THE ULTIMATE IDEAS
It now becomes necessary to consider in greater detail those
primary human conceptions of truth, beauty, and goodness, which
I have already referred to as the soul's "ultimate ideas." Let no one
think that any magical waving of the wand of modern psychology
can explain away these universal human experience. They may be
named by different appellations; but considering the enormous
weight of historical tradition behind these names it would seem
absurd and pedantic to attempt to re-baptize them at this late hour.
Human nature, in its essentials, has undergone no material change
since we have any record of it; and to use any other word than
"beauty" for what we mean by beauty, or than "goodness" for what
we mean by goodness, would seem a mere superstition of originality.
The interpretation offered, in what follows, of the existence
of these experiences is sufficiently startling to require no
assistance from novelty of phrasing to give it interest and
poignancy. That our souls are actually able to touch, in the
darkness which surrounds us, the souls of super-human beings,
and that the vision of such super-human beings is the "eternal
vision" wherein the mystery of love is consummated, is a doctrine
of such staggering implications that it seems wise, in making our
way towards it, to use the simplest human words and to avoid any
"stylistic" shocks.
It seems advisable also to advance with scrupulous leisureliness in
this formidable matter and at certain intervals to turn round as it
were, and survey the path by which we have come. The existence
of super-human beings, immeasurably superior to man, is in itself
a harmless and natural speculation. It is only when it presents itself
as a necessary link in philosophical discussion that it appears
startling. And the mere fact that it does appear startling when
introduced into philosophy shows how, lamentably philosophy has
got itself imprisoned in dull, mechanical, mathematical formulae;
in formulae so arid and so divorced from life, that the conception
of personality, applied to man or to the gods, seems to us as
exciting as an incredible fairy story when brought into relation
with them.
As the souls of men, then, each with its own complex vision, move
side by side along the way, or across one another's path, they are
driven by the necessity of things to exchange impressions with
regard to the nature of life. In their communications with one
another they become aware of the presence, at the back of their
consciousness, of an invisible standard of truth, of beauty, of
goodness. It is from this standard of beauty and truth and
goodness, from this dream, this vision, this hope, that all these
souls seem to themselves to draw their motive of movement.
But though they seem to themselves to be "moving" into an
indetermined future still to be created by their wills, they also
seem to themselves to be "returning" towards the discovery of that
invisible standard of beauty, truth and goodness, which has as their
motive-impulse been with them from the beginning. This implicit
standard, this invisible pattern and test and arbitrament of all
philosophizing, is what I call "the vision of the immortals." Some
minds, both philosophical and religious, seem driven to think of
this invisible pattern, this standard of truth and beauty, as the
_parent_ of the universe rather than as its offspring. I cannot bring
myself to take this view because of the fact that the ultimate
revelation of the world as presented, to man's complex vision is
essential and unfathomably _dualistic_.
A "parent" of the universe can only be thought of as a
stopping-place of all thought. He can only be _imagined_--for
strictly speaking he cannot be thought of at all--as some unutterable
mystery out of which the universe originally sprang. From this
unutterable mystery, to which we have no right to attribute either a
monistic or a pluralistic character, we may, I suppose, imagine to
emerge a perpetual torrent of duality.
Towards this unutterable mystery, about which even to say "it is"
seems to be saying too much, it is impossible for the complex
vision to have any attitude at all. It can neither love it nor hate it.
It can neither reject it nor accept it. It can neither worship it nor
revolt against it. It is only _imaginable_ in the illegitimate sense of
metaphor and analogy. It is simply the stopping-place of the
complex vision; that stopping-place beyond which anything is
possible and nothing is thinkable.
This thing, which is at once everything and nothing, this thing
which is _no thing_ but only the unutterable limit where all things
pass beyond thought, cannot be accepted by the complex vision as
the parent of the universe. The universe has therefore no parent, no
origin, no cause, no creator. Eternally it re-creates itself and
eternally it divides itself into that ultimate duality which makes
creation possible.
That monistic tendency of human thought, which is itself a
necessary projection of the monistic reality of the individual soul,
cannot, except by an arbitrary act of faith, resolve this ultimate
duality into unity. Such a primordial "act of faith" it can and must
make with regard to the objective reality of other souls. But such
an "act of faith" is not demanded with regard to the unutterable
mystery behind the universe. We have not, strictly speaking, even
the right to use the expression "an unutterable mystery." All we
have a right to do is just to titter the final judgment--"beyond this
limit neither thought nor imagination can pass."
What the complex vision definitely denies to us, therefore, is the
right to regard this thing, which is _no_ thing, with any emotion at
all. The expression "unutterable mystery" is a misleading one
because it appears to justify the emotions of awe and reverence.
We have no right to regard this thin simulacrum, this mathematical
formula, this stopping-place of thought, with any feelings of awe
or reverence. We have not even a right to regard it with humorous
contempt; for, being nothing at all, it is beneath contempt.
Humanity has a right to indulge in that peculiar emotional attitude
which is called "worship" towards either side of the ultimate
duality. It has a right to worship, if it pleases--though to do so
several attitudes of the complex vision must be outraged and
suppressed--the resistant power of malice. It has even a right to
worship the universe, that turbulent arena of these primal
antagonists. What it has no right to worship is the "unutterable
mystery" _behind the universe_; for the simple reason that the
universe is unfathomable.
Human thought has its stopping-place. The universe is unfathomable.
Human thought has a definite limit. The universe has no
limit. The universe is "unutterably mysterious"; and so also
is the human soul; but as far as the soul's complex vision is
concerned there can be no reality "behind the appearances of
things" except the reality of the soul itself. Thus there is no
"parent" of man and of the universe. But "the immortal companions"
of men are implied from man's most intimate experiences of life.
For if there were no invisible watchers, no arbiters, no standards,
no tests, no patterns, no ideals; our complex vision, in regard to
certain basic attributes, would be refuted and negated.
Every soul which exists must be thought of as possessing the
attribute of "emotion" with its duality of love and malice, the
attribute of "taste" with its duality of beauty and hideousness, of
conscience with its duality of good and evil, and the attribute of
"reason" with its duality of the true and the false. Every one of
these basic attributes would be reduced to a suicidal confusion of
absolute sceptical subjectivity if it could not have faith in some
objective reality to which it can appeal.
Such an appeal, to such an objective reality, it does, as a matter of
fact, continually make, whether it makes it consciously or
sub-consciously. And just as the soul's basic attributes of emotion,
taste, conscience, and reason indicate an implicit faith in the
objective reality of the ideas of beauty and nobility and truth; so
the soul's basic attribute of self-consciousness indicates an implicit
demand that the objective reality of these ideas should be united
and embodied in actual living and self-conscious "souls" external
to other "souls."
The most dangerous mistake we can make, and the most deadly in
its implications, is to reduce these "companions of men" to a
monistic unity and to make this unity what the metaphysicians call
"absolute" in its embodiment of these ultimate ideas.
In comparison with the fitful and moody subjectivity of our
individual conceptions of these ideas the vision of the immortals
may be thought of as embodying them absolutely. But in itself it
certainly does not embody them absolutely; otherwise the whole
movement of life would end. It is unthinkable that it should ever
embody them absolutely. For it is in the inherent nature of such a
vision that it should be growing, living, inexhaustible. The most
withering and deadly of all conceivable dogmas is the dogma that
there is such a thing as absolute truth, absolute beauty, absolute
good and absolute love.
The attraction of such a dogma for the mind of man is undoubtedly
due to the spirit of evil or of malice. For nothing offers a more
frozen resistance to the creative power than such a faith.
Compared with our human visions of these ideas the vision of
these "companions of men" must be thought of as relatively
complete. And complete it is, with regard to its general synthesis
and orientation. But it is not really complete; and can never be so.
For when we consider the nature of love alone, it becomes
ridiculous to speak of an absolute or complete love. If the love of
these "companions of men" became at any moment incapable of a
deeper and wider manifestation, at that very moment the whole
stream of life would cease, the malice of the adversary would
prevail, and nothingness would swallow up the universe. It is
because we are compelled to regard the complex vision, including
all its basic attributes, as the vision of a personal soul, that it is
a false and misleading conception to view these "companions of
men" as a mere ideal.
An ideal is nothing if not expressed in personality. Subjectively
every ideal is the ideal of "some one," an ideal of a conscious,
personal, and living entity. Objectively every ideal must be
embodied in "some one": and must be a standard, a measure, a
rhythm, of various energies synthesized in a living soul. This is
really the crux of the whole matter. Vaguely and obscurely do we
all feel the pressure of these deep and secret impulses. Profoundly
do we feel that these mysterious "ideas," which give life its
dramatic intensity, are part of the depths of our own soul and part
of the depths of the souls of the immortals. And yet though they
are so essentially part of us and part of the universe, they remain
vague, obscure, contradictory, confused, inchoate; only gradually
assuming coherent substance and form as the "rapport" between
man and his invisible companions grows clearer and clearer.
We are confronted at this point by one of the most difficult of all
dilemmas. If by reason of the fact that we are driven to regard
personality as the most real thing in the universe we are compelled
toward the act of faith which recognizes one side of the eternal
duality of things as embodied in actual living souls, how is it that
we are not equally compelled to a similar act of faith in relation to
the other side of this duality? In simpler words, how is it that while
we are compelled to an act of faith with regard to the existence of
powers which embody the spirit of love, we are not compelled to
an act of faith with regard to the existence of powers which
embody the spirit of malice?
How is it that while we have a right to regard the ideas of truth,
beauty, goodness as objectively embodied in living personalities
we have no right to regard the ideas of falseness, hideousness, evil
and malice, as objectively embodied in living personalities? To
answer this question it is necessary to define more clearly the
essential duality which we discover as the secret of the universe.
One side of this duality is the creative power of life, the other side
is the resistant power which repels life. The emotion of love is the
motive-force of the power of creation, a force which we have to
recognize as containing in itself the power of destruction; for
destruction is necessary to creation and is inspired by the creative
energy.
The other side of the eternal duality is not a destructive force, but a
resistant force. That is why it is necessary to define the opposite of
love, not as hate--but as malice, which is a resistant thing. Thus it
becomes clear why it is that we are not driven by the necessity of
the situation to any act of faith with regard to the existence of
living souls which embody evil and malice. We are not compelled
towards this act of faith because the nature of the "other side" of
the eternal duality is such that it cannot be embodied, in any
complete or objective way, in a living personality. It can and it
does appear in every personality that has ever existed. We are
compelled to assume that it exists, though in a state of
suppression, even in the souls of the immortals. If it did not exist,
in some form or other, in the souls of the immortals, the ideas of
truth, beauty, and goodness would be absolute in them, and the life
of the universe would cease.
For the nature of this eternal duality is such that the life of the
universe depends upon this unending struggle between what
creates and what resists creation. The power that creates must be
regarded as embodied in personality, for creation always implies
personality. But the power that resists creation--though present in
every living soul--cannot be embodied in personality because
personality is the highest expression of creation.
Every soul born into life must possess the attributes of taste,
reason, conscience and emotion. And each of these attributes
implies this fundamental duality; being resolvable into a choice
between hideousness, falsehood, evil, malice, and the opposites of
these. But the soul itself, being a living and personal thing, can
never, however deeply it plunges into evil, become the embodiment
of evil, because by the mere fact of existing at all it has
already defeated evil.
Any individual soul may give itself up to malice rather than to
love, and may do its utmost to resist the creative power of love.
But one thing it cannot do. It cannot become the embodiment of
evil, because, by merely being alive, it is the eternal defiance of
evil. Personality is the secret of the universe. The universe exists
by reason of a struggle between what creates and what resists
creation. Therefore personality exists by reason of a struggle
between what creates and what resists creation. And the existence
of personality, however desperate the struggle within itself may
be, is a proof that the power of life is stronger than the power
which resists life.
But we have to consider another and yet deeper dilemma. Since
the existence of the universe depends upon the continuance of this
unfathomable struggle and since the absolute victory of life over
death, of love over malice, of truth over falsehood, of beauty over
hideousness and of nobility over ignobility, would mean that the
universe would end, are we therefore forced to the conclusion that
evil is necessary to the fuller manifestation of good?
Undoubtedly we _are_ forced to this conclusion. Not one of these
primordial ideas, which find their synthesis in "the invisible
companions of men," can be conceived without its opposite. And
it is in the process of their unending struggle that the fuller
realization of all of them is attained. And this struggle must
inevitably assume a double character. It must assume the character
of a struggle within the individual soul and of a struggle of the
individual soul with other souls and with the universe. Such a
struggle must be thought of as continually maintained in the soul
of the "invisible companions of men" and maintained there with a
depth of dramatic intensity at which we can only guess.
Only less false and dangerous than the dogma that the absolute
victory of good over evil has already been achieved, is the dogma
that these two eternal antagonists are in reality one and the same
thing. They are only one and the same thing in the sense that
neither is thinkable without the other; and in the sense that they
create the universe by their conflict.
It is important in a matter as crucial as this matter, concerning "the
invisible companions of men," not to advance a step beyond our
starting-point till we have apprehended it from several different
aspects and have gone over our ground again and again--even as
builders of a bridge might test the solidity of their fabric stone by
stone and arch by arch. By that "conscience in reason" which
never allows us pleasantly to deceive ourselves, we are bound to
touch, as it were with our very hands, every piece of stone work
and every patch of cement which holds this desperate bridge
together over the dark waters.
We have not, then, a right to say that every energy of the complex
vision depends for its functioning upon the existence of these
invisible companions. We have not a right to say--"if there were
no such beings these energies could not function; but they do
function; therefore there are such beings." What we have a right to
say is simply this, that it is an actual experience that when two or
more personalities come together and seek to express their various
subjective impressions of these ultimate ideas there is always a
tacit reference to some objective standard.
This objective standard cannot be thought of apart from
personalities capable of embodying it. For these ultimate ideas are
only real and living when embodied in personality. Apart from
personality we are unable to grasp them; although we must
recognize that the universe itself is composed of the very stuff of
their contention. We have in the first place, then, completely
eliminated from our discussion that "inscrutable mystery"
behind the universe. In every direction we find the universe
unfathomable; and though our power of thought stops abruptly at a
certain limit, we have no reason to think that the universe stops
there; and we have every reason to think that it continues--together
with the unfathomable element in our souls--into impenetrably
receding depths.
The universe, as we apprehend it, presents itself as a congeries of
living souls united by some indefinable medium. These living
souls are each possessed of that multiform activity which I have
named the complex vision. Among the basic energies of this
vision are some which in their functioning imply the pre-existence
of certain primordial ideas.
These ideas are at once the eternally receding horizon and the
eternally receding starting-point--the unfathomable past and the
unfathomable future--of this procession of souls. The crux of the
whole situation is found in the evasive and tantalizing problem of
the real nature of these primordial ideas. Can "truth," can "beauty,"
can "goodness" be conceived of as existing in the universe apart
from any individual soul?
They are clearly not completely exhausted or totally revealed by
the vision of any individual human soul or of any number of
human souls. The sense which we all have when we attempt to
exchange our individual feelings with regard to these things is that
we are appealing to some invisible standard or pattern which
already exists and of which we each apprehend a particular facet
or aspect.
All human intercourse depends upon this implicit assumption; of
which language is the outward proof.
The existence of language goes a long way in itself to destroy that
isolation of individual souls which in its extreme form would
mean the impossibility of any objective truth or beauty or nobility.
Language itself is founded upon that original act of faith by which
we assume the independent existence of other souls. And the same
act of faith which assumes the existence of other souls assumes
also that the vision of other souls does not essentially differ from
our own vision.
Once having got as far as this, the further fact that these other
visions do vary considerably, though not essentially, differ from
our own leads us by an inevitable, if not a logical, step to the
assumption that all our different visions are the imperfect
renderings of one vision, wherein the ideas of truth, beauty and
nobility exist in a harmonious synthesis.
There is no reason why we should think of this objective synthesis
of truth, beauty, and goodness as absolute or perfect. Indeed there
is every reason why we should think of it as imperfect and
relative. But it is imperfect and relative only in its relation to its
own dream, its own hope, its own prophecy, its own premonition,
its own struggle towards a richer and fuller manifestation. In its
relation to our broken, baffled, and subjective visions it is already
so complete as to be relatively absolute. To this objective ideal of
our aesthetic and emotional values, I have given the name "the
vision of the immortals" because we are unable to disassociate it
from personality; and because, while the generations of man pass
away, this vision does not pass away.
Have I, in giving to this natural human ideal, such a formidable
name--a name with so many bold and startling implications--been
merely tempted into an alluring metaphorical image, or have I
been driven to make use of this expression by reason of the
intrinsic nature of life itself?
I think that the latter of these two alternatives is the true one. The
"logic" by which this conclusion is reached differs from the
"logic" of the abstract reason in the sense of being the organic,
dynamic, and creative "logic" of the complex vision itself, using
the very apex-thought of its pyramidal activity in apprehending a
mystery which is at once the secret of its own being and the secret
of the unfathomable universe into the depths of which it forces its
way.
The expression, then, "the vision of the immortals" is not a mere
pictorial image but is the definite articulation of a profound reality
from which there is no escape if certain attributes of the human
soul are to be trusted at all. We cannot get rid of this dilemma, one
of those dilemmas which offer alternative possibilities so
appallingly opposite, that the choice between them seems like a
choice between two eternities.
Is the vision of these immortals, the existence of which as a
standard of all philosophical discussion seems to be implied by the
very nature of man's soul, to be regarded or not to be regarded as
the vision of real and living personalities?
In other words, to put the case once more in its rigid outlines, is
that objective vision of truth, beauty, and goodness of which our
individual subjective visions are only imperfect representations,
the real vision of actual living "gods" or only the projection, upon
the evasive medium which holds all human souls together, of such
beauty and such truth and such goodness as these souls find that
they possess in common?
This is the crux of the whole human comedy. This is the throw of
the dice between a world without hope and a world with hope.
Philosophers are capable of treating this subject with quiet
intellectual curiosity; but all living men and women--philosophers
included--come, at moments, to a pitiless and adamantine
"impasse" where the eternal "two ways" branch off in unfathomable
perspective.
In our normal and superficial moods we are able to find a plausible
excuse for our struggles with ourselves, in a simple acceptance of
the ultimate duality.
It is enough for us, in these moods, that we have on the one hand a
consciousness of "love" and on the other a consciousness of
"malice." It is enough for us, in these moods, that we have on the
one hand a consciousness of truth and beauty and nobility; and on
the other a consciousness of unreality, of hideousness, and of evil.
But there come other, deeper, more desperate moods, when, out of
intolerable and unspeakable loneliness our soul sinking back into
its own depths refuses to be satisfied with a mere recognition of
this ultimate duality.
At these moments the soul seems to rend and tear at the very roots
of this duality. It takes these ideas of beauty and truth and
goodness and subjects them to a savage and merciless analysis. It
takes the emotion of love and the emotion of malice and tries to
force its way behind them. It turns upon itself, in its insane
trouble, and seeks to get itself out of its own way and to efface
itself, so that "something" beyond itself may flow into its place.
At these moments the soul's complex vision is roused to a supreme
pitch of rhythmic energy. The apex-thought of its focussed
attributes gathers itself together to pierce the mystery. Like a strain
of indescribable music the apex-thought rests upon itself and
brings each element of its being into harmony with every other.
This ultimate harmony of the complex vision may be compared to
a music which is so intense that it becomes silence. And in this
"silence," wherein the apex-thought becomes at once a creator and
a discoverer, the pain and distress of the struggle seems suddenly
to disappear and an indescribable happiness flows in upon the
soul. At this moment when this consummation is reached the
soul's complex vision becomes aware that the ideas of beauty,
truth and goodness are not mental abstractions or material qualities
or evolutionary by-products, but are the very purpose and meaning
of life. It becomes aware that the emotion of love is not a mental
abstraction or a psychological accident or a biological necessity
but the secret of the whole struggle and the explanation of the
whole drama.
It becomes aware that this truth, this beauty, this nobility find their
unity and harmony in nothing less than in the emotion of love. It
becomes aware that these three primordial "ideas" are only varying
facets and aspects of one unfathomable secret which is the activity
of love. It becomes aware that this activity of love is the creative
principle of life itself; that it alone is life, and the force which
resists it is the enemy of life.
Such, then, is the ultimate reality grasped in its main outlines by
the rhythmic energy of the soul's apex-thought when, in its
desperate and savage struggle with itself, the complex vision
reaches its consummation. And this reality, thus created and thus
discovered by the apex-thought of the complex vision, demands
and requires that very revelation, towards which we have been
moving by so long a road.
It requires the revelation, namely, that the emotion of love of
which we are conscious in the depths of our being, as an emotion
flowing through us and obsessing us, should be conceived of as
existing in a far greater completeness in these silent "watchers"
and "companions" whom we name "the immortal gods." It requires,
therefore, that these immortal ones should be regarded as
conscious and living "souls"; for the ultimate reach of the complex
vision implies the idea of personality and cannot interpret life
except in terms of personality.
As I said above, there come moments in all our lives, when,
rending and tearing at the very roots of our own existence, we seek
to extricate ourselves from ourselves and to get ourselves out of
the way of ourselves, as if we were seeking to make room for
some deeper personality within us which is ourself and yet not
ourself. This is that impersonal element which the aesthetic sense
demands in all supreme works of art so that the soul may find at
once its realization of itself and its liberation from itself.
The "watchers" and "companions" of men must therefore be
immortal and living "souls" existing side by side with our human
"souls" and side by side with all other "souls," super-human or
sub-human, which the universal medium of the world holds
together. In arriving at this conclusion which seems to me to be
the consummation vouched for and attested by the rhythmic
energy of the complex vision, I have refused to allow any
particular attribute of this vision, such as the will or the intuition
or the conscience, to claim for its isolated discoveries any
universal assent.
The soul's emotion of love passionately craves for the real
existence of these "invisible companions." The soul's emotion of
malice displays an abysmal resistance to such a reality. This is
naturally a fact that we cannot afford to disregard. But in our final
decision in so high and difficult a matter nothing can be allowed to
claim an universal assent except the rhythmic activity of the soul's
apex-thought in its supreme moments.
At this point in our argument it is advisable to glance backward
over the way we have come; because the reality of this "eternal
vision" depends, more than has as yet been understood, upon our
whole attitude to the mystery of personality, and to the place of
personality, as the secret of the world.
The feeling which we have about the emotion of love, as if it were
a thing pouring through us from some unfathomable depth, does
not imply that "the invisible companions" are themselves that
depth. The "invisible companions" are not in any sense connected
with the conception of an "over-soul." That "depth," from which
the power of creative love pours forth, is not the "depth" of any
"over-soul" but is the depth of our own unfathomable nature.
The introduction of "something behind the universe," the
introduction of some "parent" or "first cause" of the universe, from
which we have to suppose this secret of love as emerging, is as
unnecessary as it is unbeautiful. It does nothing but fling the
mystery one step further back without in the least elucidating it;
and in thus throwing it back it thins it out and cheapens it. There is
nothing which appeals to the aesthetic sense about this hypothesis
of an "over-soul" from whose universal being the ideas of beauty
and truth and goodness may be supposed to proceed. It is a clumsy
and crude speculation, easy to be grasped by the superficial mind,
and with an air of profundity which is entirely deceptive.
So far from being a spiritual conception, this conception of an
over-soul, existing just behind the material universe and pouring
forth indiscriminately its "truth," "beauty," "nobility" and "love,"
is an entirely materialistic one. It is a clumsy and crude metaphor
or analogy drawn from the objective world and projected into that
region of sheer unfathomableness which lies beyond human
thought.
When the conception of the over-soul is submitted to analysis it is
found to consist of nothing else than vague images drawn from
material sensation. We think of the world for instance as a vast
porous sponge continually penetrated by a flood of water or air or
vapour drawn from some hidden cistern or reservoir or cosmic
lake. The modern theological expression "immanent" has done
harm in this direction. There is nothing profound about this
conception of "immanence." It is an entirely materialistic
conception drawn from sense analogy.
The same criticism applies to much of the vague speculation
which is usually called "mysticism." Mysticism is not a spiritual
attitude. It is often no more than the expression of thwarted
sex-desire directed towards the universe instead of towards the person
who has repulsed it. The basic motive of mysticism, although in
the highest cases it springs from intuition, is very often only an
extension into the unknown of physiological misery or of
physiological well-being.
The word "spiritual" retains, by some instinctive wisdom in human
language, a far nobler significance than the word "mystical."
It is, so to speak, a purer word, and has succeeded, in its progress
down the ages, in keeping itself more clear of physiological
associations than any other human word except the word "soul." It
must, however, be recognized, when we submit the two words to
analysis, that the word "spirit" is less free from metaphorical
materialism than the word "soul."
The word "spirit" is a metaphorical word derived from the material
phenomenon of breath. For the purest and least tangible of all
natural phenomena, except perhaps "ether" or electricity, is
obviously nothing less than the wind. "The wind bloweth where it
listeth," and this elementary "freedom of the wind," combined
with our natural association of "breath" and "breathing" with all
organic life, accounts for the traditional nobility of the word spirit.
"Spirit" and "life" have become almost interchangeable terms. The
modern expression "the life-force" is only a metaphorical
confusion of the idea conveyed by the word "spirit" or "breath"
with the idea conveyed by the word "consciousness" when
abstracted from any particular conscious soul. The use of the term
"spirit" as applied to what metaphysical idealists name "the
absolute" is the supreme example of this metaphorical confusion.
According to this use of the term "spirit" we have an arbitrary
association of the ultimate fact of self-consciousness--a fact drawn
from the necessity of thought--with that attenuated and etherial
materialism implied in the words "breath" or "breathing" and in
the elemental "freedom of the wind." The word "spiritual" is a
purer and nobler word than the word "mystical" for the same
reason that the word "soul" is a purer and nobler word than the
word "spirit."
The historic fact must, however, be recognized that in the
evolution of human thought and in the evolution of philosophical
systems the word "spirit" has in large measure usurped the
position that ought to belong to the word "soul" as the highest and
purest expression of what is most essential and important in life.
The history of this usurpation is itself a curious psychological
document. But I cannot help feeling that the moment has arrived
for reinstating the word "soul" in its rightful place and altering this
false valuation.
The word "soul" is the name given by the common consent of
language to that original "monad" or concrete unity or living "self"
which exists, according to universal experience, "within" the
physical body and is the indescribable "substratum" of
self-consciousness and the unutterable "something" which gives a
real concrete permanence to what we call "personality."
Here also we are confronted by the metaphorical danger, which is
a danger springing from the necessity of thought itself; the
necessity under which thought labours of being compelled to use
sense-impressions if it is to function at all. But though thought
cannot exist as thought without the use of sense-impressions it can
at least concentrate its attention upon this primal necessity and be
aware of it and cautious of it and hypercritical in its use. It can do
more than this. It can throw back, so to speak, the whole weight of
the mystery and drive it so rigorously to the ultimate wall, that the
materialistic and metaphorical element is reduced to a mere gap or
space or lacuna in the mind that only a material element can fill
and yet that we cannot imagine being filled by any material
element which we are able to define.
This is precisely what we have to do with regard to that
"vanishing-point of sensation" which is the substratum of the soul.
The situation resolves itself into this. The highest, deepest, most
precious thing we know or can imagine is _personality_.
Personality is and must be our ultimate synthesis, our final ideal,
and the origin of all our ideals. Nothing can be conceived more
true, more real, more spiritual than personality.
All conceptions, qualities, principles, forces, elements, thoughts,
ideas, are things which we abstract from personality, and project
into the space which surrounds us, as if they could be independent
of the personal unity from which they have been taken. We are
compelled by the inevitable necessity of thought itself, which
cannot escape from the world of sense-impressions, to think of
personality as possessing for its "substratum" "something" which
gives it concrete reality. This "something" which is utterly
indefinable, is the last gesture, so to speak, made by the
sense-world before it vanishes away.
This "something" which is the substratum of the soul and the thing
which gives unity and concreteness to the soul is the thinnest and
remotest attenuation of the world of sense-impression. It is far
thinner and more remote than the sense-element in our conception
of spirit. Why, it may be asked, can we not get rid of this
"something" which fills that gap or lacuna in the identity of the
soul which can only be thought of in material terms?
We cannot get rid of it because directly we attempt to do so we are
left with that vague idealistic abstraction upon our hands which we
call "thought-in-the-abstract"--or "pure thought" or "pure
self-consciousness." But it may be asked--"Why cannot the physical
body serve this necessary purpose of giving personality a local and
concrete identity?"
First--and this is the psychological reason--it cannot do so because
our feeling of the soul as "something within" our physical body is
an ultimate fact of experience which would then remain as an
experience denied and contradicted.
Secondly--and this is the metaphysical reason--it cannot do so
because our physical body is itself only a part of that objective
universe of sense-impressions which the soul is conscious of as
essentially distinct from its own inmost identity.
Metaphysical idealism seems to hold that the ultimate monad of
self-consciousness is not this personal micro-cosmic monad which
I am conscious of as the empirical self or "soul" but an impersonal
macrocosmic monad or "unity of apperception" which underlies
the whole field of impressions and is unable, by reason of its
inherent nature, to contemplate itself as an "object" at all.
What the complex vision seems to me to disclose, is a revelation
which includes at one and the same moment "the universal
monad" and the "personal monad"; but it indicates clearly enough
that the former is an abstraction from the latter. My thought can
certainly think of the whole universe, including time and space, as
one enormous mass of impressions or ideals presenting itself
inside the circle of my mind.
Of this mass of impressions, including time and space, my
thought, thus abstracted from my personal soul, becomes the
circumference. Outside my thought there is nothing at all. Inside
my thought there is all that is. The metaphysical reason insists that
this all-comprehensive thought or all-embracing consciousness
cannot contemplate itself as an object but is compelled to remain
an universal subject whose object can only be the mass of
impressions which it contains.
If it is possible to speak of this "a priori" background of all
possible perception as a "monad" at all, it is a monad which
certainly lacks the essential power of the individual monad which
we know as our real self, for this latter can and does contemplate
itself as an object.
But as I have hinted before, the complex vision's attribute of
self-consciousness projects a second abstraction, which takes its place
between this ultimate monad which is pure "subject" and our real
personal self which is so much more than subject and object
together.
This second abstraction, "thrown off" by our pure self-consciousness
just as the first one is "thrown off" by our pure reason,
becomes therefore an intervening monad which exists midway
between the monad which is pure "subject"--if that can be
called a monad at all--and the actual individual soul which is the
living reality of both these thought-projections.
The whole question resolves itself into a critical statement of the
peculiar play of thought when thought is considered in its own
inherent nature apart from concrete objects of thought. This
original play of thought, apart from what it may think, can result in
nothing better than isolated abstractions; because thought, apart
from concrete objects of thought, is itself nothing more than one
attribute of the complex vision, groping about in a vacuum and
finding nothing. We are, however, bound by the "conscience of
reason," and by what might be called reason's sense of honour to
articulate as clearly as we can all these movements of pure thought
working in the void; but we certainly are forbidden by the original
revelation of the complex vision to accept them as the starting
point of our philosophical enquiry. And we cannot accept them as
a starting point, because the complex vision includes much more
than self-consciousness and reason. It includes indeed so much
more than these, that these, when indulging in their isolated
conjuring-tricks, seem like irrelevant and tiresome clowns who
insist upon interrupting with their fantastic pedantry the great
tragic-comedy wherein the soul of man wrestles with its fate.
As I have already indicated, it is necessary in dealing with a matter
as dramatic and fatal as this whole question of ultimate reality, to
risk the annoyance of repetition. It is important to go over our
tracks again so that no crevice should be left in this perilous bridge
hung across the gulf. Reason, then, working in isolation, provides
us with the recognition of an ultimate universal "subject" or, in
metaphysical language, with an "a priori unity of apperception."
Simultaneously with this recognition, self-consciousness, also
working in isolation, provides us with the recognition of an
universal self-conscious "monad" or "cosmic self" which is not
only able but is compelled to think of itself as its own object.
Both these recognitions imply a consciousness which is outside
time and space; but while the first, the outer edge of thought, can
only be regarded as "pure subject," the second can be regarded as
nothing else than the whole universe contemplating itself as its
own object.
In the third place the complex vision, working with all its
attributes together, provides us with the recognition of a personal
or empirical self which is the real "I am I" of our integral soul.
This personal self, or actual living soul, must be thought of as
possessing some "substratum" or "vanishing point of sensation" as
the implication of its permanence and continuous identity. This
"vanishing point of sensation," or in other words this attenuated
form of "matter" or "energy" or "movement," must not be allowed
to disappear from our conception of the soul. If it _were_ allowed
to disappear, one of the basic attributes of the soul's complex
vision, namely its attribute of sensation, would be negated and
suppressed.
Directly we regarded the "I am I" within us as independent of such
a "vanishing point of sensation" and as being entirely free from
any, even from the most attenuated form, of what is usually called
"matter," then, at that very moment, the complex vision's
revelation would be falsified. Then, at that very moment, the
integrity of the soul would dissolve away, and we should be
reduced to a stream of sensations with nothing to give them
coherence and unity, or to that figment of abstract self-consciousness,
"thought-in-itself," apart from both the thing "thinking"
and the thing "thought." The soul, therefore, must be conceived
if we are to be true to the original revelation of the complex
vision, as having an indefinable "something" as its substratum
or implication of identity. And this something, although
impossible to be analysed, must be regarded as existing
within that mysterious medium which is the uniting force of the
universe. The soul must, in fact, be thought of as possessing some
sort of "spiritual body" which is the centre of its complex vision
and which, therefore, expresses itself in reason, self-consciousness,
will, sensation, instinct, intuition, memory, emotion, conscience,
taste, and imagination. All this must necessarily imply that the
soul is within, and not outside, time and space. It must further
imply that although the physical body, which the soul uses at its
will, is only one portion of the objective universe which confronts
it, this physical body is more immediately connected with the soul's
complex vision and more directly under the influence of it than
any other portion of the external universe.
The question then arises, can it be said that this "vanishing point of
sensation," this "substratum" composed of "something" which we
are only able to define as the limit where the ultimate attenuation
of what we call "matter" or "energy" passes into unfathomableness,
this centre of the soul, this "spiritual body," this invisible
"pyramid base" of the complex vision, is also, just as the physical
body is, a definite portion of that objective universe which we
apprehend through our senses?
The physical body is entirely and in all its aspects a portion of this
objective universe. Is the substratum of the soul a portion of it
also? I think the answer to this question is that it _is_ and also _is
not_ a portion of this universe. This "spiritual body," this
"vanishing point of sensation," which is the principle of
permanence and continuity and identity in the soul, is obviously
the very centre and core of reality. Being this, it must necessarily
be a portion of that objective world whose reality, after the reality
of the soul itself, is the most vivid reality which we know.
The complex vision demands and exacts the reality of the
objective world. The whole drama of its life depends upon this.
Without this the complex vision would not exist. And just as the
complex vision could not exist without the reality of the objective
world, so the objective world could not exist without the reality of
the complex vision. These two depend upon one another and
perpetually recreate one another.
Any metaphysical system which denies the existence of the
objective world, or uses the expression "illusion" with regard to it,
is a system based, not upon the complex vision in its entirety, but
upon some isolated attribute of it. The "substratum" of the soul,
then, must be a portion of the objective world so as to give
validity, so to speak, and assurance that this objective world with
its mysterious medium crowded with living bodies and inanimate
objects is not a mere illusion. But the "substratum" of the soul
must be something else in addition to this. Being the essential
meeting-point between what we call thought on the one hand, and
what we call "matter" or "energy" on the other, the "substratum" of
the soul must be a point of perpetual movement where the life of
thought passes into the life of sensation.
The "substratum" of the soul must be regarded as the ultimate
attenuation of "matter" on the one hand, and on the other as
perpetually passing into "mind." For since it is the centre-point of
life it must be composed of a stuff woven, so to speak, out all the
threads of life. That is to say it must be the very centre and vortex
of all the contradictions in the universe.
Since the "substratum" or "spiritual body" of the soul is the most
real thing in the universe it must, in its own nature, partake of
every kind of reality which exists in the universe. It must therefore
be, quite definitely, a portion of the objective world existing
within time and space. But it must also be the ultimate unity of
"the life of thought." And since, as we have seen, it is within the
power of reason and self-consciousness to isolate themselves from
the other attributes of the soul and to project themselves outside of
space and time, it must be the perpetual fatality of the
"substratum" of the soul to recall these wanderers back to the true
reality of things, which does not lie outside of space and time but
within space and time, and which must justify time and space as
something very different from illusion.
But because, within time and space, the universe is unfathomable,
and because, also within time and space, personality is
unfathomable, the "substratum" of the soul, which is the point
where the known and the unknown meet, must be unfathomable
also, and hence must sink away beyond the limit of our thought
and beyond the limit of our sensation.
Since it does this, since it sinks away beyond the limit of our
thought, it must be regarded as "something" whose reality is partly
known and partly unknown. Thus it is true to say that the
"substratum" of the soul _is_ and _is not_ a portion of the
objective universe. The substratum of the soul is, in fact, the
essential and ultimate reality, where all that we know loses itself in
all that we do not know. Because we are compelled to admit that
only one aspect of the "substratum" of the soul is a portion of the
objective universe as we know it, this does not justify us in
asserting that the "substratum" of the soul is at once within space
and time and outside of space and time.
Nothing is outside of space and time. This conception of "outside"
is, as we have seen, an abstraction evoked by the isolated activity
of the logical reason. The fact that only one aspect of the
"substratum" of the soul--and even that one with the barest limit of
definition--can be regarded as a portion of the objective universe
does not give the soul any advantage over the universe. For the
universe, like the soul, has also its unfathomable depths. That
indefinable medium, for instance, which we are compelled to think
of as making it possible that various souls should touch one
another and communicate with one another, is in precisely the
same position as regards any ultimate analysis as is the soul itself.
It also sinks away into unfathomableness. It also becomes a
portion of that part of reality which we do _not_ know.
At this point in our enquiry it is not difficult to imagine some
materialistic objector asking the question how we can conceive
such a vaguely denned entity as the soul possessing such very
definite attributes as those which make up the complex vision.
Is it not, such an one might ask, a fantastic and ridiculous
assumption to endow so obscure a thing as this "soul" with such
very definite powers as reason, instinct, will, intuition,
imagination, and the rest? Surely, such an one might protest, it is
in the physical body that these find their unity? Surely, if we must
have a meeting-place where thought and the objects of thought
lose themselves in one another, such a meeting-place can be
nothing else than the cells of the brain?
The answer to this objection seems to me quite a final one. The
physical body cannot supply us with the true meeting-place
between "the life of thought" and "the life of sensation"
because the physical body does not _in itself_ sink away into
unfathomablenesss as does the substratum of the soul. The
physical body can only be regarded as unfathomable when
definitely included in the whole physical universe. But the
substratum of the soul is doubly unfathomable. It is unfathomable
as being the quintessence or vanishing-point of "matter" or
"energy," and it is unfathomable as being the quintessence of that
personal self which confronts not only the objective universe but
the physical body also as part of that universe. It is undoubtedly
true that this real self which is the centre of its own universe is
bound to contemplate itself as occupying a definite point in space
and time.
This is one of its eternal contradictions; that it should be at the
same time the creator of its universe and an unfathomable portion
of the very universe it creates. The answer which the philosophy
of the complex vision makes to the materialistic questioner who
points to the "little cells of the brain" may be briefly be put thus.
The soul functions through the physical body and through the cells
of the brain. The soul is so closely and so intimately associated
with the physical body that it is more than possible that the death
of the physical body implies the annihilation of the soul. But when
it comes to the question as to where we are to look for the essential
self in us which is able to say "I am I" it is found to be much more
fantastic and ridiculous to look for it in the "little cells of the
brain" than in some obscure "something," or "vanishing point of
sensation," where mind and matter are fused together. That this
"something" which is able to say "I am I" should possess instinct,
reason, will, intuition, conscience and the rest, may be hard to
imagine. But that the "little cells of the brain" should possess these
is not only hard to imagine--it is unimaginable. The mysterious
relation which exists between our soul and our body lends itself to
endless speculation; and much of this speculation tends to become
far more fantastic and ridiculous than any analysis of the attributes
of the soul. Experiment and experience alone can teach us how far
the body is actually malleable by the soul and amenable to the
soul's purpose.
The arbitrary symbol which I have made use of to indicate the
nature of the soul's essential reality, the image of a pyramidal
wedge of flames, is certainly felt to be but a thin and rigid fancy
when we consider how in the actual play of life the soul expresses
itself through the body.
As I have already indicated, the original revelation of the complex
vision accepts without scruple the whole spectacle of natural life.
The philosophy of the complex vision insists that no rationalistic
necessity of pure logic gives it the right to reject this natural
objective spectacle. The philosophy of the complex vision insists
that this obvious, solid, external, so-called "materialistic" spectacle
of common life, be accepted, included and continually returned to.
It insists that the word "illusion" be no more used about this
spectacle. It insists that this vast unfathomable universe of time
and space be recognized as an ultimate reality, and that all these
projected images of the pure reason, all these circles, cubes,
squares and straight lines, all these "unities of apperception,"
universal "monads" and the like, be recognized as by-products of
the abstracting energy of human logic and as entirely without
reality when compared with this objective spectacle. My own
symbolic or pictorial image of the activity of the complex vision,
this pyramidal wedge or arrow-head of concentrated and focussed
flames, must be recognized as no more adequate or satisfactory
than any of these.
The complex vision, with its rhythmic apex-thought, is not really a
"pyramid" or a "wedge of flame" any more than it is a circle or a
cube or a square or an "a priori synthetic unity of apperception" or
"an universal self-conscious monad." It is the vision of a living
personality, surrounded by an unfathomable universe.
To keep our thoughts firmly and harmoniously fixed on the real
objective spectacle of life and on the real subjective "soul," or
personality, contemplating this spectacle, it is advisable to revert
to the magical and mysterious associations called up by the
classical word _Nature_. The mere utterance of the word "Nature"
serves to bring us back to the things which are essential and
organic, and to put into their proper place of comparative unreality
all these "unities" and circles, all these pyramids and "monads."
When we think of the astounding beauty and intricacy of the
actual human body; when we think of the astounding beauty and
intricacy of the actual living soul which animates this body, and
when we think of the magical universe which surrounds them
both, we are compelled to recognize that in the last resort Nature
herself is the great mystery. The word "Nature" conveys a more
living and less metaphysical connotation than the word "universe,"
and may be regarded as implying more of that in-determined
future of all living souls, which is still in the process of creation.
The "universe" is a static conception. Nature is a dynamic
conception. When we speak of Nature we think of the whole
struggle towards a fuller life of all the living entities which the
indefinable medium of the universe contains. Nature from this
point of view becomes the whole unfathomable spectacle, seen as
something living and growing and changing.
The "invisible companions" of men who supply the pattern and
standard of all human ideas, become in this way the immortal
children of Nature. The creative energy of the complex vision is
itself an integral portion of the creative energy of Nature; for
"Nature" is no more than the beautiful and classical word which
recalls us to the objective spectacle which is the ultimate
revelation of the complex vision. Nature is the supreme artist; but
the apex-point of her artistry is nothing less than the apex-point of
the artistry of the immortal gods.
The artistry of the human soul, when its rhythm is most
harmonious and complete, implies the magical artistry of Nature,
for "Nature" is nothing more than the whole objective spectacle
finding its myriad creative centres of new life in all living souls.
The value of the word Nature, the value of the conception of
Nature, is that it reminds us that, held together by the indefinable
medium which fills the universe, there are innumerable entities
both subhuman and super-human, all of whom, in their various
degrees, possess living souls.
Nature's supreme art is nothing more than the natural impulses of
all these, as they are thus held together, and to "return to Nature" is
nothing more than to return to the objective spectacle of real life,
and to the objective ideal of real life as it is embodied in "the
invisible companions."
These "invisible companions" just because they are the most
"natural" of all living personalities, are the supreme manifestation
of the secret of Nature. It is because the objective spectacle of life,
the spectacle which includes the stars, the planets, plants, trees,
grass, moss, lichen, earth, birds, fish, animals, is a spectacle
continually shifting and changing under the pressure of
innumerable conscious and sub-conscious souls, that we find
ourselves turning to these invisible companions whose supreme
"naturalness" is the test and pattern of all Nature.
And it is because our physical bodies in their magical mysteriousness
are so much more real than any rationalistic symbols, such as
circles, cubes, squares, wedges, pyramids, and the like, that
when we seek to visualize the actual appearance of these
"invisible companions," it seems much more appropriate to
image their souls as clothed, like the souls of plants, trees, grass,
planets, animals and men, in some tangibleness of physical form,
than in nothing but the insubstantial stuff of air or wind or vapour,
or "spirit."
But since all that we call "Nature" continually changes, passes
away in dissolution and is reborn again in other forms; and since
no physical body is exempted from death, it is apparent that if the
"immortals" possessed physical bodies such as our own, they also
would be subject to this law along with the rest of the universe.
But the generations of mankind come and go and the "invisible
companions" of men remain; therefore the "invisible companions"
cannot be supposed, except pictorially and in a symbolic sense, to
be subject to the laws which govern our mortal bodies.
It is this freedom from the laws which govern the physical body
and from all the intimate and intricate relations which exist
between our human soul and our human body, which makes it
possible for these companions of men to remain in perpetual
contact with every living soul born into the world. The difficulty
we experience in realizing the nearness to our individual souls of
these invisible companions, is due to a false and exaggerated
emphasis laid upon the material spectacle of nature.
This spectacle of the objective universe is undoubtedly one of the
ultimate realities revealed to us by the complex vision; but it is
only one of these ultimate realities. The complex vision is itself
another one of these; and the real existence of the soul is implied
in the activity of the complex vision. The reality of the external
universe, the reality of Nature, is so closely associated with the
activity of the soul that it is impossible to think of the one apart
from the other.
The soul's attribute of sensation is alone responsible for the greater
portion of this objective spectacle; for apprehended through any
other senses than the ones we possess the whole universe would be
transformed. It is only when the soul's essential part in the creation
of Nature is fully realized that we see how false and exaggerated
an emphasis we are placing upon this "externality" when we
permit it to hinder our recognition of the nearness of the immortal
gods.
The laws which govern the physical body and "the thousand ills
that flesh is heir to" obstruct, confuse, conceal, and distort the soul
and hold the gods at a distance. But although the brain and the
senses may be tortured, atrophied, perverted; and although the soul
may be driven back into its unfathomable depths and held there as
if in prison; and although madness intervene between the soul's
vision and the world, and sleep may fling it into oblivion, and
death may destroy it utterly; tortured or perverted or atrophied or
semi-conscious or unconscious, while the soul _lives_, the
"invisible companions of men" remain nearer to it than any
outward accident, chance, circumstance, fatality or destiny, and
are still the arbiters of its hope.
Retracing once more our steps over this perilous bridge of ultimate
thought, we may thus indicate the situation. Our starting-point
cannot be the "a priori synthetic unity of apperception," because
this is an abstraction of the pure reason, and if accepted as a real
fact would contradict and negate all the other attributes of the soul.
Our starting-point cannot be the universal "monad" of
self-consciousness, because this is an abstraction of the "I am I" and
if accepted as a real fact would negate and suppress every attribute
of the soul except the attributes of self-consciousness and emotion.
Our starting-point cannot be the objective world, considered in its
evolutionary externality, because this external world depends for
its very existence upon the attributes of the soul, especially upon
the attribute of sensation.
Our starting-point can therefore be nothing less than the complex
vision, which on the one hand implies the reality of the soul and
on the other the reality of the external world, and which itself is
the vision of a real concrete personality. The individual is thus
disclosed as something more than the universal, the microcosm as
something more than the macrocosm, and any living personality as
something more than any conceivable absolute being.
By an original act of faith, towards which we are helped by the
soul's attribute of imagination, we are compelled to conceive of
every other soul in the world as being the centre of a universe
more or less identical in character with the universe of which our
own soul is the centre. These separate universes we have to
conceive as being subjective impressions of the same objective
reality, the beauty, truth, and goodness of which are guaranteed for
us by those "invisible companions of men" in whose eternal vision
they find their synthesis.
The tragedy of our life consists in the fact that it is only in rare
exalted moments, when the rhythmic harmony of the complex
vision is most intense and yet most calm, that the individual soul
feels the presence of those supreme companions whose real and
personal existence I have attempted to indicate. These ideal and
yet most real companions of humanity make their presence felt by
the soul in just the same immediate, direct and equivocal way in
which we feel the influence of a friend or lover whose spirit, in his
bodily absence, is concentrated upon our spirit, even as ours is
upon his.
To the larger vision of these "invisible companions" we find
ourselves consciously and sub-consciously turning whenever the
burden of our flesh oppresses us more than we can bear. We are
compelled to turn to them by reason of the profound instinct in us
which recognizes that our ideas of truth, of beauty, and goodness
are not mere subjective fancies but are actual objective realities.
These ideas do not spring from these "companions" or find their
origin and cause in them, any more than they spring from some
imaginary "parent" of the universe and find their origin and cause
in something "behind life." They do not "spring" from anything at
all; but are the very stuff and texture of our own unfathomable
souls, just as they are the very stuff and texture of the
unfathomable souls of the immortal gods. What we are conscious
of, when our complex vision gathers itself together, is the fact that
the inevitable element of subjectivity in our individual feeling
about these things is transcended and supplemented by an invisible
pattern or standard or ideal in which these things are reconciled
and fused together at a higher pitch of harmony than we individually,
or even in contact with one another, are capable of attaining.
The vision of these "invisible companions"--absolute enough in
relation to our own tragic relativity--is itself relative to its own
hope, its own dream, its own prophecy, its own premonition. The
real evolution of the world, the real movement of life, takes
therefore a double form. It takes the form of an individual _return_
to the fulness of ideas which have always been implicit and latent
in our individual souls. And it takes the form of a co-operative
_advance_ towards the fulness of ideas which are foreshadowed
and prophesied in the vision of these immortals' companions. Thus
for us, as well as for them, the eternal movement is at once an
advance and a return. Thus for us, as well as for them, the eternal
inspiration is at once a hope and a reminiscence.
It will be seen from what I have said that this philosophy of the
complex vision finds a place for all the nobler and more desperate
struggles of the human race towards a solution of the mystery of
life. It accepts fully the fact that the human reason playing isolated
games with itself, is driven by its own nature to reduce "all objects
of all thought" to the circle of one "synthetic unity" which is the
implied "a priori" background of all actual vision. It accepts fully
the fact that human self-consciousness, playing isolated games
with itself, is driven by the necessity of its own nature to reduce all
separate "selves" to one all embracing "world self" which is the
universe conscious of itself as the universe.
It accepts fully the fact that we have to regard the apparent
objectivity of the external universe, with its historic process, as an
essential and unalterable aspect of reality, so grounded in truth that
to call it an "illusion" is a misuse of language. But although it
accepts both the extreme "materialistic" view and the extreme
"idealistic" view as inevitable revelations of reality, it does not
regard either of them as the true starting-point of enquiry, because
it regards both these extremes as the result of the isolated play of
one or the other of the complex vision's attributes.
The philosophy of the complex vision refuses to accept as its
starting-point any "synthetic unity" other than the synthetic unity
of personality; because any other than this it is compelled to
regard as abstracted from this by the isolated play of some
particular attribute of the mind. The philosophy of the complex
vision refuses to accept as its starting-point any attenuated
materialistic hypothesis, such as may be indicated by the arbitrary
words "life" or "movement" or "ether" or "force" or "energy" or
"atoms" or "molecules" or "electrons" or "vortices" or "evolutionary
progress," because it recognizes that all these hypothetical
origins of life are only projected and abstracted aspects
of the central reality of life, which is, and always must be,
personality.
But what is the relation of the philosophy of the complex vision to
that modern tendency of thought which calls itself "pragmatism"
and which also finds in personality its starting-point and centre?
The philosophy of the complex vision seems to detect in the
pragmatic attitude something which is profoundly unpleasing to its
taste. Its own view of the art of life is that it is before everything
else a matter of rhythm and harmony and it cannot help discerning
in "pragmatism" something piece-meal, pell-mell and "hand-to-mouth."
It seems conscious of a certain outrage to its aesthetic
sense in the method and the attitude of this philosophy. The
pragmatic attitude, though it would be unfair to call it superficial,
does not appeal to the philosophy of the complex vision as being
one of the supreme, desperate struggles of the human race to
overcome the resistance of the Sphinx. The philosophy of the
complex vision implies the difficult attainment of an elaborate
harmony. It regards "philosophy" as the most difficult of all
"works of art." What it seems to be suspicious of in pragmatism is
a tendency to seek mediocrity rather than beauty, and a certain
humorous opportunism rather than the quiet of an eternal vision. It
seems to look in vain in "Pragmatism" for that element of the
_impossible_, for that strain of Quixotic faith, in which no high
work of art is found to be lacking. It seems unable to discover in
the pragmatic attitude that "note of tragedy" which the fatality of
human life demands.
It certainly shares with the pragmatic philosophy a tendency to lay
more stress upon the freedom of the will than is usual among
philosophies. But the "will" of the complex vision moves in closer
association with the aesthetic sense than does the "will" of
pragmatism. It is perhaps as a matter of "taste" that pragmatism
proves most unsatisfactory to it. It seems to be conscious of
something in pragmatism, which, though itself perhaps not
precisely "commercial," seems curiously well adapted to a
commercial age. It is aware, in fine, that certain high and
passionate intimations are roused to unmitigated hostility by the
whole pragmatic attitude. And it refuses to outrage these
intimations for the sake of any psychological contentment.
In regard to the particular kind of "truth" championed by
pragmatists, the "truth" namely which gives one on the whole the
greatest amount of practical efficiency, the philosophy of the
complex vision remains unconvinced. The pragmatic philosophy
judges the value of any "truth" by its effective application to
ordinary moments. The philosophy of the complex vision judges
the value of any "truth" by its relation to that rare and difficult
harmony which can be obtained only in extraordinary moments.
To the pragmatic philosopher a shrewd, efficient and healthy-minded
person, with a good "working" religion, would seem the lucky
one, while to the philosophy of the complex vision some
desperate, unhappy suicidal wastrel, who by the grace of the
immortals was allowed some high unutterable moment, might
approach much more closely to the vision of those "sons of the
universe" who are the pattern of us all.
This comparison of the method we are endeavouring to follow
with the method of "pragmatism" helps to throw a clear light upon
what the complex vision reveals about these "ultimate ideas" in the
flow of an indiscriminate mass of mental impression.
To the passing fashion of modern thought there is something stiff,
scholastic, archaic, rigid, and even Byzantine, about the words
"truth," "beauty," "goodness," thus pedestalled side by side. But
just as with the old-fashioned word "matter" and the old-fashioned
word "soul," we must not be misled by a mere "superstition of
novelty" in these things.
Modern psychology has not been able, and never can be able, to
escape from the universal human experiences which these
old-fashioned words cover; and as long as the experiences are
recognized as real, it surely does not make much difference what
_names_ we give to them. It seems, indeed, in a point so human
and dramatic as this, far better to use words that have already
acquired a clear traditional and natural connotation than to invent
new words according to one's own arbitrary fancy. It would not be
difficult to invent such words. In place of "truth" one could say
"the objective reality of things" rhythmically apprehended by the
complex vision. Instead of "beauty" one could say "the world seen
under the light of a peculiar creative power in the soul which
reveals a secret aspect of things otherwise concealed from us."
Instead of "goodness" one could say "the power of the conscious
and living _will_, when directed towards love." And in place of
"love" itself one could say "the projection of the essence of the
soul upon the objective plane; when such an essence is directed
towards life."
But it would be futile to continue this "fancy-work," of definition
by an individual temperament. The general traditional meaning of
these words is clear and unmistakable; though there may be
infinite minute shades of difference between one person's
interpretation of such a meaning and another's. What it all really
amounts to is this. No philosophic or scientific interpretation of
life, which does not include the verdict of life's own most
concentrated moments, can possibly be adequate.
Human nature can perfectly well philosophize about its normal
stream of impressions in "cold blood," so to speak, and according
to a method that discounts all emotional vision. But the resultant
conclusions of such philosophizing, with their easy-going
assumption that what we call "beauty" and "goodness" have no
connection with what we call "truth," are conclusions so
unsatisfying to more than half of our being that they carry their
refutation on the face of them.
To be an "interpretation of life" a philosophical theory cannot
afford to disregard the whole turbulent desperate dramatic content
of emotional experience. It cannot disregard the fact, for instance,
that certain moments of our lives bring to us certain reconciliations
and revelations that change the whole perspective of our days. To
"interpret life" from the material offered by the uninspired
unconcentrated unrhythmical "average" moods of the soul is like
trying to interpret the play of "Hamlet" from a version out of
which every one of Hamlet's own speeches have been carefully
removed. Or, to take a different metaphor, such pseudo-psychological
philosophy is like an attempt to analyse the nature of fire
by a summary of the various sorts of fuel which have been
flung into the flame.
The act of faith by which these ultimate ideas are reduced to the
vision of living personalities is a legitimate matter for critical
scepticism. But that there are such ultimate ideas and that life
cannot be interpreted without considering them is not a matter for
any sort of scepticism. It is a basic assumption, without which
there could be no adequate philosophy at all. It is the only
intelligible assumption which covers the undeniable human
experience which gathers itself together in these traditional words.