h all others of his
race; and the more powerfully he is wrought upon by anything, the more
deeply it penetrates his inward nature, so much the stronger is this
social impulse, even if we regard it only from the point of view of
the universal endeavor to behold the emotions which we feel ourselves,
as they are exhibited by others, so that we may obtain a proof from
their example that our own experience is not beyond the sphere of
humanity.

[Illustration: FRIEDRICH SCHLEIERMACHER]

You perceive that I am not speaking here of the endeavor to make
others similar to ourselves, nor of the conviction that what is
exhibited in one is essential to all; it is merely my aim to ascertain
the true relation between our individual life and the common nature
of man, and clearly to set it forth. But the peculiar object of this
desire for communication is unquestionably that in which man feels
that he is originally passive, namely, his observations and emotions.
He is here impelled by the eager wish to know whether the power which
has produced them in him be not something foreign and unworthy. Hence
we see man employed, from his very childhood, in communicating those
observations and emotions; the conceptions of his understanding,
concerning whose origin there can be no doubt, he allows to rest in
his own mind, and still more easily he determines to refrain from
the expression of his judgments; but whatever acts upon his senses,
whatever awakens his feelings, of that he desires to obtain witnesses,
with regard to that he longs for those who will sympathize with him.
How should he keep to himself those very operations of the world upon
his soul which are the most universal and comprehensive, which appear
to him as of the most stupendous and resistless magnitude? How should
he be willing to lock up within his own bosom those very emotions
which impel him with the greatest power beyond himself, and in the
indulgence of which he becomes conscious that he can never understand
his own nature from himself alone? It will rather be his first
endeavor, whenever a religious view gains clearness in his eye, or a
pious feeling penetrates his soul, to direct the attention of others
to the same object, and, as far as possible, to communicate to their
hearts the elevated impulses of his own.

If, then, the religious man is urged by his nature to speak, it is the
same nature which secures to him the certainty of hearers. There is no
element of his b