Poet, playwright, novelist, scientist, statesman, scholar, lawyer, theatre director, and critic, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) is widely regarded as the greatest and most influential writer in the German language who all but rewrote the formal rules of German poetry and whose work has had a profound, broad, and continuing influence on Western literary, political, and philosophical thought. One of the leading figures of Weimar Classicism, his non-fiction philosophical writings stimulated the development of many other great thinkers, including Hegel, Schopenhauer, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, and Jung. An outstanding polymath, he produced volumes of poetry, essays, criticism, and early work on evolution and linguistics, and he had a wide-ranging interest in minerology (the mineral goethite – iron oxide – is named after him).
Scholars consider Goethe to be a leading figure in two different realms, first as a man dedicated to the sense of taste, order, and finely crafted detail, the hallmark of the artistic sense of the Age of Reason and, on the other hand, as a person seeking a personal, intuitive, and personalized form of expression firmly supporting the idea of self-regulating and organic systems. He exerted a breadth of influence on the nineteenth century which, in many respects, has woven itself into the very fabric of contemporary thought.
Born into a Lutheran family, Goethe was a Freemason and a freethinker who believed that one could be inwardly Christian without following any of the Christian churches, many of whose central teachings he firmly opposed as he sharply distinguished between Christ and the tenets of Christian theology and criticized its history as a “hodgepodge of mistakes and violence.” As with respect to most of his thinking, his relationship to the Christian faith can be confusing, as his own descriptions of his relationship to Christianity and even the Church differed over time and has been differently interpreted by various authorities. For example, while Eckermann, Goethe’s secretary, described him as an enthusiastic Christian who characterized Christianity as the “ultimate religion,” on at least one occasion Goethe described himself as “most decidedly non-Christian”; he listed the symbol of the cross as among the four things that he most disliked; and he was called “the great heathen” by many Christian leaders.
Much of the drama in Faust, Goethe’s famous tragedy/drama, is based on the Book of Job with a twist: while Satan tempts Job by taking his wealth, health, and children away from him to test his devotion to G-d, Goethe’s Mephistopheles torments Faust by offering to give him everything that a modern man might desire. Faust, which is considered not only his greatest work but also the greatest German drama of all time, includes almost 200 passages containing biblical parallels, beginning with the “Prologue in Heaven,” modeled after the first chapters of Job, and ending with the final scene of Faust’s death, which was inspired by the biblical and Talmudic accounts of the death of Moses. (In the explanatory prose parts of West-östlicher Divan, his late collection of poems, he examined the role of Moses and the Jews.)
However, although Goethe often expressed great admiration for the “Old Testament,” he unambiguously admitted his disgust, his early fear, and his negative judgment of the Jews during his childhood, which he attributes to the European Christian tradition and which he admits was part of the very fabric of European-Christian identity. His general view of Judaism was that it was little more than an early form of Christianity to be abolished with the advent of the Christian Savior. Expecting the Jews to convert to Christianity – or at least to his own pantheistic version of it – he wrote in 1773:
The Jewish people I regard as a wild, infertile stock (or “tribe”) that stood in a circle of wild and barren trees, upon which the eternal Gardener grafted the noble scion Jesus Christ, so that, by adhering to it, it ennobled the nature of the stock and from there slips were fetched to make all the remaining trees fertile.
Goethe learned Hebrew and drew on the Bible to make sense of the spiritual crisis of modernity. In his memoirs he writes that “by trying to learn the Jews’ baroque German and to write it just as well as I could read it, I soon found that I lacked a knowledge of Hebrew, which is the only source from which the modern corrupted and distorted language can be derived and treated with some certainty.” He went on to translate Song of Songs in 1774 after consulting the Hebrew original.
“Goethe and the Jews” is a rather complex theme because, among other reasons, there are few remarks on Jewish subjects in his numerous works and, at the very least, Jews played no prominent role in his work. While his public statements about Jews were often critical, his most vociferous statements regarding Jews – and there were many, as we shall see – were generally private. Although many see his antisemitism in the language of the Third Reich, Goethe never actually spoke or thought about a “Jewish race” but only about a tribe, nation, or people.
Moreover, his comments about Jews were often mixed and muddied. For example, in Book Four of The Work of J.W. von Goethe, he wrote:
Among the things which excited the misgivings of the boy, and even of the youth, was especially the state of the Jewish quarter of the city (Judenstadt), properly called the Jew Street (Judengasse); as it consisted of little more than a single street, which in early times may have been hemmed in between the walls and trenches of the town, as in a prison. The closeness, the filth, the crowd, the accent of an unpleasant language, altogether made a most disagreeable impression, even if one only looked in as one passed the gate. It was long before I ventured in alone; and I did not return there readily, when I had once escaped the importunities of so many men unwearied in demanding and offering to traffic… the large caricature, still to be seen, to their disgrace, on an arched wall under the bridge-tower, bore extraordinary witness against them; for it had been made, not through private ill-will, but by public order.
On the other hand, to Goethe, the very notion of G-d was history’s greatest idea, and he recognized the Jews as an exemplary nation, the people who originally conceived this idea and clung to it through centuries of persecution, and he admired them for their tenacity. As he goes on to write in The Work of J.W. von Goethe immediately following the above citation:
However, they still remained the chosen people of G-d, and passed, no matter how it came about, as a memorial of the most ancient times. Besides, they also were men, active and obliging; and, even to the tenacity with which they clung to their peculiar customs, one could not refuse one’s respect. The girls, moreover, were pretty, and were far from displeased when a Christian lad [referring to himself], meeting them on the Sabbath in the Fischerfeld, showed himself kindly and attentive. I was consequently extremely curious to become acquainted with their ceremonies. I did not desist until I had frequently visited their school, had assisted at a circumcision and a wedding, and formed a notion of the Feast of the Tabernacles. Everywhere I was well received, pleasantly entertained, and invited to come again; for it was through persons of influence that I had been either introduced or recommended.
He further writes in chapter two of Wilhelm Meister’s Journeyman Years (or The Renunciants):
Among all the pagan religions, for the Israelite [religion] also is one, the latter has greater advantages of which I only want to mention several. Before the ethnic Judgment Seat, before the divine Judgment Seat the question is not asked, whether a nation is the best, the most excellent, but whether it is lasting, whether it can subsist. The Israelite nation has never been much good, for which its leaders, judges, community heads, prophets have upbraided it thousands of times: it possesses few virtues and most of the faults that other nations have; but its independence, strength, bravery, and, when these no longer count, tenacity are unparalleled. It is the most persevering nation on earth; it is, it was, and will continue being so in order to glorify the name of [G-d’s divine name] throughout all the ages.
Many experts attribute the adulation that Jewish intellectuals felt for Goethe to the purity of his poetic language, in which they perceived freedom, and because they were able to see themselves as human beings, rather than as Jews, through his work. Goethe was the German poet who, perhaps more than any other, tried to understand human fate without judgment; indeed, some critics attribute pre-Holocaust Jewish love for Germany to Goethe, rather than attributing their love of Goethe to their pride in being German.
Much as contemporary Jews continue to support politicians and movements inimical to their interests, including American Jews who vote for antisemitic Democrats and others who regularly vote to harm Israel, Goethe enjoyed broad Jewish support notwithstanding that his political attitude to Jews and their striving for equal civil rights was extremely negative, even reactionary.
In 1823, the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach issued a new decree granting Jews the right to practice their religion freely, to attend universities, to enter the skilled trades, and to marry Christians (but only if they agreed to raise the children of such unions as Christians). According to Chancellor Hermann von Müller, who passed several progressive social reforms before he had to resign due to the Social Democratic Party’s poor showing in the 1920 election, Goethe expressed “his passionate indignation over our new Jewish law” and he expected the worst and shrillest consequences, claimed that if the general superintendent had any character, he should have to resign from his position rather than marry a Jewess in the name of the Holy Trinity in the Church. All moral feelings within the families, which after all rested entirely on religious ones, would be undermined by such a scandalous law.
Goethe’s diary confirms that that he had this discussion with von Müller; his September 29, 1823 entry reads, “In the evening Chancellor von Müller; about Christians and Jews marrying, disagreeable conversation.”
Many historians and Goethe scholars argue that Goethe was not an antisemite but, rather, that he merely reflected the tenor of his time in his philosophical approach and writing. In fact, Goethe himself seems to make that very argument, as he unambiguously admits his disgust, early fear, and negative judgment on the Jews during his childhood, but he attributes it to the European Christian tradition, which he acknowledges was part of the very fabric of European-Christian identity.
The impression, which I received in my hometown during my childhood was for the major part a frightening one. The people in the densely populated and dark Jewish ghetto were for me very strange and incomprehensible experiences which occupied my fantasy and I could not understand at all how this people would have written the most remarkable book of the world by itself. But the disgust which was moving in me during my early childhood was mainly shyness in front of the mysteriousness, the ugly. My contempt, which I felt sometimes, was mainly the reflection of the Christian men and women surrounding me. Only later on when I got to know many spiritually gifted sensible men of this tribe respect joined the admiration which I have for the people who have created the Bible and for the poet who has sung the song of songs.
Except for during in his youth, Goethe generally did not have direct contact with Jews from the ghetto or converse with Jews in his immediate surroundings. However, he did associate with some of the leading educated Jews of his day, including the likes of Felix Mendelssohn and Moses Mendelssohn and, in particular, with the writings of Spinoza, who is said to have influenced much of his thinking.
One of Goethe’s well-documented Jewish associations was with renowned German painter Moritz Daniel Oppenheim. In the original and very rare handwritten note exhibited here, Goethe writes to Oppenheim on May 8, 1827 from Weimar: “Herr Oppenheim is courteously requested to have his painting of Felsner collected.” (My research has not yielded any information about Felsner, and I urge any readers with such information to contact me.)
Known as “the first Jewish painter of the modern era,” Oppenheim (1800-1882) was the first to work in the non-Jewish German world while remaining unabashedly Jewish and he launched a generation of artists proud of their Jewish faith. He was born in the confined ghetto of Hanau, Germany (near Frankfurt) to a wealthy family of jewelers and bankers and was raised in a strictly Orthodox home. He left home in 1817 to study art and, with Jews generally barred from attending art institutions, he overcame considerable adversity when he was accepted for training in Munich and Paris before training with the Nazarenes in Rome.
Although he was artistically trained with an emphasis on Christianity, Christian sites, and New Testament themes, he refused to emulate many Jewish artists who converted to Christianity as a means to success. Rather, he was steadfast in rejecting all conversion efforts by the Nazarenes, never wavered from his faith, and persisted in maintaining traditional customs, including arranging for Shabbat meals in the Roman ghetto. An active lifelong member of the congregation led by Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch, the preeminent rav of German Orthodoxy in the nineteenth century, he remained faithful to the practices of Jewish Orthodoxy throughout his life. His Judaism and his dedication to religious observance, which informed much of his work, may also be readily seen through his personal correspondence.
While his life and artistic career paralleled the emancipation of European Jews, and many of his famous works represent the nascent Jewish bourgeoisie of intellectuals, politicians, businessmen, and artists, Oppenheim’s best-known paintings are arguably the Scenes from Traditional Jewish Family Life series, twenty oils on canvas and thirteen black and white prints that he painted between the 1850s and his death in 1882. An early effort to preserve Jewish identity through fine art, his sensitive portrayals of Jewish life in the ghetto feature dignified, even loving, depictions of religious life, and the paintings, set in the synagogue and Jewish home, depict holidays on the Jewish calendar in great detail, including Shabbat and the Three Festivals. Scenes, which constituted a nostalgic anchor in a new and tempestuous world, proved immensely popular among both traditionalists and modernists.
While it is certain that his early childhood memories served as a predicate for his portrayals of life in the ghetto, many authorities maintain, with good basis, that his primary motivation was his concern regarding the rising assimilation of German Jews. They argue that his works were intended to visually preserve true and authentic Judaism and to emphasize the essential spirituality of Jewish religious rituals and practices. While his ghetto is a warm, welcoming place, a refuge of civility and holiness in an uncivilized world, his portrayals of the ghetto seemingly manifest themselves through rose-colored lenses, as he avoids reproducing a dark place of Jewish struggle and persecution where Jews take refuge from the reality of a hostile world that surrounds and strangles them.
Although he would not become famous for his Jewish work until some thirty years later, Oppenheim painted one of his most famous works, Return of a Jewish Volunteer from the Wars of Liberation to His Family Still Living in Accordance with Old Customs, in 1833. The long title and its emphasis on “in Accordance with Old Custom” clearly reflects the artist’s own religious views and his idealization of the Jewish family as a sanctuary and parental love as its motif. The painting, considered the first contemporary effort of a known Jewish artist to address a specifically Jewish subject, depicts a wounded Jewish soldier in a Hussar’s uniform who has just returned to his family after helping to defend Germany against the Napoleonic armies. In his haste to be reunited with his family, the young man has, contrary to Jewish law, arrived on Shabbat.
The historical background of the painting is compelling. Many authorities contend that the painting reflects Oppenheim’s disappointment at the social order that continued its discriminatory treatment of Jews, even while Jewish volunteers had actively participated in the wars of liberation against Napoleon, in which many had made the ultimate sacrifice and countless others – like the returning young Jewish soldier at the heart of Return of a Jewish Volunteer – had been injured. The Jews of Baden used Oppenheim’s painting in a pamphlet in which they defended their emancipation, but, notwithstanding Jewish contributions to the war effort, the Jewish community’s civil rights were abolished by the Congress of Vienna of 1815, which marked the end of the war. (The Jews of the Grand Duchy of Baden chose this painting as a gift for Oppenheim’s closest friend, Gabriel Riesser, a powerful advocate for Jewish civil rights.)
After Oppenheim settled in Frankfurt in 1825, the Rothschilds became his patrons to the point that, together with the renown and financial success he generated through his portraits and historical paintings, he became known as “the painter of the Rothschilds and the Rothschild of painters.” In 1836, the Rothschilds commissioned him to paint portraits of the five brothers who dominated banking in Europe and other Rothschild relatives, and the brilliance of these paintings, together with the fame of their subjects, led to engagements to paint the greatest literary figures of his time.
Selection of scenes from Oppenheim’s Scenes from Traditional Jewish Family Life series.
SHABBAT
FESTIVALS
OTHER
Oppenheim was buried in the Old Jewish Cemetery in Frankfurt. Some one-third of his lifetime work was lost to Nazi confiscation, but many survive in major institutions, including The Israel Museum in Jerusalem, The Jewish Museum in New York, and The Leo Baeck Institute, which hold many of the major works from Scenes from a Traditional Jewish Life. Many of his paintings survived only because their Jewish owners were smart enough – or lucky enough – to leave Germany before the Nazis seized power. He dictated his memoirs shortly before his death at age 82, but they were not published until his grandson Alfred Oppenheim edited them forty-two years later.
