Yet it was just at this period, when each individual felt himself in constant fear of death, that a kind Providence often interposed to save them from destruction. Sudden and fearful were the dangers, and equally sudden and wonderful the rescue. That the strength of man was as nothing in this terrible game of overwhelming events, was deeply imprinted on the soul of every one. When the mother with her children hid herself trembling in the high corn whilst a troop of horsemen were passing by, and in that moment of danger murmured a prayer with blanched lips, she naturally ascribed her preservation to the special protection of a merciful God. If the harassed citizen, in his hiding-place in the woods, folded his hands and prayed fervently that the Croats who were plundering the town might not find his concealed treasure, and afterwards, upon raking up the cinders of his burnt house, found his silver pieces untouched, he could not help believing that a special Providence had blinded the greedy eyes of the enemy. When terrible strokes of fate overtake individuals in rapid succession, a belief in omens, forebodings, and supernatural warnings is inevitably fostered. Whilst the superstition of the multitude fixes itself on the northern lights and falling stars, on ghosts and the cry of the screech-owl, more polished minds seek to discover the will of the Lord from dreams and heavenly revelations. The long war had, it is true, hardened the hearts of men against the miseries of others; it had also deprived them of all equability of mind; and the vacant gaze into a desolated world, and cold indifference, were in most only interrupted by fits of sudden weakness, which perhaps were produced by insignificant causes, and a reckless sinner was suddenly plunged into sorrow and contrition. Life was undoubtedly poor in love and elevation, but the necessity of loving and honouring which lies so deep in the German nature, after the peace, sought painfully for something high and steadfast, in order to give an aim and an interest to his poor wavering life. Thus the mind clung to the holy conceptions of faith, which it again with quiet reverence endeavoured to realise heartily, affectionately, and confidingly.
From such longings in the hearts of the people, a new life was developed in the Christian Church. It was not only among the followers of Luther, but equally in the Calvinistic persuasion, and almost as much in the Roman Catholic Church; it was also not only in Germany and the countries which then partook of German cultivation, Denmark, Sweden, Eastern Sclavonia, and Hungary, but almost at the same time in England, and even earlier in France and Holland, where religious schism and political faction have rent asunder the souls of men in bitter controversy for centuries. Nay, even among the Jesuits we may find the working of this same craving after a new ideal in a cheerless life. In the history of the Christian Church, this Pietism--as the new tendency has been called by its opponents since 1674--has been a transitory impulse, which blossomed and withered in little more than a century. The effect it has exercised on the culture, morals, and spirit of the German people may still be perceived. In some respects it has been an acquisition to the nation, and a short account of it shall now be given.
As this Pietism was no new doctrine proclaimed by some great reformer, but only a tendency of the spirit which burst forth among many thousands at the same time, the greater number of its professors remained firm at first in the dogmas of their church. In fact, in the beginning it only expressed wide-spread convictions, to which the best natures had already, before the Thirty Years' War, given utterance; that the points of union of religions parties, and not the deviations of doctrinal opinions, were the main objects of faith; that personal communion with God was independent of dogmas; that it availed little to hear sermons and take the sacrament, to confess that one was a great sinner and relied on the merits of Christ only and not on our own works, nor to refrain from great sins and to say a few lifeless prayers at appointed hours. And yet this was the usual Christianity of both ecclesiastics and laity: a dead faith, a mere outward form of godliness, the letter without the spirit. Little did the baptism of children signify without conversion on arriving at maturity, little also did communionship with the church avail, by which the laity only received passively the gifts of salvation: each individual ought to establish the priesthood of the Lamb in his own heart. Such was the feeling of thousands. Of the many in Germany that followed this tendency of the heart, none exercised for many years so great an influence as Jacob Spener, between 1635 and 1705. Born in Alsace, where for more than a century the doctrines of Luther and of the Swiss reformers flourished conjointly and contended together, where the learning of the Netherlands and even the pious books of England were harboured, his pious heart early imbibed a steadfast faith through the earnest teaching of schools, and under the protection accorded to him by ladies of distinction in difficult times. Even as a boy he had been severe upon himself and when he had once ventured to a dance he felt obliged to leave it from qualms of conscience. He had been a tutor at a prince's court, and also studied at Basle. At Geneva he saw with astonishment how Jean de Labadie, by his sermons on repentance, had emptied the wine-houses, caused gamblers to give back their gains, and stamped upon the hearts of the children of Calvin the doctrines of inward sanctification and of following after Christ with entire self-renunciation. From thence Spener went to Frankfort-on-the-Maine as pastor, and by his labours there produced a rich harvest of blessing, which assumed ever-increasing proportions, and soon procured him followers throughout Germany. Happily married, in prosperous circumstances, peace-loving and prudent, with calm equanimity and tender feelings, a loving, modest nature, he was specially adapted to become the counsellor and confidant of oppressed hearts. Over women especially this refined, kind-hearted, dignified man had great influence. He established meetings of pious Christians in a private dwelling; they were the far-famed Collegia pietatis, in which the books of the holy Scriptures were explained and commented upon by the men, whilst the women listened silently in a space set apart for them. When later he had to deliver these discourses in the church, they lost, for the zealous, the attractive power which in the calm exclusiveness of the select society they had exercised; parties arose, and a portion of his scholars separated from the church. He himself, after twenty years of active exertion, was called from Frankfort to Dresden, and from thence soon after to Berlin.
Spener himself was disinclined to sectarianism, the mysticism of Arndt, and still more of Jacob Böhme, was repulsive to him, and he disapproved when some of his friends abandoned the church; he struggled incessantly against the enemies who wished to drive him out of it, and during the last half of his life maintained a quiet struggle against his own followers, who publicly showed their disrespect to the dogmas of the church. He was decidedly no enthusiast; that the Christian religion was one of love, that in one's own life one was to imitate that of Christ, and value little the transitory pleasures of the world, that, after his example, one was to show love to one's fellow-creatures: this was always the noble keystone of his teaching. And yet there was something in his nature, without his wishing it, which was favourable to the isolation and seclusion in which, in the following century, the religious life of the Pietists wore away. The stress which he laid upon private devotion, and the solitary striving of the soul after God, and, above all, the critical distrust with which he regarded worldly life, could not fail to bring his followers soon into opposition with it. The insignificance and shallowness of many pretenders to sanctity who clung yearningly to him, made it inevitable that a similar mode of feeling and of judging life would shortly become mere mannerism, which would show itself in language, demeanour, and dress.
God was still the loving Father who was to be stormed by the power of prayer, and might be moved to listen. But this generation had learnt resignation, and a gentle whisper to God took the place of the urgent prayer in which Luther had "brought the matter home to his Lord God." The inscrutable ways of Providence had been imprinted by fearful lessons on the soul, and the progress of science gave such presage of the grandeur of the world's system, that the weakness and insignificance of man had to be more loudly proclaimed. The sinner had become more in awe of his God, the naïve ingenuousness of the Reformation was lost. The craving for marvels had therefore increased--increased in this generation--and zealously did they endeavour in indirect ways to fathom the will of the Lord. Dreams were interpreted, prognostics discerned; every beautiful feeling of the soul, every sudden discovery made by the combinations of the mind, were considered as direct inspirations from God. It was an old popular belief, that accidental words which were impressed on the mind from outward sources were to be considered as significant, and this belief had now become a system. As the Jutlander Steno--the Roman Catholic Bishop of Hanover, and acquaintance of Leibnitz--suddenly became a fanatic, because a lady had spoken out of the window some indifferent words, which he in passing by conceived to be a command from Heaven, so did accidental words sway the minds of the Pietists. It was a favourite custom in cases of doubt to open suddenly upon some verse in the Bible or hymn book, and from the tenor of the words to decide these doubts--the sentence on which the right-hand thumb was set was the significant one--a custom which to this day remains among the people, and the opponents of which, as early as 1700, called deridingly "thumbing." If any one had a call from the external world, the system was to refuse the first time, but, if repeated, then it was the call of the Lord. It may easily be conceived that the believing soul might, even in the first refusal, unconsciously follow a quiet inclination of the heart which had secretly said yes or no.
That in a period of unbridled passions, the reaction against the common lawlessness should overstep moderation is natural. After the war, a crazy luxury in dress had begun; the women loved to make a shameless display of their charms, the dances were frivolous, the drinking carousals coarse, and the plays and novels often only a collection of impurities. Thus it was natural that those who were indignant at all this should choose to wear high dresses, simple in style and dark in colour, and that the women should withdraw from dances and other amusements; the drinking wine was in bad repute, the play not visited, and dances esteemed a dangerous frivolity. But zeal went still further. Mere cheerful society also appeared doubtful to them--men should always show that they valued little the transitory pleasures of the world; even the most harmless, offered by nature to men's outward senses, its smiling blossoms and the singing of birds, were only to be admired with caution, and it was considered inadmissible, at least on Sunday, to pluck flowers or to put them in the hair or bosom. That praiseworthy works of art should not find favour with the holders of such opinions was natural. Painting and profane music were as little esteemed as the works of the poets by whom the anxieties of earthly love are portrayed. The world was not to be put on an equality with the Redeemer. Those who follow not the ways of "piety," live in conformity with the world.
He who thus withdraws himself from the greater portion of his fellow-men, may daily say to himself that he lives with his God in humility and resignation, but he will seldom preserve himself from spiritual pride. It was natural that the "Stillen im lande," as they early called themselves, should consider their life the best and most excellent, but it was equally natural that a secret conceit and self-sufficiency of character should be fostered by it. They had so often withstood the temptations of the world, so often made great and small sacrifices; and as they had the illumination of God's grace, they were his elect. Their faith taught them to practise Christian duties in a spirit of benevolence to man, to do good to others, like the Samaritan to the traveller, in the wilderness of life. But it was also natural that their sympathy and benevolence to others should be chiefly engrossed by those who had the same religious tendencies. Thus their mutual union became, from many circumstances, peculiarly firm and remarkable. It was not, in the first instance, particularly learned ecclesiastics who were Pietists; on the contrary, the greater portion of the clergy in 1700 stood firm to the orthodox point of view in opposition to them. But they lived more by the Gospel than the law; they sought carefully to avoid the appearance of exercising, as preachers, dominion over the consciences of the community. This captivated the laity--the strong minds and warm hearts of all classes, scholars, officials, not a few belonging to the higher nobility, and, above all, women.
For the first time since the ancient days of Germany--with the exception of a short period of chivalrous devotion to the female sex--were German women elevated above the mere circle of family and household duties; for the first time did they take an active share as members of a great society in the highest interests of humankind. Gladly was it acknowledged by the theologians of the Pietists, that there were more women than men in their congregations, and how assiduously and zealously they performed all the devotional exercises, like the women who remained by the cross when the Apostles had fled. Their inward life, their struggle with the world, their striving after the love of Christ and light from above, were watched with hearty sympathy by all in their intimacy, and they found trusty advisers and loving friends among refined and honourable men. The new conception of faith which laid less stress on book-learning than on a pure heart, acted on them like a charm. The calm, the seclusion, and the aristocratic tendency of the system, attracted them powerfully; even their greater softness, the energy of their impulsive feelings, and their excitable, nervous nature, made them more especially subjects for emotions, enthusiasm, and the wonderful workings of the Godhead. Already had the gifted Anna Maria von Schurmann, at Utrecht--the most learned of all maidens and long the admiration of travellers--been separated from the church through Jean de Labadie; and the pious and amiable lady had, in 1670, in her holy zeal, withdrawn all her works, though they contained nothing unchristian. Like her, many other women endeavoured to be the representatives of their priesthood to the people; many of these pious theologians could boast of strong-minded women, who prayed with and comforted them, ever strengthening them amid the difficulties of faith, and partaking of their light. Thus it came to pass that women of all classes became the most zealous partisans of the Pietists. There was scarcely a noble or rich family which did not count among its ladies one that was pious, nor who, though they might at first be angered, were not gradually influenced by their intrinsic worth and moral exhortations. To such noble ladies there was a great charm in being able to protect persons of talent in their community. They became zealous patronesses, unwearied proselytisers, and trustworthy confidants, and helpers in the distresses of others. But whilst they laboured for the interests of their faith, their own life was subject to many influences. They came into contact with men of different classes, they were accustomed to correspond with those who were absent, and they learnt to give vent to the secrets of the heart, and to the tender feelings of their souls. Although this was often done in the canting expressions of the community, yet it produced in many a deepening of the inner life. There was, indeed, something new added to the spirit of the people.
The habit of reflecting on their own condition, of judging themselves under strong inward emotions, was quite new to the German mind. It is very touching to observe the child-like pleasure with which these pious people watched the processes of their mental activity, and the emotions of their hearts. Much was strange and surprising to them which we, from greater practice in the observation of our own inward life and that of others, only find common. Every train of conceptions which rapidly formed themselves into an image, a thought, or an idea, every sudden flash of feeling, the mainspring of which they could not discover, appeared to them wonderful. The language of the Bible, which, after long groping, they began to understand, was unfolded to them. Their visions, which, owing to their assiduous application to the Scriptures, assumed frequently the form of Bible figures, were carefully, after their awakening, brought into rational coherence, and, unconscious of the additions of their imagination, were polished into a small poem. Their lyrical tendencies gave a new form to their diaries, which hitherto had been only a register of casual occurrences; the confidential pages became now clumsy attempts to express in grand words, impassioned feelings, and were filled with observations on their own hearts. When a Pietist, shortly after 1700, writes: "There were so many deep thoughts in my heart, that I could not give expression to them," or, "I had a strong feeling about these thoughts," this sounds to us like the utterance of a later time, in the style of Bettine Arnim, who undoubtedly was, in many respects, an echo of the excited women who once prayed, under the guidance of Spener, on the banks of the Maine. This same facility of self-contemplation found its way into poetry, and later into novels.
Together with Pietism there began also in Germany a new style of social intercourse. Seldom was a quiet life the lot of the heads of the pious communities; they were transplanted, driven away, and moved about hither and thither. The disciples, therefore, who sought for instruction, comfort, and enlightenment, were often obliged to travel into distant countries. Everywhere they found souls in unison, patrons and acquaintances, and often a good reception and protection from strangers. Those who did not travel themselves, loved to write to kindred spirits concerning their dispositions, temptations, and enlightenment. Such letters were carried about, copied, and sent far and wide. Thus arose a quiet communion of pious souls throughout Germany, a new human tie, which first broke through the prejudices of classes, made women important members of a spiritual society, and established a social intercourse, the highest interest of which was the inward life of the individual. And this social tendency of the pious, determined the form and method of intercourse of the finer minds for a hundred years later than the time of Spener; indeed, the social relations between our great poets and German princesses and ladies of rank, was only rendered possible because the "Stillen im lande" had lived at courts in a similar way. The whole system was the same: the visits of travellers, the letters, and the quiet community of refined souls. The sentimentality of the Werther period was only the stepdaughter of the emotional mania of the old Pietism.