LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I 4 f UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. J n w MEMOIR OF JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE BY V WILLIAM SMITH BOSTON: JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY. 1846. V 2. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by James Munroe and Company, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. BOSTON: PRINTED BY THURSTON, TORRY & EMERSON, 31. Devonshire Street. PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. But few words need be wasted in introducing to Amer- ican readers a man so great and self-sufficing as Fichte was : so thoroughly able to speak for himself. Only a kindly sentence or two, to make us feel perfectly at home in his company, and to mark the particular coincidence of his genius with our present literary wants and prospects. We shall welcome him because he was a man of action : and we need him because he was a man of thought. No- where can we find so grand a specimen of complete har- mony of speculation and practice, such a healthy, sinewy nature, constantly proving all his problems by the heroism of daily life. Goethe spent eighty years in self-culture : Schiller wore himself out with asking Pilate's question, and his results were always aesthetic : Schelling rebuked Fichte for deserting the scholar's province, and carrying out spec- ulation to its ultimates. But that very idea was the best in Fichte's possession — if it did not rather possess him — namely, that the moral order of the Universe was the ob- ject of life. He stood ready to prove this by syllogism or by sacrifice : not only by an irreproachable character, but by deeds of great note in their time. And these were not forced upon him by circumstance or position, or merely assumed as stints, but they were elements of him and of his system : the necessary results of the man, as much as 4 PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. the tone and contour of his features. Therefore we do not consider him notable merely because, while the best scholars of Germany were elaborating morphologies and constructing syntheses of Nature, he humanized life in Universities, made virtue the rage, set all the students at Napoleon, and was so adroit at revolutionizing Germany, that he got his name on the emperor's private proscription- list : but because his system of thought would have com- pelled him to do the best things in any era, because, in short, he represented the union of remote abstraction with earnest reality. He was knowledge, and he was power : he thought the subtlest thoughts into deeds : he condensed that German gas — a result which worthy men among us still consider to be too much for the most ponderous hy- draulics. Then while we smile most shrewdly at some of his met- aphysical statements, and the Fichtean Egoism is dismissed with general merriment, and flourish of Scotch and Eng- lish reviewers' trumpets, we still have a suspicion that all is not right, and that it must be the man himself which makes his own statement appear so wretched. Fichte had his Theory of the Universe : a German would sooner be without his pipe than a compact, pocket cosmo-ontology. We all construct the same, with more or less absurdity, by the same instinct that sets the beaver to build his dam : and we are ready to swear by it stoutly to every passenger. But the first dun, or new music, or outrage upon misery, or note of reform, makes us suddenly serious : we drop the cap and bells, and the noblest theory of the universe is demonstrated in the play or the gravity of our deeds. Set- ting aside Fichte 's bare ontological statement, which after all was only a chance stone which he made his fulcrum, we find the grandest use and meaning in his moral system, PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. O and all the merit of practical consistency. His keen analy- sis of consciousness, his lofty development of individual Freedom, his tender and religious admission of the Infi- nite Will, his stern and yet inspiring representations of Duty and Virtue, which no young man can read without longing with tears to be good and pure and just, — all these noble utterances of that strong and honest spirit, will be the com- mon property of men's hearts, long after his system of Idealism, which he himself so well refuted, and the sharp irony of his critics, and the spleen of his traducers, become curiosities of literature, and morbid preparations in the museum of some future historian of philosophy. The most elaborate satire of Fichte's Idealism was the " Clavis Fichtiana," by Jean Paul. He evidently under- stood him, and yet he did not do him justice, because the satire identifies Fichte with his Egoistic Idealism, which may be thrice demolished, without involving in the ruin Fichte's special and only worth. Thus, among other clever things, Jean Paul writes with German bluntness: " it struck me (said I, as I glanced slightly over my sys- tem, during a foot-bath, and gazed significantly at my toes, whose nails they were paring) that I am the All and Uni- verse; one cannot be more in the world, than the world itself, and God, and the spirit-world too. Only I ought not to have sat so long a Time (which is another work of mine) without concluding, that I am the natura naturans, and the Demiurgus and Agent of the universe. I am now like that beggar who, waking out of a drunken sleep, found himself all at once a king. What a Being, which, itself excepted, (for it is always becoming, and never is) makes every thing, my absolute All-breeding, foaling, yeaning, hatching, casting, whelping, bearing I ! " * And again, * " If I saw my oldest friend, I should only say, 1 = 1. If I saw Fichte, 6 PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. in a higher strain, but with still less justice in view of the fine moral eloquence of Fichte, Jean Paul writes : " all the enthusiasm he permits me is logical : all my Metaphysics, Chemistry, Technology, Nosology, Botany, Entomology, subsists only in the old maxim, know thyself. I am not only, as Bellarmin says, my own Redeemer, but also my own Devil, Death and Knout-master. The practical rea- son itself (that only sacred shew-bread for a hungry philo- sophical David) hardly sets me a going, since, after all, I can only benefit somewhat my I, and no one further. Love and admiration are void, for like St. Francis, I press to my soi disant breast nothing but a maiden rolled together of snow. Around me is a wide, petrified humanity : in the dark, unpeopled stillness, no love glows, no admiration, no prayer, no hope, no aim. I, so all alone, nowhere a single throb of life, nothing around me, and besides myself noth- ing but nothing, am only conscious of my lofty Un-con- sciousness ; within me the dumb, blind working Demo- gorgon is concealed, and I am it. So I emerge from eternity, so I proceed into eternity ! And who knows me now and hears my sorrow ? I. Who knows me and hears it to all eternity ? I." * Schiller also*, in his correspondence with Goethe, calls Fichte " the great I," and says : " To him, the world is only a ball which the I has thrown forth, and which it again catches in the act of reflexion ! Thus 'tis said he has I being the Castor and he the Pollux, and both of us only existing by an alternate immortality of projection, I should only indulge myself iu ut- tering, Soyons amis, Auguste." * After this, it is amusing to see Mad. de Stael, with her glib, Parisian goose-quill, also snatch a blow at the " Doctrine of Science." She says quite conclusively, " nature and love lose all their charm by this system ; for if the objects that we love are only the work of our ideas, we may regard man himself as the great Bachelor of the Universe." PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 7 really declared his godhead, as we lately expected." And yet the pulse of Schiller's heart was deeply stirred by the u Nature of the Scholar," the " Destiny of Man," the "Ad- dresses to the German Nation," through all of which runs Fichte's idea of the moral order of the Universe, and the sacredness of being called upon to exist. After Fichte had dropped his unusual terminology, and had somewhat pop- ularized his system, he was accused of making himself felt and understood at the expense of his logic. Thus the third part of the " Destiny of Man," which is the most popular development of his idea, was said to contradict the first part, and either to destroy his system, or to gain therefrom an esoteric meaning. It may be, that in writing his lofty invocation to the Divine Will, which occurs in the third part, he virtually abandons his idealism. We are more inclined to consider the latter as explained by his highest moments and clearest statements. The charge of Atheism, seems to have arisen from his proposition, that the conception of personality subjects the Infinite Will to limitation. Any conception of the Deity which we may entertain, must necessarily be finite, even when it is a conception of His infinity. Our conception does not become less finite when we add the element of personality, even if we call Him an infinite Person. With the highest and most devout abstraction, we still only ap- proach the God of our own conceptions : and the men of the greatest genuine faith, have always been accused of Atheism, because they dared not erect a finite conception into a dogmatic statement with respect to the Infinite Na- ture. There has always been this feud between the phi- losophers and the theologians : the latter making God after man's image, the former declaring that the intellect can neither name nor represent Him. And all the while, 8 PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. the earnest men of both parties repose upon the same Infinite Will, and aspire to the same source of their com- mon life and thought. A downright Atheist would be, to speak rather paradoxically, a perfect God-send. The best thinkers of Germany absolved Fichte from this paltry charge, but nevertheless respectable fathers of families rather eschewed his society. But no man was ever more penetrated with the Divine Presence, or ever made loftier statements of that which, absolutely, must always be inef- fable. His speech becomes transfigured when he meets the theme, his words conquer when he tries to say that he can say nothing. It must be admitted, that Fichte was misunderstood, partly because he exaggerated his own positions. He con- ciliated no one, and disdained to make his wares marketa- ble. He threw out the truth which he had, in huge, rude masses, and whoever thought it was worth taking, was wel- come to all he could retain. He was the servant of truth, and never trifled nor blasphemed, for he saw the truth too clearly. But this very superiority rendered him sometimes daring in the form of his statements. His simplest meta- physical propositions were hirsute and shocking ; as he left the lecture room men looked to see whether or no he were a new avatar of the Enemy. Perhaps he secretly en- joyed the turmoil which his needless singularity created, and loved to aggravate the Philistines who sought to catch him in his talk. Yet much that was called arrogance was only positiveness of knowledge, and his blunt vanity was only sincerity of conviction. Still we may fairly censure him, because the earnest thinker is not only bound to re- ceive truth with reverence and self-denial, but to proclaim it in love. He must win men over to its worship. This excellent Memoir will properly establish Fichte PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 9 among us. The English edition contains also a translation of one of his finest works, the " Nature of the Scholar." We look to see the success of this Memoir demand a re- publication of that also. It will be a seasonable word to our scholars, its lofty requisitions will deepen their earnest- ness, its merciless analysis will abolish trifling, its simple yet smiting appeals will cause them to venerate their voca- tion. We shall welcome Fichte because he is in earnest, and because he grapples with the meaning of life, learns it by heart, and makes it luminous. He sets every man to the most decisive work, and shows him how his deeds tell for God and advance the order of the Universe. Were his writings domesticated here, they would materially assist us in the solution of many of the impending questions which now appear above our horizon.* They would at least be welcome, because the words of a deep and power- ful thinker, increase the power and accuracy, and devel- ope the capacity, of thought. Watektown, March 1, 1846. * His " Critique of all Revelation," is an attempt to state the genuine grounds of Faith, the province of Miracle, &c. CONTENTS PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION MEMOIR. BIRTH AND EDUCATION LETTERS TO JOHANNA RAHN CRITIQUE OF ALL REVELATION DOCTRINE OF SCIENCE PROFESSORSHIP AT JENA . SUNDAY LECTURES CHARGE OF ATHEISM . NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR . OPPOSITION TO NAPOLEON . SICKNESS AND DEATH 14 27 55 81 96 105 118 140 151 154 MEMOIR JOHANN GOTTLIEB PICHTE At the time of the great religious division, when Germany was torn by internal factions, and ravaged by foreign armies, — when for thirty years the torch of devastation never ceased to blaze, nor the groan of misery to ascend on high, — a skirmish took place near the village of Rammenau, in Upper Lusatia, between some Swedish troops and a party of the Catholic army. A subaltern officer who had followed the fortunes of Gustavus was left on the field severely wounded. The kind and simple-hearted villagers were eager to render him every aid which his situation required, and beneath the roof of one of them, a zealous Lutheran, he was tended until returning health enabled him either to re- join his companions in arms, or return to his native land. But the stranger had found an attraction stronger than that of war or home — he continued an inmate in the house of his protector, and became his son-in-law. The old man's other sons having fallen in the war, the soldier inherited his simple possessions, and founded a family whose generations flowed on in peaceful obscu- 1 14 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. rity, until its name was made illustrious by the subject of the following memoir. The grandfather of the philosopher inherited from his predecessor, along with the little patrimonial pos- session, a small trade in ribbons, the product of his own loom, which he disposed of to the inhabitants of the village and its vicinity. Desirous that his eldest son, Christian Fichte, should extend this business be- yond the limited sphere in which he practised it him- self, he sent him as apprentice to Johann Schurich, a manufacturer of linen and ribbons in the neighboring 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 suc- ceeded in gaining the affections of Schurich's daughter. This attachment was for a long 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 descen- dants still follow the paternal occupation. Johann Gottlieb Fichte was their first child, and was born on the 19th of May, 1762. At his baptism, an aged relative of the family, who had come from a distance to be present at the ceremony, and who was revered by all men for his wisdom and piety, fore- told the future eminence of the child ; and as death soon after set his seal upon the lips which had uttered MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 15 the prophecy, it became invested with all the sac red- ness of a deathbed prediction. Their faith in this announcement induced the parents to allow their first- born an unusual degree of liberty, and by thus affording room for the development of his nature, the prediction 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 in 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 medi- tative child. His first teacher was his own father, who, after the business of the day was over, instructed him in reading, and told him the story of his own journey- ings in Saxony and Franconia. He was an eager scholar, soon mastered his Bible and Catechism, and even read the morning and evening prayers in the fam- ily circle. When he was seven years of age, his father, as a reward for his industry, brought him from the neighboring town the story of Siegfried. He was soon so entirely rapt in this book, that he neglected his other lessons to indulge his fancy for it. This brought upon him a severe reproof ; and finding that this be- loved book stood between him and his duty, he with characteristic determination resolved to destroy it. He carried it to the brook which ran by his father's house, with the intention of throwing it into the water, but long he hesitated before accomplishing his first act of 16 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 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 discovered him, and learned the loss of the book, but without learning the reason of it. Angry at the supposed slight cast upon his present, he punished the boy with unwonted se- verity. As in his childhood, so also in his after life, did ignorance of his true motives often cause Fichte to be misunderstood and misrepresented. When this matter had been forgotten, his father bought him a sim- ilar book, but the boy would not accept of it, lest he should again be led into temptation. Young Fichte soon attracted the notice of the clergy- man of the village, who, perceiving his talents, resolved to promote their development, and if possible to obtain for him a scientific education. An opportunity of doing so soon presented itself. A guest of the Freiherr von Miltitz, a neighboring proprietor, was desirous of hear- ing a sermon from the pastor of Rammenau, 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 bim to repeat faithfully any address which he had once heard. Little Gottlieb was sent for, and astonished the Freiherr and his guests by his minute recollection of the morning's discourse, and the earnestness with which he repeated it before them. The Freiherr determined to make further inquiries respecting this extraordinary child ; and the friendly pastor having MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 17 found the opportunity he wished, persuaded him to undertake the charge of the boy's education. The consent of the parents having been with difficulty ob- tained — for they were reluctant to expose their son to the temptations of a noble house — young Fichte was consigned to the care of his new protector, who en- gaged to treat him as his own child. His first removal was to Siebeneichen, a seat on the Elbe, belonging to the Freiherr. The gloomy solem- nity of this place and its surrounding forests pressed heavily upon the inexperienced boy : 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 neighboring village of Xiederau, who, himself without family, had a great love for children. Here Fichte spent the happiest years of his boyhood. 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 superintendence 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 Pforta, near Raumburg. The school at Pforta retained many traces of its monkish origin : the teachers and pupils lived in cells, and the boys were allowed to leave the interior only once a week, and that under inspection, to visit a par- 1* 18 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. ticular play-ground in the neighborhood. The stiffest formality pervaded the economy of this establishment, and every indication of freewill was carefully sup- pressed. The living spirit of knowledge was unrecog- nised in its antiquated routine, and the generous desire of excellence was excluded by the petty artifices of jealousy. Instead of the free communication, kind advice, and personal example of a home, secrecy, dis- trust, and deceit were the prevalent characteristics of the school. When he was scarcely thirteen years of age, Fichte entered this seminary ; and from this time forth he was alone in the world, trusting to his own strength and guidance. So soon was he called upon to exercise that powerful and clear-sighted independence for which he was afterwards so much distinguished. The strange world which he now entered, the gloom and confinement which he encountered, made a deep impression on his mind. 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 being sent back to Pforta would pre- vent him from returning to his protector, the Freiherr ; he therefore conceived the idea of seeking some dis- tant 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 he took. He warned his senior, who op- pressed him severely, that he would no longer suffer such treatment, and that if it were not amended he MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 19 should leave the school. His threat was of course received with laughter and contempt, and the boy now thought he might quit the place with honor. The opportunity was soon found, and he took the way to Raumburg. On the road he remembered the maxim of his old friend, the pastor, that every undertaking should be begun with a prayer 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 sudden disappearance would cause them. "Never to see them again ! " — this thought was too much for him : his joy and his courage were already gone. He determined to return, and confess his fault. On his way back he mot 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 induced him to take this step, that the Rector not only forgave his fault, but resolved to take him under his special protection. He obtained another senior, who soon gained his affections, and was afterwards his com- panion and friend at the University. From this time, Fichte's residence at Pforta became gradually more agreeable to him. He entered zeal- ously upon his studies, and found in them occupation, interest, and spiritual nourishment. The defects of his previous education were supplied by industry, and he soon found himself comfortable and happy. Among those older scholars with whom Fichte now associated, a spirit of independence sprang up — they labored as- siduously to set themselves free from the influence of 20 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. their teachers, particularly of those who held the most antiquated and worn-out notions. 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 ob- tained, and in spite of the strictest prohibitions, great part of the night was spent in their perusal. The works of Wieland, Lessing, and Goethe w r ere positively for- bidden, 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 Jlnti-Goze he almost committed to memory. A demand for unfettered inquiry was awak- ened within him : he understood for the first time the meaning of scientific knowledge, and with this knowl- edge he acquired a presentiment of a new spiritual life. Lessing became to him an object of such reverence, that he determined to devote his first days of freedom to seek a personal interview with his mental liberator. But this plan was frustrated by want of money ; and w 7 hen afterwards it might have been carried into execu- tion, 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 direc- tion of his mind to clearness and certainty in his know- ledge, it soon became evident that he w T ould not accept MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 21 the shortest and easiest way to the completion of his studies. Nothing definite is known of the early pro- gress 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 was then taught, and the wants of a philosophic intellect. Fichte could only be satisfied with a consistent theory, carried out from one funda- mental principle through all its ramifications. We may conjecture what doubts and obscurities dogmatic the- ology 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 cir- cle of inquiry, and finally drove him to abandon 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 of the early direction of his philosophical studies may be gathered from his letters written about this time. The question which chiefly engaged his attention seems to have been that of Liberty and Ne- cessity. Rejecting the doctrine of free-will considered as absolute indifferent self-determination, he adopted 22 MEMOIR OF F1CHTE. 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 mechanical necessity ; determinism, the highest dispos- ing 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 intel- ligible. Fichte seems to have adopted this view apart from any foreign iufluence ; — for he was as yet unacquainted with Spinoza, its most consistent expounder, whom he had only heard mentioned as an abstruse atheist. He communicated his opinions to a Saxon preacher, who had the reputation of distinguished philosophical attain- ments, and was well versed in the Wolffian metaphy- sics. He was informed that he had adopted Spinozism, and it was through Wolff's refutation that he first became acquinted with that profound and systematic thinker. The study of Spinoza's Ethics made a pow- erful impression upon him, and confirmed him in the opinions he had adopted. But in after years, prolong- ed investigation left 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 strong- est mental bias — to look upon freedom — self-deter- MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 23 mination — as the only true and real being. This is the ground-principle of the Wissenchaftslehre, which in this respect stands opposed to the doctrine of Spinoza, although a general harmony does notwithstanding reign throughout the details of these two great modern sys- tems of spiritualism. Thus has every great theory its foundation in the individual character, and is indeed only the scientific expression 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 and confidence and triumph. His gener- ous benefactor was now dead, and he was thrown on bis 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 interrupted ; he had not even the means of procuring books ; the strength which should have been devoted to his own mental cultivation, was wasted in obtaining a scanty subsistence. But amid all his privations his courage never deserted him, nor the inflexible determi- nation, 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 on another occasion, "it is our business to be true to our- selves : the consequence is altogether in the hands of providence." His favorite 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 24 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. find in that occupation, to prosecute, without disturb- ance, his own mental culture. But his theological studies were not completed, and he was without 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 fol- lowing Easter, when he should be ready to present himself before the Consistory for examination. u I have never," he says, u partaken in the public pro- vision 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 suf- ficient for this short time, that I may be enabled to devote 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 hetero- geneous 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 en- tirely to this object, that I will consecrate my life to the Fatherland which supported me at school, and which since then has only become dearer to me, and that I will come before the High Consistory, prepared 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 entertained 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 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 25 him, and every honorable means of advancement seem- ed 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 slumber 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 circumstances. It was the eve of his birthday. With unavailing anxiety he again pondered all his projects, and found all alike hopeless. The world had cast him out, — his country refused him food, — he thought his last birthday was at hand ; but he was determined that his honor — 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 explanation of his circumstances. The offer was at once accepted, and aided by his kind friend in the necessary arrangements, he set out for Switzer- land in August, 1788. His scanty means compelled him to travel on foot, but his heart was light, and the fresh hopes of youth shone brightly on his path. Dis- 2 26 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. appointment, 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 moun- tain-home — the land which Tell had consecrated to all future ages as the sacred abode of Truth and Free- dom. He arrived at Zurich on the 1st of September, and immediately entered upon his office. His duties occu- pied him the greater part of the day, but he also engag- ed in some minor literary pursuits. His philosophical studies were in the meantime laid aside. At the re- quest 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 occasion- ally in Zurich, at Flaach, and at several other places in the neighborhood, with distinguished success. He likewise drew out a plan for the establishment of a School of Oratory in Zurich, which, however, w T as never realized. In the circle of his friends at Zurich were Lavater, Steinbruchel, Hottinger, and particularly the Canons Tobler and Pfennigar. In his letters he speaks also of Achelis, a candidate of theology from Bremen, and Escher, a young poet, as his intimate friends : — the latter died soon after Fichte's departure from Swit- zerland. But of all the friendships which he formed here, the most important in its influence upon his future life was MEMOIR OF FICHTE. «f that of Rahn, whose house was in a manner the centre of the society of Zurich. Rahn was brother-in-law to Klopstock, with whom he had formed a strong friend- ship during Klopstock'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 other children, their eldest daughter Johanna Maria, who became Fichte's wife. Her mother dying while she was yet young, she devoted herself entirely to her father, and to his comfort sacri- ficed worldly show and many proffered alliances. The foundation of her character was deep religious feeling, and an unusual strength and faithfulness of affection. As her family occupied a much higher station in point of worldly importance than any to which Fichte could reasonably aspire, her engagement with him was the result of disinterested attachment alone. Fichte's love was worthy of the noble-minded woman who had called it forth. It was the devotion of his whole nature — enthusiastic like his love for his country, dignified like his love of knowledge, 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. It is necessary to premise that the termina- tion 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 a tutor, was desirous of obtaining a situation of a higher 28 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. nature, and Rahn, through his connections in Denmark, endeavored to promote his views. u I hasten to answer your questions — c Whether my friendship 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 different relations with them. I believe I have experienced, if not all the different degrees, yet all the different ki?ids, 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, with- out the remotest suspicion of any dissimulation on your part, or the least desire to conceal anything 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 far- ther 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 is 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 inquiries, the delightful kindness you have shown me on all occasions, the rapture which I feel when I know that I am not indifferent to such a person, — these, dearest, deserve that I should say nothing to you which is pro- faned by flattery, and that he whom you consider worthy MEMOIR OF FICHTE.. 29 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." 11 ' 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 different fashions. But I be- lieve 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 mostly in externals ; in acts of worship performed me- chanically, without aim, as bond-service to God ; in orthodoxy of opinion, &c &c. ; and they have this among other characteristic marks, that they give them- selves 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 char- acter implies the most deplorable emptiness of 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 char- acter were perverted ; she can never become such, her nature has too much reality in it. Your trust in Provi- dence, your anticipations of a future life, are wise and Christian. I hope, if I may venture to speak of my- 30 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. self, that no one will take me to be a pietist or stiff formalist, but I know no feelings more thoroughly inter- woven with my soul than these are." •f£ ^P ^ TT %? ^ "I am once more within these walls, which are only dear to me because they enclose you ; and when again left to myself, to my solitude, 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." •?P *7? "A* *7v' ■?? 'A? M Your offer of Friday has touched me deeply ; it has convinced me yet more strongly, if that were pos- sible, 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 re- MEMOIR OF F1CHTE. 31 marked something of my way of thinking ( c pride ' the world calls it), you should yet have made that 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 that I would accept it from you ; that we were too closely united to have different opinions about such things as these. Dearest, 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. u 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 for a moment undervalued you and myself kept them within bounds. " Yet I cannot accept it : — not that your gift would disgrace me, or could disgrace me. A gift out of mere compassion for my poverty I could abhor, and even hate the giver : — this is perhaps the most neglected part of my character. But the gift of friendship, of a friend- 32 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. ship which, like yours, rests upon cordial esteem, can- not proceed from compassion, and is an honor instead of a dishonor. But, in truth, I need it not. I have indeed no money by me at present, but I have no unusu- al 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 believe Providence watches over me. 1 have ex- amples of this which I might term singular, did I not recognize in them the hand of Providence, which con- descends even to our meanest wants. u Upon the whole, gold appears to me a very insig- nificant commodity. I believe that a man with any in- tellect may always provide for his wants ; and for more than this, gold is useless ; — hence I have always de- spised 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 wicked- ness 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 is the right of his other children. I have not accepted even presents from them upon any pretence ; and since then, I have maintained myself very well, and stand more anion aise than before towards my parents, and particularly towards my too kind father. u However, I promise you — (how happy do I feel, MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 33 dear, noble friend, to be permitted to speak thus with you) — I promise you, that if I should fall into any pecuniary embarrassments (as there is no likelihood that I shall, with my present mode of thinking and my at- tendant 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." * *7t* *7p -7? "7? ^T e< 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 only seen 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' absence from you. She wept when I took my leave, though I had allowed her to expect that she should see me again before my de- parture. I desire to lay aside all vanities ; — with some, the desire for literary fame, &c, I have in a cer- tain 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 discovered the secret of making the day which formerly 34 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 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." " I know the business of the scholar ; I have no new discoveries to make about it. I have very little fitness for being a scholar a metier ; I must not only think, I must act : least of all can I think about trifles ; and hence it is not exactly my business to become a Swiss professor — that is, a schoolman Now I think that the way which you propose cannot have the effect you expect from it. My essays cannot create what is called a ' sensation ; ' this is not in them nor in me. Many would not even understand their contents ; those who did understand them, would, I believe, con- sider me as a useful man, but comme ily en a beaucoup. It is quite another thing when one takes an interest in the author, and knows him. "If you should be able to excite such an interest among your relatives, then indeed something more might be expected. But the matter does not seem pressing. Before all things there must be a professorship vacant at Bern, and indeed such a one as I could undertake. MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 35 Then it would be difficult, during my stay here, to make a copy of my essays. And perhaps I shall write some- thing better afterwards, or perhaps I shall hit upon some arrangement in Leipzic respecting these essays, which can easily be made known in Bern. At all events, you shall know, and every good man who takes any interest in me shall always know where I am. At the same time I entreat of you, — although I know your good will towards me does not need the request, — both now and after my departure, to omit no opportunity which presents itself of doing me any service, and to inform me of it. I believe in a Providence, and I watch its signs." " So you desire this bitter leave-taking ? Be it so, but under one condition : I must bid you farewell alone. In the presence of any other, even of your excellent father, I should suffer from the reserve of which I com- plain so much. I depart, since it must be told, to-mor- row eight-days. This day week I see you for the last time, for I set out very early on Sunday. Try to arrange that I may see you alone : how it is to be ar- ranged I know not, but I would far rather take no leave of you at all, than take a cold formal one. " I thank you heartily for your noble letter of yester- day, particularly because your narrative confirms me so strongly in a much cherished principle. God cares for us — He will forsake no honorable man." # ^p * y$ ^ %? " And so be convinced that nothing can turn my thoughts from you. The reasons you have long known. 36 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. You know my heart ; you know yourself ; you know that I know you : can you then doubt that I have found the only female soul which I can value, honor, and love ? — that I have nothing more to seek from the sex, — that I can find nothing more that is mine ? " Towards the close of March, 1790, Fichte left Zurich on his return to his native land, with some letters of recommendation to the Courts of Wirtemberg and Weimar. He was once more thrown upon the world ; — his outward prospects as uncertain as when he enter- ed Switzerland two years before. Poverty again com- pelled him to travel for the most part on foot, but, as before, the toil of his journey was lightened by a high sense of honor, an inflexible courage, an unwavering faith ; and to these was now added a sweeter guide — a star of milder radiance, which threw a soft but steady light upon the wanderer's way, and pointed him to a happy though distant place of rest. His love was no fleeting passion, no maudlin sensibility, but united itself with his philosophy and his religion in one ever-flowing fountain of spiritual power. The world might turn coldly away from him, for it knew him not ; but he did not stoop to its meanness, because he did not seek its rewards. He had one object before him — the develop- ment of his own nature ; and there was one who knew him, whose thoughts were with him from afar, whose sympathies were all his own. His labors might be ar- duous, but they could not now be in vain, for although the destiny of his being did not as yet lie before him in perfect theoretical clearness, yet his integrity of purpose MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 37 and purity of feeling unconsciously preserved him from error, while the energy of his will bore him upward and onward over the petty obstructions of life. He arrived at Stuttgard in the beginning of April, but not finding his recommendations to the Wirtemberg Court of much advantage, he left it after a short stay. On his way to Saxony he visited Weimar. He did not see Herder, who was ill, nor Goethe, who was absent on his Italian tour, nor Schiller, who was at this time commencing his labors as Professor of History at Jena. He returned to Leipzic about the middle of May, his small stock of money exhausted by the expenses of his journey ; and was kindly received by his friend Weisse, through whose recommendation he had obtained the appointment at Zurich. Discovering no prospect of obtaining any preceptorship of a superior kind, he en- gaged in literary occupations in order to procure a liveli- hood. He conceived the plan of a monthly literary journal, the principal objects of which should be to expose the dangerous tendencies of the prevalent liter- ature of the day, to show the mutual influence of correct taste and pure morality, and to direct its readers to the best authors, both of past and present times. But such an undertaking was too much opposed to the interests of the booksellers to find favor in their eyes. " I have," he says, " spoken to well-disposed people on this mat- ter, to Weisse and Palmer ; they all admit that it is a good and useful idea, and indeed a want of the age, but they all tell me that I shall find no publisher. I have therefore, out of sorrow, communicated my plan to no bookseller, and I must now write — not pernicious 3 38 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. writings — that I will never do, but something that is neither good nor bad, in order to earn a little money. I am now engaged on a tragedy, a business which of all possible occupations least belongs to me, and of which I shall certainly make nothing ; and upon novels, small romantic stories — a kind of reading which is good for nothing but to kill time ; this, however, it seems, is what the booksellers will take and pay for." So far as his outward existence was concerned, this residence at Leipzic was a period of great uncer- tainty and trouble. He could obtain no settled occu- pation, but was driven from one expedient to another to procure the means of subsistence. At one time he gives u a lesson in Greek to a young man between 11 and 12 o'clock," and spends the rest of the day in study and starvation. His tragedy and novel writing would not last long, nor be very tolerable while it did last. In August he writes — cc BernstorfT must have re- ceived my letter and essay ; I gave it into Herr Bonn's own hands, and he promised to take care of it ; yet I have no answer. A lady at Weimar had a plan to ob- tain for me a good situation ; it must have failed, for I have not heard from her for two months. Of other prospects which I thought almost certain, I shall be silent. As for authorship, I have been able to do little or nothing, for I am so distracted and tossed about by constant schemes and undertakings, that I have had few quiet days In short, Providence either has something else in store for me, and hence will give me nothing to do here, as indeed has been the case ; or intends by these troubles to exercise and in- vigorate me still further. I have lost almost everything, MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 39 except my courage." Again we hear of a distant pros- pect of going to Vienna to prosecute his literary schemes, and thus of being nearer Zurich — nay, when on his way, of even visiting it. And then again — tc This week seems to be a critical time with me ; — all my prospects, even the last, have vanished." But his strength did not fail him ; alone and unfriended, he shrank not from the bitter trial. Adversity might roll her billows over his head, but her rage was spent in vain against a soul which she could bend to no unworthy deed. And yet he was not alone. A fair and gentle spirit was ever by his side, whispering to him of peace, and happiness, and love. " In the twilight," he says, " before I light my lamp, I dream myself back to thee, sit by thy side, chat with thee, and ask whether I am still dear to thee ; — ask indeed, but not from doubt — I know before-hand that thou wilt answer, yes. I am always with thee on Saturdays. I cannot give up those Saturday meetings. I think I am still in Zurich, take my hat and stick and will come to thee ; and then I re member, and fret at fortune, and laugh at myself." Amid the desolation of his outward prospects, the cur- rent of his affections seems to have flowed only more strongly and fully. In them he found a refuge from unworthy thoughts, a strong support in the conflict with misery and want. As the Alpine plant strikes its roots more firmly in barren and rocky places, so did his love cling more closely round his soul, when every other joy had died and withered there. " The wretched are the faithful : 'tis their fate To have all feeling, save the one, decay, And every passion into one dilate." 40 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. " Thou dear angel-soul," he writes, tc do ihou help me, do thou keep me from falling ! And so thou dost. What sorrow can grieve, what distress can discourage me, so long as I possess the firm assurance that I have the sympathy of the best and noblest of women, that she looks upon her destiny as inseparably bound up in mine ; that our hearts are one ? Providence has given me thy heart, and I want nothing more. Mine is thine for ever." Of a project for engaging him in the ministry, he thus writes — "I know my opinions. I am neither of the Lutheran nor Reformed Church, but of the Christian ; and were I compelled to choose, I should (since no purely Christian community now exists) attach myself to that community in which there is most freedom of thought and charity of life ; and that is not the Luthe- ran, I think I have given up these hopes in my fatherland entirely. There is indeed a degree of enlightenment and rational religious knowl- edge existing among the younger clergy of the present day, which is not to be found to the same extent in any other country of Europe. But this is crushed by a worse than Spanish inquisition, under which they must cringe and dissemble, partly because they are deficient in ability, partly because in consequence of the number of clergy in our land their services can be spared, while they cannot cannot sacrifice their employment. Hence arises a slavish, crouching, hypocritical spirit. A rev- olution is indeed impending : but when ? and how ? In short, I will be no preacher in Saxony." The only record of his religious opinions at this time MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 41 which is preserved, is a remarkable fragment, entitled 11 Aphorisms on Religion and Deism." The object of this essay was to set at rest the much-vexed ques- tions between Philosophy and Christianity, by strictly defining the respective provinces of each ; by distin- guishing between the objective reality which reason demands of philosophy, and the incarnate form of truth which religion offers to the feelings and sympathies of men. In the adaptation of Christianity to the wants of the sinner, in its appeal to the heart rather than to the understanding, he finds the explanation of its nature and purposes : " Those who are whole need not the physician, but those who are sick." u I am come not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance." This fragment, by its distinct recognition of the radical dif- ference between feeling and knowledge, and the conse- quent vanity of any attempt to decide between the different aspects which the great questions of human destiny assume before the cognitive and sensitive fac- ulties, may be looked upon as the stepping-stone to that important revolution in Fichte's mental world, to which the attention of the reader must now be di- rected. The Critical or Kantean Philosophy was at this time the great topic of discussion in the higher circles of Germany. Virulently assailed by the defenders of the existing systems, with Herder at their head, it was as eagerly supported by a crowd of followers, who looked upon Kant with an almost fanatical veneration. Fichte's attention was turned to it quite accidentally. Some increased success in teaching, during the winter 3* 42 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. of 1790, rendered his outward circumstances more comfortable than before, and left his mind more at liberty to engage in serious study. He plunged with enthusiasm into the new philosophy. The system of religious necessarianism before al- luded to, which frequently shows itself in his letters, was by no means in harmony with the natural bent of his character. His energy of will and restless spirit of enterprise assorted ill with a theory in which he was compelled to regard himself as a passive instrument in the hands of a higher power. This inconsistency must have often suggested itself to him before be met with its remedy ; he must have frequently felt, that the theory which satisfied his understanding stood in oppo- sition to his feelings. He could not be contented with any superficial or partial reconcilement of this opposi- tion. But he was now introduced to a system in which his difficulties disappeared ; in which, by a rigid ex- amination of the cognitive faculty, the boundaries of human knowledge were accurately defined, and within those boundaries its legitimacy successfully vindicated against skepticism on the one hand, and blind credulity on the other ; in which the facts of man's moral nature furnished an indestructible foundation for a system of ethics where duty was neither resolved into self-interest, nor degraded into the slavery of superstition, but recog- nised by free-will as the absolute law of its being, in the strength of which it was to front the necessity of nature, break down every obstruction that barred its way, and rise at last, unaided, to the sublime conscious- ness of an independent, and therefore eternal, existence. MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 43 Such a theory was well calculated to rouse Fichte ? s enthusiasm, and engage all his powers. The light which he had been unconsciously seeking now burst upon his sight, — every doubt vanished before it, and the purpose of his being lay clear and distinct before him. The world, and man's life in it, acquired a new significance, every faculty a clearer vision, every power a fresher energy. But he must speak for himself: - — £o gktjcifs at Bremen. " The last four or five months which I have passed in Leipzic have been the happiest period of my life ; and what is most satisfactory about it is, that I have to thank no man for the smallest ingredient in its plea- sures. You know that before leaving Zurich I became somewhat sickly : either it was partly imagination, or the cookery did not agree with me. Since my de- parture from Zurich I have been health itself, and I know how to p*ize this blessing. The circumstances 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 soap-bubbles there now remains not even the light froth which composed them. This disturbed my peace of mind a little, and it was half in despair that I joined a party to which I should long ere now 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 Kantean. Here I found the remedy for my evils, and joy enough to boot. The 4.4 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 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, especially, I owe the ac- knowledgment, that I now heartily believe in the free- dom of man, and am well convinced that it is only on this supposition that duty, virtue, or morality of any kind, is so much as possible ;— a truth which indeed I saw before, and perhaps acquired from you. Further, it is very evident to me, that many pernicious conse- quences to society flow lrom 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 preserves himself pure from such corruption, it is not on account of the innocence, or even the utility of the principle itself. Your uncor- rupted 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 acute- ness, but their inconsequential reasoning. I am also firmly convinced that this is no land of enjoyment here below, but a land of laoor and toil, and that every joy should be nothing more than a refreshment and an in- centive 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, — endeavor not to seem, but to be; MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 45 and it is to these convictions that I am indebted for the deep tranquillity of soul which I enjoy. My external circumstances suit well with these dispositions. I am master of no one, and no one's servant. I have no further 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 Wissen- schaften." But all is anarchy there. Weisse is called the editor, but the bookseller is the editor ; and I will have nothing to do with a bookseller in matters of this kind. I sent my essay upon Klopstock's Messias to B. for the " Deutsche Museum." He replied, that he feared that the poet, who had for some time honored him w 7 ith his friendship, would take it ill if he should publish an essay which might put his Messias in danger, &c, &c. I was satisfied with his answer, for I had already repented of the sin. If ever I become an author, it shall be on my own account. Moreover, authorship as a trade is not for me. It is incredible how much labor 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 46 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. believed were irrefragable, are refuted ; things which I thought could never be proved, — as for example, the idea of absolute freedom, of duty, — are proved ; and I am so much the happier. It is indescribable what respect for humanity, what power this system gives us ! But why should I say this to you, who have known it longer than I have done ? What a blessing to an age in which morality was torn up by the roots, and the name of duty obliterated from every vocabulary ! " 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 diappointment with cheerfulness. A cir- cumstance, which seemed the result of mere chance, led me to give myself up entirely to the study of the Kantean philosophy — a philosophy that restrains the imagination, which was always too powerful with me, gives reason the sway, and praises the soul to an inde- scribable 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 experienced : amid uncertain worldly prospects I have passed my happiest days. I shall devote some years of my life to this philosophy ; and all that I write, at least for several years to come, shall be upon it. It is difficult beyond all conception, and stands much in need of simplification The principles are indeed hard speculations which have MEMOIR OF FICHTE. 47 no direct bearing on human life, but their consequences are most important for an age whose morality is cor- rupted at the fountain-head ; and to set these conse- quences before the world in a clear light, would, I believe, be doing it a good service. Say to thy dear father, whom I love as my own, that we erred in our inquiries into the necessity of human actions, for al- though we proceeded with accuracy, we set out from a false principle. 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 knowing it indeed ; and why ? Henceforth believe in thine own feelings ; thou mayst not be able to confute opposing reasoners, yet they shall be con- futed, and are so already, though they do not under- stand the confutation." Inspired with this enthusiastic admiration for the Critical Philosophy, he resolved to become the expo- nent of its principles, and to rescue it from the obscurity which an uncouth terminology had thrown around it. This attempt had indeed been made already, and was still making, by a host of commentators, but the ma- jority of these were either deficient in capacity, or, actuated by sordid motives, had eagerly seized the opportunity of gain which the prevalent excitement af- forded, and crowded the literary market with crude and superficial productions. Fichte accordingly commenc- ed an expository abridgment of Kant's Critique of the faculty of judgment. It was to be divided into two 48 MEMOIR OF FICHTE. parts, — the one devoted to the power of eesthetical, 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 inter- rupted 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 connection is the following passage from a letter written about this time to a literary friend : —