Schillers Philosophical Letters | Page 6

aloud of a pleasing anecdote or of a
beautiful poem, and my heart told me truly on these occasions that I
was only displeased at your carrying off the laurels because these
passed from the head of author to that of the reader. A quick and deep
artistic appreciation of virtue is justly held to be a great aptitude for
virtue, in the same way as it is usual to have no scruple in distrusting
the heart of a man whose intelligence is slow to take in moral beauty.
You need not advance as an objection that, frequently, coupled with a

lively perception of a perfection, the opposite failing is found to coexist,
that evil-doers are often possessed with strong enthusiasm for what is
excellent, and that even the weak flame up into enthusiasm of
herculean growth. I know, for example, that our admired Haller, who
unmasked in so manly a spirit the sickly nothingness of vain honors; a
man whose philosophical greatness I so highly appreciated, that he was
not great enough to despise the still greater vanity of an order of
knighthood, which conferred an injury on his greatness. I am convinced
that in the happy moment of their ideal conceptions, the artist, the
philosopher, and the poet are really the great and good man whose
image they throw out; but with many this ennobling of the mind is only
an unnatural condition occasioned by a more active stirring of the
blood, or a more rapid vibration of the fancy: it is accordingly very
transient, like every other enchantment, disappearing rapidly and
leaving the heart more exhausted than before, and delivered over to the
despotic caprice of low passions. I expressly said more exhausted than
before, for universal experience teaches that a relapsing criminal is
always the most furious, and that the renegades of virtue seek
additional sweets in the arms of crime to compensate for the heavy
pressure of repentance.
I wished to establish, my Raphael, that it is our own condition, when
we feel that of another, that perfection becomes ours for the moment
during which we raise in ourselves the representation of it; that the
delight we take in truth, beauty, and virtue shows itself when closely
analyzed to be the consciousness of our individual ennobling and
enriching; and I think I have proved this.
We have ideas of the wisdom of the highest Being, of His goodness, of
His justice, but none of His omnipotence. To describe His omnipotence,
we help ourselves by the graduated representation of three successions:
Nothing, His Will, and Something. It is waste and empty; God calls on
light; and there is light. If we had a real idea of His operative
omnipotence we should be creators, as He.
Accordingly, every perfection which I perceive becomes my own; it
gives me joy, because it is my own; I desire it, because I love myself.

Perfection in nature is no property of matter, but of spirits. All spirits
are happy through their perfection. I desire the happiness of all souls,
because I love myself. The happiness which I represent to myself
becomes my happiness; accordingly I am interested in awakening these
representations, to realize them, to exalt them; I am interested in
diffusing happiness around me. Whenever I produce beauty, excellence,
or enjoyment beyond myself, I produce myself; when I neglect or
destroy anything, I neglect, I destroy myself. I desire the happiness of
others, because I desire my own; and the desire of the happiness of
others we call benevolence and love.
LOVE.
Now, my most worthy Raphael, let me look round. The height has been
ascended, the mist is dissipated; I stand in the midst of immensity, as in
the middle of a glowing landscape. A purer ray of sunlight has clarified
all my thoughts. Love is the noblest phenomenon in the world of souls,
the all-powerful magnet in the spiritual sphere, the source of devotion
and of the sublimest virtue. Yet love is only the reflection of this single
original power, an attraction of the excellent, based upon an
instantaneous permutation of individuality, an interchange of being.
When I hate, I take something from myself; when I love, I become
richer by what I love. To pardon is to recover a property that has been
lost. Misanthropy is a protracted suicide: egotism is the supremest
poverty of a created being.
When Raphael tore himself from my embrace my soul was rent in
twain, and I weep over the loss of my nobler half. On that holy
evening--you must remember it--when our souls first communed
together in ardent sympathy, all your great emotions became my own,
and I only entered into my unvarying right of property over your
excellence; I was prouder to love you than to be loved by you,