Schleiermacher to Henrietta Herz.
[LXXXIX.] Potsdam, 15th February, 1799.
I have read a dialogue in Plato, I have composed a little of the Discourses on Religion, I have written letters, in short, I have tried everything but good manners—and what should I do with these without society? But nothing has succeeded. Perhaps I shall be more successful to-morrow, when I shall have a penknife and be able to cut my pen to suit my hand. Ah, dear Jette, be generous and write often to me; that alone can keep me alive, for I cannot thrive in solitude. In truth, I am the most dependent and least self-sufficing of mortals; indeed, I sometimes doubt whether I be really an individual. I stretch out all my roots and leaves in search of affection; it is necessary for me to feel myself in immediate contact with it, and when I am unable to drink in full draughts of it, I at once dry up and wither. Such is my nature; there is no remedy for it; and, if there were, I should not wish to employ it.
In Landsberg, it is true, I was farther from you as regards space, but what is that? I was, nevertheless, not so blighted, and lived in a better climate. My last thought after you had bid me farewell, and had given me, in a few words, such a vivid consciousness of your friendship, was, that, after all, parting was a delightful thing: this was a blasphemous thought, yet deeply religious, and true, perhaps, if it were but parting to meet very soon again! But I will not harass your feelings. I know you will think often enough of me.
Do not forget in each letter to remind me of the Discourses on Religion, that they may not come to a standstill. I will give you a faithful account of my progress, but I think I shall not send any manuscript until I have completed the second discourse. I have discovered that they are not improved by my making clean copies of small portions at a time.
[XC.] Potsdam, 22nd February, 1799.
This morning I was very much depressed, dear friend, because I was disappointed in the hope of a letter from you. See how easily we are spoilt. This afternoon the letter came. My miserable epistle I suppose you have not yet received. Do not allow yourself to be too much affected by it; I dare say that, after all, there may be no truth in it. One thing is certain, however, and that is, that the Discourses on Religion have been sent to Sack to undergo his censorship. The first discourse may please him, but how will it be with the conclusion of the second? I am so afraid that he will strike out passages, for when he spoke to me about Fichte, he said that he objected to the confiscation of an atheistical work; yet if it were sent to him for examination, he would perhaps, nevertheless, refuse his imprimatur; and this discourse will probably seem to him little less than atheistic. It is very disagreeable, but what is to be done? The subsequent discourses will probably meet with his approbation. However, I will by no means disclose to him that I am the author; it would lead to no end of explanations, and, after all, there would be much that I should not succeed in making intelligible to him.
My relation to Schlegel you have judged with much acuteness; but you ought not to say that I did not confess it to myself, for I always admitted something of the kind when we spoke upon the subject. I never said that the temperament of Schlegel’s soul and of mine was the same, I merely contended against those who said that he had no soul. In what you say about kindred substances you are quite right; it is always they that separate us. In fact, you are the substance most closely akin to me. I know of no other, and there is none that can separate me from you.
The above was said, by the by; for we were speaking about Schlegel, but I made a long pause here. You must know, he wonders at the separation caused by the closely kindred substances, and this astonishment has a bad effect on our friendship. For the rest, the bond between us is not such a very loose one, as you think. If knowledge, wit, and philosophy have first to be subtracted, you must confess that they are not contemptible elements, and in a true man the two latter cannot by any means be held distinct from the soul. These qualities are not mere cement, and that which is bound together by them cannot be said to be held together by force.