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his own true nature. "A letter," he says, "is a regular piece of work, and it must in its peculiar manner be applied to, even while it comes from, the heart." And these letters combine a vigor of thought with the impulsiveness of a warm


In former pages of the Examiner, the character and works of Schleiermacher have been discussed, and honor has been paid to his wide influence and peculiar position as reformer, preacher, and thinker; and it is unnecessary to dwell here upon all that this influence has already exercised, and is yet to exercise. It is interesting to see, in these private letters to intimate friends, how the greatness of the man betrays itself, the largeness of his aims, and the generosity of his habit of thought. While there is no summing up of work done, always rather a regret for the little that has been accomplished, they show the industry and close application of the German student from his earliest years. There is constant allusion to labor, the variety of which would astonish even an American, to which his letters are a mere interruption, labor upon such things as critical writings, contributions to the Athenæum, and other literary essays, his Discourses upon Religion, his translation of Plato, etc., all being incidental to his duties. as a preacher. He exclaims:

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"You see I am again brought up at the beginning of the fifth Discourse. Why are beginnings so difficult? It seems as if ideas followed the law of gravitation. The heavier ones collect toward the centre, and the lighter ones lose themselves so gradually in the general space surrounding, that one in vain seeks for the outer beginning of the line of attraction, and in the end is obliged to determine arbitrarily the limits of this atmosphere by some one decisive sentence.”—Vol. I. p. 220.

The earlier part of the first volume of this work is devoted mostly to the correspondence between Schleiermacher and his father and mother. Many of these letters were written at the time of his separation from the Moravian community, and his breaking his connection with that sect, leaving the Moravian institution at Barby, and establishing himself at Halle, much to the anxiety and sorrow of his father. In his letters to him, explaining his dissatisfaction with the narrowing limits of the Moravian institutions, while he speaks decisively of his

own opinions, it is always with tenderness toward those of his father. It is among these letters that we find this concise expression of opinion:

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"I cannot believe that he who only called himself the Son of man was the ever-true God; I cannot believe that his death was an intercessory atonement; because he nowhere expresses it so, and because I cannot believe it was necessary. For God, since he has not created men for perfection, but only to strive for it, could not possibly punish them because they are not perfect."— Vol. I. p. 45.

It is interesting to find how the mind of Schleiermacher preserved its consistency of opinion, for we find him, more than forty years afterwards, writing to his wife thus:

"I have something at heart to say about your letter to Hildchen, dearest mother. You are constantly in the habit of speaking always of the Saviour, and allowing God to remain in the background. If indeed it is the Saviour who speaks to us through nature, then must there be no longer a direct relation with God permitted. And yet he himself glorifies that we through him should come to God, and that the Father abides with us. The true simplicity of Christianity perishes otherwise in an arbitrary way, such as Christ himself would not have approved of. May the poor child only not become confused between your manner of teaching and mine! Dearest heart, hold fast to this, with Christ and through him, to rejoice freshly and joyfully in God, our Father and his."— Vol. II. p. 434.

The latter part of the first volume, and the first part of the second, contain the most interesting letters. They embrace the period of Schleiermacher's residence in Berlin as preacher at the Charité hospital there, at Stolpe as court preacher, at Halle as professor, and again at Berlin as professor, "at the earlier period of his life, while he stood alone in the world, when it was a necessity of his heart to express all that moved his inner life by the most intimate communications with friends, both men and women." (Preface, pp. 8, 4.)

His letters to his sister give more of a journal of Schleiermacher's life than we find in his other letters. He seemed to consider it a duty to sit down, two or three times a year, and give her an account of his doings, the friends he had made, and his manner of thought. As she was still attached to the

Moravian community, these were frequently at variance with her views; and his letters therefore often assume a defensive tone. In one of them he says:

"Tell me, dear, do you not act too closely upon the system of social life which prevails in the Moravian community? and do you not bring too little into account the difference between the community and the world? In the community, one is educated by solitude and silent meditation; in the world, this education can only be gained by manifold and well-combined activity. These are two different ways, but both are good; and every man has only to see that he hits upon that which is suitable to his nature, and that he places himself fairly where he can best follow this out. A man who wishes to develop himself rather in affairs, or as the family friend in many different homes, would be a very superfluous person in the community; indeed, he would there be worthy of blame, and would in every way do much better to remove himself from it, because he could not adapt himself to the community principles. But of as little use in the world would that man be who wished to shut himself up within himself, and live in your way. He would fill his place in life but poorly, and, in the midst of the world, would be but a member of the community, and would do better to go into it. I could promise to find in the world a hundred thousand respectable men who would not understand you at all when you say that this multifarious life, this divided interest, hinders self-observation and the knowledge of one's own heart. They would say such was the only means of arriving at such a knowledge. We cannot learn to know ourselves, nor at the same time to know other men, if we do not see active life; and much must remain hidden in our natures if not brought out by new and varying relations and events. You see how different the points of view may be, and will also easily see that each may be right in its own way. It is with the soul as with the body: the body, if accustomed to a small and sparing diet, may easily be affected by something in itself apparently small. One accustomed to stronger and more frequent incentives requires more active provocatives to produce any effect. The first is your case, in your quiet and simple life; little things to which one is not susceptible in the world lead you to meditation, and disclose something to you. This is a privilege; and I give thanks to my community life that I possess it in a higher grade than men whom I know in the world, who require to be thrown into a great excitement to gain any profit. . . . .


"There is, indeed, a true intermediate position between a business and worldly life and a life among the brethren. In order to compare

both points of view, take this to heart: every man must, by all means, stand in a position of moral companionship; he must have one or more human beings with whom he can share his innermost being, heart, and conduct; nothing must be possible to him which he cannot somewhere share outside of himself. All this lies in the Divine expression, 'It is not good for man to be alone.'" Vol. I. pp. 214, et seq.

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Schleiermacher in after life often speaks of the Moravians with affection, and acknowledges the happy influence which their teachings had upon him early in life. To these influences in a great part, indeed, may have been due much of the fervor of his after-writings. As late as 1817, he writes thus, after visiting a community, to his wife :

"I have always a very peculiar feeling when I visit the Moravians; a great part of my youth, and the decisive moment for the whole development of my life, stand before me. This transition point, however incidental it may appear on one side, on all others seems of such importance to me, that I can scarcely think of myself without it. And, little as it would suit me to live within the timid limitations of a Moravian community, yet its simple, quiet life floats toward me, in opposition to the frivolous, noisy world, in such a way that I think and feel that, remodelled in a measure to suit the spirit of the time, it might become something noble, and worthy of envy." - Vol. II. p. 326.

His sister, in her quiet community, anxious for his marriage, which she believed necessary to his complete happiness, appears to have disliked his friendships with married women. In this, too, he frequently defends himself. In speaking of his friendship for Madame Herz, the wife of a physician in Berlin, he says:

"It is a friendship truly intimate and cordial, in which the question of man and woman does not enter. Is not this easily imagined? Why it has not been mixed up in our friendship, and why it will not be, indeed, is another question; but one not difficult to answer. She has never made such an impression on me as would disturb the peace of my heart; and whoever understands the expression of his feelings, easily recognizes in them anything of a passionate nature. And if I gave play to external influences, I should find she had no fascinating power over me there. Her face is indeed incontestably beautiful, while her grand and queenly figure is so sorely the opposite of mine, that, if I could figure to myself that we should ever both be free, and

should love each other, and might marry each other, I should always find so much that is laughable and distasteful to me on this side, that I could disregard it only on very weighty grounds. Of our intercourse together I must have said quite enough to you; but if you would know more of it, ask me; for I am anxious that you should understand it all completely."- Vol. I. p. 273.

At this period Schleiermacher entered into a close friendship with Friedrich Schlegel, which continued through many years; an intimacy (as we are told in the Preface to the second part of the first volume) that, "more from internal reasons than from outward circumstances, if not wholly dissolved, passed at last far in the background." We quote the account that Schleiermacher gives his sister of the manner in which they "set up housekeeping" with each other.

He had previously thus described Schlegel :

"He is a young man of twenty-five years, of knowledge so broad that it is hard to understand how it is possible, with so much youth, to know so much, of an original mind, which even here, where there is already so much mind and talent, yet surpasses all, and with manners of peculiar unaffectedness, openness, and childlike youthfulness, whose harmony with each other is perhaps the most remarkable part of all.

"Nota bene, he bears my Christian name; he is called Friedrich ; he is like me in many natural defects; he is not musical, does not draw, does not like French, and has weak eyes."— Vol. I. pp. 169, et seq.

"A glorious change in my existence does Schlegel's living with me make! How new it is for me that I need only open my door in order to speak to a reasonable being, that I can give and receive a 'goodmorning' as soon as I wake, that somebody sits opposite me at dinner, and that I can have some one with whom to share the good spirits that I am accustomed to rejoice in, in the evening. Schlegel gets up usually an hour earlier than I do, because, on account of my eyes, I do not venture to burn a light in the morning; and my hours are such that I do not get my full sleep before half past eight. But he lies in bed and reads. I wake commonly at the tinkling of his coffee-cup. From his bed, he can open the door that separates his room from my sleeping-chamber, and so we begin our morning talk. When I have breakfasted, we work some hours without regard to each other; but usually there is a little pause before dinner, for eating an apple, (of

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