Lazarus
by Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)
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What is man, that you are mindful of him?
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Psalm 8:4
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Yes I
have returned to God, like the prodigal son, after I went farming the
pigs with
Hegel’s students for a long time. Was it misery that made me turning
back?
Perhaps it was a less miserable reason.
A sudden fit of heavenly nostalgia drove
me through
forests and ravines and over the steepest mountain paths of dialectic
philosophy. Along the way I met the god of the pantheists, but he was
of no use
to me. This poor and dream stricken being is meshed in and interwoven
with the
world, almost imprisoned in its fabric, and it yawns at you, helpless
and
without a will of its own.
To have a will you need to be a person,
and in order
to exercise it, you need to have your elbows free. Yet if you ask for a
god who
is able to help - and isn’t that all that really matters - it must be a
real
person, who is endowed with his holy attributes of being preternatural,
all
merciful, all wise, and full of justice. Immortality of the soul and
afterlife
then go into the bargain as a bonus, just as the butcher is shoving a
shank
into the basket free of charge, as a token of satisfaction with his
customer.
Such a bone, in the language of French
cuisine, is
called “la rejouissance,” and they cook some excellent broths with it,
which to
the poor patient, worn down and ailing, is very nutritious and
invigorating.
That I don’t reject such rejouissance and
rather
enjoy it with all my heart should be acceptable for every man with a
bone of
compassion in him.
by
Heinrich Heine 1856,
©
- 6/1/2005 - translated by michael sympson,
300
words, all rights reserved
