Cio acftelts at firemen.
" 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, and I know how to prize this blessing. The circum stances of my stay in Zurich, and still more of my travels, had strained my fancy to an unnatural height. When I came to Leipzic my brain swarmed with great plans. All were wrecked; and of so many soapbubbles 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 belonged. Since I could not alter my outward circumstances, I resolved upon internal change. I threw myself into philosophy, 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, E 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 pre serve 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 refreshment and an incentive to greater exertion; that the ordering of our fortune is not demanded of us, but only the cultivation of ourselves. Hence I do not trouble myself about outward things, — endea vour not to seem, but to be; and it is to these con victions 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 constitution of the church, and indeed the men who compose it, do not please me. So long as I can maintain my present independence, 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 Wissenschaftcn.' But all is anarchy there. Weisse is called the editor, but the bookseller is the editor; and I will have no thing 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 that 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 re pented 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 incredible 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 Critique of Practical Reason. Principles which I be lieved 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 system gives us! But why should I say this to you, who have known it longer than I have done? What a bless ing to an age in which morality was torn up by the roots, and the name of Duty obliterated from every vocabulary!"
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 cheerful ness. 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 power ful 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 before experi enced: 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 would 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 prin ciple. I am now thoroughly convinced 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 astray 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 op posing reasoners, yet they shall be confuted, and are so already, though they do not understand the con futation."
Inspired with this enthusiastic admiration for the Critical Philosophy, he resolved to become the ex ponent of its principles, and to rescue it from the obscurity which an uncouth terminology had thrown around it. This attempt had indeed been made al ready, and was still making, by a host of commenta tors, 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 afforded, and crowded the literary market with crude and superficial productions. Fichte ac cordingly 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 scsthetical, the other to that of teleological judgment. The first part was completed and sent to his friend Weisshuhn for correction, but the progress 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 E 2 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 ' Dramaturgic,' now begins to bear fruit. His principles seem every day to be more extensively received, and made the founda tion of our literary judgments; and Goethe's ' Iphigenie' is the strongest proof of the possibility of their realization. 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 " Wallenstein," followed in brilliant suc cession by "Mary Stuart," — "The Maid of Orleans," — and, last and brightest of the train, by " William Tell," — a parting gift to the world from the " Sopho cles" of Germany.
And now the time drew near which was at once to terminate 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 myself? Suifer me at least to vindicate my claim to the name of a Scholar." No prospect, however, appearing of a permanent settlement in Germany, it had been arranged that he should return to Zurich in 1791, to be united to her whom he most loved and honoured upon earth. The noble-minded woman who was now to bind herself to him for ever, had resolved that henceforth he should pursue his literary under takings, free from the cares of life. But Fichte looked forward to no period of inglorious repose; his ardent spirit had already formed a thousand plans of useful and honourable activity. " JSot happiness, but labour," was his principle, — a principle which ruled all his ac tions, in prosperity as well as in adversity. His letters to Johanna Rahn, in anticipation of this joyful event, breathe the same dignified tenderness which charac terized their earlier correspondence: — " And so, dearest, I solemnly devote myself to thee, — consecrate mySelf to be thine. I thank thee that thou hast thought me not unworthy to be thy companion on the journey 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 feeling 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 happiness here below, — I know it now, — but aland of toil, where 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 dif ferent, 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 decorated 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 wisdom which now calls forth our wonder, but with loftier feelings 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 arguments against his being, and he needs none /or it. He who has sacri ficed so much for virtue that he looks for recompense 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 con viction, not by arguments but by deeds."
LEIPZIG, 1st MarchllQl.
" At the end of this month I shall be free, and have determined to come to thee. I see nothing that can prevent me. I indeed still await the sanction of my parents; but I have been for a long time so well assured of their love, — almost, if I may venture to say it, of their deference to my opinion, — that I need not anticipate any obstacle on their part.
****** ****** " And now, dearest, I turn to thee, passing over all things unconnected with thee, which therefore do not interest me. Is it true, or is it but a sweet dream, that I am so near to the one best joy of my life, — the possession of the noblest of souls, chosen and destined for me by the Creator from among all other souls? — that my happiness, my peace, shall be the object of your wishes, your cares, your prayers? Could my feelings but flow to thee, warm as at this moment they are streaming through my breast, 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, be fore 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. O what a man I have been! — People have sometimes attributed to me firmness of character, and I have been vain enough to accept their flattery as truth. To what accident am I indebted for this opinion,— I who have always allowed myself to be guided by circumstances, — whose soul has taken the colours of the events that surrounded me? With great preten sions, 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 a peace for which indeed I have to thank my good health and the free flight of my fancy, and even deceived myself so far as to be lieve that the sublime thoughts which I imprinted upon my memory were natives of my soul. Circum stances led me to another employment less satisfactory to the mind; and the change in my mode of life, — the winter, which never agrees with me, — an indis position, 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.
DISAPPOINTMENTS — REMOVAL TO WARSAW. 47 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."
And now all his brightest dreams were about to be fulfilled; his cup was brimming with anticipated de light, the draught of joy was almost at his lips, when it was rudely dashed from his grasp. The day of his departure was already fixed, when the bankruptcy of a mercantile house to which Hahn had entrusted his property, threw the affairs of the latter into disorder, and even threatened to reduce him to indigence in his old age. Happily a part of his property was ultimately saved, but, in the meantime at least, all plans which were founded on his former prosperity were at an end. His misfortunes brought upon him a lingering sickness, by which he was reduced to the brink of the grave. His life was preserved by the tender and unremitting cares of his daughter. In those dark years, when scarcely a ray of hope broke the gloom of present calamity, her conduct displayed that high-minded devotion which bears inevitable suf fering without a murmur, and almost raises the passive above the active virtues of our nature.
As for Fichte, he had now become inured to dis appointment. His courage soon returned to him, and he encountered with unfaltering trust the new disap pointment with which fortune had visited him; — but he was filled with chagrin at having no power either to alleviate, or to share, the distresses of one dearer to him than life itself. The world with its difficulties and doubts was once more before him, and once more his indomitable spirit rose superior to them all. He obtained an appointment as tutor in the house of a Polish nobleman at Warsaw, and having announced his departure to Johanna Rahn in a letter in which he bids her be of good courage, and assures her earnestly of his own faithfulness, he once more assumed his pilgrim staff and turned his back upon Leipzic.
His diary written during this pedestrian journey to Poland evinces a clear and acute faculty of obser vation, and sketches very distinctly the peculiarities of the Saxon and Silesian character. One passage only, and that relative to a different subject, is here quoted: — " 9th May. — Arrived at Bischofswerda in good time; drank tea at the inn, and sent my letter to Rammenau. Soon appeared my brother Gotthelf, the kind soul, whom I looked for the previous day at Pillnitz; and immediately after him, Gottlob. My father had not been at home, but he came soon after —the good, honest, kind father! His look, his tone, his reasoning, — how much good they always do me! Take away all my learning, 0 God! and make me such a good, true, faithful man! — how much should I gain by the exchange!"
On the 7th of June he arrived at Warsaw, and immediately waited upon his employer the Count Von P. The Count was a good, easy man, per fectly submissive to the guidance of his wife, a vain, haughty, and whimsical woman. Fichte's pronuncia tion of the French language was found to be unsatis factory, and his German bluntness of demeanour still VISIT TO KONIGSBERG. 49 more so. He soon discovered that this was no place for him, where the teacher was regarded as the hanger-on of the Countess, and no respect was paid to the dignity of his profession. He resigned his office without having entered upon its duties; and having with some difficulty obtained from the Coun tess, by way of compensation, a sum sufficient for his maintenance for the succeeding two months, he resolved to visit Konigsberg, instead of returning di rectly to his native country, in order that he might have an opportunity of cultivating a personal ac quaintance with Kant, his great master in philosophy. Having preached in the Evangelical Church at War saw before his departure, he left that city on the 25th of June for Konigsberg.
Immediately on his arrival he visited Kant, but his first impressions of the Critical Philosopher do not seem to have been very favourable. His impetuous enthusiasm was chilled by a cold, formal reception, and he retired deeply disappointed. Unwilling, how ever, to abandon the purpose which had led him to Konigsberg, he sought some means of obtaining a more free and earnest interview, but for some time without success. At last he determined to write a " Kritik aller Offenbarung" (Critique of all Revelation), which should serve as an introduction. He began his labours on the 13th July, and wrought with un remitting assiduity at his task. It is perhaps one of the most touching and instructive passages of literary history, to find a young man, at a distance from his own country, without a friend, without even the means of personal subsistence, and sustained only by an ardent and indomitable love of truth, devoting himself with intense application to the production of a systematic work on one of the deepest subjects of philosophic thought, that he might thereby attain the friendship and confidence of one whom he regarded as the greatest of living men. The finished work, — a work which on its publication raised him at once to the level of the greatest thinkers of his age, — was sent to Kant on the 18th of August. He went on the 23d to hear the opinion of the philosopher upon it, and was kindly received. He heard a very favourable judgment passed upon his book, but did not attain his principal object — the establishment of a scientific confidence. For the solution of his philosophical doubts lie was referred to the Critique of Pure Reason, or to some of the philosopher's friends.
On revising his " Critique of all Revelation," he found that it did not thoroughly express his profoundest thoughts on the subject, and he therefore began to remodel and re-write it. But here again he was overtaken by want. Counting over his meagre store of money, he found that he had only sufficient for another fortnight. Alone and in a strange country, he knew not what to resolve upon. After having in vain endeavoured to get some employment through the friends to whom he had been introduced by Kant, he determined, though with great reluctance, to re veal to Kant himself the situation in which he was placed, and request his assistance to enable him to return to his own land. His letter to Kant on this subject is so strikingly characteristic of its writer, and describes so truly his position at the time, that it is here given at length: — PECUNIARY DIFFICULTIES. 51 CTo ttant.
" You will pardon me, sir, if on the present occasion I address you in writing rather than in speech.
" You have already favoured me with kind recom mendations which I had not ventured to ask from you, — a generosity which infinitely increases my gratitude, and gives me courage to disclose myself entirely to you, which otherwise I could not have ventured to do without your direct permission, — a necessity which he who would not willingly reveal himself to every one, feels doubly towards a truly good man.
" In the first place, allow me to assure you, sir, that my resolution to proceed from Warsaw to Kb'nigsberg, instead of returning to Saxony, was indeed so far an interested resolution, that it gave me an opportunity of expressing my feelings towards the man to whom I owe all my convictions, principles, character, and even the very effort to possess such, — of profiting, so far as possible in a short time, by your society, and, if allowed, of recommending myself to your favourable notice in my after-life; — but that I never could have anticipated my present need of your kindness, partly because I considered Konigsberg to be fertile in re sources, — much more so for example than Leipzic, — and partly because I believed that, in the worst case, 1 should be able to find employment in Livonia, through a friend who occupies a creditable situation at Riga. I consider this assurance is due, — partly to myself, that the feelings which flow purely from my heart may not incur the suspicion of mean selfishness, — partly to you, because the free, open gratitude of one, whom you have instructed and improved, cannot be indif ferent to you.
" I have followed the profession of a private tutor for five years, and during this time have felt so keenly its disagreeable nature, — to be compelled to look upon imperfections which must ultimately entail the worst consequences, and yet be hindered in the endeavour to establish good habits in their stead, — that I had given it up altogether for a year and a half, and, as I thought, for ever. I was induced again to undertake this occu pation in Warsaw, without due consideration, by the ill-founded hope that I should find this attempt more fortunate, and perhaps imperceptibly by a view to pe cuniary advantage, — a resolution the vanity of which has given rise to my present embarrassments. I now, on the contrary, feel every day more strongly the necessity of going over again, before the years of youth have altogether passed away, all those things which the too early praise of well-meaning but unwise teach ers, — an academic course almost completed before my entrance on the proper age of youth, — and, since that time, my constant dependence on circumstances, — have caused me to neglect; and, resigning all the ambitious views which have impeded my progress, to train myself to all of which I am capable, and leave the rest to Providence. This object I cannot attain anywhere more surely than in my fatherland. I have parents, who cannot indeed relieve my necessities, but with whom I can live at less expense than elsewhere.
I can there occupy myself with literary pursuits — my true means of culture, to which I must devote myself, and for which I have too much respect to print any thing of the truth of which I am not thoroughly assured.
LETTER TO KANT. 53 By a residence in my native province, too, I could most easily obtain, as a village pastor, the perfect literary quiet which I desire until my faculties are matured. My best course thus seems to be to return home; — but I am deprived of the means: I have only two ducats, and even these are not my own, for I have yet to pay for my lodgings. There appears, then, to be no rescue for me from this situation, unless I can find some one who, although unknown to me, yet, in reliance upon my honour, will advance me the neces sary sum for the expenses of my journey, until the time when I can calculate with certainty on being able to make repayment. I know no one to whom I could offer this security without fear of being laughed at to my face, except you, excellent man.
" It is my maxim never to ask anything from another, without having first of all examined whether I myself, were the circumstances inverted, would do the same thing for some one else. In the present case I have found that, supposing I had it in my power, I would do this for any person of whom I believed that he was animated by the principles by which I know that I myself am now governed.