At this point in reading Theo's comments I couldn't help but consider his point. Herein lies the irony—in this newly published volume, Theo condemns the unknown person's indiscretion in reading Jo's intimate words—words that I myself had read just a few pages before. Jo's comments in her next letter go even further in strengthening the validity of Theo's point:

Once again, I felt a pang of guilt—despite being separated from the private thoughts of these two young lovers by more than a century. At the same time, however, I had to consider that one irony was laid on top of another. Jo finds it "appalling" that a stranger would read the intimate correspondence between two people—and yet it was she herself who would, years later, organize and edit the very first volume of letters between her late husband, Theo and his dear brother, Vincent. Did Jo have any reservations concerning the ethics of publishing these letters? Quite possibly, since she took it upon herself to edit many portions of the letters—including, not surprisingly, details about Theo's involvements with other women before meeting Jo.

I was unable to forget Jo's comments, however, as I continued on through the collection of letters. Theo and Jo loved each other a great deal—their correspondence makes this abundantly clear. The letters often contain love-struck whisperings between the amorous couple. They planned for their future together, but at the same time complained of the enduring emotional pain caused by the separation preceding their wedding. I think that my feelings of voyeuristic guilt became most acute after reading Letter 36 (2 February 1889) from Jo to Theo. Jo's tone is cheerful and chatty as she discusses social gatherings with friends, the details of the new apartment in Paris the newlyweds would share—the linens that they would need for their dining room. It's the closing salutation, however, that I found the most touching, but at the same time, the most uncomfortable to read:

Once more I had to consider the ethics of reading such private and intimate thoughts—thoughts which, in this specific excerpt at least, shed no new light on Vincent van Gogh's life and works. And, again one irony is piled on top of another as I consider that I wrestle with these thoughts, while at the same time deliberately publish Jo's words on the World Wide Web—making her private whisperings easily available to people from around the world. Am I as guilty and indiscreet as the anonymous reader of Letter 19? Is the Van Gogh Museum? It's an interesting question.

Does time form part of the equation? Most people wouldn't have any ethical issues about reading similar written intimacies between, say, a Roman soldier living in 300 BC and his distant wife. At the same time, few would fail to condemn the publication of the personal letters of any public figure alive and well today. Somehow more than two millennia are able to erase any ethical qualms and transform intimate words into an interesting anthropological discovery. But this is oversimplifying one critical point—that Roman soldier and his wife are long dead. Well, so too are Theo and Jo. But has it been long enough?

Before considering further, I'm reminded of Vincent's own feelings of privacy and discretion. Shortly after Vincent moved to Nuenen, where he would paint his first masterpieces, he struck up an affair with the young woman living next door, Margot Begemann. The little we know is that their relationship was turbulent—ultimately culminating in Margot attempting suicide. Vincent wrote to Theo:

Given his forceful request to Theo to keep the news to himself, what would Vincent have thought of having the letter published in countless volumes of the correspondence—and now, complete with a convenient hyperlink, on the internet?

Questions deserve answers. In essence: does the cultural and academic value of the collected correspondence outweigh any (arguably oversensitive) issues of privacy? Again, the whole issue is complex enough that a simple "yes" or "no" would be a gross oversimplification.

Having said that, I have no choice but to conclude that—yes—the collected correspondence of Vincent, Theo and Jo (to say nothing of the Bernard letters, the Gauguin letters, etc.) are far too important and insightful to distract the reader with the ethical considerations I've discussed. While it's true that much of the correspondence—particularly the newly published letters between Theo and Jo—delve into the simple day to day niceties of a young couple in love, each letter, arguably, reveals some new facet of their lives that do indeed contribute to a better appreciation and understanding of Vincent van Gogh and his family.

Indeed, even those letters which don't focus specifically on Vincent van Gogh nevertheless present the reader with beautiful and touching commentary. In Letter 41 (9-10 February 1889), for example, Theo writes to Jo about attending a performance of Beethoven's Sixth Symphony. Theo describes the music as something:

Theo's emotional and poetic description clearly shows that his skills as a writer were just as perceptive and brilliant as those of his brother.

Ultimately, there's no question that the Van Gogh Museum has done a tremendous service by publishing the letters of Theo and Johanna. The Museum is currently working on a new edition of the complete letters of Vincent van Gogh-—a project years in the undertaking--and this, too, should be applauded.

I probably wouldn't have even considered the ethical issues of "privacy versus history" if it weren't for that stray Letter 19 from Jo to Theo. But in a way, I'm glad that the 110 year old letter did go missing for a few days. The points are interesting to consider, but in the end the letters—no matter how intimate—are absolutely invaluable.

Nothing better affirms my point than to contemplate what Theo writes to Jo in Letter 35 (1 February 1889). Here Theo writes about the arguably coarse and ugly subjects that Vincent chose to paint (he's likely thinking of his brother's time spent with the prostitute, Sien--depicted powerfully by Vincent in "Sorrow"). Consider for one last time the ethical issues of publishing the most private of correspondence in the most public of venues—and then reflect on Theo's words to Jo: