"
"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.
"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.
Fichte - Nature of the Scholar
89090378035 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www.
hathitrust.
org/access_use#pd-google
? SCHOOL AT PFORTA. --JENA.
7
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 Wieland, 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-Ooze 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 becane 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
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? 8
MEMOIR OF FICHTK.
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 hisattention seems
to have been that Liberty 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
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? 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
Ethica, 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
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? 10
MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
I 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 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-
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? PECUNIARY DIFFICULTIES.
11
ber 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
Weisse, 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 the mother, who became jealous of her
children being educated for something more than citizens of
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? 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 Fichte'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
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? 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.
letters to foijanna l&afin.
"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-
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? Y4 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.
'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
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? LETTERS TO JOHANNA RAHN.
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 week? 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
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? 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.
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? I
LETTERS TO JOHANNA HAHN. 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 me. 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 my 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. I have not accepted even presents
from them upon any pretence; and since then, I have main-
tained myself very well, and stand more h 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 I
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
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? 18
MEMOIR OF FICHTK.
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 something 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
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? LETTERS TO JOHANNA RAHN.
lit
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 want 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 h mitier; 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
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? 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? 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 beaucoup. 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
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? LETTERS TO JOHANNA KAHN.
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
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 f"
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
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? 22 MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
I
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
1 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
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? RESIDENCE AT LEIPZIC.
23
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; and 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.
? SCHOOL AT PFORTA. --JENA.
7
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 Wieland, 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-Ooze 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 becane 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
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? 8
MEMOIR OF FICHTK.
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 hisattention seems
to have been that Liberty 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
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? 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
Ethica, 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
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? 10
MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
I 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 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-
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? PECUNIARY DIFFICULTIES.
11
ber 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
Weisse, 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 the mother, who became jealous of her
children being educated for something more than citizens of
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? 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 Fichte'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
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? 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.
letters to foijanna l&afin.
"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-
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? Y4 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.
'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
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? LETTERS TO JOHANNA RAHN.
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 week? 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
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? 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.
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? I
LETTERS TO JOHANNA HAHN. 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 me. 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 my 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. I have not accepted even presents
from them upon any pretence; and since then, I have main-
tained myself very well, and stand more h 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 I
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
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? 18
MEMOIR OF FICHTK.
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 something 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
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? LETTERS TO JOHANNA RAHN.
lit
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 want 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 h mitier; 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
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? 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? 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 beaucoup. 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
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? LETTERS TO JOHANNA KAHN.
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
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 f"
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
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? 22 MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
I
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
1 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
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? RESIDENCE AT LEIPZIC.
23
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; and 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.
