NINTH EPOCH.

ONTOLOGY RE-ASSERTS ITS CLAIM.-THE DEMONSTRATION OF THE SUBJECTIVITY ONCE MORE LEADS TO IDEALISM.

CHAPTER I.

FICHTE.

SI. LIFE OF FICHTE.

JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE was born at Rammenau, a village lying between Bischofswerda and Pulsniz, in Upper Lusatia, on the 19th May, 1762.*

His childhood, of which many touching anecdotes are related, was signalized by extraordinary intellectual capacity and great moral energy. He was a precocious child, and long before he was old enough to be sent to school he learned many things from his father, who taught him to read, and taught him the pious songs and proverbs which formed his own simple stock of erudition. With these various studies was mixed an enchanting element-the stories of his early wanderings in Saxony and Franconia, stories to which young Johann listened with nevertiring eagerness. It was probably the vague longings which these recitals inspired, that made him wander into the fields, quitting his companions, boisterous in mirth, to roam away and enjoy the luxury of solitude, there to give vent to the indul

See the biography by Fichte's son-Fichte's Leben und literarischer Briefwechsel, 2 vols., 1836.

gence of those unspeakable longings. This pale and meditative child is at ease in solitude. He stands for hours, gazing in the far distance, or in mournful yearning at the silent sky overarching him. The sun goes down, and the boy returns home melancholy with the twilight. He does this so constantly that neighbors remark it; comment on it; and, in after-years, when that boy has become a renowned man, they recur to it with sudden pleasure, not forgetting also that they had "always said there was something remarkable in the boy."

Fichte's progress was so rapid that he was soon intrusted with the office of reading family prayers; and his father cherished the hope of one day seeing him a clergyman. An event curious in itself, and very important in its influence on his subsequent career, soon occurred, which favored that hope, and went far to realize it. But before we relate it we must give a touching anecdote, which exhibits Fichte's heroic self-command in a very interesting light.*

The first book which fell into his hands after the Bible and Catechism, was the renowned history of Siegfried the Horned, and it seized so powerfully on his imagination, that he lost all pleasure in any other employment, became careless and neglectful, and, for the first time in his life, was punished. Then, in the spirit of the injunction which tells us to cut off our right hand if it cause us to offend, Fichte resolved to sacrifice the beloved book, and, taking it in his hand, walked slowly to a stream flowing past the house, with the intention of throwing it in. Long he lingered on the bank, ere he could muster courage for this first self-conquest of his life; but at length, summoning all his resolution, he flung it into the water. His fortitude gave way as he saw the treasure, too dearly loved, floating away forever, and he burst into a passionate flood of tears. Just at this moment the father arrived on this spot, and the weeping child told what he

For both anecdotes we are indebted to a very interesting article on Fichte which appeared in the Foreign Quarterly Review, No. 71. We have abridged the passages; otherwise the narrative is unaltered.

had done; but either from timidity or incapacity to explain his feelings, was silent as to his true motive. Irritated at this treatment of his present, Fichte's father inflicted upon him an unusually severe punishment, and this occurrence formed a fitting prelude to his after-life, in which he was so often misunderstood, and the actions springing from the purest convictions of duty, were exactly those for which he had most to suffer. When a sufficient time had elapsed for the offence to be in some measure forgotten, the father brought home another of these seducing books; but Fichte dreaded being again exposed to the tempta tion, and begged that it might rather be given to some of the other children.

It was about this time that the other event before alluded to occurred. The clergyman of the village, who had taken a fancy to Gottlieb and often assisted in his instruction, happened one day to ask him how much he thought he could remember of the sermon of the preceding day. Fichte made the attempt, and, to the astonishment of the pastor, succeeded in giving a very tolerable account of the course of argument, as well as of the texts quoted in its illustration. The circumstance was mentioned to the Count von Hoffmansegg, the lord of the village, and one day another nobleman, the Baron von Mittiz, who was on a visit at the castle, happening to express his regret at having been too late for the sermon on the Sunday morning, he was told, half in jest, that it was of little consequence, for that there was a boy in the village who could repeat it all from memory. Little Gottlieb was sent for, and soon arrived in a clean smock-frock and bearing a large nosegay, such as his mother was accustomed to send to the castle occasionally as a token of respect. He answered the first questions put to him with his accustomed quiet simplicity; but when asked to repeat as much as he could recollect of the morning's sermon, his voice and manner became more animated, and, as he proceeded, entirely forgetting the presence of the formidable company, he became so fervid and abundant in his eloquence, that the Count thought it necessary to interrupt

him, lest the playful tone of the circle should be destroyed by the serious subjects of the sermon. The young preacher had however made some impression on his auditory; the Baron made inquiries concerning him, and the clergyman, wishing for nothing more than an opportunity to serve his favorite, gave such an account that the Baron determined to undertake the charge of his education. He departed, carrying his protégé with him, to his castle of Siebeneichen, in Saxony, near Meissen, on the Elbe; and the heart of the poor village boy sank, as he beheld the gloomy grandeur of the baronial hall, and the dark oak forests by which it was surrounded. His first sorrow, his severest trial, had come in the shape of what a misjudging world might regard as a singular piece of good fortune, and so deep a dejection fell on him, as seriously to endanger his health. His patron here manifested the really kindly spirit by which he had been actuated; he entered into the feelings of the child, and removed him from the lordly mansion to the abode of a country clergyman in the neighborhood, who was passionately fond of children, and had none of his own. Under the truly paternal care of this excellent man, Fichte passed some of the happiest years of his life, and to its latest day looked back to them with tenderness and gratitude. The affectionate care of this amiable couple, who shared with him every little domestic pleasure, and treated him in every respect as if he had been indeed their son, was always remembered by him with the liveliest sensibility, and certainly exercised a most favorable influence on his character.

In this family, Fichte received his first instruction in the languages of antiquity, in which, however, he was left much to his own efforts, seldom receiving what might be called a regular lesson. This plan, though it undoubtedly invigorated and sharpened his faculties, left him imperfectly acquainted with grammar, and retarded, in some measure, his subsequent progress at Schulpforte. His kind preceptor soon perceived the inefficiency of his own attainments for advancing the progress of so promising a pupil, and urged his patron to obtain for Fichte what appeared

to him the advantages of a high school. He was accordingly sent, first to Meissen, and afterwards to the seminary at Schulpforte.

There the system of fagging existed in full force, and with its usual consequences, tyranny on the one side, dissimulation and cunning on the other. Even Fichte, whose native strength of character in some measure guarded him from evil influences that might have been fatal to a mind of a feebler order, confesses that his life at Schulpforte was any thing but favorable to his integrity. He found himself gradually reconciled to the necessity of ruling his conduct by the opinion of the little community around him, and compelled to practice occasionally the same artifices as others, if he would not with all his talents and industry be always left behind.

Into this microcosm of contending forces the boy of thirteen, nurtured amidst lonely hills and silent forests, now found himself thrown. The monastic gloom of the buildings contrasted, at first, most painfully with the joyous freedom of fields and woods, where he had been accustomed to wander at will; but still more painfully, the solitude of the moral desert. Shy and shrinking within himself he stood, and the tears which furnished only subjects of mockery to his companions, were forced back, or taught to flow only in secret. Here, however, he learned the useful lesson of self-reliance, so well, though so bitterly taught by want of sympathy in those around us, and from this time to the close of his life it was never forgotten. It was natural that the idea of escape should occur to a boy thus circumstanced, but the dread of being retaken and brought back in disgrace to Schulpforte, occasioned hesitation. While brooding over this project, it happened that he met with a copy of Robinson Crusoe, and his enthusiasm, the enthusiasm of thirteen, was kindled into a blaze. The desert should be his dwelling-place! On some far-off island of the ocean, beyond the reach of men and the students of Schulpforte, he would pass golden days of freedom and happiIt was a common boyish notion, but the manner in which

ness.