JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE'S POPULAR WORKS THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR THE VOCATION OF MAN THE DOCTRINE OF RELIGION. WITH A MEMOIR WILLIAM SMITH, LL.D. LONDON: TRUBXER & CO, 57 & 59 LUDGATE HILL. MDCCCLXXUI. M E M O I R OF JOIIANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE. AT the time of the great religious division, when Germany was torn by internal factions and ravaged by foreign armies —when for thirty years the torch of devastation never ceased to blaze, nor the groan of misery to ascend on high, — a skir mish took place near the village of Rammenau, in Upper Lusatia, between some Swedish troops and a party of the Catholic army. A subaltern officer who had followed the fortunes of Gustavus was left on the field severely wound ed. The kind and simple-hearted villagers were eager to render him every aid which his situation required, and be neath the roof of one of them, a zealous Lutheran, he was tended until returning health enabled him either to rejoin his companions in arms or return to his native land. But the stranger had found an attraction stronger than those of war or home, — he continued an inmate in the house of his protector and became his son-in-la\v. The old man's other sons having fallen in the w-ar the soldier inherited his simple possessions, and founded a family whose generations flowed on in peaceful obscurity until its name wras made illustrious by the subject of the following memoir. The village of Rammenau is situated in a beautiful and well-cultivated district, diversified by wooded slopes and watered by numerous streams. Its inhabitants are a frugal B 2 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. and industrious people, and preserve, even to the present day, the simple and unaffected manners of their forefathers. Amid this community, withdrawn alike from the refine ments and the corruptions of more polished society, the des- cendents of the Swedish soldier bore an honourable reputation for those manly virtues of our nature which find in poverty a rugged but congenial soil. Firmness of purpose, sterling honesty in their dealings, and immovable uprightness of conduct, became their family characteristics. From this worthy stock the subject of our memoir took his descent. The grandfather of the philosopher, who alone out of a nu merous family remained resident in his native place, inher ited from his predecessor, along with the little patrimonial property, a small trade in ribbons, the product of his own loom, which he disposed of to the inhabitants of the village and its vicinity. Desirous that his eldest son, Christian Fichte, should extend this business beyond the limited sphere in which he practised it himself, he sent him as ap prentice to Johann Schurich, a manufacturer of linen and ribbons in the neighbouring town of Pulsnitz, in order that he might there learn his trade more perfectly than he could do at home. The son conducted himself well during his apprenticeship, rose high in the esteem of his master, and was at last received into the house as an inmate. He there succeeded in gaining the affections of Schurich's daughter. This attachment was for some time kept secret, in deference to the pride of the maiden's father; but his prejudices having been overcome, young Fichte brought home his bride to his native village, and with her dowry he built a house there, in which some of his descendents still follow the paternal oc cupation. JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE was their first child, and was born on the 19th May 1762. At his baptism, an aged rela tive of the mother, who had come from a distance to be pre sent at the ceremony, and who was revered by all men for his wisdom and piety, foretold the future eminence of the child ; and as death soon afterwards set his seal upon the HIS EARLY EDUCATION. lips by which this prophecy had been uttered, it became in vested with all the sacredness of a deathbed prediction. Their faith in this anouncement induced the parents to al low their first-born an unusual degree of liberty, and by thus affording room for the development of his nature, the pre diction became in some measure the means of securing its own fulfilment. The boy soon displayed some characteristics of the future man. He seldom joined the other children in their games, but loved to wander forth into the fields, alone with his own thoughts. There he would stand for hours, his eyes fixed on the far distance, until he was roused from his trance and brought home by the shepherds, who knew and loved the solitary and meditative child. These thoughtful hours, in which the first germs of his spiritual nature were unfolded, left impressions upon him which the cares of future years never obliterated, and they always continued among his most cherished recollections. His first teacher was his own father, who after the business of the day was over and the garden work finished, instructed him in reading, and told him the story of his own journey ings in Saxony and Fran- conia. He was an eager scholar, soon mastered his Bible and Catechism, and even read the morning and evening prayers to the family circle. When he was seven years ^of age, his father, as a reward for his industry, brought him from the neighbouring town the story of Siegfried. He was soon so entirely rapt in this book, that he neglected ^his other lessons in order to indulge his fancy for it. This brought upon him a severe reproof; and finding that the beloved book stood between him and his duty, he with cha racteristic determination resolved to destroy it. He carried it to the brook which ran by his father's house, with the in tention of throwing it into the water, but long he hesitated before accomplishing his first act of self-denial. At length he cast it into the stream. No sooner, however, did he see it carried away from him, than regret for his loss trmmphe over his resolution, and he wept bitterly, His father dis covered him, and learned the loss of the book, but without MEMOIR OF FlCHfE. learning the reason of it. Angry at the supposed slight cast upon his present, he punished the boy with unwonted severity. As in his childhood, so also in his after life, did ignorance of his true motives often cause Fichte to be mis understood and misrepresented. When this matter had been forgotten, his father bought him a similar book, but the boy refused to accept it, lest he should again be led into temptation. Young Fichte soon attracted the notice of the clergyman of the village, an excellent man who was beloved by the whole community. The pastor, perceiving that the boy pos sessed unusual abilities, allowed him frequently to come to his house in order to receive instruction, and resolved, if pos sible, to obtain for him a scientific education. An opportu nity of doing so accidently presented itself. When Fichte was about eight or nine years of age, the Freiherr von Miltitz, being on a visit to a nobleman resident in the neighbourhood, was desirous of hearing a sermon from the pastor of Kam- menau, (who had acquired some reputation as a preacher), but had arrived too late in the evening to gratify his wishes. Lamenting his disappointment, he was told that there was a boy in the village whose extraordinary memory enabled him to repeat faithfully any address which he had once heard. Little Gottlieb was sent for, and appeared before the company in his linen jacket, carrying a nosegay which his mother had placed in his hand. He astonished the assembled guests by his minute recollection of the morning's discourse and the earnestness with which he repeated it before them. The Freiherr, who belonged to one of the noblest families in Saxony, and possessed a high reputation for his disinterested benevolence and unaffected piety, determined to make fur ther inquiries respecting this extraordinary child ; and the friendly pastor having found the opportunity he wished, easily persuaded him to undertake the charge of the boy's educa tion. The consent of the parents having been with difficulty obtained, — for they were reluctant to expose their son to the temptations of a noble house, — young Fichte was con signed to the care of his new protector, who engaged to treat him as his own child. REMOVAL FROM HOME. His first removal was to Siebeneichen (Sevenoaks), a seat on the Elbe belonging to the Freiherr. The stately solem nity of this place and the gloom of the surrounding forest scenery weighed heavily upon his spirits : he was seized with a deep melancholy, which threatened to injure his health. His kind foster-father prudently resolved to place him under the care of a clergyman in the neighbouring village of Nie- derau, who, himself without family, had a great love for children. Here Fichte spent the happiest years of his boy hood. He received the kindest attentions from his teacher, whose name he never mentioned in after years without the deepest and most grateful emotion. Here the foundation of his education was laid in a knowledge of the ancient lan guages ; and so rapid was his progress, that his instructor soon found his own learning insufficient for the further su perintendence of his pupil's studies. In his twelfth year he was sent by the Freiherr von Miltitz, first to the town school of Meissen, and soon afterwards to the public school of Pfor- ta near Raumburg. The school at Pforta retained many traces of its monk ish origin : the teachers and pupils lived in cells, and the boys were allowed to leave the interior only once a-week, and then under inspection, to visit a particular play-ground in the neighbourhood. The stiffest formalism pervaded the economy of this establishment, and every trait of indepen dence was carefully suppressed. In its antiquated routine, the living spirit of knowledge was unrecognised and the generous desire of excellence gave place to the petty arti fices of jealousy. Instead of the free communication, kind advice, and personal example of a home, secrecy, distrust, and deceit were the prevalent characterstics of the school. When he was scarcely thirteen years of age, Fichte entered this seminary; and henceforward he was alone in the world, cast upon his own resources, trusting to his own strength and guidance. So soon was he called upon to exercise that powerful and clear-sighted independence of character by which he was afterwards so much distinguished. G MEMOIR OF FICHTE. The strange world into which he now entered, the gloom and confinement he encountered, so different from the free atmosphere of his native woods and mountains, made a deep impression on the boy. His sadness and tears exposed him to the mockery of his school-fellows : he wanted prudence to disregard them and courage to complain to a teacher. He determined to run away. Shame and the fear of be ing sent back to Pforta prevented him returning to his pro tector the Freiherr; he therefore conceived the idea of seek ing some distant island, where, like Robinson, he might lead a life of perfect freedom. But he would not steal away, — he would make it evident that necessity drove him to the course which he adopted. He warned his senior, who oppressed him severely, that he would no longer suffer such treatment, and that if it were not amended he would leave the school. His threat was of course received with laughter and con tempt, and the boy now thought he might quit the place with honour. The opportunity was soon found, and he took the road to Raumburg. On the way he remembered the maxim of his old friend the pastor, that every undertaking should be begun with a petition for divine aid. He sunk to his knees on a rising ground. During prayer he called to mind his parents, their care for him, the grief which his sud den disappearance would cause them. " Never to see them again ! " — this thought was too much for him : his joy and courage were already gone. He determined to return and con fess his fault. On the way back he met those who had been sent after him. When taken before the Rector, he admitted that it had been his intention to run away, but at the same time recounted so ingenuously the motives which had in duced him to take this step, that the Rector not only for gave him his fault, but resolved to take him under his own special protection. He obtained another senior, who soon gained his affections, and was afterwards his companion and friend at the University. From this time Fichte's residence at Pforta became gradually more agreeable to him. He entered zealously up on his studies, and found in them occupation, interest, and SCHOOL AT PFORTA. — JENA. spiritual nourishment. The defects of his previous education were soon overcome by industry, and he found himself once more comfortable and happy. Among those older scholars with whom Fichte now associated, a spirit of independence sprang up,— they laboured assiduously to set themselves free from the degrading influences of the school, and from the antiquated and worn-out notions held by most of the teachers. The praise or blame of these masters was little valued among them if they could secure the esteem of each other. Books imbued with the new spirit of free inquiry were secretly obtained, and, in spite of the strictest prohi bitions, great part of the night was spent in their perusal. The works of Wioland, Lessing, and Goethe were positively forbidden ; yet they found their way within the walls, and were eagerly studied. Lessing' s controversy with Goze made a deep impression upon Fichte : each successive number of the Anti-Gaze he almost committed to memory. A new spiritual life was awakened within him : he understood for the first time the meaning of scientific knowledge, and cast off the thraldom of scholastic pedantry. Lessing became to him an object of such deep reverence that he determined to devote his first days of freedom to seek a personal inter view with his mental liberator. But this plan was frustrated by want of money; and when afterwards it might have been carried into execution, an untimely death had deprived Germany of her boldest thinker. In 1780, Fichte, then eighteen years of age, entered the University'of Jena. He joined the theological faculty, not so much, probably, by his own choice as by desire of his parents and protector. By his interest in other branches of science, and by the marked direction of his mind to clear ness and certainty of knowledge, it soon becaae evident that he would not accept the shortest and easiest way to the com pletion of his studies. Nothing definite is known of the early progress of his mind, but his later productions leave no doubt of its general tendency. He must soon have been struck with the disparity between the form of theology as it 8 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. was then taught, and the wants of a philosophic intellect, Fichte's nature could only be satisfied with a consistent theory, deduced, through all its ramifications, from one fundamental principle. We may conjecture what doubts and obscurities dogmatic theology must have presented to his mind at this time, when we recollect that, even at an after period of his life, he still interested himself in the task of reconciling faith with knowledge, — revelation with science. He attended a course of Dogmatics by C. F. Pezold, at Leipzic, to which place he had removed from Jena ; and in the attempt to attain a clear comprehension of the theological doctrines of the attributes of God, the creation, the freedom of the will, &c., he encountered unexpected difficulties, which led him into a wider circle of inquiry, and finally drove him to aban don the theological for the philosophical point of view. Thus his philosophical speculations had their origin in an attempt to create a tenable system of dogmatics, and to obtain light on the higher questions of theology. Some hints as to the early direction of his philosophical studies may be gathered from his letters written about this time. The question which chiefly engaged his attention seems to have been thatJLiberty and Necessity. Rejecting the doc trine of Free-will considered as absolute indifferent self-deter mination^ he adopted the view, which, to distinguish it from fatalism, may be named determinism. Every complete and consistent philosophy contains a deterministic side, for the thought of an all-directing Unity is the beginning and end of profound investigation. Fatalism sees in this highest Unity a dark and mysterious Nemesis, — an unconscious me chanical necessity : determinism, the highest disposing Reason, the infinite Spirit and God, to whom the determination of each living being is not only to be referred, but in whom alone it becomes clear and intelligible. Fichte seems to have adopted this view apart from any foreign influence ; for he was as yet unacquainted with Spi noza, its most consistent expounder, whom he had only heard spoken of as an abstruse atheist. He communicated his opinions to a Saxon preacher, who had the reputation of PHILOSOPHICAL STUDIES. 9 distinguished philosophical attainments and was well versed in the Wolffian metaphysics. He was informed that he had adopted Spinozism, and it was through Wolff's refutation that he first became acquainted with that profound and systematic thinker. He engaged in the study of Spinoza's fithica, and that great work made a deep impression upon him, as upon every other earnest student. Prolonged inves tigation, however, rendered him dissatisfied with these views ; — the indestructible feeling of internal independence and freedom, rendered doubly powerful by the energy of his own character, could neither be removed, nor explained on an exclusively deterministic theory, which must ultimately have come into collision with his deepest spiritual want, — to look upon freedom — self-determination — as the only true and real being. This original tendency of his mind prepared him afterwards for the enthusiastic reception of the doctrines of Kant, and is, in fact, the very root of his own " Wissenschafts- lehre," which in this respect stands opposed to the doctrine of Spinoza, although there is, notwithstanding, an essential affinity between these two greatest systems of modern phi losophy. Thus has every great theory its foundation in the individual character, and is indeed but the scientific expres sion of the spiritual life of its originator. Amid these lofty speculations, poverty, the scholar's bride, knocked at his door, and roused him to that struggle with the world, in which so many purchase ease with degradation, but in which men such as he find strength, confidence and triumph. His generous benefactor was now dead, and he was thrown on his own resources. From 1784 to 1788 he earned a precarious livelihood by acting as tutor in various houses in Saxony. His studies were desultory and interrup ted : he had not even the means of procuring books ; the strength which should have been devoted to his own men tal cultivation was wasted in obtaining a scanty subsistence. But amid all his privations his courage never deserted him, nor the inflexible determination, which was not so much an act of his will as a law of his nature, to pursue truth for her own sake and at all hazards. " It is our business," says he C 10 : MEMOIR OF FICHTE. on another occasion — "it is our business to be true to our selves : the result is altogether in the hands of providence." His favourite plan of life at this period, and for a long time afterwards, was to become a village pastor in Saxony, and amid the leisure which he should find in that occupation, to prosecute, without disturbance, his own mental culture. But his theological studies were not completed, and he was with out the means of continuing them. In 1787 he addressed a letter to the President of the Consistory, requesting to be allowed a share of the support which many poor students enjoy at the Saxon Universities, until the following Easter, when he should be ready to present himself before the Con sistory for examination. " I have never," he says, "partaken in the public provision for students, nor have I enjoyed an allowance of any kind, although my poverty can be clearly proved. Is it not possible, then, to allow me a maintenance sufficient for this short time, that I may be enabled to de vote myself to theology until Easter ? . . . . Without this, my residence at Leipzic is of no avail to me, for I am compelled to give all my time to heterogeneous pursuits, in order that I may even live Should it please you to grant my request, I assure you by all that I hold sacred, that I will devote myself entirely to this object ; that I will consecrate my life to the Fatherland which supported me at school, and which since then has only become dearer to me; and that I will come before the High Consistory, pre pared for my examination, and submit my future destiny to its wisdom." No notice was taken of his request, partly, it may be conjectured, on account of doubts which were enter tained of his orthodoxy — a reason which closed the gates of preferment against his friend Weisshuhn and many others. In May 1788, every prospect had closed around him, and every honourable means of advancement seemed to be exhausted. The present was utterly barren, and there was no hope in the future. It is needful that natures like his should be nurtured in adversity that they may discover their own strength ; prosperity might lull into an inglorious slum- PECUNIARY DIFFICULTIES. 'l I her the energies for whose appearance the world is waiting. He would not disclose his helpless situation to any of his well-wishers, but the proud consciousness of his own worth enabled him, amid unmerited sufferings, to oppose the bold front of human dignity against the pressure of opposing cir cumstances. It was the eve of his birthday. With unavailing anxiety he had again pondered all his projects, and found all alike hopeless. The world had cast him out, — his country re fused him food, — he thought his last birthday was at hand ; but he was determined that his honour, all that he could now call his own, should remain unsullied. Full of bitter thoughts, he returned to his solitary lodging. He found a letter awaiting him : it was from his friend, the tax-collector Weissc, requesting him to come immediately to his house. He there placed in Fichte's hands an offer of a tutorship in a private family in Zurich. The sudden revulsion of feeling in the young man could not be concealed, and led to an ex planation of his circumstances. The offer was at once ac cepted, and, aided by this kind friend in the necessary ar rangements, he set out for Switzerland in 1788. His scanty means compelled him to travel on foot, but his heart was light, and the fresh hope of youth shone brightly on his path. Disappointment, privation and bondage, had been his close companions ; but these were now left behind him, and he was to find an asylum in Liberty's own mountain-home,— in the land which Tell had consecrated to all future ages as the sacred abode of truth and freedom. He arrived at Zurich on the 1st of September, and imme diately entered upon his office. His employer was a wealthy citizen of Zurich, who having raised himself above many of the narrow prejudices of his class, had resolved to bestow a liberal education upon his children. A boy of ten and a girl of seven years of age were committed to Fichte's care. In the prosecution of his duties he soon found himself hampered by the prejudices of tbo mother, who became jealous of her children being educated for something more than citizens of 12 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. Zurich. Although the father, who was a man of consider able intelligence, was fully sensible of the benefits which a higher education must necessarily confer upon his family, yet his partner raised such a determined opposition to his plans, that it required all Fichte's firmness of purpose to maintain his position. These duties occupied him the greater part of the day, but he also engaged in some minor literary pursuits. His philosophical studies were in the mean time laid aside. At the request of a friend who had sketched out the plan of a scriptural epos, he wrote an essay on this form of poetry, with special reference to Klopstock's Messias. He also translated some of the odes of Horace, and the whole of Sallust, with an introduction on the style and character of this author. He preached occasionally in Zurich, at Flaach, and at several other places in the neighbourhood, with distinguished success. He likewise drew out a plan for the establishment of a school of oratory in Zurich, which how ever was never realised. In the circle of his friends at Zurich were Lavater, Stein- bruchel, Hottinger, and particularly the Canons Tobler and Pfenniger. In his letters he speaks also of Achelis a candi date of theology from Bremen, and Escher a young poet, as his intimate friends : — the latter died soon after Ficbte's departure from Switzerland. But of all the friendships which he formed here, the most important in its influence upon his future life was that of Hartmann Rahn, whose house was in a manner the centre of the cultivated society of Zurich. Rahn was the brother- in-law of Klopstock, with whom he had formed a close friend ship during the poet's visit to Switzerland in 1750, and with whose eldest sister Johanna he was afterwards united. From this marriage with Klopstock's sister sprang, besides several other children, their eldest daughter Johanna Maria, who at a later period became Fichte's wife. The foundation of her character was deep religious feeling, and an unusual strength and faithfulness of affection. Her mother dying while she was yet young, she devoted herself entirely to her father, and to his comfort sacrificed worldly show and many proffered RESIDENCE AT ZURICH. 13 alliances. As her family occupied a much higher station in point of worldly importance than any to which Fichte could, at that time, reasonably aspire, her engagement with him was the result of disinterested attachment alone. Fichte's love was worthy of the noble-minded woman who called it forth. It was a devotion of his whole nature, — enthusiastic like his love for his country, dignified like his love of know ledge, but softened by the deepest tenderness of an earnest and passionate soul. But on this subject he must speak for himself. The following are extracts from letters addressed to Johanna Rahn, while he resided at Zurich, or during short occasional absences. They reveal a singularly interesting and instructive picture of the confidential relations subsisting between two minds, in whom the warmest affections and deepest tenderness of which our nature is susceptible were dignified by unaffected respect for each other, and ennobled by the purest aspirations of humanity. It is necessary to premise that the termination of his engagement, at Easter 1790, led to the departure from Zurich which is alluded to in some of these passages. Fichte, tired of the occupation of a tutor, particularly where his views of a generous, com prehensive, and systematic education were thwarted by the caprices and prejudices of others, was desirous of obtaining a situation of a higher nature, and Rahn, through his con nexions in Denmark, endeavoured to promote his views. fUtto to SJo^anna &af)n. " I hasten to answer your questions — ' Whether my friend ship for you has not arisen from the want of other female society ? ' I think I can answer this question decidedly. I have been acquainted with many women, and held many dif ferent relations with them. I believe I have experienced, if not all the different degrees, yet all the different kinds, of feeling towards your sex, but I have never felt towards any as I feel towards you. No one else has called forth this perfect confidence, without the remotest suspicion of any dis simulation on your part, or the least desire to conceal any- 14 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. thing from you on mine, — this wish to be wholly known to you even as I am, — this attachment, in which difference of sex has not the remotest perceptible influence (for farther can no mortal know his own heart), — this true esteem for your spiritual nature, and acquiescence in whatever you resolve upon. Judge, then, whether it be for want of other female society that you have made an impression upon me which no one else has done, and taught me a new mode of feeling. — ' Whether I will forget you when distant ? ' Does man forget a new mode of being and its cause ?" " The warm sympathy which appears in all these in quiries, the delightful kindness you have shown me on all occasions, the rapture which I feel when I know that am not indifferent to such a person, — these, dearest, deserve that I should say nothing to you which is profaned by flattery, and that he whom you consider worthy of your friendship should not debase himself by a false modesty. Your own fair, open soul deserves that I should never seem to doubt its pure expression, and hence I promise, on my side too, perfect openness." ****** " ' Whether there can be love without esteem ? ' Oh yes, — thou dear, pure one ! Love is of many kinds. Rousseau proves that by his reasoning, and still better by his example. 1 La pauvre Maman ' and ' Madame N ' love in very dif ferent fashions. But I believe there are many kinds of love which do not appear in Rousseau's life. You are very right in saying that no true and enduring love can exist without cordial esteem ; that every other draws regret after it, and is unworthy of any noble human soul. " One word about pietism. Pietists place religion chiefly in externals; in acts of worship performed mechanically, with out aim, as bond-service to God ; in orthodoxy of opinion, &c. &c. ; and they have this among other characteristic marks, that they give themselves more solicitude about others' piety than their own. It is not right to hate these men, — we should hate no one, — but to me they are very contemptible, for their character implies the most deplorable emptiness of LETTERS TO JOHANNA RAIIN. 15 the head, and the most sorrowful perversion of the heart. Such my dear friend can never be ; she cannot become such, even were it possible — which it is not — that her character were perverted ; she can never become such, her nature has too much reality in it. Your trust in Providence, your an ticipations of a future life, are wise and Christian. I hope, if I may venture to speak of myself, that no one will take me to be' a pietist or stiff formalist, but I know no feelings more thoroughly interwoven with my soul than these are." * * *• * *- -:;.- " I am once more within these walls, which are only dear to me because they enclose you ; and when again left to my self, to my solititude, to my own thoughts, my soul flies directly to your presence. How is this ? It is but three days since I have seen you, and I must often be absent from you for a longer period than that. Distance is but distance, and I am equally separated from you in Flaach or in Zurich. — But how comes it that this absence has seemed to me longer than usual, that my heart longs more earnestly to be with you, that I imagine I have not seen you for a Aveek ? Have I philosophized falsely of late about distance ? Oh that our feelings must still contradict the firmest conclusions of our reason ! " " You know doubtless that my peace has been broken by intelligence of the death of a man whom I prized and loved, whose esteem was one of the sweetest enjoyments which Zurich has afforded me, and whose friendship I would still seek to deserve ;- — and you would weep with me if you knew how dear this man was to me." $•$##$# " Your offer of Friday has touched me deeply ; it has con vinced me yet more strongly, if that were possible, of your worth. Not because you are willing, for my sake, to deprive yourself of something which may be to you a trifle, as you say it is, — a thousand others could do that, — but that, although you must have remarked something of my way of thinking {'pride' the world calls it), you should yet have made that 16 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. offer so naturally and openly, as if your whole heart had told you that I could not misunderstand you; that although I had never accepted aught from any man on earth yet I would accept it from you ; that we were too closely united to have different opinions about such things as these. Dear est, you have given me a proof of your confidence, your kindness, your — (dare I write it ?)• — love, than which there could be no greater. Were I not now wholly yours I should be a monster, without head or heart, — without any title to happiness. "But in order to show myself to you in a just light, you have here my true thoughts and feelings upon this matter, as I read them myself in my own breast. "At first — I confess it with deep shame — at first it roused my pride. Fool that I was, I thought for a moment — not longer — that you had misunderstood what I wrote to you lately. Yet even in this moment I was more grieved than hurt : the blow came from your hand. Instantly, however, my better nature awoke; I felt the whole worth of your heart, and I was deeply moved. Had not your father come at this moment, I could not have mastered my emotions : only shame for having, even for a moment, undervalued you and myself, kept them within bounds. " Yet I cannot accept it : — not that your gift would dis grace me, or could disgrace me. A gift out of mere compas sion for my poverty I would abhor, and even hate the giver : — this is perhaps the most neglected part of my character. But the gift of friendship, of a friendship which, like yours, rests upon cordial esteem, cannot proceed from compassion, and is an honour, not a dishonour, But, in truth, I need it not. I have indeed no money by me at present, but I have no unusual disbursements to make, and I shall have enough to meet my very small regular expenses till my departure. I seldom come into difficulties when I have no money, — I be lieve Providence watches over me. I have examples of this which I might term singular, did I not recognise in them the hand of Providence, which condescends even to our meanest wants. LETTERS TO JUHANNA RAHN. 17 " Upon the whole, gold appears to me a very insignificant commodity. I believe that a man with any intellect may always provide for his wants ; and for more than this, gold is useless ; — hence I have always despised it. Unhappily it is here bound up with a part of the respect which our fellow- men entertain for us, and this has never been a matter of indifference to rne. Perhaps I may by and by free myself from this weakness also : it does not contribute to our peace. " On account of this contempt of money, I have, for four years, never accepted a farthing from rny parents, because I have seven sisters who are all young and in part uneducated, and because I have a father who, were I to allow it, would in his kindness bestow upon me that which belongs of right to his other children. 1 have not accepted even presents from them upon any pretence ; and since then, I have main tained myself very well, and stand more a man aise than be fore towards my parents, and particularly towards my too kind father. " However, I promise you — (how happy do I feel, dear, noble friend, to be permitted to speak thus with you !) — I promise you, that if I should fall into any pecuniary embar rassments (as there is no likelihood that I shall, with my present mode of thinking and my attendant fortune), you shall be the first person to whom I shall apply — to whom J shall have applied since the time I declined assistance from my parents. It is worthy of your kind heart to receive this promise, and it is not unworthy of me to give it." "Could anything indemnify me for the loss of some hours of your society, I should be indemnified. I have received the most touching proofs of the attachment of the good old widow, whom I have seen only for the third time, and of her gratitude for a few courtesies which were to me nothing, — absolutely nothing, — had they not cost me two days' ab sence from you. She wept when I took my leave, though I allowed her to expect that she would see me again before my departure. I desire to lay aside all vanities : with some, D 18 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. the desire for literary fame, &c., I have in a certain degree succeeded ; but the desire to be beloved — beloved by simple true hearts — is no vanity, and I will not lay it aside. " What a wholly new, joyful, bright existence I have had since I became sure of being yours ! — how happy I am that so noble a soul bestows its sympathy upon me, and such sympathy ! — this I can never express. Would that I could, that I might be able to thank you. " My departure, dearest, draws near, and you have disco vered the secret of making the day which formerly seemed to me a day of deliverance the bitterest in my life. I shall not tell you whether the day is settled or not. If you do not absolutely command it, you shall not know of it. Leave- taking is bitter, very bitter, and even its announcement has always eomething painful in it. But one of us — and I shall be that one — must bear the consciousness that thenceforth (but only for a time, if God does not require the life of one of us) we see each other no more. Unless you absolutely require it, you shall not know when I am with you for the last time." ****** " Bern or Copenhagen, Lisbon, Madrid or St. Petersburg, are alike to me, so far as I myself am concerned. I believe that I am able to endure all climates tolerably well. The true cold of winter, such as we find in Saxony, is never very oppressive to me On this account I am not afraid of Copenhagen. But I would rather, dearest, be nearer thee. I am deeply moved by your tenderness ; I think of you with the warmest gratitude. On this matter I feel with you, even although I cannot entirely think with you. Letters go to Copenhagen, for example, as securely as to Bern, and create as much pleasure there. Journeying is journeying, be it long or short, and it is already almost in different to me whether I shall travel ten or a hundred miles. So my understanding decides, and I cannot refute it, however willingly this deceitful heart would do so. " On the whole, I think of it in this way : — the great end of my existence is to acquire every kind of education — (not LETTERS TO JOHANNA RAHN. 19 scientific education, — I find much vanity in that, — but edu cation of character) — which fortune will permit me. " Looking into the way of Providence in my life, I find that this is the plan of Providence itself with me. I have filled many situations, played many parts, known many men, and many conditions of men, and on the whole I find that by all these occurrences my character has become more fixed and decided. At my first entrance into the world, I wanted everything but a susceptible heart. Many qualities in which I was then deficient, I have since acquired ; many I still \vant entirely, and among others that of occasionally accommodating myself to those around me, and bearing with false men, or men wholly opposed to my character, for the sake of accomplishing something great. Without these qualities, I can never employ the powers which Providence has bestowed upon me as I could with them. "Does Providence then intend to develope these capacities in me ? Is it not possible that for this very purpose I may now be led upon a wider stage ? May not my employment at a Court, my project of superintending the studies of a Prince, your father's plan of taking me to Copenhagen, — may not these be hints or ways of Providence towards this end \ And shall I, by confining myself to a narrower sphere, one which is not even natural to me, seek to frustrate this plan ? I have no talent for bending; for dealing with people who are opposed to me in character ; can only succeed with brave, good people ; — I am too open ; — this seemed to you a reason why I was unfit to go to a Court ; to me, on the con trary, it is a reason why I must go there, to have an oppor tunity of acquiring that wherein I am deficient, " I know the business of the scholar ; I have no new dis coveries to make about it. I have very little fitness for being a scholar a metier; I must not only think, I must act: least of all can I think about trifles ; and hence it is not exactly my business to become a Swiss professor, — that is, a schoolman. " So stand my inclinations :— now for my duties. " May not Providence, — who must know better than I for what I am fit and where I am wanted, — may not Providence 20 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. have determined not to lead me into such a sphere ? And may not the favour bestowed upon me by you, whose destiny seems to be bound up with my own, be a hint, and your proposal a way, of this Providence ? May not my impulse towards the great world be a delusion of sense, of my innate restlessness, which Providence would now fix 1 This is as possible as the first; and therefore we must just do in this matter what depends upon us, and leave the rest to God's guidance. " Now I think that the way which you propose cannot have the effect you expect from it. My essays cannot create what is called a ' sensation ; ' this is not in them nor in me. Many would not even understand their contents ; those who did understand them, would, I believe, consider me as a use ful man, but comme il y en a heaucoup. It is quite another thing when one takes an interest in the author, and knows him. " If you should be able to excite such an interest among your relatives, then indeed something more might be ex pected. But the matter does not seem pressing. Before all things there must be a professorship vacant at Bern, and indeed such a one as I could undertake. Then it would be difficult, during my stay here, to make a copy of my essays. And perhaps I shall write something better afterwards, or I may hit upon some arrangement in Leipzic respecting these essays, which can easily be made known in Bern. At all events, you shall know, and every good man who takes any interest in me shall always know, where I am. At the same time I entreat of you, — although I know your good will to wards me does not need the request, — both now and after my departure to omit no opportunity which presents itself of doing me any service, and to inform me of it. I believe in a Providence, and I watch its signs. " I have but one passion, one want, one all-engrossing desire, — to work upon those around me. The more I act, the happier I seem to be. Is this too delusion ? It may be so, but there is truth at the bottom of it. " But this is no delusion, that there is a heaven in the L UTTERS TO JOHANNA RAHN. "21 love of good hearts, in knowing that I possess their sympa thies, — their living, heartfelt, constant, warm sympathies, Since I have known you intimately, this feeling has been mine in all its fulness. Judge with what sentiments I close this letter." ****** " So you desire this bitter leave-taking ? Be it so, but under one condition : I must bid you farewell alone. In the presence of any other, even of your excellent father, I should suffer from the reserve of which I complain so much. I depart, since it must be told, to-morrow eight-days. This day week I see you for the last time, for I set out very early on Sunday. Try to arrange that I may see you alone : how it is to be arranged I know not. but I would far rather take O no leave of you at all, than take a cold formal one. " I thank you heartily for your noble letter of yesterday, particularly because your narrative confirms me so strongly in a much-cherished principle. God cares for us — He will forsake no honourable man." ****** "And so be convinced that nothing can turn my thoughts from you. The reasons you have long known. You know my heart ; you know yourself; you know that I know you : can you then doubt that I have found the only woman's soul which I can value, honour, and love ?— that I have nothing more to seek from the sex, — that I can find nothing more that is mine ? " Towards the close of March 1790, Fichte left Zurich on his return to his native land, with some letters of recommen dation to the Courts of Wirtemberg and Weimar. He was once more thrown upon the world ; — his outward prospects as uncertain as when he entered Switzerland two years be fore. Poverty again compelled him to travel for the most part on foot ; but, as before, the toil of his journey was lightened by a high sense of honour, an inflexible courage, an unwaver ing faith ; and to these was now added a sweeter guide— a 22 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. star of milder radiance, which cast a soft but steady light upon the wanderer's way and pointed him to a happy though distant place of rest. His love was no fleeting passion, no transient sensibility, but united itself with his philosophy and his religion in one ever-flowing fountain of spiritual power. The world might turn coldly away from him, for it knew him not; but he did not stoop to its meannesses, because he did not seek its rewards. He had one object before him — the development of his own nature; and there was one who knew him, whose thoughts? were with him from afar, whose sym pathies were all his own. His labours might be arduous, but they could not now be in vain; for although the destiny of his being did not as yet lie before him in perfect theo retical clearness, yet his integrity of purpose and purity of feeling unconsciously preserved him from error, while the energy of his will bore him upward and onward over the petty obstructions of life. He arrived at Stuttgard in the beginning of April, but not finding his recommendations to the Wirtemberg Court of much advantage, he left it after a short stay. On his way to Saxony he visited Weimar. He did not see Herder, who was ill ; nor Goethe, who was absent on his Italian tour; nor Schiller, who was at that time commencing his labours as Professor of History at Jena. He returned to Leipzic about the middle of May, his small stock of money exhausted by the expenses of his journey ; and was kindly received by his friend Weisse, through whose recommendation he had ob tained the appointment at Zurich. Discovering no prospect of obtaining any preceptorship of a superior kind, he engaged in literary occupations in order to procure a livelihood. He conceived the plan of a monthly literary journal, the princi pal objects of which should be to expose the dangerous ten dencies of the prevalent literature of the day, to show the mutual influence of correct taste and pure morality, and to direct its readers to the best authors, both of past and present times. But such an undertaking was too much opposed to the interests of the booksellers to find favour in their eyes. "I have," he says, "spoken to well-disposed people on this RESIDENCE AT LEIPZ1C. "2.S matter, to Weisse and Palmer; they all admit that it is a good and useful idea, and indeed a want of the age, but they all tell me that I shall find no publisher. I have therefore, out of sorrow, communicated my plan to no bookseller, and I must now write, — not pernicious writings, that I will never do, — but something that is neither good nor bad, in order to earn a little money. I am now engaged on a tragedy, a business which of all possible occupations least belongs to me, and of which I shall certainly make nothing ; arid upon novels, small romantic stories, a kind of reading good for nothing but to kill time ; this, however, it seems, is what the book sellers will take and pay for." So far as his outward existence was concerned, this resi dence at Leipzic was a period of harassing uncertainty too often approaching the verge of misery, — full of troubled schemes and projects which led to no result. He could ob tain no settled occupation, but was driven from one expedient to another to procure the means of subsistence. At one time he gives " a lesson in Greek to a young man between 11 and 12 o'clock," and spends the rest of the day in study and starvation. His tragedy and novel writing could not last long, nor be very tolerable while it did last. In Au gust he writes — " Bernstorff must have received my letter and essay ; I gave it into Herr Bohn's own hands, and he promised to take care of it ; yet I have no answer. A lady at Weimar had a plan to obtain for me a good situation ; it must have failed, for I have not heard from her for two months. Of other prospects which I thought almost certain, I shall be silent. As for authorship, I have been able to do little or nothing, for I am so distracted and tossed about by many schemes and undertakings, that I have had few quiet days. In short, Providence either has something else in store for me, and hence will give me nothing to do here, as^indeed has been the case ; or intends by these troubles to exercise and invigorate me still further. I have lost al most everything, except my courage." Again we hear of a distant prospect of going to Vienna to prosecute his literary schemes, and thus of being nearer,— nay, when on his way 24 MEMOIR OF FICHTK. of even visiting Zurich. And then again — " This week seems to be a critical time with me ; — all my prospects have va nished, even this last one." But his strength never failed him ; alone and unfriended, he shrank not from the contest. Adversity might roll her billows over his head, but her rage was spent in vain against a soul which she could bend to no unworthy deed. And yet he was not alone. A fair and gentle spirit was ever by his side, whispering to him of peace, happiness, and love. " In the twilight," says he, " before I light my lamp, I dream myself back to thee, sit by thy side, chat with thee, and ask whether I am still dear to thee ; — ask indeed, but not from doubt — I know before-hand that thou wilt answer yes. I am always with thee on Saturdays. I cannot give up those Saturday meetings. I think I am still in Zurich, take my hat and stick, and will come to thee; and then I re member, and fret at fortune, and laugh at myself." And again, — "Knowest thou all that thou art to me, even in this separation ? When I feel vexed that of all my thoughts there is scarcely one which I can pour forth confidently into any human breast, then I think thee to me, and tell them all to thee. I imagine what thou wouldst answer me, and I believe that I hit it pretty nearly. When I walk alone, thou art by my side. When I find that my walks hereabouts lose their charms for me, either through force of habit, or from the sameness which is their prevailing character ; then I show them to thee; tell thee what I have thought, or read, or felt here ; — show thee this tree under which I have lain and meditated, — this bench on which T have conversed with a friend, — and then the dull walk acquires a new life. There is a garden in Leipzic which none of my acquaintances can endure, because it is very unfrequented, and almost wholly obscured by a thick alley. This garden is almost the only one which is still dear to me, because it is that to which I first resorted in my transition state from boyhood to youth, with all the fresh outbursting feelings of that spring-time, in which I felt so much, Here I often lead thee to walk, and recount to thee the history of my heart. RESIDENCE AT LEIPZIC. 25 "Farewell, and remain the protecting spirit of my solitude." Thus amid the desolation of his outward prospects the current of his affections seems to have flowed with a fuller and more powerful tide. Like a strong man proud of his own strength, he bore the burden of privation and neglect ; but in the secret chamber of his heart there was a fountain of untold bliss which sweetened even the bitterest trials: there he found a refuge from unworthy thoughts, a strong support in the conflict with misery and want. As the Alpine plant strikes its roots most firmly in barren and rocky places, so did his love cling more closely round his soul, when every other joy had died and withered there. " Thou dear angel-soul," he writes, " do thou help me, do thou keep me from falling ! And so thou dost. What sorrow can grieve, what distress can discourage me, so long as I possess the firm assurance that I have the sympathy of the best and noblest of women, — that she looks upon her destiny as inseparably bound up in mine, — that our hearts are one ? Providence has given me thy heart, and I want nothing more. Mine is thine for ever." Of a project for engaging him in the ministry he thus writes: — " I know my opinions. I am neither of the Lutheran nor Reformed Church, but of the Christian ; and were I com pelled to choose, I should (since no purely Christian commu nity now exists) attach myself to that community in which there is most freedom of thought and charity of life; and that is not the Lutheran, I think I have given up these hopes in my fatherland entirely. There is indeed a degree of enlightenment and rational religious knowledge existing among the younger clergy of the present day, which is not to be found to the same extent in any other country of Europe. But this is crushed by a worse than Spanish inquisition, under which they must cringe and dissemble, partly because they are deficient in ability, partly because in consequence of the number of clergy in our land their services can be spared, while they cannot sacrifice their employment. Hence arises a slavish, crouching, hypocritical spirit. A re- E 26 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. volution is indeed impending : but when ? and how ? In short, I will be no preacher in Saxony." The only record that has been preserved of the opinions he entertained at this time on the subject of religion is a remarkable fragment entitled " Aphorisms on Religion and Deism." The object of this essay was to set at rest the much-vexed questions between Philosophy and Christianity, by strictly defining the respective provinces of each ; by distinguishing between the objective reality which reason demands of Philosophy, and the incarnate form of truth which Religion offers to the feelings and sympathies of men. In the adaptation of Christianity to the wants of the sinner, in its appeal to the heart rather than to the understand ing, he finds the explanation of its nature and purposes : — " Those who are whole need not the physician, but those who are sick." " I am come not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance." This fragment, by its distinct re cognition of the radical difference between feeling and know ledge, and the consequent vanity of any attempt to decide between the different aspects which the great questions of human destiny assume before the cognitive and emotional parts of our nature, may be looked upon as the stepping-stone to that important revolution in Fichte's mental world, to which the attention of the reader must now be directed. The Critical or Kantian Philosophy wras at this time the great topic of discussion in the higher circles of Germany. Virulently assailed by the defenders of the existing systems, with Herder at their head, it was as eagerly supported by a crowd of followers who looked upon Kant with an almost fa natical veneration. Fichte's attention was turned to it quite accidentally. Some increased success in teaching during the winter of 1790, rendered his outward circumstances more comfortable than before, and left his mind more at liberty to engage in serious study. He plunged with enthusiasm into the new philosophy. The system of religious necessarianism before alluded to, which frequently shows itself in his letters, was by no means in harmony with the natural bent of his character. His KANTIAN PHILOSOPHY. energy of will ami restless spirit of enterprise assorted ill with a theory in which he was compelled to regard himself as a passive instrument in the hands of a higher power. This inconsistency must have often suggested itself to him before he met with its remedy ; he must have frequently felt, that the theory which seemed to satisfy his understanding stood in opposition to his feelings. He could not be contented with any superficial or partial reconcilement of this opposition. But he was now introduced to a system in which his diffi culties disappeared ; in which, by a rigid examination of the cognitive faculty, the boundaries of human knowledge were accurately defined, and within those boundaries its legiti macy successfully vindicated against scepticism on the one hand and blind credulity on the other; in which the facts of man's moral nature furnished an indestructible foundation for a system of ethics where duty was neither resolved into self- interest nor degraded into the slavery of superstition, but re cognised by Free-will as the absolute law of its being, in the strength of which it was to front the Necessity of nature, break down every obstruction that barred its way, and rise at last, unaided, to the sublime consciousness of an independ ent, and therefore eternal, existence. Such a theory was well calculated to rouse Fichte's enthusiasm and engage all his powers. The light which he had been unconsciously seeking now burst upon his sight, every doubt vanished be fore it, and the purpose of his being lay clear and distinct before him. The world, and man's life in it, acquired a new significance, every faculty a clearer vision, every power a fresh energy. But he must speak for himself :— Co acfjelia at Bremen. " The last four or five months which I have passed in Leipzic have been the happiest period of my life ; and what is most satisfactory about it is that I have to thank no man for the smallest ingredient in its pleasures. You know that before leaving Zurich I became somewhat sickly : either through imagination, or because the cookery did not agree with me. Since my departure from Zurich I have been health itself, 28 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. and I know how to prize this blessing. The circumstances of my stay in Zurich, and still more of my travels, had strain ed my fancy to an unnatural height. When I came to Leip- zic my brain swarmed with great plans. All were wrecked ; and of so many soap-bubbles there now remains not even the light froth which composed them. This disturbed my peace of mind a little, and it was half in despair that I joined a party to which I ought long ere now to have be longed. Since I could not alter my outward circumstances, I resolved upon internal change. I threw myself into philo sophy, and, as you know, into the Kantian. Here I Jound the remedy for all my evils, and joy enough to boot. The influence of this philosophy, and particularly the moral part of it (which however is unintelligible without previous study of the Critique of Pure Reason), upon the whole spiritual life, and particularly the revolution which it has caused in i my own mode of thought, is indescribable. To you, espe cially, I owe the acknowledgment, that I now heartily believe in the Freedom of Man, and am well convinced that it is only on this supposition that Duty, Virtue, or Morality of any kind, is so much as possible ; — a truth which indeed I saw before, and perhaps acquired from you. Further, it is very evident to me that many pernicious consequences to society flow from the commonly-received principle of the Necessity of all human actions ; that it is the source of a great part of the immorality of the so-called higher classes ; and that if any one, accepting this principle, yet preserve himself pure from such corruption, it is not on account of the innocence, much less the utility, of the principle itself. Your uncorrupted moral feelings'guided you more truly than did my arguments ; and you must admit that, in the latter respect, error is pardonable. A multitude of others, who do not err, have to thank, not their greater acuteness, but their inconsequential reasoning. I am also firmly convinced that there is no land of enjoyment here below, but a land of labour and toil, and that every joy of life should be only a refresh ment and an incentive to greater exertion ; that the ordering of our fortune is not demanded of us, but only the cultivation KANTIAN PHILOSOPHY. 29 of ourselves. Hence I do not trouble myself about outward things, — endeavour not to seem, but to be; and it is to these convictions that I am indebted for the deep tranquillity of soul which I enjoy. My external circumstances suit well with these dispositions. I am master of no one, and no one's servant. I have no farther prospects : the present constitu tion of the church, and indeed the men who compose it, do not please me. So long as I can maintain my present inde pendence, I shall do so at all hazards. "You ask whether I contribute to the journals ? No, to none of them. It was my intention, at first, to write for the 1 Bibliothek der Schonen Wissenschaften.' But all is anarchy there. Weisse is called the editor, but the bookseller is the editor ; arid I will have nothing to do with a bookseller in matters of this kind. I sent my essay upon Klopstock's Messias to B. for the 'Deutsche Museum.' He replied, that he feared the poet, who had for some time honoured him with his friendship, would take it ill if he should publish an essay which might put his Messias in danger, &c. &c. I was satisfied with his answer, for I had already repented of the sin. If ever I become an author, it shall be on my own account. Moreover, authorship as a trade is not for me. It is incred ible how much labour it costs me to accomplish something with which after all I am but half satisfied. The more I write, the more difficult does it become. I see that I want the living fire." On the same subject he writes to his school and college friend Weisshuhn : — " I have lived in a new world since I have read the Cri tique of Practical Reason. Principles which I believed were irrefragable, are refuted; things which I thought could never be proved, — as for example, the idea of absolute Freedom, of Duty, — are proved; and I am so much the happier. It is indescribable what respect for humanity, what power this sys tem gives us ! But why should I say this to you, who have known it longer than I have done ? What a blessing to an age in which morality was torn up by the roots, and the name of Duty obliterated from every vocabulary !" 30 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. And with still greater warmth he speaks of his new studies to Johanna Rahn : — " My scheming spirit has now found rest, and I thank Providence that, shortly before all my hopes were frustrated; T was placed in a position which enabled me to bear the disappointment with cheerfulness. A circumstance, which seemed the result of mere chance, led me to give myself up entirely to the study of the Kantian philosophy, — a philosophy that restrains the imagination which was always too powerful with me, gives reason the sway, and raises the soul to an indescribable elevation above all earthly concerns. I have accepted a nobler morality, and instead of occupying myself with outward things, I employ myself more with my own being. This has given me a peace such as I have never be fore experienced : amid uncertain worldly prospects I have passed my happiest days. I shall devote some years of my life to this philosophy ; and all that I write, at least for several years to come, shall be upon it. It is difficult beyond all conception, and stands much in need of simplification. . . The principles are indeed hard speculations which have no direct bearing on human life, but their consequences are most important for an age whose morality is corrupted at the fountain-head ; and to set these consequences before the world in a clear light, would, I believe, be doing it a good service. Say to thy dear father, whom I love as my own, that we erred in our inquiries into the Necessity of human actions, for although we proceeded with accuracy, we set out from a false principle. I am now thoroughly con vinced that the human will is free, and that to be happy is not the purpose of our being,— but to deserve happiness. I have to ask pardon of thee too, for having often led thee a- stray by such assertions. Achelis was right, — without know ing it indeed ; and why ? Henceforth believe in thine own feelings; thou mayst not be able to confute opposing rea- soners, yet they shall be confuted, and are so already, though they do not understand the confutation." Inspired with this enthusiastic admiration for the Critical KANTIAN PHILOSOPHY. ;} [ Philosophy, he resolved to become the exponent of its prin ciples, and to rescue it from the obscurity which an uncouth terminology had thrown around it. This attempt had indeed been made already, and was still making, by a host of com mentators, but the majority of these were either deficient in capacity, or, actuated by sordid motives, had eagerly seized the opportunity of gain which the prevalent excitement af forded, and crowded the literary market with crude and su perficial productions. Fichte accordingly commenced an expository abridgment of Kant's Critique of the faculty of judgment. It was to be divided into two parts, — the one devoted to the power of ossthetical, the other to that of teleo- logical judgment. The first part was completed and sent to his friend Weisshuhn for correction, but the progress of the of the work was interrupted by events which caused him to leave Leipzic : it was never finished, and no part of it was published. Interesting, and remarkable too, in this connexion, is the following passage from a letter written about this time to a literary friend : — " If I am not deceived by the disposition of youth, which is more ready to hope than to fear, the golden age of our literature is at hand ; it will be enduring, and may perhaps surpass the most brilliant period in that of any other nation. The seed which Lessing sowed in his letters, and in his 'Dra- maturgie,' now begins to bear fruit. His principles seem every day to be more extensively received, and made the foundation of our literary judgments; and Goethe's 'Iphi- genie ' is the strongest proof of the possibility of their real ization. And it seems to me that he who in his twentieth year wrote the ' Robbers,' will, sooner or later, tread in the same path, and in his fortieth become our ' Sophocles." And so it was !— He who in his twentieth year wrote the " Robbers," did literally in his fortieth produce his "Wallen- stein," followed in brilliant succession by " Mary Stuart,"- "The Maid of Orleans," — and, last and brightest of the train, 32 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. by " William Tell," — a parting gift to the world from the " Sophocles " of Germany. And now the time drew near which was at once to termi nate his struggles with fortune, and realize the dearest wish of his heart. He had received many pressing invitations from Rahn to return to Zurich, but he had hitherto declined to do so until he should be enabled to earn for himself a name and position in the world. " It would be disgraceful," said he, " were I to re-appear in Zurich, without having ac complished anything since I left it. What should I call my self ? Suffer me at least to vindicate my claim to the name of a Scholar." No prospect, however, appearing of a perma nent settlement in Germany, it had been arranged that he should return to Zurich in 1791, to be united to her whom he most loved and honoured upon earth. The noble-minded woman who was now to bind herself to him for ever, had resolved that henceforth he should pursue his literary under takings free from the cares of life. But Fichte looked for ward to no period of inglorious repose : his ardent spirit had already formed a thousand plans of useful and honourable activity. " Not happiness, but labour," was his principle, — a principle which ruled all his actions, in prosperity as well as in adversity. His letters to Johanna Rahn, in anticipa tion of this joyful event, breathe the same dignified tender ness which characterized their earlier correspondence : — " And so, dearest, I solemnly devote myself to thee, — con secrate myself to be thine. I thank thee that thou hast thought me not unworthy to be thy companion on the jour ney of life. I have undertaken much : one day, — God grant it be a distant one ! — to take the place of thy noble father ; to become the recompense of thy early wisdom, of thy child like love, of thy steadfast virtue. The thought of the great duties which I take upon me, makes me feel how little I am. But the sense of the greatness of these duties shall exalt me, and thy love, thy too favourable opinion of me, will lend to my imperfection all that I want. There is no land of hap- LETTERS TO JOHANNA RAHN. 3.') pmcss here below, — I know it now, — but a land of toil, when; every joy but strengthens us for greater labour. Hand in hand we shall traverse it, and encourage and strengthen each other, until our spirits — 0 may it be together! — shall rise to the eternal fountain of all peace. I stand now in fancy at the most important point of my earthly existence, which divides it into two different, very different portions, — and marvel at the unseen hand which has led me through the first dangerous part, through the land of perplexity and doubt! How long had I despaired of such a companion as thou, in whom manly dignity and female tenderness are united ! What if I had contented myself with some decorat ed puppet of thy sex? That Being who rules all things was kinder to me than, in the feeling of my unworthiness, I had dared to wish or hope ; — I was led to thee. That Being will do yet more for me. We shall one day, 0 dearest, stand again at the partition-wall which shall divide our whole life into two parts, — into an earthly and a spiritual ; — and then shall we look back upon the latter part of the earthly which we shall have traversed together, as we do now upon its first part; and surely we shall then, too, marvel at the same wis dom which now calls forth our wonder, but with loftier feel ings and with clearer insight. I love to place myself in that position ''' The surest means of acquiring a conviction of a lifo after death is so to act in this life that we can venture to wish for another. He who feels that if there be a God he must look down graciously upon him, will not be disturbed by ar guments against his being, and he needs none for it. He who has sacrificed so much for virtue that he looks for recom pense in a future life, needs no proof of the reality of such a life; — he does not lelicve in it, — he feels it. And so, thou dear companion for this short life and for eternity, we shall strengthen each other in this conviction, not by arguments but by deeds." LEIPZIG, 1st March 1701 " At the end of this month 1 shall be free,, and have determined to come to thee. T see nothing that ran prevent 34 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. me. I indeed still await the sanction of my parents ; but I have been for a long time so well assured of their love, — almost, if I may venture to say it, of their deference to my opinion, — that I need not anticipate any obstacle on their part. **###* <( And now, dearest, I turn to thee, passing over all things unconnected with thee, which therefore do not interest me. Is it true, or is it but a sweet dream, that I am so near to the one best joy of my life, — the possession of the noblest of souls, chosen and destined for me by the Creator from among all other souls ? — that my happiness, my peace, shall be the object of your wishes, your cares, your prayers ? Could my feelings but flow to thee, warm as at this moment they are streaming through my heart, and threatening to burst it asunder ! " Accept me then, dearest maiden, with all my faults. How glad am I to think that I give myself to one who can take me with these faults ; who has wisdom and strength enough to love me with them all, — to help me to destroy them, so that I may one day appear with her, purified from all blemish, before Him who created us for each other ! — Never have I been more sincerely penetrated by this feeling of my weakness, than since I received thy last letter, which reminds me of the poverty of all that I have said to thee ; which reminds me of the vacillating state of mind in which [ have written to thee. O what a man I have been ! — People have sometimes attributed to me firmness of character, and I have been vain enough to accept their flattery as truth. To what accident am I indebted for this opinion, — I who have always allowed myself to be guided by circumstances, — whose soul has constantly taken the colours of surround ing events ? With great pretensions, which I could never have maintained, I left Zurich. My hopes were all wrecked. Out of despair, more than from taste, I threw myself into the Kantian philosophy, and found peace, for which in truth .1 have to thank my good health and the free flight of my fancy, and even deceived myself so far as to believe that the LETTERS TO JOHANNA ftAlIN, 35 sublime thoughts which J imprinted upon my memory were natives of my soul. Circumstances led me to another em ployment less satisfactory to the mind ; and the change in my mode of living, — the winter, which never agrees with me, — an indisposition, and the troubles of a short journey, —these things could disturb the deeply-rooted peace of the philosopher, and bring me into a frightful humour ! Shall I always be thus tossed to and fro like a wave ! Take thou me, then, thou brave soul, and strengthen this indecision. " Yet while I lament my inconstancy, how happy am 1 that I can pour out these complaints to a heart which knows me too well to misunderstand me ! One of my feelings I can acquit of all fickleness : I can say it boldly, that 1 have never been untrue to thec, even in thought ; and it is a touching proof of thy noble character, that amid all thy tender cares for me, thou hast never been anxious about this. "The day of my departure is not exactly fixed, and I cannot determine it until I am about to set out. But it will bo one of the first days of April. I shall write to thee of it, and I shall also write to thee on my journey." And now all his brightest dreams were about to be ful filled, his cup was brimming with anticipated delight, the draught of joy was almost at his lips, when it was rudely dashed from his grasp. The day of his departure was al ready fixed, when the bankruptcy of a mercantile house to which Rahn had entrusted his property, threw the affairs of the latter into disorder, and even threatened to reduce him to indigence in his old age. Happily a part of his property was ultimately saved ; but, in the meantime at least, ail plans which were founded on his former prosperity were at an end. His misfortunes brought upon him a lingering sickness, by which he was reduced to the brink of the grave. His life was preserved by the tender and unremitting cares of his daughter. In those dark years, when scarcely a ray of hope broke the gloom of present calamity, her conduct displayed that high-minded devotion which bears inevitable suffering 36 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. without a murmur, and almost raises the passive above the active virtues of our nature. As for Fichte, he had now become inured to disappoint ment. His courage soon returned to him, and he encoun tered with unfaltering trust the new disappointment with which fortune had visited him ; — but he was filled with chagrin at having no power either to alleviate, or to share, the distress of one dearer to him than life itself. The world with its difficulties and doubts .was once more before him, and once more his indomitable spirit rose superior to them all. He obtained an appointment as tutor in the house of a Polish nobleman at Warsaw, and having an nounced his departure to Johanna Rahn in a letter in which he bids her be of good courage, and assures her ear nestly of his own faithfulness, he once more assumed his pilgrim staff and turned his back upon Leipzic. His diary written during this pedestrian journey to Po land evinces a clear and acute faculty of observation, and sketches very distinctly the peculiarities of the Saxon and Silesian character. One passage only, and that relative to a different subject, is here quoted : — " Qth May. — Arrived at Bischofswerda in good time ; drank tea at the inn, and sent my letter to Rammenau. Soon ap peared my brother Gotthelf, the kind soul, whom I looked for the previous day at Pillnitz ; and immediately after him, Gottlob. My father had not been at home, but he came soon after — the good, honest, kind father! His look, his tone, his reasoning, — how much good they always do me. Take away all my learning, O God ! and make me such a good, true, faithful man I — how much should I gain by the exchange !" On the 7th of June he arrived at Warsaw, and imme diately waited upon his employer the Count. Von P . The Count was a good, easy man, perfectly submissive to the guidance of his wife, a vain, haughty, and whimsical woman. Fichte's pronunciation of the French language was VISIT TO KONIGSBEEG. o7 found to be uusatisfatory, and Ids German bluntness ui' de meanour still more so. He soon discovered that this was no place for him, where the teacher was regarded as the hanger-on of the Countess, and no respect was paid to the dignity of his profession. He resigned his office without having entered upon its duties; and having with some diffi culty obtained from the Countess, by way of compensation, a sum sufficient for his maintenance for the succeeding two months, he resolved to visit Konigsberg, instead of returning directly to his native country, in order that he might have an opportunity of cultivating a personal acquaintance with Kant, his great master in philosophy. Having preached in the Evangelical Church at Warsaw before his departure, he left that city on the 25th of June for Konigsberg. Immediately on his arrival he visited Kant, but his first impressions of the Critical Philosopher do not seem to have been very favourable. His impetuous enthusiasm was chilled by a cold, formal reception, and he retired deeply disappoint ed. Unwilling, however, to abandon the purpose which had led him to Konigsberg, he sought some means of obtaining a more free and earnest interview, but for some time with out success. At last he determined to write a