This was done. I was summoned before the court. My wife stated the grounds on which she claimed a divorce. The president of the court then said, "Under these circumstances we can do nothing but advise a divorce." "Mr. President," I replied, "we came here, not to ask advice, but to receive a judicial sentence." Thereupon the chief rabbi rose from his seat (that what he said might not have the force of a judicial decision,) approached me with the codex in his hand, and pointed to the following passage:—"A vagabond, who abandons his wife for years, and does not write to her or send her money, shall, when he is found, be obliged to grant a divorce." "It is not my part," I replied, "to institute a comparison between this case and mine. That duty falls to you, as judge. Take your seat again, therefore, and pronounce your judicial sentence on the case."
The president became pale and red by turns, while the rest of the judges looked at one another. At last the presiding judge became furious, began to call me names, pronounced me a damnable heretic, and cursed me in the name of the Lord. I left him to storm, however, and went away. Thus ended this strange suit, and things remained as they were before.
My wife now saw that nothing was to be done by means of force, and therefore she took to entreaty. I also yielded at last, but only on the condition, that at the judicial divorce the judge, who had shown himself such a master of cursing, should not preside in the court. After the divorce my wife returned to Poland with my son. I remained some time still in Breslau; but as my circumstances became worse and worse, I resolved to return to Berlin.[60]
[CHAPTER XXVIII.]
Fourth Journey to Berlin—Unfortunate Circumstances—Help—Study of Kant's Writings—Characteristic of my own Works.
When I came to Berlin, Mendelssohn was no longer in life,[61] and my former friends were determined to know nothing more of me. I did not know therefore what to do. In the greatest distress I received a visit from Herr Bendavid, who told me that he had heard of my unfortunate circumstances, and had collected a small sum of about thirty thalers, which he gave to me. Besides, he introduced me to a Herr Jojard, an enlightened and high-minded man, who received me in a very friendly manner, and made some provision for my support. A certain professor, indeed, tried to do me an ill turn with this worthy man by denouncing me as an atheist; but in spite of this I gradually got on so well, that I was able to hire a lodging in a garret from an old woman.
I had now resolved to study Kant's Kritik of Pure Reason, of which I had often heard but which I had never seen yet.[62] The method, in which I studied this work, was quite peculiar. On the first perusal I obtained a vague idea of each section. This I endeavoured afterwards to make distinct by my own reflection, and thus to penetrate into the author's meaning. Such is properly the process which is called thinking oneself into a system. But as I had already mastered in this way the systems of Spinoza, Hume and Leibnitz, I was naturally led to think of a coalition-system. This in fact I found, and I put it gradually in writing in the form of explanatory observations on the Kritik of Pure Reason, just as this system unfolded itself to my mind. Such was the origin of my Transcendental Philosophy. Consequently this book must be difficult to understand for the man who, owing to the inflexible character of his thinking, has made himself at home merely in one of these systems without regard to any other. Here the important problem, Quid juris? with the solution of which the Kritik is occupied, is wrought out in a much wider sense than that in which it is taken by Kant; and by this means there is plenty of scope left for Hume's scepticism in its full force. But on the other side the complete solution of this problem leads either to Spinozistic or to Leibnitzian dogmatism.