Full of bitter
thoughts, he returned to his solitary lodging.
thoughts, he returned to his solitary lodging.
Fichte - Nature of the Scholar
Desirous that his eldest son, Christian
Fichte, should extend this business beyond the limited
sphere in which he practised it himself, he sent him as ap-
prentice to Johann Schurich, a manufacturer of linen and
ribbons in the neighbouring town of Pulsnitz, in order that
he might there learn his trade more perfectly than he could
do at home. The son conducted himself well during his
apprenticeship, rose high in the esteem of his master, and
was at last received into the house as an inmate. He there
succeeded in gaining the affections of Schurich's daughter.
This attachment was for some time kept secret, in deference
to the pride of the maiden's father; but his prejudices having
been overcome, young Fichte brought home his bride to his
native village, and with her dowry he built a house there, in
which some of his descendents still follow the paternal oc-
cupation.
Johann Gottlieb Fichte was their first child, and was
born on the 19th May 1762. At his baptism, an aged rela-
tive of the mother, who had come from a distance to be pre-
sent at the ceremony, and who was revered by all men for
his wisdom and piety, foretold the future eminence of the
child; and as death soon afterwards set his seal upon the
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? HIS EARLY EDUCATION.
s
lips by which this prophecy had been uttered, it became in-
vested with all the sacredness of a deathbed prediction.
Their faith in this anouncement induced the parents to al-
low their first-born an unusual degree of liberty, and by thus
affording room for the development of his nature, the pre-
diction became in some measure the means of securing its
own fulfilment.
The boy soon displayed some characteristics of the future
man. He seldom joined the other children in their games,
but loved to wander forth into the fields, alone with his own
thoughts. There he would stand for hours, his eyes fixed on
the far distance, until he was roused from his trance and
brought home by the shepherds, who knew and loved the
solitary and meditative child. These thoughtful hours, in
which the first germs of his spiritual nature were unfolded,
left impressions upon him which the cares of future years
never obliterated, and they always continued among his
most cherished recollections. His first teacher was his own
father, who after the business of the day was over and the
garden work finished, instructed him in reading, and told
him the story of his own journeyings in Saxony and Fran-
conia. He was an eager scholar, soon mastered his Bible
and Catechism, and even read the morning and evening
prayers to the family circle. When he was seven years of
age, his father, as a reward for his industry, brought him
from the neighbouring town the story of Siegfried. He was
soon so entirely rapt in this book, that he neglected his
other lessons in order to indulge his fancy for it. This
brought upon him a severe reproof; and finding that the
beloved book stood between him and his duty, he with cha-
racteristic determination resolved to destroy it. He carried
it to the brook which ran by his father's house, with the in-
tention of throwing it into the water, but long he hesitated
before accomplishing his first act of self-denial. At length
he cast it into the stream. No sooner, however, did he see
it carried away from him, than regret for his loss triumphed
over his resolution, and he wept bitterly, His father dis-
covered him, and learned the loss of the book, but without
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? +
Memoir of fichte.
learning the reason of it. Angry at the supposed slight
cast upon his present, he punished the boy with unwonted
severity. As in his childhood, so also in his after life, did
ignorance of his true motives often cause Fichte to be mis-
understood and misrepresented. When this matter had
been forgotten, his father bought him a similar book, but
the boy refused to accept it, lest he should again be led into
temptation.
Young Fichte soon attracted the notice of the clergyman
of the village, an excellent man who was beloved by the
whole community. The pastor, perceiving that the boy pos-
sessed unusual abilities, allowed him frequently to come to
his house in order to receive instruction, and resolved, if pos-
sible, to obtain for him a scientific education. An opportu-
nity of doing so accidently presented itself. When Fichte
was about eight or nine years of age, the Freiherr von Miltitz,
being on a visit to a nobleman resident in the neighbourhood,
was desirous of hearing a sermon from the pastor of Ram-
menau, (who had acquired some reputation as a preacher),
but had arrived too late in the evening to gratify his wishes.
Lamenting his disappointment, he was told that there was
a boy in the village whose extraordinary memory enabled
him to repeat faithfully any address which he had once heard.
Little Gottlieb was sent for, and appeared before the company
in his linen jacket, carrying a nosegay which his mother had
placed in his hand. He astonished the assembled guests
by his minute recollection of the morning's discourse and the
earnestness with which he repeated it before them. The
Freiherr, who belonged to one of the noblest families in
Saxony, and possessed a high reputation for his disinterested
benevolence and unaffected piety, determined to make fur-
ther inquiries respecting this extraordinary child; and the
friendly pastor having found the opportunity he wished, easily
persuaded him to undertake the charge of the boy's educa-
tion. The consent of the parents having been with difficulty
obtained,--for they were reluctant to expose their son to
the temptations of a noble house,--young Fichte was con-
signed to the care of his new protector, who engaged to treat
him as his own child.
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? REMOVAL FROM HOME.
5
His first removal was to Siebeneichen (Sevenoaks), a seat
on the Elbe belonging to the Freiherr. The stately solem-
nity of this place and the gloom of the surrounding forest
scenery weighed heavily upon his spirits: he was seized with
a deep melancholy, which threatened to injure his health.
His kind foster-father prudently resolved to place him under
the care of a clergyman in the neighbouring village of Nie-
derau, who, himself without family, had a great love for
children. Here Fichte spent the happiest years of his boy-
hood. He received the kindest attentions from his teacher,
whose name he never mentioned in after years without the
deepest and most grateful emotion. Here the foundation
of his education was laid in a knowledge of the ancient lan-
guages; and so rapid was his progress, that his instructor
soon found his own learning insufficient for the further su-
perintendence of his pupil's studies. In his twelfth year he
was sent by the Freiherr von Miltitz, first to the town school
of Meissen, and soon afterwards to the public school of Pfor-
ta near Raumburg.
The school at Pforta retained many traces of its monk-
ish origin: the teachers and pupils lived in cells, and the
boys were allowed to leave the interior only once a-week,
and then under inspection, to visit a particular play-ground
in the neighbourhood. The stiffest formalism pervaded the
economy of this establishment, and every trait of indepen-
dence was carefully suppressed. In its antiquated routine,
the living spirit of knowledge was unrecognised and the
generous desire of excellence gave place to the petty arti-
fices of jealousy. Instead of the free communication, kind
advice, and personal example of a home, secrecy, distrust,
and deceit were the prevalent characterstics of the school
.
When he was scarcely thirteen years of age, Fichte entered
this seminary; and henceforward he was alone in the world,
cast upon his own resources, trusting to his own strength
and guidance. So soon was he called upon to exercise that
powerful and clear-sighted independence of character by
which he was afterwards so much distinguished.
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? c
MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
The strange world into which he now entered, the gloom
and confinement he encountered, so different from the free
atmosphere of his native woods and mountains, made a deep
impression on the boy. His sadness and tears exposed him
to the mockery of his school-fellows: he wanted prudence
to disregard them and courage to complain to a teacher.
He determined to run away. Shame and the fear of be-
ing sent back to Pforta prevented him returning to his pro-
tector the Freiherr; he therefore conceived the idea of seek-
ing some distant island, where, like Robinson, he might lead
a life of perfect freedom. But he would not steal away,--he
would make it evident that necessity drove him to the course
which he adopted. He warned his senior, who oppressed
him severely, that he would no longer suffer such treatment,
and that if it were not amended he would leave the school.
His threat was of course received with laughter and con-
tempt, and the boy now thought he might quit the place
with honour. The opportunity was soon found, and he took
the road to Raumburg. On the way he remembered the
maxim of his old friend the pastor, that every undertaking
should be begun with a petition for divine aid. He sunk to
his knees on a rising ground. During prayer he called to
mind his parents, their care for him, the grief which his sud-
den disappearance would cause them. "Never to see them
again! "--this thought was too much for him: his joy and
courage were already gone. He determined to return and con-
fess his fault. On the way back he met those who had been
sent after him. When taken before the Rector, he admitted
that it had been his intention to run away, but at the same
time recounted so ingenuously the motives which had in-
duced him to take this step, that the Rector not only for-
gave him his fault, but resolved to take him under his own
special protection. He obtained another senior, who soon
gained his affections, and was afterwards his companion
and friend at the University.
From this time Fichte's residence at Pforta became
gradually more agreeable to him. He entered zealously up-
on his studies, and found in them occupation, interest, and
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? 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?
Fichte, should extend this business beyond the limited
sphere in which he practised it himself, he sent him as ap-
prentice to Johann Schurich, a manufacturer of linen and
ribbons in the neighbouring town of Pulsnitz, in order that
he might there learn his trade more perfectly than he could
do at home. The son conducted himself well during his
apprenticeship, rose high in the esteem of his master, and
was at last received into the house as an inmate. He there
succeeded in gaining the affections of Schurich's daughter.
This attachment was for some time kept secret, in deference
to the pride of the maiden's father; but his prejudices having
been overcome, young Fichte brought home his bride to his
native village, and with her dowry he built a house there, in
which some of his descendents still follow the paternal oc-
cupation.
Johann Gottlieb Fichte was their first child, and was
born on the 19th May 1762. At his baptism, an aged rela-
tive of the mother, who had come from a distance to be pre-
sent at the ceremony, and who was revered by all men for
his wisdom and piety, foretold the future eminence of the
child; and as death soon afterwards set his seal upon the
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? HIS EARLY EDUCATION.
s
lips by which this prophecy had been uttered, it became in-
vested with all the sacredness of a deathbed prediction.
Their faith in this anouncement induced the parents to al-
low their first-born an unusual degree of liberty, and by thus
affording room for the development of his nature, the pre-
diction became in some measure the means of securing its
own fulfilment.
The boy soon displayed some characteristics of the future
man. He seldom joined the other children in their games,
but loved to wander forth into the fields, alone with his own
thoughts. There he would stand for hours, his eyes fixed on
the far distance, until he was roused from his trance and
brought home by the shepherds, who knew and loved the
solitary and meditative child. These thoughtful hours, in
which the first germs of his spiritual nature were unfolded,
left impressions upon him which the cares of future years
never obliterated, and they always continued among his
most cherished recollections. His first teacher was his own
father, who after the business of the day was over and the
garden work finished, instructed him in reading, and told
him the story of his own journeyings in Saxony and Fran-
conia. He was an eager scholar, soon mastered his Bible
and Catechism, and even read the morning and evening
prayers to the family circle. When he was seven years of
age, his father, as a reward for his industry, brought him
from the neighbouring town the story of Siegfried. He was
soon so entirely rapt in this book, that he neglected his
other lessons in order to indulge his fancy for it. This
brought upon him a severe reproof; and finding that the
beloved book stood between him and his duty, he with cha-
racteristic determination resolved to destroy it. He carried
it to the brook which ran by his father's house, with the in-
tention of throwing it into the water, but long he hesitated
before accomplishing his first act of self-denial. At length
he cast it into the stream. No sooner, however, did he see
it carried away from him, than regret for his loss triumphed
over his resolution, and he wept bitterly, His father dis-
covered him, and learned the loss of the book, but without
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? +
Memoir of fichte.
learning the reason of it. Angry at the supposed slight
cast upon his present, he punished the boy with unwonted
severity. As in his childhood, so also in his after life, did
ignorance of his true motives often cause Fichte to be mis-
understood and misrepresented. When this matter had
been forgotten, his father bought him a similar book, but
the boy refused to accept it, lest he should again be led into
temptation.
Young Fichte soon attracted the notice of the clergyman
of the village, an excellent man who was beloved by the
whole community. The pastor, perceiving that the boy pos-
sessed unusual abilities, allowed him frequently to come to
his house in order to receive instruction, and resolved, if pos-
sible, to obtain for him a scientific education. An opportu-
nity of doing so accidently presented itself. When Fichte
was about eight or nine years of age, the Freiherr von Miltitz,
being on a visit to a nobleman resident in the neighbourhood,
was desirous of hearing a sermon from the pastor of Ram-
menau, (who had acquired some reputation as a preacher),
but had arrived too late in the evening to gratify his wishes.
Lamenting his disappointment, he was told that there was
a boy in the village whose extraordinary memory enabled
him to repeat faithfully any address which he had once heard.
Little Gottlieb was sent for, and appeared before the company
in his linen jacket, carrying a nosegay which his mother had
placed in his hand. He astonished the assembled guests
by his minute recollection of the morning's discourse and the
earnestness with which he repeated it before them. The
Freiherr, who belonged to one of the noblest families in
Saxony, and possessed a high reputation for his disinterested
benevolence and unaffected piety, determined to make fur-
ther inquiries respecting this extraordinary child; and the
friendly pastor having found the opportunity he wished, easily
persuaded him to undertake the charge of the boy's educa-
tion. The consent of the parents having been with difficulty
obtained,--for they were reluctant to expose their son to
the temptations of a noble house,--young Fichte was con-
signed to the care of his new protector, who engaged to treat
him as his own child.
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? REMOVAL FROM HOME.
5
His first removal was to Siebeneichen (Sevenoaks), a seat
on the Elbe belonging to the Freiherr. The stately solem-
nity of this place and the gloom of the surrounding forest
scenery weighed heavily upon his spirits: he was seized with
a deep melancholy, which threatened to injure his health.
His kind foster-father prudently resolved to place him under
the care of a clergyman in the neighbouring village of Nie-
derau, who, himself without family, had a great love for
children. Here Fichte spent the happiest years of his boy-
hood. He received the kindest attentions from his teacher,
whose name he never mentioned in after years without the
deepest and most grateful emotion. Here the foundation
of his education was laid in a knowledge of the ancient lan-
guages; and so rapid was his progress, that his instructor
soon found his own learning insufficient for the further su-
perintendence of his pupil's studies. In his twelfth year he
was sent by the Freiherr von Miltitz, first to the town school
of Meissen, and soon afterwards to the public school of Pfor-
ta near Raumburg.
The school at Pforta retained many traces of its monk-
ish origin: the teachers and pupils lived in cells, and the
boys were allowed to leave the interior only once a-week,
and then under inspection, to visit a particular play-ground
in the neighbourhood. The stiffest formalism pervaded the
economy of this establishment, and every trait of indepen-
dence was carefully suppressed. In its antiquated routine,
the living spirit of knowledge was unrecognised and the
generous desire of excellence gave place to the petty arti-
fices of jealousy. Instead of the free communication, kind
advice, and personal example of a home, secrecy, distrust,
and deceit were the prevalent characterstics of the school
.
When he was scarcely thirteen years of age, Fichte entered
this seminary; and henceforward he was alone in the world,
cast upon his own resources, trusting to his own strength
and guidance. So soon was he called upon to exercise that
powerful and clear-sighted independence of character by
which he was afterwards so much distinguished.
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? c
MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
The strange world into which he now entered, the gloom
and confinement he encountered, so different from the free
atmosphere of his native woods and mountains, made a deep
impression on the boy. His sadness and tears exposed him
to the mockery of his school-fellows: he wanted prudence
to disregard them and courage to complain to a teacher.
He determined to run away. Shame and the fear of be-
ing sent back to Pforta prevented him returning to his pro-
tector the Freiherr; he therefore conceived the idea of seek-
ing some distant island, where, like Robinson, he might lead
a life of perfect freedom. But he would not steal away,--he
would make it evident that necessity drove him to the course
which he adopted. He warned his senior, who oppressed
him severely, that he would no longer suffer such treatment,
and that if it were not amended he would leave the school.
His threat was of course received with laughter and con-
tempt, and the boy now thought he might quit the place
with honour. The opportunity was soon found, and he took
the road to Raumburg. On the way he remembered the
maxim of his old friend the pastor, that every undertaking
should be begun with a petition for divine aid. He sunk to
his knees on a rising ground. During prayer he called to
mind his parents, their care for him, the grief which his sud-
den disappearance would cause them. "Never to see them
again! "--this thought was too much for him: his joy and
courage were already gone. He determined to return and con-
fess his fault. On the way back he met those who had been
sent after him. When taken before the Rector, he admitted
that it had been his intention to run away, but at the same
time recounted so ingenuously the motives which had in-
duced him to take this step, that the Rector not only for-
gave him his fault, but resolved to take him under his own
special protection. He obtained another senior, who soon
gained his affections, and was afterwards his companion
and friend at the University.
From this time Fichte's residence at Pforta became
gradually more agreeable to him. He entered zealously up-
on his studies, and found in them occupation, interest, and
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? 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?
