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Updated: May 24, 2025
We read on page 255: "And that other saying of Lessing's 'If God, holding truth in His right hand, and in His left only the ever-living desire for it, although on condition of perpetual error, left him the choice of the two, he would, considering that truth belongs to God alone, humbly seize His left hand, and beg its contents for Himself' this saying of Lessing's has always been accounted one of the most magnificent which he has left us.
Diderot had nothing of all these, but he had the eye of the philosophic critic. Any one who reads Lessing's dramatic criticisms will see that he did not at all overrate his obligations to his French contemporary. It has been replied to the absurd taunt about the French inventing nothing, that at least Descartes invented German philosophy.
"Study ethics diligently, learn to express yourself well and correctly, and cultivate your own character. Without that I cannot conceive a good dramatic author." Marvellous counsel this will seem to those who think that wisdom is only to be found in the fool's paradise of Bohemia! We said that Lessing's dream was to be a poet.
No one has come forth of it yet, to my knowledge, except by paths whereof I shall use Lessing's saying, 'I may have my whole hand full of truth, and yet find good to open only my little finger. But who cares for their coming out?
Goldsmith picked out. If they aren't satisfactory, it's the costumer's loss and we can buy these that Mrs. Goldsmith picked out, or others that will do as well, at Lessing's. I think that saving will be decisive with them." "But do you know a costumer?" Rose asked. "You're the costumer;" said Galbraith. "You design the costumes, buy the fabrics, superintend the making of them.
Our play begins with a scene which at once recalls what was originally the opening scene of Wagner's 'Infanticide'. In both there is a blustering father, Lessing's Odoardo reduced to the bourgeois sphere, discoursing with his silly wife upon the dangers that threaten their daughter from keeping aristocratic company.
His wife was not dressed for dinner either; she had just come in from a war committee of some sort. A solitary maid waited on them, and they had already given up fires in the dining-room. Not that Mr. Lessing's income had appreciably diminished, but, quite honestly, he and his were out to win the war.
For, in spite of Herr Stahr's protest, we must acknowledge the truth of Lessing's own characteristic confession, that he was no poet.
No writer can leave a more precious legacy to posterity than this; and beside this shining merit, all mere literary splendors look pale and cold. There is that life in Lessing's thought which engenders life, and not only thinks for us, but makes us think.
What exists now was never possible before, for everything that man accomplishes is conditioned by time, climate, and circumstances. Six years later Lessing's pamphlet on the Education of the Human Race appeared, couched in the form of aphoristic statements, and to a modern reader, one may venture to say, singularly wanting in argumentative force.
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