Showing posts with label Romanticism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Romanticism. Show all posts

Monday, November 23, 2015

“There Is No God” by Percy Bysshe Shelley


[This essay is a redaction of Shelley's first pamphlet, The Necessity of Atheism (1811) to serve as a note to the line in Queen Mab, "There is no God" (1813). The Necessity of Atheism is greatly expanded and considerably modified in thought and style. A careful study of the two essays will throw some light on Shelley's developing mind during the two crowded years between them. Locke's influence dominates The Necessity while Hume and Holbach are the important sources of the Note.]
This negation must be understood solely to affect a creative Deity. The hypothesis of a pervading Spirit co‑eternal with the universe remains unshaken.


A close examination of the validity of the proofs adduced to support any proposition is the only secure way of attaining truth, on the advantages of which it is unnecessary to descant; our knowledge of the existence of a Deity is a subject of such importance that it cannot be too minutely investigated; in consequence of this conviction we proceed briefly and impartially to examine the proofs which have been adduced. It is necessary first to consider the nature of belief.
When a proposition is offered to the mind, it perceives the agreement or disagreement of the ideas of which it is composed. A perception of their agreement is termed belief. Many obstacles frequently prevent this perception from being immediate; these the mind attempts to remove in order that the perception may be distinct. The mind is active in the investigation in order to perfect the state of perception of the relation which the component ideas of the proposition bear to each, which is passive. The investigation being confused with the perception has induced many falsely to imagine that the mind is active in belief—that belief is an act of volition—in consequence of which it may be regulated by the mind. Pursuing, continuing this mistake, they have attached a degree of criminality to disbelief; of which, in its nature, it is incapable; it is equally incapable of merit.
Belief, then, is a passion the strength of which, like every other passion, is in precise proportion to the degrees of excitement.
The degrees of excitement are three:
The senses are the sources of all knowledge to the mind; consequently their evidence claims the strongest assent.
The decision of the mind, founded upon our own experience, derived from these sources, claims the next degree.
The experience of others, which addresses itself to the former one, occupies the lowest degree.
(A graduated scale, on which should be marked the capabilities of propositions to approach to the test of the senses, would be a just barometer of the belief which ought to be attached to them.)
Consequently no testimony can be admitted which is contrary to reason; reason is founded on the evidence of our senses.
Every proof may be referred to one of these three divisions: it is to be considered what arguments we receive from each of them, which should convince us of the existence of a Deity.
lst. The evidence of the senses. If the Deity should appear to us, if He should convince our senses of His existence, this revelation would necessarily command belief. Those to whom the Deity has thus appeared have the strongest possible conviction of His existence. But the God of theologians is incapable of local visibility.
2nd. Reason. It is urged that man knows that whatever is must either have had a beginning, or have existed from all eternity; he also knows that whatever is not eternal must have had a cause. When this reasoning is applied to the universe, it is necessary to prove that it was created—until that is clearly demonstrated we may reasonably suppose that it has endured from all eternity. We must prove design before we can infer a designer. The only idea which we can form of causation is derivable from the constant conjunction of objects, and the consequent inference of one from the other. In a case where two propositions are diametrically opposite, the mind believes that which is least incomprehensible; it is easier to suppose that the universe has existed from all eternity than to conceive a being beyond its limits capable of creating it; if the mind sinks beneath the weight of one, is it an alleviation to increase the intolerability of the burden? [1]
The other argument, which is founded on a man's knowledge of his own existence, stands thus: A man knows not only that he now is, but that once he was not; consequently there must have been a cause. But our idea of causation is alone derivable from the constant conjunction of objects and the consequent inference of one from the other; and, reasoning experimentally, we can only infer from effects causes exactly adequate to those effects. But there certainly is a generative power which is effected by certain instruments; we cannot prove that it is inherent in these instruments; nor is the contrary hypothesis capable of demonstration. We admit that the generative power is incomprehensible; but to suppose that the same effect is produced by an eternal, omniscient, omnipotent being leaves the cause in the same obscurity, but renders it more incomprehensible.
3rd. Testimony. It is required that testimony should not be contrary to reason. The testimony that the Deity convinces the senses of men of His existence can only be admitted by us if our mind considers it less probable that these men should have been deceived than that the Deity should have appeared to them. Our reason can never admit the testimony of men who not only declare that they were eye‑witnesses of miracles but that the Deity was irrational; for He commanded that He should be believed; He proposed the highest rewards for faith, eternal punishments for disbelief. We can only command voluntary actions; belief is not an act of volition; the mind is even passive, or involuntarily active; from this it is evident that we have no sufficient testimony, or rather that testimony is insufficient, to prove the being of a God. It has been before shown that it cannot be deduced from reason. They alone, then, who have been convinced by the evidence of the senses can believe it.
Hence it is evident that, having no proofs from either of the three sources of conviction, the mind cannot believe the existence of a creative God; it is also evident, that, as belief is a passion of the mind, no degree of criminality is attachable to disbelief; and that they only are reprehensible who neglect to remove the false medium through which their mind views any subject of discussion. Every reflecting mind must acknowledge that there is no proof of the existence of a Deity.
God is an hypothesis and, as such, stands in need of proof: the onus probandi rests on the theist. Sir Isaac Newton says: Hypotheses non fingo, quicquid enim ex phaenomenis non deducitur hypothesis vocanda est , et hypothesis vel metaphysicae, vel physicae, vel qualitatum occultarum, son mechanicae, in philosophia locum non habent. [2] To all proofs of the existence of a creative God apply this valuable rule. We see a variety of bodies possessing a variety of powers; we merely know their effects; we are in a state of ignorance with respect to their essences and causes. These Newton calls the phenomena of things; but the pride of philosophy is unwilling to admit its ignorance of their causes. From the phenomena, which are the objects of our senses, we attempt to infer a cause, which we call God, and gratuitously endow it with all negative and contradictory qualities. From this hypothesis we invent this general name to conceal our ignorance of causes and essences. The being called God by no means answers with the conditions prescribed by Newton; it bears every mark of a veil woven by philosophical conceit to hide the ignorance of philosophers even from themselves. They borrow the threads of its texture from the anthropomorphism of the vulgar. Words have been used by sophists for the same purposes, from the occult qualities of the peripatetics to the effluvium of Boyle and crinities or nebulae of Herschel. God is represented as infinite, eternal, incomprehensible; He is contained under every predicate in non that the logic of ignorance could fabricate. Even His worshippers allow that it is impossible to form any idea of Him; they exclaim with the French poet,
Pour dire ce qu'il est, il faut être lui‑même. [3]
Lord Bacon says that atheism leaves to man reason, philosophy, natural piety, laws, reputation, and everything that can serve to conduct him to virtue; but superstition destroys all these, and erects itself into a tyranny over the understandings of men; hence atheism never disturbs the government, but renders man more clear‑sighted, since he sees nothing beyond the boundaries of the present life.
Bacon's Moral Essays [A paraphrase from "Of Superstition."]
La première théologie de l'homme lui fit d'abord craindre et adorer les élémens même, des objets matériels et grossiers; il rendit ensuite ses hommages a des agens présidens aux elémens, à des génies inférieurs, à des héros, ou à des hommes doués de grands qualités. A force de réfléchir il crut simplifier les choses en soumettant la nature entière à un seul agent, a un esprit, à une âme universelle, qui mettoit cette nature et ses parties en mouvement. En remontant des causes en causes, les mortels ont fini par ne rien voir; et c'est dans cette obscurité qu'ils ont place leur Dieu; c'est dans cette obscurité qu'ils ont placé leur Dieu; c'est dans cette abîme ténébreux que leur imagination inquiète travaille toujours à se fabriquer des chimères, qui les affligeront jusqu'à ce que la connoissance de la nature les détrompe des fantômes qu'ils ont toujours si vainement adorés.
Si nous voulons nous rendre compte de nos idées sur la Divinité, nous serons obligés de convenir que, par le mot Dieu, les hommes n'ont jamais pu désigner que la cause la plus cachée, la plus éloignée, la plus inconnue des effets qu'ils voyoient: ils ne font usage de ce mot, que lorsque le jeu des causes naturelles et connues cesse d'être visible pour eux; dès qu'ils perdent le fil de ces causes, ou dès que leur esprit ne peut plus en suivre le chaîne, ils tranchent leur difficulté, et terminent leur recherches en appellant Dieu la dernière des causes, c'est‑à‑dire celle qui est audelà de toutes les causes qu'ils connoissent; ainsi ils ne font qu'assigner une dénomination vague à une cause ignorée, à laquelle leur paresse ou les bornes de leurs connoissances les forcent de s'arrêter. Toutes les fois qu'on nous dit que Dieu est l'auteur de quelque phénomène, cela signifie qu'on ignore comment un tel phénomène a pu s'opérer par le sécours des forces ou des causes que nous connoissons dans la nature. C'est ainsi que le commun des hommes, dont l'ignorance est le partage, attribue à la Divinité non seulement les effets inusités qui les frappent, mais encore les événemens les plus simples, dont les causes sont les plus faciles à connôitre pour quiconque a pu les méditer. En un mot, l'homme a toujours respecté les causes inconnues des effets surprenans, que son ignorance l'empêchoit de démêler. Ce fut sur les débris de la nature que les hommes élevèrent le colosse imaginaire de la Divinité.
Si l'ignorance de la nature donna la naissance aux dieux, la connoissance de la nature est faite pour les detruire. A mésure que l'homme s'instruit, ses forces et ses ressources augmentent avec ses lumières; les sciences, les arts conservateurs, l'industrie, lui fournissent des secours; l'expérience le rassûre, ou lui procure des moyens de résister aux efforts de bien des causes qui cessent de l'alarmer dès qu'il les a connues. En un mot, ses terreurs se dissipent dans la même proportion que son esprit s'éclaire. L'homme instruit cesse d'être superstitieux.
Ce n'est jamais que sur parole que des peuples entiers adorent le Dieu de leurs pères et de leurs prêtres: l'autorité, la confiance, la soumission, et l'habitude leur tiennent lieu de conviction et de preuves; ils se prosternent et prient, parce que leurs pères leur ont appris àse prosterner et à prier: mais pourquoi ceux‑ci se sont‑ils mis à genoux? C'est que dans les temps éloignés leurs legislateurs et leurs guides leur en ont fait un devoir. "Adorez et croyez," ont‑ils dit, "des dieux que vous ne pouvez comprendre; rapportez‑vous en a notre sagesse profonde; nous en savons plus que vous sur la divinité." "Mais pourquoi m'en rapporterai‑je àvous?" "C'est que Dieu le veut ainsi; c'est que Dieu vous punira si vous osez résister:" "Mais ce Dieu n'est‑il donc pas la chose en question?" Cependant les hommes se sont toujours payés de ce cercle vicieux; la paresse de leur esprit leur fit trouver plus court de s'en rapporter au jugement des autres. Toutes les notions religieuses sont fondées uniquement sur l'autorite; toutes les religions du monde défendent l'examen et ne veulent pas que l'on raisonne; c'est l'autorité qui veut qu'on croie en Dieu; ce Dieu n'est lui­même fondé que sur l'autorité de quelques hommes qui prétendent le connoître, et venir de sa part pour l'annoncer à la terre. Un Dieu fait par les hommes a sans doute besoin des hommes pour se faire connoître au monde.
Ne seroit‑ce donc que pour des prêtres, des inspirés, des métaphysiciens que seroit reservée la conviction de l'existence d'un Dieu, que l'on dit neanmoins si necessaire à toute le genre humain? Mais trouvons‑nous de l'harmonie entre les opinions théologiques des différens inspirés, ou des penseurs répandus sur la terre? Ceux même qui font profession d'adorer le même Dieu, sont‑ils d'accord sur son compte? sont'ils contents des preuves que leurs collègues apportent de son existence? Souscrivent‑ils unanimement aux idées qu'ils présentent sur sa nature, sur sa conduite, sur la façon d'entendre ses prétendus oracles? Est‑il une contrée sur la terre où la science de Dieu se soit réellement perfectionnée? A‑t‑elle pris quelque part la consistance et l'uniformité que nous voyons prendre aux connoissances humaines, aux arts les plus futiles, aux métiers les plus meprisés? les mots d'esprit, d'immatérialité, de création, de prédestination, de grace; cette foule de distinctions subtiles dont la théologie s'est partout remplie; dans quelques pays, ces inventions si ingénieuses, imaginées par des penseurs qui se sont succédés depuis tant de siècles, n'ont fait, helas! qu'embrouiller les choses, et jamais la science la plus nécessaire aux hommes n'a jusqu' ici pu acquérir la moindre fixité. Depuis des milliers d'années des rêveurs oisifs se sont perpétuellement relayés pour méditer la Divinité, pour deviner ses voies cachées, pour inventer des hypothèses propres à développer cette énigme importante. Leur peu de succès n'a point découragé la vanité théologique; toujours on a parlé de Dieu: on s'est disputé, l'on s'est égorgé pour lui, et cet être sublime demeure toujours le plus ignoré et le plus discuté.
Les hommes auroient été trop heureux, si se bornant aux objets visibles qui les intéressent, ils eussent employé à perfectionner leurs sciences réelles, leurs lois, leur morale, leur éducation, la moitié des efforts qu'ils ont mis dans leurs recherches sur la Divinité. Ils auroient été bien plus sages encore, et plus fortunés, s'ils eussent pu consentir à laisser leurs guides désoeuvres se quereller entre eux, et sonder des profondeurs capables de les étourdir, sans se mêler de leurs disputes insensées. Mais il est de l'essence de l'ignorance d'attacher de l'importance à ce qu'elle ne comprend pas. La vanité humaine fait que l'esprit se roidit contre les difficultés. Plus un objet se dérobe à nos yeux, plus nous faisons d'efforts pour le saisir, parce que dès‑lors il aiguillone notre orgueil, il irrite notre curiosite, il nous paroît intéressant. En combattant pour son Dieu, chacun ne combattit en effet que pour les intérêts de sa propre vanité, qui de toutes les passions humaines est la plus prompte a s'alarmer, et la plus propre à produire de très grandes folies.
Si, écartant pour un moment les idées fâcheuses que la théologie nous donne d'un Dieu capricieux, dont les décrets partiaux et despotiques décident du sort des humains, nous ne voulons fixer nos yeux que sur la bonté prétendue, que tous les hommes, même en tremblant devant ce Dieu, s'accordent à lui donner; si nous lui supposons le project qu'on lui prête, de n'avoir travaillé que pour sa propre gloire, d'exiger les hommages des êtres intelligens; de ne chercher dans ses oeuvres que le bien‑être du genre humain; comment concilier ces vues et ces dispositions avec l'ignorance vraiment invincible dans laquelle ce Dieu, si glorieux et si bon, laisse la plupart des hommes sur son compte? Si Dieu veut être connu, chéri, remercié, que ne se montre‑t‑il sous des traits favorables à tous ces êtres intelligens dont il veut être aimé et adoré? Pourquoi ne point se manifester à toute la terre d'une façon non équivoque, bien plus capable de nous convaincre, que ces révélations particulières qui semblent accuser la Divinité d'une partialité fâcheuse pour quelques‑unes de ses créatures? Le toutpuissant n'auroit‑il pas donc des moyens plus convaincans de se montrer aux hommes, que ces métamorphoses ridicules, ces incarnations prétendues, qui nous sont attestées par des écrivains si peu d'accord entre eux dans les récits qu'ils en font? Au lieu de tant de miracles, inventés pour prouver la mission divine de tant de législateurs, revérés par les différens peuples du monde, le souverain des esprits ne pouvoit‑il pas convaincre tout d'un coup l'esprit humain des choses qu'il vouloit lui faire connôitre? Au lieu de suspendre un soleil dans la voùte du firmament; au lieu de répandre sans ordre les étoiles, et les constellations qui remplissent l'espace, n'eut‑il pas été plus conforme aux vues d'un Dieu si jaloux de sa gloire et si bien intentionné pour l'homme; d'écrire d'une façon non sujette à dispute, son nom, ses attributs, ses volontés permanentes, en caractères ineffaçables, et lisibles également pour tous les habitants de la terre? Personne alors n'auroit pu douter de l'existence d'un Dieu, de ses volontés claires, de ses intentions visibles. Sous les yeux de ce Dieu si sensible, personne n'auroit eu l'audace de violer ses ordonnances; nul mortel n'eût osé se mettre dans le cas d'attirer sa colère: enfin nul homme n'eût eu le front d'en imposer en son nom, ou d'interpréter ses volontés suivant ses propres fantaisies.
En effet, quand même on supposeroit l'existence du Dieu théologique, et la réalité des attributs si discordans qu'on lui donne, l'on ne peut en rien conclure, pour autoriser la conduite ou les cultes qu'on prescrit de lui rendre. La théologie est vraiment le tonneau des Danaïdes. A force de qualités contradictoires et d'assertions hazardées, elle a, pour ainsi dire, tellement garroté son Dieu qu'elle l'a mis dans l'impossibilité d'agir. S'il est infiniment bon, quelle raison aurions‑nous de le craindre? S'il est infiniment sage, de quoi nous inquiéter sur notre sort? S'il sait tout, pourquoi l'avertir de nos besoins, et le fatiguer de nos prières? S'il est partout, pourquoi lui élever des temples? S'il est le maître de tout, pourquoi lui faire des sacrifices et des offrandes? S'il est juste, comment croire qu'il punisse des créatures qu'il a remplies de foiblesses? Si la grace fait tout en elles, quelle raison auroit‑il de les récompenser? S'il est tout‑puissant, comment l'offenser, comment lui résister? S'il est raisonnable, comment se mettroit‑il en colère contre des aveugles, à qui il a laissé la liberté de déraisonner? S'il est immuable, de quel droit prétendrions­nous faire changer ses décrets? S'il est inconcevable, pourquoi nous en occuper? S'IL A PARLÉ, POURQUOI L'UNIVERS N'EST‑IL PAS CONVAINCU? Si la connoissance d'un Dieu est la plus nécessaire, pourquoi n'est‑elle pas la plus évidente, et la plus claire. —Système de la Nature, London, 1781. [4] [Shelley quotes verbatim, errors and all, scattered paragraphs from Volume Two, London edition (1771), principally from pages 16‑18, 27, 319‑326, as though they were consecutive. ]
The enlightened and benevolent Pliny thus publicly professes himself an atheist: Quapropter effigiem Dei formamque quaerere inbecillitatis humanae reor. Quisquis est Deus (si modo est alius) et qua cunque in parte, totus est sensus, totus est visus, totus auditus, totus animae, totus animi, totus sui. . . . Imperfectae vero in homine naturae praecipua solatia ne deum quidem posse omnia. Namque nec sibi potest mortent consciscere, si velit, quod homini dedit optimum in tantis vitae poenis: nec mortales aeternitate donare, aut revocare defunctos; nec facere ut qui vixit non vixerit, qui honores gessit non gesserit, nullumque habere in praete­riturn ius, praeterquarn oblivionis, atque (ut facetis quoque argumentis societas haec cum deo copuletur) ut his dena viginti non Sint, et multa similiter efficere non posse. Per quae declaratur haud dubie naturae potentiam id quoque esse quod Deum vocamus. [5]
            Plin. Nat. Hist., cap. de Deo.
The consistent Newtonian is necessarily an atheist. See Sir Mr. Drummond's Academical Questions, Chapter iii.
Sir W. seems to consider the atheism to which it leads as a sufficient presumption of the falsehood of the system of gravitation; but surely it is more consistent with the good faith of philosophy to admit a deduction from facts than an hypothesis incapable of proof, although it might militate with the obstinate preconceptions of the mob. Had this author, instead of inveighing against the guilt and absurdity of atheism, demonstrated its falsehood, his conduct would have been more suited to the modesty of the sceptic and the toleration of the philosopher.
Omnia enim per Dei potentiam facta sunt: imo quia naturae potentia nulla est nisi ipsa Dei potentia. Certurn est nos eatenus Dei potentiam non intelligere, quatenus causas naturales ignoramus; adeoque stulte ad eandem Dei potentiam recurritur, quando rei alicuius causam naturalem, sive est, ipsam Dei potentiam ignoramus. [6] Spinoza, Tract. Theologico‑Pol. chap. i, p. 14. [Shelley's Note.]
Notes
1.  See Holbach's Système, 1.31‑39, for a similar argument.
2.  "I do not invent hypotheses, for whatever is not deduced from phenomena should be called an hypothesis; and a hypothesis, whether of metaphysics, or physics, or occult qualities, or mechanics, have [sic] no place in philosophy.
3. "To say what he is, one would have to be he."
4. For a translation of this quotation see Appendix D(a).
5. For the translation of the quotation see Appendix D(b). Shelley's text differs slightly from the Loeb. This quotation, lacking the first sentence, is given in A Refutation of Deism.
6. For a collation of Shelley's text with that of Spinoza and translation see Appendix D(c).

SOURCE: Shelley, Percy Bysshe. “There Is No God” (1813), in: Shelley's Prose, edited by David Lee Clark (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1954), pp. 97-102.

On Polytheism (1819?) by Percy Bysshe Shelley
“I Will Beget a Son” by Percy Bysshe Shelley
A Fragment of A Refutation of Deism by Percy Bysshe Shelley
[A Refutation of the Christian Religion] (1814?) by Percy Bysshe Shelley
A Fragment on Miracles (1813-1815) by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Essay on the Devil and Devils by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Kanto por la angloj
[Song to the Men of England] de Percy Bysshe Shelley
Al—
[To—, 1821] de Percy Bysshe Shelley
Odo al la Okcidenta Vento
[Ode to the West Wind] de Percy Bysshe Shelley
Offsite:
The Necessity of Atheism by Percy Bysshe Shelley
A Defence of Poetry and Other Essays by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Friday, August 28, 2015

Rüdiger Safranski's Romanticism (Book review)

A German Affair

Wanderer above the Sea of Fog
(cc) Wikimedia Commons
By Hans-Dieter Gelfert
The favourable reception that Safranski’s book met with from critics as well as from the reading public seems to justify his title. Romanticism as he defines it was and is indeed a German affair. Germany’s most characteristic contributions to nineteenth-century world culture, music and speculative philosophy, are so thoroughly romantic that they alone would give the whole movement a German flavour. But in Germany romanticism did not stay within the boundaries of art and philosophy, it gave momentum to political nationalism, to an irrational Lebensphilosophie and to a fatal departure from the path of the Enlightenment. All this, as Safranski narrates in detail, added to the ideological powder-keg that eventually exploded in Hitler’s Germany. Safranski traces the fatal development, but does not condemn the movement as such. On the contrary, he defend its creative energy and arrives at the conclusion that a “romantic excess of unworldliness” is not only desirable, but necessary for counterbalancing the rationality of the modern world.
Scholars of German literature traditionally date the beginnings of Romantik either on the year 1798, when Friedrich Schlegel published his programmatic definition of the new concept, or two years earlier with the publication of Wackenroder’s Herzensergießungen eines kunstliebenden Klosterbruders (Outpourings of an Art-Loving Friar), the first instance of full-fledged romanticism in German literature. Safranski is more generous and traces the beginning back to the year 1769 when Herder embarked on a voyage at sea to France, during which according to Safranski the first truly romantic ideas germinated in his mind.
Like most German scholars, Safranski is blind to the fact that almost all these ideas had already been propounded by English writers in the first half of the eighteenth century. If there is any one person the origin of the movement can be traced back to it is the third earl of Shaftesbury, in whose essays the new view of divinized nature shows through an enlightened dressing. Shaftesbury’s influence on German writers and thinkers was so profound and long-lasting that half a century after the appearance of his famous ‘hymn to Nature’ Herder turned this piece of enthusiastic prose into verse. Safranski, strangely enough, doesn’t even mention this, nor does Shaftesbury’s name appear in his index. All the other English forerunners of romanticism – James Thomson, whose Seasons triggered the new nature poetry; Thomas Gray, whose Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard made the common people a worthy subject of poetry; Edward Young, whose Night Thoughts were hailed all over Europe as the expression of a new irrationality; and MacPherson, whose Ossian-fakes boosted the German craving for sublimity, which lasted throughout the nineteenth century – they all are conspicuously absent from Safranski’s book. He even ignores Bishop Percy, whose Reliques of Ancient English Poetry (1765) gave Herder the idea of collecting folk songs.
This blindness to the early history of the movement is typical of how Germans understand romanticism. They see in it a reaction against the Klassik of Goethe and Schiller. But if these two had died as young as Byron and Keats, there would have been no Klassik, and then, most likely, German scholars would realize that the age of Empfindsamkeit and the Sturm und Drang were equivalent to what in English literature is called ‘preromanticism’ and ‘early romanticism’. They would also realize that long before German philosophers and musicians enriched the world with their creations, England had already delivered a contribution to the movement certainly not less romantic, which in Germany goes by the name Englischer Garten. Of course, the difference between Capability Brown’s landscape gardens and Wagner’s operas is so great that one hesitates to see the two as expressions of one and the same set of ideas and ideals. But the hesitation is due to a shortsighted view of the whole movement. Romanticism was not, as Germans commonly believe, a reaction against the rationality of the Enlightenment, it was from the beginning of the eighteenth century a concurrent ideological alternative to the ideas prevalent at the time.
When, after the Glorious Revolution, the English middle classes began their social and political ascent, they needed an ideologeme that would legitimize their breaking away from the traditional order. The Enlightenment offered them a set of values based on reason. Reason operates on the same principles in every human mind. Thus, it justifies the claim for equality. But reason needs schooling, learning, and cultivation, which only the well-to-do could afford. Therefore, the set of neo-classicist key values such as reason, judgment, learning, taste and beauty would only appeal to the upper middle class. For those who had no access to academia – either for financial or religious reasons – a value system based on nature was far more appealing. Nature gives to each human being individuality, originality, feelings, intuition, imagination, and in exceptional cases, genius. These were the key concepts that began to seep into the intellectual discourse in Britain from 1700 onward, until at last they surfaced as full-fledged romanticism.
The social and economic dynamics that fed the romantic movement are hardly ever mentioned, let alone discussed in Safranski’s book. His is the traditional German approach that used to be called geistesgeschichtlich. Had he gone back to the first dawn of romantic ideas in England he would have been faced with the challenging question why German romanticism went ‘over the top’, as it were, whereas its English counterpart stayed on the ground. The two parted company already in the eighteenth century, when the English refused to opt for either the beautiful or the sublime and instead chose the picturesque for their aesthetic ideal. Picturesque is something that consists of individual elements that are neither fused into a sublime whole nor shaped into beautiful harmony, but are left to please by their disparity. German culture in the nineteenth century opted for awe-inspiring sublimity, which found its most conspicuous expression in speculative philosophy and in the music of Beethoven, Bruckner and Wagner.
The social and political reasons for this are obvious. The English insisted on individual freedom because, as dwellers on a sheltered island “set in the silver sea” and armed with political power, they could afford to do so. The Germans, on the other hand, were yearning for political unity and for a powerful state to protect them. Not individual freedom, but collective security was their first priority. The key concept that haunted the minds not only of their romantic poets, but those of the whole nation, goes by the untranslatable word ‘Geborgenheit’. The word evokes the feeling of a pristine state of complete and utter security. The yearning for metaphysical totality, for political unity and for ethnic wholeness and haleness was the driving force of the development Safranski describes so well without ever discussing the reason why. His book, though fascinating in its own way, exhibits the kind of cultural parochialism that for generations has given German ‘Germanistik’ a peculiarly provincial flavour. On the other hand, it is the combination of provincialism and cosmopolitanism at the expense of an undeveloped urbanity which fascinates foreign observers in German culture and appears to them as an exotic otherness. In this respect, Safranski’s book is an excellent travel guide into Germany’s heart of darkness.
Rüdiger Safranski: Romantik. Eine deutsche Affäre
Carl Hanser Verlag, Munich 2007
ISBN-10 3446209441
ISBN-13 9783446209442
Hardcover, 416 pages, EUR 24.90
Hans-Dieter Gelfert was Professor of English Literature and Culture at the Free University of Berlin until 2000, and, according to the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, is ‘one of the most prolific and most widely read Anglicists in Germany’. His most recent book, on the life and work of Edgar Allan Poe, is published by C.H. Beck (Munich).
- See more at: http://berlinbooks.org/brb/2009/11/a-german-affair/#sthash.beYFDYcI.dpuf

Friday, August 21, 2015

Rüdiger Safranski's book on Romanticism

22/10/2007

Rüdiger Safranski

The enchantment of the world

Rüdiger Safranski's book on Romanticism is a genuinely exciting account of German intellectual history. By Ulrich Greiner

Johann Gottlieb FichteJohann Gottlieb Fichte, work
 
When Johann Gottlieb Fichte read the "Critique of Pure Reason" in 1791, he was so excited that he set out for Königsberg to visit the famous Immanuel Kant. But what he found there was an old, disinterested man who sent him back home. There, in exactly five weeks, Fichte wrote "An Attempt at a Critique of all Revelation," sent it to Kant, who was suitably impressed and found a publisher for him. For fear of censorship, the book appeared anonymously. The critics at the "Allgemeinen Literatur" newspaper in Jena wrote that anyone who knows even a bit of Kant will recognise that this new work can only be from him. Kant explained in a letter to the editor that a certain Fichte, and not he, was the author. And so he became famous overnight.

E.T.A. HoffmannE.T.A. Hoffmann, work

Rüdiger Safranski's fabulous book on Romanticism doesn't only consist of such stories but it so smoothly combines philosophical analysis with anecdotal perspective, and so gracefully switches between profound reflection and biographical wit, that we are presented with a genuine rarity: exciting German intellectual history. "Romanticism. A German affair". That's the title. It refers to both the epoch which lasted an astonishingly brief 30 years as well as the ongoing influence of Romantic thought and its often dangerous mutation into the political realm. In 1798, Novalis wrote, "In giving the entirety a higher value, the usual an element of secrecy, the well-known the value of the unknown and the finite the appearance of infinity, I romanticise." This preamble to the Romantic constitution was to be fatally radicalised later by dark ideologies and their masters. Goebbels used the term "steely romantic." And Safranski sees in Ernst Jünger "the warmongering version of the Dionysian," which plays an instrumental role in Nietzsche (also a Romantic renegade).

Heinrich HeineHeinrich Heine, work

Did Romanticism cause the German catastrophe? Safranski finds two respected proponents of this theory: Isaiah Berlin and Eric Voegelin. "According to Berlin, in the subjectivity of its aesthetic imagination and the joy in ironic play, Romanticism allowed for an uninhibited profundity, and a subversion of the conventional moral order. Voegelin makes a similar argument, but identifies the subverted order as 'theomorph' and extends the criticism of subjectivity to accuse Romanticism of deifying its subject. It's an accusation that had already been levelled by Heinrich Heine when he called the Romantics 'godless selfgods'."


Friedrich Schleichermacher, Novalis

But if there was ever a sense of magic, an innocent start, then in Romanticism. They were all so young! Fichte was 29 when he drafted his "Attempt at a Critique of all Revelation"; Friedrich Schlegel 23 when he wrote his famous essay "On the Study of Greek Poetry"; Schleiermacher 31 when he wrote his speeches on religion; Novalis 26 when he composed his hymns to the night; and Ludwig Tieck 22 when he penned his three-volume novel "William Lovell".


Ludwig Tieck, Friedrich Schlegel

All this happened in the final years of the 18th century and Safranksi succeeds in vividly depicting this explosion of genius and the ongoing enthusiasm that it generated. He seems to be infected by the enthusiasm himself. But he does not neglect to mention the social and political circumstances. Between 1750 and 1800, he says, the literacy rate doubled. People were no longer reading one book several times, but several books once. Between 1790 and 1800, two and a half thousand novels appeared, as many as in the nine decades before. And then of course the French Revolution, the Napoleon cult and finally the anti- Napoleonism which lead to patriotism, the politicisation of Romanticism and the beginning of the loss of innocence.

Jean PaulJean Paul, work

So what was Romanticism? According to Safranski, it was, among other things, an "extension of religion by aesthetic means." One could also say, a surpassing of religion through the release of the powers of imagination, which re-invented the world in a playful way. A world which, from a political viewpoint, was singularly intellectual. So one could say that Romanticism was a substitute for action, which is why it could only take shape in Germany, in narrow, politically sterile conditions. Safranski: "If there is a lack of a world at large, you build one yourself from what there is to hand." The subject finds the things to hand within himself. But Safranski also shows that the Romantics were not so naive as to be unaware of the potential dangers and disasters. Some, like E.T.A. Hoffmann, even sought them out. Even Tieck's "William Lovell" (1795), "who observes and reflects constantly, realises in the end, how hollow and empty he really is." And Jean Paul will note later: "Oh, if every subject is his own father and creator, why can't he be his own angel of death?" In the self-destructive excesses of the 20th century, the angel of death did indeed complete its work.

EichendorffJoseph von Eichendorff, poems

But Romanticism was not only an extension of religion through aesthetic means; for some poets, it was the safeguarding of the aesthetic through religion. "The war inside and outside will never end," wrote Novalis, "if one does not seize the palm branch which alone can administer intellectual power." Here he meant the Catholic religion. Safranski says of Eichendorff, the greatest poet of the Romantic: "He remained faithful to the God of his childhood, the God of his native forests, not a God of speculation and philosophy. It's a God that doesn't need to be invented – he can always be re-discovered in one's childhood dreams. Protected by this God, one can be pious and bold... at the same time free and bound." Like his poetry. If Novalis composed theory of Romanticism, Eichendorff was the one to realise it. His poem "Magic Wand" has always been the ultimate expression of Romantic desire.

HölderlinFriedrich Hölderlin, work

The precision and devotion with which Safranski approaches the poets is delightful. Hölderlin and Heine come to life. With Kleist, he reaches the astute conclusion that his hatred is like love, "an ecstasy of devotion." Safranski explains what Romantic irony means, and how it was understood by Schlegel, Eichendorff and Heine. And when was anyone able to explain Fichte's philosophy of the self such that one could even come close to understanding it? Safranski is no daredevil discoverer, venturing onto new territory, but rather one who can synthesise, whose sagacity (as E.T.A. Hoffmann would have said), learning and command of language enable him to make intellectual history intelligible. And to ensure that we don't get too reverential, he indulges in the occasional sloppiness – calling Novalis the "Mozart of the Romantics" and Thomas Mann a "Dionysian with iron creases and starched collars."

KleistHeinrich von Kleist, work
Four hundred pages for a history of Romanticism is not that much. It's also the result of two significant decisions that Safranski made. One: no painting and music only in the form of Richard Wagner. Two: Safranski limits himself to the German scene. But the Romantics considered themselves citizens of the world, they translated Shakespeare, for example. And Ossian, the so-called Homer of the North (in fact, a confidence trickster by the name of James Macpherson) set in motion the German debate over the sublime. Here, it would have made sense to shift the focus to English Romanticism.

BrentanoClemens Brentano, work
So why isn't Romanticism a closed chapter? Safranski writes: "With their discomfort with normality, the Romantics anticipate the discomfort with the 'demystification of the world through reason' that Max Weber would raise critically a century later. "The victory march of technical-industrial thinking and its crass materialism was unstoppable. Germans did not follow Max Weber's wise advice: to learn to live with demystification. In part they didn't want to, in part they couldn't and that remains true to date. Because modernity, which relies on reason and at best ends in reason, kept picking up its pace. Which is why Romanticism keeps returning as an place of desire – unfortunately, often in its darkest form. All the more important to recall its light, brilliant beginning, those beautiful young men and their intelligent women. What they were and wrote constitutes the undeniable peak of German intellectual history.

Rüdiger Safranski: Romantik Eine deutsche Affaire; Hanser Verlag, München 2007; 415 S., 24,90 eur

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This article originally appeared on September 6, 2007 in Die Zeit.

Ulrich Greiner is responsible for the literature section of Die Zeit.


translation: nb