No More Learning

"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. 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, as4indeed 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,
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? 24 MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
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 outhursting 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.
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? 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
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? 2<;
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 denning 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
; j 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 was 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
1 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
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? KANTIAN PHILOSOPHY.
27
energy of will and 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 acfjllis 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,
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? '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 found
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
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
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? 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
'Bibliothek der Schonen Wissenschaften. ' But all is anarchy
there. Weisse is called the editor, but the bookseller is the
editor; and 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! "
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? 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.
I 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
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? KANTIAN PHILOSOPHY.
31
Philosophy, he resolved to become the exponent of its prin- Iciples, 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 aesthetical, 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-
maturgic,' 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,
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? 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. Bat 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-
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? LETTERS TO JOHANNA RAHN.
33
piness here below,--I know it now,--but a land of toil, where j , ]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 life 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- Iguments 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 believe 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. "
Lkipzic, 1st March 1791. "At the end of this month I shall be free, and have
determined to come to thee. I see nothing that can prevent
F
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? 34
MEMOin OF FICHTE.
mc. 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
I have written to thee. 0 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-
jing 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
'T have to thank my good health and the free flight of my
fancy, and even deceived myself so far as to believe that the
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? LETTERS TO JOUANNA RA1IN.
35
6ubliuie thoughts which I 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 I
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 I have
never been untrue to thee, 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 be one of the first days of April. I shall write to thee
of it, and I shall also write to thee on my journey.