Werther affords a good illustration of the disharmonies in the development of man’s psychical nature. Inclination and desires develop extremely strongly and before will. Just as in the development of the reproductive functions, as I showed in The Nature of Man, the different factors develop unequally and unharmoniously, so there is inequality and disharmony in the order of the appearance of the higher psychical faculties. Sexual appreciation and a vague attraction to the other sex appear at a time when there can be no possibility of the normal physical side of sex, with the result that many evils come about in the long period of youth. The precocious development of sensibility brings about a kind of diffused hyperæsthesia which may lead to trouble. The infant wishes to lay hold of everything he sees before him; he stretches out his arms to grasp the moon and suffers from his inability to gratify his desires. In youth there is still well-marked disharmony. Young people cannot realise the true relations of things, and formulate their desires before they understand that their will-power is not strong enough to gratify them, as will is the latest of the human powers to develop.
Werther fell in love with a kindred spirit and gave way to his passion without consideration of the difficulties, Charlotte being already betrothed to another. This is the plot of the tragedy of the young man, who committed suicide, having given way to pessimism. He had not the will-power to conquer his sentiments and so fell into a state of lassitude, until, weary of life, he could see no other end than to blow out his brains.
I need not linger over the last phase of the story of Werther, for it is the character of Goethe himself that is of interest. Goethe was able to subdue his passion for Lotte, and, after many amorous woes, consoled himself with another woman. Notwithstanding this difference, it is certain that in Werther, Goethe was telling part of the story of his own youth. Goethe himself is a witness to this, for in a letter to Kestner he wrote that “he was at work on the artistic reproduction of his own case.” The letter was written in July, 1773, whilst Goethe, then a writer twenty-four years old, was relating the sorrows of young Werther.
The general tendency of Werther has been described excellently by Carlyle.[190] “Werther,” he wrote, “is but the cry of that dim, rooted pain, under which all thoughtful men of a certain age were languishing; it paints the misery, it passionately utters the complaint; and heart and voice, all over Europe, loudly and at once responded to it.” Werther was “the first thrilling peal of that impassioned dirge which, in country after country, men’s ears have listened to, till they were deaf to all else.”
In the pessimistic period of his life, Goethe often cherished the idea of suicide. In his biography he relates that at this time he used to have, by his bedside, a poisoned dagger, and that he had repeatedly tried to plunge it in his bosom. Of these times he wrote to his friend Zelter[191]—“I know what it has cost me in effort to resist the waves of death.” The suicide which was the subject of the end of his romance made a deep impression upon him. Although he overcame his passion for Charlotte, his view of life remained tinged with pessimism for many years; in a note-book of 1773, for instance, he wrote “I am not made for this world.”[192] These words are the more striking as they date from a period when exact ideas regarding the adaptation of the organism and the character to the environment did not exist. Goethe, with his too delicate sensibility, felt himself out of harmony with his environment.
It is very interesting to trace Goethe’s subsequent development and the transformation of a youthful pessimist into a convinced optimist. Goethe found a remedy for his crises of grief in work, poetical creation and love. He declared that the mere describing his woes on paper brought assuagement. The tears that they shed console women and children; and the poetry in which he expresses his suffering consoles the poet. Goethe’s romance with Charlotte was not quite at an end when he found himself ready to love her sister Helen. He wrote to Kestner in December, 1772:—“I was about to ask you if Helen had arrived, when I got the letter telling me of her return.” “To judge from her portrait she must be charming, even more charming than Charlotte. Well, I am free and I am thirsting for love.” “I am here at Frankfort again with new plans and new dreams, and all will be well if I find someone to love.” Soon afterwards, in another letter to Kestner, he wrote:—“Tell Charlotte that I have found here a girl whom I love with all my heart; if I wanted to marry, I should choose her before anyone else.”
As he had not yet realised his true vocation, Goethe became a court minister at Weimar. He devoted himself to his duties with an enthusiasm that carried him far beyond the usual affairs of state. He wished to deepen his knowledge of such administrative problems as the construction of roads and the management of mines, and he studied geology and mineralogy with a real zest. Forest administration and agriculture led him seriously into botany, and as he had the direction of a school of design, he thought it necessary to learn anatomy. Such varied work gave him a real taste for science. It was no longer the superficial interest that characterised his work at Leipzig and Strassburg but a true devotion which led him to important discoveries, some of which have become classic.
Even such varied occupations did not absorb his prodigious genius. In his leisure he wrote poetry and prose. Engrossed in so much work, he was happy. His discovery of the human intermaxillary bone suffused him with joy. His intense activity was strengthened by his love for Madame von Stein, a love that he declared was “a life-belt supporting him in the sea.” A few hours with her in the evenings set free his soul.
The powerful influence of love on the life of Goethe was specially prominent in this period when he was passing from pessimistic youth to optimistic maturity. Being forced to separate from Madame von Stein, he gave way to grief that plunged him again in the worst hours of his life. At the age of thirty-seven he fell back into a crisis like that of the days of Werther. “I have discovered,” he said in 1786, “that the author of Werther would have done well to blow out his brains when he had finished his work.” Soon afterwards he wrote that “death would have been better than the last years of his life.”
This relapse into pessimism was shorter and less acute than his first experience. He began to find that frequently his delight in existence and sense of life were proved by his fear of death. When he was little more than thirty years old, he began to take precautions against the chance of his death. He wrote to Lavater:—“I have no time to lose; I am already getting on in years, and it may be that fate will destroy me in the midst of my life.” On all sides his wish to live and his shrinking from death reveal themselves. It was at this time, a few days after his thirty-first birthday, that he wrote those famous lines, counted amongst the finest of his poetry, on the summit of the Gickelhahn, on the wall of a small room, and which end with the presentiment of his own death, “Before long, you also will be at rest.”