this place with greater difficulty, in that modern life, as it works out
its own peculiar characteristics, ever more directly and ever more
harshly opposes Christianity. The initial assumptions of the two are
fundamentally different. Early Christianity spoke to a generation which
had become perplexed concerning the rationality of the universe and
concerning its own capacity; a generation which could attain to an
affirmation of life only through the building up of a new world in
contrast to that of sense impression. The world, then disdained, has
acquired in the Modern Age an ever-increasing power of attraction. New
peoples and epochs have grown up, which have a feeling of power and wish
to exert the force of their youth in work upon the surrounding world;
this world meets such a desire since it shows itself to be still in the
midst of change and full of problems. If formerly the world surrounded
man as an unchangeable fate, it now proves to be capable of change and
of upward development; man can work and strive to transform it into a
kingdom of reason. The more that power and object unite in this, the
more victorious is the advance of work; the nearer the world is brought
to man's inner life, the more does it become to him his true and only
home. The idea of immanence comes to have a magical sound; everything
which oversteps the boundary marked out by the work of the world soon
comes to be regarded as a flight into a realm of shadows, into an
"other" world. Satisfaction is obtained in life in grappling with
realities; in the display of masculine strength: while the religious
attitude to life, with its waiting and hope, and its expectation of
supernatural aid, seems lifeless, feeble, and altogether lacking in
spirit.
At the same time, all capacity for understanding the world in which
Christianity set the soul of man disappears. That world was one of pure
inwardness, a world in which the fundamental relation of life was that
of the spiritual life to its own ideal conception, to absolute spirit; a
world in which the questions of character and of the determination of
the will were the chief problems. To earlier Christianity that world was
anything but a mere "other" world; rather it constituted that which was
nearest and most certain; the chief basis of life, from which the world
of sense first received its truth and its value. But the more
significant the world of sense becomes to man, and the more powerfully
it draws his affections to itself, the more does the relation to this
world become the fundamental relation of life; the more does that pure
inner world fade, and the more it appears to be something artificial,
shadowy, something added as an afterthought; and the turning to it comes
to be regarded as a flight into an "other" world. Christianity must
necessarily be alien and unintelligible to anyone who feels the world
which was to Christianity the chief world to be a mere "other" world;
for him all the contentions of Christianity are inevitably distorted,
and every element of joyful affirmation and heroic victory which it
contains obscured; the whole must present a miserable and morbid
picture. Now that the centre of life has changed its position in
relation to the world, is it possible to avoid the consequences of a
growing tendency to displace and dissolve Christianity?
The inner world was to Christianity essentially a realm of conviction
and decision, a relation of will to will, of personality to personality:
free action, in power and love, in guilt and reconciliation, formed the
essence of all events and gave to the world a soul. Only as ethical,
personal power did the spiritual life appear to find its own depth and
to be able to govern the world.
Here again the Modern Age takes a directly antagonistic course. Its work
is considered most of all to lead beyond the subjectivity of man to the
content and under the objective necessity of things. For we seem first
to attain genuine truth when we place ourselves in the world of fact,
reveal its relations, and take part in its movements; we have to follow
the objective and immanent necessities of things; to interpret every
particular case from the standpoint of these necessities and to
harmonise our own conduct with them. Life seems to acquire greatness and
universal significance only insomuch as the process comes before the
effect, the law before freedom, fixed relations before the resolution
into individual occurrences. To the Modern Age, not only has nature been
transformed into a continuous causal chain, but in its spiritual
activity also the age forms great complexes, which, through the force of
logical necessity, are placed beyond the influence of all caprice, and
of all the interests of the narrowly human. From the point of view of
such an evolution the realm of ethical life appears to be a mere
subjective sphere; a tissue of human opinion and striving; something
which falls outside of genuine reality and which can never be forced
into its structure. To continue in the position of early Christianity is
looked upon as a remaining at a lower level of life; conceptions such as
freedom of the will and moral judgment are regarded as childish
delusions which are the more decidedly rejected the more the new life
displays its fundamental character. Again, with a transvaluation of all
values, that which to Christianity was the highest in life and dominated
the whole is regarded as a mere accompanying appearance; indeed, a
danger to the energy and truth of life.
Hence a mode of life has arisen which not only regards the answers of
Christianity with indifference, but does not even recognise its
problems; and this mode of life is attracting to itself more and more
the convictions and energies of mankind. Even now the antithesis which
the centuries have prepared is being forced with unmistakable clearness
into prominence. It was possible for us to deceive ourselves with regard
to its implacability so long as a rationalistic and pantheistic way of
thinking presented Christianity in the most general way, and tried to
comprehend its nature as something universal, and at the same time
placed nature and the universe in the transfiguring light of
speculative consideration. But, in the course of further experience,
that mode of thought has been severely shaken and appears more and more
to be a mere aggregate of phrases; and so the antitheses face one
another unreconciled and a decision is not to be evaded. In this matter
mankind is under the influence of a strong reaction against the
religious, and especially the Christian, mode of life. Throughout many
centuries Christianity has given life a unity and has thrown light upon
reality from its standpoint: further, it has presented its way as the
only possible one; one to which everything which in any way strives
spiritually upward has to adapt itself. If the truth of the whole now
falls into doubt, everything which was intended to give to life
stability and character is soon felt to be heavily oppressive and
intolerably narrow; and everything which in that mode of life was
accidental, temporal, and human advances into the foreground. We clearly
perceive that much passed current as true only because we had become
unaccustomed to ask questions concerning it, and also that many things
owed their acceptance not to their inner necessity, but only to social
sanction. With such feelings it may come to be considered a great
deliverance to shake off the whole, and a necessary step towards
truthfulness of life to eliminate every aspect of that mode of life
which through custom or authority continues to exist.
These tendencies are tendencies of reaction with all their
one-sidedness. But can we deny that a great change of life has been
accomplished, a change which reaches far beyond these tendencies, and
which is still working itself out? That which previously was most
proximate to us is now made to recede; what held currency as absolutely
certain must now be laboriously proved, and, through continual
reflection, loses all freshness and power to convince; immediate
experience, axiomatic certainty, immovable conviction are lacking. The
self-evident certainties in the light of which earlier ages lived and
worked are wanting, and we are compelled to acknowledge that some things
become uncertain, even impossible, when they cease to be self-evident.
Again, it cannot fail to be recognised that we are tired of a merely
religious way of life; we feel its limitations; new needs are awakened
and seek new forms of life and expression; even the traditional
terminology displeases us; even the acutest dialectic cannot lend to the
old the power of youth.
Of course the matter is not finally settled by these judgments of the
age. For, a later age is not the infallible judge of an earlier; much
which to us moderns seems certain may soon become problematic; much
which satisfies us may soon be shown to be inadequate. It may be that
the old is capable of asserting the ultimate depth of life in contrast
to the new; that the world of inner spiritual experience which it
discloses may finally show itself superior to every assault. But, in any
case, the new contains a wealth of fact not only in individual results
but in the whole of its being; through its emergence it has transformed
the whole condition of things; it is impossible to decry it as a mere
apostasy and to appeal to the consciences of individuals. It may be that
spiritual power here stands against spiritual power in a titanic
struggle for the soul of man: victory must fall to the power which
penetrates to the primary depths of life and is capable of taking
possession of what is true in the others. But if in this the older view
of life is inwardly superior, it can develop such superiority only by
its own complete renewal and energetic inward elevation, through the
most fundamental settlement with everything antagonistic in an
all-comprehensive whole of life. Yet how deeply the age is still
involved in its search! How far it is from the conclusion! For the
present, as far as the life of culture is concerned, Religion has fallen
into complete uncertainty; its chief support and realm lie not within
but outside of that life. It is this which makes all affirmation of
Religion weak and all negation strong; it is this which threatens to
stamp, as something subjective and false, every conception of a
"supernatural." Religion has become uncertain to us not merely in single
doctrines and tendencies, but in the whole of its being, in its
fundamental contention as to the nature of life; and what it offers in
the traditional form in which it has come to us no longer satisfies a
life which has been aroused to greater breadth and freedom.
2. THE SYSTEM OF IMMANENT IDEALISM
By the side of the religious system of life, for thousands of years, now
as supplementary, now as contradictory, there has been another which may
be designated as Immanent Idealism. The latter system is not so fixed
and overawing a structure as the former, but with a quieter force it
penetrates the whole of life. It is not of a simple nature, but is found
in many different forms; still, there exists so much in common in these
that they clearly exhibit and emphasise one common tendency. Like the
religious system, this Idealism also places life primarily in a world of
thought, from which it organises sense experience; it is distinguished
from the former system, however, in that it never separates the two
worlds one from the other, but conceives them as related elements or
aspects of a single whole. They are related to one another as appearance
and reality, as cause and effect, as animating and animated nature
(_natura naturans_ and _naturata_). The divine is not so much a power
transcending the world as one permeating it and living in it; not
something specific outside of things, but their connection in a living
unity; it does not make demands and present us with problems so much as
give to the world its truth and depth. Thus, reality appears as an
inwardly co-ordinated whole: the individual finds his genuine being only
as a part of this whole. And so, here, the fundamental relation of life
is that to the invisible whole of reality; with the development of this
relation, that which seems lifeless becomes animated; the elements which
seem isolated are brought together; and the world discloses an infinite
content and gives it to man for a joyous possession.
But it would be impossible for man to accomplish the transition from
appearance to reality, if he were not rooted in the fundamental
permanencies and if, in the comprehending of the world, he did not find
his own being. If this is the case, however, and if, through courageous
turning from the superficiality to which he in the first place belongs,
he is able to set himself in the depth of reality, then a magnificent
life with the widest prospects opens out before him. For, now, he may
win the whole of infinity for his own and set himself free from the
triviality of the merely human without losing himself in an alien world;
he may direct the movement of life to a positive gain, since he guides
it from within and from the whole. This life will find its centre in the
activities which bring man into relation with the whole and broaden him
from within to the whole; thus, in science and art spiritual creation
becomes the chief concern; its forceful development allows us to hope
for an ennobling of the whole of existence. With this creative activity
as centre, the rest is regarded as its environment, its means, its
presupposition; but there remain a clear distinction and gradation
between that which a creative life evolves immediately, and that which
forms a mere condition for this and may never become an aim in itself.
Thus, the beautiful is separated sharply from the merely useful; the
inner life from all preservation of physical existence; a genuine
spiritual culture, as the revelation of the depth of things, from all
perfecting of natural and social conditions, from mere civilisation.
Here life finds an aim and a task in itself; they are not presented to
it from a transcendent world; but it can evolve a morality in the sense
of taking up the whole into one's own volition, the subjection of
caprice to the necessity of things.
A life thus full of content and joyous activity arose when Greek culture
was at its height, and exercised its influence through the course of the
centuries; Christianity also soon laid aside its original suspicion
against this life and joined it to itself. This life, however, first
attained complete independence and self-consciousness in modern culture
so far as this culture followed the way of Idealism. It is felt to be
superior to Religion and hopes to be able to shape the world of man more
satisfactorily than Religion can. In this system formulated conceptions
and perplexing doctrines of the divine are not necessary, as they are in
Religion, because the divine is present immediately in the process of
life and surrounds man on all sides. Man's powers are not drawn in a
particular direction and nothing is discarded, but everything is to be
uniformly developed and unified in an all-inclusive harmony; natural
instincts are restrained and ennobled through their relations in a
larger whole. A power of organisation is displayed which reaches the
finest vein of the soul, throws the genuinely human into relief in
contrast with environment and tradition, and makes it the matter of
chief concern: with all this it deepens life in itself and finds
incalculable treasure in such depth. Everywhere there is powerful effort
and creative activity on the part of man, but at the same time the
consciousness of an invisible order; a joyful affirmation of life, but
at the same time a deliverance from unrestrained curiosity and coarse
enjoyment; a breadth and a freedom of life, and with this a clear
consciousness of the greatness but also of the limitations of man. Such
was the state of conviction in the classical period of German
literature.
This form of life has, with remarkable quickness, been relegated into
the distance; with all its external proximity it has become inwardly
more alien to us than the world of Religion. All this has come to pass,
however, not so much through direct conflict, which its free and
comprehensive nature could scarcely provoke, as through inner changes of
conditions and strivings, which have now thrust other facts into
prominence and driven men to other tasks. The transformation could
hardly have been effected so quickly and so fundamentally if this mode
of life did not involve fixed limits and problematic presuppositions
which we have now become fully conscious of for the first time.
It is the aristocratic nature of this Immanent Idealism which first
awakens suspicion and opposition. Spiritual creation, from which it
expects complete salvation, can take possession of and satisfy the whole
soul only where it breaks forth spontaneously with great and powerful
effect, where, with overwhelming power, it raises man above himself. An
incontrovertible experience shows us that this takes place only in rare
and exceptional cases; there must be a union of many forces before man
can rise to such a height and be swayed by the compulsion of this
creation. Now, it is true that the gain of such red-letter days carries
its effect into ordinary days and that from the heights light pours down
upon lower levels. But in such transmission there is a serious and
inevitable loss in power and purity; indeed, in veracity: that which
fills the life of those producing it and arouses it to its highest
passion easily becomes to the receiver a subsidiary matter, a pleasant
accompanying experience. Thus we see epochs of organisation follow upon
times of creation, but we see that such organisation sinks more and more
into a reflective and passive reproduction. Such organisation tends to
become mere imagination; the man imbued with the spirit of such
organisation easily seems to himself more than he is; with a false
self-consciousness talks and feels as though he were at a supreme
height; lives less his own life than an alien one. Sooner or later
opposition must necessarily arise against such a half-life, such a life
of pretence, and this opposition will become especially strong if it is
animated by the desire that all who bear human features should
participate in the chief goods of our existence and freely co-operate in
the highest tasks. It must be observed that this longing is one which,
at the present time, is found to be irresistible. And so the
aristocratic character of Immanent Idealism produces a type of life
rigidly exclusive, harsh and intolerable.
But not only does this type of life lack complete power and truthfulness
in regard to mankind as a whole; it is subject to similar limitations in
relation to the world and to things. All success in our relation to the
world and to things depends on the spiritual constituting the thing's
own depth, on things finding their genuine being in it, and where this
depth is reached, on the visible world uniting with it willingly, indeed
joyfully, and moulding itself solely and completely for spiritual
expression. Spirit and world must strive together in mutual trust and
each must finally be completely involved one in the other; reality must
build itself up, if not at one stroke, at any rate in ceaseless advance
as a kingdom of reason. A solution at once so simple and so easy bluntly
contradicts the experiences of the last century. Both without and within
the soul of man an infinite concreteness makes itself evident, which
withstands all derivation from general principles, all insertion into a
comprehensive scheme, obstinately asserts its particularity, forms its
own complexes, and follows its own course. The realistic mode of thought
of the Modern Age has brought this aspect of reality to full
recognition. If the spiritual life cannot take complete possession of
things, if a realm of facts continues to exist over against it, it may
be doubted whether the spiritual is of the ultimate being of the world
and reveals the reality of things, or whether it merely comes to them
from without and only touches their surface. In the latter case external
limitation becomes the cause of an inward convulsion. This is a fact
which we find corroborated when we come to reflect that Immanent
Idealism treats the spiritual life in man much too hastily and boldly as
absolute spiritual life; that it attributes to human capacity, without
further consideration, that which belongs to spiritual life in general.
The experiences of modern life place the particularity and insignificant
of man more and more before our eyes; they enable us to see with what
difficulty and how slowly any kind of spiritual life whatever has
emerged in the human sphere, and with what toil it maintains itself
there; they insist that, if the spiritual life is not to sink down to a
mere appearance to man, a sharp distinction must be made between the
substance of the spiritual life and the form of its existence in man; in
every sphere modern life puts questions which lead beyond the position
of Immanent Idealism. Immanent Idealism seems to treat the problem of
life much too summarily and not to penetrate sufficiently to ultimate
depths.
The conflict between Immanent Idealism and modern life is still more
keen in regard to the problem whether reality is rational. It is
essential to this Idealism to affirm this rationality; it need not
conceive it as present in a complete state, but it must be sure of an
advance to it; the movement of reality, with its antitheses and
conflicts, must pass in elements of reason. Immanent Idealism tolerates
no inner division of the spiritual life; wherever spiritual movement
emerges, there can be no doubt concerning the aim; the development of
power must bring the right disposition with it; every limitation can
come only from weakness or misunderstanding; there can be no radical
evil. With an optimism of this kind the leading minds of German
classical literature are imbued; but how much, in the midst of all the
progress of civilisation, in the nineteenth century the appearance of
the world has been darkened! We see now with complete clearness the
indifference of the forces of nature towards the aims of the spirit; we
see the incessant crossing of the work of reason by blind necessity; we
see the spiritual life divided against itself, eminent spiritual powers
drawn into the service of lower interests, and carried away by
unrestrained passion. In a time of extraordinary increase of technical
and social culture, we see the spiritual life win scarcely anything, in
fact, seriously recede; we see it become perplexed concerning its main
direction, and oscillate in uncertainty between different possibilities.
We experience in every sphere a violent convulsion of the spirit. How
can Immanent Idealism satisfy us under such circumstances; how can it
assure to our life a firm basis?