Before realism and naturalism became cardinal virtues of drama in the nineteenth century, one of the core devices of European plays, particularly comedies, was the error or misunderstanding by which resolution was delayed and action held in a state of suspension. Take the countless instances in Shakespeare's comedies in which the primary action of the plot revolves around a simple misunderstanding or case of mistaken identity.
One dramatic purpose of such a device is to expand the scope of action and to put it under a microscope. Delay prolongs transient states of tension, and allows a work to meditate on the precise nature of specific kinds of mistakes. In this sense, I see it as analogous to the function of arias in nineteenth century opera. The action stops moving forward, and we have occasion for characters to analyze and articulate their feelings and motivations, the character of their yearning, their misguided anger, or what have you.
Perhaps the greatest example of this device in all of western literature is found in "Hamlet", which almost entirely occurs in such a state of suspension - Hamlet believes he knows the truth, but is not yet prepared to act. In Shakespeare's hands, this device itself is reflexively thematized as a deeply enigmatic crisis of Hamlet's subjectivity. This is precisely why the principle interpretive question of Hamlet has always been why he waits so long to act. Is he conflicted? Mad? Does he really believe that the ghost may be a deceitful evil spirit? Can he simply not bring himself to play the part of the avenging son?
Drama of the last century or two has generally eschewed devices of all kinds, except for broad entertainments such as the work of Gilbert and Sullivan. An audience today is trained to find contrivances false and distracting, as we are accustomed to action unfolding with something more or less approaching plausibility. In our age, the prolonged case of mistaken identity belongs to sitcoms, and is amusing precisely because it is false.
This, I think, highlights the great distance contemporary audiences are likely to find between themselves and a work like "Nathan the Wise", which, like "Hamlet", could not exist without key contrivances, but which, unlike "Hamlet," employs them naively. Almost by definition, such a drama feels false to the modern audience. Such contrivances are distracting, and confuse us with regards to the characters' motivations. Why, we ask, does that man not simply say such-and-such to clear everything up? Why, because then there would be no play! That is, no occasion to meditate at length on the misunderstandings.
"Nathan the Wise" is, of course, famous largely for the nature of the misunderstandings upon which it dwells. It has two principal messages for us: 1) decency and humanist virtues such wisdom are far more important than confession, creed, or dogma; and 2) the particulars of religious doctrine - particularly with respect to miracles and revelation - are superficial, superstitious accretions which threaten to distract us from the core virtues that all religions share, and which, according to Lessing, are the real heart of religious life.
Lessing creates artificial situations in which he can analyze and dissect the mechanics of human prejudice - specifically, antisemitism - and to analyze what it is, how it spreads, and what human frailties underlie it. At times, his analysis is psychologically revealing and deeply chilling, and the drama becomes engrossing. At other times, and all-too-often, I was put off by its contrivance, which blocked me from immersion and identification, and kept me at arm's length.
One may find a certain admirable (if somewhat unsophisticated) idealism in Lessing's brand of humanism, but I think the problems of religious identity are much deeper and more complicated than his formulation would have it. I do not believe that there is a shared ethical-humanist core to all religions, even if we restrict ourselves to the so-called Religions of the Book. Nor do I believe that the Beatitudes are more fundamental to Christianity than, say, Leviticus, or penance, or celebrating Eucharist, or singing hymns, or Pentecost festivals, or Trinitarian theology. I certainly believe that the simple existential humanism of the Synoptic Gospels is core for Lessing and his circle of poets and philosophes. But what makes them better representatives of what Christianity is "really about" than the tens of millions of less sophisticated believers who surround them?
One can only have limited enthusiasm for the literature of the Enlightenment, which deals with "messages" that are better treated by jurists and philosophers than playwrights. We can enthusiastically applaud the message of "Candide," but are there people who truly love the story? Like most people who read it in college, all I remember from it now is its mockery of Leibniz's "best of all possible worlds" dictum, which he caricatures, and its "one should tend one's garden." It is hard to love "Candide" as a novel because it is didactic, and didactic literature is two-dimensional. Its purpose is to express one point of view, one argument.
I imagine a modern "Nathan the Wise" - it would have to allow for genuine differences in perspective that don't boil down to the fact that many characters are simply wrong, but rather, they inhabit different lifeworlds, and have to coexist in the midst of actual difference. Such a work would more closely resemble Goethe, and this is one reason why Lessing is interesting and notable, but Goethe is great - he was too much an artist to believe a play like "Faust" should have a "message".
Ironically, the character in "Nathan the Wise" who comes closest to being a real villain is led astray by her conviction that hers is the only path and all others must follow it. Is this not Lessing's conviction about his own conclusions?