Friedrich Schleiermacher · 3 of 30

Biographical Sketch. · Part 3

It was for Schleiermacher one of the penalties of greatness that his far-seeing wisdom, which made him so much in advance of his age, and his outspoken boldness in stating his independent opinions, compelled him, notwithstanding his peaceable and loving disposition, to be a man of war for the greater part of his life. In the question of proposed Church Reform, he declared that it was vain to attempt to improve the constitution of the clergy if the reform were not founded on a well-organized Christian presbyterian system, with extensive assemblies of elders chosen by the community; just as a truly free state-constitution is based on a free and living communal system.

In the great question of the union of the Reformed and Lutheran Churches he also took a very prominent part. The leading opponent of the union was Claus Harms of Kiel, who, in the beginning of his career, had owed so much to Schleiermacher’s Discourses. He held that such a union would be an apostasy, not only from Lutheranism, but from Christianity. But Schleiermacher, with deeper insight, pointed out that none of the Reformers had created a new thing; that they had only cleared the old, pure doctrine from the rubbish with which it had been overlaid, and that therefore the work of the Reformation was not to found a Lutheran Church, nor a Reformed Church, “but to bring forth in renewed glory the Evangelical Church, which is guided and governed by its founder, Jesus Christ, the eternal Son of God, . . . the quickening centre of the Church.”

From his letters during a holiday tour in 1818, we give a few short extracts:

“The cathedral (Prague) is a noble, but unfinished edifice, in Gothic style; . . . beneath it the history of Bohemia lies interred. . . . The people seem to be quite indifferent to all the beautiful monuments that surround them, and to all the great memories that are attached to them, and appear to be utterly unconscious that, with their Protestantism and their religious liberty, they lost all their dignity. . . . I was actually seized with a shudder—a religious shudder—at the sight of the immense Jesuit college, and with a political shudder at the equally gigantic palace of Wallenstein. But what shall I say of the ruinous state of churches and convents? Protestantism has been wrenched from the people with unheard-of cruelty, but Catholicism they cannot prevent from rotting among them.” “We received a visit from a Catholic ecclesiastic, who pleased me so much, that we parted from each other with a brotherly kiss and with tearful eyes.” [Munich] “Old Jacobi was actually moved on seeing me. We endeavoured to come to an understanding relative to our views, but we got no further than to under stand wherein the difference between us consists; and he always listened to me very good-naturedly when I told him that I thought his great mistake was that he confounded this difference with another.”

Schleiermacher’s family at this time consisted of two daughters of his own and an adopted daughter, besides the young Von Willichs; and in 1820 his joy received its crown in the birth of a son. He writes to his sister-in-law announcing the event, and says: “This time I had not felt so strong a wish that it should be a boy as on former occasions. I was too much penetrated by the feeling that we do not know what we wish for, more especially in the present times. But when it proved to be a boy, you may conceive with what joy and thankfulness I received him, and that my first prayer to God was, to be inspired with wisdom and power from above to educate the child to His glory.”

It was, alas! but a short time that the training of the boy was left in his hands.

In 1821 Schleiermacher published what is considered his chief theological work, The Christian Faith systematically presented according to the fundamental Propositions of the Evangelical Church, familiarly known as the Glaubenslehre. “The fundamental principle of this classical work” (we here quote from the Encyclopaedia Britannica) “is that religious feeling, the sense of absolute dependence on God, as communicated by Jesus Christ through the Church, and not the creeds, or the letter of Scripture, or the rationalistic under standing, is the source and law of dogmatic theology. It is therefore simply a description of the facts of religious feeling, or of the inner life of the soul in its relation to God, and these inward facts looked at in the various stages of their development, and presented in their inner connection. It aims . . . to put an end to the unreason and superficiality of both supernaturalism and rationalism, and to deliver theology from dependence on ever-changing systems of philosophy.”

This great work caused him fresh troubles, by arousing the bitter opposition of those whose systems he attacked. He also incurred anew the ill-will and suspicion of the government by his boldly contending for the right of the Church to frame her own liturgy, without the dictation of the king and his ministers. In 1824 he writes to Charlotte von Kathen: “My outward position is very precarious, perhaps more so than ever. The suspicions of demagogical tendencies in regard to me have, I trust, been allayed; but the ecclesiastical questions must soon be brought to a head, and should the result be violent measures, I must infallibly be one of the first victims. I cannot say that I am alarmed, or that in itself the thought of this troubles me; for in regard to these matters I know that I have done nothing but what t was bound to do; and I almost think I may say, also, that I have done all that I ought to do.”

And again, in 1827, to the same friend: “When you hear how constantly I am engaged in conflicts which I can not avoid without doing violence to my conscience, you will, I am sure, feel sorry that the last part of my life should be spent amid so much turmoil, and that I should be obliged to waste so much time on these matters, which, according to all appearance, might be used to much better purpose. However, I do not repine, but think, on the contrary, that it is all for the best; and when my book of life is made up, I shall have greater reason for thankfulness than most people. From what I have heard from several quarters, things seem this time to have been very near coming to a crisis. As for myself, I rarely know how these matters stand, and generally do not hear the worst until it has blown over. May it ever remain so; for it is my endeavour to do nothing that I may have to repent of after wards, and for the rest I leave the result to God.”

In the autumn of 1827 Schleiermacher and his wife took a journey into Galicia to bring home a second adopted daughter, a little child of Nanni’s sister, who had died there, leaving a young family. Thus in almost continual outward strife, but in home happiness and heart peace, the years sped on.

Schleiermacher’s only visit to England, a very short one, occurred in 1828. His companion on this journey was Alexander von Forstner, son-in-law of Charlotte von Kathen. On the way they spent a few days at Bonn with Nanni and her husband; and in a letter to his wife, Schleiermacher gives a pretty picture of Nanni’s little flock of five, one of whom “said a little prayer in the true Arndt style.” Arndt had been, so early as 1819, suspended from his professorship on a charge of “demagogic movements,” though allowed to retain his salary. It was not till 1840 that he was restored, when he was already above seventy. The brave old patriot lived to be ninety-one, and only died in 1860. Schleiermacher preached once in London, at the re-opening of the church of the Savoy.

In the following year a heart-breaking sorrow came upon him in the death of his only son, his little Nathanael, who was taken from him after a short illness, when only nine years old. The blow, he said, drove the nails into his own coffin; yet, with his wonted self-control, he would not allow his grief to hinder his work. He had delighted in helping the child with his lessons for the gymnasium, and having his bright companionship in his study; but on the very day of his funeral the mourning father took up again the burden of his daily duties, and “life,” he says, “goes on in its old grooves, but more slowly and more heavily.” His discourse at the child’s funeral, included in the present selection, is considered one of his finest.

The king seemed at last to become aware that it was possible for thorough devotion to the liberties of the people to exist in perfect harmony with utter fidelity to the sovereign, and in 1831 he conferred on Schleiermacher the Order of the Red Eagle, an honour which was valuable to him only as an assurance of the restored favour and confidence of the king. In the same year his faithful Lotte was taken to her rest. She had in her last days retired to the house of the Brethren in the city, to secure the quiet that had become desirable in her feeble state.

Schleiermacher’s habitual feeling towards his opponents may be understood from the following extract.

“Amid the various conflicts which I am necessarily exposed to in my career, and amid the numerous misunderstandings of the extreme parties on both sides, through which I am obliged to wind my way, it is ever a great encouragement to me when I discover even a faint glimmer that leads me to think that we hold the same goal in view, and are labouring for the same end. . . . Thus at least I learn to unite, quietly within myself, with many who believe themselves far distant from me, and herein dwells a peculiar life-giving energy.” He only grieved that profitless controversy inevitably consumed so much precious time, which he would gladly have used in more pleasant and lasting work.

In the midst of his other labours he took time to write to his step-son, Ehrenfried von Willich, wise and most loving counsels as to his studies, his companionships, and the future direction of his life. This young man obtained in 1831 a government appointment at Aix-la-Chapelle. To him the mother sends a pleasant picture of Schleiermacher in holiday guise. “I shall never forget the impression it made upon me to see dear father in his blue blouse, with his silvery white hair, as lively and youthful as a young lad about to wander forth into the world for the first time, giving a parting word to all, who pressed round him with joyful emotion.”

One other extract from the mother’s letters shows us a pleasant part of the family life. “Our Wednesday receptions are very much frequented, so that we cannot be said to live in great retirement. . . . The Wednesday evenings are often rendered doubly cheerful by a great number of young people. The circle of young maidens in our house is a spectacle which gladdens many hearts; and how this fresh and youthful circle gathered round your father embellishes and sweetens his old age, you will readily conceive.”

In the summer of 1833 Schleiermacher went, in company with his friend Count Schwerin, of Putzar, in Pornerania, on a tour which he said would be his last, “with the exception of the long one,” through Sweden, Norway and Denmark. His home letters during this journey are marked by a deepened tenderness, and still more, as we are assured by the translator of his letters, by the absence of every indication of the fact that his progress through the northern kingdoms was a continual ovation; his arrival in Copenhagen being hailed with the greatest enthusiasm, professors, students and distinguished men joining to honour him by a public banquet, winding up with a torchlight procession.

His last letter was written January 30th, 1834, to Ehrenfried von Willich. In it he speaks of the happy prospect of having all the children assembled in May to celebrate the silver wedding of the parents, refers to arrangements for the approaching marriage of one of the girls to the son of Count Schwerin, playfully enlarges on the wonderful accomplishments of the first grandchild, probably the child of Ehrenfried’s sister; and closes by saying he has been for three days confined to the house by a cough and hoarseness, but hopes to resume his usual work on the morrow. But his ailment suddenly developed inflammation of the lungs, and after a week of intense suffering, the great, brave, tender spirit passed away. His wife, in her notes of that week, relates that after the death film had already overspread his eyes, and his whole aspect was that of death, he suddenly raised himself, and in a clear and strong voice spoke out, “I have never clung to the dead letter; and we have the atoning death of Jesus Christ, His body and blood.” He then desired the things necessary for Communion to be quickly brought, and after solemn prayer, administered it to each of those present, while an expression of heavenly rapture spread over his features, and a strange lustre shone in his eyes. Finally he himself partook, adding, “On these words of the Scripture I rely; they are the foundation of my faith;” and after pronouncing the blessing, sank back on his pillow with a farewell word and look of love, and in a few minutes breathed his last, February 12th, 1834.

The sensation his death caused in Berlin, and indeed throughout Germany, was indescribable. The honour which had so often been withheld from him by prejudice and jealousy during his life was abundantly accorded to him in death. The carriages of the king and the crown prince were the foremost of a hundred that formed his funeral procession, thirty-six of the students who loved and revered him as a father shared the privilege of bearing his coffin to the grave, and the streets and the cemetery were thronged with weeping thousands, mourning for a teacher and a friend whose like they might never see again.