Dear friend,
However could you think that I should scoff at any of your magnanimous effusions? The forms in which we endeavour to gain comfort in our miserable circumstances depend wholly upon our nature, our wants, the character of our culture and of our more or less artistic sensations. Who could be heartless enough to believe that to him alone the true form has been revealed? Only he could think so who has never fashioned for himself such a form of his hope and faith, but into whose dull mind it has been instilled from outside as someone else's formula, who therefore does not possess sufficient inner power to preserve his own empty existence by dint of vital instinct, and who thus again communicates the formula received from others as a formula for others. He who himself longs and hopes and believes will surely rejoice in the hope and faith of others; all contention about the true form is mere empty self-assertion.
Dear friend, I also have a strong faith, on account of which I have been bitterly scoffed at by our politicians and sages of the law. I have faith in the future of the human race, and that faith I draw simply from my inner necessity. I have succeeded in observing the phenomena of nature and of history with love and without prejudice, and the only evil I have discovered in their true essence is lovelessness. But this lovelessness also I explain to myself as an error, an error which must lead us from the state of natural unconsciousness to the knowledge of the solely beautiful necessity of love. To gain that knowledge is the task of history; and the scene on which that knowledge will be practically shown is none other than our earth, than nature, in which there are all the germs tending to this blissful knowledge. The state of lovelessness is the state of suffering for the human race; the fullness of this suffering surrounds us now, and tortures your friend with a thousand burning wounds; but, behold, in it we recognize the glorious necessity of love: we call to each other and greet each other with the power of love, which would be impossible without this painful recognition. In this manner we gain a power of which man in his natural state has no idea, and this power, expanded to the power of all humanity, will in the future create on this earth a state of things from which no one will long to fly to a hereafter henceforth become unnecessary; for all will be happy, will live and love. Who longs to fly from this life while he loves? Well, well, we suffer now. We now should despair and go mad without faith in a hereafter; I also believe in a hereafter, and have just shown you this hereafter. If it lies beyond my life, it does not lie beyond that which I can feel, think, conceive, and comprehend; for I believe in mankind, and require nothing further. I now ask you, who at the bottom of his heart shares my faith more than do you, who believe in me, who know and demonstrate love as no one else has proved and practiced it yet? You realize your faith in every moment of your life; I know deeply and inly what you believe; how then could I scoff at the form from which such a miracle springs? I should not be as much of an artist as I am if I did not joyfully understand you. Let us bravely fight and struggle; then all whims will disappear. That I must remain so far from my battlefield is what makes me complain so often.
Well, my highest hope will be fulfilled: I shall see you again. This implies everything that can give joy to me; and I am sure that at your arrival, and through means of it, you will find me so elated that you will take my present and past complaints for pure hypocrisy. My nerves, it is true, suffer a great deal, and for a very natural reason. But I am now in hopes of strengthening them thoroughly; for that I shall want a little life: the medical cure alone will not be sufficient. That life you will bring to me, and I promise you that you will find me hale and hearty. I am almost glad that you are not coming to my musical performances here, which will take place May 18th, 20th, and 22nd; we shall afterwards be more by ourselves, belong to each other more. Oh, how I rejoice in the thought! You will find everything comfortable with me; the devil of luxury has taken hold of me, and I have arranged my house as pleasantly as possible. When the real thing is wanting, one does what one can to help oneself. Well, come; you will find me half mad; you, you, you, and no one else! What further shall I say in reply? I find I have taken to chatting on the main thing. S.'s judgment of my poem satisfies my vanity-I mean, because it proves my judgment. In spite of all, I took S. from the beginning for a confirmed litterateur whom you for a moment had carried away with you, but only for a moment. A litterateur cannot understand me; only a complete man or a true artist can. Leave it alone; it will be all right. When once I have cast everything aside to dive up to the ears into the fount of music, it will sound so well that people shall hear what they cannot see. We must have a long talk about my further practical plans as to the performance. All scribbled things are absolutely distasteful to me, and it is the greatest effort to me to read the musical paper. I wish that all this had no reference to me; let the people do for their own sakes what they think they ought not to omit; what was necessary for me you have done.
Dearest, dearest friend, do not think that I meant to reproach you when recently again I wrote with furious impatience about my return to Germany. I do this quite at random; I call out when I am in pain, but I accuse no one, certainly you least of all. You are unfortunate in being so near to my heart; for that reason you hear everything that I sigh and complain of violently and painfully. Be not angry, and forgive me cordially. I will write to the Hereditary Grand Duke, because it gives me pleasure. Enough for today; my fingers are becoming cramped. But how many, many things I shall have to say to you. I keep everything for that occasion, and have really not written to you once about your performance of my operas, of which quite recently again I heard such wonders.
Richard Wagner
Source: Project Gutenberg eBook #3835, Correspondence of Wagner and Liszt — Volume 1, No. 107