bennett werther

8/10/2019 Bennett Werther

1/19

Goethe's Werther: Double Perspective and the Game of Life

Author(s): Benjamin BennettSource: The German Quarterly, Vol. 53, No. 1 (Jan., 1980), pp. 64-81Published by: Blackwell Publishing on behalf of the American Association of Teachers ofGermanStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/405245Accessed: 19/01/2009 21:10

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2/19

GOETHE'S

WERTHER:

DOUBLE PERSPECTIVE

AND THE

GAME

OF LIFE

BENJAMIN

ENNETT

Why

does

Goethe

introduce the "editor's"

narrativeat the end

of

Werther?l

Or,

at

least, why

does

he

develop

it in

the

particular

way

he

does?

A

third-person

account of Werther's

death

is

perhaps

unavoid-

able,

but

does

it

have

to involve

such

an

abrupt

change

of narrative

mode? Could the device of

a

diary,

for

example,

not

have

transmitted

much of the information

n

the novel's

last

pages?

The

one

genuinely

enlightening

answer to

this

question,

as

far

as

I

know, is that suggestedby Eric Blackall n Goetheand the Novel. Blackall

argues

that the

significance

of

the

narrator's ntrusion resides

precisely

in

its

failure

to show

Werther o us

objectively,

and

in

our awarenessof

this

failure.

In

both versions

of the

novel,

Blackall

points out,

even

after the editor

intervenes,

the

point

of view from which the whole

fiction is seen

is

still

essentially

Werther's. Documents

composed

by

Werther

are still a

major

portion

and source

of

the

text;

the

impossibility

of

achieving objectivity

is

prominent

as a

theme;

and

most

important,

the editor relates

a

number

of facts

which,

at

the

very

least,

it

is

extremely improbable

hat

he could have

learned

from

living

witnesses.

Especially

Werther's

solitary broodings

while

on

his

way

to

pick

up

Lotte,

on the

day

the

peasant-boy

s

apprehended

or

murder,

are some-

thing

only

Werther

or

an

omniscient

narrator

could

know

of;

but

even

in

the first

version,

where

the

peasant-boy

is

missing,

far

too

many

details of the

Ossian

scene are

given, including

some

which it

is

entirely

unreasonable to

imagine

as

having

been

supplied by

Lotte.

The "edi-

tor," then,

is

not

convincing

as a

person

but is

obviously

a

device

for

manipulating

our

perspective;

and Blackall

suggests

that

precisely

the

transparency

of

this

device creates

for us

a

significant

double

perspec-

tive: "we remainwith Werther'spointof view and yet see it as a pointof

view,

not as absolute."2 The

significance

of the

change

from letters

to

narrative s

that it

does

not

effectively

alter

our

point

of

view,

yet

pro-

duces a

certain

irony

concerning

the

point

of view we still

occupy.

64


3/19

GOETHE'SWERTHER

Blackall's

argument

can

be

developed,

however,

if

we

begin by

inquiring

into the

function of the

external

aspect

of

the fiction. Is the

novel reallya "soliloquy"? Werther,afterall, writesin his letters about

things

that

happen;

are we meant to

regard

these

things merely

as

sym-

bols

of

his

inner

state? Should we

not

attempt,

for

ourselves,

to form

an

accurate idea

of the

people

and

personal

relationships

that

make

up

his

world? One of

the most

important

additions

in

the 1787

version

is

the

letter

introducing

the

subplot

of

the

peasant-boy,

where

Werther

resolves

not to

try

to

get

a

direct look

at

the

object

of

the

boy's

love:

"Es ist

besser,

ich

sehe sie durch die

Augen

ihres

Liebhabers;

vielleicht

erscheint sie

mir

vor

meinen

eigenen Augen

nicht

so,

wie

sie

jetzt

vor

mir steht, und warum soll ich mir das sch6ne Bild verderben?"3The

significance

of this

passage

becomes clear when

we recall

that

these

are

the last words

before Lotte's

entrance

upon

the

scene. Not

only

are

we

warned

that

we

will

receive

a

distorted

image

of

Lotte,

but

we

are also

thus

challenged

to

strive somehow for

a

clearer

picture

of what

she

is

really

like. And in

the

same

letter,

Werther

stresses the

inability

of

language

to

convey

an

exact sense

of

the

way things

are;

again,

we are

reminded

that

we must seek

somehow

behind

the

language,

to form an

idea

of

Werther's actual

world. Nor does this invitation to

look at

the

world as

a

world,

not

merely

as the

symbol

of an

anguish, emerge only

in

the

second

version

of

the novel.

Precisely

Werther's obvious

failure

to

perceive

with

any

sort

of

objective clarity,

in

both

versions,

tantalizes

us,

challenges

us to do

better;

and the

challenge

has of

course been

accepted

often

enough

by commentators,

with

respect

to

everything

from

depthpsychology

o social criticism.4

The fictional

object

that

most

attracts

our

attention,

however,

is

Lotte. Not

only

are we

challenged

to

ask what

sort of

person

she

really

is,

and

why

she

is so attached to

Werther,

but

we are

given

quite

sufficient evidence for a dispassionate answer to this question.

Undoubtedly

Lotte is a

capable,

energetic

and

relatively

level-headed

young woman;

but she is also

an

entirely ordinary

young

woman,

despite

Werther's

enthusiasm about

her intellect

(Geist)

and artistic

sen-

sitivity.

She has

read

The Vicar

of

Wakefield

and

Klopstock's

"Friihlingsfeier"

well

enough

to

know

vaguely

what

they

are

about-

although

even

here,

I fail

to

see

how

"hauslich

Leben" characterizes

Goldsmith's focus better than

"Gluck

und Unstern"

(16 June).

But

where the

occasion,

for

example, appears

to

call for a

quotation

from

Klopstock-where

she

could have

recited the

magnificent

ine,

"Und der

geschmetterte

Wald

dampft"-the

best Lotte can

manage

is to

pro-

nounce the

poet's

not

very euphonious

surname.

Whereupon

Werther

bursts into

tears,

borne

along, presumably,

on a

sympathetic

wave

of

knowledge

and

feeling. We, however,

have cause to

doubt whether his

heart

and

Lotte's

really

beat

in

time

with

each

other

here,

for

he has

already

expressed

strongly

his

need to

escape

from

books

and

learning

and

poetry,

with

the

exception

of

Homer

(13

May,

17

May).

Indeed,

he

65


4/19

BENJAMINBENNETT

experiences

the

very

idea

of art as a

temptation

that

spoils

his

pleasure

in

nature;

he can feel "das Wehen des

Allliebenden,"

but

the

recollec-

tion of his art-"k6nntest du das wieder ausdriicken"-transforms his

joy

into

despair:

"ich

gehe

dariiber zu

Grunde,

ich

erliege

unter

der

Gewalt der Herrlichkeitdieser

Erscheinungen"

(10

May).

And

Goethe

makes this

yet

clearer

in

the second

version, where,

in

the same

letter

that

challenges

us to

think

objectively

about

Lotte,

Werther

complains,

"muss es denn immer

gebosselt

sein,

wenn

wir

Theil

an

einer Naturer-

scheinung

nehmen sollen?"

(30

May). Precisely

what

he

complains

of

is what

Lotte then

does;

confronted

with

an

impressive

natural

phenomenon,

her

reaction,

quite literally,

is "mit

einem

gestempelten

Kunstworte drein [stolpern]" (11 June), as Werthersays later of the

prince

whose

guest

he

is.

On the face of

it,

Lotte's reaction to the thun-

derstorm is

affected.

Surely Shakespeare

is as

important

to us as

Klopstock

was to that

generation

of

Germans,

but do we

immediately

think

of Lear

when

it

thunders? Does

The Winter'sTale

spring

to mind

when

I am

pursued by

a

bear? There is

nothing

extraordinary

about

Lotte's mind or

character;

or at

least

we

have

no

evidence

that

there is.

She is

perfectly

content to

gossip

callously

about others' troubles

(26

Oct.);

and Werther himself later accuses her of

Philistinism,

when she

offers

a

pat (but

not

at all

implausible)psychologicalexplanation

of his

behavior

(p.

157).

Lotte

has artistic and cultural

pretensions,

which

it

seems are not

fully

justified;

and

we

may

at

least

suspect

that

she

is a habitual

breaker

of hearts-we

think

of the mad

boy

and of

the

warning

Wertherreceives

against falling

in

love

with

her. On

this

basis

we can form a

clear idea

of her

history

and

situation,

and

of the reason she is attracted to

Werther. Her

family

had

moved to the

country only

after her mother's

death;

she had been

brought

up

in

the

city,

or

as we

may

assume,

in a

more exciting social and culturalatmosphere. Especiallyafter marriage

relieves her of the

responsibility

or her

brothers

and

sisters, therefore,

she has extra time

to

fill,

and

she has

grown

up

thinking

of social

and

especially

cultural

pursuits-in

that

age

of

intellectual ladies' clubs

and

literary

annuals "for ladies of

education"-as the

proper occupation

for

young

womanhood. This is

why

she

clings

to

Werther;

he is not

only

a

conquest,

but also her lifeline to

a

fuller

world,

her

personal

minister

of

culture,

whose Greek and

sketching

are "zwei

Meteore"

(17

May)

in

her

non-intellectual

and

socially

uneventful

surroundings.

Toward

the

end of

the

first

book,

in

the midst

of

Werther's

intensifying

passion,

we

are struck

by

one

peculiarly

quiet

image:

"ich sitze oft auf den

Obstbaumen

in

Lottens Baumstick

mit

dem

Obstbrecher,

der

langen

Stange,

und

hole die Birnen

aus

dem

Gipfel.

Sie steht

unten

und nimmt

sie

ab,

wenn

ich

sie

ihr

herunter lasse"

(28

Aug.).

Werther's function

in

Lotte's

universe,

that

is,

is to

perch

aloft

and

secure for her an

other-

wise

unattainable ntellectualamusement

and

nourishment.

66


5/19

GOETHE'SWERTHER

We

have,

then,

a

clear view of the situation. Werther

mistakenly

imagines

a

perfect

harmony

between

his soul and

Lotte's;

Lotte mistak-

enly assumes that she can set limits to Werther's idea of his function in

her life.

The

tensions

that must

follow are

obvious,

and are

the

main

action of the

novel.

What

is

important,

however,

is

to

recognize

that

the double

perspective

Blackall

speaks

of is

present

not

only

at

the end

of the

novel,

but

throughout,

as an

integral

part

of the

structure. We

are

strictly

limited

to

Werther's

point

of

view,

since we have

only

his

letters before

us;

yet

we

also have an

objective

idea of

how

things

are.

Blackall's

perception-that

despite

the

switch

to a

narratorat the

end,

our

point

of view

with

respect

to the

novel's

fiction does not

change-is

thus rather more deeply applicablethan it at first appears. Even the

subtle

doubleness or

irony

created

by

the

editor's intrusion is

not some-

thing new,

but rather

represents

an

aspect

of our relation to the text

which,

surprisingly,

does not

change,

despite

the

radical

change

in mode

of

presentation.

The

question,

however,

is

why

Goethe

creates

that

double

per-

spective

in

the

first

place.

Is

it

merely

a matter of

showing

the dishar-

mony

between

subjective

and

objective

reality,

between "Innenwelt"

and

"Aussenwelt,"

as

they

are called

in

much

Werther

riticism?

II

Let us turn for a

moment to another work of

young

Goethe

which

is

clearly

relevant

here,

the

enthusiastic

address on

Shakespeare.

Shak-

espeare,

especially Hamlet,

hovering

"zwischen Sein und

Nichtsein"

(15

Nov.),

is a

constant

presence

in

the

background

of

Werther,

and the

image

of

the

"Raritaten Kasten"

from

the

Shakespeare speech5

also

occurs

to Werther

n

respect

of court

life

(20

Jan.).

But

more

important

for understanding he novel is Goethe's remarkthat Shakespeare'splays

"drehen sich alle

um

den

geheimen

Punckt,

den noch

kein

Philosoph

gesehen

und

bestimmt

hat,

in

dem das

Eigenthuimliche

nsres

Ich's,

die

pratendirte

Freyheit

unsres

Willens,

mit

dem

nothwendigen

Gang

des

Ganzen zusammenst6sst." Is

it

merely

a

question

here of

the conflict

between "Innenwelt"

and

"Aussenwelt,"

between the

way

we see

things

and

the

way they

really

are?

If

so,

why

does Goethe

call

the

point

of collision "secret"?

I

act

in

accordance

with

my

own view of

things,

and

my

intention is

thwarted because

my

view

of

things

had

been subjectively limited; what is "secret" or mysteriousor philosophi-

cally

unfathomableabout

this?

It

is

necessary

to

recognize

that

"das

Eigenthimliche

unsres

Ich's" stands

in

apposition

to "die

pratendirteFreyheit

unsres

Willens";

the

uniqueness

of

our

ego

is our

sense

or

belief

that we

are

free;

the

ego,

in

other

words,

is

here

defined not as

a

set

of

charactertraits,

ut

as

a

point of

view,

or

a

manner of

viewing,

by

which

things

appear

67


6/19

BENJAMIN

BENNETT

provisional,

malleable, translucent, symbolic, subject

to our

arbitrary

choice and

responsive

to our

feelings.

And the

"nothwendiger Gang

des Ganzen," correspondingly,refers not to some specific idea of fate

but rather to the

point

of

view,

or manner of

viewing,

by

which all

things

appear

ndissolubly

related

through

the laws of

cause

and

effect;

it

refers to our sense

of

the world-wholeas

firmly

organized

by

the

princi-

ple

of

sufficient

reason, by

the

category

of

causality;

it

refers to what

Schopenhauer

ater

calls "die Welt

als

Vorstellung."

The

"ego"

and the

"necessary

progress

of

the whole"

are

essen-

tially points

of

view or manners of

viewing,

and

it

is

significant

hat

just

this

duality

of

points

of view

figures

prominently

n

Werther's

develop-

ment. On his earlyouting with Lotte, to the parsonagewith the walnut

trees,

he

argues

against

the idea

that

ill-humor is

a naturaldisease

which

must

run

its inevitable

course;

we must

learn

to assert our

freedom,

our

ego,

for

"niemand

weiss,

wie weit seine

Krafte

gehen,

bis

er

sie

ver-

sucht

hat"

(1

July).

But then Albert

arrives,

Werther's manner

of

viewing

things

changes,

and in

the conversation

on

suicide

he defends

exactly

the

opposite position,

that

emotional

anguish

can,

after

all,

have

the

quality

of an

irreversible

pathological

process

that must

end

in

death

(12

Aug.).

Or we

think

of

his

two

opposed

ways

of

looking

at nature:

as a mirror to his soul, a source of strength and exaltation (this the

ego-attitude);

and

on

the

other

hand,

as

a

"lackirtes Bildchen"

(3

Nov.),

or

indeed

as

a

pitiless

"Ungeheuer"

(18

Aug.).

Or we

think of

Homer

and

Ossian,

of

the

endlessly

resourceful

Odysseus

as

opposed

to

the

utterly

resourceless

resignation magined

by Macpherson.

In

any

case,

it

does not

seem

to

me

that

we can

make real sense

out of

the

passage

quoted

above

from

the

Shakespeare peech except by

understanding

he

"ego"

and

the "whole"

as

points

of

view.

If

we

take

the

"necessary

progress

of

the

whole" to refer to

an

objective

orderli-

ness in history that collides with our confused perceptionof our own

situation,

then

surely

this does not accord

with

the

approving

assertion,

in

the

same

paragraph,

that

"[Shakespeares]

Plane

sind,

nach dem

gemeinen Styl

zu

reden,

keine

Plane";

surely

a

strict

logical tightness

of

plot,

even

if

not

exactly

in

the sense of

"Regeln,"

would be needed

to

symbolize

the

inevitability

of

history.6

What

Goethe

emphasizes,

how-

ever,

is

the natural

authenticity

of

Shakespeare's characters,

and what

he

means

by

authentic

humanness

is

indicated

in

his

very

first sentence:

"Mir kommt

vor,

das

sey

die

edelste

von

unsern

Empfindungen,

die

Hoffnung, auch dann zu bleiben, wenn das Schicksaal uns zur

allgemeinen

Nonexistenz

zuruickgefihrt

zu haben scheint." We are

authentically

human

when we

experience

at

its

greatest

intensity

the

col-

lision

between

our

sense of indomitable

being-"Ich

Da ich mir

alles

binn,"

or as

Werther

insists,

"Wir

sind

ja "

(p.

178)-and

our

recogni-

tion

"dass keiner sein Ziel

erreicht,"

that we are

helpless

in

the machine

of the

world-whole. And the

point

at which this collision

occurs

is not

in

the

world

but in the

self,

which

is

how it

is "secret."

Indeed,

only

our

68


7/19

GOETHE'S

WERTHER

own

characterand

courage

determine

the

depth

to which

we

experience

it,

as

can

be seen

by

the

negative

example

of those

who

live

in

the

"Elysium, des sogenanndten guten Geschmacks, wo sie... halb sind,

halb

nicht sind.

. . nicht

mude

genug

zu ruhen und doch

zu faul

...

um

tahtig

zu

seyn."

The

secret

point,

at which

the

two

forces

named

in

the Shake-

speare

piece

and

represented

n

the novel

collide,

is

thus

the

phenomenon

of

human

self-consciousness;

or

the forces

are

in

essence two

points

of

view

that

each

individual

occupies

with

respect

to

himself.

In

the

speech, however,

self-consciousness

is

seen

as

a

distinction,

a

measure

of

our

nobility,

whereas

in

Werther

t

appearsprimarily

as

a

problem.

In

the very first letter we read, "O was ist der Mensch, dass er uibersich

klagen

darf "

(4

May).

What

is

this creature

who,

with

respect

to his

own

being,

occupies

two distinct

points

of view which clash as accuser

and accused? How

can

I

still

be that

person

with

whose

conduct,

in a

broader

view of

things,

I am

dissatisfied?

That

these

two

points

of view

exist is

an

undeniable

fact: that we

feel,

desire

and

act,

thus have

pretensions

to

freedom

of the

will,

while

on the other hand we also

observe these

motions

critically, tracing

their

causes, calculating

their

effects,

recognizing

their ultimate

futility.

But where is the secret

point

at which these two halves of us meet and are revealed as expressionsof

the

one

entity

which I

after

all am? Or

as

Werther

asks

more

than

once,

"What

is

man?" We

can,

in

any

case,

now see the connection

between the

early

Shakespeare

address

and the

passage

in

the

Lehrjahre,

Book

IV,

where

Shakespeare's

igures

are

compared

to clocks

with

glass

cases,

their inner

workings

visible. The secret

point

within

us,

at which

our

apparently

multiple

being

is

fully

(if

self-contradictorily)

ealized,

is

what

Shakespeare,

n

Goethe's

view,

reveals.

The existence

of two

points

of view

with

respect

to

ourselves,

moreover, is the crux of Werther'ssituation;his oscillationsbetweenan

ego-oriented

and

a

causality-oriented

point

of view are

not

merely

superficial

symptoms

of his disorder. He

himself,

in

his letter

on

the

concepts

of "Hier"

and

"Dort"-which

is

written

in

a

relatively

good

mood-diagnoses

the

basic

human

difficulty

as one of

point

of view

(21

June).

And what else is his desire

for

death,

if

not

a

desire for self-

unity,

for the

supersession

of

consciousness,

of

that division between

points

of

view

which

disrupts

our

inner life?

That

secret

point

at which

we

are

a

single,

cohesive,

indestructible

entity,

where the

question

"What is man?" is answered, is constantly the object of his yearning,

and is

associated

by

him

with

death,

the

elimination of conscious self-

division,

the return to

oneness. Even

with

regard

to

speculative

theol-

ogy,

there is

something

in him which

resists

the

doctrine

of the

Son

of

God

as

an

unworthy

self-division

in

the

deity

(15

Nov.,

30

Nov.);

his

yearning

s

to the

Father alone.

69


8/19

BENJAMINBENNETT

All

this,

it

seems to

me,

is

already

present

in

the

first

version

of

Werther,

but

again,

Goethe's revision

aims

at

throwing

it

into still

sharperrelief. There is a very significant etter which, in the rearrange-

ment of the

material,

is

placed

as

the

last letter

before

the entrance

of

the

editor;

it

concludes

with

the

words

(which

are

also

present

in

the

1774

version):

"Was ist

der

Mensch,

der

gepriesene Halbgott

[This

being

practically

a

quotation

from

Hamlet.]

Ermangeln

ihm nicht

eben

da

die

Krafte,

wo

er

sie am

nothigsten

braucht?

Und

wenn

er

in

Freude

sich

aufschwingt,

oder

im

Leiden

versinkt,

wird

er

nicht in

beiden eben

da

aufgehalten,

eben

da zu

dem

stumpfen

kalten

Bewusstsein wieder

zuriickgebracht,

da

er

sich

in

der Fulle des Unendlichen

zu

verlieren

sehnte?" (6. Dec.). Consciousness again, is the enemy: that second,

unshakably objective point

of view

upon

ourselves

by

which our

sense

of freedom

and

power,

our

submergence

in one

feeling,

one

mode

of

being,

our sense of ourselves as

a

single,

indivisible

surge

of

energy

or

sensitivity,

is

repeatedly

thwarted. This

passage

of course also

raises,

at

a

highly

conspicuous

point

in

the work's

structure,

a

more

specific ques-

tion: how does

Werther

actually

manage

to commit

suicide?

If cons-

ciousness

always interrupts

our

passionate

feelings

and

actions,

how

does Werther

actually

achieve

a

"losing

of himself"

in

the

infinite?

We shall come back to that question, but let us first recapitulate.

The double

perspective

discussed

by Blackall,

we have

seen,

character-

izes not

only

the

second version of the

novel,

and not

only

the

conclud-

ing

third-personsection;

it in

fact

characterizes

he

stance we are meant

to

adopt

with

respect

to the work as a whole

in

both versions. More-

over,

not

only we,

in

the

process

of

reading,

are

subject

to

a

double

per-

spective,

but Werther is as

well,

in

the

enacting

of his

destiny.

This

parallel

leads to

certain

complications

and

paradoxes.

If

Werther's

anguish

is

constituted

mainly

by

the conscious

separation

he

repeatedly

experiences from his own self, then our detached perspective upon his

situation,

by analogy,

becomes a

kind

of

sympathy

with

him,

just

as our

sympathy

must

in turn

necessarily

involve

a certain distance-as

does,

by

the nature

of

the

case,

our

sympathy

with

any

character

n

fiction.

We

shall

go

into this

paradox

further;

but

the

crucial

general

point

is

that

Goethe,

in

Werther,

s

operating

with a

complex

of

subtle

relation-

ships

between

the fictional

psychology

of

his character and

the

actual

psychology

of

his

reader.

III

"Double

perspective"

is

the

fundamental

structural

principle

of

Werther,

reflected

homothetically

on the

levels

of

content,

form and

anticipated

psychology

of the reader.

This

is

perhaps

not

particularly

surprising,

for

the novel

as

a

genre

tends more

or less

naturally

to

employ multiple

points

of

view;

but Goethe's

exploitation

of the

genre's

possibilities

is

remarkably

intense

and

consistent.

Indeed,

let us

70


9/19

GOETHE'S

WERTHER

consider the mode of

presentation

at its

most

basic.

Because

it

consists

mainly

of Werther's own

letters,

the text

gives

the

impression

of

being

a

single extended act of self-assertionon Werther'spart, a manifestation

of

"pretended freedom,"

of the

ego's

point

of view as a

willing ego.

But on the other

hand,

most

of

the letters

are written

to a

man

who

disagrees

on

some

important

issues.

That

these

are

letters, therefore,

not for

example

a

diary, obliges

Werther

to

explain, justify

or excuse

himself

repeatedly,

to view his

initiatives as

belonging

to a

causally

and

morally

ordered world-whole. Thus

the

mere device

of the

epistolary

novel,

at

least

in

the

particularway

Goethe uses

it, produces yet

again

that

structurally

central double

perspective

of

which

we have been

speaking.

But

this

brings

us back to our

original

question.

If

the

epistolary

form

is

so

entirely

appropriate

o

Goethe's

artistic

aim,

why

does he

abandon

it

earlier than he

absolutely

needs

to? and

why

does

he

aban-

don

it in

favor of an

omniscient

narrator,

a

conventional

literary

device

which, by

contrast

with

the considerable

ubtlety

of

implication

hat

pre-

cedes

it,

is

wholly transparent

as a

device?

This

question

can

be

answered

very

simply.

The

point

at

which

the

epistolary

orm

gives

way

to

third-person narration,

in an

important

sense,

is

"der

geheime

Punckt... in dem das Eigenthiimliche unsres Ich's, die pratendirte

Freyheit

unsres

Willens,

mit

dem

nothwendigen

Gang

des

Ganzen

zusammenst6sst."

Precisely

the

transparency

f

the

literary

device

with

which the novel concludes

is meant to draw our attention

to our situation

as

readers;

again,

Goethe

prepares

the

ground

more

thoroughly

in

the

final version

by

adding

a

number of

specific

references

to the art of

poe-

try

(30

May,

4

Sept.,

26

Nov.),

and

by emphasizing,

at

the

beginning

of

the

third-person

section,

the variousness of

opinions

concerning

people's

"Sinnesarten"

(p. 141),

which reminds us that we

in

turn,

in

judging the characters,are limited by our own subtle habits of thought

and

by

those

of

the "editor." The

abruptchange

to

a

different narrative

mode,

as

I

say,

raises

for us the

question

of where we

stand

as

readers,

and thus makes us

intensely

aware of the doubleness

of

perspective

which, up

to

now,

has characterized

ur

situation;

a

conscious distance s

interposed

between

ourselves

now and

ourselves

as we

had

been while

reading

the

epistolary

section.

But

in

spite

of this-and herein

lies

the

ultimate

significance

of Blackall's

argument-our

basic stance as

readers,

the double

pespective

we

occupy,

has

not

changed.

We are wrenched

away

from

ourselves,

compelled

to

view our

situation

objectively

as

a

part

of a

larger

whole;

and

yet

our situation is not

changed

thereby,

our

perceptual

relation

to the fiction is as

complex

and difficultas

ever,

and

in

essentially

the

same

way

as

it

had

been.

Thus

the

two

points

of

view

we

occupy

as we read

are

not

only

in

tension

with

each

other,

but in a

sense

are

actually

made to "collide"

at

the

point

where

the

narrative

mode

changes.

Our

receptivity

to this

event

in

the

process

of

reading,

moreover,

has

been cultivated

carefully,

for we have observed the

same

71


10/19

BENJAMINBENNETT

sort of

thing happening

over and over

again

to Werther:

he becomes

critically

conscious of

himself, yet

his consciousness

only

deepens

or

aggravates he state of affairs t criticizes.

Or

let

us consider the

situation

of

the reader

in

terms of

the

categories

of

freedom and

limitation,

"Freiheit"

and

"Einschrankung,"

which

on

one hand

represent

an

aspect

of

the

point-of-view

dichotomy

defined

in

the

Shakespeare

speech,

while on

the other hand

they

are

also

a

recurrent

theme

in

Werther's

brooding.

It

is

clear

that in

the

main

portion

of

the novel we

experience

Werther's

point

of view

as

a

restriction;

if

our

range

of

vision were not limited

by

his

passions

and

prejudices,

we

should

be

able to

see the whole fictional situation a

good

deal more distinctly. And by the same token, that process of inference

by

which,

as

I

have

argued,

we are able to

piece together

at least

some

"facts of

the

case,"

appears

o us

as the domain

of our own free mental

activity,

our

ego.

But then the

third-person

narrator

begins

to

tell us the

facts of the

case;

and

because

of the

obviousness

of

the

device,

and of

the narrator's

own

prejudices-or

in

the

first

version,

somewhat less

clearly,

because of

the

exaggerated

and

obviously

futile

legalistic

fastidi-

ousness Goethe had imitated from

Kestner-we are also induced to

question

he facts

now

presented

to us.

Therefore,

by

analogy,

we must

question our own earlier inferences about "facts" as well. What had

earlier seemed our

freedom,

as

opposed

to

Werther's

imprisoning

self-

deception,

is

now revealed

as

our

own inevitable

imprisonment

within a

preconceived

idea

of

things.

Like

Werther,

who twists

everything

into

an

excuse

for

dying;

like the first narrator

with

his

legalistic

compla-

cency,

or the

second,

who

snobbishly

associates

his

own attitude

with

that

of

"Menschen.

..

die

nicht

gemeiner

Art

sind"

(p. 141); indeed,

like the

little children who insist

that

Werther

always

tell the

same

story

in

exactly

the

same

words;

we

too,

in

reading

and

inferring

and

imagin-

ing, are merely insisting on a fictional world derived from our own

habits

of

thought.

And

yet,

we

could not

experience

this

transformation

of

our freedom into our limitedness

if

we

were

not

still

asserting

our

freedom,

our

independence,

our detachment

not

only

from

Werther's

point

of

view,

but now from the narrator'sas

well,

in

the same

way

as

before.

Thus,

as in

the later sonnet "Natur

und

Kunst,"

the

qualities

of freedom and

limitation,

while

remaining

opposed,

are

made to

imply

one

another,

not as terms of

a

dialectical

progression

but

as an

absolute

paradox,

a

"secret

point,"

inaccessible

to

systematic philosophy,

which

has to

do

with

the

inexpressible

oneness

of

what

we

truly

are.

It

is

in

relation to this

paradox, moreover,

that other

paradoxes

n

the text are

meant to

be understood-such as the one mentioned

above:

that

our

detachment from Werther is a kind

of

sympathy,

and

our

sympathy

a

kind of

distance.

Or

let

us consider Werther

himself,

as a

figure,

in

terms of free-

dom and

limitation. The

effect

of

the

change

to

third-personnarrative,

first of

all,

is to transform

him

from

a voice into

an

object.

He

is no

72


11/19

GOETHE'S

WERTHER

longer

the source of the

text,

but

rather its

subject

matter;

his own

words

are

now

given

merely

as

evidence, they

are

no

longer

the

whole

substance of the presentation. He has become, by comparisonwith his

earlier

function,

an

insect

upon

a

pin.

The

"epic preterite,"

whatever

else

it

may

be,

is still a

preterite

and so

imprisons

him inside

a

presum-

ably completed

causal

structure.

But this

also

has

the effect of

removing

him,

to

an

extent,

from our

field

of

vision,

thus

calling

attention to

what

we do not know

about

him,

to his

mystery,

his

ineffable

personalcenter,

his

freedom.

We

can

understand

his

by

way

of

a

question

which I

have

already

argued

Goethe

was at

pains

to

emphasize

in his

revision:

how

does

Werther

manage

actually

to

carry

out

the radical act of

suicide,

despite the interferenceof criticalconsciousness?

This

question

is not

only

answered

by

the

editor,

it

is answered

ad

nauseam.

Over and

over we are

shown

how

Werther's

suicide

gradually

becomes

inevitable,

how

his

calm

decision

is

gradually forged,

ham-

mered into

shape,

by

inner

conflicts,

personal

tensions

and

external

pressures.

Nothing

is

omitted;

the

subtlest

inward motions

in

the

char-

acters,

the

minutest details of their

relations

to

each

other and

to them-

selves,

are taken into account.

The

trouble is that

this

impressive

web

of

explanation-quite

obviously-explains nothing

whatever.7

The pistol is freshly loaded, therefore presumably reliable;

Werther,

having

sat down

with

his

wine,

takes the

weapon

in

his

hand,

places

the

muzzle

carefully

over his

right

eye, pulls

the

trigger-and

misses. He

does not

actually

miss,

as

he

is

tricked into

doing

in

Nicolai's

parody;

he does

manage

to

destroy

himself. But he does

an

unbelievably

messy

job

of

it,

and

it

takes

him a

full

twelve hours

to

expire.

The

extent

to

which

Goethe

reproduces

the

circumstances

of

Jerusalem's actual suicide

is of

no

special

significance

here.

Nor

is

the

comparison

with

the

hero's drawn-out

dying

in,

say,

Hamletor Miss Sara

Sampson;both Hamlet and Sara have unfinished business to take care

of,

whereas Werther does

nothing

but bleed and

death-rattle.

The

point

is that

the

image

of

the

utter

useless disorder

of

Werther's twelve

hours

of

dying

conflicts

violently

with the

idea

of

his deed as

the

plucking

of a

ripe

fruit,

as the

effortless

natural

result of sufficient causes.

We

are,

rather,

given

the

very

clear

impression

of an

event

that

could well

have

happened completely

otherwise,

the

impression

of an

un-necessary

event,

a

gratuitous

or

arbitrary

ct.

And

this

impression

is reinforced

by

Werther's

own

utterances.

At the beginningof his last letter to Lotte, he prideshimself on his abil-

ity

to

discuss,

"ohne

romantische

Uberspannung,"

his

supposed

"deci-

sion" to die

("Es

ist

beschlossen, Lotte,

ich

will

sterben"

[p.

159]);

but

this calm

pose

is itself

obviously

"overstrained,"

and

later,

after

the

Ossian

reading,

he continues:

"Wie

kann

ich

vergehen?

wie kannst

du

vergehen?

Wir sind

ja -Vergehen -Was

heisst das? Das ist

wieder

ein

Wort

ein

leerer Schall ohne

Gefiuhl

fur

mein Herz...

Sterben

73


12/19

BENJAMIN

BENNETT

Grab

ich

verstehe die

Worte

nicht "

(pp.

178-9).

What this

passage

shows is not how

far

he has

come,

but rather how far he still has to

go

before he can be said to have "decided" to die; at some point, before

the

end,

he

will

have

to "understand"the word

"death,"

in

all its

hor-

ror,

and

we have

no

way

of

judging

whether

his resolution

will

be

equal

to this. The

suggestion,

especially

in

view

of

the

actual messiness

of

the

event,

is

that

Werther's

suicide, up

to the last

minute,

is

not

the

inevitable result

of sufficient

causes.

To the

question

of how he

manages

to

carry

out the

deed,

we must

answer:

we

do not know.

At

the last moment

something

happens

in him

which,

as far as we

can

tell,

is

entirely

uncaused,

hence

beyond

our

systematic

comprehension,

something free. Or we think of his last letter as a whole, which is

clearly

intended

to torment Lotte

in

the

very

process

of

exalting

her,

and so continues

what

had

always

been his manner

of

treating

her. The

point

is

that

Werther

has

by

no means turned

away

from the confused

habits of

his

life;

his

"decision"

to

die

is

not

yet

complete. Perhaps

t

is

even

significant

that

before

killing

himself

he

loads both

pistols

("Sie

sind

geladen"

[p. 189]),

which does not

say

much

for

his

single-minded

concentrationon

what

he intends

doing.

And

again,

Goethe

takes

steps,

in

his

revision,

to

make these

points

still clearer.

In

the first

version,

the letter

of

8 Dec.,

in

which Werther admits

a

definite doubt concern-

ing

his

"Muth zu

sterben,"

comes

just

before the

change

to third-

person;

in

the revision the letter is dated four

days

later and

quoted by

the

editor.

Werther's

continuing

uncertainty

s thus

emphasized,

and

we

are

denied

the

opportunity

of

imagining

(as

we otherwise

might)

that

the radical

change

in

narrative

approach

is

meant

to

suggest,

at

this

point,

the

transformation

of

Werther's

coming

death from

a

mere

possi-

bility

into

an

absolute

necessity.

Or

yet

again,

why

does Werther read

Emilia

Galotti?

Merely

because the play is about a passionateyoung person who desires death?

If

Wertherwere

fully

and

calmly

determined

upon

suicide as

a

means of

relieving

others' difficulties as well as his

own,

then he

could

have

chosen

a

more

appropriate

play

without even

looking beyond

the

works

of

Lessing,

the

play Philotas,

where the hero

kills

himself

to avoid forc-

ing

his

father into

a

serious

military

disadvantage.

But

Emilia

does not

even do her

own

killing;

it

is

done for her

by

her

father.

Does Werther

see the

relation between

Odoardoand Emilia as

parallel

o

that

between

Lotte

and

himself?

Is he still

attempting-as

also

in

his

letter,

on the

handling

of

the

pistols-to

imagine

Lotte

as

the

actual

perpetrator

f

the

deed,

thus

postponing

the moment when he must decide and act for

himself? Or

indeed,

insofar as his suicide

is

clearly

in

part

an

act of

murderous

psychological aggression against

Lotte-which

nearly

succeeds,

"Man

furchtete

fuir

Lottens Leben"

(p.

191; cf.,

on

both

their

deaths,

the letter of

21

Nov.)--is

he

casting

her as

Emilia,

and himself

as

Odoardo

or

perhaps

Appiani?

The reason

Emilia

gives

for

feeling

she

must die is

that

she detects

in

herself

a

force that

will

undermine

her

74


13/19

GOETHE'S

WERTHER

resolution and

principles:

"Ich habe

Blut,

mein

Vater;

so

jugendliches,

so warmes

Blut,

als eine." Does Werther

apply

this to

Lotte,

whose

run-of-the-mill bourgeois existence violates the supposedlyideal plane

of communicationbetween her

and

himself? Or

does he

apply

it

to his

own

feelings?

Is he

struggling

against

his

own

"blood,"

his own

still

unconquered

involvement

in

life?

In

any

case,

the

very

complexity

of

association

suggested

by

Emilia s

significant.

The

simplicity

of achieved

decision does not

yet

characterizeWerther's

thoughts;

his

decision,

the

necessity

of

his

death,

is not

actually

there

until the last instant when he

manages-somehow-to

pull

the

trigger.

The effect of

the

change

to

third-person

narration,

hen,

is

both to

limit Werther, to make him an object, and also (since the narrator's

explanations prove inadequate)

to

liberate

him,

to

suggest

his

quality

as

a

free

ego.

Thus

freedom

and limitation are

again

made

to

imply

each

other,

to

occupy

the same

square,

as

it

were,

in

the narrative

grid;

and

our

attention,

again,

or our

speculation,

is thus focused on

that

"secret

point"

where

we are the whole of

what we

are,

our

will,

our

character,

our

fate,

all

in

one. As

I

have

said,

Goethe

insists

on this

paradox

with

remarkable

consistency.

The messiness

of Werther's

suicide

suggests

the idea

of

arbitraryblundering;

but on the other

hand,

it

takes

him

exactlyfrom midnighttill noon to die, and the image of clockwork,or of

circular

return,

suggests

the

opposite

of freedom

or arbitrariness.

In

symbol,

therefore,

as well

as

in

theme,

in

character

development,

in

explicit

philosophical speculation,

and

in

its

implied

relation

to its

reader,

the novel's central

paradox

s

ceaselessly

present:

that

we exist

as

two

points

of

view

with

respect

to

ourselves,

a

free

will

and

a

percep-

tion of strict

causality,

and

that

these

opposites

must nevertheless

somehow

ultimately

be one.

IV

In

a

fine

essay

on the novel's

origins,

Wolfgang

Kayser

asks,

"wie

kann man

den Werther lesen

und trotzdem den

Willen

zum Leben

bewahren?"8

This

question

is

by

no means

an idle

one.

If

we

cannot

discover

in

our

own

experience

something

corresponding

o Werther's

yearning

for

self-unity,

or

if

we

simply

refuse

to take

seriously

Werther's

recognition

that

absolute

self-unity

is achieved

only

in

death,

then

why

should we bother

reading

the novel

in

the

first

place? Kayser

answers that, for Goethe, it was an awareness of artisticmastery, an

enjoyment

of art as

a kind

of

adroit

playing,

that

enabled

him

to survive

the

Werther-experience.

But this

argument

needs

to be taken further

and

applied

to the

reader,

and

I think

we have

established, above,

a

sufficient

basis for

doing

so. The structure

of the

novel,

we have

seen,

is calculated

to make us

intensely

aware of our situation

as

readers,

and

specifically

to

remind

us that the

problem

of human

self-unity

is

present,

or

at

least

symbolized,

in

this situation.

Thus,

on

the one

75


14/19

BENJAMINBENNETT

hand,

we are

induced to

agree

with

Werther's basic assessment

of the

human

condition,

while

on

the

other hand-since we

are also induced

to

think about what we are doing by reading,hence to regardourselves as

willing participants

n an

artistic

game-it

is still

possible

for

us

to avoid

drawing

Werther'sconclusions.

Werther, perhaps,

actually

achieves absolute

self-unity,

the

super-

session of

consciousness,

in

death. But

what

is

important

s that

we too

are

maneuvered,

in

the

process

of

reading, by

the

particular

uccession

of narrative devices

employed,

into the

experience

of

at

least

a

strong

imitation of such

self-unity;

the

paradox

of the self is

an

integralpart

of

our

situation as

readers,

and its

presence

on other levels of

the work

only reminds us of this. My contention is that Goethe offers us this

intimation of

unity,

of our

self-unity,

here

and

now,

as

a

substitute

for

Werther's drastic action.

"Sey

ein

Mann,

und

folge

mir nicht

nach"9 is

the ethical

message;

but

the

book,

in

this

sense,

is

not

an

ethical

teach-

ing

so much

as

an ethical

training.

By

being

a work of

fiction,

an

artistic

construct

contrived

by

man

for his

own

enjoyment-and especially

the

second version's

conventionally

omniscient

but

transparently

disguised

narrator

is

conceived

so as to remind us of this

very

strongly'

-the

novel offers us

practice

n

deriving pleasure

from

precisely

that

paradoxi-

cal qualityof human existence which Werthertakes as a reason for sui-

cide;

it

trains

us,

here

and

now,

to take the

potentially

destructive

tor-

ment of conscious life as

an

interestingly

complex

game,

since

we are

alreadydoing

this

by reading.

Werther'sown

personal difficulty,

n

fact,

especiallyduring

his

diplomaticservice,

can be

plausibly

diagnosed

as

an

absolute

unwillingness

to take life as

a

game,

even

though

he

recognizes

the

possibility

(see

letters of 8

Jan.,

8

Feb.).

But as

readers

of a

novel-as readers

(let

it

be

noted)

of

that

extravagant

sort of novel

which

Werther

and

Lotte,

at

their

initial

meeting,

would

probably

agree

to despise-we are presentedat least with the opportunityof adopting

the

opposite

attitude.

And

yet,

playing

the

game

of

life does

not

mean

blinding

our-

selves

to its

difficulty

or

danger.

Precisely

Werther's

point

of

view,

pre-

cisely

the

perception

of our

consciously

divided condition as a

problem

and

anguish,

is

necessary

in

order

that the

game

of life

have

shape

or

direction,

as

a constant

precariousbalancing

on

the

verge

of

self-unity,

without ever

absolutely,

all too

earnestly, achieving

it.

Years

later,

Goethe

compares

the

quest

for

self-knowledge

to

a

curious kind of

target-shooting n which we should not insist too stronglyupon hitting

the

bull's-eye."

Or

we think

of the notion of

poetry

as

a

game

of

deli-

berate

"Irrthum" in the

"Vorspiel"

to Faust.

But

again,

without

Werther's "overstrained"

attitude-or

in

the other

case,

the

Poet's,

or

Faust's-without

a

genuine

sense of

sympathy

with

Werther,

without

a

subjective

correlative

on

our

part

to the

inescapability

f Werther's

point

of

view

in

the

narrative

structure,

we

can have no

sense

of

accomplish-

ment

in

the

game

of

life, by

analogy

with our

sense

of form

in

the

76


15/19

GOETHE'S

WERTHER

novel. Thus

not

only

our

double

perspective

in

its

general

form,

as the

assertion

of

will

and

the

perception

of

causality,

but also

that

doubleness

in the specificform in which it is requiredof us as we read Werther,s a

combination

of

detachment

and

involvement

with

respect

to

Wertherian

despair,

is

necessary

in

the

game

of

life;

the

reading

of

the

novel,

again,

is therefore

meant

to be

practice

or

training.

There is

no

formulable ethical doctrine

in

Werther.There can

be

none. Otherwise our

freedom,

in

the

strict

sense,

would be

impaired,

and

the

paradox

of our

being

would

be

incomplete.

The

reading

of the

novel

must

simply

be a

self-limiting

pattern

for

our

existence

as

a

whole,

in

the same

way

that

Goethe

suggests

the

writing

of

the novel

had

representedhis own settingof his life in order. The most generalethical

statement we

can

make about life is

that,

by analogy

with

the

reading

of

the

novel,

it

must have

the

character

of

a

game,

in which

the raw

material of

despair

is somehow transmuted into

enjoyment

and

enter-

prise;

and

this

"somehow,"

though

indefinable,

is not

unattainable,

or

it

is

already

achieved,

or

at

least

foreshadowed, by

our

reading

of

the

novel

as a

novel. Wherever

we

lay

hold of Werther e turn

up

insoluble

epistemological

difficulties and

paradoxes,

and

we are

compelled

to

recognize,

by

analogy

with

the hero's

entirely

plausible fate,

that these

difficultiesare potentiallydeadly; we, as it were, like Werther,are play-

ing

with a

pair

of loaded

pistols.

But

we

are still

playing,

self-destruction

is no more

a

necessity

for us

than it

is, up

to

the

last

moment,

for

Werther. Our critical

perspective upon

the narrator

and

his

supposed

explanations

ncludes the idea

that

Werther'sdeed is free

in

the sense

of

lacking

a sufficient cause. Thus we are

enabled

to

avoid

following

Werther without even

needing

to

disapprove

of

him

morally

or

philo-

sophically;

n

the

very

process

of

dignifying

his suicide as

an

expression

of true human

freedom,

we reserve for

ourselves,

by

strict

logic,

the

option of acting otherwise, since the idea of freedom is meaningless

without

that

option.

Werther's

admonition, "Sey

ein

Mann,"

was

dropped

in

the second

version, probably

as

representing

rather

too

specific

a moral

imperative. "Sey

ein Mensch" would

perhaps

have

been

more

appropriate;

e

human,

in

the

Shakespearean

ense, actively,

artistically,precariously

but

insouciantly

balanced

at that

"secret

point"

which

contains

both our true unified essence and the constant

possibility

of

despair

and

nothingness.

V

Is

Werther,

n

the

sense of

the above

reading,

an

exception,

or is

it

typical

of

young

Goethe's

artistic method?

It

would take a

great

deal

of

space

to treat this

question

with

any

thoroughness,

but food for

thought,

it

seems to

me,

is

providedby

a

number

of

striking

similarities,

in

structure and

purport,

between

the

novel

and

one

other

work,

which

is sometimes taken to

represent

the

opposite

extreme

in

the

spectrum

of

77


16/19

BENJAMIN

BENNETT

Goethe's

early

output,

the

poem

"Prometheus."

Werther

s

labile,

"Prometheus"

energetic,

Werther

depicts

helplessness,

"Prometheus"

defiance, Wertherabounds in complexities, "Prometheus" is brutally

simple.

But

are

the

two

works

really

that

different?

The first

section

of

the

poem

can be read

without trouble

as a

dramatic

speech,

Prometheus' defiance of

Zeus;

but

in

the

second

sec-

tion we

are

offered the

opportunity

of

seeing

through

the

text,

or behind

it,

to an

inexplicit

level

of

modern

thought,

just as,

in

Werther,

we

are

challenged

to

penetrate

the text and

judge

the fictional

world

objectively.

The

idea

that

the

gods

require

men's

sacrifices as nourishment and

would

starve,

"waren /

Nicht

Kinder und Bettler /

Hoffnungsvolle

Thoren,"12clearly suggests that the gods exist only in men's foolish

belief;

and this

idea is then

developed

in

the next

section,

especially

in

the

words,

"als

wenn driiber

war'

/

Ein

Ohr...

Ein

Herz,

wie

mein's."

Not

only,

in

fact,

is

god

exposed

as

a

mere

idea

in

man's

mind,

but

he

is

exposed

as

a

distinctly

harmful idea:

a

false

hope,

which

distractsus

from the humanitarian

responsibility

of

dealing

directly

with real

suffering,

in

ourselves

and

others,

"Hast du die Schmerzen

gelin-

dert.

.

";

and

a false

humility,

which distracts

us from the fruitful

appreciation

of our own

real creative

power,

our

ability

to

shape

our own

destiny, "Hast du nicht alles selbst vollendet, / Heilig gluihendHerz?"

Nor can

it

be

argued

that

the

poem's speaker

is

pleading

for

a

more

modern idea

of

god,

as

opposed

to the

notion

of brute

supernatural

strength

embodied

in a

Zeus;

the idea

of

god

represented by

"Zeus"

in

the

poem

is

clearly modern,

presupposing

he

development

of

European

Christianity,

the

idea

of a

god

of

the

oppressed,

of "Kinder

und

Bettler,"

the idea

of a

god

who

expects

of his believers that

they

turn

away

from the

things

of this

world,

"Wahntest

du

etwa,

/

Ich

sollte das

Leben hassen.

..

"

But if the poem is meant to teach that man must rely on himself,

rather

than

on

some

imagined "Nobodaddy

aloft,"

then

why

does the

poet put

on the

mask

of

Prometheus

defying

Zeus,

why

does he

create

a

dramaticsituation which

is

predicated,

after

all,

on the

real existence

of

god?

At

the

end,

Prometheus

boasts

to

Zeus

of

having

implanted

n

his

creatures

the

defiant

resolve,

"dein

nicht zu

achten,

/ Wie

ich "

But

this

attitude

is

itself a form of

Achten;

t

is not

mere

contempt

or

disre-

gard,

but rather active

defiance,

thus in

part

also

a tribute to

the

effectiveness

of

the

power against

which it is

directed.

And

even

if

the

fiction of Prometheus'defying Zeus is still somehow appropriateo the

poem's

message, why

then

is this fiction not

maintained

at least a bit

more

consistently?

Why

does Goethe

go

out of his

way

to

garble

the

ancient

myth

of

the

titanomachy,

as

if

this had

been

primarily

Prometheus'

affair

in

which

Zeus

had

claimed

a

share

of the

credit?

There is

perhaps

no

special

reason

why

Prometheus

should

not

be

taken

as

a

symbol

of man's

throwing

off

his

reliance

on

supernatural

aid;

but

the mere mention

of the

Titans

reminds

us of Prometheus

as

Zeus'

78


17/19

GOETHE'SWERTHER

helper,

not

vice versa.

In

any case,

the

questions

thus raised

are

evi-

dently

similar

to

those

we

are

induced

to

ask about the

narrator

in

Werther.why the change of mode in the first place, if it does not sub-

stantially

change

our

point

of

view,

and

why

the editorial

pose

if it

is

made

so

easy

to see

through?

To the

more

general question,

however,

in

regard

to

"Prometheus,"

there

is

a

relatively

clear answer.

Human

self-reliance

and

self-esteem

presuppose

the

possibility

of

human

self-definition;

we

must

know

exactly

what

constitutes our

humanness,

and from what

it

must be

distinguished.

In

the

later

poem

"Das

Gottliche"

("Edel

sei

der

Mensch"),

this

purpose,

definition

by

contrast,

is

served

by

the

ideas of blind nature and blind fortune, both of which, in

"Prometheus,"

are at

least

associated

with

Zeus

("ilbe...

An

Eichen

dich

und

Bergeshohn";

"Weil

nicht

alle

/

Bliithentraume

reiften");

in

order

to

be

fully

human

we must

clearly

distinguish

our own

ethical

and

sensitive

being

from the

unfeeling

world

at

large.

But the

very purpose

of this

distinction is that it

remain

in

our mind

as

a

precaution

against

unworthy

reliance

on

supposedly

higher

powers;

even

in

the

act of

rejecting

the

idea

of a

benevolent

deity

who

does for us what

we

ought

to

do

for

ourselves,

we thus

also

perpetuate

the

idea,

in

our

thinking,

where it remains a danger. This paradox is obvious at the end of

"Prometheus,"

where

the word

"achten"

reminds

us that

defiance is a

kind of

tribute;

and

it

is

also

present

in

"Das

Gottliche,"

in

the

lines,

"Und

wir

verehren

/

Die

Unsterblichen,

/ Als waren

sie

Menschen,

/

Thaten

im

Grossen,

/

Was der

Beste

im

Kleinen

/

Thut oder

m6chte."

If

we believe

in

gods

who

act

humanely

"on a

large

scale,"

what

else

is

this but to

attribute human

feeling

to

the world

of nature and

fortune,

which

attribution

has

been denied

only

three stanzas

earlier? The

question-why

a

poem

presupposing

the

existence

of

god?-is

thus

replacedby

a

philosophicalproblem:

in

order

to

realize

our

humanity

we must

reject

the idea

of

a

divinely

suffused nature

as

being

irreconcil-

able

with

our

responsibility

for

ourselves;

but on the other

hand,

the

same

idea

is also

necessary

as

part

of our human

self-definition,

our

sense of who

and where

we

are,

and from what

distinguished.

The

way

out

of this

problem,

in

"Prometheus"-and the

only

way,

as far

as

I

can

see-is

suggested by

the

blatant

nconsistency

of

the

speaker's

mythological

pose, just

as

the

meaning

of Werther

s

suggested

by

the

transparency

of

the

"editor." In

both works

we

are

induced to

think

carefullyabout whatwe are doing by reading,and in the poem the

obvious

unnecessarinessof

the

persona

reminds

us

that

we

are

engaging

voluntarily

n

an

arbitrary

erbal

game,

which

in

turn trains

us

to

adopt

a

flexible, artistic,

playfully

ironic

attitude toward our

language

and

thought

in

general.

In the

absense

of

such

an

attitude,

the

philosophical

dilemma

with

which

the

poem

confronts us

remains

insurmountable

and

tormenting.

What

we must learn is

to use the

idea

of

god

willingly, yet

also

with a

constant

unspoken

irony by

which our

sense

of

human

duty

79


18/19

BENJAMINBENNETT

is

maintained;

we

must learn to

play

with

the

idea,

and

with

the

prob-

lems

it

raises,

in

the

same

way

that

we

must

accept

and affirm

Werther's

point of view, yet manage to enjoy doing so. God must remain a

significant

and

functioning

noun

in

our

language,

yet

a noun

which,

as

in

"Das

Gottliche,"

tends

inconspicuously

o associate itself

with

verbs

in

the

subjunctive.

In

any case,

to

return to our main

topic,

Werther himself unwit-

tingly

describes the

attitude we are meant to

adopt

toward his

story

when he

writes to

Wilhelm:

"Du wirst mir

also

nicht

libel

nehmen,

wenn ich dir

dein

ganzes Argument

einraume,

und mich

doch zwischen

dem EntwederOder

durchzustehlen suche"

(8

Aug.).

We

too,

in

our

turn, must admitWerther'sargument-we must adopthis pointof view,

not

only

in

reading

but

also

in

life-yet

in

such a

way

as not to draw his

apparently ogical conclusions,

or

at

least not

in

action.

We must

grant

his

sense of

irreconcilable

alternatives

in

life-either the

extravagant

"Strom

des

Genies"

or

"die

gelassenen

Herren"

with

their

"Gartenhauschen, Tulpenbeete

und Krautfelder"

(26

May),

either

"Freiheit" or

"Einschrankung,"

either

"Leidenschaften... nie weit vom

Wahnsinn"

(12

Aug.)

or

the

hopeless

dullness of

a

Philistine

existence-and

yet

our

granting

of this must be a kind of

play,

the exer-

cise (to use Wertheragainsthimself once more) of an enjoyable ntellec-

tual

"Combinationsart"

(12

Aug.)

by

which

we are enabled

to

slip

between the Either and

the Or. And

this

"must,"

again,

by

no

means

represents

an

unattainable

deal;

merely by

reading

the novel

with

a

cer-

tain

skeptical

alertness-which

is

part

of how we

read novels

anyway-

we

already

find

ourselves at least

in

serious

training

for the

game

of

life

thus

understood.

University

of Virginia

This

essay

was

developed

rom

a talk

given

at

Yale

University

n 20

November

1978.

A

number

f

points

rom

the

lively

and

penetrating

is-

cussion

afterwards,

or

which

the author s

deeply

grateful,

have been

accounted

or

in

the

present

ersion.

2

Eric A.

Blackall,

Goethe

and the Novel

(Ithaca:

Cornell,

1976),

p.

53.

I

do

not

agree,

however,

with

Blackall'sense of

the differentness

f the

two

versionsof

Werther.

he

word

"soliloquy,"

elow,

s borrowedrom the

title

o