; nevertheless, a Dane, Thor- waldsen, educated in .Germany, is at present the rival of Canova at Rome, and his Jason resembles that which Pindar describes as the m-cdel of manly beauty j a fieece lies on his left arm ; he holds a lance in his hand, and the inactivity of strength characterises the hero, I have already said that sculpture in general los- es, much by the neglect of dancing ; the d^ily phenom- enon of that art in Germany is Ida Brunn, a young girl whose situation in life precludes her from adopting it as a profession ; she has received from nature and from her m.other a wonderful talent of representing, by sim.ple attitudes, the most affecting pictures, or the most beautiful statues ; her dancing is a course of tran- sient chefs-d'ouvre, every one of which we should wish to iix for ever : it is true that the mother of Ida had before conceived in her imagination all that her daugh- ter so admirably presents to our eyes. Tne poetry of INIadame Brunn displays a thousand new treasures. 104 OF UTERATURE AND THE ARTS. both in art and nature, which, from inattention, had" been before unnoticed. I saw the young Ida, when yet a child, represent Althea ready to burn the brand on which the life of her son, Meleager, depended ; she expressed without words, the grief, the struggles, the terrible resolu- tion of the mother ; her animated looks, without doubt, made us understand what was passing in her heart ; but the art of varying her gestures, and the skilful manner in which she folded round her the purple man- tle with which she was clothed, produced at least as much effect as her countenance itself; she often re- mained a considerable time in the same attitude, and at such times, a painter could not have invented any thing finer than the picture v/hich she extemporane- ously presented to us ; a talent of this sort is unique. I think nevertheless, that pantomimical dances would succeed better in Germany, than those which consist entirely, as in France, of bodily gracefulness and agility. The Germans excel in instrumental music; the knowledge it demands, and the patience necessary to execute it well, are quite natural to them ; some of their composers have also much variety and fruitful- ness of imagination ; I shall make but one objection to their genius as musicians ; they put too much mind in their vvorks ; they reflect too much on what they are doing. In the fine arts there should be m.ore in- stinct than thought : the German composers follow too exactly the sense of the words ; this, it is true, is a great merit, in the opinion of those who love words better than music, and besides, we cannot deny that a disagreement between the sense of the one, and the impression of the other, would be offensive: but the Italians, who are truly the musicians of nature, make the air and words conform to each other only in a gen- eral manner. In ballads and vaudevilles, as there is not much music, the little that there is may be sub- jected to the words ; but in the great effects of melo= dy, we should endeavor to reach the soul by an imme- diate sensation. OF TKB FINE ARTS IX GERIMANY. 105 Those who are not admirers of painting- cansiclcred ■ in itself, attach great importance to the subject of a picture : they wish, in contemplating- it, to fee] ths impressions which are produced by dramatic represen- tation : it is the same in music ; when ics po\ve?-3 are but feebly felt, we expect that it should faithiully con- forai to every variation of the words ; but when the whole soul is affected by it, every thing, except the music itself, is importunate, and distracts the atten- tion : provided there be no contrast between the poe- try and the music, we give ourselves up to that art which should ahvays predominate over the others : for the deiightful reverie into which it throv/s us, annihi- lates all thoughts which may be expressed by words ; and music awakening in us the sentiment of infinity, every thing which tends to particularize the object of melody, must necessarily diminish-its effect. Giuck, whom the Germans, with reason, reckon among their men of genius, has adapted his airs to the words in a wonderful manner, and in several of his operas he has rivalled the poet by the expression of his music. When Alcestis has determined to die for Admetus, and that this sacrifice, secretly offered to the Gods, has restored her husband to life, the con- traht of the joyful airs, v/hich celebrate the convales- cence of the king, and the stifled groans and lamenta- tions of the queen, who is condemned to quit him, has a fine tragical effect. Orestes, in the Iphigenia in Tauris, says, " serenity is restored to my soul," and the air v/hich he sings expresses the sentiment, but its accompaniment is mournful and agitated. The musi- cians astonished at this contrast, endeavoured in play- ing it, to soften the accompaniment, v/hen Gluck an- grily cried out: You must not hearken to Orestes, ho tells you he is calm, but he lies." Poussin, in painting the dance of the shepherdesses, places in the landscape the tomb of a young girl, on which is in- scribed : "And I aiso w^as an Arcadian." There is thought in thi^kind of conception of the arts, as w^ell as in the ingenious combination, of Gluck ; but the arts are superior to thought : their language is coiourj 106 OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. forms, or sounds. If we could form an imagination of the expressions of which our souls would be sus- ceptible without the knowled.2;e of words, we should have a more just idea of the effect to be produced by painting and music. Of all musicians, perhaps Mozart has shewn most skill in the talent of marrying" the music to the v/ords. In his operas, particularly in " the Banquet of the Statue/' he makes us sensible of all the grada- tions of dramatic representation ; the songs are gay and lively, while tht strange and loud accompaniment seems to point out the fantastic and gloomy subject of the piece. This ingenious alliance of the musician and poet, gives us also a sort of pleasure, but it is a pleasure which springs from rejiection^ and that does not belong to the wonderful sp[>.ere of the aits. At Vienna, I heard Ha-vdn's Creation performed by- four hundred musicians; it was an entertainment wor- thy to be given in honour of the great work which it celebrated ; but the skill of Haydn was sometimes even injurious to his talent: with those words of the Bible, " God said let there be light, and there was. " light," the accompaniment of the instrument was at first very soft, so as scarcely to be heai d, then all at once they broke out together with a terrible noise, as if to express the sudden burst of light, which occa- sioned a witty remark, " that at the appearance of light, " it was necessary to stop one's ears," In several other passages of the Creation, the same labour of mind may often be censured; the music creeps slowly when the serpents are created ; it be- comes lively again with the singing of birds, and in the Seasons, by Haydn also, these allusions are still more multiplied. Effects tlius prepared beforehand, are in inusic what the Italians term concetti : without doubt, certain combinations of harmony may remind us of the W'onders of nature, but their analogies have nothing to do with imitation, which is nothing more than a facti- tious amusement. The real resembhvnce of the fine arts to each other, and also to nature, depend on sen- timents of the same sort which they excite in our soi,Uar GF THE FINE ARTS IN GERMANY. 107 fey various means. Imitation and expression differ extremely in the fine arts : it is pretty generally agreed, I believe, that imitative m.usic should be laid aside ; but there are still two different ays of coDsidering that of expression ; some wish to discover in it a trans- lation of the words ; others, and the Italians are of tnis number, are contented with a general connection of the situations of the piece with the intention of the airs, and seek the pleasures of the art, entirely in the ar^ itself. The music of the Germans is more varvied than that of the Italians, and in this respect perhaps, is not so good ; the mind is condemned to variety, its pov- erty is perhaps the cause of it ; but the arts, like sen- timent, have an admirable monotony, that of which one would willingly make an everlasting moment. Church music is not so fine in Germany as in Italy, because the instrumental part is too powerful. To him, who has heard the Miserere, performied at Rome by voices only, all instrumental music, not excepting that of the Chapel at Dresden, appears terrestrial. Violins and trumpets make part of the Orchestra at that place during divine service, and the music is con- sequently much more warlike than religious ; the con» trast between the lively impression it occasions, and the recollection suited to the church, is not agreeable : we should not bring animated life to the foot of the tomb ; military music leads us to sacrifice existence, but not to detach us from it. The music of the chapel at Vienna also deserves praise ; of all the arts, music is that which the people of Vienna most value ; and this leads us to hope that at some future day, they will also become poets, for in spite of their taste which is a little prosaic, whoever really loves music, is an en- thusiast, without knowing it, of all the sentiments which music recalls to our mind. I heard at Vienna the Requiem composed by Mozart, a few days before his death, and which was sung in the church at his fu- neral ; it is not sufficiently solemn for the situation, and we still find in it, as in all his preceding composi- tions, many ingenious passages; what is there howev- er, more affecting and impressive than the idea of a 108 OF LITERATURE AND THE ARTS. man of superior genius thus celebrating- his own ob- sequies, hispired at t!ie same time by the sentiment of his death and of his imn.ortality ! The recollections of life ought to decorate the tomb, t'iie arms of a warrior are usually suspended on it, and the chefs-d'oeuvre of art cause a peculiarly solemn impression in the teiupie where the remains of the artist are consigned to re- pose. PART III. PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS, CHAPTER I. Of Philosofihij, The world has been pleased, for some time past, to throw great discredit, upon the very name of philoso- phy. The case is common with all tliose terms, the signification of which is capable of much extension : they become alternately the objects of benediction or blame among mankind, according to their use in for- tunate or unhappy periods : but, in spite of the casual injustice or pai egyric of individuals and of nations, philosophy, liberty, religion, never change their vaiue, Man has spoken evil things of the sun, of love, and of -life : he has suffered, he has felt himself consumed, by these lights of nature ; but would he therefore ex- tinguish them ? Every thing that has a tendency to set bounds to our faculties, bears the stamp of a degraaing doctrine. We ought to direct those faculties to the lofty cikI of ou existence- — our advance to moral perfectiorj. But it is not by the partial suicide of this or that power of our nature, that w e shall be rendered capable of ris- ing towards such an object: ail our re.-ources are not i too numerous to forvrard our approach to it j and, if VOL. II. K I PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. ■* Heaven'^Lad granted mere genius to man, he would have advanced so much the more in virtue. Among the different branches of philosophy? meta- physics have, especially, occupied the attention of the Germans. The objects which this pursuit embraces, may be divided into three classes. The first relates to the mystery of the creation ; that is to say, to the infinite in ail things ; the second, to the formation of ideas in the human mind ; and the third, to the ex- ercise of cur faculties, without ascending to their source. The first of these studies, that which applies itself to the discovery of the seci'et of the universe, was cultivated among the Greeks, as it now is among the Germans. It is impossible to deny that such a pur- suit, however sublime in its principle, makes us feel our impotence at every step ; and discouragement follows those efforts which cannot produce a result. The usefulness of the third sort of metaphysics, that which is included in the observation of the actions of our understanding, cannot be contested ; but this use- fulness is confined to the circle of daily experience. The philosophical reflections of the second class — - those v/hich are directed to the nature of the human mind, and to the origin of our ideas — appear to me the most interesting of all. It is not likely that we should ever be able to know the eternal truths which explain the existence of this world : the desire that w-e feel fo'.- such knowledge, is among the number of those noble thouglUs which draw us towards another life : but it is not for nothing, that the faculty of self- examination has been given to us. Doubtless, to ob? serve the progress of our intellect, such as it exists, is already to avail ourselves of this faculty; neverthe- less, in rising higher, in striving to learn whether that intellect acts spontaneously, or whether we can only think when thought is excited by external objects, we shall cast additional light upon the free-will of man, and consequently upon vice and virtue. A crowd of moral and religious questions depends upon the manner in which we consider the origin and PHILOSOPHY, Jli formation of our ideas. It is the diversity of t^.eir sys« tems in this respect, above all others, thnt distinguish- es the German from the French philosophers. \Vc may easily conceive, that if the difference is at the fountain-head, i: must show itself in the derived streams : it is impossible, therefore, to become ac- quainted -.vith Germany, v. ithout tracing; the progress of that philosophy, wnich, from the days of Leibnitz down to our o^vn, has incessantly exerted so great a power over the republic of letters. There are two methods of considering the philoso- phy of the human mind : either in its theory or in its results. The examination of the theory demands a capacity which belo;ig-s not to me ; but it is easy to re- niarli the influence vvhich this or tha.t metaphysical opinion exercises over the developement of the un- derstanding and of the soul. The Gospel tells us, " that we must judge of prophets by their works this maxim may also guide cur inquiry into the dif- ferent systems of paiiosophy; for every thing that is of immoral tendency must be sophisticaL This life ha: no value, unless it is subservient to the religious education of our hearts ; unless it prepares us for a higher destiny, by oui^ free choice of virtue upon earth. Metaphysics, social institutions^ arts, sciences, all ought to be appreciated accordingly as they contribute to the moral perfection of mankind : this is the touch- stone granted to the ignorant as weu as to the learned. For if the knowledge of the means belongs onfv to the inuiatedj the results are discernible bv all "the world. It is necessary to be accustomed to tliat mode cF reasoning wiiich is used in geometry, in order to gain a full comprehension of metaphysics. In this science, as in that of calculatioii, if we omit the least link in the chain of evidence, we destroy the whole connex- ion. Metaphysical reasojiings are more abstract, and not less precise, than mathematical ; and yet their ob- ject is indefinite. We must unite, as metaphvsicians, two of the most opposhe faculties — fancy, and the power of calculation : we have to measure a cloud 112 PHILOSOPHY -AND MORALS. v/ith the same accuracy that we measure a field; and there is do study which requires such closeness of at- tention ; nevertheless, in the most sublime ques- tions there is always some point of view within the reach of every body, and it is that point which I design to seize and to present. I put a question one day to Fichte, who possesses one of the strongest and most thinking- heads in Ger- many, whether he could not more easily teii me his moral system than his metaphysical ? " Ti^e one de- " pends upon the other," he replied; and the remark was very profound : it comprehends all the motives of that interest which we can take in philosophy. We have been accustom.ed to regard it as destruc- tive of every belief of the heart ; it Avoukl then indeed be the enemy of man ; but it is not so with the doctrine of Plato, nor with that of the Germans : they considep sentiment as a fact^ the primitive phrenomenon of mind ; and they look upon the power of philosophical reasoniii^,' as destined solely to investigate the mean- ing- of this fact. Ti)e enigma of the universe has wasted the medi- tatif)i>s of many, who have still deserved our admira- tion, because they felt themselves summoned to some- thiifg belter than the present world. Geniusses of a lofty kind love to wander unceasingly around the abyss of thoughts that are without an end ; but stiii they must tmn themselves av/ay from it, for the mind iatir2;ues itself in vain, in these efforts to scale the heavens. I'he oripin of thought has occupied the attention of all true philosophers. Are there two natures in man I If there be but one, is it mind or matter ? If there be two, do ideas come by the senses, or do they spring Up in the soul ? Or, in truth, are they a mixture of the action of external objects upon us, and of the internai faculties which we possess ? To these three questions, which at all times have divined the philosophical world, is united the inquiry T/hirh most inurieciiateiy touches upon virtue- — the in- OF PHILOSOPHY. ]13 quiry, whether free-will or fatality decides the resclii^ tioiis of man. Among the ancients, fatality arose from the will of the gods ; among the moderns, it is attributed to the course of events. The ancient fatality gave a new ev- idence to free-will ; for the w^ill of man struggled against the event, and moral resistance was uncon- querable : the fatalism of the moderns, on the con- trary, necessarily destroys the belief in free-will : if circumstances make us what we are, we cannot oppose their empire ; if external objects are the cause of all that passes in our mind, what independent thought can free us from their ascendancy ? The fatalism which de- scended from heaven, filled the soul with a holy terror ; while that which attaches us to earth only works our degradation. It may be asked, to what purpose all these questions ? It may be answered, to v/hat pur- pose any thing that bears no relation to them ? For what IS there more important to man, than to know whether he really is responsible for his actions ; and what sort of a proportion there is betv/een the pov/er of the will and the empire of circumstances over it ? What would become of conscience, if our habits alone gave birth to it ; if it was nothing but the product of colours, of sounds, of perfumes, of circumstances, in short, of every kind, with which we may have been surrounded from our infancy ? That species of metaphysics, v/hich endeavours to discover what is the source of our ideas, has a power- ful influence, by its consequences, upon the nature and energy of our will ; that species is at once the most exalted and the most necessary of all our kinds of knowledge ; and the advocates of the highest utili> ty, namely, of moral utility, cannot undervalue it. VOL. II. K2 114 PHILOSOPHY AND MOliALK CHAPTER II. Of English Philosophy. VERY thing seems to testify in us the existencer of a double nature. The influence of the senses and that of the mind share our being- bety/een them ; andj accordingly as philosophy inclines towards the one or the other, opinions and se)\timents are in every respect diametrically opposite. We may also describe the do- minion of the senses, and that of thought, by other terms : — there is in man that which perishes with his earthly existence, and that which may survive him ; that which experience enables him to acquire, and that ^vith which his moral instinct inspires him — the finite and the infinite : but in what manner soever we ex° press ourselves, it is always necessary to grant that there are two different principles of life in a creature subject to death, and destined to im.mortality. A tendency to spiritualize has been always very man- , ifest amcDp; the people of the North ; and even before the inti eduction of Christianity, this bias made itself perceptible through the violence of warlike passions. The Greeks had faith in external miracles -the Ger- man nations believe the miracles of the soul. All their poetry is filled with misgivings, with presages, with prophecies of the heart; and while the Greeks united theinselves to nature by their indulgence in pleasure, the ihhabitants of the North raised themselves to their Creator by religious sentiments. In the South, Pagan- ism deified the phsenomena of nature ; in the North, they were inclined to believe in magic, because it at- tributes to tlic mind of man a boundless power over the material world. The soul and nature, liberty and necT'Ssily, divide the dominion of existence ; and just as we place the comiBaiiding force within ourselves or ENGLISH PHILOSOPm', 115 without us, we are the sons of heaven, or the slaves of earth. At the revival of letters, there were some who oc- cupied themselves with the siibtilties of the schools in metaphysics, and others who believed in the supersti- tions of magic in the sciences : the art of observation reigned no more in the empire of the senses, than en- thusiasm in the empire of the soul : with very few ex- ceptions, there was neither experience nor inspiration among the philosophers. A giant appeared — this was Eacon ; never v/ere the discoveries of thought, nor the vv-onders of nature, so well conceived by the same intelligence. There is not a phrase in his writings which does not imply years of reflection and of study ; he animates his metaphysics with his knov/ledge of the human heart ; he knovv's how to generalize facts by philosophy. In physical science he has created the art of experiment ; but it does not at all follow, as it has been attempted to make us believe, that he was the ad^ vocate of that system exclusively, v.hich grounds all our ideas upon our sensations. He admits inspiration in every thing that belongs to the soul; and he thinks it even necessary, in order to interpret natural phae- nomena according to general principles. But. in his age, there were still alchemists, diviners, and sorcer- ers : they were ignorant enough of religion, in the greatest part of Europe, to believe that there were some truths of which she forbade the promulgation— she who leads us inta all truth Bacon was struck v/ith these errors ; — -his age had a bias towards superstition, as our age has towards incredulity. At the epoch in which he lived, it was right to endeavour to bring experimental philosophy into favour ; in our sera, he would have felt the necesbity of reanimating the inter- nal source of moral beauty, and of recalling in- cessantly this truth to tne memory of man — that he exists in himself^ in his sentiment, and in his wdiL Wnen the age is superstitious, the genius of observa- tion is timid ; the natural world is iil known : — when the age is incredulous, enthusiasm exists no more, and we are thenceforth ignorant of the soul and of heaven. 116 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. At a time when the progress of the human mind was unsure on every side, Bacon coliected all his forces to trace out the way in wliich experimental philosophy ought to proceed; and his writings, even yet, serve for conductors to those who study nature. As a min- ister of state, he was for a long time occupied with government and with politics. The strongest heads are these which unite the taste and the habit for medi- tation with a capacity for business. Bacon, under both these views, was a wonderful genius ; but his philoso" phy and his character failed in the same point. He was not virtuous enough faliy to feel the moral liberty of man : nevertheless, we cannot compare him to the materialists of the last age ; and his successors have pushed the theory of experience much beyond his in- tention. He is far, I repeat it, from attributing all our ideas to our sensations, and from considering analysis as the sole instrument of discovery. He frequently fol- lows a more daring path ; and if he adheres to experi- mental logic to remove ail the prejudices which en- cumber his progress, it is to the spring of genius alone that he trusts to forward his advance. <•<- The human mind," says Luther, " is like a drunk- « en peasant on horseback ; when we put it up on one " side it falls down on the other." — Thus man has in- cessantly fluctuated between his two natures ; some- times his thoughts have disentangled him from his sensations ; sometimes his sensations have absorbed his thoughts, and he has wished, successively, to refer every thing to one or the other : it however appears to me, that the moment for a fixed doctrine has ar- rived. Metaphysics are about to undergo a revolu- tion, like that which Copernicus has produced in the system of the world. They are about tp replace the soul of man in the centre, and to make it, in every re- spect, like the sun ; round which external objects trace their circle, and from v/hich they borrow their light. The genealogical tree of the different branches of human knowledge, in which every science is referred to a certain faculty^ is doubtless one of the titles of ENGLISH PHILOSOPHY. 117 Bacon to the admiratlcn of posterity ; but that which constitutes his real glory is this — that he has announced his opinion, that there was do absolute separation of one science from another ; but that general philosophy re-united them all. He is not the author of that anatomical method, which considers the intellectual powers severally, or each by itself ; and which appears to be ig-norant cf the admirable unity in the moral be- ing-. Sensibility, imagination, reason, each is subser- vient to the other. — ^Every one of these faculties would be nothing: but a disease, but weakness, instead of strength, if it vvere not modified or completedby the col- lective character of our nature. The exact sciences, at a certain height, stand in need of the imagination. She, in her turn, must support herself upon the ac- curate knowledge of nature. Reason, of all our fac- ulties, appears to be that which would most easily do without the assistance of the others ; and yet, if a person were entirely unprovided with imagination and sensi- bility, he might by that very want become, if we may so express it, the fool of reason ; and, seeing nothing in life but calculations and material interests, deceive himself as m.uch concerning the characters and affec- tions cf m.en, as the enthusiastic being whose fancy pictures all round him disinterestedness and love. We follow a bad system of education, when we aim at the exclusive develcpment cf this or that quality of mind ; for, to devote ourselves to one faculty, is to take up an intellectual trade. I\Iiiton says, v/ith rea- son, that our education is not good, excepting when it renders us capable of every employ in peace or war : all that makes the man A man^ is the true object of in- struction. Not to know any thing of a science but that portion cf it which individualiy belongs to us, is to apply the division of labour (mculcated by Smith) to the liberal studies, when it is only adapted to the mechanic arts. When we arrive at that heighi where every science touches upon all the rest in some particulars, it is then that we approach the re^rion of universal ideas IJ8 I^HILOSOPHY AND MORALS. and the air v/hich breathes from that region gives life to all our thoughts. The soul is a nre that darts its rays through all the senses : it is in this fire that existence consists : all the observations and all the efforts of philosophers ought to turn towards this point of individuality — -the centre and the moving power of our sentiments and our ideas. Doubtless, the imperfection of language compels us to make use of erroneous expressions ; n-e are obliged to repeat, according to the customary phrase, such a person is endowed with the power of reason, of imagination, or of sensibility, Sec; but, if we wish to be understood in a single word, we ought to say, he has soul— -an abundance of souL* It is this divine spirit that makes the whole man. Love is the instructor who teaches us more certainly what belongs to the mysteries of the soul, than the ut- most metaphysical subtilty. We never attach ourselves to this or that qualification of the object of our prefer- ence ; and every madrigal reveals a great philosophical truth, when it says — " I love I know not why I" for this I know not why," is that collective character, and that harmony, which we recognize by love, by admira- tion, by all the sentiments which reveal to us what is most deep and most secret in the heart of another. The method of analysis, which can only examine by division, applies itself^ like the dissecting-knife to dead nature ; but it is a bad instrument to teach us to under- stand what is living ; and if we feel a difficulty in ver- bally defining that anim.ated conception which repre- sents whole objects to our mind, it is precisely because that conception clings more closely to the very essence of things. To divide, in order to comprehend, is a sign of weakness in philosophy ; as to divide, in order- to rule, is a sign of weakness in political pov\^er. Bacon adhered much more than is believed to that ideal philosophy, which, from the days of Piato down * M. Ancillon, of whom T shall liave occasion to speak in the Fourth Ppa't of this work, has made use of this expi^essioii in a book, upon which one cannot grow tired of meditating-. ENGLISH PHILOSOPHY. no 4-0 our o^n, has constantly re-appeared unCer difTerent forms.— Nevertheless, the success cf his analytical method in the ex -ct sciences has necessarily had an infiuence cv.v : h? . : yslcal sys::;::, HU ^'octrins of sensations, conii.::-rcc: as the origin ci i:.^:.?. /.v.s been understood in a much more po:i:r e sen = e ;:.. n : m ^vhich he maintained i: hinv-e.t, V. e can clear]y see the infiuence cf fhis c:::: : i:^ h e v c rchcols which it has produced— that c: Hh: ::-. cf Locke. Certainly they chn-i very mu:.. :n : -::r intent ; ::ut their principles are ahlke in many r^spec .s, Hobbes embraced to the letter that phh ; vi; ^v.- v hich derives all cur ideas froni the impressions ct sense. He feared not the consequences; and he has bcldly said, " that the soul is as much subjected to recessity, « as society to despoUsnn" lie admiis the fatalism of sensation as the controller of iLGU^-nt, and tijat offeree as the coirtrolier of action. Ke annihilates moral as well as civil lioerty ; n i: hhi^g, with reason, that one depends upon the oti.cr lie was an Atheist and a slave, and nothing is more in the course cf things ; for if there is in man but tne impress of sensations re- ceived fi'om without, eaihny yo^ver is every thing, and our soul and our destiny equally depend upon it. The culcivation cf all pure and elevate:; sentiments is so consolidated ii. Lr;flarc. by pohtical aud reli- gious institutions, tha-. n.-- iieyucisins of geihus re- Tolve around tl"t€se imposing coiun.ns v.ithcut ever shaking them. Hobbes. accordingly, h-.s gained fev/ partisans in his country ; .rut h.hu.acc cf Lr^cke has been more univerj.ih ai^ :a..rr.'.. . .r was incral and rehj;:ous. he aid not allow himsAi to use anv of those dangerous reasonings which are necessarily de- rived from his nr^r physical system ; and the greater part of his ccun ryni .ar. in adopting that system, have shown the : rr. r . .orious v ant of consister.cy. v. ihch he did — have t^jp^iated results from puacipies — until Hume, and the French phiicsopusi s. having aamitted the system, made application of it in a much more ■logical manner. 120 PHILOSOPHY AND MOHALS. The metaphysical doctrines of Locke have had no ether effect upon the wits of England, than to tarnish a littie tlieir natural originality : if they had even dried up U\t source of hig-h philosophical reflection, tbey •\vouid not fiave destroyed that religions sentinient which car so well supply the want of it; but these d-octrines, so generally received throughout the rest of Europe (Germany excepted ), have been one of the pripxipal causes of that immorality, the advocates of wliicii have foroied ii into a theory, in order to make its practice more certain. Locke exerted lis especial endeavours to prove that there is nothing innate m th^t y/.h^.c]. He was right in his ov^n sense, for he always b-'ij-v'.ec .vicii the mean- ing of the v'ord Ideatnat of a iioiiorj acquired by expe- rience ; ideas tlius conceived are the result of the ob^ jects that excite, of ti e comparisons that assemble them, and of the language that expedites their union. But this is not the case with the sentiments, with the dis- positions, and tiie facuiti- s v/hicb constitute the laws of the human understanding, in '\he same manner that attraction and impulse constitute the laws of external nature. It is truly v/orth observing what kind of arguments Locke has been compelled to adopt, in order to prove that every thing in the mirid came there by means of sensation. If these arguments led to the truih, doubt- less we ought to overeome the moral aversion with which they inspire us ; but, in general, we may trust to this sort of aversion as an infallible token of what must be avoided. Locke wished to snow that con- science, or the sense of good and evil, was not innate in man; and that vwe know nothhig of justice or in- justice, except irom experience, as we learn to dis- tinguish red from blue. To arrive at this conclusion, he has carefully inquired alter ail those countries where the laws and customs pay respect to crimes ; those for instance, in which it is thought a duty to kili an enen y ; to despise marriage; to put a father to death, when he has grown old. He alien: ively col- lects every thmg that travellers have related of bar- bngOsh philosophy. 121 "barities \vhich have passed into daily practice. Of what nature then must that system be, wiiich excites, in so virtuous a man as Loci^e, an eagerness for such narrations ? Let them be melancholy tales, or not, it may be said, the important thing- is to know if they are true.— - Allow them to be true, of what consequence are they ? Do we not know, by our own experience, that cir- cumstances, in other words external objects, have an influence over the manner in vvhich v/e interpret our duties? Amplify these circumstances, and you will find in them the causes of national error ; but is there any nation, or any man, that denies the obligation of all duty ? Has it ever been pretended that the ideas of justice and injustice have no meaning? Different explanations of them- may prevail in different places ; but the conviction of the principle is every where the same ; and it is in this conviciion that the primi-ive impression consists, which we recognise in every be- ing of human birth. When the savage kills his aged father, he believes that he renders the old man a service ; he does not act for his own interest, but for that of his parer:t: the deed he commits is horrible ; and yet he is not on that account devoid of conscience : because he is ignor?.nt, ■he is not therefore vicious. The sensations, that is to say, the external objecis, with which he is surrounded, blind him; the inward sentiment, which constitutes the hatred for vice and the love of virtue, does not the less exist within him, because he has been deceiv- I -ed by experience as to the manner in which this sen- timent ought to be manifested in his life. To j^refer others to ourselves, when virtue commands the pre- ference, is precisely that in which the essence of mor- al beauty consists ; and this admirable instinct of the soul, the opponent of our physical iustinct, is inherent in our nature ; if it could be acquired, it could also be lost ; but_ it is unchangeable, because it is innate. It is possible for us to do evil, v/hen Vve believe we are doing good ; a man may be culpable knowingly VOL. u, L 122 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS'. and willingly ; but he cannot admit a contradiction for a truth, that justice is injustice. There is such a thing as indifference to j^-ood and evil, and it is the ordinary result of civilization, when its coldness has reached the point of petrifaction, if the expression may be allowed : this indifference, is a much greater argument against an innate conscience than the gross errors of savages : but the most scep- tical of men, if they are sufferers from oppression ia any relation of life, appeal to justice, as if they had believed in it all their days ; and when they are seized with any vivid affection, and tyrannical power is exer- ted to control it, they can invoke the sentiment of equi- ty with as much force as the most severe of moralists. When the flame of any passion, whether it be indig- nation or love, takes possession of the soul, the sa- cred hand-v^^riting of the eternal law may be seen by that light re-appearing in our bosoms. .If the accident of birth and education decided the morality of man, how could we accuse him for his actions ? If all that composes our will comes to us from external objects, every one may appeal to his own particular relations for the motives of his whole conduct; and frequently these relations differ as much between the inhabitants of the same country, as be- tween an Asiatic and European. If circumstances then were to be the deities of mortals, it would be in order for every man to have his peculiar morality, or rather a want of morals according to his respective practice ; and to counteract the evil which sensation might suggest, no efficient reason could be opposed to it, except the public pov/er of punishment : now, if that public power commanded us to be unjust, the question would be resolved; every sensation might be the parent of every idea, which would lead us on to the most complete depravity. The proofs of the spirituality of the soul cannot be discovered in the empire of the senses. The yisi world is abandoned to their dominion ; but the inv' ble, will not be subjected to it ; and if we do not ac- mit that there are ideas of spontaneous growth, EX GUSH PHn.OSOPHT. 123 thought ar.d seBtimer.t depend entirely upon sensa- tions, hc%Y should the soul, that submits to such a state of servitude, be an immaterial essence ? And if, as nobody denies, the greater part of the knowledge transmitted by the senses is liable to error, ^hat sort of a moral beicg must that be, who does not act until aroused by outward objects, and by objects even whose appearances are often deceitful : " A French phiiosopher, making use of the most re- Tolting expression, has said, « that thought is nothing « but the material product of the brain." This deplo- rable dennition is the most natural result of that spe- cies of metaphysics, which attributes to our sensations the origin of all our ideas. We are in the right, if it be so, to laugh at all that is inteliectual, and to make what is impaipabie synonymous with what is incom- prehensible. If the human mind is but a subtle mat- ter, put in motion by other elements, more or less gross, in eoraparison with which even it has the disad- vantage of being passive ; if our impressions and our recollections are nothing but the prolonged vibrations of an instrument, which chance has played upon ; then there are only fibres in the bi-ain, there is nothing but physical force in the world, and every thing can be- expiained according to the laws by which th .t force is gover.ied. Still there remain some little difficulties concerning the origin of thLngs, and the end of out- esiscence : but the question has been much simpliSed^ — d reason now counsels us to suppress within our -3ulsaii the desires and all the hopes that genius, love, and religion call to life ; for, according to this system, man would only be another machine in the great mechanism of the imiverse ; his faculties would be all wheel-work, his morality a m.atter cf caicula- Uon, and his divinity success. Locke, believing from tiie bottom of his soul in the existence of God, established his conviction, without perceiving it, upon reasonings which are all taken out cf the sphere of experience : he asserts the existence of ail eternal principle, the priman.- cause of all other C2us€5 : tV:iis he enters into the region of innniiy, and PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. that region lies beyond all experience s but Locke at the same time, was so apprehensive lest the idea of God should pass for an innate idea in man, it appear- ed to him so absurd that the Creator should have deign- ed to inscribe his name, like that ot a great painter upon the tabiet of the soul, that he set himself to dis- cover, out of ail the narratives of travellers, some na- tions who were destitute of any religious belief. We may, I clunk, boldly affirm, that such nations do not exist. The impulse that exalts us towards the Su- preme Being discovers itself in the genius of Newton, as it does in the soul of the poor savage, who worships the stone upon which he finds rest. No man clings exclusively to this world, such as it is at present ; and all have felt in their hearts, at some period of their lives, an unuefinable inclination towards the supernat- ural : but, how can it happen, that a being, so reli- gious as Locke, should try to change the primitive characters of belief into an accidental knowledge which chance may confer or take away ? I repeat it — the ten- dency of any doctrine ought always to be deemed of great account in the judgment v*'hich we form upon the truth of that doctrine ; for, in theory, the good and the true are inseparable. All that is visible talks to man of a beginning and an end, of decline and destruction. A divine spark is the only indication of our immortality. From what sensation does this ai ise ? All our sensations fii^ht against it, and yet it triumphs over them all. Wiiat ! it will be saidj d© not final causes, do not the wonders of the uniyerse> the splendour of heaven that strikes our eyes, all declare the magnificence and the good- ness of our Creator ? The book of nature is contradic- tory ; we see there the emblems of good and evil a!» most in equal proportion ; and things are thus consti- tuted, in order that man may be able to exercise his liberty between opposite probabilities, between fears and hopes almost of equal power. The starry heaven appears to us like the threshold of the Divinity ; but all tl;^:; cviis and all the vices or human nature obscure these ceiestial fires. A solitary voice without speeclj,. EXGOSH PHILOSOPHT. 125 but not without barmoDy ; witliout force, but irresist- ible ; proclairas a God at the bottom of the human heart : all that is truly beautiful in man springs from what he experiences within himself, and spontaneous- ly; every heroic action is inspired by moral Ube: v : — the act of deyoting ourselves to the divine will, that act wiiich every sensation opposes, and which eothu- siasm alone inspires, is so noble and so pure, that the angels themselves, virtuous as they are by nature, and without impediment, mi^rht envy it to man. That species of metaphysics which displaces centre of life, by supposing its impulse to come from withcuty despoils man of his liberty, and destroys it- self : for a spiritual nature no longer exists, when we unite it in such a manner to a corporeal nature, that it is only by consideration for i^eligious opinion we con- sent to distinguish them : such a system shrinks fron* its own consequences, excepting when it derives from, them, as it has done in France, materialism buiit up- on sensation, and moralitv built upon interest. The abstract theory of this system was born in England ; but none of its consequences have been admitted there. In France they have not had the honour of the discov- ery, but in a great degree that of the application. In Germany, since the tiine of Leibnitz, they have op= posed the system and its consequences ; and, assured- ly, it is worthy of enlightened and religious men of ail countries, to inquire if those principles, whose results are so £ita], ought to be considered as incontestable miths. Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Sniith, Reid, Dugald Stew- Sfft, Sec. have studied the operations of tiie human mind with a rare sagacity i the works of Dugald Stew- art in particular contain so perfect a theory of the in- tellectuai faculties, that we may consider tliem, to use *he expression, as the natural history of the morai be- 5. Every individual must recognise in them some :rtion of himself. Whatever opinion we may have opted as to the origin of ideas, we must acknowledge --".e utility of a labour which has for its object the ex- amination of their progress and direction but it is VOL. II. L 2 - - J £6 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS, not enough to observe the development of our facul- ties, we must ascend to their source, in order to give an account of the nature, and of the independence, of the will of man. We cannot consider that question as an idle one,, which endeavours to learn whether the soul has an in- dependent faculty of feeling and of thinking. It is the question of Hamlet—^" To be, or not to be," FRENCH PHILOSOPHr. 127 CHAPTER III. Of French Philosophy, HeSCARTES, for a Ion period, was at the head of French philosophers ; and if his physics had not been confessedly erroneous, perhaps his metaphysics would have preserved a more lasting ascendant. Bos= suet, Fenelon, Pascal, all the great men of the age of Louis XIV. had adopted the Idealism, of Descar= tes : and this system agreed much better with the Catholic religion than that philosophy which is purely experimental ; for it appeared singularly difficult to combine a faith in the most mysterious doctrines with the sovereign empire of sensation over the soul. Among the French metaphysicians who have pro- fessed the doctrine of Locke, we must reckon, in the first class, Condillac, whose priestly office obliged him to use some caution in regard to religion ; and Bonnet, who, being naturally religious, lived at Geneva; in a country where learning and piety are inseparable. These two philosophers, Bonnet especially, have es- tablished exceptions in favour of revelation ; but it ap- pears to me, that one of the causes of the diminution of respect for religion, is this custom of setting her apart from all the sciences ; as if philosophy, reason- ing, every thing, in short, which is esteem.edin earth= ly affairs, could not be applied to religion : an ironical veneration removes her to a distance from ail the in- terests of life 'y it is, if we may so express ourselves, to bov/ her out of the circle of the human mind. In every country, where a religious belief is predominant, it is the centre of ideas ; and philosophy consists in the rational interpretation of divine truths. When Descartes wrote. Bacon's philosophy had not yet penetrated iino France \ and that country was then 12B PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. in the same state of scholastic ignorance and supersti- tion as at the epoch when the great English master of the art of thinking published his works. There are two methods of correcting the prejudices of men — the recourse to experience, and the appeal to reflection. Bacon adop ed the first means ; Descartes the second. The one has rendered immense service to the sciences ; the other to thought itself, which is the source of all the sciences. Bacon was a man of much greater genius, and of still ampler learning, than Descartes. He has known how to establish his philosophy in the material world : that of Descartes was brought into discredit by the learned, who attacked with success his opinions upon the system of the worid : he could reason justly ia the examination of the mind, and deceived himself in relation to the physical laws of the universe: but the opinions of men resting almost entirely upon a blind and precipitate confidence in analogy, they believed that he who had observed so ill what passed without him, was no better instructed as to the world within. In his manner of writing, Descartes shows a simpli- city and overflowing goodness of nature, which inspires his readers with confidence ; and the energy of his genius will not be contested. Nevertheless, when we compare him either to the German philosophers or to Plato, we can neither find in his works the theory of idealism in all its abstraction, nor the poetical imagin- ation, which constitutes its beauty. Yet a ray of light had passed over the mind of Descartes, and his is the glory of having directed the philosophy of his day to- wards the interior development of the soul. He pro- duced a great effect by referring all received truths to the test of reflection : these axioms were admired — ^" I « think, therefore I exist ; therefore I have a Creator, « the perfect source of my imperfect faculties : every " thing without us may be called in question : truth is « only in the mind, and the mind is the supreme judge « of truth." Universal doubt is the A B C of philosophy : every man begins to reason again by thg aid of his own native FKENCH PHILOSOPHY, 129 Kg-ht, when he attempts to ascend to the princinles of things ; but the authoaty of Aristotle had so complete- ly introduced the dogmatic method into Europe, that the age was astonished at the boldness of Descartes, who submitted all opinions to natural judgment. The Port Royal writers w^ere formed in his school ; so that France produced men of a severer turn of thought in the seventeenth than in the eighteenth cen- tury. At the side of their graceful and engaging genius appeared a certain gravity, which betrayed the natural influence of a system of philosophy that attributed ail our ideas to the power of reflection. Mallcbranche^ the principal disciple of Descartes, Was a man gifted with the energies of niind in an emi- ner.t degree. They have been pleased to consider him as a dreamer in the eighteenth century ; and in France it is all over with that v/riter who has the character o£ a dreamer ; for it implies the idea of total inutility as to the purposes of life, and this is peculiarly offensive to all reasonable .persons, as they are entitled but this word Utility — is it quite noble enough to be appii* ed to all the cravings of the soul ? The French writers of the eighteenth century ex- celled mo>.t in tne study of pcliticai liberty; those of the seventeenth in the study of moral liberty. The phi- losophers of the one period were combatants; of the other anchorets. Under a.n absolute government, like that of Louis the XlVth, independence finds no asy- lum but in meditation: in the disorderly reigns of the last century, the men of letters were animated with the desire of winning over tne government of their country to the liberal principles and ideas of which England dispiayed so fair an example The writers who have not gone beyond this point, are very deserv- ing of the esteem of their countrymen ; but it is not the less true, that the works composed in the seventeenth century are more philosophical, in many respects, than those which have since been published ; for pniioso° phy especially consists in the study and the know- ledge of our intellectual existence. The p--.ilo3ophers of the eighteenth century have busied themselves- rather v/ith social politics than with. 130 PHILOSOPHY ANT) MORALS. the primitive nature of man ; those of the seventeentB century, solely and precisely from their being religious men, had a more thorough knowledge of the human heart. During the decline of the French monarchy, the philosophers turned the direction of thought, which they used as a weapon, to what was passing without them : under the empire of Louis the XlVth, they were more attached to the ideal metaphysics, because the exercise of recollection was more habitual to them, and they had more occasion for it. In order to raise the French genius to its highest degree of perfection^ it would be requisite to learn, from the writers of the eighteenth century, how to use our faculties to advan- tage ; and from those of the seventeenth, how to study their source. Descartes, Pascal, and Mallebranche, had much more resemblance to the German philosophers than the French v/riters of the eighteenth century ; but Maiiebranche and the Germans differ in this, that the one lays down as an article of faith what ihe others re- duce into a scientific theory: — the one aims at clothing the forms inspired by his imagination in a dogmatic dress, because he is afraid of being accused of enthu- siasm ; while the others, writing at the end of an sera when analysis has been extended to every object of study, know that they are enthusiasts, and are solely anxious to prove that reason and enthusiasm are of one accord. If the French had followed the metaphysical bias of their great men of the seventeenth century, they would now have entertained the same opinion as the Ger» mans ; for in the progress of philosophy Leibnitz is the natural successor of Descartes and Mallebranche^ and Kant of Leibnitz. England had gre2.t influence over the writers of the eighteenth century ; the admiration which they felt fc? that country inspired them with the wish of introducing into France her liberty and her philosophy. English philosophy v/as then only void of danger when united with the religious sentiments of that people, with theie liberty, and with their obedienge to the laws. In the bosom of a nation v/here Newton and Clarke FEENCH PHILOSOPHY. 131 never pronounced the name of God without bowing their heads, let the metaphysical systems have been ever so erroneous, they could not be fatal. That which is every way wanting in France, is the feeling and habit of veneration ; and the transition is there very quick from the examination which may enlighten to the irony which reduces every thing to dust. It seems to me that we may observe two perfectly distinct epochs in the eighteenth century; that in which the influence of England was first acknowledg- ed, and that in which the men of genius hurried them- selves into destruction : light was then changed to con- flagration ; and Philosophy, like an enraged enchantress, set fire to the palace where she had displayed her wonders. In politics, Montesquieu belongs to the first epoch, Raynal to the second : in religion, the writings of Vol- taire, which had the defence of toleration for their object, breathed the spirit of the first half of the cen- tury ; but his pitiable and ostentatious irreligion has been the disgrace of the second. Fnially, in metaphy- sics, Condiiiac and Helvetius, although they were con- temporaries, both carry about them the impression of : these very different seras ; for, although the entire system of the philosophy of sensation was wrong in its principle, yet the consequences v/hich Helvetius has I drawn from it ought not to be imputed to Condiiiac; he vv'as far from assenting to them. CoLdillac has rendered experimental metaphysics more clear and more striking than they are in Locke: he has truly levelled them to the con> prehension of ail the \yorld : he says, with Locke, that the soul can have no idea which does not come in from sensation ; he at- tributes to our wants the origin of knowledge and of language ; to words, that of reflection : and thus, ma- king us receive the entire development of our moral being from external objects, he explains human na- ture as he would a positive science, in a clear, rapid, and in some respects convincing mar.nei ; for if we nei- ther feit in our hearts the native irt. pulses of beiief, nor a conscience independent of experience, nor a 132 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. ©reating spirit, in all the force of the term, we might be well enough contented with this mechanical defiai* tion of the human soul. It is natural to be seduced by the easy solution of the greatest of problems ; but this apparent simplicity exists only in the mode cf in- quiry; the object to which it is pretendingly applied, does not the less continue of an unknown immensity ; and the ssnigma of ourselves swallows up, like the sphinx, thousands of systems whidi pretend to the glory of having guessed its meaning. Tiie v/ork of Condillac ought only to be considered as another book on an inexhaustible subject, if the influence of this book had not been fatal. Helvetius, who deduces from the philosophy of sensations ail the direct consequences which it can admit, asserts, that if the hands of man had been made like the hoofs of the horse, he would only have possessed the intelii- ^ gence of this animal. Assured!), if the case was so, it would be very unjust to atuibute to ourselves any thing biameable or me) itorious in our actions ; for the difference v/hich may exist between the several or- ganizations of individuals, w^ould authorize and be the proper cause of the difference in their characters. To the opinions of Helvetius succeeded those of the System of Nature, which tended to the anninila- tion of the Deity in the universe, and of free will in man. LockCj Condillac, Helvetius, anci the unhappy author of the System of Nature, have all progres- sively advanced in the same path : the first steps were innocent ; neither Locke nor Condillac knew the dan- gers of their phiic^sophy ; but very soon this black spot, w^hich was iiardiy visible in the intellectual hori-" zon, grew to such a size as to be near piunging the universe and man back again into darkness. External objects, it was said, are the cause of all our impressions ; nothing then appears more agreea- ble than to give ourselves up to the physical world, and to come, seif -invited guests, to the banquet of nature; but by degrees the internal source is dried up, and even as to the imaginati n that is requisite for luxu ry and pleasure, it goes on decaying to such a degree, FREXCH PHILOSO'PHY. 133 that very shortly mc".n will not retain soul enough $0 reiish any enjoyment, of however material a na- ture. The immortality of the soul, and the sentiment of duty, are suppositions entirely gratuitous in the sys- tem which grounds all our ideas upon our sensations : for no sensation reveals to us immortality in death. If external object-s alone have formed our conscience, from the nurse who receives us in her arms until the last act of an advanced old age, all our impressions are so linked to each ether, that we cannot ari-aign with justice the pretended power of volition, which is only another instance of fatality. -I shall endeavour to show, in the second part of this section, that the moral system, which is built upo:?. interest, so strenuously preached up by the French writers of the last age, has an intimate connexioii with that species of metaphysics which attributes all our ideas to our sensations, and that the consequences of the one are as bad in practice, as those of the other in theory. Those w^ho have been able to read the li-^ centious works published in France towards the close of the eighteenth century, will bear witness, that when the writers of these culpable performances at- tem.pt to support thcm.seives upon any species of rea- soning, they ail appeal to the infiuence of our physic- al over our moral constitution ; they refer to our sen- sations for the origm of every the most blameable opinion, they exhibit, in short, under ail appearan- ces, the doctrine which destroys free will and con- ■science. We cannot deny, it may be said, that this is a de- grading doctrine ; but, nevertheless, if it be true, •must we reject it, and blind ourselves on purpose ? — Assuredly t!iose writers v/ouldhave made a deplorable -discovers, who had dethroned the soul, and condemn- ed the mind to sacrifice herself, by employing all her -faculties to prove, tnat the laws whicn are common to every physical existence agree also to her — but, thanks -be to God (ana tnis expression is here in its pecuiiar place), tnanks be to Gou, I sav, this svstem is entire* VOL. ir. M ' 134 PHH^OSOPHY AND MORALS, ly false in its principle ; and the circumstance of those writers espousing it who have supported the cause of immorality, is an additional proof of the errors which it contains. If the greater part of the profligate have upheld themselves by the doctrine of materialism, when they have wished to become degraded according to method, and to form a theory of their actions, it is because th=.y believed that, by submitting the soul to sensation, they would thus be delivered from the responsibility of their conduct. A virtuous being, convinced ol this doctrine, would be deeply afflicted by it; for he would incessantly fear that the all-powerful influence of ex- ternal objects would change the purity of his soul, and the force of his resolutions. But when we see ncien rejoicing to proclaim themselves the creatures of circumstances in all respects, and declaring that all these circumstances are combined by chance, we shud- der from our very hearts at their perverse satisfaction. When the savage sets fire to a cottage, he is said to warm himself with pleasure at the conflagration -which he has kindled; he exercises at least a sort of superiority over the disorder of which he is guilty ; he makes destruction of some use to him: but when man chooses to degrade human nature, v/ho will thus be profited ? FSEXCH PHILOSOPHY. 135 CHAPTER IV. Of the Ridicule hitroduced by a certain Species cf Phi- losophy. The philosophical system, adopted in any country, exerts a great influence over the direction of mind ; it is the universal model after which all thought is cast ; — those persons even, who have not studied the sys- tem, conform, unknov^-ingly, to the general disposition which it inspires. We have seen tor nearly a hundred years past, in Europe, the growth and increase of a sort of scoffing scepticism, the foundation of wmich is the species of metaphysics that attributes all our ideas to our sensations. The first principle in this philoso- phy is, not to believe any thing vrhich cannot be proved like a fact or a calculation : in union with this princi- ple is contempt for all tha.t bears the name of exalted sentiment ; and attachment to the pleasures of sense. These three points of the doctrine include all the sorts of irony, ot which religion, sensibility, and morals, can become the object. Bayle, whose learned Dictionary is hardly read by people of the vrorld, is nevertheless the arsenal from which ail the pleasantries of scepticism have been drawn ; Voltaire has given them a pungency by his wit and elegance ; but the foundation of all this jesting is, that every thing, not as evident as a physical cxperi- iiient, ought to be reckoned in the number of dreams and idle thoughts. It is good management to dignify an incapacity for attention by calling it a supreme sort of reason, which rejects all doubt and obscurity ; — in consequence, they turn the noblest th.oughts into ridi- cule, if reilection is necessary to comprehend them, or a sincere exaiTiination of the heart to make them felt» We still speak with respect of Pascal, of Bos- 136 PHiLGSOPlIY AND MORia^S. suet, of J.J. Rousseau, S;:c.; because authority Bas* consecrated them, and authority, of every sort is a thino; easily discerned-. But a great number of readers being convinced that Jgnorance and idleness are the attributes of a man of wit, think it beneath tbem to take any trouble, and Vvish to read, like a paragraph in a nev/spaper, wri- tings that have man and nature for their subject. In a vv ord, if by chance such writings v»'ere compos- ed by a German, v/hose name was not a French one,^ and it was as difficult to pronounce this narme as that of the Baron in Candide, what collections of pleasantries would not be formed upon this circumstance ! and the naeaning of them aii would be the follovv'ing : " I have " grace and lightness of spirit ; wJiile you, who have « the misfortune to think upon s©me subjects, and to hold by some sentiments, you do not jest upon all " with nearly the same elegance and facility." The philosophy of sensation is one of the principal causes of this frivolity. Since the time that tlie soul iias been considered passive, a great number ol philo- tiophical labours have been despised. The day on which it was said,.- there are no myste- ries in the world, or at ail events it is unnecessary to think about them ; all our ideas come by tlie eyes and by the cars, and the palpable only is the true; — on that day the individuals who enjoyed all their senses in per^- lect health believed themselves the genuine phiioso- pht'i^s. We hear it incessantly said, by those who have ideas enough to get money when they are poor, una to spend it when they are richj- that they only pos* sess a reasonable philosophy, and that none but en- thusiasts wi.uld dre?vm of any other. In effect, our sensations teach this philosopliy alone; and if we can gain no knowledge except by their means,, every thing that is not subject to the evidence of. matter must bear the narae of foiiy. If it was admitted, on the contrary, that the sou] acts by itsetf, and that v/e must dsaw up information out ef oui seives to find the tiulh, and that this truth cannot be seized upoUj except by the aid cf profound medita.-- FRENCH PHILOSOPHY. 137 tiorj, because it is not %vithin the ranQ,-e of terrestrial experience ; the whole course of men's minds would be changed ; they would not disdahifully reject the most sublime thoughts, because they demand a close attention ; but that which they found insupportable would be the superficial and the common ; for empti- ness grows at length sin.^ularly burthensome. Voltaire so well perceived the influence that meta- physics exercise over the general bias of the mind, that he wrote Candide, to combat Leibnitz. He took up a curious v/him against final causes, optimism, free-will ; in short, against all the philosophical opinions that ex- alt ;.he dignity of man ; and he composed Candide, that effort of a diabolical gaiety; for it appears to be writ- ten by a being of a different nature from ourselves, in- sensiole to our condition, well pleased with our suf- ferings, and laughing; like a dsemon or an ape, at the miseries of that human species, with which he has no- thing in common. Tiie greatest poet of the age, the author of Alzire, Tancrede, Merope, Zaire, and Brutus, showed him- seli h] this work ignorant of all the great moral truths, whicn he had so worthily celebrated. When Voltaire, as a tragic author, felt and thought in the Character of another, he vras admirable ; but, when he remahis wholly himself, he is a jester and a cynic. The same versatility, which enabled him to adopt the part of the pers' nages whom he wished ta represent, only too well inspired the language which, in certain moments, was suited to Voltaire, Candide brings into action that scofiing philosophy, so indulgent in appearance, in reality so ferocious ; 'it presents num 142 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. devotion ; an enthusiasm for women, which made a noble worship of love ; in a word, as the rigours of the climate prevented man from plunging himself into the delights of nature, he had so much the keener relish for the pleasures of the soul. It may be objected to me, that the Greeks had the same religion and the same climate as the Romans ; and that yet they have given themselves up more than any other people to speculative philosophy ; but may we not attribute to the Ii.dians some of the intellectual sys- tem^ developed among the Greeks ? The ideal philoso- phy of Pythagoras and Plato ill agrees with Paganisms- such as it appears to us ; historical traditions also lead lis to believe that Egypt was the medium through which the nations of southern Europe received the in- fluence of the East. The philosophy of Epicurus is the only philosophy of truiy Grecian origin. Whatever may become of these conjectures, it is certain that the spirituality of the soul, and ail the thoughts derived from it, have been easily naturalized simong the people of the North ; and of all these na- tions, the Germans have ever showed themselves the most inclined to contemplative philosophy. Leibnitz is their Bacon and their Descartes. We find in this excellent genius all the qualities which the German philosophers in general glory to aim at : immense erudition, perfect good faith, enthusiasm hidden under strict form and method. He had profoundly studied theology, jurisprudence, history, languages, math- ematics, natural philosophy, chemistry for he was convinced that an universality of knowledge was neces- sary to constitute a supeiior being in any department : in short, every thing in Leibnitz displayed those vir- tues which are allied to sublimity of thought, and %vhich deserve at once our admiration and our respect. His works may be divided into three branches— the exact sciences, theological philosophy, and the philos- ophy of the mind. Every one knows that Leibintz was the rival of Newton, in the theory of calculation. The knowledge of n;athematics is very useful in metaphysical studies; abstract reasoning^ does not ex.- GERMAN PHILOSOPirr, 143 ist in perfection out of algebra and geometry ; I shall endeavour to show in another place the unsuitableness of this sort of reasoning, when we attempt to exercise it upon a subject that is allied in any manner to sensi- bility ; but it confers upon the human m.ind a power of attention, that reixlers it much more capable of ai^alys- ing itself : we must also knov/ the la\ys and the forces of the universe, to study man under all his relations. There is such an analogy, and such a difference, be- tween the physical and the moral Vv'orld, their resem.- blances and their diversity lend each other such light, that it is impossible to be a learned man of the first rank without the assistance of speculative philosophy, nor a speculative philosopher without having studied the positive sciences. Locke and Condillac had not sufficiently attended to these sciences; but Leibnitz had in this respect an in- contestable superiority Descartes also was a very great mathematician ; and it is to be remarked, that the greater part of the advocates for the ideal philoso- phy have inade an unbounded use of their intellectual faculties. The exercise of the mind, as well as that of the heart, imparts a feeling of internal activhy, of which all those beings who abandon themselves to the impressions that come from without are rarely capable. Tiie first class of the writings of L -ibnitz contains those which we call theological, because they are di- rected to truths which form part of the support of re- ligion ; and the theory of the human mina is included in the second class. In the first class he treats of the orig'in of good and evil — of the divine prescience ; — in a word, of tiiose primitive questions which lie beyond the bounds of human intelligence, I do not pretend to censure, by this expression, those great men who, from the times of Pythagoras and Plat<. down to oar own, have been attracted towards these lofty phi,ost>ph- ica> speculations. Genius does not set bouiids to itself, ^nt's it i;as siruggleci for a iong time agaii.st ti.at n^rd 4iecessity. Who can possess the faculty of thinkmg. PHILOSOPHY AND MORA^ST. and not endeavour to learn the origm and the end of the thmgs of this world ? Every thing that lives upon earth, excepting man, seems to be ignorant of itself. He alone knows that he will die, and this awful truth awakens his interest for ail the grand thoughts which are attached to it. From the time that we are capable of reflection we re- solve, or rather we think we resolve, after our own manner, the philos-jphical questi -ns which may ex- plain the destiny of man ; but it has been granted to no one to comprehend that destiny altogether. Every man views it from a different point; every man has his' own philosophy, his poetry, his love. This philoso- phy is in accord with the peculiar bias of his character and his mind. When we raise ourselves towards in- finity, a thousand explanations may be equally true, altiiough different ; for questions without bounds have thousands of aspects, one of which may be sufficient to occupy the whole duration of existence. If the mystery of the universe is above t4ie under* standing of matj, still the study of this mystery gives more expansion to the mind. It is in metaphysics as it is in alchemy: in searching for the philosopher's ston«5 in endeavouring to discover an impossibility, we meet upon the road with truths which would have re- mained unknown to us: besides, we cannot hinder a meditative being from bestowing some time at least upon the trar:scendent philosophy ; this ebulition of spiritual nature cannot be kept back, without bringing that nature into disgrace, ' The pre-established harmony of Leibnitz, which he believed to be a great discovery, has been refuted with success ; he flattered himself tiiat he could expiain tiie relations between mind and matter, by considering them both as instruments tuned beforehand, wiuch re-echo, and answes , and imitate each other mutuaily. His mo- nads, of which he constitutes tiie simple eiemenis of the universe, are but an hypothesis as graiuitous as all those which have beeii used to :-x>.'lyii; the orifi-ii' of things. But in wn^it a si. • - S 2^.:q;;:.xn;y is the human mindl Licessautiy aUiucica towards the GERMAN PHILOSOPHY. 145 secret of its being, it finds that secret equally impos- sible to be discovered, or to be banished from its thong-hts. The Persians say, that Zoroaster interrogated the Deity, and asked how the world had begun, when it would end, what was the origin of good and evil ? The Deity answered to all these questions-—'' Do ivhat is " good, and gain immortality.'* The point which par- ticularly constitutes the excellence of this reply, is this — that it does not discourage man from the most sublime meditations ; it only teaches him, that by con- science and sentiment he may exalt himself to the most lofty conceptions of philosophy. Leibnitz was an idealist, who founded his system 'solely upon reasoning ; and from tlience it arises, that he has pushed his abstractions too far, and that he has not sufficiently supported his theory upon inward per-- ■suasion — the only true foundation of that which is above the understanding : in short, reason upon the liberty of man, and you will not believe it ; lay your hand up- on your conscience, and you will not be able to doubt it. Consequence and contradiction, in the sense that we attach to either of these terms, do not exist within the sphere of tlie great questions concerning the liber- ty of man, the origin of good and evil, the diyine prescience, &c. In these questions sentiment is al- most always in opposition to reason ; in order to teach mankind, that what he calls incredible in the order of earthly things, is perhaps the supreme truth under ■universal relations. Dante has expressed a grand philosophical thought by this verse : — A g-uisa del ver primo die I'uom crede.* \Ve must believe certain truths as we believe our own existence ; it is the soul whicn reveals them to us ; and reasonings of every kind are never more than fee« ble streams derived from this fountain. * " It is thus that man believes in primitive truth.*' VOL. II, N 146 PHILOSOPHY AND ^lORALS. The Theodicea of Leibintz treats of the divine pre- science, and of the cause of good and evii : it is one of the most profound and argumentative works upon the theory of the infinite ; the author, however, too of- ten applies to that which is without bounds, a sort of logic to which circumscribed objects alone are amena- ble. Leibnitz was a perfectly religious character; but, from this very circumstance, he believed it a du- ty to ground the truths of religion upon mathematical reasoning, in order to support them on such founda- tions as are admitted within the empire of experience : this error proceeds from a respect, oftener felt than acknowledged, for men of cold and arid minds ; we at- tempt to convince them in their own manner ; we ac- knowledge that arguments in a logical form have n\ore certainty than a proof from sentiment ; and it is not true. In the region of intellectual and religious truths, of which Leibnitz has treated, we must use consciousness in the room of demonstration. Leibnitz, wishing to adhere to abstract reasoning, demands a sort of stretch of attention v/hich few minds can support. Metaphy- sical works, that are founded neither upon experience lior upon sentiment, singularly fatigue the thinking pow er ; and we may imbibe from them a physical and moral pain, so great, that by our obstinate endeavours to conquer it, we may shc:,tter the organs of reason in our heaCiS. A poet, Baggesen, has made Vertigo a divinity — we should recommend ourselves to the fa- vour of that gocidess, when we are about to study these works, v/hich place us in such a manner at the summit of ideas, that we have no longer any ladder- steps to re-descend into life. The metaphysical and religious writers, who are el= oquent and feeling at the same tin)e (such as we have seen in some examples,) are much better adapted to our nature. Far from requiring the suppression of our iacuities of feeling, in order to make our faculty of abstraction more precise, they bid us this k, feel, and wish, that all the strength of our souis may aid us to penetrate into the depths of heaven ; but to cling GERM \X PHILOSOPHY. 14^ L'.ose to abstraction is such an effort, that it is natural eacu jh for the generality of men to have renounced the attempt, and to have thought it more easy to ad- mit nothing beyond what is visible. The experirAeniai paiiosophy is complete in itself; it is a whole, sufficiently vulgar, but compact, circum- scribed, argumentative ; and while we adhere to the sort of reasoning which is received in the commerce of the v/orld, we ought to be contented with it ; the immortal and the infinite are only fd: through the me- dium of the soul ; the soul alone can diffuse an inter- est over the higher sort of metaphysics. We are ve- ry wrong to persuade c- : t-.: more abstract a theory is, the more i- - - a us against all iliusion ; for it is exactiy by ihese means that it may lead us into error. We take the connexion of ideas for their proof ; we arrange our rank and nie of chi- meras with precision ; and we fancy that they are an ar- my. There is nothing but the genius of sentiment that arises above experimental, as well as above specula- tive philosophy; there is no other genius but that, v.'hich can carry conviction beyond the limits of human reason. It appears then to me, that, notv.'ithstanding my en- tire admiration for the strength of mmd and depth of genius in Leibnitz, we should wish, in his writings upon questions of metaphysical theology, more imag-in- ation and sensibility; that we i thought by the indulgence of our ic -1::.^;. L .z most made a scruple of recurring to it, fearing taat he should have the appearance of usmg seductive arts in favour of the truth : he was wrong ; for sentiment IS truth itself in questions of this nature. Tne objections which I have allowed myself to make to those works of Leibnitz, which aim at the solution of truths inso.uble by reasoning, do not at all apply to his writings on the formation ot ideas in the human mLnd ; those writings are of a most luminous rlearness ; they refer to a mystery which man, to a certain degree, can penetrate ; for he knows more of himself than of t^e universe. The opinions of J48 PHILOSOPHY AND ISIORALS*. Leibnitz in this respect tend, above all, to our moral' perfection, if it be true, as the G.erman philosophers have attempted to prove, that free-wil! rests upon the doctrine which delivers the soul from external objects, and that virtue cannot exist without the perfect inde- pendence of the will. Leibnitz has opposed, with admirable force of log- ical reasoning, the system of Locke, who attributes all our ideas to our sensations. The advocates of this system had vaunted of that well-known axiom) that there is nothing in the intellect which has not first been in the senses ; and Leibnitz added to it this sub- lime restriction—-" Except the intellect itself*." From this prhiciple all the new philosophy is derived, which so much influences the men of genius in Germany. This philosophy also is experimental ; for it endeav- ours to learn what is passing within ourselves. It on- ly substitutes the observation of internal feeling for that of our external sensations. The doctrine of Locke gained many portisans in Germany among those who endeavoured, like Bonnet at Geneva, and many other philosophers in England, to reconcile this doctrine vt^ith the religious sentiments "which Locke himself always professed. The genius of Leibnitz foresaw ail the consequences of this sort of metaphysics ; and that which has built his glory on an everlasting foundation, is his , having maintained in Germany the philosophy of moral liberty against that of sensual fatalism. While the rest of Europe adopt- ed those principles which make the soul be consider- ed as passive, Leibnitz, with unshaken constancy, v/as the defender of the ideal philosophy, such as his gen- ius had conceived it. It had no connexion with the system of Berkeley ; nor with the reveries of ti^e Greek sceptics upon the non-existence of matter; but it maintained the moral being in his independence and in liis rights. * Nihil est in intcUecta quod non fiierit iii sensu^ nisi iiitel-. leptiis ipse. KANT. 149 CHAPTER VI, Kant, K^ANT lived even to a very advanced age, and never quitted Konigsberg ; — there, in the midst of northern ice, he passed his whole life in meditation upon the - laws of human intelligence. An indefatigable ardour for study enabled him to acquire stores of knowledge without number. Sciences, languages, literature, ail were familiar to him ; and without seeking for glory, v.'hich he did not enjoy till a very late period (not ha- ving heard the noise of his renov/n before his old age), he contented himself with the silent pleasure of re- flection. In solitude he contemplated his mind with close attention ; the examination of his thoughts lent him new strength to support his virtue ; and although he never intermeddled with the ardent passions of men, he knew how to forge arms for those who should be summoned to combat those passions. Except among the Greeks, we have hardly any ex- ample of a life so strictly philosophical ; and that life itself answers for the sincerity of the writer. To such an unstained sincerity, we must further add an acute and exact understanding, v/hich served for a cor- rector to his genius, when he suffered it to carry him too far. This is enough, it seems to me, to make us judge at least impartially of the persevering labours of such a man. Kant first published several works on the natural sciences ; and he showed, in this branch of stu(iy, so great a sagacity, that it was he who firsi foresaw the existence of the planet Uranus. Herschel himself, after having discovered it, acknowledged that it was Kant who announced the future event. His treatise 150 PHILOSOPHY AND MORxiLb' upon the nature of the human understanding, entitled the " Examination of pure Reason," appeared near thirty years ago, and this work was for some time un- known ; but when at length the treasures of thought, which it contains, were discovered, it produced such a sensation in Germany, that almost all which has been accomplished since, in literature as well as in philosophy, has flowed from the impulse given by this performance. To this treatise upon the human understanding suc- ceeded the " Examination of practical Reason,'^ which related to morals ; and the " Examination of jndg- « raent," which had the nature of the beautiful for its object. The same theory serves for a foundation to these three treatises, which embrace the laws of in- tellect, the principles of virtue, and the contempla- tion of the beauties of nature and of the arts. I shall endeavour to give a sketch of the principal ideas which this doctrine contains ;-— .whatever care I may take to explain it clearly, I do not dissemble the necessity there is of incessant attention to comprehend it. A prince, who was learning mathematics, grew impatient of the labour which that study demanded. " It is indispensable,'* said his instructor, " for your »• highness to take the pains of studying, in order to learn the science ; for there is no royal road in mathe- " piatics " The French public, which has so many 3'easons to fancy itself a prince, will allow me to suggest that there is no royal road in metaphysics ; and that, to attain a conception of any theory whatever, we must pass through the intermediate ways which conducted the author himself to the results he exhibits. The philosophy of materialism gave up the human ■understanding to the empire of external objects, and morals to personal interest ; and reduced the beautiful to ti;e agreeable. Kant wished to re-establish primitive truths and spontaiiCous activity in the soul, conscience in morals, and the ideal in the arts. Let us now ex- amine m what manner he has fuifiiied these different luidertakings. KAXP. 151 At the time The Examination of pure Reason'^ made its appearance, there existed only two systems concerning the human understanding among thinking men : the one, that of Locke, attributed all our ideas to our sensations ; the other, that of Descartes and Leibnitz, endeavoured to demonstrate the spirituaiitv and the activity of the soul, free-will, in short, the v/hole doctrine of Idealism ; but these two philoso- phers rested their opinions upon proofs purely specu- lative. I have exposed, in the preceding chapter, the inconveniences which result from these efforts of ab- straction, that arrest, if we may use the expressionj the very blood in our veins, until our intellectual facul- ties alone reign within us. The algebraic method, applied to objects that we cannot embrace by mere reasoning, leaves no durable trace in the mind. While we are in the act of perusing these writings upon high I philosophical conceptions, we believe that we compre* ; fiend them ; we think that we believe them ; but the : arguments which have appeared most convincing, very soon escape from the memory. If man, wearied with these efforts, confines lYLxn- self to the knowledge which he gains by his senses, all I will be melancholy indeed for his soul. Will he have any idea of immortality, when the forerunners of de- struction are engraven so deeply on the countenance of mortals, and living nature falls incessantly into dust ? When all the senses talk of death, what feeble hope can we entertain of a resurrection ? If man only con- sulted his sensations, v/hat idea would he form of the supreme goodness ? So many afflictions dispute the mastery over our life ; so many hideous objects dis- figure nature, that the unfortunate creaied being curses his existence a thousand times before the last convulsion snatches it away. Let man, on the con- trary, reject the testimony of his senses, how will he guide himself on the earth ? and yet, if he trusts to them alone, v/hat enthusiasm, what morals, what re- ligion will be able to resist the repeated assaults to I \vhich pain and pleasure alternately expose him ? 152 PHILOSOPHY AND IMORALS. Reflection wandered over this vast region of uricer- tainty, when Kant endeavoured to trace the limits of the two empires, that of the senses and that of the soul ; of external and of intellectual nature. The strength of thinking, and the wisdom with which he marked these limits, were perhaps never exhibited be- fore : he did not lose himself among the new system.s concerning the creation of the universe ; he recognis- ed the bounds which the eternal mysteries set to the human understanding, and (what will be new perhaps to those who have only heard Kant spoken of) there is no philosopher more adverse, in numerous respects, to m.etaphysics ; he made himself so deeply learned in this science, only to employ against it the means it afforded him to demonstrate its own insufficiency. We might say of him, that, like a new Curtius, he threw himself into the gulf of abstraction, in order to fill it up. Locke had victoriously combated the doctrine of in- mte ideas in man ; because he has always represented ideas as making a part of our experimental know- ledge. The examination of pure reason, that is to say of the primitive faculties of which the intellect is composed, did not fix his attention. Leibnitz, as we have said above, pronounced this sublime axiom : — " There is nothing in the intellect which does not come " by the senses, except the intellect itself." Kant has acknowledged, as well as Locke, that there are no innate ideas ; but he has endeavoured to enter into the sense of the above axiom, by examining what are the laws and the sentiments which constitute the essence of the human soul, independently of all experience. " The Examination of pure Reason" strives to show in what these laws consist, and what are the objects upon which they can be exercised. Scepticism, to which materialism almost always leads, was carried so far, that Hume finished by overturning the foundation of all reasoning, in his search after arguments against the axiom, " that there " is no effect without a cause." And such is the un- steadiness of human nature wnea Ti^e do not place the 153 principle of conviction in the centre of the soul, that • incredulity, which begins by attacking the existence of . the morai world, at last gets rid of the material world also, which it first used as an instrument to destroy the other Kant v.'ished to know whether absolute certainty was attainable by the human understanding , and he only found it in our necessary notions—that is to say, in all the raws of our understanding, which are of such a nature that we cannot conceive any thing otherwise than as those laws represent it. In the first class of the imperative forms of our un- derstanding are space and time. Kant demonstrates that all our perceptions are submitted to these two forms; he concludes, from hence, that they exist in us, and not in objects ; and that, in this respect, it is our understanding which gives laws to external naturCj instead of receiving them from it. Geometry, which measures space, and arithmiCtic, which divides tim-e,are sciences of perfect demonstration, because they rest upon the necessary notions of our understanding. Truths acquired by experience never carry absolute certainty with them : when we say, " the sun rises " every day,'* — " all men are mortal," S--.C. the imagina- tion could figure an exception to these truths, vrhich experience alone makes us consider indubitable ; but imagination herself cannot suppose any thing out of the sphere of space and time ; and it is impossible to regard as the result of custom (that is to say, of the constant repetition of the sam^e phenomena) those forms of our thought which we impose upon things : sensa- tions may be doubtful ; but the prism through which we receive them is immoveable. To this primitive intuition of space and time, we must add, or rather give, as a foundation, the princi= pies of reasoning, v.ithout which we cannot compre- hend any thing, and v^^hich are the jaws of our under= standing ; the connexion of causes and effects — unity^ plurality, totality, possibility, reality, necessity, hc.^ * Kant gives the name of Categorii to the diiferent necessfiJ^'; Options of the iinderstandlng% of vrhich he gives a iist^ I I 154 PHILOSOPHY AKD MORALS'. Kant considers them all as equally necessary notions ; and he only raises to the rank of real sciences such as ] are immediately founded upon these notions, because j it is in them alone that certainty can exist. The forms of reasoning have no result, excepting when they are applied to our judgment of external objects, and ia this application they are liable to error ; but they are not the less necessary in themselves ; — that is to say, we cannot depart from them in any of our thoughts ; E it is impossible for us to figure any thing out of the | sphere of the relations of causes and effects, of pos- \ sibility, quantity, Sec. ; and these notions are as inher- | ent in our conception as space and time. We perceive Bothing excepting through the medium of the immove- able laws of our manner of reasoning; therefore these laws also are placed within ourselves, and not without us. In the German philosophy, those ideas are called ; subjective^ which grow out of the nature of our un- derstanding and its faculties ; and ail those ideas 06- jective, which are excited by sensations. Whatever may be the denomination which we adopt in this re- spect, it appears to me, that the examination of our intellect agrees v/ith the prevailing thought of Kant; j namely, the distinction he establishes between the forms of our understanding and the objects which we know according to those forms ; and v/helher he ad- heres to abstract conceptions, or whether he appeals, in religion and morals, to sentiments which he also considers as independent of experience, nothing is more luminous than the line of demarcation which he traces between what comes to us by sensation, and what belongs to the spontaneous action of our souls. Some expressions in the doctrine of Kant having been ill interpreted, it has been pretended that he be* lieved in that doctrine of innate ideas, which describes them as engraved upon the soul before we have dis- covered them. Other German philosophers, more al- lied to the system of Plato, have, in effect, thought that the type of the world v/as in the human understand- ings and that man could not conceive the universe if 155 he had not in himself the innate imsge of it ; but this dociriue is not touched upon by Kant : he reduces the intellectual sciences to three — logic, mctaphy^^ics, and mathematics. Logic teaches nothing by itself ; but as it rests upon the laws of our understanding, it is in- contestable in its principles, abstractedly considered : this science cannot lead to truth, excepthig in its ap» plication to ideas and things ; its principles are inr.a.te, its application is experimental'. In metaphysics, Kant denies its existence : because he pretends that reason- ing cannot firid a place beyond the sphere of expe- rience. Jvlathematics alone appear to him to depend immediately upon the notion of space and of time— 1 that is to say. upon the laws of our understanding an- terior, to experience. He endeavours to prove, that mathematics are not a simple analysis, but a s}Tithetic, positive, creative science, and certain of itself, v/ith- out the necessity of our recurring to experience to be assured of its truth. We may study in the %voik of Kaai the arguments upon wiiich he supports this v>ay oi thinking ; but at ieast it is true, that there is no ir.an more adverse to what is called the phi of I the dreamers ; and txhat he m.Uht rather ha^ , an ' inclination for a dry and didactic mode of thinking, although the object of his doctrine be to raise the hu- ; unais species from its degradation, under the philoso- 1 phy of materialism. Far from rejecting experience, Kant considers the I business of life as nothing but the action of our iu- ! nate faculties upon the several sorts of knowledge I which come to us from without. He believed that ex- • perience would be nothing but a chaos without the ' laws of the understanding ; but that the laws of the ; understanding have no other object than the elements j of thought afforded it by experience. It follo-^ I meraphysics themselves can teach us nothing 1 i these limits ; and that it is to sentiment that we ougac ! to attribute the foreknowledge and the conviction of every thing that transcends the bounds of the visible world. 156 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. When it is attempted to use reasonino- alone for the establishmeiit of reiigious truths, it becomes a most pliabie instrument, which can equally attack and defend them ; because we cannot, on this occasion, find any point of support in experience. Kant places upon two parallel lines the arguments for and against the libeityof man, the immortality of the soul, tl)e tem- porary or eternal duration of the world ; and it is to sentiment that he appeals to weigh down the balance, for the metaphysical proofs appear to him of equal strength on either side*. Perhaps he was wrong to push the scepticism of reasoning to such an extent ; but it was to annihilate this scepticism with more cer- tainly, by keeping certain questions clear from the abstract discussions which gave it birth. It would be unjust to suspect the sincere piety of Kant, because he has maintained the equality of the reasonings for and against the great questions in the transcendental metaphysics. It appears to me, on the contrary, that there is candour in this avowal. Such few minds are able to comprehend tliese reasonings, and those who are able are so disposed to combat each other, that it is rendering a great service to religious faith to banish metaphysics from all questions that re- late to the existence of God, to free-will, to the ori- gin of good and evil. Some respectable persons have said, that we ought not to neglect any weapon, and that metaphysical ar- guments also ought to be employed, to persuade those over whom they have power ; but these arguments lead to discussion, and discussion to doubt upon every subject. The best aeras for the race of man have ever been those, when truths of a certain class were uncontest- ed in writing or discourse. The passions might then seduce into cuipabJe acts j but no one called in ques- tion the truth of that religion which he disobeyed. Sophisms of every kind, the abuses of a certain phi- * Tliese opposite arguments on great metaphysical questions ai'e called " Antinomies'* in Kant's writings. KANT. hDsopliy, have destroyecl, in different countries and dif- ferent ages, that noble firmness of belief, which was the source of the devotion of heroes. Then is it not a fine idea, for a philosopher to shut, even to the science ^yhich he professes^ tlie door of the sa-nctuary, and to employ all the power of abstraction to prove, that there are regions from which it ought to be banished ? Despots and fanatics have endeavoured to prevent human reason from examining certain subjects, and reason has ever burst these unjust fetters. But the limits which she imposes on herself, far from enslav- ing her, give her a new strength—such strength as ?Jways results from the authority of laws, which are freely agreed to by those w-ho are subjected to them. A deaf and dumb person, before he had been un- der the discipline of the Abbe Sicard, might feel a full conviction of the existence of the Divinity. Ma- ny men are as far removed from those who think deep- ly, as the deaf and dumb are from other men, and still they are not less capable of experiencing (if the ex- pression may be allowed) within themselves primi- tive truths, because such truths spring from senti" ment. Physicians, in the physical study of man, recognise the principle which animates him, and yet no one knovrs what life is ; and if one set about reasoning, it would be easy to prove to men (as several Greek philosophers have done), that they do not live at all. It is the same with God, with conscience, and with free-will. You must believe because you feel: ail argument will be inferior to this fact. The labours of anatomy cannot be practised on a living body without destroying it ; analysis, Vv'hen at- tempted to be applied to indivisible truths, destroys them, because its first efforts are directed against their unity. We must divide our souls in two, in order that one half of us may contemplate the other. In whatever w^ay this division takes piace, it deprives our being of that sublime identity, v.ithout which we have not sufficient strength to believe that of which consciousness alone offers us assurance. VOL. II. O 158 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. Let a fvreat number of men be assembled at a thea» tre or public place, and let some theorem of reason- ing, however general, be proposed to them ;'--as ma- ny different opinions will immediately be formed as there are individuals assembled. But, if any actions, displaying greatness of soul, are related, or the ac- cents of generosity heard, the general burst will at once proclaiin, that you have touched that instinct of the soui which is as lively and as powerful in our be- ings, as the instinct which preserves our existence. In referring to sentiment, which does not admit of doubts, the knowledge of transcendent truths, in en- deavouring to prove tliat reasoning avails only when exerted within the sphere of sensations, Kant is very far from considering this faculty of sentiment as an illusion ; on the contrary, he assigns to it the first rank in human nature; he makes conscience the in- nate principle of our moral existence ; and the feeling of right and wrong is, according to his ideas, the prim- itive law of the heart, as space and time are of the un- derstanding. Has not man been led by reasoning to deny the exist- ence of free-will ? and yet he is so convinced of it, that he surprises himself in the act of feeling esteem or dislike even for the animals that surround him ; so forcibly does he believe in the spontaneous choice of good and evil in ail beings. The assurance of our freedom is only the feeling ■\vt have of it ; and on this liberty, as the corner-stone, is raised the doctrine of duty ; for if man is free, he ought to create to himself motives powerful enough to combat against the operation of exterior objects, and to set his wi;i free from the narrow trammels of scsfishness. Duly is at once the proof and the security of the metaphysical inde; endence oi man. In the following chapters, we shall examine Kant's arguments against morality as founded upon self-in- terest, and the sublime theory which he substitutes in the place of this hypocritical sophism, or perverse doctrhic. Different opinions may be entertained as to Kant's first work, T/ie Escajnination of fiure Rea- KAXT. 159 - S071 having himself acknowledged reasoning to be insufficient and contradictory, he ought to have antici- pated that it would be made use of against him ; but it appears to me impossible not to read with respect his " Examinatio7i of fnactical Reason^'' and the different works that he has written on morality. Not only are Kant's principles of morality austere and ]jure, as might be expected from the inflexibility of a philosopher, but he ahvays connects the evidence of the heart with that of the understanding, and is sin- gularly happy in making his abstract theory, as to the na- ture of the understanding, serve as a support to senti- ments at once the most simple and the most pow? erful. A conscience acquired by sensations may be stifled by them ; and the dignii.y of duty is degraded, in be- ing made to depend on exterior objects. Kant, there- fore, is incessantly labouring to show, that a deep sense of tins dignity is the necessary condition of our mor- al oeing, the law by wiiich it exists. The empire of sensations, and the bad actions, to the commission of v/hich they lead, can no more destroy in us the notion of good or of evil, than the idea of space and time can be changed by an erroneous application of it. There is always, in whatever situation vre may be plv-.ced, a power of re-action against circumstances, ^ wii'cn springs from the botton-i of the soul; and vre 1 cannot but feel, tiiat neither the laws of the under- standing, moral liberty, nor conscience, are the re- sult of experience. In his^ treatise on the sublime and beautiful, enti- tled,^ " The Examinati'jii of the Judgment'' Kant applies to the pleasures of the imagination the svsteni from which he has developed such'fruitfui deductions in the sphere of intelligence and of sentiment; or rather ii is the same soul which he examines, and which shov/s itself in the sciences, in morality, and in the fine arts. Kant maintains, that there are in poet- ry and in the arts which are capable, as poetry is, of painting sentiments by images, two Idnds of beautv : one which may be referred to time and to this life ; the other, to eternity and infinity. 160 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. And so impossible is it to say, that what is infinite and eternal is inteUigibie to our minds, that one is often tempted to take even what is finite and transient for a dream ; for thought can see no limits to any thing, neither can being have a conception of non-ex- istence. We cannot search deeply into the exact sci- ences themselves, v/ithout meeting, even there, with what is infinite and eternal ; and those things which are the most completely matters of fact, do, under some relations, belong to this infinity and eternity, as much as sentiment and imagination. From this application of the feeling of infinity, to the fine arts, arises the system of ideal beauty, that is to say, of beauty considered, not as the assemblage and imitation of whatever is most v>^orthy in nature, but as the realization of that image which is constantly- present to the souL Materialists judge of the beauti- ful according to the agreeable impression which it causes, and therefore place it in the empire of sensa- tions : immateriaiists, who ascribe every thing to rea- son, see in the beautiful what they call the perfect, and find in it some analogy to the useful and the good, v/hich they consider to be the first degrees of pevfec- tion. Kant has rejected both these explanations. Beauty, considered only as an agreeable thing, would be confined to the sphere of sensations, and conse- quently subject to the difference of tastes ; it could v.QvQv claim that universal acknowledgment, which is the true character of beauty ; beauty, again, consider- ed as perfection, would require a sort of judgment, like that on which esteem is founded : the enthusiasm that ought to be inspired by the beautiful, belongs neither to sensations nor to judgment: it is an innate disposition, like the feeling of duty, and those ideas which are essential to the understanding ; and we dis- cover beauty when we see it, because it is the out- ward image, of that ideal beauty, the type of which exists in our mind. Difference of tastes may be appli- ed to what is agreeable, for our sensations are the source of tliat kind of pleasure ; but all men must ad- inirc what is beautiful, whether in art or in naturc) kaxt: 161 because they have in their souls sentiments of celes- tial origin, which beauty avrakens, and of v^'hich it ex- cites the enjoyment. Kant passes from the theory of the beautiful to that of the sublime ; and this second part of his '•^ Exam- ination of the Judgmciit'^ is even more remarkable -than the first : he makes the sublime, in moral liberty, consist in the struggles of man with his destiny, or with his nature. Unlimited power excites our fear, greatness overwhelms us ; yet by the vigour of the Tviil, we escape from the sensation of our physical weakness. The povvcr of destiny, and the immensity of nature, are placed in endless opposition to the mis- erable dependence of the creature upon earth ; but one spark of the sacred fire in our bosoms triumphs over the universe ; since with that one spark v/e are enabled to resist the impressions which all the poweis in the world could m.ake upon us. The first eftect of the sublime is to overwhelm a man. and the second to exalt him. When we contemplate a storm curling the billows of the sea, and seeming to threaten both earth and heaven, terror at first takes possession of us, although we may be out of the reach ©f any persona! danger ; but when the ciouds that have gathered, burst over our heads, when all the fury of nature is displayed, man feels an inward energy, which frees him from every fear, by his will, or by resigna- tion, by the exercise, or by the relinquishment cf his moral liberty ; and this consciousness of what is within him animates and encourages him. When we hear of a generous action, v/hen we learn that men have borne unheard-of misfortunes to remain faithful to their opinion, even to the smallest swerv- ing ; at first the description of the miseries they have suffered confuses our ideas ; but by degrees, we re- gain our strength, and the sympathy that we feel ex- cited uithin ourselves, by greatness of soul, makes us hope that we ourselves could triumph over the misera- ble sensations of this life to remani faithful; noble, and proud to our latest day. VOL. n. 02 162 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. Besides, no one can define, if I may so say, that which is at the summit of our existence ; " IVe are " too much elevated in resfiect to ourselves^ to comjire^ « hend om^sclvea" says St. Augustin. He must be very poor in imagination who should think himself able to exhaust the contemplation even of the simple&t flower ; how then could we arrive at the knowledge of all that is comprised in the idea of the sublime ? I do not certainly flatter myself that I have been able, in a fev/ pages, to give an account of a system which, for twenty years, has occupied all thinking heads in Germany ; but I hope to have said enough to show the general spirit of the philosophy of Kant, and to enable me to explain in the following chapters, the influence which it has had upon literature, science, and morality. In order to reconcile experimental and ideal philoso- phy, Kant has not made the one subordinate to ths other, but he has given to each of the two, separately, a new degree of force. Germany was threatened by Jhat cold doctrine which regarded all enthusiasm as an error, and clased amongst prejudices those sentiments which form the consolation of our existence. It was a great satisfaction for men, at once so philosophical and so poetical, so capable of study and of exaltation, to see all the fine afl'ections of the soul defended with the strictness of the most abstract reasonings^ The force of the mind can never be long in a negative state ^ that is, it cannot long consist principally, in not believ- ing, in not understanding, and in what it disdains. We must have a philosophy of belief, of enthusiasm, a philosophy which confirms by reason, what sen= timent reveals to us. The adversaries of Kant have accused him of having merely repeated the arguments of the ancient ideal- ists ; they have pretended that the doctrine of the Ger-= man philosopher v/as only an old system in a new lan- guage. This reproach has no foundation. There are not only new ideas, but a particular character, in the doctrine of jLaiit'» KANT. 163 It savours of the philosophy of the eighteenth cen- turvs although it was intended to refute the doctrines of that philosophy, because it is natural to man always to catch the spirit of the age in which he lives, even when his intention is to oppose it. The philosophy of Plato is more poetical than that of Kant, the philoso- phy of Mallebranche more religious ; but the great merit of the German philosopher has been to raise up moral dignity, by setting all that is fine in the heart, on the basis of a theory deduced from the strongest rea- soning. The opposition which it has been endeavour- ed to show between reason and sentiment, necessarily leads reason on to selfishness, and reduces sentimeiit to folly ; but Kant, who seemed to be called to conclude all the grand intellectual alliances, has made the soul one focus, in which all our faculties are in contactwith each other. The polemical part of the works of Kant, that in which he attacks the philosophy of the materiaiistsj would be of itself a master-piece. That philosophy has struck its roots so deeply into the mind, so much irre- iigion and selfishness has been the result of ii, that those men ought to be regarded as benefactors to their country, who have even combatted a system so perni- cious, and revived the ideas of Plato, of Descartes, and of Leibnitz : but the philosophy of the new German school contains a crowd of ideas which are peculiar to it ; it is founded upon the greatest extent of scientific knowledge, v/hich has been increasing every day, and upon a singularly abstract and logical mode of reason- ing ; for, although Kant blames tlie use of such rea- soning, in the examination of truths which are out of the circle of experience, he shows in his writings a power of mind, on metaphysical subjects, which pla= ces him, in that respect, in the first rank of thinkers. It cannot be denied that the style of Kant, in his « Kxaminaiion of pure Reason" deserves almost all the reproaches with which his adversaries have treat- ed it- He has made use of a phraseology very diffi<^ cult to understand, and of the most tiresome new crea- tion of words. He lived aloqe with his own thoughts^. 161 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. and persuaded himself that it v/as necessary to have new words for new ideas, and yet there are words to express every thing. In those objects which are in themselves the most clear, Kant is frequently guided by a very obscure system of metaphysics ; and it is only in those re- gions of thoug;ht where darkness prevails in gene- ral, that he displays the torch of light : like the Israel- ites, who had for their guide a column of fire by night, and a pillar of a cloud by day. No one in France would give himself the trouble of studying works so thickly set with difficulties, as those of Kant ; but he had to do with patient and per- severing readers. This, certainly, was not a reason for his abusing their patience ; perhaps, however, he would not have been able to search so deeply into the science of the human understanding, if he had attach- ed more importance to the choice of the expressions which he made use of in explais ing it. The ancient philosophers always divided their doctrines into two distinct parts ; one which they reserved for the ini- tiated, and another which they professed in public. Kant's manner of writing is quite different, -when his theory, or the application of it, is the subject. In his metaphysical treatises, he makes use of words as arithmetical figures, and gives them whatever value he pleases, without troubling himself with that which they have derived from custom. This appears to me a great error ; for the attention of the reader is ex- hausted in efforts to understand the language, before he arrives at the ideas, and what is known never serves as a step to what is unknown. We must nevertheless give Kant the justice he de- serves, even as a writer, when he lays aside his scien- tific language. In speaking of the arts, and still more of morality, his style is almost always perfectly clear, energetic, and simple. How admirable does his dr;c- trine then appear ! How well does he express the sen- timent of the beautiful and the love of duty! With what force does he separate them both from all calcu- lations of interest or of utility I How he ennobles ac» KANT. tions by their source, and not by their success ! In a ^vord, what grandeur of inoraiity does he not give to man, whether he examines him in himseif, or whether he considers him in himself, or whether he considers him in his rehuions towards others ; — to man, that ex- ile of heaven, that prisoner upon earthy so great as an exile, so miserable as a captive ! We might extract from the writings of Kant a mul- titude of brilliant ideas on all subjects ; perhaps, in- deed, it is to this doctrine alone, that, at the present day, we must look for conceptions at once ingenious and new ; for the notions of the materialists no longer offer, in any thing, what is interesting or original. Smartness of wit against what is serious, noble, and divine, is worn out ; and in future it will be impossible to restore to the human race any of the qualities of youth, but by returning to religion by the road of phi- losophy, and to sentiment by the way of reason. 166 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. CHAPTER VII. Of the most celebrated Philosophers before a7id after Kant, ^HE spirit of philosophy, from its nature, cannot be g-enerally diffused in any country. In Germany, however, there is such a tendency towards habits of reflection, that the German nation may be considered, by distinction, as the nation of metaphysics. It posses- ses so many men capable of understandin.^ the most abstract questions, that even the public are found to take an interest in the arguments usually employed in discussions of that nature. Every man of talent has his own way of thinking on philosophical questions. Writers of the second and third rank, in Germany, are sufficiently deep to be of the first rank in other countries. Those who are rivals, have the same hatred towards one another there as elsewhere ; but no one would dare to enter the lists, "without having evinced, by serious study, a real love for the science in which he was engaged. It is not enough ardently t"' desire success : it must be deserv- ed, before the candidate can be even admitted to start for it. The Germans, however indulgent they may be to defects of form in a work, are unmerciful witi; re- spect to its real value ; and, when tiiey perceive any thing superficial, in the mind, the feeling, or the knov/- led:2;e of a v/riter, they try to borrow tne very pleasan- try of the French, to turn what is frivolous into ridi- cule. It is my intention to give, in this chapter, a hasty glimpse of the principal opiiiions of the philosophers who have attracted notice before and since the time of Kant ; the course which his successors have taken cannot well be judged of, without turniiig back to see ivhai v/as the state of opinions at the time ^vhen tha CiERMAK PHILOSOPHERS, 167 doctrines of Kantism first prevailed in Germany ; it was opposed at the same time to the system of L; eke, as tending' to materialism, and to the school of Leib- r.itz, as reducing every thintj' to abstraction. The ideas of Leibnitz were iofty, but his disciples. Wolf at their head, have encumbered them witli f'-^i ms of logic and metaphysics. Leibnitz hatl said, our ideas that come by the seiises are confused, and tiiat those only which beioni^ to ti^e immediate perceptions of the mind are clear : without doubt his inteiiiion by that was to show, ti;at truths wliicn are invisible, are more certain and more in harmony witii our moral nature, than all that we learn by the evidence of tht sersses. Woif and his disciples have drawn this consequence from it, that evesy thiuL^-, about which our mincl can be employed, must be reduced into abstract ideas. Kant iijs])ircfl intercht and warmth into this lifeless idealism ; ne assigned lo experience, as well as to the innate facilities, its just proportion ; and the art with which he applied his theory to every thing that is in- tercbting to mankinc', to moraiiiy, to poetry, and to the fine arts, extenaecl the influence of it. Tnree leading men, Leasing, Hemsterhuis, and Ja- cobi, preceded Kant in the career of pnilosopny. i hey had no school, because they founded no system ; but they began the attack against the doctrhie ot the ma- terialists. Of these three, Lessing is the one whose opinions, on this point, are the least tiecided ; howev- er, he had too enlarged a m.ind to be confined within the nairow circle which is so easily drawn, when we renounce tne highest trutiis. Lessing's all-powerful polemics disclosed doubt upon the most important questions, and led to new inquiries of every kiiid. Lessing himself cannot be considered either as a ma- terialist or as an idealist; but the necessity of exami- nation and study to the acquisition oi knowledge, was the main spring of his doctnne. if the Aimighty," said iie, " were to hold Truth in one hand, and the " Search after truth in the other, it is the latter I should " ask of him in preference." 168 PlllLOSOPHY ANB MOllALS. Lessing' was not orthodox in religion. Christianily. in hiiTi, was not a necessary thing, like sentiment ; and yet he was capable of admiring it philosophically. He imderstood its ri|lations with the human heart, and he ever considers all the different ways of thinking, from a point of view, where he is able to see them all. No- thing intolerant, no exclusion, is to be found in his ■writings. When we take our stand, in the centre of universal ideas, we never tail to have sincerity, depth, and extent of mind. Whatever is unjust, vain, and narrow, is derived from the desire of referring every- thing to certain partial views, which we have taken and appropriated to ourselves, and which we make the ob- jects of our seif-love. Lessing expresses, in an acute and plain style, opin- ions full of warmth. Iiemsterhuis, a Dutch philoso- pher, was the first who, in the middle of the eigh- teenth century, snowed in his writings, the greater part of the liberal ideas, upon which the new Ger- man school is founded. His works ^re also very re- markable, for the contrast which there is between the character of his style, and the thoughts which it con- veys. Lessing is an enthusiast, with an ironical man- ner ; Hemsterhuis, an enthusiast, with the language of a mathematician. Writers who devote the most abstract metaphysics to the defence of the most exalt- ed systems, and who conceal the liveliness of imaj^ina- tion under the austerity of logic, are a phssnomenon which is scarcely to be found, except amongst the German nations. Men, who are always upon their guard against im- agination, when they have it not, are more ready to. trust those writers who banish talent and sensibility' from philosophical discussions, as if it w^ere not, at least, as easy to be absurd, upon such subjects, in syllogisms as with eloquence. For a syllogism, which always takes for its basis that such a thing is or is not, reduces the immense crowd of our impressions to a simple alternative, in every case ; whilst eloquence embraces ihem all togethei*. Nevertheless, although Hemsterhuis has too frequently expressed phiiosophi- €ERMAN FHTLOSOPHERS. i69 cal truths, in an algebraic manner, there is a senti- ment of morality, a real love of the beautiful, in his v/ritings, -syhich cannot but be admired ; he \vas one of the first to feel the union which exists between ideal- ism, or (as I should rather say) the free-will of man, and the stoic morality ; and it is in this point of view, above all, that the new doctrine of the Germans is of great importance. Even before the v/ritings of Kant had appeared, Ja- cob! had attacked the philosophy of sensation, and still more victoriously, the system of morality founded upon interest. He did not confine himself strictly, in his phi- losophy, to abstract forms of reasoning. His analysis of the human soul is fall of eloquence and of charms. In the folio v.'ing chaptei-s, I shall examine the finest pan of his works, that which relates to morality ; but, as a piiiiosopher, he deserves separate honour. Bet- ter instri'Ctcd than any one else in the history of ancient and modern phiiOsopl:y, he devoted ins studies to the support of the mosi sim [)le truths. The nrst amoni^st the pniiosophers of lAs day, ne made reiiRious feeling the foundation of uur whole Intel iectual nature ; and, it may be said, that ne has only learnt the language of metaphysicians and learned men, to do homage, in itj to virtue and divinity. Jcicobi has shown himself the opposer of the phi- losophy of Kant, but he does not attack it as if he was himself the partisan of the philosophy of sensation.* On the contrary, his objection to Kant is, that he does noL rciy sufficiently upon tne support of religion, con- sidered as the only possible philosophy in those truths "Which are beyond the reach of experience. The doctrine of Kant has met v/ith many other op- ponents in Germany ; but it has not been attacked by those who have not understood it, or by tnose who op- posed the opinions of Locke and Condillac, as a com- plete answer to it. Leibnitz stiil retained too great an ascendant over the minds of his countrymen, for them not to pay respect to any opinion which was analogous * Thts philosophy has, in Germanv, generally received the name of The Empiric Fhihsophy. VOL. II, P 170 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. to his. A long' list of writers, have, for ten years, been incessantly engao^ed in writing commentaries on the works of Kant. But at the present day, the Ger- man philosophers, although agreeing with Kant as to the spontaneous activity of thought, have adopted each a system of his own, on that point. Ir» fact, who is there v/ho has never endeavoured according to his abilities, to understand himself? But, because man has given an innumerable variety of explanations of his .nature, does it therefore foilow that such a philosophi- cal examination is useless ? Certainly not. This vari- ety itself is a proof of the interest which such an ex- amination ought to inspire. In our oays, people would be glad to have done with moral nature, and would readily pay its reckoning to hear no more of it. Some say, the language was fix- ed on such a day of such a month, and that, from that moment the introduction of anew word became a bar- barism ; others aftirm, that the rules of the drama were definitively settled in such a year (and it is a great pity that a genius, which would now set about making any change in them, was not l>orn before that year,) in which every literary discussion, past, pres- ent, and future, was determined v.'ithout appeal. At last, it has been decided in metaphysics above all, that since the days ef Condillac it has been impossible to take a single step more, vv'ithout going out of the way* It is allowed that the physical sciences are making progress, because it cannot be denied ; but in the career of philosophy and literature, the human mind is to be obliged to be incessantly running the ring of vanity around the same circle. To remain attached to that experimental philoso- phy which offers a species of evidence, lalse in priiici- pie, although specious in form, is by no means to sim- plify the system of the universe. By considering eve- ry thing as not existing which is beyond the reach uf our sensations, it is easy to give light enough to a sys- tem, the limits of which we ourselves prescribe ; it is a work which depends upon the doer of it. But does everything beyond those ii \ its exist the less, because it is counted as nothing ? The imperfect truth of spec* GERMAN PHILOSOPHERS. 171 illative philosophy is ever much nearer to the essence &f things, than that apparent light which belongs to the art of solving difficulties of a certain order» When one reads in the philosophical v/ritings of the last cen- tury these phrases so frequently repeated, thi'i is all the truth that exists^ every thing else is chimerical^ it puts one in mind of the well-known story of a French actor, who, before he would light with a man much fatter tiian himself, proposed to chalk out on his adversary's body a line, the hits on the outside of which should go for nothing. Yet there was the same nature without that line as within it, and equally capa- ble of receiving a mortal wound. In the same manner, those who place the pillars of Hercules on the bounda- ry of their horizon, cannot prevent the existence of a. nature beyond their o\rn, in which there exists a high- er degree of life, than in the sphere of matter to which they would confine us. The tv/o most celebrated philosophers who have succeeded Kant, are Fichte and Scheliing. They too pretended to simplify his system ; but it was by putting in its place a species of philosophy more elevated even than his, that they hoped to accomplish it. Kaiit had, v/ith a nrm hand, separated the two em- pires of the soul an.d of the senses. This philosophi- cal quality was fatiguing to minds which love to re- pose in simple ideas. From the days of the Greeks to oar ov/i!, this axiom has often been repeated, that every thing is one^ and the efforts of philosophers have alv/ays been directed to find in one single principle, eitner in the soul or in nature, an explanation of the world. I shall nevertheless, venture to say, that it appears to me to be one of the titles which Kant's phi- loGopliy has to the confidence of enlightened men, that it affirms, what we feel to be the case, that there ex- ists both a soul and an external nature, and that they act mutually one upon the other by such or such iav/s. I know not v»'hy a greater degree of philosophical ele-. vation is to be found in the idea of one single princi- ple, whether material or intellectual; there'being one, or two, does not render the universe more easy of 172 PHILOSOPHY ANt) MORALg. comprehension, and our feeling agrees better ■with those systems which acknowledge a distinction be- tween physics and morality. Fichte and Schellinir have divided between them the empire which Kant acknowied$^-ed to be a divided one, and each has chosen that his own half should be the whole. Both have gone out of the sphere of ourselves, and have been desirous of rising'; to a knowledge of the system of the universe. Very different in that from Kant, who has applied as much power of mind to show those things, at the knov,'ledge of which the human mind can never arrive, as to explain thos-e which are within its reach. No philosospher, however, before Fichte, had ex- tended the system of idealism with such scientific strictness; he makes the whole universe consist of the activity of mind. Ail conception, all imagination^ proceeds from that ; it is on account of this system^ s that he has been suspected of unbelief. He was heard to say, that, in his next lesson, he should create God-, and the world w^as scandalized v/ith reason at such an expression. —What he-meant by it was, that he should show how the idea of the Divinity arose^ and was dev- eloped in the mind of man. The principal merit of Fichte's philosophy is, the incredible attention that it implies; for he is not contented with referring every thing to the inward existence of man, to the sel? which forms the basis of every thing, but he goes on to dis- tinguish iVi this SELF what is transient and what is per- iiianent. In fact, v/hen we reflect on the operations of the understanding, v^^e think ourselves eye-witnes- ses of our own thoughts ; we think we see them pass before us like a stream, whilst the portion of self, which is contemplating them, is immoveable. It of- ten happens to those who unite an impassioned char- acter to an observiiig mind, to see themselves suifer, and to feel within themselves a being superior to its own pain, which observes it, and reproves or pities it by turns. We are subject to continual changes from the ex- ternal circumstances of our life, and yet we always have the feeling of our identity. What is it^ then. GERMAN PHILOSOPHERS. that attests this identity, if not that self^ always the same, which sees another self modified by impres- sions from without, pass before its tribunal ? It is to this immoveable soul, the witness of the moveable soul, that Fichte attributes the gift of immortality, and the power of creating, or (to trans- late more exactly) of dravoing to a focus in itself the image of the universe. This system, which makes every thing rest on the summit of our existence, and places a pyramid on its point, is singularly difficult to follow. It strips our ideas of the colours which so well enable us to understand them ; and the fine arts, poetry, and the contemplation of nature, disappear in abstractions which are without any mixture of im- agination or sensibility. Fichte considers the exterior world only as a boun- dary of our existence, on which thought is at work« In his system, this boundary is created by ttie soul itself, the activity of which is constantly exerted on the web it has formed. What Fichte has written up- on the metaphysical self is a little like the waking of Pygmalion's statue, which, touching alternately it- self and the stone on which it was placed, says, by turns, This is I, and This is not I ; but when, taking the hand of Pygmalion, it exclaims. This indeed i^ I — that excites a sentiment which is*? much beyond the sphere of abstract ideas. Idealism, stripped of sen- timent, has nevertheless the advantage of exciting^ to the highest degree, the activity of the mind ; out nature and love, by this system, lose all their charms ; for, if the objects which we see, and the being's whom we love, are noticing but the works of our own ideasj it is man himself that may be considered as the greaS celibatary of the world. It must be acknowledged, however, that the system of Fichte has two great advantages ; the one is its stoic morality, which admits of no excuses ; for, every thing proceeding from self it is self alone which has- te answer for the use it makes of the will : the other is an exercise of thought, at once so severe and so^ subtile, that a man who had mastered the system^ yoL. n, p 2 174 PHILOSOPHY AKD MORALS. ieven though he should not adopt it, would have ac- quired a capacity of attention, and a sagacity in analy- ■sis, which would afterwards make any other kind of study a plaything to him. In whatever manner the utility of metaphysics is judged of, it cannot be denied, that it is the gymnastic exercise of the m.ind. It is usual to set children on different kinds of wrestling in their earliest years, al- though it may never be necessary for them to fight in that manner. It may be truly said, that the study of the ideal system of metaphysics is almost a certain means of developing the moral faculties of those Vv'ho devote themselves to it. Thought, like every thing precious, resides at the bottom of ourselves ; for, on the surface, there is nothing but folly and insipidity. But when men are early obliged to dive into their own minds, and to see all that passes within them, they draw from thence a pow^er, and plainness o! judgment^ ■which are never lost» For abstract ideas, Fichte has a mathematical head, like Euler or La Grange. He has a singular contempt for all expressions which in any manner relate to sub» stance ; existence even is too common a word for him. Beings princifile^ essence^ are words scarcely airy enough to mark the subtile shades in his opinions. It might be said, that he was afraid of coming in con-^ tact with realities, and vvas always shrinking from them. In readmg his works, or convershig with him^ one loses the consciousness of this world, and feels it necessary, like the ghosts described by Homer, to re= ijall to one's seif the remembrances of life. Materialism absorbs the soul by degrading it the ideaiisra of Fichte, by exalting it, separates it from nature ; in both extremes, senti?nent^ which is the. real beauty of existence, has not the rank it de- serves. Schelling has much more knowledge of nature and the fine arts than Fichte, and his lively imaginatioa Gould not be satisfied with abstract ideas ; but, like Fichte, his object is vj reduce existence to a single- principle. He treats witn prolound contempt ail phi- losophers who admit two principles j and will i^ot ai» GERMAN PHILOSOPHY, low the name of Philosophy to anv system but that which unites every thmg;, and explains every thing. Unquestionably he is right in savin;]: that system would be the best ; but where is it ? Schelling pre- tends, that nothing is more absurd than the expres- sion, so commonly used — The fikilosofihu of PIpJ.z — . the jihilosGkhy of Aristotle. Should we say. The .ge- ometry of Euler the geometry of La Grange ; There is but one philosophy, according to Scheliing, or there must be none at all. Certainly, if by philoso- phy we only understand the enigma of the universe, we may say, with truth, that there is no philosophy. The system of Kant appeared insufficient to Schel- iing, as it did to Fichte ; because he acknowled2:e3 ivro 33atures, two sources of our ideas — external objects., and the faculties of the soul. But, in orde r to arriv e at that unity, so much desired; in order to get rid of that double life, physical and moral, which gives so much offence to the partisans of simple ideas, Schel- iing refers every thing to nature, while Fichte m.akes every thing spring from the soul. Fichte sees nothing in nature but the opposite of mind : in his eyes it is only a limit or a chain, from which we are constantly to endeavour to free ourselves. The system of Schel- iing gives more rest, and greater delight, to the imao;- ination, nevertheless it necessarily returns into that of Spinosa; but, instead of sinking the mind down to the level of matter, which is the practice in our days, Scheliing endeavours to raise matter up to mind ; and although his theory entirely depends upon pi^.vsic:;! na- ture, it is, nevertheless, a very ideal one at ti:e doiioitI} and still more so in its form. The ideal and the real supply, i: - ' ; - ;" .;-e, the place of intelligence and matter. . , /.on and experience; and it is in the re-\r.:ici] ot ;:]c-e two povv- ers in complete harmony, that, in his o^^huo;:. :ne sin- gle principle of the organized world This - armony, of which the two poles and , , ^:ve form ..e image, and which is comprised in the number -:ree, so mysterious at all times, has supplied Schel- iing with the mcst ingenious applications. Ke believes 176 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. it is to be found in the fine arts, as well as in nature ; and his works on physical science are thought highly of, even by those learned men who confine themselves to the consideration of facts, and their results. In- deed, in examining the mind, he endeavours to demon- strate how sensations and intellectual conceptions are confounded in the sentiment which unites whatever is involuntary and reflective in both of them, and thus contains ail the mystery of life. What is most interesting in these systems is their developments. The first basis of the pretended expla- nation of the world is equally true, and equally false, in the greater number of theories ; for all of them are comprised in the immense thought, which it is their object to embrace: but, in their application to the things of this world, these theories are very refined, and often throw great light on many particular ob- jects. Schelling, it cannot be denied, approaches nearly to the philosophers called Pantheists, that is to say, who attribute to nature all the attributes of the Divinity. But what distinguishes him is, the astonishing sagacity with which he has managed to connect his doctrine with the arts and sciences ; he is instructive and requires thought, in ail his observations : and the depth of his mind is particularly surprising when he docs not pre- tend to apply it to the secret of the universe ; for no man can attain a superiority which cannot exist be- tween beings of the same kind, at whatever distance they may be placed from each other. To keep up the ideas of religion in the midst of the apotheosis of nature, the school of Schelling suppos- es that the individual within us perishes, but that the inward qualities which we possess, enter again into the great whole of the eternal creation. Such an im- mortality is terribly like death ; for physical death it- self is nothing but universal nature recalling to herself the gifts she had given to the individual. Schelling drav/s from his system some very noble conclusions on the necessity of cultivating in the soul its immortal quaiitiesj those which are in relation with GERMAN PHILOSOPHERS. 17? the universe, and of despising every thing in us which' relates to our circumstances alone. But are not the affections of the heart, and even conscience itself, allied to the relations of this life ? In most situations vre feel two distinct motions — that which unites us u ith the general order, and that which leads us to our par- ticular interests ; the sentiment of duty, and personal- ity. The nohlest of these iTiotions is the universal. But it is, exactly, because we have an instinct which would preserve our existence, that it is a fine thing to sacrifice that instinct; it is because we are beings, whose centre is in ourselves, that our attraction to- wards the assemblage of all things is generous ; in a word, it is because we exist individually and distinctly, that we can choose out and love one another. What then becomes of that abstract immortality which would strip us of our dearest recollections as mere accidental modifications ? AVould you, say they in Germany, rise again in all your present circumstances f — Would you be revived a Baron, or a IMarquis ? Certainly not. But who would not rise again a mother or a daughter ? and how could we be ourselves again, if we had no longer the same feelings of friendship ? Vague ideas of re-union with nature v/ill, in time, destroy the empire of reli- gion over our souls ; for religion is addressed to each of us individually. Providence protects us in all the details of our lot. Christianity is adapted to every mind, and sympathizes, like a confidential friend, with the v/ants of every heart. Pantheism., on the contra- Fy, that is, nature deified, by inspiring religion for ev- ery thing, disperses it over the world, instead of con- centrating it in ourselves. This system has at all times had 7iiany partisans amongst philosophers. Thought is always tending, TiiOre and more, to generalization ; and the labour of the mind, in extending its boundaries, is often taken for a new idea. Vv^e hope to ai'rive at a knovrdedge of the universe, as of space, by always removing fences, and setting difficulties farther from us without resolving PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. them ; and yet we are no nearer to infinity. SentU ment alone reveals it to us, without explaining it. What is truly admirable in German philosophy is the examination of ourselves to which it ieads ; it as- cends even to the origin of the v/ili, even to the un- known spring of the course of our life ; and then pen- etrating the deepest secrets of grief, and of faith, it enlightens and strengthens us. But all systems which aspire to the explanation of the universe, can hardly be analysed with clearness by any expressions : words are not proper for ideas of this kind, and the conse- quence is, that, in making use of them, ail things are overshadowed by the darkness v/hich preceded the creation, not illuminated by the light which succeeded it. Scientific expressions, lavished on a subject in which every one feels that he is interested, are revolt- ing to self-love. These writings, so difficult to com- prehend, however serious one may be, give occasion to pleasantry ; for mistakes are ahvays made in the dark. It is pleasing to reduce, to a few leading and accessible assertions, that crowd of shades and re- strictions which appear quite sacred to the author of them, but which the profane soon forget or confound. The Orientalists have at all times been idealists, and Asia in no respect resembles the south of Eu- rope, The excessive heat in those countries leads to contemplation, as the excessive cold of the north does. The religious systems of India are very m.el- anchoiy and spiritual, v/hilst the people of the south of Europe have always had an inclination for rather a maierial kind of Paganism. The learned of Eng- land, v^ho have travelled into India, have made deep researches about Asia; and Germans who have not had opportunities, like the princes of the Ocean, to inform themselves with their own eyes, have, by dint of study alone, arrived at very interesting discov- eries on the religion, the literature, the languages of the Asiatic nations ; they have been led to think, from many indications, that supernatural lights once stionc upon the people of those countries, and that the tra Ciss of it still remain indelible. The philosophy o GERMAN PHILOSOPHER? 170 the Indians can only be sufficiently understood by the Geiinan id'ea-ists; a simiiarity of opinion assists ihtra in compreheicding it. Frederic Schlegel, ret ccr.ter.ted with the kiiow- ledge of aimost ail the languages of Furope, devoted unhearri-of labours to acquirinii; the knowledge of the couiitry which was the cradle of the world. The work ■which he has ju^t piibiished on the language and phi- losophy of the Ii diar.s, contains profound views and real inf rnjation .w orthy tne attention of enlightened men in Europe. He thinks, and many philosophers (in the number of whom Baill) maybe reckoned) have maintained the same op^nlon, t:-." a priniit've p;:-opIe inhabited some parts of tiie vici : ' , [ :l:ci;; iy Asia, at a period anterior to all the c.o( iiQitnLb of history. Frederic Scniegel finds the traces of this people in the intel- lectual advancements of nations, and the formation of their languages. — He observes a remarkable resem- blance between the leauing ideas, and even the words which express them, amongst many nations of the world, even when, so far as we are informed by histo- ry, they have riever had any connexion v>ith each other. Frederic Schlegel does not adopt the very generally received opinion, that men began in the savage state, and that their mutual wants, by degrees, tormed lan- guages. Thus to a tribute the development of the human nund and soui to our animal nature, is to give it d very gross origin, and reason combats the hypoth- esis, as mucn as imagination rejects it. We can hardly conceive by what gradation it would be possible, from tne cry of the savage, to arrive at the periection of the Greek language ; it would be said, that, in the progress necessary to traverse such an infinite distance, every step would cross an abyss ; we see, in our days, tnat savages do notcivhize them- selves, and tnat it ib from neighbouring naii ns that they are taught, with great labour, what they them- selves are ignorant of. One is much tempted, tiicre- foiii, to think, that a prin itive nation cid establish the human racej and whence was that people formed, if 180 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. not from revelauoi) ? All natioiiS imve at all times, ex- pres .ed regret for the loss of a state of happiness which preceded the period in whicl) they existed i ivht^T'ce arises this idea, so widely spread ? will it be said it is an error ? Krrors that are universal are al- ways founded upon some truth, altered and disfigured perhaps, but bottomed on facts concealed in the night of ages, or some mysterious powers of nature. Those who attribute the civilization of the human race to the effects of physical wants uniting men with one another, will have difQcuity in explainit^g how it happens, that the moral culture of t^e most ancient nations is more poetical, more favourable to tne fine arts, in a word, more nobly useless, in the relations of materialism, than all the rfcfiuemei?ts of modern civili- zation. The philosophy of the Indians is ideal, and their reiie;ion mystical : certainly it is not the necessity of maintaining order in society, v^^hich has given birth to that piiiiosophy, or to that religion. Poetry has almost every where existed before prose ; and the introduction of metres, rhythm, and harmony, is anterior to tlie rigorous pi ecision, and consequently to the useful employment of larsguages. Astronomy has not been studied for the service of agriculture alone : But the Chaldeans, Egyptians, 8^c. have carried their researches much beyond the practical advantages which are to be derived from it ; and the love of hea- ven, and the worship of time, are supposed to be shown in these profound and exact observations, re- specting tne divisions of the year, the courses of the stars, and the periods of their junction. In China, the kings were the first astronomers of their country. They passed nights in contemplating the progress of the stars, and their royal dignity con- sisted in those exalted species of knowledge, and in those disinterested occupations, wnich raised them above the vulgar. The magnificent system, which considers civilization as iiaving for its origiii a religious revelation, is supported by an eruaition, of whicti die partisans of the materialist doctrines are seldom capa- GEM^IAX PHiL©SOPHERS. 181 hie : to be vv-hoHy devoted to study, is to be almost afi idealist at once. IMen accustomed to deep and solitary reflections, penetrate so forward into truth, that, in my opinion, a man must be ignorant or conceited to despise any of their writings, without having long considered them. There were formerly many errors and superstitions, which were attributable to want of knowledge ; but when, with the li2:ht of our times, and the immense labours of individuals, opinions are propounded which are beyond the circle of our daily experience, it is a cause of rejoicing to the human race; for its actual treasures are very scanty, at least if one may judge by the use made of it. In reading the account which I have given of the principal ideas of some of the German philoso- phers, on the one hand, their partisans will discover, wdth reason, that I have noticed, very superficialJy, re- searches of great importance ; and, on the other hand, the world will ask. Of what use is ail this ? But of what use are the Apollo Beividere, the pictures of Hdphael, the tragedies of Racine ? Of what use is ev- ery thing fine, if not to the mind ? It is the same with philosophy ; it is the beamy of thought, it attests the dignity of man, who is able to occupy himself with what is external and invisible, although the gross par- ticles of his nature would remove him from them. I might cite many other names justly distinguished in the lists of philosophy ; but it appears to me, that this sketch, however imperfect, is sufficient to serve as an introduction to the examination of the influence which the transcendant philosophy of the Germans has exercised over the development of the mind, and over the character and morality of the nation in which that phi- losophy prevails ; and that, above all, is the object I propose to myself. VOL. II. Q 182 PHILOSOPHY AND MOHALS. CHAPTER VIII. InJiiLcnce of the new German Philosofihy over ths Development of the Mi7id. Attention is, perhaps, the most powerful of all the faculties of the human mind ; and it cannot be de- nied, that the ideal system of metaphysics strength- ens it in a surprising manner. BufPon pretended that genius might b ; acquired by patience ; that was saying too much ; but the homage thus rendered to attention, under the name of patience, does great honour to a man of so brilliant an imagination. Abstract ideas require great efforts of meditation ; but when to them is joined the most exact and persevering observation , of the inward actions of the wili, the whole power of intelUgence is at once employed. Subtilty is a great fault in the affairs of this world, but ceitainiy the Ger- mans are not suspected of it. The philosophical sub- tilty, which enables us to unravel the minutest threads of our thoughts, is exactly the best calculated to ex- tend the genius ; for a reflection, from which the sub- limest inventions, the most astonishhig discoveries may result, passes un perceived within us, if we have not acquired the habit of examining with sagacity the con- sequences and connexions of ideas, apparently the most remote from each other. In Germany, a supeiior man seldom confines him- self to one line. Goethe has made discoveries in sci- ence ; Schelling is an excellent Wiiter; Frederic Sc ijegel, a poet full of ori-viriaiity. A great number of different taients cannot, perhap;^, be united ; but the view cf the understanding ought to embrace every thing. The new German phiiosophy is -necessarily more favourable th m any other to the extension of the mind; for, referring every thing to the focus of the soul, and NET\' GER^L^X PHILOSOPHY. . :rj side ring the wcrlcl itself as goveiTicd by lav.'s. the ■ ^e of which is in ourselves ; it does not adnut the ; :ji'.dice ^Yhich destines every man exclusively to :h or such a branch of study. The idealists belie ve^ ...it an art, a science, or any other subject, car.rct be v..:derstood vrithout an universal knowledge, anci that from the smallest phenomenon up to the greatest, r.cihing can be learneciy examined, or poeticalh de- ; :ribed, without that elevation of mind which sees the i.ole, while it is describmg the parts. Montesquieu says, t/iat \vit cojisUts in kncivirig the resemblance of :hi g-< Kvhich differ^ ar.ci :/;- cyfereyice cf things \i'hich ere c^ik:. If ti;ere con.:. exU: a theo^ ry v.-hich would teach a : ; ■ v.- to become a wii, it would be that cf the u._ :.\^ as the Germans co.iceive it ; there is no orjc more favourable to ingen- ious approximations between external objects ar^d ihe f:.cuLies of the mind : tney are the diacrert rac.ii of :/-e same centre. Most physical axiomjs correspond with mor-ai truths ; and universal philosophy, in a thousand ways, represents Nature always the same, and always varying ; who is rejected, at full length, in every one of her works, and gives the stanrp of the universe to the blade cf gra^s, as well as to :ne cedar. This philosophy gives a singular attracticn to all kinds of stuciy. Th- ci-covericb which we make with- in ourselves a: c ai'.vays interestmg ; but if it is true that they would enlighten us, on the miysteries evei:i of a world created in cur image, what curiosity do they not inspire r The conversation of a German philoso- pher, such as those I have named, cans to mind the dialogues of Plato ; and when you question one of these irien, upon any subject whatever, he throws so much light on it, that, hi listenn^g to hiu}, you seem to think for the fii'st time, if to think be, as Spinosa savs, to idenn/:. cne-^<'f ^i:h Xiui.rc bj :K:c:.ige?icc-, ahd' to So many nev> iaeas, on literary and philosophical subjects, have, for mic years past, been in circula- tioii in Germany, that a stmnger might very well Lake a m.an^ vaiQ should oniy repeat these ideas, for a su- 184 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. perior genius. It has sometimes happened to me, t©- give men, ordinary enough in other respects, credit for prodigious minds, only because they had become familiarized with the system of the idealists, the day- star of a new life. The faults for which the Germans are commonly reproached in conversation, slowness and pedantry, are remarked infinitely less in the disciples of the modern school : persons of the first rank, in Germany, have formed themselves, for the most part, according to good French manners ; but now there is estabiished amongst the philosophers and men of letters, a sort of education, also in good taste, although of quite anoth- er kind. True elegance is considered as inseparable from a poeiical imagination, and love for the fine arts, and politeness, as united to knowledge and to the ap- preciation of talents and natural qualities. It cannot, however, be denied, that the new philo- sophical and literary system.s have inspired their parti- sans with great contempt for those who do not under- staiKl them. The wit of the French always aims at humliiating by ridicule ; its plan is to avoid the idea, in order to attack the person, and the substance, in order to iaugh at the form. I'he Germans of the new school look upon ignorance and frivolity as diseases of prolonged infancy : they do not confine themselves to contests with strans^ers, but they attack each other with bitterness ; and to hear them, one would suppose, that to possess a single additional degree, either of abstrac- tion or of profundity, conferred a right to treat as vul- gar and narrow-minded all those who would not oi' could not attain it. When men's minds are irritated by obstacles, ex- aggeration becomes m.ixed with that philosophical rev- olution, which, in other respects, is so salutary. The Germans of the new school penetrate into the interioi? of the soul, with the torch of genius. But when they are required to introduce their ideas into the minds of others, they are at a loss for the means, and begin to affect contempt for their hearers, because they are ig- norant, not ol the truth itssll, b^ut of the means of im^ NEW GERMAX PHILOSOPHY. 185 ppa'ting it. Contempt, except for vice, argues almost always a limited mind ; for, Vvdtih a greater share of under- standing, we could make ourselves understood even by vulgar minds, or at least v/e might sincerely endeav> our to do so. The talent of methodical and clear expression is very mre in Germany : it is not acquired by speculative studies. We must (as it were) place ourselves with- out our own thoughts, to judge of the form which should be given to them. Philosophy teaches the knovvdedge of 7?2c;^, rather than of men. Habits of society alone teach us the relation our m.inds bear to those of others. Sincere and serious philosophers are led, first by candour, and then by pride, to feel irritated against those who do not think or feel as they do. The Germans seek for truth conscientiously ; but they have a very warm spirit of party in favour of the doc- trine which they adopt ; for, in the heart of man every thing degenerates into passion. But notwithstanding the diversity of opinions, which, in Germany, form schools in opposition to one another, they tend equally, for the most part, to display activity of mind; so that there is no country where every man makes more advantage of himself, at least in regard to intellectual labours. yoL. ii>-. 186 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALE. CHAPTER IX. Injliience of the new German Philosophy on Litera- ture and the Arts, HAT I have jnst said on the development of the mind, applies likewise to literature ; yet it may be in- teresting to add some particular observations to these general reflections. In those countries where it is supposed that all our ideas have their origin in external objects, it is na- tural to set a higher value on the observance of gra- ces or forms, the empire of which is placed without lis : but where, on the other hand, men feel convinced of the immutable laws of moral existence, society lias less power over every individual : men treat of ev- ery thing with themselves ; and what is deemed essen- tial, as well in the productions of thought as in the actions of life, is, that they spring from inv/ard con- Tiction and spontaneous feeling. There are in style, some qualities which are con- nected with truth in the sentiment expressed, and there are others which depend on grammatical correctness. It would be difficult to make ihe Germans understand, that the first thing to look for in a w( rk, is the man- ner in whicn it is written, and that the execution of it should be of more importance than the conception. In experimental phiiosophy, a work is esteemed, above all tilings, according to the ingenious and lucid form, under which it is presented ; in ideal philoso- phy, on the contrary, where all attraction is in the fo- cus of the mind, those writers only are admired who approach the nearest to that point. It must be admitted too, that the habit of searching* into the most hidden mysteiies of our beii g, gives the mind a taste for what is deepest, and sometnnes for what is most obscure in thought. Thus the Ger* Hfians too often blend metaphysics with poetry. XE^V GEHMAX PHELOSOPIIY. 18T The new philosophy mspires us with the necessity of rising to thoughts and sentiments without bounds. This impulse may be favourable to genius, but it is so to genius alone* and it often gives to those who ar© destitute of genius very ridiculous pretensions. In France, mediocrity finds every thing too powerful and too exaited ; in Germany, it fii.ds nothing so hi.u:h as the new doctrine. In France, mediocrity laughs at enthusiasm; in Germany, it despises a certain sort of reason. A writer can never do enough to convince German readers that his ideas are not superficial, that he is occupied, in ail things, witii the immortal and the infinite. But as the taculties of the mind are not always correspondent to such vast desires, it often hap- pcfiS that gigantic efforts produce but common re- sults. Nevertheless, this general disposition assists t- - ; d;ghtof thought ; and it is easier, in literature, ta set bounds, than to give emulation. The taste wnich the Germans snow for what is play- ful and simple, and of wnich I have already had occa- sion to speak, seems to be in contraciiction to their in- clination for metaphysics — an inclination which arises from the desire of knowing and of analysing one-self : at tr.e same time, it is to the influence of a system that we are to refer this taste for playful simplicity ; for, in Germat y, tnere is philosophy in every thing, even in the imagination. One of the first characteris- tics of simplicity is to express what is feit or thought, isrithcut reflecting on any result, or aiming at any ob- ject ; and it is in that respect that it agrees with the theory of the Germans on literature. In separating tne beautiful from the useful, Kant clearly proves, that it is not in tne nature of the fine arts to give lessons. Undouotedly, eveiy tning that is beautiful ou^^nt to give birth to generous senti- ments, and tnose sentiments excite to virtue ; but \\hen the object is to put in proof a precept of morality, the free impression produced by masterpieces of art is necessariiy destroyed; for the object aimed at, bt it what it «iil, when ii is known, iinnts and confines the imagiiiation. It is related, tuat Louis XIV. once said 188 PHILOSOPHY AN0 SIORALS, to a preacher, who had directed a sermon agamst him^ « I am ready enough to take to myself my share, but « I will not have it allotted for me." These words might be applied to the fine arts in general : they ought to elevate the mind, and not to schr>ol it. Nature often displays her mapjnificence without any aim, and often with a profuseness, which the partisans of utility would call prodigal. She seems to delight: i in giving more splendour to the flowers, to the trees- of the forest, than to the vegetables which serve for the food of man. If what is useful held the first rank in nature, would she not adorn the nutritious plants with more charms than roses, which are only beautiful I And whence comes it, that to deck the altar of the Divinity with flowers which are useless, should be preferred to doing it with the productions which are necessary to us? How happens it, that what serves, for the support of our lives, has less dignity than beau- ties which have no object ? It is because the beautiful recalls to our minds an immortal and divine existence,, the recollection and the regret of which live at the same time in our hearts It certainly is not from a want of understanding the moral value of what is useful, that Kant has separa- ted it from the beautiful ; it is to ground admn^ation of every kind on absolute disinterestedness; it is in or- der to give sentiments which render vice impossible, the preference over the lessons which only serve to eorrect it. The mythological fables of the ancients were sel- dom intended as moral exhortations, or edifying ex- amples ; and it does not at all argue that the moderns are better than the ancients, that ihey oftener endeav- our to give an useful result to their fictions ; it is rath- er because they have less imagination, and carry into literature the habit which business gives, of always aiming at some object. Events, as they exist in reality, are not calculated beforehand, like a fiction, the wind- ing up of which is moral. Life itself is conceived in quite a poetical manner: f. r it is not, in general, be* cause th« guilty man is punished, aud the virtuous ^'EW GER]MAy PHILOSOPHY. 189 man revrarded, that it makes a moral impression upon us ; it is because it devclopes in the m^ind indig-natioQ against the guilty, and enthusiasm tovrards the virtu« ous. The Gern~ians do not, accordino- to the common no- tion, consider the imitation of nature as the principal object of art; it is ideal beauty ^vhich appears to them the principle of all masterpieces; and their poetical theory accords, in this respect, \vith their philosop'-.y. The impression made on us by the fine arts has no- thing whatever in common with the pleasure we feel from a.ny imitation ; man has in his soul innate senti- ments which objects of reality will never satisfy, and it is to these sentiments tnat the imagination of painters and poets gives form and life. Of vrhat is music, the first of all arts, an imitation ? And yet, of all the gifts ct the Divinity, it is the most noble ; for it may be said to be a superfluous one. The sun gives us light — v/e breathe the air of a serene atmosphere — all the beauties of nature are. in some way, service^ able to n^an ; music alone has a noble inutility, and it is for that reason that it affects us so deeply; the more it is without an object, the nearer it approach- es to that inward source of our thoughts, vrhich ap- plication to any object whatever checks in its course. The literary theory of the Germans differs from all ©thers, in not subjecting wi iters to customs, nor to tyrannical restrictions. It is a creative theory, aphilos = ophy of the fine arts, which, instead of confining them, seeks like Prom.etheus, to steal fire from hea^•en, to give it to the poets. Did Homer, Dante, or Shaks- peare, I shall be asked, knovr any thing of all this? Did they stand in need of all this metaphysical reason- ing to be great -writers ? Nature, undoubtedly, has not waited for philosophy; \\hicli means only, that tiie fact preceded the obseivation of tne fact ; but, as wq have reached the epoch of theoiies, should we not be on our guard against those which may stifle talent ? It must, however, be aUowed, that many essential inconveniences result from the applicadoii of these systems of philosophy to literature. Germ.an reader-si j 90 PHILOSOPHY ANB MORALS. accustomed to peruse Kant, Fichte, &c. consider a less degree of obscurity as clearness itself ; and wri- ters do not always to works of art tliat striking clearness which is so necessary to them. Constant at- tention may, nay, onglit to, be exacted where abstract ideas are the subject; but emotions are involuntary. In the enjoyment of the arts, induipence, effort, and reflection can have no place : what we have to deal ■with there is pleasure, and not reasoning- ; philoso- pliy rnay require attentive examination, but poetical talent ought to carry us away with it. Ingenious ideas, derived from theories, cause illu- sion as to the real nature of talent. They prove, with wit, that such or such a piece ought not to have pleas- ed, but still it did please ; and then they begin to des- pise those who like it. They prove that another piece, composed according to certain principles, ought to in- terest ; and yet, when they would have it performed, when they say to it, " ^rhe^ and walk" the piece does not go off ; and then they despise those who are not amused with a work composed according to the laws of harmony, between the ideal and the real. People are generally wrong when they find fault with the judg- ment of the public in the arts, for popular impressions are more philosophical than even philosophy itself ; and when the ideas of men of information do not agree with this impression, it is not because they are too profound, but rather because they are not deep enough. It appears to me, however, infinitely better for the literature of a country, that its poetical system should | be founded upon philosophical notions, even if they 1 are a little abstract, than upon simple external ruies; for these rules are but wooden bars to prevent chil^ dren from falling. In their imitation of the ancients, the Germans have taken quite a different direction from the rest of Europe. The conscientious character, from which they never depart, has prevented t)>eir mixing together modern and ancient genius ; they treat fiction in some respects like truth, for they find means to be scrupu- ^'EW C4EH>IAX PHILOSOPHY. 191 lous even in regard to that ; they apply the same dis- posinoii to acquire an exact and thoroivj-h knowied;^e cf f e rio- u t^nts whicii are ( eft 113 cf p:\;t : , - In G. rn.--j.y. t. c stur v of antic^uu v, like th.tt c: ::.c sci- e' - an.' 'f't p. i ; - - y, unites the scatte^'cd orai^cnes o, : e i^uiiia.j n^]: c i-L v ;:e, wit!' a v.-oirCit rful qi)icknes? of apprehension, er L^act s eve:^ ' ^^' g: taat itiates to literature, to his- tc - . f.rid tr. I: c ti :L arts. F;'om the most reSned cb- se. \.t'or.5 Woii draws the boldest ivifi' rer.ces. and, ciis- daii.i.:i; ail submisirion to authority, aclr.pts an opi; ion cf -.IS ow.j of the wortn and aut/.er,ticity of the ^vri- tiiigsof the Greeks. In a late ccnipL ^iuor: by M. Ch. de Viiiers, whom I huve already meiitioned wit.i the hi.^h esteem he deserves, it may be seen what ;m= inense works are pubiis! ed every yecr in Germany on the classical auti.ors. The Germans believe them- selves called iri every thin s:^ to act the part of observ- ers ; and it may De said taat tiieyare not of the age they live in, so n uca do their reflections and ijiclhiations turn towards another epoch ot the world. It may be tiiat the best tinie for poetry was during the age of ignorance, and that the youthful season of the human race is gone for ever; but, in the writiijgs of t-e Germans, we seem to feel a new youth again revivniganri springing up fiom the noble choice wijich maybe made by those to whom every thing is known. The age of light has its innocence, as well as the gciden age ; and if man, during his infancy, believes only in his soul, he returns, v\nen he has iearnt eyerr ^hing. to conticle in nothing else. 192 MILOSOPHY AND MORAl^S, CHAPTER X. Injluence of the 7iew FhilosQ/ihy on the Sciences. There is no doubt that the ideal philosophy leads to the augmentation of knowledge; and by disposing the mind to turn back upoi; itself, increases its pene- tration and perseverance in intellectual labour. But is this philosophy equally favourable to the sciences, which consist in the observation of nature ? It is to the examination of this question that the following reflec- tions are destined :-— The progress of the sciences in the last century has generally been attributed to the experimental philoso- phy ; and as the observation is of great importance to this subject, men have been thought more certain of attaining to scientific truths, in proportion as they attach- ed more importance to external objects ; yet the coun- try of Keppler and Leibnitz is not to be despised for science. The principal modern discoveries, gunpow- der and the art of printing, have been made by the Germans ; and, nevertheless, men's minds in Germa- ny iiave always tended towards idealism. Bacon compared speculative philosophy to the lark, -who mounts to the sky, and descends again without bringing any thing back from tier flight ; and experi- mental philosophy to the falcon, who soars as high, but returns with his prey. Perhaps in our days Bacon vi^ouid have felt the in- conveniencies of philosophy purely experimental; it has turned thought into sensation, morality into self« interest, and nature into mechanism ; it tends to de- grade all things. The Germans have combatted its Influence in the physical sciences, as well as in science of a higher order ; and whih- they submit nature to the fullest observation, tbey consider her pi^seiiomcna^ in general, in a vast and animated manner ; the empire IXTLUEXCE OF TIiE XEW PHILOSOPHY. 193 of an G oi;iion o ver the imagination always alTords a pre- sumption in its favour ; for every thing tells us, that beauty, in the sublime conception of the universe, is truth. Tiie new philosophy has already exerted its influ- ence, in many respects, over the physical sciences in Germany. In the first place^ the same spirit of universality, wiiich I have remarked in the men of literature and the philosophers^ aho discovers itself among tiie men of science. Humboldt relates, like an accurate observer, the perilous traveis vdnch he un- dertook like a brave chevalier; and his vrritings are equally interesting to naturalists and to poets. Scheliing, Bader, Schubert, S^c. have published works, in which the sciences are presented Uiider a point of view that captivates both our reiiection and our imagination ; an.d, long previous to the existence of modern meta- physicians, Kcppler and Haller knewtlie art of observ- ing nature, and at the same time of conjecturing her operations, Tne attraction of society is so great in France, that it allows nobody much time for labour. It is natural then not to place reliance upon those ^\'ho attempt to unite many studies of different denominations. But, in a country where the whole life of a man may be given up to m.editation, it is reasonable to encourage the n:uitifariousness of knov>dedge ; — :-the student eventually conSnes his attention to that pursuit v»diich be prefers ; but it is, perhaps, impo^siijie to attain a thorough comprehension of one science, and not to toucn upon ali. Sir Humphry Davy, althctigh the first chemist in England, studies literature with as mucn taste as success. Literature and science reflect alternate light upon each other ; and the connexion which exists between all the objects in nature, must also be maintained among the ideas of man. Universaiiiy of kn/jwied.:^e necessarily leads to the desire of discovering the general laws of the order of nature. Tne Germans descend from theory to ex- perieijce ; while Vje French ascend from ex^.crience to taeory. The French reproach the Germans with VOL. II, E. 194 PHILOSOPKY AND MORALS. Laving no beauties but those of detail in their litera- ture, and with not understanding the comfiosition of a "ivork. The Germans reproach the French with con- sidering only particular facts in the sciences, and with not referring them to a system : in this consists the principal difference between the learned men of the two countries. In fact, if it was possible to discover the principles which govern the universe, this would be the point, indisputably, from which we ought to commence in studying all that is derived from those principles ; but we are almost entirely ignorant of the collective cha- racter of every thing, excepting in what detail teaches V!s ; and nature, for the eye of man, is but the scat- tered Sibyl's leaves, out of which, even to this day, no human being has composed a book. Nevertheless, the learned men of Germany, who are philosophers at the same time, diffuse a surprising interest over the phsenomena of this world : they do not examine na- ture fortuitously, or according to the accidental course of what they experience ; but they predict, by reflec- tion, what observation is about to connrrn. Two great general opinions serve them for guides in studying the sciences; — the one, that the universe is made after the model of the human soul ; theother^ that the analogy of every part of the universe, with its ivholcy is so close, that the same idea is constantly reflected from the whole in every part, and from every part in the whole. It is a fine conception, that has a tendency to dis- cover the resemblance between the laws of the hun'»an understanding and those of nature, and that considers the physical world as the basso-relievo of the moral. If the same genius was capable of composing the Iliad, and of carving like Phidias, the Jupiter of the sculptor would resemble the Jupiter of the poet. Why then should not the supreme loteliigence, which formed nature and the soul, have made one the emblem of the other ? There is no vain play of fancy in those continual metaphors which aid us' in comparing our sentiments with external phsenomena ; sadness, with the clouded heaven j composure, with 4 IXFLUEyCE OF TKEl NZW PHILOSOPHY, 19-5 the silver moonlight ; anger, with the storrny sea : — it is the same thought of cur Cre?.:-:?. rr?,nsfa5ed iijto two different la::. 5. and cap:.: f : r:ip: ccal in- terpretation. Almo-: all the asion- s :: - ysics corres- pond with tJie maxims of morals. T;.::^ species oi paral- lel progress, wh':> rr.av be perceive .: : e / -ee:: :ae world and the mind, is:l:e ::: : ::adon of a :a ;:":y ; and every understanding v.ould be sti uck v.::.i i;, if any positive discoveries had yet been drawn from this source ; — but still, the e::::e: :;.: : iv.sire taa: already streams from it car::ef :: . :, : :: ay:ea: dl^caaee. Tlie ana'e v'eE "; e:- 'rca :/-e :a: :::: el e : e: :5 of ex- ternal natci-i -.:.,e:l-.::- ;:::;:!: :e ..:: la-.v of the creation — variety in unity, and u:h:y ::: variety. Foe example, What is there more aj:c:::il:i :: :l.an the connexion between sounds and forms, a:e :: een 5?-nd5and colours? A German 'Chladni^ 1... ■ :c»¥- ■ r:: ::::_;. .:::, :a:,: euv -._:'::::::; .:aa:l put '-hen txe tones are pure, the sand i ■ : : o r e g u 1 ar f o rrn 5 , a r. d w hen t h e tones are discordant, there is no symmetry in the figures traced upon the glass. Sanderson, who was blind fi'om his birth, said, that the colour of scaeh:. his idea, "was like the sound cf a truuae e: : aud a mathematician wiEUid ue;he a l evy ;l:h:: e :e eyes, which might imitate, by the har:uouy oi colours, the -eleasure ex- cited by music. We incessantly corny: : _ y elating to Biusie ; because the eme : : e feel discover analo- gies where cold observ: l:u v ould only have seen — "u;:y plant, every fiower, contains the e::h 'e sys- tem CI the universe : an instant of life ccu:ea.£ e:err nity within it; the weakest atom is a worl:. aad the ■ft'orld itself, perchance, is but an atom. Every por- tion of the universe appears to be a mirror, in which the whole creation is represented ; and we hardly know \^hich is most worthy of our admiration, thought al- yways the same, or form alvravs difterent. The learned among the Germans may be divided uitr> twc classes — those who entirely devote thenr- ... 196 FHILOSOFHY A^JD MORALS. selves to observation, and those who aspire to the honour of foreseeing the secrets of nature. Of the former we ought first to mention Werner, who lias drawn from mineralogy his knowledge of the forma- tion of the globe, and of the epoch of history ; Her- schel and Schroeter, who are incessantly making new discoveries in the heavenly regions; the calculating astronomers, such as Zach and Bode ; and great che- Biists, iike Kiaproth and Bucholz : while in tlse class of philosophical naturalists we must reckon Schelling, Eitter, Bader, Steffens, Sec. The most distinguished geniuses of these two classes approach and understand €iich other ; for the phiiosopliical naturali»its cannot despise experience, and the profound observers do not deny the possible results of sublime contemplations. Attraction and impulse have already been tlie objects of novei inquiry ; ayxi they have been happily applied to chemical affiiiities'. Light, considered as a medium between matter and mind, has given occasion for seve- ral highly philosophical observations. A v/ork of Goethe upon colours is favourably mentioned. In short, throughout Germany emulation is excited by the desire and the hope of uniting experimental and speculative philosophy, and thus enlarging our know- ledge of man and of nature. Intellectual idealism makes the will (which is the soui) the centre of every thing : the principle of ideal- ism in physical sciences is life. Man reaches the highest degree of analysis by chemistry as he does by reasoning ; but life escapes him in chemistry, as sentU vient does in reasoning. A French writer had pretend- ed, that " thought was only the myterial product of the brain — -another learned man has said, that when we are more advanced hi chemistry, we shall be able to tell " how life is made — the one outraged nature, as the other outraged the soul. " We must,*' said Fichte, " compreliend what is in- " comprehensible, as such.'^ This singular expres- sion contains a profound meanuig : we must feel and recognise what will ever remain inaccessible to anaiy- bis, and what the soaring flight ef thoiiglit alone can approaoh. INFLUEXCE OF THE NEW PtIlLOSOPHY. 197 Three distinct modes of existence are thought to have been discovered in nature — veg-etation, ii ritabiii'^ ty, and sensibility. P:ants, animals, and men are m- eluded in these three sorts of life ; and if we choose to apply even to individuals of our own species this in- genious division, we shall find it equally discernible among their different characters. Some vegetate like plants ; others enjoy themelves, or are irriiatcd like animals; and the more noble, in a word, possess and display the qualities that distinguish our human nature. However this may be, volition, which is life, and life, which also is volition, comprehend all the secret of the universe and of ourselves ; and at this secret (as we can neither deny nor explain it) wc must necessarily, arrive by a kind of divination What an exertion of strength would it not require to overturn, with a lever made upon the model of the arm, the weight which the arm uplifis 1 D ) we not see every day anger, or some otiier affection of the soul, augmenting, as by a miracle, the pov^'er of the human bociy ? What then is this mysterious power of nature which manifests itself by the will of man ? and how, without studying its cause and enccts, can we make any important discovery in the theory of physical pow- ers ? The doctrine of the Scotch writer, Brown, more profoundly analysed in Germany than elsewhere, is founded upon this same system of central a«-tion and uni'y, which is so iruilfui in its consequences. Brown believed that a state of suffering, or of health, did not depend upon partial evils, but upon the intenseness of the vital principle, which is lowered or exalted accord- ing to the different vicissitudes of existence. Among the learned English there is hardiy one, be- sides Hartley and his disciple Priestley, v/ho lias con- sidered metaphysics, as well as physics, under a poiiit, of view entirely maieiial. It will be said tnat physica can only be material: I presume not to be of that opinion. Those who make the soul itself a passive being, have the strongest reason to exclude every spontaneous action of the will of man from the posi- YCL. II. R 3 1 r 198 Pim^OSOPHY AND MORALS. \ live sciences; and yet there are inany circiim stance Sf | in which this power of willing influences the energ-y of I life, and in which life acts upon matter. The princi- ple of existence is, as it were, intermediary between physics and morals ; and its power cannot be calcula- ted, but yet cannot be denied, unless we are ignorant of what constitutes animated nature, and reduce its laws purely to mechanism. Whatever opinion we may form of the system of Dr. Gall, he is respected by all men of science for his anatomical studies and discoveries : and if we consider the organs of thought as different from thought itself; that is to say, as the faculties which it employs, it ap- pears to me that we may admit memory and the power of calculation, the aptitude for this or that science, tho talent for any particular art, every thing, in short, ■which serves the understanding like an instrument, to depend in some measure on the structure of the brain. If there exists a graduated scale from a stone upwards to the life of man, there must be certain faculties in us which partake of soul and body at once, and of this number are memory and the calculating power, the most physical of our intellectual, and the most intel- lectual of our physical faculties. But we should begin to err at the moment that we attributed an influence over our moral qualities to the structure of the brain ; ; for the will is absolutely independent of our physical ^ faculties: k is in the purely intellectual action of this will that conscience consists ; and conscience is, and ought to be, free from the influence of corporeal or- ganization. A young physician of great ability, KorefT, has al- ready attracted the attention of those who understand- . him, by some entirely new observations upon the prin- | ciple of life ; upon the action of death ; upon the cau = ses of insanity. All this restlessness among the men of genius announces some revolution in the very man- ner of studying the sciences. It is impossible, as yet^ to foresee the results of this change ; but we may af- iirm with truth, that, if the Germans suffer imagina- | lim to guide themj they spare themselves no labour, I mFLUENCE OF THE NEW PHrLOSOPHY. 19tf no research, no study ; and that they unite, in the high- est degree, two qualities which seem to exclude each ©ther— patience and enthusiasm. Some learned Germans, pushingtheir physical ideal- ism too far, contest the truth of the axiom, that there is no action at a distance^ and wish, on the contrary, to re-establish spontaneous motion throughout nature. They reject the hypothesis of fluids, the effects of which would, in some points, depend upon mechanic forces ; pressing and re-pressing each other without the guidance of any independent organization. Those who consider nature in the light of an intel- kctual beings do not attach to this denomination the same sense which custom has authorized. For the thought of man consists in the faculty of turning hack upon itself; and the intelligence of nature advances straightforward, like the instinct of animals. Thought has self-possession, for it can judge itself ; — intelli- gence without reflection is a power always attracted to things without. When nature performs the work of erystallization according to the most regular forms, ie does not follow that she understands the mathematics; or, at all events, she is ignorant of her own knowledge, and wants self-consciousness. The German men of science attribute a certain individual originality to phy- sical forces ; and, on the other side, they appear to admit (from their manner of exhibiting some phsenom- ena of animal magnetism,) that the will of man with- out any external act, exerts a very great influence over matter, and especially over metals. Pascal says, " that astrologers and alchemists have " some principles, but that they abuse them.'* There were, perhaps, of ©Id, more intimate relations between man and nature than now exist. The mysteries of Eleusis ; the religion of the Egyptians ; the system of emanations among the Indians ; the Persian adora- tion of the elements and the sun ; the harmony of numbers, which was the basis of the Pythagoreaa doctrine — are vestiges of some curious attraction which united man v.'ith the universe. The doctrines of spirituality, by fortifying the pow- 20§ PHILOS0PHY AND ?viOIlALg. er of reflection, have separated man more from pbysi* cal infiaences ; and the Reformation, by carrying still iar.ther his tendency towards analysis, has put reason on its jj^uard against the primary im.pressions of the imagination. The Germans promote the true perfec« tion of the human mind, when they endeavour to awaken the inspirations of nature by the light of thought. Experience every day leads the learned to recognise phsenomena, which men had ceased to believe, because they were mingled with superstitions, and had been the subjects of presages. The ancients have related that stones fell from h.eaven ; and in our days the accuracy of this fact, the existence of which had been denied, is established. The ancients have spoken of showers red as blood, and of eartk-lightnings — we have lately been convinced of the truth of their assertions in these respects. Astronomy and music are the science and art which men have known from all antiquity : why should not sounds and the stars be connected by relations which the ancients perceived, and which we may find out again r Pythagoras maintained that the planets were proportionably at the same distance as the seven chords of the lyre ; and it is affirmed, that he predicted the Dew planet which has been discovered between Mars and Jupiter.* It appears that he was not ignorant of the true system of the heavens, the fixedness of the sun ; sin::e Copernicus supports him.self in this in- stance upon the opinion of Pythagoras, as recorded by Cicero. From whenc'e tiien arose these astonishing discoveries, without the aid of experience, and of the new machines of which the moderns are in posses- sion ? The reason is this — -the ancients advanced bold- ly, lit by the sun of genius. They made use of reason,, the resting-place of human intellect; but they also consulted imagination, the priestess of nature. Those which we call errors and superstitions may? perhaps, depend upon laws of the universe, yet un- * M. Prevost, Professor of Philosophy at Geneva, has pub- lished a veiy interesting panniphlet on this subject. — This phi- losophical writer is as well ]iuo',YU in. Eujopc ^ est^vmijd in his coivntry. IXFLUEXCS OF THE ^'EW PHILOSOPHY. 20^ known to man. The relations between the planets and metais, the influence of these relations, even ora- ; -5 and presages — may they not bs caused by occiilt I -,vers, of which we have no idea ? And who knows Wii ether there is not a germ of truth hidden under every apologue, under every mode of belief, vvhich has been stigmatized with the name • . : liess ? It assur- edly does not follow that v/e s .z u.:. i enounce the ex- perimental method, so necessary in the sciences. But , w^.y not furnish a supreme director for this method in . a philosophy more comprehensive which would em- brace tne universe in its c^.Uecti-ve character^ and wiiich would noi despise the nccturTial side of nature^ - in the expectation of being able to throw light upon ! it ? It is the business of poetry f we may be answered) to consider the piiysical world in this manner ; but we ean arrive at no certain knou ledge except by experi- j ence ; and all that is not susceptible of proof may be an amusement to the mind, but cannot forward our real progress. Doubtless, the French are right in recommendii g the Gernians to have a respect for experience ; but they are wrong in turning into ridicule the presages of re- flection, which perhaps will hereafterbeconfirraed by the knowledge of facts. Tne greater part cf grand discover- ies have at first appeared absurd ; and the man of genius will never do any thing if he dreads being exposed to ridicule. — Ridicule is nerveless vhen despised, and ascends in mfluence just as it is feared. We see in fairy tales phantoms that oppose the enterprises of krhghts, and harrass them until they have be- yond the weird dominion. Then all the v .:. banishes, and the fiuitfui open country is spread be- fore their sight. Envy and mediocrity have also their sorceries ; but we ought to march on towards the truth, without caring for the seeming obstacles that impede our progress. ^Vhen Keppler had discovered the harmonic lavv's that reguiaie the m.otion of the heavenly bodies, it was thus that he expressed his joy : — At length, after the lapse of eigiiteen months, the Srst dawn of light 202 PHJLOSOPHY AND MORALS. ^ has shone upon me ; and on this remarkable day I have perceived the pure irradiation of sublime truth. Noticing now represses me : I dare yield myself up " to my holy ardour ; I dare insult manldnd by acknow- " ledging, that I have turned v/orldly science to ad» " vantage ; that I have robbed the vessels of Egypt, " to erect a temple to the living God. If I am par- " doned, I shall rejoice ; if blamed, I shall endure it. " The die is cast ; I have written this book :-*-whethf " er it be read by posterity, or by my contemporaries, is " of no consequence : it niay well wait for a reader dur-^ ing one century, when God himself, during six thou- " sand years, has waited for an observer like myself.'* This bold ebuiition of a proud enthusiasm exhibits the internal force of genius. Goethe has made a remark upon the perfectibility of the human understanding, which is fiili of sagacity— " It is always advancing, but in a spiral line." — This comparison is so much the more just^ because the im- provement of man seems to be checked at m^any seras, and then returns upon its own steps having gained some degrees in advance. There are seasons when scepticism is necessary to the progress of the scien- ces ; there are others when according to Hemsterhuis, the marvellous spirit ought to supersede the mathemati- caL When man is swallowed up, or rather reduced into dust by infidelity, this marvellous spirit can alone restore the power of admiration to the soul, without "which we cannot understand nature. The theory of the sciences in Germany has giveiij the men of genius an impulse like that which meta-^ phycics had excited in the study of the mind ; and life holds the same rank in physical phenomena, that the will holds in moral order. If the relations between these two systems have caused certain persons to in terdict them both, there are those who will discove in these relations the double guarantee of the sam truth. It is at least certain, tiiat the interest of the sciences is singularly increased by tliis manner of re ferrhig them all to some leading ideas. Poets migh find in the sciences a crowd of useful thoughts, if th _scleiices held communication with each other in the IKFLL'SNCE 0? THE NEW PHZLOSOPHY, 203 philosophy of the universe ; ar.d if this philosophy, in- -stead of being abstract, ^Tas animated by the inexhaus- tible source of sentiment. The universe resembles a poem more than a machine ; and if, in order to form a conception of the universe, we were compelled to avail ourselves of im. agination, or of a mathematical spirit, imagination would lead us nearer to the truth. But again let me repeat, we must not make such a [ choice; since it is the totality of our m.cral being T.liich ought to be employed in so im.portant a Idnd of meditation. The nevv" system of general physics, which in Ger- j many serves for a guide to experimental physics, can j only be judged by its results. We must see whether \ it will conduct the human mind to new-established truths. Bat it is impossible to deny the ' connexion which it proves to exist between the different branches of study- One student usually revolts from the other when their occupations are different, because they are j a reciprocal annoyance. The scholar has nothing to f say to the poet ; the poet to the natural philosopher: ■ and even among the m^en of science, those who are ; differenth' occupied avoid each other; taking no in- ( terest in what is out of their own circle. This cannot j be when a central philosophy establishes connexions of 1 .a sublime nature between all our thougiits. The sci- 1 entinc penetrate nature by the aid ot imagination. Po- j ets find in the sciences'the genuine beauties of the uni- i verse. The learned enrich poetry with the stores of I recollection, and the men of science with those of analogy. The sciences, represented as insulated, and as a land unknown to the soul, attract not the exalted mind. ; The greater part of those who have devoted themselves to the sciences (with some honourable exceptions) I: have imprinted upon our times that tendency towards calculation which so well teaches us, in all changes, which is the strongest government. The German phi- I losophy mtroduces- the physical sciences into that uai- I versa! sphere of ideas, which imparts so m.uch inter- 'I £st to the most minute observations, as well as to the- A most Importaut results. ■i 1 204 2»HIL0SaPHY AND MORALS. CHAPTER XI. Injiuence of the new Philosophy ufion the Character of the Germans, It would appear that a system of philosophy, which | attributes an ail-powerful action to that which depends upon ourselves, iiameiy, ro cur will, ought to strength- en the character, and to make it independent of ex- ternal circumstances ; but there is reason to believe,, that political and religious institutions alone can create I public spirit, and that no abstract tneory is efficacious enough to give a nation energy : for, it must be con- fessed, the Germans of our days have not that which can be called character. They are virtuous, upright, as private men, as fathers of families, as managers of affairs : but theii' gracious and cot;. plaisant forwardness to support thd cause of power gives especial pain to those who love them, and who believe tliem to be the n^iost enlightened speculative defenders of the dignity of man. The sagacity of the philosophical spirit alone has taught them in ali circumstances tJ;e cause and the effv.^cts of what happens ; and ihey fancy, when they have found a theory tor a fact, that it is all right. Mih- tary spir tand patriotism have exalted many nations to the higl^est possible degree of energy; but these two sources of seil-devotion hardly exist among the Ger- mans, taken in a mass. They scarcely know any thing of nulitary ispirit, but a pedantic sort of tactics, which saiiCtions their being defeated according to the rules j arid as little of liberty, beyond that subdivision into petty kingdoms, which, by accustoming the inhabitants to consider themselves weak as a nation, soon leads them to be weak as individuals. Respect for forms is very favourable to the support of law ; but this re- spect; such as it exists in Germany, induces the habit INFLUENCE OF THE NEW PHILOSOPHY. 205 of such punctual and precise proceedings, that they hardly know how to open a new path to reach an ob- ject though it be straight before them. Philosophical speculations are only suited to a T,iTian number of thinking men ; and far from serving to combine the strength of a nation, they only placo \he ignorant and the enlightened at too great a distance from each other. There are too many new, and not enougli common, ideas circulating in Germany, for the knowledge of men and things Common ideas are necessary for the conduct of life ; business re- quires the spirit of execution rather than that of in- vention : whatever is odd in the different modes of thinking in Germany, tends to separate them from each other ; for the thoughts and interests which unite men together must be of a simple nature, and of striking truth. Contempt of danger, of suffering', and of death, is not sufficiently universal in all the classes of the Ger- man nation. Doubtless, life has more value for men capable of sentiments and ideas, than for those v/ho leave behind them neither trace nor remembrance ; but, at the same time that poetical enthusiasm gathers fresh vigour from the highest degree of learning, rational courage ought to fill the place of the instinct of igno- rance. It belongs alone to philosophy, founded upon [ religion, to inspire an unalterable resolution under all 1 conlingencies. If, however, philosophy has not appeared to be all - poweriui in this respect in Germany; we must not: I therefore despise her: — she supports, she enlightens every man, individually ; but a government alone can excite that moral electricity which makes the whole- nation feel the same sentiment. We are more offend- ed with the Germans when we see them deficient in energy, than with the Italians, whose political situa* lion has enfeebled their character for several centu - ries. The Italians, through the whole of life, by their I grace and their imagination, preserve a sort of pro- ! longed right to childhood; but the rude physiogomy -j and manners of the Germans appear to promise a man- I VOL. II. S 206 FlilLOSOPlIY AND MORALS. ly soul, and we are disagreeably surprised not to find it. In a word, timidity of cliaracter is pardoned wher/it is confessed ; and in this way the Italians have a peculiar frankness, which excites a kind of interest in their favour ; while the Germans, not daring to avov/ that weakness which suits so ill with them, are energetic flatterers and vigorous slaves. They give a harsh accent to their words to hide the suppleness of their opinions ; and they make use of philosophical reasonings to explain that which is the most unphilo- sophical thing in the world — respect for power, and the effeminacy of fear, which turns that respect into admiration. To such contrasts as these we must attribute that German gracelessness which it is the fashion to mimic in the comedies of all covntries. It is allowable to be heavy and stiff, while we remain severe and firm ; but, if this natural stiffness be clothed with the false smile of servility, then all that remains is to be expo- sed to merited ridicule. In short, there is a certain •want of address in the German character, prejudicial even to those who have the selfish intent of sacrificing every thing to their interest ; and we are so much the more provoked with them, because they lose the hon- ours of virtue, without attaining the profits of adroit management. While we confess the German philosophy to be inadequate to form a nation, we must also acknow- ledge that the disciples of the new school are much nearer than any of the others to the attainment of strength of character : they dream of it, they desire it, ihey conceive it ; but they often fail m the pursuit. There are few Geru:,ans who can even write upon politics. The greater portion of those who m.eddle with this subject are systematic, and frequently unin- teliiLibie. When we aie busi* d with the transcenden- tal iiittaphysics' — when we atttn.pt to plunge into the darkness of nature^ any view, however indt finite it may be, is not to be despised ; every preseiitiment may guide us ; every appioach to the niark is some- thing' -S-t isnot tluis wi.ih the affairs of the world; it IXPLLTIXCE OF THE" XEV/ PIIILOSOPKY. 20 T ■ possible to know them; it is necess-iry. : . rf:.:'e, foresee them clearly. Obscurit? of style, .v .ewwe :i eat of thoughts without b ounds, is sometimes the verv IndicatioD of a comprehensive understanding ; but obscurity, in our analysis of the affairs of life, only proves that we do not comprehend them. When we introduce metaphysics int < business, they confound, for the sake of excusinij every thing ; and ire thus provide a dark fog for the asylum of con- science. — This employment of metaphysics would re- quire address, if every thing was not reduced in our 'mesto two very simple and clear ideas, interest or i:y. Men of enerp:y, whichever of these two di-ec- tioiis thev follow, right onward to the mark, with- out embracing theories which no longer deceive nor- persuade any body. See then,'* it may be said, you are reduced to " extol, like us, the names of experience and obser- " vation.'*' — I have never denied that both were necea- saiy for those who meddle with the interests of this worid ; but his in the conscience of man th?vt we ought to find the ideal principle of a conduct externally di- rected by sage calculations. Divine sentiments are subject here below to earthly things ; it is the condi- tion of oar existence. The beautiful is within our souls, and the struggle is without. We must 5ght for the cause of eternity, but with the weapons of time ; no individual can attain the whole dignity of the huiuan character, eitlier by speculative philosophy, or by the knowledge of anaivs, exclusively; and free in- siicutions alone have the advantage of building up a system of public morals in a nation, and of giving ^ exalted sentiments an opportunity of displaying them- selves in the practical conduct of life. 208. PHILOSOPHY AND IMOFtALS. CHAPTER XII. Of the fnoral Sy6'te?n, founded ufion personal IntereSi.;. i HE French writers have been perfectly right iu consitlering morality founded upon interest, as the consequence of that metaphysical system which attri- buted all our ideas to our sensations. If there is nothing in the soul but what sensation has introduced, the agreeable or the disagreeable, ought to be the sole motive of our volitions. Helvetius, Didelot, Saint- Lambert, have not deviated from this direction ; and they have explained all actions including the devotion of martyrs) by self-love. The English, who for the most part profess the experimental philosophy in met- aphysics, have yet never brought themselves to sup- port a moral system founded upon interest. Shaftes- bury, Hutcheson, Smith, Sec have declared the mor- al sense and sympathy to be the source of all virtue. Hume himself, the most sceptical of the English phi- losophers, could not read without disgust this theory of seif'love, which deformed the beauty of the soul. Nothing is more opposite than this system to the whole- cf their opinions in Germany : their philosophical and ^oral v/riters, in consequence (at the head of whom we must palace Kant, Fichte, and Jacobi,) have com- bated it with success. As the tendency of man towards happiness is the -Piost universal and active of all his inclinations, some have believed that they buiit morality on the most solid basis, when they said it consisted in the j-ight under- standing of our personal interest. This idea has mis- led nien of integrity, and others have purposely abus- ed it, and have only too well succeeded in that abuse. Doubtless, the general laws of nature and society make happiness and virtue harm.onize ; but their laws are subject to very numerous exceptions, and which appear to be more numerous than they really are. OF THE MORAL SYSTEM, &c. 209 By making happiness consist in a quiet conscience, we eiucle the arguments drawn from the prosperity of vice and the misfortunes of virtue ; but this inward joy, which is entirely of a religious kind, has no rela- tion to that which we designate upon earth by the name of happiness. To call self-devotion or selfishness, guilt or innocence, our personal interest, well or ill understood, is to aim at filling up that abyss which separates the criminal from the virtuous; is to destroy respect ; is to weaken indignation : for if morality is nothing but right calculation, he who v/ants it can only be accused of a flaw in his understanding. It is im- possible to feel the noble sentiment of esteem for any one because he is an accurate accountant ; nor an en- ergetic contempt for him who errs in his arithmetic. Men have arrived, therefore, by means of this system., at the principal end of all the profligate, who wish to put justice and injustice upon a level, or at least, to consider both as a game well or ill played : — the phi- losophers of this school, accordingly, more frequently use the word Fault than Crime ; for, in their mode of thinking, there is nothing in the conduct of life but skilful or unskilful combinations. We can form no better conception how remorse can be admitted into such a system :-— the criminal, when he is punished, ought to feel that sort of regret which is occasioned by the failure of a speculation; for if our individual happiness is our principal object, if we are the only end ©f ourselves, peace must soon be re- stored between these two near allies— he who has done v/rong, and he who suffers from it. It is a proverb almost universally admitted, that every one is free in all that concerns himself alone : now, as in the mo- ral system founded upon interest, self is the only question, I know not what answer could be returned to such a speech as the following " You give me, as " the motive for my actions, my own individual benefit— " I am much obliged : but the manner of conceiving « what this benefit is, necessarily depends upon the " variety of character. I am courageous ; I can there= fore risk the dangers attached to an infraction of the V0L. S 2 ^10 PHILOSOPHY AND ^lORALS. " laws better than another : I am ingenious ; there- ^' fore I trust to more means of escaping punishment : " — lastly, if it turns out ill, I have sufficient fortitude to endure the consequences of having deceived my- " self ; and I prefer the pleasures and the chances of " high play to the monotony of a regular existence." How many French works, in the last age, have com- mented upon these arguments, which cannot be com- pletely refuted; for, in a miatter of chance, one out of a thousand is sufficient to rouse the imagination to every effort for obtaining it ; and, certainly, the odds are not a thousand to one against the success of vice. " But'' (many of the honest partisans of the moral sys- tem founded upon interest will say) " this morality ^' does not exclude the influence of religion over the '5 soul/' How weak and melancholy a part is left for it ! When all the acknov/ledged philosophical and mor- al systems are contrary to religion — when metaphys- ics annihilate the belief of what is invisible, and morals the sacrifice of ourseh'es, religion ren>ains, in our ideas, as the King remamed in that constitution which ivas decreed by the Constituent Assembly ; it was a Republic, with a King ; and I say the same of all these systems of metaphysical materialism and selfish mo- yality — they are Atheism, with a God. It if easy, then, to foresee what will be sacrificed in the construction of our thoughts, when we only assign a superfluous place to the central idea vf the world and of ourselves. The conduct of man is not tiuly moral excepting when he esteems as nothing the happy or unhappy consequences of those actions which his duty has en- joined him. — h> directing the afiairs of the world, we must always keep in our minds the connexion of caus- es and effects, of the nieans and the end ; but this prudence is to virtue what good sense is to genius : — all ihat is truly beautiiul is inspired; all that is disin- terested is religious. Calculaiion is the labourer of genius, the servant of the boul ; but if it becomes the master, there is no longer any tiling grand or noble in maii. Caicuiation, in the conciucl of life, ought al- ^vays to be admittca as the guide; but never as the mo- OF THE MORAL SYSTEM, kc tive cf our actions. It is a good instrument of execu- tion ; bur the source of the wiil ou^ht to be of a more elevated nature, and to contain in itself an internal sentiment which compels us to the sacrifice of our personal interests. "When an attempt was made to prevent St. Vincent de Paul from exposing himseif to too great danger, in order to succour the unfortunate, he replied, " Do you. " think me so base as to prefer my life to myself?" — If the adTOcates of the moral system founded upon interest would retrench from this interest all that con- cevns earthly existence, they would then agree with the most religious men ; but still we might reproach them with the faulty expressions in which they convey their meaning. " In fact," it may be said, " this is only a dispute " about words ; we call useful what you call virtuous, " but 7ye also place the well-understood interest of men in the sacrifice of their passions to their duties." Disputes about words are always disputes about things ; for every man of honesty wiil confess, that he only uses this or that word from preference for this or that idea. How should expressions, habitually employed upon the most vulgar matters, be capable of inspiring generous sentiments ? W:ien we pronounce the words Interest and Utility, shall we excite the same thoughts in our hearts, as when v*-e adjure each otiier in the name of Devotion, and of Virtue ? Wlien Sir Thomas More preferred perishing on the scaffold to rc-ascending the summit of greatness, by the sacrifice of a scruple of conscience ; when, after a year's imprisonment, enfeebled by suffering, he refu- sed to return to the wife and children whom he loved, and to give himself up again to those mental occupa- tions which confer so much vivacity, and at the same time so much tranquility upon existence ; when hon- our alone, tiiat woridiy religion, made an ac^ed King of France return to an EnglisU prison, because > is son had not kept tne promises by uieans of v/luch he ob- tained his liberty ; when Christians lived in catacombs, renounced the light of aay, and feit tne heavens only 212 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS; in tneir souls ; if any one had said, " they had a right understanding of their interest," what an icy chill v/ould have run through the veins at hearing such a speech, and how much better vvouid a compassionate look have revealed to us all that is sublime in such characters 1 No, assuredly, life is not such a withered thing as selfishness has made it ; all is not prudence, all is not calculation ; and when a sublime action agitates all the powers of our nature, we do not consider whether the generous man, who sacrifices himself for a manifest good purpose, judiciously calculated his personal in- terest ; we think that he sacrifices ali the pleasures, all the advantages of this world ; but that a celestial ray descends into his heart, and excites a happiness within him, which has no more resemblance to what we usually adorii with that name, than immortality has ta life. It was not, however, without a motive, that somucit importance has been attached to this system of morals founded upon personal interest. Those who support it have the air of supporting a theory only? and it is,, in fact, a very ingenious contrivance, for the purpose of rivetting the yoke of every species. No man, how- ever depraved he may be, will deny the necessity of morality ; for the very being who is most decidedly de- ficient in it, would wish to be concerned v/ith those dupes who maintain it. But what address was there in fixing upon prudence as the basis of morality; what an opening it makes for the ascendency of power over the transactions of conscience, over all the springs in the human mind by which events are regulated ! If calculation ought to preside over every thing, the actions of men will be judged according to their suc- cess ; the man whose good feelings have been the cause of misfortune, will be justly condemned; the corrupt, but adroit manager, wili be justly commend^ ed. In a word, individuals, only considering each other as obstacles or instruments, will hate those who im- pede them, and wiil esteem those who serve them, on- ly as means of their success. Guilt itself has mor^ J OF THE MOR-\L SYSTEM, &c. *rancleur when it arises from the disorder of inSamed o ... passion^ than v/heii personal interest is its object ; how ihen allege that to be the principle of yiriue 'fthich 'irould dishonour vice itself 1* In Bentlianr s vrork on Leg"Lslation, published, or rather il- [ lustrated. by ^1. Dumoni, there are several argun^ents on the ' principle of utility, which agree in many respects \vith the sys- tera of morals founded upon personal interest. The vrell-knowii anecdote of Aristides making- tlie Athenians reject a project of Themistocles, by simply telling- them it vras advantageous but , unjust, is quoted by M. Dimiont ; but he refers the consequen- I ces which may be drawn from this trait of character, as well as many others, to the general utility admitted by Bentham as the basis of all our daties. The advantage of each indi^'idupJ, he says, ought to be sacrificed to the advantage cf the whole ; and tiat of the present moment to fut^jrity, by talting one step in advance : vre may coriess, that virme consists in the sacrifice of time to eternity, and this sort of calculation will certainly not be condemned by the advocates for enthusiasm ; but what- ever effort so superior a man as M. Dumont may m;ike, he never will be able to render utility and self-devotion s\-non\Tnous. He asserts, that pleasure and pain are the first motives of human actions ; and he then supposes that the pleasure of noble minds consists in volimtardy exposing- themselves to the sufiering-s of real life, in order to obtain enjoyments of a higher nature. Doubtless, we may make out of ever}" word a rohTor to reflect all ideas ; but, if we are pleased to adiiere to the natural sig- nification of ea.ch term, vre shall perceive that the man who is told that his ov/n happiness ought to be tlie end of all his ac- tions, will not be prevented from doing- the evil which is expe- dient for him, except by the fear or the danger of punishment; .' —fear, that passion braves ; danger, that ingenuity hopes to escape. Upon what will you found the idea of justice or injus- tice, it may be said, if not upon what is useful or hurtful to the gi-eater number ? Justice, as to individuals, consists in the sacrifice of themselves to their families ; as to families, in their sacrifice to the state ; as to the state, in the respect for certain UJichangeable principles which constitute the happiness and the ■ safety of the human species. Doubtless, the majorit}- of the ' generations of men, in tlie course of ages, will find:, their ?.c- coimt in having- follosved the path of justice ; but, in order to ' be tridy and religiously honest, we ought alvrays to keep In , riew the worship of moi'al beauty, ind-ependently of all the cir- ti cumstances vrhieh may result from it. UtiUty is necessarily I. modified by events : virtue ought never to be liable to tliis m*- \'' flu^nce. 214 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. CHAPTER Xin. Of the moral Syston^ founded upon A^aiional Liter cs-* .N^OT only does the moral system founded upon per- sonal interest introduce into the mutual relations of in- dividuals calcuiatioBs of prudence and selfishness, which banish sympathy, confidence and generosity ; but the morals of public men, of those who act in the name of nations, must necessarily be perverted by this system. If it is true that the morals oi individuals may be founded upon their interest, it is because the entire society tends to order, and punishes those who violate it ; but a nation, and especially a powerful statCj. is an isolated existence, to which the laws of recipro- city cannot be applied. It may be said, with truth, that at the end of a certain number of years unjust nations yield to the hatred which their injustice inspires ; but several generations may pass away before these great crimes are punished ; and I know not how we could convince a statesman, under all circumstances, that, an action, blameabie in itself, is not useful, aixl that political wisdom and morality are ever in accord : — this point, therefore, is not proved ; and, on the contrary, it is almost a received axiom, that the tv/o objects can-^ not be united. ] Nevertheless, what w^ouid become of the human : race if morality was nothing but an old woman's tale, invented to console the weak, until they become strong-.^ er ? How should it be honoured in the private relations of life, if the government, upon which all turn their eyes, is ailov/ed to dispense vv^th it? and hov/ should . this not be allowed, if interest is the foundation of^ morals ? Nobody can deny that there are cotuiiic^eiicies,. in which those great masses called empircb (those g-reat masses which are in a state of nature witn reia- t.ioii to each otaer) fine! a momentary advantage in coni'- Oy TEE MORAI. SYSTEM, kc. 215 TOittiiig an act of iDjostice ; and wi:at is momentary with regard to nations, is often a whole age. Kant, in his wmirigs on political o oralitr, shows, ! with the greatest force, that no exception can be ad- mitted in the cede of dutj. In short, when we rely j upon circumstances for the justiScation of an inimoia! action, upon what prmcipie can we stop at this or that point ? Would not t^^e more impetuous of our natural I passions be of niuch greater power than the caicuia- ■ tions of reason, if we admitted public or private in- terest as an excuse toi injustice i Wtie?3, attiie rocst bloody sera of the ReTolutioHj they wished to aut-^orize ail crimes, they gave their goveinment the name of tne Committee oi Public Safety — ^this was to illustrate the received maxim, that the safety of the people is the supreme law — the su- preme law is justice. When it shall be proved that the earthly interests of a nation may be proirioted by an act of oieanriess or of ii:justice, we shall stiii be equa-iy vile and criminal in committing it ; for tne in- tegrity of moral principles is of more consequence than the interests of nations. Individuals, and socie- ties, are answerable, in the first p{?ce, for that di*dne I inheritance which ought to be transmitted to the suc- I cessive generations of mankind. Loftiness of mind, I generosity, equiiy, every magnariimous sentinient, in ji a word, ought fi^vst to be preserved, at our own ex- pense, and even at tlie espei;se of others ; smce thev, as well as we, are bound to sacrifice themselves to their sentiments. Injustice always sacrinces one portion of society to another. AccordiDf^ i& wnai arithmetical calculation is this sacrince enjoined £ Can the majority dispose of the minority, if the io: mer only exceeas the latter by I a few voices r Tne members of one and the same 1 fciniiiy, a coiispany of merc?iants, nobles, ecclesiastics, * whatever may be their numbers, ha e not the rigl.i of saying that every t.^mg ougnt to yield to their seveial interests : but when aDy assen.bly oi men, ict it be as I inconsiaerabie as tt.cX of tiie Komans in tueir origin; 1 when this assembiV, I say, cans itseli a nation, tnen i 216 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. it should be allowed to do any thin^ for its own advan* tage ! This term Nation would thus become synony- mous with that of Legion^ which the devil assumes in the Gospel ; but there is no more reason for giving up the obligations of duty for the sake of a nation, than for that of any other collective body of men. It is not the number of individuals which constitutes their im- portance in a moral point of view. When an innocent person dies on the scaffold, v/hole generations attend to his misfortune ; while thousands perish in a battle without any inquiry after their fate. Whence arises this astonishing difference v;hich men make between an act of injustice commitled against an individual, and the death of numbers ? The cause is, the import- ance which all attach to the moral law ; it is of a thou- sand times more consequence than physical life in the universe, and in the soul of each of us, which also is itself an universe. If we make morality only a calculation of prudence and wisdom, a species of economical management, there is something like energy in not wishing to pos- sess it. A sort of ridicule attaches to persons of con- dition, who still maintain what are called romantic •maxims, fidelity in our engagements, respect f r the rights of individuals, &c. We forgive these scruples in the case of iiidividuais who are independent enough to be dupes at tneir own expense ; but when we con- sider those who direct the affairs of nations, there are circumstances in which they may be biamed for being- just, and have their integrity objected to them ; for if private morals are founded upon personal interest, there is much more reason for public morals to be founded upon national interest ; and these morals, upon occasion, may m.ake a duty of the greatest crimes : so easy is it to reduce to an absurdity whatevei wanders from the simple grounds of truth. Rousseau said, " that it was not allowable for a nation to purchase the " most desirable revolution with the biooa of one in- " nocent person :" these simple words comprehend all that IS true, sacred, divine, in tiie destiny of man. It assuredly was not for the advantages of this life. or tut MORAL SYSTJbM, £cc= to secure some additional enjoyments to sonae days of existence, and to deiay a little the death of some dy- ing creatures, that conscience and reiii^-ion were be- stowed upon man. It was for this ; that beings in pos- session of free-will might choose iustice, and sacri= ftce utility ; might prefer the future to the preseiit, the invisible to the visible, and the dignity of the human species to the mere preservation of individuals. Individuals are virtuous when ti:ey sacrifice their private interest to the geueral good ; but governments* in their turn, are individuals, who ought to sacrifice their personal advantages to the law of duty : if the morals of statesmen were only founded on the pub= lie good, their morals might lead them into sin, if not always, at least sometimes; and a single justi= tied exception w^ould be sufficient to annihilate all the morality in the world ; for all true principles are absolute : if two and two do not make four, the deep = est algebraic computations are absurd ; and if, in theo- ry, tiiere is a single case in which a m^an ought not to do his dutij^ every philosophical and religious maxim is overturned, and nothing remains but prudence or hypocrisy. Let me be permitted to adduce the exam. pie of my father, since it is directly applicable to ti-.e point in question. It has been often repeated, that M. Z'Teckeu was ignorant of hum.an nature, because on m.any og- rasions he refused to avail himself of means of cor^ ruption or violence, the advantages of which were be- lieved to be certain. I may venture to say, that no- body can read the works of M Xecker, entitl^ed, '*The ^* History of the French Revolution," — The Execu- " tive Power in great Governments," S;c. without nnd" ing in them enlightened views of the human heart; and I shall not be contradicted by any of those who have lived in intimacy with 3/1. Necker, when I assert, that, notVv'ithstanding his admirable goodness of dispo- sition, he had to guard himself against a too lively tal- ent for ridicule, and rather a severe mode of estimat- ing mediocrity of mind and soul : what he has written vof,. II. T 218 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. g| upon the Happiness of Fools" appears to me enougii to prove it. In a word, as, in addition to all the^se qualities, he was eminently a man of wit, nobody sur- passed him in the delicate and profound knowledge of those with whom he was connected ; but he was de- termined, by a decision of his conscience, never to shrink from any consequences whatever, which might result from an obedience to the commands of duty. We may judge differently concerning the events of the French Revolution ; but I believe it to be impossible for an impartial observer to deny that such a principle, generally adopted, would have saved France from the misfortunes under which she has groaned, and from, "what is still worse, the example which she has dis- played. During the most fatal epochs of the reign of terror, many honest men accepted offices in the administra- tion, and even in the criminal tribunals, either to do good, or to diminish the evil which was committed in them ; and all defended themselves by a mode of rea- soning very generally received — that they prevented a villain from occupying the place they filled, and thus rendered service to the oppressed. To allow our- selves the use of bad means for an end which we be- lieve to be good, is a maxim of conduct singularly vi- cious in its principle. Men know nothing of the fu- ture, nothing of themselves with respect to the mor- row ; in every circumiStance, and at every moment, duty is imperative, and the calculations of wisdom, as to consequences which it may foresee, ought to be of no account in the estimate of duty. — What right have those who were the instruments of a seditious author- ity to keep the title of honest men, because they com- mitted unjust actions in a gentle manner ? Rudeness in the execution of injustice would have been much better, lor the difficulty of supporting it would have iucreasedj and the most mischievous of all alliances is that of a sanguinar decree and a polite executioner. The benevolence we may exercise in detail is no compensation for the evil which we cause by lending the support of our names to the pany that uses them. OF THE MORAL SYSTEM, kc. 219 We ouQ^htto profess the worship of virtue upon earth., in order that not only our contemporaries, but our pos- terity, may feel its influence. The ascendency of a brave example endures many years after the objects of a transitory charity have ceased to exist. The most important lesson that we can inculcate into man in this world, and particularly with relation to public affairs, is, !\ot to compromise duty for any consideration. " When we set about bargaining with circumstances, " ail is lost ; for there is nobody who cannot plead this " excuse. One has a wife, children, or nephews, who " are in need of fortunes ; others want active employ- " ment ; or allege I know not what virtuous pretexts, which all lead to the necessity of their having a place^ " to which money and power are attached. Are we " not weary of these subterfuges, of which the Revo- iUtion furnished incessant examples? We met none but persons v/ho complained of having been forced to quit the repose they preferred to every thing — that domestic life into which they were impatient to return ; and we were well aware, that these very persons had employed their days and nights in pray- " ing that they might be obliged to devote their days and nights to public affairs, which could have entire- " ly dispensed with their services."* The ancient lawgivers m.ade it a duty for the citizens to be concerned in political interests. The Christian religion ought to inspire a disposilion of entirely an- other nature ; that of obeving authority, but of keep- ing ourselves detached from the affairs of state, when they may compromise our conscience. The differ- ence which exists between the ancient and modern governments explains this opposite manner of consid- ering the relations of men towards their country. The political science of the ancients v»'as intimately united with their religion and morals ; the social state was a body full of life. Every individual considered himself as one of its members. The smallness cf * This is the passag^e which gave the greatest offence to tbe Llteraiy Pohce^ 220 FillLOSOPHY AND MORALS^ states, the number of slaves, which still further con- tracted that of the citizens, all made it a duty to act for a country which had need of every one of its chil- dren. Magistrates, v/arriors, artists, philosophers, al- most the gods thea-iselves, mingled together upon the public arena ; and the same men by tarns gained a bat- tic, exhibited a masterpiece of art, gave laws to their country, or endeavoured to discover the laws of the universe. If we make an exception of the very small number of free governments, the greatness of modern states^ and the concentration of monarchical power, have ren- dered politics entirely negative, if we may so express ourselves. The business is, to prevent one person from annoying another; and government is charged with the high sort of police, which permits every one to enjoy the advantages cf peace and social order, while he purchases this security by reasonable sacri- fices. The divine Lau'giver of mankind, therefore, enjoined that morality which was most adapted to the situation of the world under the Roman empire, when he laid down as a law the paym.ent of tributes, and submission to government in ail that dnty docs not forbid ; but he also recommended a life of privacy in the strongest manner. Men v.'ho are ever desirous cf theorizing their 'oeculiar inclinations, adroitly confound ancient and Christian morals. It is necessary, they say (like the :ancients}, to serve our country, and to be usefui citi- zeiis in the state ; it is necessary, they say (like the Christians) to submit ourselves to power estabiished 'by the will of God. It is thus that a mixture of the system of quietness with that of action produces a dou» bie immorality ; wiiCn, taken singly, they had both claims to respect. The activity of the Greek and Ro- man citizens, such as it could be exercised in a repub- 3ic, was a noble virtue. The force oi Christian quiet- ness is also a virtue, and one of great power; for Christianity, which is accused of weakness, is invinci- ble in its own spirit, that is to say, in t'-^e energy of lefiisah • But the tricking selSshncss of ?.mbitious or THE MOIiAL SYSTE^r, Sec. 221 :r.en teaches them the art of combining opposite argu- ments ; so that they can meddle with every tl-.ing- iike Pagans, and submit to every thing iike Christians. The universe, my &Iend, reg-ards not thee," is, ho-'cverj what we may say to all the 'aniTers?, r-hsenomena excepted. It would be a truly ridiculous vanity to assign as a motive for politica! ac-ivity in all cases, the pretext of that service w! :: v : --^ay ren- der our country. This sort of useiuii-css is hardly ever more tha.n a pompous name, which covers per- sonal interest. " The art of sopliists has always been to oppose cne du- ty to another. We incessantly imagine circumstances in which this frightful perplexity may exist. The great- er part of dramatic ficiions are founded upon it. Yet real life is more simple : we there frequently see vir- tues opposed to interests; but perhaps it is true, that no honest man could ever dcubtj on any occasion, >vbat his duty enioined. The voice of conscience is so delh^ate, that it is easy lo stiSe it ; but it is so clear, that it is impossible to mistake it. Akncvn mxaxim contains, under a simple form., all the theory of morals. <• Do what you ought, happen " what wiil.-^ When we decide, on the contrary, that the probity of a public man consists in sacrificing eve- -ry thing lo the temporal advantages of his nation, then many occasions may be found, in which we may become immoral by our miorality. This sophism is as contnidictory in its substance as in its form : this would be to treat virtue as a cor ' : :: : : - ' science, and SB entirely submitted to circumz ... ; : iri its app!ica= ticn. ^Jay God guard the human he:::: :: :m such a responsibiUty ! the ii.i^ht of our undt: g is too uncertain, to enable us to judge of the rivzir.erjt when the eternal laws of duty may be suspended ; or, rather^ :i.is moment does not exist. If it was once generally acknowledged, that national interest itself ought to be subordinate to those nobler thoughts whicn constitute virtue. ho~ wciald the con- 70 i, f9i T 222 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS'. scientioiis man be at his ease ! how would every thing; in politics appear clear to him, when, before, a con- tinual hesitation made him tremble at every step ! It is this very hesitation which has caused honest men to be thought incapable of state-affairs ; they have been accused of pusillanimity, of weakness, of fear; and, on the contrary, those who have carelessly sacrificed the weak to the powerful, and their scruples to their interests, have been called men of an energetic nature. It is, however, an easy energy which tends to our own advantage ; or, at least, to that of the ruling faction ; for every thing that is done according to the sense of the multitude invariably partakes of weakness, let it appear ever so violent. The race of men, with a loud voice, demand the sacrifice of every thing to their interest ; and finisli by compromising this interest from the very wish for such a sacrifice : but it should now be inculcated into them, that their happiness itself^ which has been made so general a pretext, is not sacred, excepting in its compatibility with morals ; for, without morals, of what consequence would the whole body be to each individual ? When once we have said that morals ought to be sacrificed to national interest, we are very liable to contract the sense of the word Nation from day to day, and to make it signify at first our own par- tisans, then our friends, and then our family ; which is but a decent synony Die for ourselves. ■ OF THE pnrxciPLE or morals. 223 CHAPTER XIV. Of the PrinciJ::: ^ M.-cils in t':c G:v^--i ^ Phii^sof.h-J, The ideal philosophy has a tendency, from its vei'} Jiature. to refute the moral system, founded upon indi- vidual or n?.tioiial interest : it does not allow tem- poral happiness to be the end of our existence ; and. referring every tliin;^; to the life of the souK it is to the exercise of the v/i;i, and of virtue, that it attaches our thoughts and aciions. The works which Kant has written upon morals, have a reputation at least equal to those Avhicii he has composed upon metaphv- sics. Two distinct inclinations, he says, appear manifest in man : personal interest, which he derives from the attraction of his sensations ; and universal justice^ which arises from his relations to the human race, and to the Divinity : between these two impulses con- science decides ; she resembles Minerva, who made the balance incline, when the votes were eo^ual in the Areopag-us. Have not the most opposite opinions facts for their support? "Would not " the for" and tne against'* be equally true, if conscience did not; carry with her the supreme cei ti-in'.y : ]NIan, who is placed between visible and almost equal arguments, which direct the circumstances of his life in favour of good or evil ; man has received from heaven the sentiment of duty, to decide his choice. Kant endeavours to demonstrate that this sen= timent is tne neces-ary cor.hh.ioii cf our moral being ; the truth which precedes all those, the knowledge of Vrhich is acquired by life. Can it be denied that con- science has more dignity, when we believe it to be an innate power, than v, hen we consider it in the light of ft faculty acquired, like all ethers by experience and 221 PHILOSOPHY AIsD IvIORALS. habit ? And it is in this point, especially, that the ideal metaphysics exert a great inHuepxe over the moral conduct of man : they attribute the same primitive force to the notion of duty as to that of space and lime ; and, considering them both as inherent in our nature, they admit no more doubt of one than of the other. All our esteem for ourselves and for others ought to be founded on the relations which exist between our actions and the law of duty ; this law depends, in no case, on the desire of happiness ; on the contrary, it is often summoned to combat that desire. Kant goes still far- ther ; he afBrms, that the first effect of the power of virtue is to cause a noble pain, by the sacrifices which it demands. The destination of m.an upon this earth is not happi- ness, but the advance tov/ards moral perfection. It is in vain that, by a childish play of words, this improve- ment is called happiness ; we clearly feel the difTerence between enioyments and sacrifices ; arid if language was to adopt the same terms for such discordant ideas, our natural judgment would reject the deception. It has been oiten said, that human nature had a ten- dency towards happiness : this is its involuntary instinct ; but the instinct of reflection is virtue. By giving man very little influence over his own happiness, and means of improvement without number, the intention of the Creator was surely not to make the object of our lives an almost unattainable end. Devote all your powers to the attainment of happiness ; control your charac- ter, if you can, to such a degree as not to feel those wandering desires, which nothing can satisfy ; and, in spite of all these wise arrangements of seif-iove, you will be afB cted with disorders, you will be ruined, you will be imprisoned, and ail the edifice of your self- ish cares v»'iil be overturned. It may be replied to this-—'' I will be so circumspect, " that I vvili not have any enemies." Let it be so; you will not have to reproach yourself with any acts of generous imprudei ce ; but sometimes we have seen the least couraf:,eous among the persecuted. " I will manage my fortune so weii, thatlwili preserve it,'^ or TilE FRIXCIFLE GF ^lOSALS. 22^ I I believe it ; — but there are universal disasters, "VThich I do not spare even those vrhose principle has been never I to expose themselves for others; and illness and acci> [ dents of eveiy kind, dispose of our coridition in spite j of ourselves. Ho-v then should happiness be the end of our moral iioerty in this short life ; happi;:ess, vrhich chance, sufirrirg-. old age, and death, put cut of our 1 pawer ? The case isriOt the same wiih moral improve- i iTient ; every day, every hour, every mir.ute, may con-- tribute to it : all fortunate and urfortun:.:e events equally assist it ; and this work depends entirely on ourselves, whatever may be our situation upon earth. The moral system of Kant and Fichte is very analo- gous to that of the Stoics ; but the Sroics abovred more to the ascendency of natural qualities ; the Roman pride is disc'iverable in their manner of estimating mankind. The disciples of Rant believe in ti:e neces- sary and continual action of the vib :.:;:ii:.5t evil incii- : :.:ioDS. They toleiate no exceptions in our obedi- i .ce to duty, and reject ah excuses ^vhich can act as motives to such exceptions I'he theory of Kant corrcerning veracity is an exam- z cf thts ; be ri^T.tly col side rs it as the basis of ail :::::aiiLy. Wnen ti^e Son of God called himself tiie Lo:^os5 or the Word, perhaps he wished to do honour to that admirable facu.tv i- bne;u?.ge of revealing ? what we think. Kant : . icd bis respect for ! truth so far, as not to per i.:: :. violation cf it, even if a. viiiian came and demaiided, Avhether your friend, whom he pvi">i;eb= was hidden in your house. He pr; tends, thr.t - U-;ht never lo allow ourselves in any , paiticuiar instance, to do that which vrculd be in» , admissible as a general law; but, on this occasion, he ' forgets that we may make a general law cf not sac= riScing truth, excepting to another virtue ; for, as ■ soon as personal interest is removed from a question. ' we need not fear sophisms, and conscience pronounces with equity upon all thiiigs. The theory of Kant in m.orals is severe, and seme- i times dry ; for it excludes sensibility. He regards it • as a rtSex act cf sensation, ana as certain to lead to passions in ivhich taere is always a mixture cf selfish- 226 PHILOSOPHY AN'D MORALS. ness ; it is on this account that he does not admit sen- sibility for a g-iiide, and that he places morals under thei safeguard <)f unchang-eable principles. There is no-| thing more severe tiian this doctrine ; but there is a severity Vv'hich softens us, even when it treats the im- pulses of the heart as objects of suspicion, and en- deavours to banish them all : however rigorous a mor- alist may be, when headdresses our conscience, he is sure to touch us. He who says to man — Find every thing in yourself — always raises up in the soul some noble object, which is connected with that very sensi-. biiity whose sacrifice it demands. In studying the phi-l losophy of Kant, we must distinguish sentiment from sensibility ; he admits the former as the judge of philo- sophical truth ; he considers the latter as properly sub- ject to the conscience. Sentiiiient and conscience are terms eniployed almost as synonymes in his writings ; but sensibility approaches much nearer to the sphere of emotions, and consequently to that of the passions, which they originate. We cannot grow weary of admiring those writings of Kant, in which the supreme law of duty is held up as sacred : what genuine warmth, what animated elo- quence, upon a subject where the only ordinary en- deavour is restraint ! We feel penetrated with a pro- found respect for the austerity of an aged philosopher, constantly submitted to the invisible power of virtue, ivhich has no empire but that of conscience, no arms hut those of remorse ; no treasures to distribute but the inward enjoyments of tiie soul ; the hope of v/hich cannot be offered as a motive for theii* attainment, be- cause they arc incomprehensible until they are experi- enced. Among the German philosophers, some men of vir- tue, not inferior to Kant, and who approach nearer to religion in their inclinations, have attributed the origin of the moral law to religious sentiment. This sentiment cannot be of the nature of those which may grow into passions. Seneca has depicted its calmness and pro- fundity, by saying, " In the bosom of the virtuous man I knov,' not what God, but a God has habitation/' OF THE PRiNCIPLE OF MORALS. 227 Kant pretended, that it was to impair the dibinter- e sted purity of morals, to present the perspective of a fuliire life, as the end of our actions; many German writers have completely refuted him on this point. In effect, the immortality of he^.ven has no relation to the rewards and punishments, of which we form an idea en this earth. The sentiment which makes us aspire to immortality is as disinterested as that which makes us find our happiness in devoting ourselves to the hap- piness of others ; for the first offering to religious felicity is the sacrifice of self ; and it is thus necessarily re- moved from every species of selfishness. Whatever we may attempt, we must return to the acknowledg- ment, that religion is the true foundation of morality ; it is that sensible and real object within us, which can alone divert our attention from external objects. If piety did not excite sublime emotions, who would sac- rifice even sensual pleasures, however vulgar they might be, to the cold dignity of reason ? We must be- gin the internal history of man with religion, or with sensation ; for there is nothing animated besides. The moral system, founded upon personal interest, would be as evident as a mathematical truth, were it not for its exercising more control over the passions which overturn all calculations; nothing but a sentiment can triumph over a sentiment ; the violence of nature can only be conquered by its exahation. Reasoning, in such a case, is like the schoolmaster in Fontaine ; no- body listens to him, and all the world is crying out for help. Jacobi, as I shall show in the analysis of his works, has opposed the arguments v/hich Kant uses, in order to avoid the admission of religious sentimeiU as ihe basis of morality. He believes, on the contrary, that the Divinity reveals himself to every man in par- ticular, as he revealed himself to the human race, when prayers and works have prepared the heart to comprehend him. Another philosopher asserts, that immortality already commences upon this earth, for him who desires and feels in himself the taste for rter- nai things ? another affirms, that^rature forces man to 228 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. understand the will of God ; and that there is in th& universe a groaning and imprisoned voice, which in- vites us to deliver the world and ourselves, by combat- ing the principle of evil, under all its fatal appearan- ces. These different systems are influenced by the im- agination of each writer, and are adopted by those who sympathize with him ; but the general direction of these opiiuoDS is ever the same ; to free the soul from the influence of external objects ; to place the empire of ourselves within us : and to make duty the law of this empire, and its hope another life. Without doubt, the true Christians have taught the same doctrine at all peiiods ; but what distinguishes the new German school, is their uniting to all these sentiments, which they suppose to be equally inheriied by the simple and ignorant, the highest philosophy and the most precise species of knowledge. The sera of pride had arrived, in which we were told, that reason and the sciences destroyed all the prospects of imagin- ation, all the terrors oi' conscience, every belief of the heart ; and we blushed for the half of our nature which was declared weak and almost foolish. But men have made their appearance, who, by dint of thinking, have found out the theory of all natural impressions ; and, far from wishing to stifle them, they have discovered to us the noble source from which they spring. The German moralists have raised up sentiment and enthu- siasm from the contempt of a tyrannical species of reason, which counted as gain only what is destroyed, and placed man and nature on the bed of Procrustesj that every part of them might be cut off, which the philosophy of materialism could not understand. OF SCIENTIFIC MORALITY. 229 CHAPTER XV. Of scientific Morality. ^INCE the taste for the exact sciences has taken hold of men's minds, they have wished to prove every thing by demonstration ; and the calculation of proba= bilities allowing them to reduce even what is uncertain to rules, they have flattered themselves that they could resolve mathematically all the difficulties offered by the nicest questions ; and extend the dominion of alge- bra over the universe. Some philosophers, in Ger- many, have also pretended to give to morality the ad- vantages of a science rigorously proved in its princi- ples as well as in its consequences, and not admitting either of objection or exception, if the first basis of it be adopted. Kant and Fichte have attempted this metapiiysicai labour, and Schieiermacher, the transla- tor of Piato, and the author of several religious treati- ses, of which we shall speak in the next section, has published a very deep book, on the examination of dif- ferent systems of morality considered as a science. He wished to find out one, all the reasonings of v.'hicli should be perfectly linked together, in which the prin» ciple should involve all the consequences, and every consequence reproduce the prhicipie ; but, at present^ it does not appear that this object is attainable. The aiicients also were desirous of making a sci- ence of morality, but they included in that science laws and government : in fact, it is impossible to de- termhie beforenand all the duties of life, when v/e do not know what may be required by the laws and man- ners of the couiitry in which we are placed ; it is in this point of view tliat Plato has imagined his republic. Man altogether is, in tnat work, considered in rela- tion to religion, to politics, and to morality ; but, as that repubiic couid not exist, one cannot conceive iiowj ill VOL, II, U 230 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. the midst of the abuses of human societ)", a code of moraiity, such as that would be, could supply t^e habitual interpretation of conscience. Philosophers aim at the scientific form in all things ; one should sav, they flatter themselves that they shall thus chain down the future, and withdraw themselves entirely from the yoke of circumstances : but what frees us from them, is, the soul ; the sincerity of our inward love of vir- tue. The science of morality can no more teach us to be honest men, in all the magnificence of that ex- pression, than geometry to draw, or literary rules to invent. Kant, who had admitted the necessity of sentiment in metaphysical truths, was willing to dispense with it in morality, and he was never able to establish iixon- te stably m.ore than this one great fact of the human heart, that morality has duty, and not interest, for its basis; but to understand duty, conscience and religion mast be our teachers. Kant, in separating religion from the motives of morality, could oni see in con- science a judge, and not a divine voice, and therefore he has been incessantly presenting to that judge points of difficulty; the solutions of them which he has giv- en, and which he thought evident, have been attacked j-n a thousand ways; for it is by sentiment alone that we ever arrive at unariimity of opinion amongst men. Some German philosophers, perceiving the impos- i &ibility of reducing into law all the affections of which l our nature is composed, and of making a science, as it were, of all the em.otions of the heart, have contented themselves with affirming, that moraiity consists in a feeling of harmony within ourselves. Undoubtedly, when we feel no remorse, it is probable we are not criminal ; and even when we may have committed what are faults according to the opinions of others, it" v/e have done our duty according to our own opinion, we are not guilty ; but we must nevertheless be cau- tious in relying on tbis self-satisfaction, which ought, it should seem, to be the best proof of virtue. There, are men who have brought themselves to take their ovy-n pride for conscience; fanaticism, in others, i'? a OF SCIENTIFIC MORALITY. 23i disinterested medium, which justifies every thing in their eves ; aad in some characters, the habit of com- iriittin.g crimes g'ives a kind of strength, which frees them from repentance, at least as long' as they are un- touched by misfortur.e. It does not follow from this impossibility of discov- ering a science in morality, or any universal signs, by which to know whether its precepts are observed, that there are not some positive duties which may serve as our guides ; but as there are in the destiny of man both necessity and liberty, so, in his conduct, there ought to be inspiration and method. Nothing that belongs to virtue can be either altogether arbitrary, or alto- gether fixed : thus, it is one of the miracles of reli- gion, that it unites, in the same degree, the exultation of love and submission to the law ; thus the heart of man is at once satisfied and directed. I shall not here give an account of all the systems of scientific m.orality which have been published in Germany ; there are some of them so refined, that, although treating of our own nature, one does not know on what to rest for the conception of them. The French philosophers have rendered moraiity singular- ly dry, by referring every thing to self-interest. Some German metaphysicians have arrived at the same re- sult, by nevertheless building all their doctrines on sacrifices. Neither systems of materialism, nor those of abstraction, can give a complete idea of virtue, 232 mLO&OPHY AND MORALS. CHAPTER XVI. Jacobi, It ^vould be diffir'jlt in any country to meet with a ixiari of letters of a uiore clistinsruishec! uaturc than Ja- cob! ' with every advantage of person and fortune, he devoted hirBself, from his youth, during forty years, to aicrUiation. P'uiosopl^iy is orr^inariiy a consolation or an asylunn ; but he who makes choice of it wl-en eircun;! stances concur to promise him great success in the world, is the more worthy of respect. Led by his chas acter to acknowledge the power of sentin^ent, Ja- cobi busied himself with abstract ideas, principally to show their insuf?icit.ncy. His writhsgs on metaphysics are much esteemed in Germany ; yet it is chitfiy as a great mcralist that his reputation is universal. He ',vas the first who attacked morality founded on interest; and, by assienins^ as the principle of his own system, religii^us sentiment considered philosophical- ly, lie has created a doctrine distinct from that of Kant, "who refers every thing to the inflexible law of duty, and from ti^at of the new m^etaphy sicians, who aim, as I have just said, at applying the strictness of science to the theory of virtue. Schiller in ari epigram against Kant*s system of mo- rality? says, ^' I take pleasure in serving my friends ; " it IS agreeable to me to perform my duty ; that makes " me uneasy, for then I am not virtuous." This plea- santry carries v.'ith it a deep sense ; for, although hap- piness oui^ht never to be our object in fulfilling our duty, yet the inward satisfaction which it afibrds us is precisely what may be called the beatitude of virtue, '1 i-is word Beatitude has lost something of its dignity : it must, however, be recurred to, for it is necessary to express that kind of impression which makes, us sa» JAGOBI. 233 crifice happiness, or at least pleasure, to a gentler and a purer state of mind. In fact, if sentiment does not second morality, how would the latter make itself respected ? Hnw could reason and will be united together, if not by sentiment, when the will has to controul the passions ? A Ger- man philosopher has said, that " there is no fihilosofihy ^' but the Christian religion and certainly he did not so express himself to exclude philosophy, but because he v/as convinced that the highest and the deepest ideas led to the discovery of the singular agreement between that religion and the nature of man. Between these tvv'o classes of moralists, that which with Kant, and others still more abstracted, refers all the actions of morality to immutable precepts, and that which with Jacobi declares, that every thing is to be left to the decision of sentiment, Christianity seems to show the wonderful point, at v/hich the positive law has not ex- cluded the inspiration of the heai t, nor that inspiration the positive law. Jacobi, who has so much reason to confide in the pu- rity of his conscience, was v;rong to lay down as a prin- ciple that we should yield entirely to whatever the mo- tions of our mind may suggest. The dryness of some intolerant writers, who admit no modification or indul- gence in the application of some precepts, has driven Jacobi into the contrary excess. When the French moralists are severe, they are so to a degree which destroys individual ch?cracter in man ; it is the spirit of the nation to love authority in every- thing. The German philosophers, and Jacobi above all, respect v/hat constitutes the particular existence of every being, and judge of actions by their source, that is to say, according to the good or bad impulse which causes them. There are a thousand ways of being a very bad man, without offending against any received law, as a detestable tragedy may be written, without any neglect of theatrical rules and effect. When the soul has no natural spring, it seeks to know what ought to be said, and what ought to be done, in every circumstance, that it may ^ e acquittetl tow?.rcif5 itself, VOL. n, Us ' ' 234 PHILOSOPHY ANB MORALS. and towards others, by submitting to what is ordained. The law, hov/ever, in nioraiity, as in poetry, can only teach what oii.2;ht not to be done ; but, in all things, "vrhat is good and sublime, is only revealed to us by the divinity of our heart. Public utility, as I have explained it in the preced- ing chapter, might lead us to be immoral by morality. In the relations of private life, on the contrary, it may sometimes happen, that a conduct which is perfect according to worldly estimation, may proceed from a bad principle ; that is to say, may belong to some- thing dry, maiicious, and uncharitable. Natural pas- sions and superior talents are displeasing to those men vv^ho are too easily dignified with the name of se- vere : they avail themselves of their morality, \^hich they say comes from God, as an enemy would take the svv'ord of a father to destroy his children. At the same time Jacobi's aversion to the inflexible rigour of law, leads him too far in freeing himself from it. " Yes," says he, " I would be a liar like the dying « Desdemona*; J would deceive like Orestes, Vi^hen he wished to die instead of Pylades; I would be an assassin like Timoieon ; perjured like Epaminondas « and John de Witt ; I could resolve to commit sui- " cide like Cato ; or sacrilege like David ; for I have an assurance within me, that in pardoning these things, which are crimes according to the letter, man '■■^ exercises the sovei eign right which the majesty of his nature confers upon him ; fixes the seal of his dig- « nity, the seal of his divine nature, to the pardon which he grants. « If you would establish a system universal and « strictly scientiiic, you must submit conscience to « that system v^^iiich has petrified life ; that conscience « must become deaf, dumb, and insensible ; even the ^' smallest remains of its root (that is, of the human « heart) must be torn up. Yes, as truly as your met- * Desdemona, in order to save her husband from the disgrace and danger of the crime he has just committedj declares, as she is dying, that she has killed herself JACOBI. 233 aphysical forms riil the place of Apollo and the Mu « " ses, it is only by imposing silence on your heart that " you will be able implicitly to conform to lav/s with- " out exception, and that you will adopt the hard and " servile obedience which they demand : thus con- " science will only serve to teach you, like a profes- « sor in his chair, the truth that is without you ; and this inward light will soon be no mor3 than a finger- post set up on the highway to direct travellers on " their journey." Jacobi is so well guided by his own sentimcr.ts, that perhaps he has not sufficiently reflected on the conse- quences of this'' morality to ordinary men ; for what answer couid be given to those who should pretend, in departing from duty, that they obey the suggestions of their conscience ? Undoubtedly, we may discover that they arc hypocrites who speak thus ; but we have furnished them with an argument which will serve to justify them, whatever they may do; and it is a great thing for men to have phrases to repeat in favour of their conduct ; they make use of them at first to de- ceive others, and end with deceiving themselves. Will it be said that this independent doctrine can only suit characters which are truly virtuous? There ought to be no privileges even for virtue ; for from the moment she desires them, it is probable she ceases to deserve them. A subdme equality reigns in the empire of duty, and something passes at the bottom of the human heart which gives to every man, when he sincerely desires it, the means of perforoiiiig all that enthusiasm inspires, without transgressiiig tne limits of the Christian law, which is also the work of an holy enthusiasm. The doctrine of Kant may in effect be considered as too dry, because it does not attribute sufficient in- fluence to religion ; but it is not surprising that he should have been inclined not to make sentiment the base of his morality, at a time when there was so widely diffused, and especially in Germany, an affec» tatioii of sensibility, which necessarily weakened the spring of minds and characters. A genius like KantVj 236 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. should have for its object, to give a new dye to the mind. The German moralists of the new school, so pure in their sentiments, to whatever abstract systems they abandon themselves, maybe divided into three clas- ses : those who, like Kant and Fichte, have aimed at giving- to the law of duty a scientific theory, and an inflexible application ; those, at the head of whom Jacobi is to be placed, who take religious sentiment and natural conscience for their guides; and those who, making revelation the basis of their belief, en- deavour to unite sentiment and duty, and seek to bind them together by a philosophical interpretation. These three classes of moralists equally attack morality founded on self-interest — That morality has now scarcely any partisans in Germany ; evil actions may be done there, but at least tiie theory of what is right is left untouchesU WOLDEMAH. CHAPTER XVII. 2JT Of Woldemar, The romance of Woldemar is the work of the sarns phiiosopbier J?.cobi, of whom I have spoken in the last chapter. This work contains philosophical dis- cussions, in v.-hich the systems of morality professed by the French writers are v, armly attacked, and the doctrine of Jacobi is explained in it with admirabie el- oquence. In that respect Woldemar is a very fine book ; but as a novel I neither like the conduct nor the end of it. The author, who, as a philosopher, refers all hu- man destiny to sentiment, describes in his work, as it appears to me, sensibility differently from wliat it is in fact. An exaggerated delicacy, or rather a whim- sical mianiier of considering the human heart, may in- terest in theory, but not when it is put in action, and thus attempted to be made something real. Woldemar feels a warm friendship for a person who will not marry him, alihough she paitakes of his feel- ing : he marries a woman he does not love, because he thinks he has found in her a submissive and gentle character, which is proper for marriage. Scarcely has he married her, when he is on the point of giving himself up to the love he feels for the other. She, who v/ould not be united to him, still loves him, but she revolts at the idea that it is possible for him to love her : and yet she desires to live near him, to take care of his children, to treat his vriie as her sister, and only to know the affections of nature by the sym- patliy of friendship. It is thus that a piece of Goethe, much boasted of, Stella^ finishes with a resolution ta- ken by tv/o women, bound by sacred ties to t^e same man, to live with him in good understanding with each other. Such inventions only succeed in Germany, be- cause in that country there is frequently more imagin= ation than sensibility. Southern souls would understand nothing of thi-s neroism of sentiment; passion is devo- 238 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. ;! ted, but jealous ; and that pretended delicacy, which sacrifices love to friendship, without the injunctions of duty, is nothing but an affected coldness. i All this generosity at the expense of love is merely j an artificial system. We must not admit toleration, '1 or rivality, into a sentiment which is then only sub- 4 lim.e, when, like maternal and niial tenderness, it is exclusive and ail-powerful. We ought not, by our own choice, to place ourselves in a situation where morals and sensibility are riOt of one accord; for what is involuntary is so beautiful, that it is alarming to be condemned to give orders to ourselves in all our ac- tions, and to live as if we were our own victims. It is, assuredly, neither from hypocrisy, nor from dryness of character, that a writer of real and excel- lent genius has imagined, in the novel of Woldemar, situations in which every personage sacrifices senti- ment by means of sentiment, and anxiously seeks, a reason for iiot loving v-'hat he loves. But Jacobi, who had felt from his youth a lively inclination tow^ards every species cf enthusiasm, has here sought out for a romantic mysteriousness in the attachments of the heart, which is very ingeniously described, but is quite foreign to nature. It seems to me that Jacobi understands religion bet- ter than, iove, for he is too desirous of confounding them It is not true that love, like religion, can find cJl its happiness in the renunciation of happiness it- self. We change the idea that we ought to entertain cf virtue, when we make it consist in a sort of exalted feeling which has no object, and in sacrifices for which there is no necessity. All the characters in Jacobi's novel are continually tilting with their generosity against their love not only is this unlike what hap- pens in life, but it has no moral beauty when virtue does not require it ; for strong and passionate feelings honour human nature ; and religion is so impressive as it is, precisely because it can triumph over such feelings. Would it have been necessary for God him» self to condescend to address the human heart, if there were only found in that heart some cold and graceful affections Vr hich it would be so easy to renounce I 239 CHAPTER XVIII Of a roniantic Bias in the Affeciior.i zj tl.e Heart, jL HE English philcsc pliers have founded virtue, as we have said, upon feeling, or rather upon the moral sense ; but this system has no connexion with the stU' if5?7ze72?fl/ raoi'ality of which we are here talking: this morality (the name and idea of which hardly exist out : of Germany) has nothing philosophical about it ; it only makes a duty of sensibility, and leads to the con- tempt of those who are deficient in tllat quality. Doubtless, the power of feeling love is very closely connected with morality and religion : it is possible then that our repugnance to cold and hard minds is a sublime sort of instinct — an instinct Vvhich apprizes us, that such beings, even when their conduct is es- timable, act mechanically, or by caiculat'on ; and that it is impossible for any sympathy to exist between us and them. In Germany, where it is attempted to re- duce aii impressions into precepts,- every thing has been deemed i.nm-oral which was destitute of sensi- bility — nay, vvhich was not of a romantic character. Werter had brought exalted senti- -ents so much into ' feshion, that hardly any body dared to show th^.t he I was dry and cold of nature, even when he was con- j deraned to such a nature in reality. From thence ' arose that forced sort rf enthu iasrn for the moon, for ' forests, for the country, and for solitude ; from tiie nee ;- those nervous fits, tha.t atitctation in the very voice, those looks which wished to be seen ; in a v.'ord, all I that apparatus of sensibiiitVj which vigorous and sui- cere minds disdain. Tlie author of Werter was the first to laugh at these affectations ; but, as riciicuious practices mus^ be found in aii countries, periiapsit is betie: \ .'2'. icy should consist in the somewhat siiiy exa^-jgeiition of PHILOSOFHY AND MORALS. ■what is g'ood, than in the elegant pretension to what is evil. As the desire of success is unconquerable among men, and still more so among women, the pre- tensions of mediocrity are a certain sign of the ruling taste at such an epoch, and in such a society ; the same persons who displayed their sevtimentality in Germany, would have elsewhere exhibited a levity and supercili- ousness of character. The extrtme susceptibility of the German character is one of the great causes of the importance they at- tach to the least shades of sentiment ; and this suscep- tibility frequently arises from the truth of the affec- tions. It is easy to be firm when vve have no sensi- bility : the sole quality which is then necessary is courage ; for a well-regulated severity must begin with self : — but, when the proofs of interest in our welfare, wiiich others give or refuse us, powerfully influence our happiness, we must have a thousand times more irritability in our hearts than those who use their friends as they would an estate, and endeavour solely to make them profitable. At the same time we ought to be on our guard against those codes of subtle and many-shaded sentiment, which the German writers have multiplied in such various manners, and with which their romances are filled. The Germans, it must be confessed, are not always perfectly natural. Certain of their own uprightness, of their own sincer- ity in all the real relations of life they are tempted to regard the affected love of the beautiful as united to the worship of the good, and to indulge themselves, occasionally, in exaggeracions of this sort, which spoil every thing. Tnis rivalship of sensibility, between some German ladies and authors, v. ouid at the bottom be innocent enough, if the ridiculous appearance which it gives to affectation did not always throw a kind of discredit upon sinceiity itseif. Cold and selfish persons find a peculiar pleasure in laughing at passionate affections ; and would wish to make every thing appear artificial which they do not experience. There are even pers'-ns of true sensibility wliom this sugared sort of exsr^gera- or A ROMANTIC BIAS, 241 ,tion cloys vvitli their own impressions ; and their feel- ings become exliausted, as we may exhaust their re- ligion, by tedious sermons and superstitious practices. It is wrong to apply the positive ideas which we liave of good and evil to the subtilties of sensibility. To accuse this or that character of their deficiences in this respect, is like making it a crime not to be a poet. The natural susceptibility of those who think more than t ley act, may render them unjust to persons of a different description. We must possess imagination to c vjjecture all that the heart can make us suffer ; and the ucot sort of people in the v-'oria are often dull ar d 'Stupid in this respect ; they march right across our ieei- in>?3- as if tney were treading upon iiowers, and wonder- ijig that they fide away. Are there not men who have no admiration for Raph;\r', who hear i-nusic witnout Cino- tion, to wnom the ocean and the neavens are but mo= notonous appearances ? How then should they coni= prehend the tempests of the soul ? A^e not even tiiose wno are most endowed wkh sen- sibility sonietimes discouraged in their hopes ■ 2vlay they noc be o --erconie by a sort of inward coldness, as if tne Godaead was retiring from their boaonis ? They remain not less faithful to taeir affections ; hut there is no more Incense in the temple, no more music in rhe sanctuary, no more emotion in the heart. Oiten also does misfortune bid us silence m ojrselves this voice of sentiment, harmonious or distracthig in its tone, as it agrees, or not, with our destiny. It: is then impos- sible to make a duty of sensibility'; for those who own it suffer so much from its possession, as frequently to nave the right and the desire to subject it to re- straint. Nations of ardent character do not talk of sensibilitv without terror ; a peaceable and dreaming people be - lieve tiiey can encourage it vrithcut alarm. For the rest,, it is possible, that this subject has never b$en written upon witn perfect sincerity; for every one wishes to do hiniseif honour by what he feels, or by v;hat he in- spires. Women endeavour to set themselves out like a romance : men like a history: but the hum:.': h:3,:; YOL. II. W 242 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. is still far from being penetrated in its most intimatt^ relations. At one time or another, perhaps, somebody will teil us sincerely all he has felt; and vv'e shall be quite astonished at discovering, that the greater part of maxims and observations are erroneous, and that there is an unknown soul at the bottom of that which we have been describing. OF LO^,^ IN ^L\REiAGE. 24i CHAPTER XIX. Love in Marriage. It 15 in marriage that sensibility is a duty : in every OLher relation virtue may suffice ; but in that in vvhicn destinies are intertv/ined, ^here the same impulse, so to speak, serves lyc the bca.ings of two hearts, it seems that a profound affecnorj is almost a necessary tie The levitv cf manaers has in'iroduced so much misery into married life, that the moralists of the last ; age were accustomed to refer all the enjoyments of the heart to paternal and maternal love ; and ended by almost considering marriage only in t.:e light of a re- quisite coz fc? e- 'eying the happkiess of having children. T.::- f:.':; morals, and still more false "witn regard to happiness. It is so easy to be gooii tor the sake ot our children^ that we ought not to make a great merir of it. In their first years they can have no will but tivat cf their parents ; and v\hen they nave arrived at youth, they exist by themselves. Justice and goodness compose the prin- cipal duties of a relation v.- nich nature makes easy. It is not thus in our connexions vlth that half of our- selves- who may find hapoiness or unhappiness in the least of our actions, of our looks, and of our thoughts i I: is there alone that morality can exert itself in its complete energy; it is there also that is placed the true source of feiicity. A friend of the sanre age, in whose presence ycU are *.o live and die ; a friend whose every interest is your own; all whose prospects are partaken by your- self, including that of the grave : here is a feeling 'wnich constitutes all our fate. Sometimes, it is true, our children, and more often our parents, become our I companions through life ; but this rare and sublime ^ oniovment is combated bv the laws of nature ; while 1 " 244 PmOSOPHY ANT) MORALS. the marriag-e-union is in accord with the whole of hxi^ man existence. Whence comes it, then, that this so holy union is so often profaned ? I will venture to say it — the cause is, that remarkable inequality which the opinion of society establishes between the duties of the two parties. Christianity has drawn women out of a state that re- sembled slavery. Equality, in the sight of God, be- ing the basis of this wonderful religion, it has a ten- dency towards maintaining the equality of rights upon earth : — divine justice, the only perfect justice, admits jio kind of privilege, and, above ail, refuses that of force. Nevertheless, there have been left, by the slavery of women, some prejudicies, which, combin- ing with the great liberty that society allows them, liave occasioned many evils. It is right to exclude women from political and civil affairs; nothing is more opposite to their natural des- tination than ail that wouki bring them into rivalry with men ; and glory itself would be for Avoman only a splendid mourning-suit for happiness. But, if the •idestiny of women ought to coniiistin a continual act of ilevotionto conjugal love, the recompense of this de- motion is the strict faithfulness of him who is its object. Religion makes no distinction between the duties of the two parties ; but the work! establishes a wide dif- ference ; and out of this difference grows intrigue in women, and resentment in men. " What heart can give itself entirely up, " Nor wish another heart alike entire Who then in good faith, accepts friendship as the price of love? Who, sincerely, promises constancy to voluntary infidelity ? Religion, without doubt, can de- mand it; for she alone knows the secret of that mys- terious land where sacrifices • are enjoyments :— but how unjust is the exchange to which man endeavours to mako his companion submit ! " I will love you," he says, " passionately, for two or three years ; and then, at the end of that time, I Of LOVE IX ruARlllAGE. 245 ••■ v,iH talk reason to you." And this, which they call reason, is the disenchantment of life. I ho^v^ «m my own house, coldness and wcsri ^ of " sph'it ; I will try to please elsewhere : b ; : - ho are ordinarily possessed of more im?.:, : and sensibilitv than I am ; you, who have no: .in^ lo eni- " ploy, nor to distract you, while the world oficrs me every sort of avocation ; you, who only exist for " me, v\-hile I have a thousand other thoughts ; you will be satisfied with that subordinate, icy, divided affection, ^vhich it is convenient to me lo ^;rani y 'U ; -•and vuu -.vi;: r .- ^ ■ c : v ::h diiclaln all the ho.r.ags whi:h e:-:-:'i-ei = -j- nicr: ez;^lted and more tender sen- '■' timents/" How unjust a treaty : all human feeling revoKs froni it. There is a singular contrast b:-tv eon -zhe forms of respect towards women, which the spirit of chivalry intrcdu:ed in Europe, and the tyrannical sort of liber- ty which men have aliotted to themselves. This con= trast produces all the misfortunes of sentiment, un- lawfu' m :':itv:nt5. pc b-/". t.bandonnient= aiid despair. The G ... -"A j.:s L:. :c been less allUcted ti:.in oth- ers v.-itn ti .i events but they ou^j-ht, upon tliis poi;n. tof- :,_ . .j inauence which is sure to be exer- ■:cb b;;: _:b jy modern civilization. It woiddbe bet- tvr t: ttp women like slaves ; neither to rouse their ■ - . .ndincj nor their imagdnation. th:.n to launch cnem. into the middle of the world, and to de- velope ail their faculties, in order to refuse tnem at last tne happiness vrnich these faculties render neces- sary to them. Tnere is an excess of wretchedness in an unhappy marriage which transcends every . ther misery in the world. The vrhole soul of a wife reposes upon the attachment'of her husband : — to strug^ie alone, against fortune; to advance towards the grave without the friend who should regret us; this is an isolated state, of wnich the Arabian desert gives but a faint idea : — ■ and, when ail the treasure of your youthful years has ieen resigned in vam ; when you iiope no longer, at tlie end of life, the reflection of taoss e?.riy ravs] v.dreD '2i6' PRFLOSOPHY AND MORALS. the twilig^ht has nothing more that can recall the dawn, but is pale and discoloured as the phantom that fore- runs the nii^ht:— then your heart revolts ; and if you still love the being who treats you as a slave, since he does not belong to yon, and yet disposes of you, despair seizes all your faculties, and conscience her- self grows troubled ai the intensity of your dis- tress. Women might address those husbands who treat their fate with levity in these lines of the fable : — ■ " Yes ! for you it is but play— " But it steals our lives away." And until some revolution of ideas shall take place j -which chaiiges the opinion of men as to the constancy svhich the rnarriage-tie imposes upon them, there T^'ill be always war between the two sexes; secret, eternal, cunning, perfidious war j and the morals of both will equally suffer by it. In Germany there is hardly any inequality in mar- riage betu'een the two sexes ; but it is because the 'women, as often as the men, break the most holy bonds. The facility of divorce introduces in family connexions a sort of anarchy which suffers nothing to leraain in its proper truth or strength. It v/ould be much better, in order to maintain something sacred mpon eartn, that there were one slave in marriagCj. rather than two free-thinkers. Purity of mind and conduct is the first glory of a woman. What a degraded behig would she be, de- prived of both these qualities ! But general happi* iiess, and the dignity of the human species, would perhaps not gain less by the iidelity of man in mar- I'iage. In a word, what is there more Beautiful in moral order tlian a young m,an wlio respects this sa- cred tie ? Opinion does not require it of him ; socie- ty leaves him free : a sort of savage pleasantry would endeavour to riciicule even the complaints of the heart -which he had broken,; for crisUiC is easily turned the suSersr. B-^ then is the master^ but he im? OF LOVE IN MARRIAGE. poses duties on himself ; no disagreeable result can arise to himself from his faults ; but he dreads the evil he may do to her who has intrusted herself to his heart ; and generosity attaches him so much the more, be- cause society dissolves his attachment. Fidelity is enjoined to women by a thousand differ- ent considerations. They may dread the dangers and the disgraces which are the inevitable consequences of one error. The voice of conscience alone is audible by man ; he knows he causes suffering to another ; he knows that he is destroying, by his inconstancy, a sen- timent which ought to last till death, and to be re- newed in heaven : — =alone with himself, alone in the midst of seductions of every kind, he remains pure as an angel ; for if angels have not been represented un- der the characters of women, it is because the union of strength'and purity is more beautiful, and also more celestial, than even the most perfect modesty itself in a feeble being. Imagination, v/hen it has not memory for a bridle, de- tracts from what v/e possess, embellishes what we fear we shall not obtain, and turns sentiment into a con= quered diifxuity. But, in the same manner as in the arts, diftlculties vanquished do not require real gen- ius ; so in sentiment security is necessary, in order to experience those affocticns which are the pledges of eternity, because they alone give us an idea of that which cpjinot come to an end. To the young man who remains faithful, every day seems to increase the preference he feels towards her he loves; nature has bestowed on him unbounded fi^eedom, and for a long time, at least, he never looks forward to evil days : his horse can carry him to the end of the world ; war, when to that he devotes him- self, frees him (at least at the moment) from domes- tic relations, and seems to reduce all the interest of existence to victory or death. The earth is his own^ - bII its pleasures are offered to him ; no fatigue intimi- dates him, no intimate association is necessary to him j he clasps the hand of a companion in arms, and the i only tie he thinks necessary to him is formed. A time MB PHiLOSOPHY AND .^fOEALS. will, no doubt, arrive when destiny v/ill reveal to hiiTi her dreadful secrets; but, as yet, he suspects them not. Every time that a new generation comes into possession of its domain, does it not think that all the misfortunes of its predecessors arose from their weak- Jiess ? Is it not persuaded that they were born weak and trembling, as they now are seen ? Well 1 From the midst of so many illusions, how virtuous and sensible is he who devotes himself to a lasting- attachment ; the tie which binds this life to the other I Ah, how noble is a manly and dignified expression, when, at the same time, it is modest and pure 1 There we behold a ray of that heavenly shame which beams from the crown of holy virgins, to light up even the warrior's brow. If a young man chooses to share with one object the bright days of youth, he will, doubtless, amongst his contemporaries, meet with some who will pronounce the sentence of dupery upon him, the terror of the children of our times. But is he, who alone will be truly loved, a dupe ? for the distresses, or the enjoy- ments of self-love, form the whole tissue of the frivo- lous and deceitful affections. Is he a dupe who does not amuse himself in deceiving others ? to be, in his turn, still more deceived, more deeply ruined perhaps than his victim ? In short, is he a dupe who has not sought for happiness in the wretched combinations of vanity, but in the eternal beauties of nature, which all proceed from constancy, from duration, and from depth ? No ; God, in creating man the first, has made him the noblest of his creatures; and the most noble crea- ture is that one which has the greater number of du- ties to perform. It is a singular abuse of the prerog- ative of a superior nature to make it serve as an in- strument to free itself from the most sacred ties, whereas true superiority consists in the power of th^ soul ; and the power of the soul is virtue. MODERN milTERS, &.€:. 249 CHAPTER XX. Modern TV liters of the ancient School m Germany. EFORE the new school had -^iven birth in Germa- ny to two inciinations, which seem to exclude each other, metaphysics and poetry, scientific method and enthusiasm, there Vv^ere soiTse writers who deserved an honourable place by the side of the English moral- ists. Mendelsohn, Garve, Suizer, Engel, &c, have written upon sentiments and duties with sensibiUty, re- ligion, and candour. We do not, in their works, meet with that ingenious knowledge of the world, \vhich characterizes the French authors, La Rochefoucaulf, La Bruyere, &c. German moralists paint society with a certain degree of ignorance which is interesting at first, but at last becomes monotonous. Garve is the writer, of all others, v/ho has attached the highest importance to speaking well of good com- pany, fashion, politeness, &c. There is, throughout his manner of expressing him.self on this head, a great desire to appear a man. cf the w-orldj to know the reason of every thing, to be knov.'ing like a French- man, and to judge favourably of the court and of the town ; but the common-place ideas which he displays in his writings on these different subjects prove, that he knows nothing but by hearsay, and has never taken those refined and delicate views which the relations of society afford. Vvhen Garve speaks of virtue, he shows a pure un» derstanding and a tranquil mind : he is particularly en- gaging, and original, in his treatise on Patience. Borne down by a cruel malady, he supported it wiih admira- ble fortitude ; and whatever we have felt ourselves in- spires nev/ ideas. Mendelsohn, a Jew by birth, devoted himself, from commerce, to the study of the fine arts, and of phi- 250 PHrLOSOFHY AND MORALS. losophy, without renouncing, in the smallest degrecj. either the belief or the rites of his religion ; and being a sincere admirer of the Phsedon, of which he was the translator, he retained the ideas and the sentiments which were the precursors of Jesus Christ; and, edu- cated in the Psalms and in the Bible, his writings pre- serve the character of Hebrew simplicity. He de- lighted in making morality perceptible, by parables in the eastern style ; and iLat style is certainly the more pleasing, as it deprives precepts of the tone of re- proach. Among these fables, I shall translate one, which appears to me reroarkable : — " Under the tyrannical " government of the Greeks, the Israelites were once " forbidden, under pain of death, to read amongst " themselves the divine laws. Rabbi Akiba, notwith- " standing this prohibition, held assemblies, where ^' he gave lectures on this law. Pappus heard of it. " and said to him, « Akiba, dost thou not fear the threats of these cruel men?*-—' I will relate thee a fable/ replied the Rabbi.— -A Fox was walking on the bank of a river, and saw the Fishes collect- ing together, in terror, at the bottom of the rivero "'What cauces your alarm?' said the Fox. — 'The * children of men/ replied the Fishes, ' are throwing " their lines into the river, to catch us, and v/e are " trying to escape from them.'-r—' Do you know what " you ought to do?' said the Fox. ' Go there, upon « the rock, where men cannot reach you.'- — ' Is it pos= " sible,' cried the Fishes, ' that thou canst be the Fox, ^' esteemed the most cunnhig amongst anim.als ? If <^ thou seriously givest us this advice, thou showest thyself the most ignorant of them all. The v/ater *' is to us the element of ilie ; and is it possible for us '' to give it up because we are threatened by dan- *' gers ;' — ' Pappus, the application of this fable is easy: reiigious doctrine is to us the source of all &i good ; by that, and for that alone, we exist ; if we are pursued into that refuge, we vv'ill nut withdraw ^» ourselves from danger, by seeking shelter in death.' '* . The greater part of the world give no better advice MQDEPvN WRITERS, kc. 251 tlian the fox : when they see persons of sensibility agi» tated by heart-aches, they alway- propose to them to quit the air where the storm is, to enter into the va- cuum which destroys jife. Engel, like Mendelsohn, teaches morality in a dra- [ niatic manner: his fictions are trifiin?^-; but t'ley bear ! an intimate relation to the mind. In one of them he ! represents an old man become mad by the ineratitude I of his son; and the okl mair's smile, while his misfor- tune is being related, is paiiited with heart-rending truth. The man who is no longer conscious of his own existence, is as frightful an object as a corpse ^valking without life. " It is a tree," says Engel, " the " branches of which are withered ; its roots are still " fixedfein the earth, but its top is already seized upon " by death.'' A young man, at the sight of this unfor- tunate creature, asks his father, if there is on earth a : destiny more dreadful tlian that of this poor maniac . i All the sufferings \7hich destroy, all tl:ose ot which ; our reason is v/itness, seem to him notising when com- pared with this deplorable self-igi orance. The fatner leaves his son to unfold all the horrors of the situation before him; and then suddenly asks him, if that of the wretch v/ho has been the cause of it, is not a thousand times more dreadful ? The gradation of tiie ideas is very well kept up in this recital, and the picture of the agonies of tr^e mind is represented with eioouer ce that redoubles the terror caused by the most dreadful of all remorse. I have in another place quoted a passage from the Messiah, in which the poet supposes, that, in a distant planet, where the inhabitants are immortal, an angel arrived with intelligence, that there existed a v. o^i id where human beings were subject to death. Klop- stock draws an admirable picture of the astonishment of those beings who knew not the grief of losing those they loved. Engei ingeniously displays an idea not less striking. ^ A man has seen all he held most dear, his wife and his daughter, perish. A sentiment of bitterness arid of revolt against Providence takes possession of him : 252 PHE^OSOFHY AND MORALS. an old friend endeavours to re-open his heart to that deep but resigned grief, Vvhich pours itself out on the bosom of God ; he shows him that death is the source of all the moral enjoyments of man. Would there be affection betvv'een parent and child if mail's existence was not at once lasting and transito- ry ; fixed by sentiment, hurried away by time ? If there "was no longer any decline in the world, there would be jio longer any progress: how then should we experience fear and hope ? lit short, in every action, in every sen- timent, in every thought, death has its share. ' And not only in reality, but in imagination also, the joys and sorrows which arise from tiie instability of life, are inseparable. Existence Cvonsists entirely in those sentifiients of confidence, and of anxiety, with which the soul is filled, wandering between heaven and earth, and death is the principal cause of our actions in life. A woman, alarmed at the storms of the South, wish- ed to remove to the frigid zone, where thunder is not beard, nor iightning seen :— -our complaints against cur lots arc much of the same sort, says Engel.. In fact, iiaturc must be disenchanted, if ail its dangers are to be removed. The charm of the world seems to belong to pain as rr.uch as to pleasure, to fear as much as to hope ; and it may be said, that human destiny is ordered like a drama, in which terror and pity are necessary. Undc>ubtedly, these thoughts are not sufficient to heai up tlie wounds of the heart : whatever we feel we consicier as the overturning of nature, and no one ever suffered without thinking that a great disorder existed in the universe. But, when a long space of time has given room for reflection, repose is found in general considerations, and we unite ourselves to the laws of the universe by detacidng ourselves from ourbeives. The German moralists of the ancient school are, for the most part, religious and feeling ; their theory of virtue is disinterested ; they do not admit that doctrine of utility, which would lead us, as it does in China, to throw children into the river, if the population be- came too numerous. Theii works are fiiieci with phi- losophical ideas, and with melancholy and tender af~ 253 fections ; bat this was net enough to struggle against the selfish morality armed with its sarcastic irony This ■was not enough to refute sophisms, which were used against the truest and the best principles. The soft, 2.nd sometimes even timid, sensibility of the ancient German moralists was not sufficient to combat, with success, an adroit system of logic, and an elegant style of raillery, which, like all bad sentiments, bowed to notning but force. ]SIore pointed weapons are neces- sary to oppose those arms which the world has forged : it is therefore vrith reason that the philosophers of tlie new school have thought that a more severe doctrine was requisite, a doctrine of more energy, and closer in its arguments, in order to triumph over the de = pravity of the age. Assuredly, all that is simple Is sufficient for all that is good ; but when we live at a time in which it has been attempted to range wit on the side of immorality, it is necessary to attempt to gain over genius as the defender of virtue. Doubtless it is a matter of much indiffijrence waether we are accused of silliness, when Y."e express what we feel ; but this word silliness caus- es so mucn alarm among understandings of medioc- rity, that we ought, if possible, to preserve them from its infection. The Germans, fearing that we may turn their integrity '0 ridicule, sometimes attempt, although much against tiicir natural disposi iorj; to take a Eight tovrards im- morality, that they r:.;y acquire a briKia:n and easy air. The new philcsopners, by eicVvVdng their style and their ideas to a great height, have skilfully flatter- ed tne seif-love of their adepts ; and v,e ou;i.ht to praise them for this innocent species of art ; for the Germ.ans have need of a sentiment of superiority over others to strengthen their minds. There is too much milk of human kindness in their character, as weii as in their understanding; They are perhaps the only men lo whom we could recoi.iraend pride, as the means of moral improvement. We cannot deny the fact, that the disciples of the new school have followed this acivice to rs.ther too great a length ; but thev are, VOL. II, X 254 PIULOSOPHY AND ^lORALS. nevertheless, the most enlightened and the most cour- ageous authors of their country. What discovery have they made ? it will be asked. No doubt, what was true in m.orals two thousand years ago, is true at the present moment ; but, dur- ing this period, the arguments of meanness and cor- ruption have been multiplied to such an excess, that a philosopher of good feeling ought to proportion his efforts to this fatal progress. Common ideas cannot struggle against a systematic immorality ; v/e must dig deeper inwards, when the exterior veins of the pre- cious metals are exhausted. We have so often seen, in our days, weakness united to a large proportion of virtue, that we have been accustomed to believe iji the energy of immorality. The German philoso- phers (and let them receive the glory of the deed) have been the first in the eighteenth century, who have ranged free-thinking on the side of faith, genius on the side of rooralitv, and character on the side of dutv. IGNORANCE AND FRIVOLITY OF SPIRIT. 255 CHAPTER XXL C{f Ig'noraJice a7id Frivolif y of Sfiirit in their Relations to Morals. Ignorance, such as it appeared some ages past, respected knowledge, and was desirous of attaining; it. The ignorance of our days is contemptuous, and en» deavours to turn into ridicule the labours and the med- itations of enlightened men. The philosophical spirit has spread over almost all classes a facility of reason- ing, which is used to depreciate every thing that is great and serious in human nature, and we are at that epoch of civilization, in which all the beauties of the soul are mouldering into dust. When the barbarians of the North seizsd upon the possession of the most fertile countries in Europe^ they brought with them some fierce and manly virtues ; and in their endeavours at self-improvement, they ask- ed from the South, her sun, and her arts and sciences. But our civilized barbarians esteera nothing except address in the management of worldly affdirs ; and on- ly instruct themselves just enough to ridicule, by a. lev/ set phrases, the meditations of a v/hole life. Those v/ho deny the perfectibility of the human un- derstanding, pretend that progression and decline fol- low each other by turns, and that the wheel of thought rolls round like that of fortune. What a sad spectacle is this I the generations of men employir^- themselves upon earth, like Sisyphus in heii, in constant and use- less labour ! and vvhat v^^ould then be the destiny of the human race, when it resembled the, most cruel punish- ment whieh the imagination of poetry has conceived? But it is not thus ; and we can perceive a destiny al- ways the same, always consequential, always progreg- sive in the history of man. The contest between the interests of this world siud 25a PHILOSOPHY AXB MORALS. piore elevated sentiments has existed, at every perioel, in nations as well as in individuals. Superstition some- times drives the enlightened into the opposite party of incredulity; and sometimes, on the contrary, know- ledge itself awakens every belief of the heart. At the present sera, philosophers take refuge in religion, in order to discover the source of high conceptions, and of disinterested sentiments ; at this aera, prepared by ages, the alliance between philosophy and religion iTiay be intimate and sincere. The ignorant are not, as formerly, the enemies of doubt, and determined to reject all the false lights which might disturb their re- iigicus hopes, and their chivalrous seif-devotion ; the ignorant of our days are incredulous, frivolous, super- iiciai ; they know all that selfishness has need to know ; and their ignorance is only extended to those sublime studies, which excite in the soul a feeling of admira- tion for nature and for the Deity. Warlike occupations formerly filled up the life of the nobility, and formed their minds for action ; but since, in our days, men of the first rank have ceased to study any science profoundly, all the activity of their genius, which ought to have been employed in the cir- cle of affairs, or in intellectual labours, is directed to the observation of manners, and to the knowledge of anecdotes. Young persons, just come from school, hasten to put on idleness as soon as the manly robe : men and "^vomeo act as spies upon each other in the minutest events, not exactly from maliciousness, but in order that they may have something to say, when they have nothing to employ their thoughts. This sort of daily censoriousnegs destroys good-nature and integrity. We are not satisfied with ourselves v/hen we abuse the hospitality which we exercise or receive, by criticising those with whom v/e live ; and we thus prevent^ the grovv'th and the continuance of all sincere aiiection ; for in listening to the ridicule of those who are dear to us, we tarnish all that is pure and exalted in that affec- tion : sentiments, in which we do not maintain perfect sinceriivj do more mischief than indifference. IGNORANCE AND FHIVOLiTY OP ^miT. 257 Every one has his ridiculous side ; it is only at a dis- tance that a character appears perfect ; but that which constitutes the individuality of each person beinf^ al- ways some sin^'ularity, this sino^ularity affords an open- ing^ to ridicule : man, therefore, who fears ridicule above every thing, endeavours, as much as possible, to remove the appearance of all that may sig-nalize him in any manner, whether it be good or bad. This sort of effaced nature, in however good taste it may seem to be, has also enough of the ridiculous about it ; but few have a sufiicipntly delicate tact to seize its ab" surdities. Ridicule has this peculiarity ; it is essentially attach- ed to goodness, but not to power. Power has some- thing fierce and triumphant about it, which puts ridi» cule to death ; — besides, the men of frivolous mind respect the ivisdom of the Jlesk^ according to the ex- pression of a moralist of the sixteenth century; and we are astonished to discover all the depth of personal interest in those v^-ho appeared incapable cf pursuing an idea, or a feeling, when nothing could result from either, advantageous to their calculations of fortune, or of vanity. Frivolity of understanding does not lead men to neg° lect the affairs of this v/orld.' We find, on the contra- ry, a much mo'-e noble carelessness, in this respect, in serious characters than in men of a trivial nature ; for their levity, in most cases, only consists in the con* tempt of general ideas, for the purpose of more ciose attention to their personal concerns. There is sometimes a species of wickedness in mei^ of wit; but genius is almost ahvays full of gcodness. Wickedness does not arise from a superfluity of un^ derstanding, but from a deficiency. If we could talk upon ideas, °we should leave persons at rest; if we believed that we could excel otl.ers by our natural ta- lents, we should not v/ish to level the walk that we are ambitious to command. There are common and mod- erate minds disguised under a poignant and malicious, style of sarcasm ; but true superiority is radiant witji good feeling as well as with lofty thoughts? ?oi,. u, X ^ 258 PmLOSOPHY AND MORALS. The habit of intellectual employment inspires an enliE^btened benevolence towards men and things. We 3io longer cling to ourselves as privileged beings, when ■^ve know much of the destiny of man ; we are not of- fended with every event, as if it were unexampled ; tv.id as justice only consists in the custom of consider- ing the mutual relations of men under a general point of view, comprehensiveness of understanding serves to detach us from selfish calculations. We have rang- ed in thought over our own existence as well as that of others, when we have given oureelves up to the con- lemplation of the universe. Another great disadvantage of ignorance, in the I present times, is, that it renders us entirely incapable cf having an opinion of our ov/n upon the larger por- nionof subjects which require reflection: consequent- ly, when this or that manner of thinking becomes fasli- Sonable from the ascendancy of events, the greater part of mankind believe that these words, " all the world acts, or thinks, in this manner," ought to in- fluence every claim of reason and of conscience. In the idle class of society, it is almost impossible to have any soul without the cultivation of the mint?. J/ormerly nature was sufficient to instruct m.an, and to >-xpand his imagination ; but, since thought (that fa- ding shadow of feeling) has turned ail things into ab> stractions, it is necessary to have a great deal of knowledge to have any good sentiment. Our choice IS no longer balanced between the bursts of the soul, devoid of instruction, and philosophical studies ; but between the importunate noise of common and frivol= ous society, and that language which has been hoiden by men of real genius from age to age, even to our uwn times. How then can v/c, without the knowledge of lan- guages, without the habit of reading, communicate v^ith these men who are no more, and whom we fee] so thoroughly our friends, our fellow-citizens, and our allies ? We must be mean and narrow of soul to re- fuse such noble enjoyments. Those only, who fill their lives with ^ood acti,ens, can dispense with study f IGNORANCE AND FRH OLITY OF SFIEIT. 259 the ig-norance of idle men proves lb eir dryness of soul^ :i3 well as their frivolity of lUiderstanding. After all, there yet remains something truly beauti- ful and moral, v/hich ignorance and emptiness cannot enjoy : this is the union of all thinking men, from one end of Europe to the other. Often they have no mu- tual relations ; often they are dispersed to a great dis- tance from each other ; but when they meet, a word is enough for recognition. It is not this religion, or that opinicn, or such a sort of study ; it is the venera- tion of truth that forms their bond of union. Some- times, like miners, they dig into the foundations of the earth, to penetrate the mysteries of the world of darkness, m the bosom of eternal night : some- times they mount to the summit of Chimboraco, to discover, at the loftiest point of the globe, some hitherto unknown phjenomena : sometimes they study the languages of the East, to find in them the primi- tive history of man : sometimes they journey to Je- rusalem, to call forth from the holy ruins a sparky v.'hich reanimates religion and poetry : in a word, tney truly are the people of God ; they who do not yet despair of the human race, and wish to preserve to man the dominion of reflection. I'he Germans demand our especial gratitude in this respect. Ignorance and iudifTerence, as to literature and the fnie arts, is shameful Vvith them ; and their c::iir.pie proves, that, in our days, the cultivation of the understanding preserves, in the independent clas- ses of society, some sentiments and some principles. Tne direction of litej^ature and philosophy was not good in France during the last part of the eighteenth century; but, if we may so express ourselves, the direction of ignorance is still more forniidable : for no book does harm to him who reads every book. If idle men of the world, on the contrary, are busy for a few moments, the work they meet with is an event in their heads, like that of a stranger's arrival in the de- sert ; and when this work contains dangerous sophis- tries, they have no arguments to oppose to it. The discovery of printing is truly fatal for those who only 260 PHILOSOPHY AND MORALS. read by halves, or by hazard ; for knowledge, like the spear of Achilles, ought to cure the wounds v/hich it has inflicted. Ignorance, in the midst of the refinements of so- cietj^, is the most hateful of all mixtures : it makes us, in some respects, like the vulgar, who value intrigue and cunning alone : it leads us to look but for good living and physical enjoyrnents; to make use of a lit- tle wit, in order to destroy a great deal of soul ; to boast of our ignorance ; to demand applause for what we do not feci ; in a word, to unite a limited under- standing with a hard lieart, to such a degree, as to be ■deprived of that looking upwards to heaven, which Ovid has recorded as the noblest attribute of human nature. Os liomini sublime dedlt { ccelumque tueri Jussit, et erectos ad sidera toliere vultus. He, who to man a form erect has given, * Bade b,is esaked looks be iix'd on heaven-. END OF THE THIRD PAKT, FART I\ , RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. CHAPTER I. General Considerations ufion Religion in Germany. l^HE nations of German extraction are all natiirallv relig-ious ; and the zeaiousness of this feeling has giv- en occasion to many wars amongst them. Neverthe- less, in Germany, above all other coun'ries, the bias of mind leans more to'vards enthusiasm than fa- naticism. The sectarian spirit must mariifest itself un- der a variety of forms, in a country where the activity of thought is most observable ; but, in general, they do not mix theoh gicai discussions with human pas- sions; and the different opiPiions in regard to religion seldom v.'ander out of that ideal world which enjoys a profound peace. For a long time they were occupied, as I shall show in the following chapter, with tiie inquiry into the doc- trines of Christianity ; b-at, for the last twenty years, since the writings of Kant have had great i:'fiU- ence upon the pub:ic m.ind, there have prevailed a liberty and a comprehensiveness in the manner of con* sidering r-eligion, which neither require nor reject any form of v,'orship in particular, but Vr'hich derive from heavenly things the ruling pririciple of existence. Many persons think that the religion of the Ger» mans is too indefinite ; and that it is better to rally round the standard oi a more positive cmd sevevt^ 262 RELIGION ANT) ^^NTHUSTASM. mode of worship. Lessinof says, in Ms Essay on the Fd^JCBvion of the H^itYian Race, that religious revela- ' J' always proportioned t^) the des^ree of k'- existed at the time of their appear- iiDce. e : ' I TestaiTient, the Gospel, and, in many respects, the Rf fV^rnnation, were, according to their seasons, pevfectly in harmony with the progress of the understanding- ; a'Kl, perhaps, we are on the eve of a devejopnspnt of Christianity, which will collect ail the scattered rays in tne same focus, and which will make lis perceive in religion more than morality, more than liappiness, more than philosophy, more than sentiment itself, since every one of these gifts will be multiplied by its union with all the others However this may be, it is perhaps interesting to know under what point of view religion is considered in Germany, and liow they have found means to con- nect it with the whole literary and philosophical sys- tem, of wJiich I have sketched the outline. There" is soinething imposing in this collective mass of thought, which lays the whole moral order completely open to our eyes ; and gives this sublim.e edifice self-devotion for its base, and the Divinity for its capital. It is to the feeling of the infinite that the greater por- tion of German writers refer all their religious ideas ; but it may be asked, Can we conceive infinity ? Do we not conceive it, at least in a negative manner, when, in the mathemalica, we are unable to suppose any boundary to duration or to space i Tills infiiiity consists in the absence of limits; but th.c reeling of the infinite, such as the imagination and the heart experience it. is positive and creative. Tije enthusiasm, which the beautiful in idea makes us feel that emotion, so full of agitation and of purity at the same time,) is excited by tlie sentiment of in- finity. We feel ourselves, as it were, disengaged by admiration from the shackles of hunian destiny ; and it seems as if some wondrous secret was revealed to us, to free the soul for ever from languor and decline. Wnen we contemplate the starry heaven, where the sparks of light are universes like our own, where the brilliant dust of the milky way traces, with its T/orlds, EELIGION IN GER:SfAKY. 263 -a circle in the firmament, our thoughts are lost in the infiiiite, our hearts beat for the unknown, for tliC im- mense, and we feel that it is only on the other side of earthly expeiience that our real life will commence. Jn a word, religious emotions, more than all others together, awaken in us the feeling of the infinite ; but w^iien they awaken they satisfy it ; and it is for this rea- son, doubtless, that a man of great genius has said : ^' That a thinking being was not happy, until the idea " of infuiity became an enjoyment instead of a burthen to his mind." In effect, when we give ourselves entirely up to re- flections, to images, to desirts which extend beyond the limits of experience, it is then only that we freely breathe. When we wish to confine ourselves to the interests, the conveniences, the laws of this woiid, genius, sensibility, entnusiasm, pa.ii,fully agitate the soul ; but they overflov,' it with enjoyment when we consecrat.: them to this remembrance, to this expecta- tion of infinity, which appears in metaphysics under the form of innate dispositions, in virtue under that of seif-devotion, in tht_ arts under that of the ideal, and in religion herself under that of divine love. The feeling of the infinite is the true attribute of the soul : ail that is beautilul of every ku:id excites in us the hope, and^ie de sire, of an eterrsai futurity, and of a sublime existence ; v/e cannot hear the w ind in the forest, nor tiie delicious concords of human voices; we cannot feel tiie enchantment of eloquence or of poetry; in a word, above all, we cannot innocently, deeply love, without being penetrated with religion and ininiortality. Ali the sacrifices of personal iiiter- est arise from our wish to bring ourselves into accord ^vith this feeling oi the ii^^finiie, of whicn we experi- ence ali the charm, without being able to express it. If the power of duty was confineu to the siioi t oura- tion of this life, how then would it have more com- mand than the passions over the soui ? Who wouid sacrifice what is bounded to what is bounded ? " AU " iimitect things are so snort," says St. Augustin ; the moments of enjoymeiit tnal cartniy incimations may Itiduce^ aiid the days of peace that a moral conduce 264 RELIGION AXD ENTHUSIAS'M. ensures would differ very little, if emotions without limit, and without end did not spontaneously spring up in the bottom of that human being's heart who devotes iiimself to virtue. Many persons will deny this feeling of the infinite ; and, assuredly, they have very good ground to deny it, for we cannot possibly explain it to them ; a few ad- ditional words will not succeed in making them under- stand what the universe has failed to teach them. Na- ture has arrayed the infinite in symbols which may bring it down to us : light and darkness, storm and silence, pleasure and pain, ail inspire man with this universal religion, of which his heart is the sanctuary. A v/riter, of whom I have already had occasion to speak, M. Ar^ciilon, has lately published a work upon the new German philosophy, which unites the perspicuity of French wit with the depth of Ger- jiian geriius. M. Ancillon had befoie acquired a celebrated name as an historian ; he is incontesti- bly, what we are accustomed to call in France a good head ; his understanding itself is positive and me- thodical ; and it is by his soul that he has seized all that the tiiought of the infinite can present most com- prehensive and most exalted. Wnat he has written on this subject bears a character entirely original ; it is, to use the expression, the sublime reouc^ea to logic : he traces, with precision, the boundary where experimen- tal knowledge is stopped, whether in the arts, or in philosophy, or in religion: he shows that sentiii.eht goes mucii farther than ki ov/iedge ; and that, beyond demonstrative proofs, there is a natural evidence in il; beyond analysis, an inspiration ; beyond v/ords, ideas ; beyond ideas, emotions ; and that tiie feeling of the in- finite is a phsenomenon oi mind, a pri.. itive pi^se- nomenon, witnout which there wouici be nothing in man but physical instinct and calculation. It is difficult to be religious accordii.g to the man- ner introduced by some dry characters, oi some v/ell- meaning persons, who wouio wish to conici upon re- ligion tlie honours of scientific demonsti^atioh. Tnat winch so intimately touches upon the n;ysteiy oi ex- istence^ cannot be expressed by the regu.iar forms of RELIGION IN GERMAXV. 265 s-peech. Reasoning; on such subjects serves to show v/^ere reasoning comes to an end ; and at that conclu- sion commences true certainty; for the truths of feel- ing- have an intensity of strength v/hich calls all our being to their support. The infinite acts upon the soul so as to exalt and to disengage it from time. The business of life is to sacrifice the interests of our tran- sitory existence to that immortality which even now commences for us, if we are already worthy of it ; and not only the greater part of religions have this same object, but the fine arts, poetry, glory, love, are reli- gions, into which there enters more or less alloy. This expression, " ii is divine " whicb has become general, in order to extol the beauties of nature and of art — this expression is a species of belief among the Germans : it is not from indifference that they are tolerant ; it is because there is an universality in their manner of feeling and conceiving religion. In fact, every man may find, in some different w^onder of the imiverse, that which most powerfully addresses his soul : — one admires the divinity in the character of a father ; another in the innocence of a child ; a third in the heavenly aspect of Raphael's virgins, in music, in poetry, in nature, it matters not in what— for all are agreed in admiring (if all are animated by a religious principle) the genius of the world, and of every human being. Men of superior genius have raised doubts con= cerning this or that doctrine ; and it is a great misfor- tune, that the subtilty of logic, or the pretences of self-love, should be able to disturb and to chili the feeling of faith. Frequently also reflection has found itself at a loss in those intolerant religions, of which, as we may say, a penal code has been formed, and which have impressed upon theology all the forms of a despotic government : but how sublime is that wor- ship, which gives us a foretaste of celestial happiness in the inspiration of genius, as in the most obscure of virtues ; in the tenderest affections as in the severest pains ; in the tempest as in the fairest skies ; in the flower as in the oak ; in every thing except calculation, VOL. II. Y ' 266 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. except the deadly chill cf selfishness, which separates lis from the benevolence of nature, which niakes van- ity alone the motive of oUj;. actions — -vanity, whose root is ever venernous ! How beautiful is that religion which consecrates the whole world to its Author, and makes all our faculties subservient to the celebration of the holy rites of this wonderful universe ! Far from such a belief interdicting literature or sci= ence, the theory of all ideas, the secret of all talents, belong to it ; nature and the Divinity would necessa- rily be in contradiction to each other, if sincere piety forbade men to make use of their faculties, and to taste the pleasure that results from their exercise. There is religion in all the works of genius ; there is genius in all religious thoughts. Wit is of a less il» lustrious origin ; it serves for an instrument of con- tention ; but genius is creative. The inexhaustible source of talents and of virtues, is this feeling of in- finity, which claims its share in ail generous actionsj and in all profound thoughts. Religion is nothing if it is not every thing; if ex- istence is not filled with it ; if we do not incessantly maintain in the soul this belief in the invisible ; this self-devotion, this elevation of desire, which ought to triumph over the low inclinations to which our nature exposes us. But how can religion be incessantly present to our thoughts, if we do not unite it to every thing which ought to form the occupation of a noble existence, de- voted afiections, phijosophicai meditations, and the pleasures of tht imagination? A great number of practices are recon.mended to the faithful, that their religion m^ay be recalled to their minds every moment of ti e da by the obligations which it imposes ; but if the whole life could be naturally, and without efibrt, an act of w^orship at every moment, would not thi.^ be still better ? Shice the admiration of the beautiful al- ways has relation to the Divinity, and since the very spring of energetic thought makes us remount to our origin, why should not the power of feeling love, poe- try, phiiosophv, iorm the columns of the Temple of Faith ? PROTESTANTIS'Vf 267 CHAPTER II. X>f ProtestarAirm, It vvas liatural for a revolution, prepared by ideas, to take place in Germany ; for the prominent trait of this thinking people is the energy of internal convic- tion. When once an opinion has taken possession of German heads, their patience, and their perseverance in supportinij it, do singular honour to the force of human volition. When %ve read the details of the death of John Huas, and of Jerome of Prague, the forerunners of the Reformation, v^e see a striking example of that which characterized the Protestant leaders in Germa- ny, the union of a lively^ faith with the spirit of inqui- ry. Their reason did no injury to their belief, nor their belief any to their reason ; and their moral facul- ties were always put into simultaneous action. Throughout Germany we find traces of the different religious struggles, which, for many ages, occupied the v/hole nation. They still show, in the cathedral at Prague, bas-reliefs where the devastations commit- ted by the Hussites are represented ; and that part of the church which the Swedes set fire to in the thirty years' war, is not yet rebuilt. Not far from thence, on the bridge, is placed the statue of St. John Nepo- muccnes, who preferred perishing in the VT'aves to re- vealiiig the v»-eaknesscs which an unfortunate queen had confessed to him. The monuments, and even the ruins, vrhich testify the infiuence of religion over man, interest the soul in a lively m.anner ; for the v/ars of opinion, hov/ever cruel they may be, do more honour to natiors than the wars of interest. Of all the great men produced by Germany, Luther is the one whose character is the most German : his firmness had something rude about it \ his convic- RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. tion arose even to infatuation ; the courage of the iTiincI was in him the pri-ncipie of the courage of action ; what there was passionate in his soul did rot divert him from abstract studies: and although he attacked certain abuses, and considered certain doctrines as prejudices, it was not a phiiosophical incredulity, but a species of fanaticism, that excited iiim. Nevertheless, the Reformation has introduced into the world inquiry in matters of religion. In some minds its result has been scepticism ; in otlicrs, a stronger conviction of religious truths: the human rnind had arrived at an epoch when it was necessary for it to examine in order to believe. The discovery of printing, the multiplicity of every sort of know- ledge, and the phiiosophical investigation of truth, did not allov/ any longer that blind faith which was formerly so profitable to its teachers. Religious en- thusiasm could not grow again except by inquiry and Bieditation. It was Luther who put the Oid Testa- ment and the Gospel into the hands of all the world ; it was he who gave its impulse to the study of anti- quity ; for in learning Hebrew to read the Old, and Greek to read the Nev/ Testament, the students cul- tivated the ancient languages, and their minds were turned towards historical researches. Examination may weaken that habitual faith which men do well to preserve as much as they can ; but when man comes out of his inquiries more religious than he was when he entered into them, it is then that religion is built upon an immutable basis ; it is then that harmony exists between her and knowledge, and ihat they mutually assist each other. Some writers have largely declaimed against the system of perfectibility ; and, to hear them, we should think that it was a real ciime to believe our species capable of perfection. It is enough in France that an individual of such a party should have maintained this or that opinion, to make it bad taste to adopt it ; and all the sheep of the same flock, one after the other, has- ten to level their wise attacks at ideas, which stiil re- "main exactly what they are by nature. RELTGIOIs n>r GERMANY. 269 It is vcr;/ probable that the human species is sus- ceptible of education, as well as each man in particu- lar ; and that there are epochs marked for the progress of thought in the eternal career of time. The Refor- mation was the aera of inquiry, and of that enlighten* ed conviction which inquiry produces, Christianity was first established, then altered, then examined^ then understood ; and these different periods were ne- cessary to its development ; they have sometimes last- ed a hundred, sometimes a thousand years. The Su- prem.e Being, who draws time out of eternity, does not economize that time after our manner. When Luther appeared, religion v/as no more than a political power, attacked or defended as an interest of this world. Luther recalled it to the land of thought. The historical progress of the human mindj in this respect, in Germany, is worthy of remark. When the wars occasioned by the Reformation were set at rest, and the Protestant refugees were natural- ized in the different northern states of the German empire, the philosophical studies, which had always made the interior of the soul their object, were natu- rally directed towards religion ; and there is no liter- ature of the eighteenth century in which we find so many religious books as in the literature of Ger- many. Lessing, one of the most powerful geniuses of his nation, never ceased to attack, with all the strength of his logic, that maxim so commonly repeated, that there are some da?igerous truths.^* In fact, it is a singular instance of presumption, in certain individ- uals, to think they have the right of concealing the truth from their fellow-men, and to arrogate the pre- rogative of placing themselves (like Alexander before Diogenes) in a situation to veil from our eyes that sun which belongs alike to ail : this pretended pru- dence is but the theory of imposture; is but an at- tempt to play the juggler with ideas, in order to se- cure the subjection of mankind. Truih is the work of God, lies are the works of man. If we study those 3eras of history in which truth has been an object of VOL. .II. ' Y ^ 270 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM^ fear, we shall always find them when partial mterests contended in some ir»-anner against the universal ten- dency. The search for truth is the noblest of employments, and its promulgation is a duty. There is nothing- to fear for society, or for religion, in this search, if it is sincere ; and if it is not sincere, truth no longer, bat falsehood, causes the evil. There is not a sentiment in man of which we cannot find the philosophical rea- son ; not an opinion, not even a prejudice, generally cUffused, which has not its root in nature. We ought then to examine, not with the object of destroying, but to build our belief upon internal, not upon bor- rowed conviction. We see errors lasting for a long time ; but they always cause a painful uneasiness. When we look at the tower of Pisa, which leans over its base, we ima- gine that it is abolit to fall, although it has stood for ages ; and our imaginntion is not at its ease, except in the sight of fircn and regular edifices. It is the same with our belief in certain principles ; that which is founded upon prejudices makes us uneasy ; and we love to see reason supporting, with all its power, thoN elevated conceptions of the soul. The understanding contains in itself the principle of every taing which it acquires by experience. Fontenelie has justly said, that "we think we recog- nise a truth when first we hear it." How then can we ima^gint, that sooner or later just ideas, and the internal conviction which they cause, will not reap- pear ? There is a pre-established harmony between truth and human reason, v^hich always ends by bring- ing each nearer to the other. Proposing to men not to interchange their thoughts^, is what is commonly called keeping the secret of the play. W^e only continue in ignorance because we are U; consciously ignorant; but from the moment that -we have commanded silence, it appears that somebody has spoken; and to stifle the thoughts which those words have excited, we must degrade reason her- seif= There are men, full of energy ajid good faitlij RELIGION IN GERMANY. 271 who never dreamt of this or that philosophical truth ; but those who know and conceal their knowledge, are hypocrites, or, at least, are nmst arrogant and most irreligious beings. Most arrogant ; for what right have they to think themselves of the class of the initiated, and the rest of the world excluded from it r — Most ir- religious; for if there is a philosophical or natural truth, a truth, in short, which contradicts religion, re- ligion would not be what it is, the light of lights. We must be very ignorant of Clu'istianity, that is to say, of the revelation of the moral laws of man and the universe, to recommend to those who wish to be- lieve in it, ignorance, secrecy, and darkness. Open the gates of the temple ; call to your support genius, the fine arts, the sciences, philosophy ; assemble them in one focus to honour ?jid to comprehend the Author of creation ; and if love has said, that the name of those we love seems written on the leaves of every flower, how should not the impress of the Godhead appear in every thought that attaches itself to the eter- nal chain ? The right of examining what we ought to believe, is the foundation of Protestantism. The first reform- ers did not so understand it : they thought they could fix the pillars of Hercules of the hum.an mind at -the boundary of their own knowledge ; but they were wrong in fancying that men would submit to their de- cisions as if they were infallible ; — they who rejected all authority of this sort in the Catholic religion. Pro- testantism then was sure to follow the development and the progress of knowledge ; while Catholicism boasted of being immoveable in the midst of the waves of time. Among the German writers of the Protestant reli- gion, different ways of thinking have prevailed, which have successively occupied attention. Many learned men have made enquiries, unheard of before, into the Old and New Testament. Michaeiis has studied the languages, the antiquiiies, and the natural history of •Asia, to interpret the Bible ; and while the spirit of French philosophy was making a jest of the Christian 272 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASI^I. religion, they ip.ade it in Germany the object of erudi- tion. However this sort of labour may in some re- spects, insure relig-ious minds, v.hat veneration does it not imply for the book ^vhich is the object of so se- rious an inquiry ! These learned men attacked neither doctrines, nor prophecies, nor miracles ; but a great number of writers have followed them, who have attempted to give an entirely physical explanation to the Old and Nev/ Testament ; and who, considering them both in the light only of good writings of an in- structive kind, see nothing in the mysteries but orien- tal metaphors. These theologians called themselves rational inter- jireters^ because they believed they could disperse every sort of obscurity: but it was a wrong direction of the spirit of inquiry to attempt applying it to truths, of which Vv^e can have no presentiment, except by elevation and meditation of soul. The spirit of in- quiry ought to serve for the demarcation of what is superior to reason, in the same manner that an astron- omer defines the heights to which the sight of man cannot attain : thus therefore to point out the incom- prehensible regions, without pretending to deny their existence, or to describe them by words, is to m.ake use of the spirit of inquiry, according to its measure, and its destination. The learned mode of interpretation is not more sat- isfactory than dogmatic authority. The imagination and the sensibility of the Germans could not content itself with this sort of prosaic religion, which paid the respect of reason to Christianity. Herder was the first to regenerate faith by poetry : deeply instructed in the eastern languages, he felt a kind of admiration for the Bible like that which a sanctified Homer would inspire. The natural bias of the mind in Germany is to consider poetry as a sort of prophetic gift, the fore- runner of divine enjoyments; so that it was not pro- fanation to unite to religious faith the enthusiasm which poetry inspires. . Herder was not scrupulously orthodox ; but he re- jected, as well as his partisans, the learned commen- PvELIGION Ds~ GEEMANY. 273 taries which had the simpUacation cf the Bible for their object, and which, by simpliiying;, ar.nihiiated it. A sort of poetical theology, vague but ariimated, free but feelhig, takes the place of that pedaritic school which thought it Vras advancing towards reason, when it retrenched some of the miracles of this universe ; though, at the same time, the marvellous is, in some ■ aspects, perhaps, still more easy to conceive, than -..It which it has been agreed to call the natural. Schleicrmacher, the ti-anslator cf Plato, has written iscourses of extraordinary eloquence upon religion; he combated that indifference which has been called toleration^ and that destructive labour vrhich has pas- sed for imparliai inquiry.. Schleiermacher is not the more on this account an orthodox theologian ; but he shows in the religious doctrines which he adopts, the power of belief, and a great vigour of metaphysical conception. He has developed, with much warmth and clearness, the feeling of the infinite, of which I ha\e spoken in the preceding chapter. We may call tije relii^ious opinions of Schleiermacher, and of his disciples, a philosophical theology. At length Lavater, and many men of talent, attach- ed themselves to the mystical opinions, such as Fene- Icn in France, and different writers in all countries, conceived them. Lavater preceded some of the authors whom I have cited ; but it is only for these few years past, that the doctrine, of which he may be consider- ed one of the principal supporters, has gained any g:reat popularity among the Germans. The work of Lavater upon physiognomy is more celebrated than his - religious writings ; but that v>iiich rendered him espe- cialiy remarkable was his personal character. There was in this man a rare mixture of penetration and of en- thusiasm ; he observed mankind with a peculiar saga- city of understanding, and yet abandoned himself, with entire confidence, to a set of ideas which might be called superstitious. He had sufficient self-love ; and this self-love, perhaps, was the cause of those whim- sical opinions about himself, and his miraculous cal- ling. Neyertheless; nothing could equal the religious 274 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. simplicity aiid the candour of his soul. We could not: see v/ithout astonishment, in a drawing-room of our own times, a minister of the holy Gospel inspired like an apostle, and animated as a man of the world. The warrant of Lavater's sincerity was to be found in his good actions, and in his fine countenance, which bore the stamp of inimitable truth. The religious writers of Germany, properly so cal- led, are divided into two very distinct classes — the de- fenders of the Reformation, and the partisans of Cath- olicism. I shall examine separately the writers who are of these different opinions ; but the assertion which it is important to make before every thing is this, that if northern Germany is the country where theological questions have been most agitated, it is also that in which religious sentiments are most uni- versal ; the national character is impressed with them, and it is from them that the genius of the arts and of literature draws all its inspiration. In short, among the lower orders, religion in the north of Germany bears an ideal and sv/eet character, which singularly surprises us in a country where we have been accus- tomed to think the manners very rude. I f Once, as I was travelling from Dresden to Leipsic, I stopped for the evening at Meissen, a little village placed upon an eminence over the river, and the church of which contains tombs consecrated to illus- trious recollections. I walked upon the Esplanade, and suffered myself to sink into that sort of reverie which the setting sun, the distant view of the land- scape, and the sound of the stream that flows at the bottom of the valley, so easily excite in our souls I then caught the voices of some common persons, and I was afr^iid of hearing such vulgar w-ords as are elsewhere sung in the streets. What was my aston- ishment, when I understood the burthen of their song I — " They loved each other, and they died, hoping one " day to meet again !'* Happy that country v/here such feelings are popular; and spread abroad, even into the air v/e breathe, I know not what religious fellov.'ship, of which love for heaven, and pity for man, form the touching union. ^iOEAVIAX :M0I>E of VrORSHIF. CHAPTER III. Moravian Mode of IFor&hi/^, _L HEkE is perhaps too much freedom in Prctestanc' ism to satisfy a certain rehgious austerity, which may seize upon the man who is overwhelmed by great mis- fortunes ; som.etimes even in the habitual course of life, the reality of this v.'orld disappears all at once, and we feci ourselves in tb.e middle of its interests as we should at a ball, where v/e did not hear the music ; the dancing that we sav/ there would appear insane. A species of dream.ing apathy equally seizes upon the bram.in and the savage, when one by the force of thought, and the other by the force of ignorance, pas= ses entire hours in the dumb contem.plation of destiny. The only activity of v»diich the human being is then susceptible, is that which has divine worship for its object. He loves to do something for Heaven every moment ; and it is this disposition which gives their attraction to convents, however great may be their in- convenience in other respects. The IMoravians are the monks of Protestantism ; and the religious enthusiasm of northern Germany gave them birth, about a hundred years ago. Buc al- though this association is as severe as a Catholic con- vent, it is more liberal in its principles. No vows are taken there ; all is voluntary ; men and v/omen are not separated, and marriage is not forbidden. Neverthe- less the whole society is ecclesiastical; that is to say, everything is done there by religion and for it ; t/iC authority of the church rules this community of tue faithful, but this church is without priests, and the sa- cred office is fulfilled there in turn, by the most reli- gious and venerable persons. Men and women, before marriage, live separately from each other in assemblies,^where the most perfect 276 HELIGION AND ENTHUSUSM- eqiiality reigns. The entire day is filled with labour ; the same for every rank ; the idea of Providence, con- stantly present, directs all the actions of the life of the Moravians. ' When a young man chooses to take a companion, he addresses himself to the female superintendants of girls or widows, and demands of them the person he wishes to espouse. They draxv lots in the church, to know whether he ought to marry the woman whom he prefers ; and if the lot is against him, he gives up his demand. The Moravians have such a habit of resig- nation, that they do not resist this decision ; and as they only see the women at church, it costs them less to renounce their choice. This manner of deciding upon marriage, and upon many other circumstances of life, indicates the general spirit of the Moravian worship. Instead of keeping themselves submitted to the will of Heaven, they fancy they can learn it by m~ spirations, or, Vv'hat is still more strange, by interrogat- ing chance. Duty and events manifest to man the views of God concernin;^ the earth; how can we flat- ter ourselves with the notion of penetrating them by other means ? Yie observe, in other respects, among the general- ity of Moravians, evangelical manners, such as they must have existed from the time of the Apostles, in Christian communities. Neither extraordinary doc- trines nor scrupulous practices constitute the bond of this association : the Gospel is there interpreted in the most natural and clear mamier ; but they are there faithful to the consequences of this doctrine, and they make their conduct, under all relations, harmonize with their religious principles. The Moravian com- munities serve, above all, to prove that Protestantism, in its simplicity, may lead to the most austere sort of life, and the most enthusiastic religion ; death and im- mortality, well understood, are sufficient to t>ccupy and to direct the whole of existence. I was some time ago at Dintendorf, a little village near Erfurth, where a Moravian community is estab- lished. This village is three leagues distant from ev- MOIiAMAN 5I0DE OF WORSHIP. 277 try great road ; it is situated between two moiintainsj upon the banks of a rivulet ; willows and lofty poplars environ it: there is something tranquil and sweet in the look of the country, which prepares the soul to free itself from the turbulence of life. The buildings and the streets are marked by perfect cleanliness ; the women, all clothed alike, hide their hair, and bind their head with a riband, whose colour indicates wheth= er they are married, maidens, or widows : the men are clothed in brown, almost like the Quakers. Mer» cantile industry employs nearly all of them ; but one does not h^r the least noise in the village. Every body works in regularity and silence ; and the internal action of religious feeling lulls to rest every other im« pulse. The girls and widows live together in a large <3or«= rnitory, and, during the night, one of them has her turn to watch, for the purpose of praying, or of taking care of those who may be ill. The unmarried men live in the same manner. Thus there exists a great family for him who has none of his own ; and the name of bi'other and sister is common to all Christians. Instead of bells, wind instruments, of a very sweet harmony, summon them to divine service. As we proceeded to church, by the sound of this imposing music, we felt ourselves carried away from the earth; we fancied that we heard the trumpets of the last judg- ment, not such as remorse makes us fear them, but such as a pious confidence makes us hope them ; it seemed as if the divine compassion manifested itself in this appeal, and pronounced beforehand the pardon of regeneration. The church was dressed out in v/hite roses, and blossoms of white thorn : pictures were not banished from the temple ; and music was oultivated as a con- stituent part of religion ? they only sang psalms; there was neither sermon, nor mass, nor argument, nor theological discussion ; it was the worship of God in spirit and in truth. The women, all in white, were ranged by each other without any distinction whatever ; VOL.- SI. Z 278 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. they looked like the innocent shadows who were about to appear together before the tribunal of the Divinity. The buryi-Mg-ground of the Moravians is a garden, the walks of which are marked out by funeral stones i and by the side of each is planted a flowering shrub. All these grave-stones are equal : not one of these shrubs rises above the other ; and the sanie epitaph serves for all the dead. " He was born on such a day ; and on " such another he returned into his native country." Excellent expression, to designate the end of our life ! The ancients said, " He lived and thus threw a veil over the tomb, to divest themselves of its idea j the Christians place over it the star of hope. On Easter-day, divine service is performed in the burying-ground, which is close to the church, and the resurrection is announced in the middle of the tombs. All those who are present at this act of worship, know the stone that is to be placed over their coffin ; and al- ready breathe the perfume of the young tree, whose leaves and flowers will penetrate into their tombs. It is thus that we have seen, in modern times, an entire army assisting at its own funeral rites, pronouncing for itself the service of the dead, decided in belief that it was to conquer immortality.* The communion of the Moravians cannot adapt it- self to the social state, such as circumstances ordain it to be ; but as it has been long and frequently assert- ed that Catholicism alone addressed the imagination, it is of consequence to remark, that what truly touch- es the soul in religion is common to all Christian churches. A sepulchre and a prayer exhaust ail the power of the pathetic ; and the more simple the faith, the more emotion is caused by the worship. * The allusion In this passage is to the siege of Saragossa. CATHOLICISM. 279 CHAPTER IV. Of Catholicism. The Catholic religion is more tolerant in Germany than in any other country. The peace of Westphaiia having fixed the rights of the different religions, they no longer feared their mutual invasions; and, besides, this mixture of modes of worship, in a great number of towns, has necessarily induced the occasion of ob- serving and judg'ing each other. In religious as well as in political opinions, we make a phantom of our adversaries, which is almost always dissipated by their presence ; sympathy presents a fellow-creature in him v/hom we believed an enemy. Protestantism being much more favourable to know- ledge than Catholicism, the Catholics in Germany have put themselves in a sort of defensive position, which is very injurious to the progress of information, la the countries where the Catholic religion reigned alone, such as France and Italy, they have known how to unite it to literature and to the fine arts ; but in Ger- many, where the Protestants have taken possession, by means of the universities, and by their natural tcr- dency to every thing which belongs to iiteiary and philosophical study, the Catholics have fancied them- selves obliged to oppose to them a certain sort of re- serve, which destroys almost ail the means of distinc- tion, in the career of imagination and of reflection. ]Music is the only one of the fine arts which is carried to a greater degree of perfection in the south of Ger- many than in the north ; unless we reckon in the num- ber of the fine arts a certain convenient mode of life, the enjoyments of which agree well enough with re- pose 01 mind. Among the Catholics in Germany there is a sincere, tranquil, and charitable piety; but there are no famous preachers, nor religious authors who are quoted : no- thing there excites the emotions of the soul ; they 280 RELIGION ANB ENTHUSIASM. consider religion as a matter of fact, in which enthu siasm has no share ; and one might say, that in a mode of religious worship so well consolidated, the future life itself became a positive truth^ upon which we no -longer exercise our thoughts. The revolution which has taken place among the philosophical minds in Germany, during the last thirty years, has brought them almost all back to religious sentiments. They had wandered a little from them ; when the impulse necessary to propagate toleration had exceeded its proper bounds: but, by recalling idealism in metaphysics, inspiration in poetry, con- templation in the sciences, they have restored the em- pire of religion ; and the reform of the Reformation, or rather the philosophical direction of liberty which it has occasioned, has banished for ever (at least in theory) materialism, and all its fatal consequences. In the midst of this intellectual revolution, so fruitful in noble results, some writers have gone too far ; as it always happens in the oscillations of thought. We might say, that the human mind is continually hurrying from one extreme to another ; as if the opin- ions which it has just deserted, were changed into regrets to pursue it. The Reformation, according to some authors of the new school, has been the cause of many religious wars ; it has separated the north from the south of Germany ; it has given the Ger- mans the fatal habit of fighting with each other ; and these divisions have robbed them of the right of bein^^; denominated one nation. Lastly, the Reformation, by giving birth to the spirit of inquiry, has dried up the imagination, and introduced scepticism in the place of faith : it is necessary then, say the same advocates, to return to the unity of the church, by returning to Catholicism. In the first place, if Charles the Fifth had adopted Lutheranism, there would have been the same unity in Germany ; and the whole country, like the norihern portion of it, would have form.ed an asylum for the arts and sciences. Perhaps this harmony would liavc given birth to fi'ec institutions, combined with a real CATHOUCmf. 281 strength ; and perhaps that sad separation ot character and knowledge %vouid have been avoided, which has yielded iip the north to reverie, and kept the south in ignoi'ance. But without losing ourselves in conjec- tures as to what would have happened, a sort of cal- culation always very uncertain, we cannot deny that the sera of the Reformation was that in which learning and philosophy were introduced into Germany. This coun- try is rot perhaps raised to the first rank in war, in the arts, in political liberty : it is knowledge of which Germany has a right to be proud, and its influence upon the thinking part of Europe takes its date from Protestantism. Such revolutions neither proceed ncr are brought to an end by arguments ; they belong to the historical progress of the human mind ; and ths men who appear to be their authors, are never more than their consequences. Catholicism, disarmed in the present day, has the majesty of an old lion, which once made the world tremble ; — but when the abuses of its poster brought on the Reformation, it put fetters on the human mind ; and far from want of feeling being then the cause of the opposition to iis ascendency, it was in order to iT.ake use of all the faculties of the understanding and of the imagination that the freedom of thought was so loudly demanded again. If circumstances, of enti; elv divine origin, and in which the hand uf man was not in the least operative, were hereafter to bring about a re- union between the two churches, we should prav to God, it appears to me, with new emotion, by the side of those venerable priests, who, in the latter years of the last century, have suffered so much for conscience sake. But, assuredly, it is not the change of religion m a few individuals, nor, above all, the unjust discredit which thek writings have a tendency to throw upon the reformed religion, that can lead to the unity of reli- gious opinions. Tiiere are in the human mind two veiy distinct im- pulses ;■ one makes us feel tb.e want of faith, the other that of examination. One of these tendencies oui^ht cot to be satisfied at the e:spenve cf the ether i ?rc-= ^^OL. 11. Z ^ 282 REIJGION AND ENTRUSIASM. testantism and Catholicism do notarise from the differ - ent character of the Popes, and of a Luther : it is a poor mode of examining history to attribute it to ac- cidents. Protestantism and Catholicism exist in the human heart ; — they are moral powers which are de- yeloped in nations, because they are inherent in every individual. If in religion, as in other human affec- tions, we can unite what the imas^ination and the rea- son suggest, there is harmony in the whole man ; but in man, as in the universe, the power of creating and that of destroying, faith and enquiry, succeed and combat each other. It has been attempted, in order to harmonize these two inclinations, to penetrate deeper into the soul ; and from that attempt have arisen the mystical opinions of "which vv'e shall speak in the following chapter ; but the small number of persons who have abjured Protestant- ism have done nothing but revive resentments. An- cient denominations reanimate ancient quarrels ; ma- gic makes use of certain words to call up apparitions ; "we may say, that upon all subjects there are terms which exea^t this power; these are the watch-words which serve for a rallying point to party spirit ; v/e cannot pronounce them without agitating afresh the torches of discord. The German Catholics have, to the present moment, shown themselves very ignorant of what was passing upon these points in the North. The literary opinions seemed to be the cause of the small number of persons who changed their religion ; and the ancient church has hardly regained any pro= selytes. Count Frederic Stolberg, a man of great respecta- bility, both from his character and his talents, cele- brated from his youth as a poet, as a passionate ad- mirer of antiquity, and as a translator of Homer, was the first in Germ.any to set the example of these new conversions, and he has had some imitators. The most illustrious friends of the Count Stoiberg, Klopstcck, Voss, and Jacobi, separated themselves from him in consequence of this action, which seemed to disavow the misfortunes and the struggles which the reformed CATHOLICISM. 283 have endured during three centuries ; nevertheless, M de Stolberg has lately published a History of the Religion of Jesus Christ, which is calculated to merit the approbation of all Christian communities. It is the first time that we have seen the Catholic opinions defended in this manner ; and if Count Stolberg had not been educated as a Protestant, perhaps he would not have had that independence of mind which enables him to make an impression upon enlightened men. We find in this book a perfect knowledge of the Holy Scriptures, and very interesting researches into the different religions of Asia, which bear relation to Christianity. The Germans of the North, even when they submit to the most positive doctrines, knov/ how to give them the stamp of their philosophy. Count Stolberg, in his publicatnon, attributed to the Old Testament a much greater importance than Protestant writers in general assign to it. I consider sacrifices as the basis of all religion, and the death of Abel as the first type of that sa.crifice which forms the groundwork of Christianity. In whatever way we de- cide upon this opinion, it affords much room for thought. The greater part of ancient religions in- stituted human sacrifices ; but in this barbarity there was something remarkable, namely, the necessity of a solemn expiation. Nothing, in effect, can obliterate from the soul the idea, that there is a mysterious effi- cacy in the blood of the innocent, and that heaven and earth are moved by it. ^len have always believed that the just could obtain, in this life, or the ether, the par- don of the guilty. There are some primitive ideas in the human species which re-appear with more or less disfigurement, in all times, and among all nations. These are the ideas upon which we cannot grow weary of reflecting ; for they assuredly preserve some traces of the lost dignities of our nature. The persuasion, that the prayers and the self-devo- tion of the just can save the guilty, is doubtless deriv- ed from the feelings that we experience in the relalions of life ; but nothing obliges us, in respect to religious bf iiei^ to reject these inferences. What do we know 284 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. better than our feelings ? and why should we pretend that they are inapplicable to the truths of religion ? What can there be in man but himself, and why, under the pretext of anthropomorphism, hinder him from forming an image of the Deity after his own soul ? No other messenger, I think, can bring him news from heaven. Count Stolberg endeavours to show, that the tradi- tion of the fall of man has existed among all the na- tions of the earth, and particularly in the East; and that all men have in their hearts the remembrance of a happiness of which they have been deprived. In ef- fect, there are in the human mind two tendencies as distinct as gravitation and attraction in the natural world ; these are the ideas of decay, and of advance to perfection. One should say, that we feel at once a regret for the loss of some excellent qualities which were gratuitously conferred upon us, and a hope af some advantages which we may acquire by our own efforts ; in such a manner, that the doctrine of per- fectibility, and that of the golden age, united and con- founded, excite at the same time in man grief for hav- ing lost these blessings, and emulation to recover them. The sentiment is melancholy, and the spirit is daring ; and from this reverie and this energy togeth- er, springs the true superiority of man; that mixture of contemplation and of activity, of resignation and of will, which allows him to connect his worldly existence with heaven. Stolberg calls those persons alone Christians who receive the words of the Holy Scriptures with the sim- plicity of children; but he bestows upon the signi- fication of these words a philosophical spirit which takes away all their dogmatism and intolerance from the Catholic opinions. In what then do they differ, these religious men by whom Germany is honoured^ and v/hy should the names of Catholic and Protestant divide them ? Why should they be unfaithful to the tombs of their ancestors, by giving up these names, or by resuming them ? Has not Klopstock consecra- ted his whole life to the purpose of making a fine po- CATHOLICISM. 285 em the temple of the Gospel ? Is not Herder, as well as Stoiber^, the adorer of the Bible ? Does he tiot penetrate into all the beauties of the primitive lari- giiage, and of those sentiments of celestial origin which it expresses ? Jacobi — does he not recognise the Divinity in ail the great thoughts of man ? Would any of these men recommend religion merely as a restraint upon the people, as an instrument of public safety, as an additional guarantee in the contracts of v this world ? Do they not all know that eveiy superior mind has more need of piety th ■ n the common herd ? Frr the labour ordained by the authority of society may occupy and direct the working class in all the mo- ments of iife, whilst idle men are incessantly the prey of the passions and the sophistries that disturb exist- ence, and put every thing into uncertainty. It bss been pretended that it was a sort of frivolity in the German writers to represent as one of the mev- its of the Christian religion, the favourable influence that ic exercised over the arts, imagination, and poe- trv : and the same reproach, with respect to this point, has been cast upon that beautiful work of M. de Cha- teaubriant, the Genius of Cnristianity. The truly frivolous minds are those which take rapid glances for profound examinations, and persuade themselves that v/e can proceed with nature upon an exclusive princi- tDle, and suppress the greater part of the desires and v/ants of the soul. One of the great proofs of the di- vinity of the Christian religion is its perfect analogy with all our m.oral faculties ; at least it does not ap- pear to me that we can consider the poetry of Chris - tianity under the same aspect as the poetry of Pagan- ism. As every thing was external in the Pagan worship, the pomp of im.ages was there prodigally exhibited ; the sanctuary of Christianity being at the bottom of the heart, the poetry which it inspires must always flow froma tenderness. It is not the splendour of the Chris- tian heaven that we can oppose to Olympus, but grief and innocence, old age and death, which assume a character of exaltation and of repose, under the shel= 286 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. ter of those relif^ious hopes, whose wings are spread over the miseries of life. It is not then true, it ap- pears to me, tbat the Protestant religion is unprovided with poetry, because the ritual of its worship has less eclat than that of the Catholics. Ceremonies, better or worse, performed according to the richness of towns, and the magnificence of buildings, cannot be the principal cause of the impression which divine service produces; its connexion with our internal feel- ings is that which touches us, a connexion which can subsist in simplicity as well as in pomp. Some time ago I v/as present at a church in the country, deprived of all ornament : no picture adorn- ed its white walls ; it was newly built, and no remem- brance of a long antiquity rendered it venerable : mu- sic itself, which the most austere saints have placed in heaven as the employment of the happy, was hardly heard ; and the psalms were sung by voices without har- mony, which the labour of the world, and the weight of years, rendered hoarse and confused : but in the midst of this rustic assembly, where ail human splen- dour was deficient, one saw a pious man, whose heart was profoundly moved by the mission which he fulfil- led*. His looks, his physiognomy, might serve for a modei to some of the pictures with which other temples are adorned ; his accents made the responses to an ang-elic concert. There was before us a mortal creature convinced of our immortality, of that of our friends whom we have lost ; of that of our children, who will survive us by so little in the career of time ! and the convincing persuasion of a pure heart appear- ed a new revelation. ^.He descended from his pulpit to give the communion to the faithful, who live under the shelter of his ex- ample. His son was with him, a minister of the church ; and, with more youthful features, his coun- tenance also, like that of his father, had a pious and thoughtful expression. Then, according to custom, the father and the son gave each other the bread and * Mr.- Celerierj preacher of Celig-ny, near Geneva. CATHOLICISM, 287 %vinc, which, among Protestants, serve for the com- memoration of the most affecting of mysteries. The son only saw in his father a pastor more advanced than himself in the religious state that he had chosen to adopt ; the father respected in his son the holy calling he had embraced. They mutually addressed each other as they took the sacrament, in those passages of the Gospel which are calculated to unite in one bond strangers and friends; and, b'.th feeling in their hearts the same invv-ard impulses, they appeared to foiget their personal relations in the presence of the Divinity, before whom fathers and sons are alike servants of the tombs, and children of hope. What poetical effect, what emotion, the source of all poetry, could be wanting to the divine service at such a moment ! Men, whose affections are disinterested, and their thoughts religious; men who live in the sanctuary of their conscience, and know how to concentrate in itj as in a burning-glass, all the rays of the universe ; these men, I say, are the priests of the religion of the soui ; and nothing ought ever to disunite them. An abyss separates those who conduct themselves accor- ding to calculation, and those who are guided by feel- ing. All other differences of opinion are nothing; this alone is radical. It is possible that one day a cry of union may be raised, and that all Christians may aspire to profess the same theological, political, and moral religion ; but before this miracle is accomplish- ed, all men who hsive a heart, and who obey it, ought mutually to respect each other. 288 RELIGION AISTD ENTHUSIASM CHAPTER V. Of the religious Disjiosition called Mysticism The religious disposition called Mysticism, is only a more inward manner of feeling and of conceiving Christianity. As in the word Mysticism is compre- hended that of Mystery, it has been believed that the Mystics professed extraordinary doctrines, and formed a separate sect. There are no mysteries among them, but the mysteries of sentiment applied to religion; and sentiment is at once the clearest, the most simple, and the most inexplicable of things : it is necessary, at the same time, to distinguish the T/ieo60pliists, that is to say, those who are busied with philosophical the- ology, such as Jacob Boehmen, St. Martin, &c. from the simple Mystics ; the former wish to penetrate the secret of the creation ; the second confine themselves to their own hearts. Many fathers of the Church, Thomas-a-Kempis, Fenelon, S:. Fran^ois-de-Sales, &c.; and among the Protestants a great number of English and German writers, have been Mystics ; that is to say, men who have made religion a sort of affec- tion, and have infused it into ail their thoughts, as well as all their actions. The religious feeling, which is the foundation of the whole doctrine of the Mystics, consists in an internal peace full of life. The agitations of the passions leave no calm ; the tranquility of a dry and riiOderate understanding destroys the animation of the soui ; it is only in religious feeling that we find a perfect union of repose and motion. This disposition is not contin- ual, I think, in any man, however pious he may be ; but the remembrance and the hope of these holy emo- tions decide the conduct of those who have experien- ced them. If we consider the pains and the pleasures of life as the effect of chance, or of a well-played MYSTieiSM. 289 gaTiie, 'then despair and joy ought to be (if we may use the expression) convulsive motions. For what a chance is that which disposes of our existence ! what pride, or what respect, ought we not to feel, when we have been considering a mode of action which may in- iluence our destiny ? To what torments of uncertainty must we not be delivered up, if our reason alone dis- posed of our fate in this world ? But if we believe, on the contraiy, that there are but two things important to happiness, purity of intention, and resignation to the event, whatever it may be, when it no longer de- pends upon ourselves ; doubtless many circumstances will still make us cruelly suffer, but none will break our ties to Heaven, To struggle against the impossi' ble, is that which begets in us the most bitter feelings ; and the anger of Satan is nothing else than liberty' quarrelling with necessity, and unable either lo subdue or to submit to it. The ruling opinion among the my.?vtical Christians is this, that the only homage which can please God is that oi the will, which he gave to man : what more disinterested offering can we, in effect, offer to the Divinity ? Worship, incense, hymns, have almost al- ways for tneir object the attainment of the good things of this v/orld ; and it is on this account that worldly flattery surrounds mionarchs : but to resign ourselves to the will of God, to wish nothing but that which he wishes, is the most pure religious act of which the soul is capable. I'hrice is man sumnsoned to yield this resignation ; in youth, in manhood, and in age : hap/5y are they who submit at first ! It is pride in every thing which puts the venom into the wound : the rebellious soul accuses Heaven ; the religious man suffers grief to act upon him as the in- tention of Him who sent it ; he makes use of all the means in his power to avoid or to console it ; but when the event is irrevocable, the sacred characters of the supreme Will are imprinted there. Wiiat accidental malady can be compared to age and death ? And yet almost ail men resign themselves to age and death, because they have no defence against VOL. ir. An 290 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. | them : ^vhence then does it arise that every one revolts against particular misfortunes, when all acquiesce in universal evil ? It is because we treat destiny as a erov- ernment which we allow to make all the world suffer, provided that it grants no privileges to any one. The misfortunes that we endure in company with cur fel- lows are as severe, and cause as much misery, as our individual sufferings ; and yet they hardly ever excite in us the same rebellious feeling. Why' do not men teach themselves that they ought to support that which concerns them personally, as they support the condi- tion of humanity in general ? It is because we fancy there is injustice in our particular allotment. — Singular pride of man ! to wish to judge the Deity v/ith that in- strument which he has received from hirr-, ! What does he know of the feelings of another ? What does he know of himself? What does he knov/ at all, except his internal feeling ? And this feeling, the more in° ward it is, the more it contains the secret oi our felici- ty ; for is it not in the bottom of our soul that we feel happiness or unhappiness ? Religious love, or self- love, alone penetrates to the source of our most hid- den thoughts. Under the name of religious love are included ail the disinterested affections; and under that of self-love all egotistical propensities : in what- ever manner fortune may favour or thwart us, it is always the ascendency of one of these affections over the other, upon which calm enjoyment, or uneasy dis- quiet, depends. It is to be wanting entirely in respect for Providence, as it appears to me, to suppose ourselves a prey to those phantoms which v/e call events : their reality consists in their effect upon the soul; and there is a perfect equality between all situations and all circum- stances, not viewed externally, but judged according to their influence upon religious improvement. If each of us would attentively examine the texture of his life, we should find there two tissues perfectly distinct : the one which appears entirely subject to natural cau- ses and effects ; the other, whose mysterious tendency is not intelligible except ]3y dint of time. It is like a ^iYSTicis:\r. 291 suit of tapestry hangiags, v/hose figures are worked in on the wrong side< until, being put in a proper po- alLion, we can luciic of their effect. We end by per- ceiving;? even i;:! this iife. why we have isutrered; why we have not obtained Vv'hat we desired. The meliora- tion of our own hearts reveals to us the benevolent in- tention Vs hich subjecte: : pam ; for the prosperi- ties of the earth ther.i^v-.voc .vould have something- dreadful about h: : r.. if they fell upon us after we had been guilty of g. e^..- faults : v/e should then think our- selves abandoned by the hand of Him, '.vi;o d. /ivered us up to happiness here belovr, as to our sole fu urity. Either every thing is chance, or there is no such thing in the world ; and, if there is not, religious feel= ing consists in making ourselves harmonize vriJi the universal order, in spite of th-'. ?--';rit cf rvbeliion and of usurpation with which r i;;^::::;; each of us individually. Ail doctrines, and all n _ : . ^ ^vor- ship, are the ditrerent forms which this : h . ^ feel- ing has assumed according to times anh c: Uiijtries ; it may be depraved by fear, although it is built upon con- fident hope; but it ahva s consists in tne convicronj that there is nothing accidental in the events of life, and that our sole manner of infiuencinK ou' fatc lies in our internal commerce witii ourselves. Reason is not the less operative in all that relates to the conduct of life; but when this houstkeejier of existe7ice has managed matters as well as it can, the bottom of our heart is after all the seat of iove; and that which 13 called Mysticism, is tnis love in its most perfect pu- rity. The elevation of the soul towards its Creator is the supreme act of worship among the Christian Mystics; but they do not address the Deity to pray for this or that worldly advantage. A French writer, who has some sublimely bright passages, ^I. de Saint-iNIartin. has said, that prayer -vas the breathing cf the soul. The IVIystics are, for the most part, convinced, that an answer is given to this prayer; and that the grand revelation of Christianity may be in some de£rre"e re- newed in the soui. everv tim.e that i^ exaUs itself with 292 EELIGIGN AXD ENTHUSIASM. fervour towards Heaven. When we believe that there no longer exists any immediate commimicatioD be- tween the Supreme Being and man, prayer is only a Hionologue, if we may be allowed the expression ; but it becomes an act much more beneficial, when we are persuaded that the Divinity makes himself sensibly felt at the bottom of our hearts. In fact, it does not appear to me possible to deny, that there are emotions %vithin us which do not, in the least, take their origin from external things, and which soothe and support us ■without the possibility of our attributing them to the ordinary concatenation of the events of life. Men who have introduced self-love into a doctrine entirely founded on the renunciation of self-love, have taken advantage of these unexpected instances of di= Tine support, to deceive themselves with illusions of every description ; they have fancied that they were elect persons, or prophets ; they have believed in vi- sions ; in a word they have become superstitious in looking at themselves. What must not be the power of human pride, when it insinuates itself into the heart, under the very shape of humility ! But it is not the less true, that there is nothing more simple and •move pure than the connexions of the soul with the Deity, such as they are conceived by those whom it is "the custom to call Mystics; that is to say, th« Chris- tians who introduce love into religion. In ^reading the spiritual works of Fenelon, who is. not softened? wiiere can we find so much knowledge, consolation, indulgence ? There no fanaticism, no aus- terities but those of virtue, no intolerance, no exclu" Vion appear. The differences of Christian communi- lies cannot be felt at that height which is above all the accidental forms created and destroyed by time. He w^ould be very rash, assuredly, who was to haz= j\rd foreseeing any thing relating to such important matters : nevertheless, I will venture to say, that ev- ery thing tends to establish the triumph of religious feeling in the soul. Calculation has gained such an rmpire over the affairs of the world, that those who do not embrace it are naturally thrown into the oppo- MVSTICISM. 293 jice extreme. It is for luis reasoi] th^it solitary think- ers, from one end of the rvorld to the other, endeavour to assemble in one focus the scattered ravs of litera- ture, philosophy, and religion. It is generally feared that the doctrine of religious resignation, called Quietism in the last ages, will dis- gust us with the necessary actinj:y of this life. But nature takes care to rai^e individual passions in us suf- ficiently to prevent our entertaining much fears of the sentiment that is to tranquilize them. We neither dispose of our birth, nor of our death ;- and more than three fourths of our destiny is decid= ed by these t^vo events. No one can change the prim° itive effects of his nativity, of his country, of his peri- od. &c. Xo one can acquire the shape or the genius that he has not gained from nature ; and of how many more commanding circumstances still is not life composed ? If our fate consists of a hundred different lots, there are ninety =nine which do not depend upon ourselves ; and all the fury of our will turns upon the weak portion which yet seems to be in our favour. Now the action of the will itself upon this weak por- tion is singularly incomplete. The only act of liberty of the man who always attains his end, is the fulfilment of duty : the issue of all other resolutions depends entirely upon accidents, over which prudence itself has no command. The greater part of mankind does not ob= tain that w^hich it vehemently wishes ; and prosperity itself, when it ccraes; often comes from an unexpected quaner. The doctrine of Mysticism passes for a severe doc- trine, because it enjoins us to discard selfishness, aiid this with reason appears very difficult to be done. But, in fact, Mysticism is the gentlest of all doctrines ; it consists in this proverb, iiiake a virtue of Jiecefssity, ISIaking a virtue of necessity, in the religious sense is to attribute to Providence the government of the "vvorld, and to firid an inward consolation in t: is thought. The Mvstic writers exact nothii g bejcnd the line of duty, such as honest merj ha.ve marked It out ; they do not enjoin us to create tvoubies lor 294 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. ourselves ; they think that man ought neither to invite affliction, nor be impatient under it when it arrives. What evil can result then from this belief, which unites the calm of stoicism with the sensibility of Christians ? " It prevents us from loving," some one may say. Ah ■ it is not religious exaltation which chills the soul : a single interest of vanity has done more to annihilate the alfections than ?ny kind of au- stere opinion : even the deserts of the Thebaid do not weaken the power of sentiment ; and nothing prevents us from loving but the misery of the heart. A very weighty inconvenience is falsely attributed to Mysticism. It has been said that it renders us too indulgent in relation to actions, by referring religion to the internal impressions of the soul ; and that it in- duces men to resign themselves to their defects as to inevitable events. Nothing, assuredly, would be more contrary to the Gospel than this manner of interpre- tine submission to the will of God. If we admitted that religious feeling, in any respect, dispensed with Acticyn, there would not only result from this a crowd of hypocrites, who pretended that we must not judge them by the vulgar proofs of religion, which are cal- led Vvoi'ks, aDd that their secret communications with the Beiry are of an order greatly superior to the ful- fil entof duties ; but there would be also hypocrites ■with tiieinselves ; and we should destroy in this man- ner the power of remorse. In fact, who has not some momerts of religious tenderness, however limited his imagination may be ? Who has not sometimes prayed Tviii fervour ? x\nd if this was sufficient for us to be released from tne strict observance of duty, the great- er \ fi' t of poets might fancy themselves more religious that bt. Vincent de Paul. But tne Mystics have been wrongfully accused of this mauiicr of thinkuig. Their writings and their lives atttSL, that they are as regular in their moral con- duct as those vrho are subjected to the practices of the most severe mode of worship : that which is called in- dulgence in the't 5 is the penetration which makes us aiiaiyse li^ture oi mau; instead of coniinhig our* MYSTICISM, 295 selves to the injunction of obedience. The Mystics, always considerin.^ the bottom of the heart, have the air of pardoning its mistakes, because they study the causes of them. - The Alystics, and almost all Christians, have been frequently accused of a tendency towards passive obedience to authority, whatever it may be : and it has been pretended, that submission to the will of Goci, ill understood, leads a little too often to submission to the will of man. Nothing, however, is less like con- descension to power tna.n religious resignation. ^Yith- oui doubt it may console us in slavery, but it is be = cr.use it then gives to the sou4 all the virtues of inde- pendence. To be indifferent by religion to the liberty or the oppression of mankind, would be to mistake weakness of character for Christian humility, and no two things are more different. Christian humility bends before the poor and the unhappy; and weakness ef cnaracter always keeps well with guiltj because it is powerful in the world. In the times of chivalry, when Christianity had more ascendency, it never demanded the sacrifice of hon- our ; but, for citizens, justice and liberty are also hon- our. God confounds human pride, but not the digni- ty of the human race ; for this pride consists in the opinion we have of ourselves ; and this dignity in our respect for the rights of others. Religions men have an inclination not to meddle v*ith the affairs of this world, without being compelled to do so by some manifest duty ; and it must be confessed, that so many passions are excited by political interests, that it is rare to mix in politics v,ithout having to reproach our- selves with any wrong action : but when tiie cour-age of conscience is called forth, there is nothing which, can contend with it. Of ail nations, that which has the greatest incJina- ti. u to Mysticism is the German. Before Luther, many £.ut.;ors, among whom we must cite Taultr, had writ' ten upon religion in tiiis sense. Since Luther, the Mo- ravians have snown this disposition more than any oth- er ssct. Tovraids tae end of the eighteenth century^ 296 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM, Lavater combated with great strength the system oi rational Christianity, which the theologians of Berlin liad supported ; and his manner of feeling religion is, in many respects, completely like that of Fenelon.. Several lyric poets, from Klopstock down to our dayst have a taint of Mysticism in their compositions. The Protestant religion, which reigns in the North, does not satisfy the imagination of the Germans ; and Catho- licism being opposed by its nature to philosophical re- searches, the religious and thinking among the Ger- mans were necessarily obliged to have recourse to a method of feeling religion, which might be applied to every form of worship. Besides idealism in philoso- phy has much analogy with Mysticism in religion ; the one places all the reality of things in this world in thought, and the other ail the reality of things in heaven in feeling. The Mystics penetrate^ with an inconceivable saga- city, into every thing which gives birth in the human mind to fear or hope, to suffering or to happiness ; and no- S£ct ascends as they do to the origin of emotions in the soul. There is so much interest in this sort of in- quiry, that even those who are otherwise of moderate understanding enough, when they have the least mysti=, cal inclination in their hearts, attract and captivate by their conversation, as if they were endowed with tran- scendent genius. That which makes society so subject to ennui, is, that the greater portion of those with whom we live, talk only of external objects ; and upon this class of things the want of the spirit of conversa- tion is very perceptible. But Religious Mysticism in- cludes so extensive a know ledge, that it gives a decid- ed moral superiority to those who have not received it from nature : they apply themselves to the study of the human heart, which is the first of sciences, and give themselves as much trouble to understand the passions, that they may lull them to rest, as the men of the world do to turn them to advantage. Without dt ubt, great faults may still appear in the character of those whose doctrine is the most pure ; but is it to their doctrine that we should refer them t We MYSTICIS:^!. 297 pay especial honiu>e to religion by the e:.acdons ^ve make from all religious men the moment \ve know they are so. "We call them inconsistent if they com- mit any transgressions;, or have any weaknesses ; and yet nothing can entirely change the conckucns of hu- manity. If religion always conferred moral perfec- tion upon us, and if virtue always led to happiness, freedom of v.dll would no longer exist : for the mo- tives which acted upon volition, would be too pov/er- ful for liberty. Dogmatical religion is a commandment ; mystical religion is built upon the inward experience of our heart: the mode of preaching m.ust necessarily be jnfiuenced by the direction which the ministers of the Gospel may take in this respect ; and perhaps it would be desirable for us to perceive in their discourses more of the influence of those feelincrs which beein to penetrate all hearts. In Germany, vrhere every sect abounds. Zollikoffer. Jerusalem., and many others, have gained tiiemselves a great reputation by the eloquence of the pulpit ; and we may read upon all subjects a quantity of sermions which conta.in excellent things : nevertheless, although it is very wise to teach miorali- ty, it is still m.ore important to inspire motives to be moral ; and these motives consist, above every thing, in religious emotion. Almost all men are nearly equally informed as to the incon^ eniencies and the ad- vantages of vice and virtue ; but that v^'nich all the ^yorld vrants, is the strengthening of the internal dis= position with which vre struggle against the violent in= clinations of our nature. If the v.'hole business was to argue vrell with man= kind, why should those parts of the service, vrhich are only songs and ceremonies, lead us so m.uch more than sermons to meditation and to piety ? Tire great= er part of preachers confine themselves to declaiming against evil inclinations, instead ot showing how we yieia to tnem, and how we resist them ; the greater part of pieacners are judges who direct the trial of men : but the priests of God ought to tell us wnal they suffer and wJiat they hope : hew they have mod-- 298 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. ified their characters by certain thoughts ; in a v/ord^ we expect from them the secret memoirs of the soul in its relations with the Deity. Prohibitory laws are no more sufficient for the gov- ernment of individuals than of states. The social sys- tem is obliged to put animated interests into action, to give aliment to human life : it is the same with the re» ligious instructors of man; they can only preserve him from his passions by exciting a living and pure ecstacy in his heart : the pasblons are much better, in many respects, than a servile apathy ; and nothing- can moderate them but a profound sentiment, the en- joyments, of which we ought to describe if we can, with as much force and truth as we have introdu- ced into our descriptions of the charm of earthly af- fectionSo Whatever men of wit may have said, there exists a natural alliance between religion and genius. The Mystics have almost all a bias towards poetry and the fine arts ; their ideas are in accord with true su- periority of every sort, while incredulous and worldly- minded mediocrity is its enemy : — that mediocrity cannot endure those who wish to penetrate into the soul : as it has put its best qualities on the surface, to touch the core is to discover its wretchedness. The philosophy of Idealism, the Christianity of Mysticism, and the poetry of nature, have, in many respects, all the same end and the same origin : these philosophers, these Christians, and these poets, all unite in one common desire. They would wish to substitute for the factitious system of society, not the ignorance of barbarous times, but an intellectual cul- ture, which leads us back to simplicity by the very perfection of knowledge : they would, in short, wish to make energetic and reflecting, sincere and gene- rous men, out of all these characters without dignity ; these minds without ideas ; these jesters without gaie- ty ; these Epicureans Avithout imagination, who, for want of better, are called the human species. VATS. 29r; CHAPTER VL Of Fain. J^HAT axiom of the Mystics has been much bla* med, which asserts that Jiain is a good. Some phi- losophers of antiquity have pronounced it not an evil ; it is, however, much more difficult to consider it with indifference than with hope. In effect, if we were not convinced that pain was the means of moral improve- ment to what an excess of irritation would it not carry us? Vv'hy in that case summon us into life to be con- sumed by pain ? Why concentrate ail the torments and all the wonders of the universe in a weak heart, which fears and which desires ? Yyuy give us the power of loving, and snatch from us at last all that we hold dear? In short, wny biing us to death, ter- rific death ? When the illusion of the world has made us forget it, how is it recalled to our minds 1 It is in the midst of the splendours of this world that death un- furls his fatal ensign. Cosi trapassa al trapassar d' iin giorno Delia vita mortal il fiore e'l verde ; Ne perche f?xcia mdietro April ritorno, Si rinfiora elia Mai ne si rmverde.* V/e have seen at a fete that Princess,! who, although tlie mother of eight children, still united the charm of perfect beauty to all the dignity of the maternal charac- ter. She opened the ball ; and the melodious sounds of music gave a signal for the moments consecrated to * " Thus withers in a day the verdure and the flower of mor- tal life ; it is in vain that the month of spring returns in its season ; life never resumes her verdure or her flowers /' — Verses of Tasso, simg in the gardens of Armida. X The Princess Faulma of Schwartzenberg. 300 RELIGION AXD EOTHUSIA32^I. joy. Flowers adorned her lovely head ; and dress and the dance must have recalled to her the first days of her youth ; nevertheless, she appeared already to fear the very pleasures to which so much success mi.^ht have attached her. Alas 1 in what a manner was this vague presentiment realized 1 — On a sudden the num- berless torches, which restored the splendour of the day, are about to be changed into devourin.^^ flames, and the most dreadful sufferings will take place of the gorgeous luxury of the fete.^ — -What a contrast ! and who can grow weary of reflecting u[)on it? No, never have the grandeur and the inibery of man so closely approached each other ; ai^d our fickle thoughts, so easily diverted from the dark threatenings of futurity, have been struck in the same hour with ail the briUiant and terrible images which destiny, in general, scatters at a distance from each other over the path of time. No accident, however, had reached her, who would not have died but for her own choice. She was in safety; she might have renewed the thread of thai life of virtue which she had been leading for fifteen years ; but one of her daughters was sail in danger, and the most delicate and timid of beings precipitates herself into the midst of flames which v/ould have made war- riors recoil. Every mother would have felt what she did ! But who tninks she has sufficient strength to im- itate her ? Who can reckon so much upon their soulj as not to fear those shudderings which nature bids us feel at the sight of a violent death ? A woman braved them ; her hand seized that of her daughter, her hand saved her daughter ; and although the fatal blow then struck her, her last act was maternal ; her last act pre- served the object of her affection ; it was at this sub- lime instant that she appeared before God ; and it was impossibie to recognise v/hat remained of ner upon earth except by the impression on a medal, given by her children, which also marked the place where this angel perished. Ah ! all that is horrible in this pic- ture is softened by the rays of a celestial glory, i his generous Paulina will hereafter be the saint of mo- thers ; and if their looks do not dare to rise to Heaverii 301 they will rest them upon her sweet figure, and will ask her to implore the blessing of God upon their children. If we had gone so far as to dry up the source of re- ligion upon earth, what should we say to those who see the purest of victims fall ? What should we say to those who loved this victim ? and with what despair, with what horror for Fortune and her perfidious se- crets, would not the soul be filled ? Not only what we see, but what we imagine, would strike our minds like a thunderbolt, if there was no- thing within us free from the power of chance. Have not men lived in an obscure dungeon, where every mo- ment was a pang, where there was no air but what was sufficient for them to begin suffering again ? Death, ac- cording to the incredulous, will deliver us from every thing ; but do they know what death is ? do they know whether this death is annihilation ? or into what a laby- rinth of terrors reflection without a guide may drag us ? If an honest man (and the events of a life exposed to the passions may bring on this misfortune) — if an honest man, I say, had done an irreparable injury to an innocent being, how could he ever be consoled for it without the assistance of religious expiation ? When his victim is in the coffin, to whom must he address his sorrows if there is no communication v/ith that victim ; if God himself does not make the dead hear the lamentations of the living ; if the sovereign Medi- ator for man did not s?.y to Grief, — It is enough ; and to Repentance, — You are forgiven ? — It is thought that the chief advantage of religion is its efficacy in awakening remorse ; but it is also very frequently the means of lulling remorse to sleep. There are souls in which the past is predom.inant ; there are those which regret tears to pieces like an active death, and upon which memory falls as furiously as a vulture ; it is for them that religion operates as the alleviation of remorse. An idea always the same, and yet assuming a thou- sand different dresses, fatigues at once, by its agitation VOL. ri. ' ' B b 302 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. and its monotony. The fine arts, which redoubled the power of imagination, augment with it the vivacity of pain. Nature herself becomes importunate when the soul is no longer in harmony with her ; her tranquili« ty, which we once found so sweet, irritates us like in- difference ; the wonders of the universe gt-ow dim as v/e gaze upon them ; all looks like a vision, even in mid-day splendour. Night troubles us, as if the darkness concealed some secret misfortune of our own ; and the shining sun appears to insult the mourning of our hearts. Whither shall we fly then from so many sufferings ? Is it to death ? But the anxiety of happi- ness makes us doubt whether there is rest in the tomb ; and despair, even for atheists, is as a shadowy revelation of an eternity of pains. What shall %ve do then, what shall we do, O my God 1 if we cannot throw ourselves into your paternal bosom ? He who first called God our father, knew more of the human heart than the most profound thinkers of the age. It is not true that religion narrows the heart ; it is still less so, that the severity of religious principles is to be feared. I only know one sort of severity which is to be dreaded by feeling minds ; it is that of the men of the world. These are the persons who conceive nothing, who excuse nothing that is involuntary ; the?? have made a human heart according to their own wiii, in order to judge it at their leisure. We might ad- dress to them what was said to Messrs. de Port Royal, who otherwise deserved much admiration : " It is easy " for you to jcomprehened the msan you have created ; " but, as to the real being, you know him not." The greater part of men of the world are accus- tomed to frame certain dilemmas upon ail the unhappy situations in life, in order to disencumber themselves as much as possible from the compassion which these situations demand from them. — There are but two « parts to take/' they say : " you must be entirely one " thing, or the other; you must support what you can- " not prevent ; you must console yourself for what is irrevocable." Or rather, "He who wishes an end " wishes the means also ; you rau?t do every thing to t)F PAIN. 3Qi « presei-ve that v/hich you cannot do without," Sec. and a thousand other axioms of this sort, which all of them have the form of proverbs, and whicn are in effect the code of vulgar wisdonv. But what connexion is there between these axioms and the severe afflictions of the heart ? Ail this serves very well in the common affairs of life ; but how applys such counsels to moral pains ? They all vary according to the individual, and are com- posed of a thousand different circumstances, unknown to every one but our most intimate friend, if there is one who knows how to identify himself with us. Eve- ry character is almost a new world for him who can observe it with sagacity ; and I know not in the science of the human heart one general idea which is com- pletely applicable to particular examples. The language of religion can alone suit every situa- tion and every mode of feeling. When we read the reveries of J. J. Rousseau, that eloquent picture of a being, preyed upon by an imagination stronger than himself, I ha\'e asked myself bow a man v.'hose un- derstanding was formed by the world, and a religious recluse, would have endeavoured to console Rousseau ? He would have complained of being hated and perse- cuted ; he would have called himself the object of universal envy, and the victim of a conspiracy, v/hicb extended even from the people to tiieir monarchs ; he would have pretended that ail his friends had betrayed him ; and that the very services, which they had ren- dered him, were so many snares : what tnen would the man of an understanding formed by society have answered to ail these compiaints ? You strangely exaggerate," he v/ould have said, " the effect that you fancy you produce ; you are dotibt- " less a very distinguished person ; but, however, as " each of us has his own affairs, and also his own ideas, a book does not fill all heads; the events of war or ♦ of peace, and still less interests, but whicn person- ally concern ourselves, occupy us much more than ■ any writer, however celebrated he may be. Ti ey have banished you, it is true ; but all countries ought " to be alike to a philosopher such as you are ; ana to 304 rp:ligion and entiiusiassi. v/hat purpose indeed can the morals and the relFgioK^ which you develope so well in your writings, be " turned, if you are notable to support the reverses which have befallen you. " Without doubt there are some persons who envy " you among the fraternity of learned men ; but this " cannot extend to the classes of society, who trouble " themselves very little with literature ; besides, if " celebrity really annoys you, nothing is so easy as to " escape from' it. Write no more ; at the end of a " few years you will be forgotten ; and you will be as " quiet as if you never had published any thing. You " say that your friends lay snares for you, v/hile they pretend to serve you. In the first place, is it not possible that there should be a slight degree of ro- <' mantic exaltation in your manner of considering your " personal relations ? Your fine imagination was neces- *' sary to compose the New Heloise ; but a little rea- son is requisite in the affairs of this world, and when " we choose to do so, we see things a^s they are. If, « however, your friends deceive you, you must break " with them ; but you will be very unwise to grieve on this account ; for, one of two things, either they are ^' v/orthy of your esteem, and in that case you are wrong to suspect them ; or, if your suspicions are well " founded, then you ought not to regret such friends/' After having heard this dilemma, J. J. Rousseau might very well have taken a third part, that of throw- ing himself into the river ; but what v/ould the rc]i= gious recluse have said to him ? " My son, I know not the world, and I am ignorant if it be true that they wish you ill in that world ; but ^' if it were so, you would shaie this fate with all good men, who nevertheless have pardoned their enemies ; " for Jesus Christ and Socrates, the God and the m.an, have set the example. It is necessary for hateful passions to exist here below, in order that the trial of the just siiould be accomplished. Saint Theresa has said of the wicked — Unhappy men^ they do ?iot 4' love J and yet they live, long enough to have time for repentance^ OF PAIX. 305 " You have received admirable gifts from Heaven; " if they have made you love what is good, iiave you " not ah'eady enjoyed the reward of having been a sol- dier of Truth upon earth I If you have softened hearts by your persuasive eloquence, you vrill cbtain " for yourself some of those tears which you have " caused to flow. You have enemies near you ; but " friends at a distance, among- the votaries of solitude, " who read you ; and you have consoled the unfortii- ^' nate better than we can console yourself. Why have I not your talent to make you listen to me? That talent, my son, is a noble gift ; men often try to " asperse it ; they tell you, wrongfully, that w*c con- ^' demn it in the name of God : this is not true. It is " a divine emotion, which iiispires eloquence ; and if ^' you have not abused it, learn to endure envy, for such a superiority is well worth the pain it may make you suiTer. " Nevertheless, my son. I fear that pride is mixed with your sufferings ; and this it is which gives them »' their bitterness ; for all the griefs that continue " hutuble make our tears flov/ gently; but there is a " poison in pride, and man becomes senseless when " he yields to it: it is an enemy that makes her own " champion, the better to destroy him. '» Genius ought only to serve for the display of the ^' supreme goodness of the soul. There are many " men who have this goodness, without the talent of " expressing it i thank God, from whom you inherit " the charm of language, which is formed to enchant " the imagination of mian. But be not proud, except " of the feeling which dictates it. Every thing in life " will be rendered calm for you, if you always contin- " ue religiously good : the wicked themselves grow " tired of doing evil ; their own poison exhausts them ; " and, besides, is not God above, to take care of the " sparrow that falls, and of the heart of man that suf- fers ? " You say that your friends wish to betray you.. " Take care that you do not accuse them unjustly: « woe to him that has repelled a sincere affection : for VOL. ri. • B b 2 306 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. " they are the angels of heaven who send it us ; ther have reserved this part to themselves in the destiny " of man. Suffer not your imagination to lead you " astray : you must permit her to wander in the re- " gions of the clouds j but nothing except one heart " can judge another ; and you would be very culpable " if you were to forget a sincere friendship ; for the " beauty of the soul consists in its generous confidence, " and human prudence is figured by a serpent. " It is possible, however, that in expiation of some " transgressions, into which your great abilities have " led you, you will be condemned upon this earth to drink that empoisoned cup, the treachery of a friend. " If it is so, I lament your fate : the Divinity himself " laments it, v.'hile he punishes you. But do not re- volt against his blows; still love, although love has distracted your heart. In the most profound soli- '-^ tude, in the cruellest isolation, we must not suffer the source of the devoted affections to be dried up " within us. For a long while it was not believed that God could be loved as we love those who resemble ourselves. A voice which answers us, looks which are interchanged with our own, appear full of life, " while the immense Heaven is silent, but by degrees " the soul exalts itself even to feel its God near it as a friend. " My son, v/e ought to pray as we love, by mingling prayer with all our thoughts ; we ought to pray, for *' then we are no more aione ; and when resignation ^' shall descend softly into your heart, turn your eyes ^« upon nature; it m.ight be said, that every one there finds again his past life, when no traces of it exist among men, I think of your regrets as well as your " pltasures, when you contemplate those clouds, some- « times dark and sometimes brilliant, which the wind « scatters ; and whether death has snatched your friends from you, or life, still more cruel, has broken asun- « der your bonds of union with them, you will per- «« ceive in the stars their deified images ; they will ap- pear to you such as you will see them again here- after » ' THE050PHIST PHILOSOPHER? 307 CHAPTER VIL Of the relig-ious Philosofihers called Theosofihists. When I gave an account of the modern prjiIoso= phy of the Germans, I endeavoured to trace the line of demarcation between that philosophy which at- tempts to penetrate the secret of the universe, and that which is confined to an inquiry into the nature of our own souls. The same distinction may be remark- ed among religious writers ; those of whom I have al- ready spoken in the preceding- chapters have kept to the influence of religion upon our hearts ; others, such as Jacob Boehmen in Germany, St. Zvlartin in Fra.nce, and very many more, have believed, that they found in the relation of Christianity mysterious words, which might serve to deveiope the laws of creation. We must con- fess, when we begin to think, it is difficult to stop ; and whether reflection leads to scepticism or to the most universal faith, we are sometimes tempted to pass whole hours, like the Faquirs, in asking our- selves what is life r Far from despising those who are thus devoured by contemplation, we cannot help con- sidering them as the true lords of the human species, in whose presence those who exist without reflection, are only vassals attached to the soil. But how can we flatter ourselves with the hope of giving any consisten- cy to these thoughts, which, like flasnes of ligntning, plunge themselves again into darkness, after having for a moment thrown an uncertain brilliance upon sur- rounding objects ? It may, however, be interesting to point out the principal direction of the systems of the Theosophists ; that is to say, of those religious philosophers who liave always existed in Germany from the establish- ment of Christianity, and particularly since the revival of letters. The greater part of the Greek philoso- 308 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. phera have built the system of the world upon the ac- tion of the elements ; and if we except Pythagoras and Plato, who derived from the East their tendency to idealism, the thinking men of antiquity explain all the organization of the universe by physical laws. Christianity, by lighting up the internal life in the breast of man, naturally excited the mind to exagge- rate its power over the body. The abuses to which the most pure doctrines are subject, have introduced visions and white magic (that is to say, the magic which attributes to the will of man the power of acting tipon the elements without the intervention of infernal spirits,) all the whimsical reveries, in short, which spring from the conviction that the soul is more pow- erful than nature. The sects of Alchymists, of Mag- iietizers, and of the Illuminated, are almost all sup- ported upon this ascendency of the will, which they carry much too far, but which nevertheless, in some manner, belongs to the moral grandeur of man. Not only has Christianity, by affirming the spiritu- al nature of the soul, led them to believe the unlimi- ted power of religious or philosophical faith, but rev- elation has seemed, to some men, a continual mira- cle, which is capable of being renewed for every one of them ; and some have sincerely believed, that a su- pernatural power of divination vvas granted them, and that truths were manifested in them, to which they testified more clearly than the inventors. The most famous of these religious philosophers was Jacob Boehmen, who lived at the beginning of the seventeenth century : he made so much noise in his time, that Charles the First sent a person express to Gorlitz, the place of his abode, to study his work, and bring it back to England. Some of his writings have been translated into French by Monsieur de St. Martin j they are very difficult to comprehend ; nevertheless, we cannot but be astonished that a man without culti- vation of mind should have gone so far in the study of aature. He considers it in general as an emblem of the principal doctrines of Chiistianity ; he fancies he sees every where, in the ph?euomena of the v/orid, THa050?mST PiilLOSOPIISRS 309 traces of the fall of man, and of his regeneration ; the effects of the principle of anger, and of that of pity; and while the Greek philosophers attempted to ex- plain the world, by the mixture of the elements of air, vvater, and fire, Jacob Boehmen only admits the combination of moral forces., and has recourse to pas- sages of the Gospel to interpret the universe. In whatever manner we consider those singular wri- tings, which for two hundred years have ahvays found readers, or rather adepts, we cannot avoid remarking the two opposite roads v/hich are followed, in order to arrive at the truth, by the spiritual philosophers, a^nd by the philosophers of materialism. The former im- agine, that it is by divesting ourselves of a.11 impres- sions from without, and by plunging into the ecstacy of thought, that we can interpret nature. The latter pretend, that we cannot too much guard against en- thusiasm and imagination in our inquiry into the phse- nomena of the universe. They v/oul'd seem to say, that the human understanding must be freed from matter or from mind to comprehend nature, while it is in the mysterious union of these two that the secret of existence consists. Some learned men in Germany assert, that we find, in the works of Jacob Boehmen, very profound views upon the physical v/orld. Wc may say, at least, that there is as much originality in tiie theories of the reli- gious philosophers concerning creation, as in those of Thales, of Xenophon, of Aristotle, of Descartes, and Leibnitz. The Theosophists declare, that what they think, has been revealed to them, while philosophers, in genera], believe they are solely conducted by their own reason. But, as both one and the other aspire to know the mystery of mysteries, of wliat signification, at this high point, are the v/ords of reason and folly ? and v/hy disgrace with the name of insensate persons those who believe they find great lights in their exal- tation of mind ? It is a movement of the soul of a very remarkable nature, and which assuredly has not been conferred upon us only for the sake of oppo- sing it. 310 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM, CHAPTER VIII. Of the Spirit of Scctarism in Germavy. 'f HE habit of meditation leads us to reveries of ev- ery kind upon human destiny; active life alone can divert our interest from the source of things; but all that is grand or absurd in respect to ideas is the result of that internal emotion vi^hich we cannot ex- pend upon external objects. Many people are very angry with religious or philosophical sects, and give them the name of follies, and of dangerous follies. It appears to me that the vi^anderings even of thought are much less to be feared than the absence of thought in respect to the repose and morality of men. When we have not within ourselves that power of reflection which supplies material activity, we must be inces- santly in action, and frequently at random. The fa- naticism of ideas has sometimes led, it is true, to vio- lent actions, but it has almost always been because the advantages of this world have been sought for by the aid of abstract opinions. Metaphysical systems are very little to be feared in themselves ; they do not become dangerous till they are united to the interests of ambition, and it is therefore upon these interests that we must gain a hold, if we wish to modify such systems ; but men who are capable of a lively attach- ment to an opinion, independently of the results which it may have, are always of a noble nature. The philo- sophical and religious sects, which, under different names, have existed in Germany, have hardly had any connexion with political affairs; and the sort of talent necessary to lead men to vigorous resolutions, has beer; rarely manifested in this covintry. We may dis- pute upon the philosophy of Kant, upon theological questions, upon idealism or empiricism, without pro- ducing any thing but books. The spirit of sect and SPIRIT OF SECTAHISM. 311 the spirit of party differ in many points. The spirit of party represents opinions by that v'hich is most prom- inent about them, in order to make the vulgar under- stand them ; and the spirit of sect, particularly in Germany, ahvays leads to what is most abstract. In the spirit of party we must seize the points of view taken by the multitude to place ourselves among them ; the Germans only thmk of theory, and if she was to lose herself in the clouds, they would follow her there. The spirit of party stirs up certain com- mon passions in men which unite them in a mass. The Germans subdivide every thing by means of distinction and comment. They have a philosophical sincerity singularly adapted to t^^e enquiry after truth, but not at all to the art oi puttii.g her into action. The spirit of sect aspires en v to convince; that of party v»'ishes to rally meri lou. c it. The former dis- putes about ideas, the latter v.ishes for power over men. There is discipline in the pa'ty spirit, and anar- chy in the sectarian spirit. Authority, of whatever kind it may be, has hardly any thing to fear from the spirit of sectarism ; we satisfy it by leaving a great lat- iiude for thought at its disposal. But the spirit of party is not so easily contented, and does not confine Itself to these intellectual contests, in which every in- dividual m.ay create an empire for himself without ex- pelling one present possessor. In Frciuce, they are much more susceptible of the party spirit than of the sectarian : every one there too well understands the reality of life, not to turn his wishes into actions, and his thoughts into practice. But perhaps they are too foreign from the sectarian spirit : they do not sufiicienlly hold to abstract ideas, to have any warmth in defending them ; besides, they do not choose to be bound by any sort of opinions, for the purpose of advancing the more freely in the face of ail circumstances. There is more good faith in the spirit of sect t ::an in the party spirit ; the Gernjans, therefore, are naturally more fitted for one than the other. 312 REUGION AND ENTHUSIAT^L We must distinguish three sorts of religious and philosophical sects in Germany : first, the different Christian communities which have existed (particularly at the epoch of the reformation,) when all writings have been directed towards theological questions secondly, the secret associations ; and lastly, the adepts of some particular systems, of which one man is the chief. We must range the Anabaptists and the Mora*- vians in the first class ; in the second, that most an- cient of secret associations the Free Masons ; and in the third, the different sorts of the Illuminated. The Anabaptists were rather a revolutionary than a religious sect; and as they owed their existence to po- litical passions, and not to opinions, they passed away with circumstances. The Moravians, entirely stran- gers to the interests of this world, are, as I have said, a Christian community of the greatest purity. The Quakers carry into the m-idst of society the principles of the Moravians : the Moravians withdraw from the world, to be the more sure of remaining faithful to their principles. Free-masonry is an institution much more serious in Scotland and in Germany than in France. It has exist- ed in all countries ; but it nevertheless appears, that it was from Germany especially that this assoication took its origin ; that it was alterwards transported to England by the Anglo-Saxons, and renewed at the death of Charles the First by the partisans ot the Festora- tion, who assembled some where near St. Paul's Church for the purpose of recalling Charles the Second to the throne. It is also believed that the Free-Ma- sons, especially in Scotland, are, in some manner, con- nected with the order of Templars. Lessing has writ- ten a dialogue upon Free-masonry, in which his lumin- ous genius is very remarkable. He believes that this association has for its object the union of men, in spite of the barriers of society ; for if, in certain respects* the social state forms a bond of connexion between men, by subjecting them to the empire of the laws, it separates them by the differences of rank and govern- :n^vt ' this sort of brotherhood, the true image of the SPIRIT OF SECTAHISM 313 golden age, has been mingled with many other idea^ equally good and moral in Free-masonry. However, ^ye cannot dissemble that there is something in the na- ture of secret associations which leads the mind to in- dependence ; but these associations are very favoura' bie to the development of knowledge for every thing which men do by themselves, and spontaneously gives their judgment more strength and m.ore comprehen- siveness. It is al£'> possible that the principles of de- mocraticai equality may be propag-ated by this species of institution, which exhibits mankind according to their real value, and not according to their several ranks in the world. Secret associations teach us what is the power of number and of union, while in= sulated citizens are, if we may use the expression, abstract beings with relation to each other. In this point of view these associations may have a great in- i^uence in the state ; but it is, nevertheless, just to acknowledge, that Free-masonry, in general, is only occupied with religious and philosophical interests:, its members are divided into two classes, the Philo- sophical Free-masonry, and the Hermetic or Egyptian Free-masonry. Tne first has for its object the inter- nal church, or the development of the spirituality of the soul ; the second is connected with the sciences — with those sciences which are employed upon the se- crets of nature. The Rosicrucian brotherhood, among others, is one of the degrees of Free-masonry, and this brotherhood originally consisted of Alchymists, At all times, and in every country, secret associations have existed, whose members have aimed at mutually strengthenhig each other in their belief of the soul's spirituality. The mysteries of Eleusis among the Pa- gans, the sect of Essenes among the Hebrews, were founded upon tiiis doctrine, which they did not choose to profane by exposing it to the ridicule of the vulgar. It is nearly thirty years since there was an assembly of Free-masons, presided over by the Duke of Bruns- wick, at Wilhelms-Bad. This assembly had for its object the reform of the Free-Masons in Germany ; and it appears, that the opinions of tile Mystics ia VOL. II, Co 314 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM general, and those of St. Martin in particular, had •much influence over this society. Political institu» tions, social relations, and often even those of our family, comprehend only the exterior of life. It is then na- tural, that at all times men should have sought some inti- mate manner of knowing and understanding each other, and also those whose characters have any depth, be- lieve they are adepts, and endeavour to distinguish themselves by some signs, from the rest of mankind. Secret associations degenerate with time, but their principle is almost always an enthusiastic feeling re^ strained by society. Tncre are three classes of the Illuminated, the Mystical, the Visionary, and the Illuminated : the first class, that of which Jacob Boehmen, and in the last age Paschai and St. Martin, might be considered as the chiefs, is united by many ties to that internal church which is the sanctuary of re-union for all religious phi- losophers : these illuminated are only occupied with ^religion and with nature, interpreted by the doctrines of religion. The Visionary Illuminated, at the head of whom we must place the Swedish Swedenborg, be- lieve, that, by the power of the will, they can make the dead appear, and work other miracles. The late K-ing of Prussia, Frederick-William, has been led into error by the credulity of these men, or by their arti- fices, which had the appearance of credulity. The Ideal Illum.inatcd look down upon these visionaries as empirics ; they despise their pretended prodigies, and think that the wonderful sentiments of the soul belong to them only in an especial manner:— in a word, men who have had no other object than that of securing the chitf authority in all states, and of getting places for themselves, have taken the name of the Illuminated. Their chief was a Bavarian, Weisshaupt, a man of superior understanding, and who had thoroughly felt the power that we may acquire, by uniting the scatter- ed strength of individuals, and by directing them all to the same object. The possession of a secret, what- ever it may be, flatters the self-love of men ; and when they are toid that they are something, that their equals SPIRIT OF SECTARISM. 315 are not, they always .^ain a command over them. Self-love is hurt by resembling- the multitude ; andj from the moment that we choose to assume public or private marks of distinction, we are sure to set in mo- tion the fancy of vanity, which is the most active of all fancies. The political Illuminated have only borrow- ed from the others some signs of recognition ; but in- terests, and not opinions, are their rallying points : their object, it is true, was to reform the social order upon new principles; but v/hiie they waited the ac- complishment of this great work, their first aim was to seize upon public offices. Such a sect has adepts enough in every country, who initiate themselves into its secrets. In Germany, however, perhaps this sect is the only one which has been founded upon a political combination ; all the others have taken their rise from some sort of enthusiasm, and have only had for their object the inquiry after truth. Amongst these men who endeavour to penetrate the secrets of nature, we must reckon the Magnetizers, the Alchymists, he. It is probable that there is much foily in these pre- tended discoveries, but v/hat can v/e find alarming in them ? If we come to the detection of that which is called marvellous in physical ph^enomena, we shall have reason to think there are moments when nature appears a machine which is constantly movjd by the same springs, and it is then that her indexible regu- larity alarms us ; but wdien we fancy we occasionally see in her something voluntary, like thought, a con- fused hope seizes upon the soul, and steals us away from the fixed regard of necessity. At the bottom of all these attempts, and of ail these scientific and philosophical systems, there is always a very marked bias towards the spirituality of the soul. Those who wish to divine the secrets of nature, a:e entirely opposed to the materialists ; for it is always in thougiit that they seek the solution of the enigma of the physical world. Doubtless, such a movement in the mind may lead to great errors, but it is so with every tiling animated — as soon as there is life there is dangero Individual efforts would end by being inter- I- 316 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. dieted, if we were to subject ourselves to that method ■which aims at regulating the movements of the mind, as discipline commands those of the body. The diffi>' culty then consists in directing the faculties without restraining them, and we should wish that it was pos- sible to adapt to the imagination of men, the art yet unknown of still rising on ^vings, and of directing out ,Sjgbt in the air. CONTE>rPLATI0N OF NATUEE 317 CHAPTER IX. Of the Contemplation of 7\atiircr speaking of the influence of the new philosophy upon the sciences, I have already made mention of some of the new principles adopted in Germany, rel- ative to the study of nature. But as religion and en- thusiasm have a great share in the contemplation of the universe, 1 shall point out in a general manner, the political and religious views that we may ccliect upon this point in the writings of the Germans. Many nat- uralists, guided by a pious feeling, have thought it_ their duty to limit themselves to the examination ci* final causes. They have endeavoured to prove that every thing in the world tends to the support and the physical well-being of individuals and of classes. It appears to me that we may make very strong objec- tions to this system. Without doubt it is easy to see, that, in the order of things, the means are admirably adapted to their ends. But in this universal concate- nation, where are those causes bounded, which are effects, and those effects which are causes ? If v.-e choose to refer every thing to the preservation of man, we shall find it difficult to conceive v/hat he has in common with the majority of beings : besides, it is to attach too much value to material existence, to assign that as the ultimate object of creation.- Those who, notwithstanding the great crowd of particular misfor- tunes, attribute a certain sort of goodness to Nature,, consider her as a merchant, who, making speculations on a large scale, balances small losses by greater ad- vantages. This system is not suitable even to the go- vernments of men ; and scrupulous writers in political economy have opposed it. What then will be th& ease, if we consider the intendons of the Deiiy ? A man, regarded ii) a religious light, is as much ?,s thg'- voL. C c 8 318 RELIGIOJ^- AND ENTHUSIASM. human race ; and from the moment that we have con- ceived the idea of an immortal soul, we have iv right to decide what is the degree of importance which an individual holds in his relation to the whole body. Ev- ery intellii2;ent being is of an infinite value, because Lis soul is eternal. It is then in the most elevated point of \ie\Y that the German philosophers have con- sidered the iiiiiverse. There are those who believe they see in every thing two principles, that of good and that of evil, continually opposing- each other; and •whether v/e attribute this coiitest to an infernal power, or whether, according to a simpler thought, the natu- ral v/orld may be the image of the good and bad pro- pensities of m^an, it is true that the universe alv/ays of- fers to our observation two faces, which are absolute- ly contrary to each other. There is, we cannot deny it, a terrible side in nature as well as in the human heart, and we feel there a dreadful power of anger. Howev- er good may be the intention of the partisans of opti» jnism, more depth is apparent, I think, in those who do not deny evil, but who acknowledge the connexion of this evil with the liberty of man, with the immor- tality which he may deserve by the right use of that liberty. The mystical writers, of whom I have spo- ken in the preceding chapter, see in man the abridg- ment of the world, and in the world, the emblem of the doctrines of Christianity. Nature seems to them the corporeal image of the Deity, and they are contin- ually plunging further into the profound signification of things and beings. Amongst the German writers, who have been employed upon the contemplation of tiature under a religious point of view, there are two who merit particular attention : Novalis as a poet, and Schubert as a naturalist. Novalis, who was a man of iiobie birth, was initiated from his youth in the studies of every kind, which the new school has developed in Germany ; but his pious soul has given a great charac- iev of simplicity to his poems. He died at the age of twenty-six ; and, when he was no more, the religious hymns, which he had composed, acquired a striking xclebrity in Germany, This young rnsn's father is a CONTE^rPLATIOX OF XATUHE 319 ?>loravia!i ; and. some lime after the death of his son, he went to visit a community of that per^.uasion, and heard his so ''s hymns sunp; in their church ; the Mo= ravians having chosen them for their ovrn edificatioDj without knowing the author of them. Amongst the works of Novalis, some Hymns to Night are distinguished, which very forcibly depict the train of recollections which it awakens in the mind. The blaze of day may agree with the joyous doctrines of Paganism ; but the starry heaven seems the rea! temple of the purest worship. It is in the darkness of night, says a German poet, that imm.orlality is re-' vealed to man; the light of the sun dazzles the eyes, which imagine they see. Some stanzas of Novalis, on the life of ^liners, contain some spirited poetry, of very great effect. He questions the earth which is found in the deep caverns, because it has been the wit-- ness of the different revolutions which nature has un- dergone ; and he expresses a vehement desire to pen- etrate still farther towards the centre of the globe. The contrast of this boundless curiosity v.^ith the frail life, which is to be exposed to gratify it, causes a sub- lime emotion. Man is^^ placed on earth, between in- finity in the heavens and infinity in the abysses ; and his life, spent under the influence of time, is likcv.ise between two eternities. Surrounded on ail sides by boundless ideas and objects, innumerable thoughts ap- pear to him like mihions of lights, which throw their blaze together to dazzle him. Novalis has written much upon nature in general; he calls himself, with reason, the disciple of Sais, because in this city the temple of Isis w^as built, and the tradi ions that remain of the Egyptian mysteries lead us to believe that their- priests had a profound knowledge of the lav/s of the universe. " rvlan,'' says Novalis, " is united to Nature by re- lations almost as various, almost as Inconceivable,' ^' as those which he maintains with his kind : as she " brings herself down to the comprehension of chil- ^ dreo, and takes delight in their simple hearts, so does she appear sublime to exalted minds, and divine 320 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. " to divine being-s. The iove of Nature assumes varioag " forms, and while ii excites in some persons nothing " but joy and pleasure, it inspires the arts with the " most pious religion, with that which gives a direction " and a support to tlie whole of life. Long since^- among the ancient nations, there have been men of " serious spirit, for whom the universe was the image " of the Deity : and others, who believed they were only invited to the banquet of the world : the air, for these convival guests of existence, was only a refreshing draught ; the stars were only torches- 4' which lit the dance during the night ; and planets and animals only the magnificent preparations for a 4' splendid feast : Nature did not present herself to " their eyes as a majestic and tranquil temple, but as the brilliant theatre of ever novel entertain^ ments. ^' At the same time, however, some more profound minds were employed, v/ithout relaxation, in rebuild^ " ing that ideal world, the traces of which had al- " ready disappeared ; they partook, like brothers, the " most sacred labours ; some endeavoured to repro- « duce, in music, the voice of the woods and winds ; " others impressed the image and the presentiment " of a more noble race upon stone and brass ; changed the rocks into edifices ; and brought to light the treas- " ures hidden under the earth. Nature, civilized by ^* man, seemed to answer his desires : the imagination of the artist dared to question her, and the golden age seemed to reappear, by the help of thought. "In order to understand Nature, we must be in- corporated with her. A poetical and reflective life, " a holy and religious soul, all the strength and all the bloom of human existence, are necessary to at= tain this comprehension ; and the true observer is he who can discover the analogy of that nature with « man, and that of man with Heaven." Schubert has composed a book upon Nature, that never tires in the perusal ; so filled is it with ideas that excite meditation : he presents the picture of new fsictSj the concatenation of which is couceiveci under CONTEMPLATION OF NA1:UK£. iiew points of view. We derive two principal ideas from his v/ork. The Indians believe in a descending meteinpsychosis, that is, in the condemnation of the soul of man to pass into animals and plants, as a pun- ishment for having misused this life. It would be dif- ficult for us to imagine a system cf more profound misery ; and the writings of the Indians bear the mel- ancholy stamp of their doctrine. They believe they see every where, in animals as in plants, thought as a captive, and feeling enslaved, vainly endeavouring to disengage themselves from the gross and silent, forms which imprison them. The system of Schu- bert is more consolatory. He represents Nature as an ascending metempsychosis, in which, from the stone to human life, there is a continual promotion, which makes the vital principle advance by degrees, even to the most complete perfection. Schubert also believes that there have been epochs, where man had so lively and so delicate a feeling of existing phaenomena, that, by his own impressions, he conjectured the most hidden secrets of Nature. These primitive faculties have become dull : and it is often the sickly irritability of the nerves, which, while it weakens the power of reasoning, restores to man that instinct which he formerly owed to the very plenitude of his strength. The labours of philosophers, of learned men, and of poets, in Germany, aim at di- minishing the dry power of argumentation, without in the least obscuring knowledge. It is thus that the imagination of the ancient world may be born again, like the phoenix, from the ashes of all errors. The greater number of naturalists have attempted >to explain Nature like a good government, in which every thing is conducted according to wise principles of administration ; but it is in vain that v/e try to trans- fer this prosaic system to creation. Neither the ter- rible, nor even the beautiful, can be explained by this circumscribed theory ; and Nature is by turns too cru- el and too magnificent to permit us to subject her to that sort of calculation which directs our iudgmevA in the affairs of tliis world. 322 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASIM. There are objects hideous in themselves, whose im- pression upon us is inexplicable. Certain figures of an= imals, certain forms of plants, certain combinations of colours, revolt our senses, without our being at all able to give an account of the causes of this repugnance: we Vv'ould say, that these ungraceful conlou7's, these re- pulsive images, suggest the ideas of baseness and perfidy; although notiiing in the analogies of reason can explain such an association of ideas. The physi- ognomy of man does not exclusively depend (as some writers have pretended) upon the stronger or weaker character of the features ; there is transmitted through the look and the change of countenance, I know not what expression of the soul, impossible to be mista- ken ; and it is above all, in the human form, that we are taught what is extraordinary and unknown in the harmonies of mind and body. Accidents and misfortunes, in the course of nature, have something so rapid, so pitiless, and so unexpect- ed about them, that they appear to be miraculous. Disease and its furies, are like a wicked life, which seizes on a sudden upon a life of tranquility. The af- fections of the heart make us feel the cruelty of that nature, which it is attempted to represent as so sweet and so gentle. What dangers threaten a beloved per- son ! under how many shapes is death disguised around us ! there is not a fine day which may not conceal the thunderbolt; not a fiower whose juices may not be empoisoned ; not a breath of air v/hich may uf t bring a fatal contagion : and Nature appears like a jealous mistress, ready to pierce the bosom of mau at the very moment that she animates him with her kind- ness. How can we comprehend the object of ali these phsenomena, if we confine ourselves to the ordiijary connexion of our thoughts on these subjects ? How can v/e consider animals withoui being plunged into the astonishment which their mysterious existence causes ? ^ fioet has called them the dreams cf Nature^ and man her ivaking. Fur what end v/ere they cret.tcd ? what mean those looks which seem covcr^ed viti) an ebscure cloud, behind which an idea strives to shov/ CONTEMPLATION OF NATURE. 32S 'itself? what connexion have they with us? what part of life is it they enjoy ? A bird survives a man of gen- ius, and I know not what strange sort of despair seizes the heart when we have lost what we love, and when we see the breath of existence still animate an insect which moves upon the earth, fvom which the most no- hie object has disappeared. The contemplation of Na- ture overwhelms our thoughts. We feel ourselves in a state of relation with her, which does not depend upon the good or evil which she can do ; but her visi- ble soul endeavours to find ours in her bosom, and ho.;ds converse with us. When darkness alarms us, it is not always the peril to wl.ich it exposes us that we dread, but it is the syrapatliy of ni.iht with every sort of privation, or grief, with which we are penetrated. The sun, on the contrary, is like an emanation from the Deity, like a glorious messenger, who tells us that our prayer is heard : his rays descend upon the earth not only to direct the labours of man, bat to ex- press a feeling of love for Nature. The flowers turn towards the light, in order to receive it ; they are clo-= sed during the night, and at morri and eve they seem in aromatic perfume to breathe their hymns of praise. Wiien these flowers are reared in the shade, they are of paliid hue, and no longer clad in their accustomed cciours ; but when we restore them to tiie day, in them the sun reflects his varied beams, as in the rainbow. And one should say, that he gazes upon iuraseif with pride, in the mirror of that beauty which he has con- ferred upon them. The sleep of vegetables, during certain hours, and at certain seasons of the year, is in accord with the motion of the earth: the globe, in its revolving motion, hurries awa) through various regions, the half of plants, of animius, and of men, asicep : the passengers in tiiis great vessel, which we call the world, suffer themselves to be rocked in the circle which their journeying habitation describes. The peace and discord, the harmony aiid dissonance, which a secret bond unites, are the first laws of Nature ; and whether she appears fearful, terrible, or attractire, the sublime unity, which is her character, always iKakes her known. ^24 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. Fire rushes in waves, like the torrent: the clouds that travel through the air, sometimes assume the form of mountains and of valleys, and appear to imi- tate in their sport the image of the earth. It is said in Genesis, that the Almighty divided the waters of the earth from the waters of heaven, and suspended these last in the air. The heavens are in fact a noble ally of the ocean. The azure of the firmament is re- flected in the waters, and the %\'aves are painted in the clouds. Sometimes, when the storm is prepariiig in the atmosphere, the sea trembles at a distance, and one should say, that it answers, by the agitation of its ' waves, to the mysterious signal of the tempest which it has received. M. De Humboldt says, in his scientific and poetical Views of Southern America, that he has witnessed a phaenomenon, which i^ also to be observed in Egypt and which is called mirage. On a sudden, in the most arid deserts, the reverbei ation of the air assumes the ap- pearance of a lake, or of the sea ; and the vei y animals, panting with thirst, rush towards thes^ deceitful im- ages, hoping to allay that thirst. The different figures that the hoar-fiost traces on the window, present another example of the -trange analogies. The vapours condensed by the cold designate iandscapes, like those which are remarked in northern countries : forests of pines, mountains bristling with ice reappear in their robes of white, and frozen Nature takes pleasure in \ counterfeiting the productions of animated nature. Not only does Nature reflect herself, but she seems to v.'ish to imitate the M^orks of man ; aiid to give them, by these means, a singular testimony of her cor- respondence with them. It is related, that in the isl- I ands uear Japan, the clouds assume the appearance of regular fortifications. The fine arts also have their type in Nature ; and this luxury of existence is more the object of her care than existeiice itseif : the symmetry of forms, in the vegetable and mineral kingdoms, has served for a mo del to architects; ard the reflection of objects and colours in the v/atei> gives an idea of the illusions of CONTE!»TPLATION OF NATURE. 325 painting : the wind (whose murmurs are prolonj^ed in the trembling leaves) discovers the secret of inusic. And it has been said, on the shores of Asia, where the atmosphere is most pure, that sometimes, in the evening, a plaintive and sweet harmony is heard, which Nature seems to address to man, in order to tell him that she herself breathes, that she herself loves, that she herself suffers. Often at the sight of a lovely country we are tempt- ed to believe that its only object is to excite in man ex- alted and spotless sentiments : I know not v/hat con- jiexion it is which exists between the heavens and the pride of the human heart ; between the rays of the moon, that repose upon the mountain, and the calm of conscience ; but these objects hold a beautiful lan- guage to man, and we are capable of wholly yielding to the agitation which they cause : this abandonment •^vould be good for the soul. When, at eve, at the boundary of the landscape, the heaven appears to re= cline so closely on the earth, imagination pictures be- yond the horizon an asylum of hope, a native land of love, and Nature seems silently to repeat that man is immortal. The continual succession of birth and death, of which the natural world is the theatre, would produce the iiiost mournful impression, if we did not fancy we saw in that world the indication of the resurrection of all things ; and it is the truly religious point of view in the contemplation of Nature, to regard it in this manner. We snould end by dying of compassion, if we were confined in every thing to the terrible idea of what is irreparable : no animal perishes without our feeling it possible to regret it ; no tree falls without the idea that we shall never see it again in its beauty, exciting in us a mournful reflection. In a word, inanimate ob- jects themselves affect us when their decay obliges us to quit them : the house, the chaii', the table, which have been used by those we loved, interest us ; and these objects even excite in us sometimes a sort of confipassion, independent of the recollections which they awaken ; we regret their well-known form, as if by this form they were made into beings who have seen VOL. II. D i 326 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. our daily life, and who ought to have seen us die. If eternity was not the antidote to time, we should attach ourselves to every moment in order to retain it ; to every sound, to prolong its vibrations ; to every look, to fix its radiance ; and our enjoyments would only last for that instant which is necessary to make us feel that they are going, and to bedew their traces with tears, traces which the abyss of days must also swal = low up. A new thought struck me in some writings which %vere communicated to me by an author of a pensive and profound imagination : he is comparing the ruins of nature with those of art, and of the human species. " The lirst,'* he says, " are philosophical ; the second poetical ; the third mysterious/' A thing highly •worthy of remark, in fact, is the very different action of years upon nature, upon the works of genius, and upon living creatures. Time injures man alone : when rocks are overturned, when mountains sink into val= lies, the earth only changes her appearance ; her new aspect excites new thoughts in our minds, and the viv- ifying force undergoes a metamorphose, but not a de» struction. The ruins of the fine arts address the im- agination : Art rebuilds what time has defaced, and never perhaps, did a master-piece of art, in all its splendour, impress us with such grand ideas as its own ruins. We picture to ourselves half-destroyed monuments adorned with all that beauty which ever clothes the objects of our regret : but howdifFercRt is this from the ravages of old age ! Scarcely can we believe that youth once embellished that countenance, of which death has already seized possession : some physiognomies escape degradation by the lustre of the soul ; but the human figure, in its decline, often assumes a vulgar expression which hard- ly allows even of pity. Animals, it is true, lose their strength and their activity with years, but the glowing hue of life does not with them change into livid colours, and their dim eyes do not resemble funeral lamps, throwing their pallid flashes; oyer a withered cheek. CONTEMPLATION OF NATURE. 327 E\'en when, in the flower of age, life is withdrawn from the bosom of man, neither the admiration excited by the convulsions of nature, nor the interest awa- kened by the wreck of monuments, can be made to belong to the inanimate corpse of the most lovely of created beings. The love which cherished this enchant- ing form, love itself, cannot eydure the remains of it and nothing of man exists after him on earth but what makes even his friends tremble. Ah ! what a lesson do the horrors of destruction thus incarnate in the human race afTord I Is not this to announce to man that his life is to be elsewhere I Would nature humble him so low, if the Divinity were not willing to raise him up again ? The true final causes of nature are these relations with our soul and our immortal destiny. Physical ob- jects themselves have a destination which is not bounded by the contracted existence of man below ; they are placed here to assist in the development of our thoughts to the work cf our moral life. The phsenoraena of nature must not be understood accord- ing to the laws of matter alone, however w^ell com- bined those laws may be ; they have a philosophical sense and a religious end, of which the most attentive contemplation will never knov/the CMteBt. 32S EE-LIGION AND ENTHUSIASM^ CHAPTER X, Of EnthuBiasiii. IWANY people are prejudiced against Enthusiasm 3 they confound it with Fanaticism, which is a great mis- take. Fanaticism is an exclusive passion, the object of which is an opinion ; enthusiasm is connected with the harmony of the universe : it is the love of the beautiful, eievaiion of soul, enjoyment of devotion, all united in one single feeling which combines gran- deur and repose. The sense of this word amongst the Greeks affords the noblest definition of it : enthU" siasm signifies God in ns. In fact, when the existence of man is expansive, it has something divine. Whatever leads us to sacrifice our own comfort, or our ovvU life, is ahnost always enthusiasm ; for the high road of reason, to the seiiish, must be to make themselves tiie object of all their eiTorts, and to value riothing in the world but health, riches, and power. Without doubt, conscience is sufBcient to lead the coldest character into the track of virtue ; but enthu- siasm is to conscience what honour is to duty : there is in us a superliCiity of soul which it is sv/eet to con- secrate to what is fine, %vhen vv'hat is good has been accomplished. Genius and imagination also stand in need of a little care for their welfare in the world ; mid the law of duty,, however sublime it may be, is not sufficient to enable us to taste all the wonders of the heart, and of the thought. It cannot be denied that his own interests, as an in- dividual, surround a r/ian on ail sides ; there is even in what is vulgar a certain enjoyment, of which many people are very susceptible, and the traces of ignoble passions are often found under the appearance of the most distinguished manners. Superior talents are not always a guarantee against that degradation of nature 329 which disposes blindly of the existence of men, and leads them to place their happiness lower than them- selves. Enthusiasm alone can counterbalance the ten- dency to selfishness; and it is by this divine sign that ^ve recognise the creatures of immortality. When you speak to any one on subjects worthy of holy re- spect, you perceive at once if he feels a noble trem- bling; if his heart beats with elevated sentiments ; if he has formed an alliance with the other life, or if he has only that little portion of mind which serves him to direct the mechanism of existence. And what then is human nature when we see in it nothing but a pru- dence, of which its own advantage is the object ? The instinct of animals is of more worth, for it is some- times generous and proud; but this calculation, which seems the attribute of reason, ends by rendering us incapable of the first of virtues, self-devotion. Amongst those who endeavour to turn exalted sen- timents into ridicule, many are, nevertheless, suscep= tible of them., though unknown to themselves. War. undertaken with personal views, always affords some of the enjoyments of enthusiasm; the transport of a day of battle, the singular pleasure of exposing our- selves to death, when our whole nature would enjoin to us the iove of life, can only be attributed to enthu- siasm. The martial music, the neighing oi the steeds, the roar of the cannon, the multitude of soldiers cloth- ed in the same colours, moved by the same desire, as- sembled around the same banners, inspire an emotion capable of triumphing over that instinct wnich would preserve existence ; and so strong is this enjoyment, that neither fatigues, nor sufferings, nor dangers, can withdraw the soul from it. Whoever has once led this life loves no other. The attainment of our object never satisfies us; it is the action of risking ourselves, which is necessary, it is that which introduces enthu- siasm hito the blood ; and although it may be more pure at the bottom of the soul, it is still of a noble nature, when it is able to become an impuise almcst pi^ysical. Sincere enthusiasm is often reproached with VTh?.t VOL, I?.- D d 2 330 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. belongs only to affected enthusiasm ; the nacre pure a sentiment is, the more odious is a false imitation of it. To tyrannize over the admiration of men is what is most culpable, for we dry up in them the source of good emotions when we make them blush for having felt them. Besides, nothing is more painful than the false sounds, which appear to proceed from the sanctu- ary of the soul itself: vanity may possess herself of whatever is external ; conceit and disgrace are the on- ly evils Vv'hich will result from it; but when she coun- terfeits our inward feelings, she appears to violate the last asylum in which we can hope to escape her. It ia easy, nevertheless, to discover sincerity in enthusiasm ; it is a melody so pure, that the smallest discord de- stroys its whole charm; a word, an accent, a look, express the concentrated emotion which answers to a whole life. Persons w^ho are called severe in the world, very often have in them something exalted. The sLrcngth which reduces others to subjection may be ijO more than cold calculation. The strength which triumphs over ourselves is always inspired by a gene- rous sentiment. Enthusiasm, far from exciting a just suspicion oT Us excesses, perhaps leads in general to a contempla- live disposition, which impairs the power of acting : the Germans are a proof of it; no nation is more ca- pable of feeling or thinking ; but when the moment of taking a side is arrived, the very extent of their con- ceptions detracts from the decision of their character, X'haracter and enthusiasm differ in many respects ; we fjught to choose our object by enthusiasm, but to ap- proach it by character : thought is nothing without en« iiiusiasm, and action without character ; enthusiasm is every thing for literary nations, character is every thing to those which are active : free nations stand in •need of both. Selfishness takes pleasure in speaking incessantly i of the dangers of enthusiasm ; this affected fear is ia truth derision ; if the cunning men of the world would be sincere, they would say, that nothing suits thcni better than to have, to do with persons with wh©m st) ENTHUSIASM. 331 many means are impossible, and who can so easily re« nounce what occupies the greater pari of mankind. This disposition of the mind has streno-th, notwith- standing its sweetness; and he who feels it knows how to draw from it a noble constancy. Tiie storms of the passions subside, the pleasures of self-love fade away, enthusiasm alone is unalterable ; the mind itself would be lost in physical existence, if something proud and animated did not snatch it away from the vulgar ascen- dency of selfishness : that moral dignity, which is proof against all attempts, is what is most admirable in the gift of existence ; it is for this that in the bitter- est pains it is still noble to have lived as it would be Doble to die. Let us nov/ examine the influence of enthusiasm upon learning and happiness. These last reflections will terminate the train of thoughts to which the dif-* ierent subjects that I h:\d to discuss have led mc. 332 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM,?, CHAPTER XL Of the Injluence of Enthusiasm on Learrdnc^.. This chapter is, in some respects, the recapitula- tion of my whole work ; for enthusiasm being the qual« ity which really distinguishes the German nation, we may judge of the influence it exerts over learning, according to the progress of human nature in Ger» many. Enthusiasm gives life to what is invisible, and interest to what has no immediate action on our comfort in this world; no sentiment, therefore, is more adapted to the pursuit of abstract truths ; they are, therefore, cultivated in Germany with a remark- able ardour and firmness. The philosophers who are inspired by enthusiasm are those, perhaps, who have the most exactness and patience in their labours, and at the same tiiv.e those who the least endeavour to shine ; they love science for itself, and set no value upon themselves, when the object of their pursuit is in question : physical nature pursues its own invariable march over the destruction of individuals ; the tliought of man as* sumes a sublime character when it arrives at the power of examining itself from an universal point of view ; it then si;entiy assists the triumphs of truth, and truth is, like nature, a force %vhich acts only by a progressive and regular development. It may be said, with some reason, that enthusiasm- leads to a systematizing spirit ; when we ^re much attached to our ideas, we endeavour to connect every thing with them ; but, in general, it is easier to deal ■with sincere opinions, than with opinions adopted through vanity. If, in our relations with men, we had to do only v/ith v/hat ttiey reaiiy think, we should easily understand one another ; it is wnat they affect- to think that breeds discord. INFLUENCE OF ENTHUSIASM, &c. 333 Enthusiasm has been often accused of leacUn^ to error, but perhaps a superficial interest is much more deceitful ; for, to penetrate the essence of things, it is necessary tuere should be an impulse to excite our attention to t .em with ardour. Besides, in consider- in^^ human destiny in general, I believe it may be af- firmed that we shall never arrive at truth, but by elevation of soul ; every thing that tends to lower us is falsehood, and whatever they may say of it, the er- ror lies on the side of vulgar sentiments. Enthusiasm, I repeat, has no resemblance to fanati- cism, and cannot mislead as it does. Enthusiasm is tolerant, not through indifference, but because it makes us feel the Interest and the beauty of all things. Reason does not give happiness in the place of that which it deprives us of; enthusiasm finds in the musing of the heart, and in depth of thougiit, what fanaticism and passion comprise in a single idea, or a single object. This sentimerit, on account even of its universality, is very favourable to thought and to imagination. Society developes wit, but it is contemplation alone that forms genius. Self-love is the spring of coun- tries v.'here society prevails, and self-love necessarily kads to jesting, which destroys all enthusiasm. It is amusing enough, it cannot be denied, to have a quick perception of what is ridiculous, and to paint it with grace and gaiety ; perhaps it would be better to deny ourselves this pleasure, but, nevertheless, that is not the kind of jesting the consequences of which are the most to be f ;ared ; that which is attached to ideas and to sentiments is the most fatal of ail, for it insinuates itself into the source of strong and devoted affections. Man has a great empire over man ; and of all the evils he can do to his fellow-creature, the greatest perhaps is to place the phantoms of ridicule between generous emotions and the actions they would inspire. Love, genius, talent, distress itself, all these sa- cred things are exposed to irony, and it is impossible to calculate to what point the emjiire of this irony 334 REUGION AND ENTHUSIASM. may extend. There is a relish in wickedness : there is something weak in- goodness. Admiration for great things may be made the sport of wit ; and he who at- taches no importance to any thing, has the air of being superior to everything; if therefore, our heart and our mind are not defended by enthusiasm, they ai e ex- posed on all sides to be surprised by this darkest shade of the beautiful, which unites insolence to gaiety. The social spirit is so formed that we are often com- manded to laugh, and much oftener are made ashamed of weeping : from what does this proceed ? From this, that self-love thinks itself safer in pleasantry than in emotion. A man must be able to rely well on his wit before he can dare to be serious against a jest ; it re- quires much strength to disclose sentiments which maybe turned into ridicule. Fontenelle said, " lam eighty years old; lama Frenchman^ and I have never, through all my life^ treated the smallest vir^ " tue with the smallest ridicule.'* This sentence ar- gued a profound knowledge of society. Fontenelle was not a sensible man, but he had a great deal of wit ; and whenever a man is endowed with any superi- ority, he feels the necessity of seriousness in human nature. It is only persons of middling understanding who would wish that the foundation of every thing should be sand, in order that no man might leave upon the earth a trace more durable than their own. The Germans have not to struggle amongst them- selves against the enemies of enthusiasm, which is a great obstacle at least to distinguished men. Wit grows sharper by contest, but talent has need of con- fidence. It is necessary to expect admiration, glory, immortality, in order to experience the inspiration of genius; and what makes, the distinction between dif- ferent ages is not nature, which is always lavish of the same gifts, but the opinion v/hich prevails at the epoch in which we live : if the tendency of that opinion is towards enthusiasm, great men spring up on all sides ; if discouragement is proclaimed in one coun- try, wbea ia others noble efforts would be excited. INFLUENCE OF ENTHUSIASM, See. 335 nothing remains in literature but judges of the time past. The terrible events of which we have been witnes- ses have dried up men's hearts, and every thine- that belongs to thought appeared tarnished by the side of the omnipotence of action. Difference of circumstan- ces has led minds to support all sides of the same ques- tions ; the consequence has been, that people no long- er believe in ideas, or consider them, at best, as means. Conviction does not seem to belong to our times ; and when a man says he is of such an opinion, that is un- derstood to be a delicate manner of expressing that he has such an interest. The most honest men, then, make to themselves a system which changes their idleness into digni- ty : they say that nothing can be done with nothing ; they repeat, with the Hermit of Prague, in Shaks- peare, that what is, is, and that theories have no influ- ence on the world. Such men leave off with making what they say true; for with such a mode of thinking they cannot act upon others ; and if wit consisted in seeing the Jbr and against of every subject, it would make the objects, which encompass us turn round in such a manner that we couid not walk with a firm step upon this tottering ground. We also see young people, ambitious of appearing?: free from all enthusiasm, affect a philosophical contempt for exalted sentiments ; they think by that to display a precocious force of reason : but it is a premature de* cay of v/hich they are boasting. They treat talent like the old man who asked, if Love still existed P The mind deprived of imagination would gladly treat even Nature with disdain, if Nature were not too strong for it. We certainly do great n ischief to those persons who are yei animated with noble desires, by incessant- ly opposing them with all the argument which can dis- turb tlie most confiding hope ; nevertheless, good taith cannot grow weary of itself, for it is not the appear- ance, but the reality of things which employs her With whatever atmosphere we may be surrounded, a 336 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. sincere "word was never completely lost ; if there is but one day on which success can be gained, there are ages for the operation of thd good which may be done by truth. The inhabitants of Mexico, as they pass along the great road, each of them carry a small stone to the grand pyramid which they are raising in the midst of their country. No mdividual will confer his name up- on it : but all will have ccntiibuted to this monument, "Nvhich must survive them ail. INPLUENCE OF ENTHUSIASM. 337 CHAPTER XII. AND LAST. Of the Injiuenct of Enthusiasm ufioii Happiness.. The course of my subject necessarily leads Tiie here to treat of hap.jiness. I have hitherto stuciiousiy avoided the word, because now for almost a century it has been the cu^atom to place it principaliy in pleasures so -^ross, in a wdv of life so selfish, in calculations so narrow and ccnfiaed, that its very image is sullied and profaned. It, howover, may be pronounced with con- fidence, that of -ail ihe feelings of the human heart enthusiasm confers the greatest happiness, that indeed it alone confers real happiness, alone can enable us to bear the lot of mortality in every situ?vtion in which for- tune has the power to place us. Vainly would we reduce ourselves to sensual enjoy- ments ; the soul asserts itself on every side. Pride, ambition, self-love, all these are still from the soul, al- though in them a poisonous and pestilential blast mixes with, its essence. Meanwhile, how wretched is the ex- istence of that crowd of mortals, who, playing the hypocrite with themselves almost as much as with others, are continually em.ployed in repressing the generous emotions which struggle to revive within their bosoms, as diseases of the imagination, which the open air should at once dispel. Hov/ impoverish- ed is the existence of those, who content themselves with abstaining from doing evil, and treat as weakness and delusion the source of the most beautiful deeds and the most noble conceptions 1 From mere vanity they imprison themselves in obstinate mediocrity, -which they might easily have opened to the light of knowledge, which every where surrounds them ; they sentence and condemn themselves to that monotony oi ideas, to that deadness of feeling, which suffers the days to pass, one after the other, \vithout deriving from VOL. II. E e 338 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. them any advantage, without making in them any pro gress, without treasuring up any matter for future re- collection. If time in its course had not cast a change upon their features, what proofs would they have pre- served of its having passed at all ? If to grow old and to die were not the necessary law of our nature, what serious reflections would ever have arisen in their minds ? Some reasoners there are, who object that enthusi» asm produces a distaste for ordinary life ; and that aii we cannot always remain in the same frame of mind, it is more for our advantage never to indulge it : and why then, I would ask them, have they accepted the gift of truth, why of life itself, since tkey well knew that they were not to last forever ? Wny have they loved (if indeed they ever have loved), since death at any mo- ment might separate them from the objects of their affection ? Can there be a more wretched economy than of the faculties of the soul? They were given us to be improved and expanded, to be carried as near as pos- sible to perfection, even to be prodigally lavished for a high and noble end. The more we benumb our feelings and render our- selves insensible, the nearer^it will be said) we approach to a state of material existence, and the more we (li» minish the dominion of pain and sorrow over us. This argument imposes upon many ; it consists, in fact, in recommending to us to make an attempt to live with as little of life as possible. But our own degradation is always accompanied by an uneasiness of mind, for which we cannot account, and which unremittingly at- tends upon us in secret. The discontent, the shame^ and the weariness, which it causes, are arranged by van- ity in the garb of impertinence and contempt ; but it is very rare that any man can settle peaceably in this confined and desert sphere of being, which leaves him without resource in himself when he is abandoned by the prosperity of the woHd. Man has a consciousness of the beautiful as well as of the virtuous ; and in the absence of the former he feels a void, as in a deviation from the latter he finds remorse^ kVFLUENCE OF ENTHUSIASM. 331^ It is a comi"noD accusation against enthusiasm, that il is transitory ; man were too much blessed, if he could fix and retain emotions so beautiful ; but it is because they are so easily dissipated and lost, that we should strive and exert ourselves to preserve them. Poetry and the fine arts are the means of calling forth in man this happiness of illustrious origin, ^Yhich raises the depressed heart ; and, iriStead of an unquiet satiety of life, gives an habitual feeling of thiC divine harmony, in which nature and ourselves claim a part. There is no duty, there is no pleasure, there is no sentiment, which does not borrow from enthusiasm I know not what charm, which is still in perfect unison with the simple beauty of truth. Ail men take up arms indeed for the defence of the land which they inhabit, when circumstances demand this duty of them : but if they a.re inspired by the en- thusiasm, of their country, what warm emolioiis do they not feel within them ? The s-m, which shone upon their birth, the land of"! : ers, the sea v.hich bathes their rocks,* thei. recoliectior.s of the past, their mjany hoped for the future, every thing around them presents itself as a summons and encour- agement for battle, and in every pulsation of the heart rises a thought of affection and of honour. God has given this country to men who can defend it ; to wom.en, %7ho, for its sake, consent to the dangers of their brothers, their husbands, and their sons. At the ap- :>roach of the perils which threaten it, a fever, exempt irom shuddering as from delirium, quickens the blood -'n the veins. Every effort, in such a struggle, comes from the deepest source of inward thought. As yet fcthing can be seen in tiie features of these generous Bpizens but tranquility ; tliere is too much dignity in uieir emotions f^r outv/ard demonstration ; but let the •^signal once be heard, let the banner of their country ^ It is easy to perceh'e, that by this plirase, and by those which follow, I have been trying to designate England ; mfuct, I coidd not spe.ik of war with enthusiasm, without represent- hig iL to myself as the contest of a free nation for her inde- pendence. 3iO IIELIGION A^KD- ENTHUSIASM. v/ave in the air, and you will see those looks, before so f^eiitie, and so ready to resume that character at the sig^ht of misfortune, at once animated by a determisia- tion holy and terrible ! They shudder no more, neither at wounds nor at blood ; it is no longer pain, it is no longer death, it is an offering to the God of ar- mies ; no regret, no hesitation, now intrudes itself into the most desperate resolutions ; and when the heart is entirely in its object, then is the highest en- joyment of existence ! As soon as man has, within his own mind, separated himself from himself, to him life is only an evil ; and if it be true, that of all the feel- ings enthusiasm confers the greatest happiness, it is because, more than any other, it unites all the forces of the soul in the same direction for the same end. The labours of the understanding are considered by many writers as an occupation almost merely me- chanical, and which fills up their life in the same m??!flilections ? Ts Nature to be felt without enthusiasm ? Can com- mon men address to her the tale of their mean inter- ests and low desires ? What have the sea and the stars to answer to the little vanities with which each individ- ual is content to fill up each day ? But if the soul be really moved within us, if in the universe it seeks a God, even if it be still sensible to glory and to love, the clouds of heaven will hold converse with it, the torrents will listen to its voice, and the breeze that pa?- ^w.. IT, E e 3 342 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM. ses through the grove, seems to deign to whisper to us something of those we love. There are some who, although devoid of enthusi- asm, stiil beiieve that they have a taste and relish for the fine arts ; and indeed they do love the refinement of iuxury, and they wish to acquire a knowledge of music and of painting, that they may be able to converse up- on them with ease and with taste, and even with that confidence which becomes the man of the world, when the subject turns upon imagination, or upon Nature; but what are these barren pleasures, when compared ■with true enthusiasm ? What an emotion runs through the brain when we contemplate in the Niobe, that set- tled look of calm and terrible despair which seems to reproach the gods with their jealousy of her maternal happiness f What consolation does the sight of beau- ty breathe upon us ! Beauty also is from the soul, and pure and noble is the admiration it inspires. To feel the grandeur of the Apollo demands in the spectator a pride, which tramples under foot all the serpents of ihe earth. None but a Christian can penetrate the countenance of the Virgins of Raphael, and the St. Jerome of Domenichino. None but a Christian can recognise the same expression in fascinating beauty, and in the depressed and grief-v/orn visage ; in the brilliancy of youtli, and in features changed by age and disfigured by suffering ? — the same expression v/hich springs from the soul, and which, like a ray of celes- tial light, shoots across the early morning of life, or the closing darkness of age ! Can it be said that there is such an art as that of mu- sic for those who cannot feel enthusiasm ? Habit m^f^ render harmonious sounds, as it were, a necessary^^ gratification to them, and they enjoy them as they d¥ ' the flavour of fruits, or the ornament of colours ; but has their whole being vibrated and trembled respon- • sively, like a lyre, if at any time the midnight silence has been suddenly broken by the song, or by any of those instruments' which resemble the human voice I Have they in that moment felt the mystery of their ex- istence in that softening emotion Vi'hich reunites our- EVFLUEXCE GP ENTHUSIASM 343 separate natures, and blends in the same enjoyment the senses of the soul ? Have the beatinirs of the heart followed the cadence of the music? Have they learn- ed, under the influence of these emotions so full of charms, to shed those tears which have nothing of self in them ; those tears whicii do not ask for the compas- sion of others, but which relieve ourselves from the inquietude which arises from the need of something to admire and to love ? The taste for public spectacles is universal, for the greater part of mankind have more imagination than they themselves think ; and that which they consider as the allurement of pleasure, as a remnant of the weakness of childhood which still hanc^s about them, is often the better part of their nature : while they are beholding The scenes of fictions, they are true, natural, and feel- ing ; whereas in the world, dissimulation, calculation and vanity, are the absolute masters of their words, sentiments, and actions. But do they think that they have felt all that a really fine tragedy can inspire', who find in the representation ofthe strongest aftections nothing but a diversion and amusement ? Do they doubt and disbelieve that rapturous agitation, which the passions, purified by poetry excite within us ? Ah i how many and how great are the pleasures which spring from fic- tions ! The interest they raise is without either appre- hension or remorse ; and the sensibility which they call forth, has none of that painful harshness from which real passions are hardly ever exempt. What enchantment does not the language of love borrow from poetry and the fine arts! How beautiful is it to love at once with the heart and with the mind : thus to vary in a thousand fashions a sentiment which ovit word is indeed sufficient to express, but for which ail the words of tiie world are but poverty and weak- ness ! To subiiUt entirely to the influence of those mastci pieces of the imagination, which all depend upon lovt, and to discover in the wonders of nature and geidus new expressions to declare the feelings of our ov>'ii heart ! 314 RELIGION AND ENTHUSIASM, What Iiave they known of love, who have not revcr- cnced and admired the woman whom they loved, in whom the sentiment is not a hymn breathed IVom the heart, and who do not perceive in j^race and beauty the heavenly image of the most touching passions ? What lias she felt of love, who has not seen in the object of her choice an exalted protector, a powerful and a gentle guide, whose look at once commands and supplicates, and who receives upon his knees the right of disposing of her fate ? How inexpressiblejs the delight which seri- ous reflections, united and blended with warm and lively impressions, produce ! The tenderness of a friend, in ^vhose hands our happiness is deposited, ought at the ?j;ates of the tomb, in the same manner as in the beau- tiful days of our youth, to form our chief blessing ; and every thing most serious and solemn in our exist- ence transforms itself into emotions of delight ; when, as in the fable of the ancients, it is the office of love to light and to extinguish the torch of life. If enthusiasm fills the soul v/ith happiness, by a strange and wondrous charm, it forms also its chief support under misfortune ; it leaves behind it a deep trace and a path of light, which do not allow absence itself to efface us from the hearts of our friends. It af- fords also to ourselves an asylum from the utmost bit- terness of sorrow, and is the only feeling which can give tranquility without indifference. Even tne most sim,ple passions, which every heart believes itself capable of feeling, even filial and mater- jtai love, cannot be feit in their full strength, unless enthusiasm be blended with tliem. How can we love a son without indulging the flattering hope that he will be generous and gallant, Avithout wishing him that re- nown which may, as it were, multiply his existence, and make us hear from every side the name which our own heart is continually repealing ? Why should we not enjoy with rapture the talents of a son, the beauty of a daughter ? Can there be a more strange ingrati- tude towards the Deity, than indifference for his gifts ? Are they not from Heaven, since they render it a mors easy task for us to please him whom we love ? tX^LUEXCE OF EXTKUSIAM. 34c/ Meanwhile, should some misfortune cleprlve our child of these advantages, the same sentiment would then assume another form : it would increase and ex- alt within us the feeling of compassion, of sympathy, the happiness of being necessary to him. Under all circumstances, enthusiasm either animates or con- soles ; and even in the moment when the blow, the most cruel that can be struck, reaches us, when v/e lose him to whom we owe our own being, him v.'hom we loved as a tutelary angel, and who inspired us at once with a fearless respect and a boundless confi- dence, still enthusiasm comes to our assistance and support. It brings together v/ithin us some sparks of that soul which has passed away to heaven ; we still live before him, and we promise ourselves that we will one day transmit to posterity the history of his life. Never, we feel assured, never will his paternal hand abandon us entirely in this world ; and his image, af- fectionate and tender, still inclines towards us, to sup- port us, until we are called unto him. And in the end, when the hour of trial comes, \yhen it is for us in our turn to meet the struggle of death, the increasing weakness of our faculties ; the loss and ruin of our hopes ; this life, before so strong, which now begins to give way within us ; the crowd of feci- 2ngs and ideas which lived wilhin our bosom, and which the shades of the tomb already surround c.,nd envelope ; our interests, our passions, this existence itself, v/hich lessens to a shadow, before it vanishes away, all deep - ly distress us ; and the common man appears, when he expires, to have less of death to undergo. Bles- sed be God, however, for the assistance which he has prepared for us even in that moment ; our utterance shall be imperfect, our eyes shall n.o longer distinguish the light, our reflections, before clear and connected, shall wander va - ue and confused ; but Enthusiasm wdll not abandon us, her brillia.nt wings shall wave over the funeral couch ; she will lift the veil of death ; she v;ill recall to our. recollection those m^oments, when, in the fulness of energy, we felt that the heart was im.- perishable ; and our last sigh shali be a high and gen- 346 RELIGION ANB EXTHTjSIASl^r. erous thought, reascendiijg to that heaven from "which it had its birth. " O France ! land of glory and of love ! if the day <^ should ever come when enthusiasm shall be extinct " upon your soil, when all shall be governed and dis-