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 48 MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
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 50 MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
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 profound- est 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 52 MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
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.
" I am so convinced of a certain sacrifice of honour in thus placing it in pledge, that the very necessity of giving you this assurance seems to deprive me of a part of it myself; and the deep shame winch thus falls upon me is the reason why I cannot make an applica tion of this kind verbally, for I must have no witnesses of that shame. My honour seems to me really doubt ful until the engagement be fulfilled, because it is always possible for the other party to suppose that I may never fulfil it. Thus I know, that if you, sir, F 2 •54 MEMOIR OF FICHTE, should consent to my request, I would think of you. with heartfelt respect and gratitude indeed, but yet with a kind of shame; and that only after I had re deemed my word would it be possible for me to call to mind with perfect satisfaction an acquaintance with which I hope to be honoured during life. I know that these feelings arise from temperament, not from principle, and are perhaps reprehensible; but I cannot eradicate them until principle has acquired sufficient strength to take their place, and so render them super fluous. Thus far, however, I can rely upon my princi ples, that, were I capable of forfeiting my word pledged to you, I should despise myself for ever afterwards, and could never again venture to cast a glance into my own soul; — principles which constantly reminded me of you, and of my own dishonour, must needs be cast aside altogether, in order to free me from the most painful self-reproach.
" If I were well assured of the existence of such a mode of thinking as this in a man, I would do that for him with confidence which I now ask from you. How, and by what means, I could assure myself, were I in your place, of the existence of such principles, is likewise clear to me.
"If it be permitted me to compare very great things with very small, I argue from your writings, most honoured sir, a character in their author above the ordinary mass of men, and, before I knew anything at all of your mode of acting in common life, I would have ventured to describe it as I now know it to be. For myself, I have only laid open before you a small part of my nature, at a time however when the idea never occurred to me of making such a use of your LETTER TO KANT. 55 acquaintance, and my character is not sufficiently formed to express itself fully; — but to compensate for this, you are without comparison a better judge of men than I am, and perhaps may have perceived, even from the little you have seen of me, whether or not a love of truth and honour belongs to my character.
" Lastly, — and I add this with shame, — if I should be found capable of forfeiting my pledge, my worldly reputation is in your hands. It is my intention to become an author in my own name, and when I leave Konigsberg, I wish to request from you introductions to some literary men of your acquaintance. To these, whose good opinion I would then owe to you, it would be your duty to communicate my disgrace; as it would generally Be a duty, I think, to warn the world against a person of such incorrigible character as he must needs be who could approach a man whose atmosphere is untainted by falsehood, and, by assuming the out ward mien of honesty, deceive his acuteness, and so laugh to scorn ah1 virtue and honour.
" These were the considerations, sir, which induced me to write this letter. I am very indifferent about that which does not lie within my power, more indeed through temperament and personal experience, than on principle. It is not the first time that I have been in difficulties out of which I could see no way; but it would be the first time that I remained in them, if I did so now. Curiosity as to what is to come of it, is generally all that I feel in such emergencies. I merely adopt the means which appear the best to my mind, and then calmly await the consequence. And I can do this the more easily in the present case, that I place 56 MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
it in the hands of a good and wise man. But in another point of view I send off this letter with un wonted anxiety. Whatever may be your determina tion, I shall lose something of comfort and satisfaction in my relation towards you. If it be in the affirma tive, I can indeed again acquire what I have lost; — if in the negative, never.
****** " For the tone which predominates in this letter, I cannot, sir, ask your pardon. It is one of the distinc tions of sages, that he who speaks to them, speaks as a man to men. As soon as I can venture to hope that I do not disturb you, I shall wait upon you, to learn your resolution; and I am, with heartfelt reve rence and admiration," &c. &c. &c.
It is difficult to conceive of any circumstances short of absolute inability, which could induce a man of refined sentiments, and especially a scholar and a philo sopher, to refuse the request contained in this singular letter. We are not informed of the cause of Kant's refusal, and can therefore only hope that it arose from no motive less honourable than that which animated his noble-minded suitor. It is proper to state that Fichte continued, after this occurrence, to regard Kant with the same sentiments of deep admiration, and even reverence, which he had previously entertained towards him. But the request was refused, and Fichte once more reduced to extremity. He endeavoured to dis pose of the manuscript of his " Kritik aller Offenba- rung;" — but Hartung, the bookseller to whom Kant recommended him to apply, was from home, and he offered it in vain to any other. The very heroism of " KRITIK ALLER OFFENBARUNG." 57 his life seemed to be the source of his ever-recurring difficulties; — and truly, he who has resolved to lead a life of high purpose and endeavour, must be content to relinquish the advantages which are the common reward of plodding worldliness or successful knavery. He does relinquish them without a murmur, or rather he never seeks them; — his thoughts aspire to a loftier recompense, and that he does surely attain.
But light once more dawned on these dark and hopeless prospects; and that from a quarter whence it was least of all expected. When the little money which he had remaining was almost entirely exhausted, he received an invitation, through the Court-preacher Schulz, to..a tutorship in the family of the Count of Krokow, in the neighbourhood of Dantzig. Although, as we have seen, his views were now directed to a life of literary exertion, yet necessity compelled him to accept this proposal; and he entered on his new em ployment, experiencing the most friendly reception and the kindest attentions. The amiable character and excellent abilities of the Countess rendered his resi dence in her family not only happy, but interesting and instructive; — his letters at this period are full of her praises. This fortunate appointment was but the beginning of many years of uninterrupted prosperity which now awaited him. Fortune seemed at last to have tired of her relentless persecutions, and now re solved to shine graciously upon his path.
Through the instrumentality of his friends at K6- nigsberg he now made arrangements with Hartung for the publication of his " Kritik aller Offenbarung." An unexpected difficulty, however, prevented its im- 58 MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
mediate appearance. When the book was submitted to the censorship of the Dean of the Theological Fa culty at Halle, where it was to be printed, he refused his sanction on account of the principle contained in it, — That no proof of the divinity of a Revelation can be derived from an appeal to Miracles occurring in connexion with it, but that the question of its au thenticity can be decided only by an examination of its contents. Fichte urged that his book was a philo sophical, not a theological essay, and that therefore it did not properly come under the cognizance of the Theological Faculty; but this plea was urged in vain. His friends advised him to withdraw the obnoxious passages; even Schulz, who united theological ortho doxy with his ardent Kantism, advised him to do so. But on this point Fichte was inflexible; he determined that the book should be printed entire, or not printed at ah1. He resolved, however, to consult Kant on the subject, as the highest authority to whom he could appeal. As this question has now begun to excite some interest in the philosopbico-theological world of England and America, it is deemed advisable to insert here the gist of this correspondence, embodying as it does the views of two most eminent men, who, both by their mental endowments and by their po sition in life, were better qualified than most other men to give an impartial judgment on the matter at issue.
" A friend whom I respect has written to me a kind and touching letter upon this subject, in which he GROUNDS OF BELIEF IN REVELATION. 59 requests that, in the event of a possible revision of the work during the delay which has occurred in printing, I should endeavour to set two points, upon which we are at issue, in another light. I have said, that faith in a given Revelation cannot reasonably be founded upon belief in Miracles, because no miracle is demonstrable as such; but I have added in a note, that it may be allowable to employ the idea of Miracles having occurred in connexion with a Revelation, in order to direct the attention of those who need the aid of outward and sensible manifestations to the other sufficient grounds upon which the Revelation may be received as divine; — the only modification of the former principle which I can admit. I have said, further, that a Revelation cannot extend the materials either of our dogmatic or our moral knowledge; but I admit, that upon trans cendental objects, in the fact of whose existence we believe, but can know nothing whatever of the mode of that existence, it may furnish us with something in the room of experience, — something which, for those who so conceive of such matters, shall possess a sub jective truth, — which, however, is not to be received as a substantial addition to, but only as an embodied and formal manifestation of, those spiritual things possessed by us a priori. Notwithstanding continued reflection upon these points, I have hitherto discovered nothing which can justify me in altering my conclusions. May I venture to ask you, sir, as the most competent judge, to tell me in two words, whether any other results upon these points are to be sought for, and if so, in what direction; — or if these are the only grounds on which a critique of the Revelation-idea can safely proceed? If you will favour me with these 60 MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
two words of reply, I shall make no use of them incon sistent with the deep respect I entertain for you. As to my friend's letter, I have already said in answer, that I do not cease to give my attention to the sub ject, and shall always be ready to retract what I am convinced is erroneous.
" As to the prohibition of the censor, after the clearly -declared object of the essay, and the tone which predominates throughout its pages, I can only wonder at it. I cannot understand where the Theo logical Faculty acquired the right to apply their cen sorship to such a mode of treating such a subject."
" You desire to be informed by me whether any remedy can be found against the strict censorship under which your book has fallen, without entirely laying it aside. I answer, none; — so far as, without having read the book thoroughly, I can determine from what your letter announces as its leading princi ple, namely, — ' that faith in a given Revelation cannot reasonably be founded on a belief in Miracles.'
" For it inevitably follows from this, that a reli gion can contain only such articles of faith as likewise belong to the province of Pure Reason. This princi ple is in my opinion quite unobjectionable, and neither abolishes the subjective necessity of a Revelation, nor of Miracle, (for it may be assumed, that whether or not it might have been possible for Reason, unaided by Revelation, to have discovered those articles of faith, which, now when they are actually before us, may indeed be comprehended by Reason; — yet it may have FAITH IN REVELATION. 61 been necessary to introduce them "by Miracles, — which, however, now when religion can support it self and its articles, need no longer be relied upon as the foundation of belief): — but according to the maxims which seem to be adopted by the censor, this principle will not carry you through. For, according to these, certain writings must be received into the profession of faith according to their letter, since it is difficult for human understanding to comprehend them, and much more for human reason to conceive of them as true; and hence they really need the continued support of Miracle, and thus only can become arti cles of reasonable belief. The view which represents Rev elation ^ as merely a sensible manifestation of these principles in accommodation to human weakness, and hence as possessed of subjective truth only, is not sufficient for the censor, for his views demand the recognition of its objective truth according to the letter.
" One way however remains open, to bring your book into harmony with the ideas of the censor: z. e. if you can make him comprehend and approve the distinction between a dogmatic belief raised above all doubt, and a mere moral admission resting on the insufficiency of reason to satisfy its own wants; for then the faith which good moral sentiment reposes upon Miracle may probably thus express itself: ' Lord, I believe' — that is, I receive it willingly, although I cannot prove it sufficiently — ' help thou mine un belief!' — that is, ' I have a moral faith in respect of all that I can draw from the miraculous narrative for the purposes of inward improvement, and I desire to possess an historical belief in so far as that can con- G 62 MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
tribute to the same end. My unintentional non-belief is not confirmed unbelief.' But you will not easily make this distinction acceptable to a censor who, it is to be feared, makes historical belief an unconditional religious duty.
" With these hastily, but not inconsiderately thrown out ideas, you may do whatever seems good to you (provided you are yourself convinced of their truth), without making any direct or indirect allusion to him who communicates them."
.iFtcfite to Uant.
" Your kind letter has given me much gratification, as well because of the goodness which so soon fulfilled my request, as on account of the matter it contains: upon that subject I now feel all the peace of mind which, next to one's own conviction, the authority of a man who is honoured above all other men can give.
" If I have rightly conceived your meaning, I have actually pursued in my work the middle course which you point out, — of distinguishing between an affirma tive belief, and a faith founded on moral considerations. I have endeavoured carefully to distinguish between that which, according to my principle, is the only possible and reasonable kind of faith in the divinity of a given Revelation (that faith, namely, which has for its object only a certain form of the truths of re ligion) — and the belief which accepts these truths in themselves as postulates of Pure Reason. This faith is only a free acceptance of the divine origin of a parti- " KRITIK ALLER OFFEXBARUXG." 03