social movement, which continually increases in power; the passionate
longing of ever-growing groups of men for immediate participation in
culture and the joys of life. Such movements may accomplish themselves
within a fixed and acknowledged sphere of culture and of life; what
changes they then bring lie within this sphere; they do not place the
whole in question. Thus, the democratic movements of the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries left certain principles of religious conviction
untouched; they left the conception of the world entirely unchanged. But
the matter is quite otherwise when a movement of this kind comes in
contact with a culture which is inwardly unstable and which is growing
uncertain concerning its final aims. We cannot fail to recognise what a
great danger of degeneration there is under such circumstances. The
masses, thus struggling upward, then seek their own way of life, and in
so doing they naturally concentrate their attention upon that which lies
immediately before their eyes and affects their immediate well-being.
From this position they will advance all the more quickly to a certain
conclusion, in that they are unconcerned with the experiences and
perplexities of the work of universal history, and therefore, with
unclouded enthusiasm, expect complete truth and pure happiness from
freer exercise of their powers and the rejection of all authority. If we
wish to ignore the dangers to culture which thus grow up, we must either
estimate man as he is too highly, or spiritual tasks too meanly. Until
the present, an independent spiritual life, making man more
comprehensive in being, raising and freeing him, has manifested itself
only at individual points; in the first place in chosen individuals,
from whom it has been conveyed to the common life. The spiritual world
made its appearance as a power superior to the interests and the
opinions of individuals and of the masses. Only in such transcendence of
the merely human did it develop any characteristic content, find an
inner unity, arouse respect, and lead man beyond mere nature. If all
this should now become different, if man in the mass should come to feel
himself to be the measure of all things, and should relate all to his
perception as the centre of infinity, would not a severe contradiction
arise between human enterprise and spiritual necessity, and would not
the full development of this opposition threaten the whole state of
culture with a violent convulsion? Ultimately the inner necessities of
our being would certainly win the day against all errors of
superficiality, but what severe conflicts and losses the division must
cost!
The consideration of all these facts reveals us under the power of
different, indeed antagonistic, movements, and most especially in the
midst of the great struggle for supremacy between the visible and
invisible world, as the conflict between Positivism and Idealism gives
expression to it. Life for us contains two movements, one of which
starts from the centre and the other from the circumference; the former
cannot embrace the fullness of reality, and its basis is also insecure;
the latter gives no inner unity to life and lowers the standard of the
whole. As each of these main tendencies again divides, movements the
most varied surround us, tear us asunder, and crush our souls under
their oppositions. God and reason have become uncertain to us, and the
substitutes that are offered--nature, society, the individual--fail to
satisfy us. The unrest and uncertainty that arise from this are not
limited to a single sphere, they extend to the ultimate basal principles
of life. The new mode of thought declares the chief world of the
ancients to be a delusion; but we saw its own world dissolved in shadows
and schemes by spiritual activity. Since the one dissolves the reality
of the other, we are threatened with the loss of all definite results;
our own being becomes a dark problem to us; we know neither what we are
nor what we are not.
The impression that we get of the condition of the present as a whole
may also be represented in the following manner: the historical
movement of humanity unfolds an incalculable wealth of life; this life,
however, cannot reach its own highest point and cannot win a character
of a spiritual kind unless it organises itself into a whole, unless it
attains an inner synthesis transcending all isolated states. Such
syntheses have been realised, and have led to distinctive organisations
of life; but these organisations have all proved to be too insignificant
and too narrow, and none has been able to overcome the rest and to
embrace the whole wealth of life. So life as a whole has broken them
down; and since it has thus lost all inner structure, it must inevitably
fall into a state of rapid degeneration, and must threaten to lose all
content and meaning.
The evil effects on the development of life that are caused by this
convulsion and division, and by the lack of a dominant tendency; how
this condition leads to the destruction of everything simple and
self-evident, and lends to an unrestrained reflection an unwarrantable
power; how it robs endeavour of all its main tendencies, and permits
true and untrue, good and evil, to run confusedly together, all this and
much else is to-day so much and so widely discussed, and presents itself
with such overpowering clearness to our vision, that its description
need not detain us even for a moment.
Ought we to submit to this disintegration and degradation of life as to
an inevitable destiny, or is it possible to work against it and to
strive after a unity transcending the division? The fact that the
division makes so strong an impression on us and that we feel it to be
so intolerable is at once in favour of the latter alternative. How could
this experience be possible if all multiplicity did not fall within a
comprehensive whole of life--if our nature were not superior to the
oppositions and did not drive us compulsorily to seek a unity? The life
which, in distinct contrast to decaying Antiquity, flows through our age
in a powerful, ceaselessly swelling flood; the unwearied activity of
this age; the excellence of its work; its passionate longing for more
happiness and fullness of life, all forbids a hasty and light
renunciation. It is true that there are hard contradictions, and that
spiritual power is at present not equal to cope with them; but this
power is not a given and fixed magnitude: it is capable of an
incalculable increase. Thus we ought not to be too ready to assert that
the limitations of the age are identical with the bounds of humanity,
and we ought not faint-heartedly to discontinue the struggle for a unity
and a meaning in life.
This problem cannot be acknowledged without at the same time being
admitted as the most important and the most urgent of all problems. For,
on the decision concerning the whole, that concerning the spiritual
character of life depends, and, as this character extends through the
whole of life, every single matter will be differently decided according
to the decision concerning the whole. Only purely technical and merely
formal matters of work may remain unaffected by the problem, but
wherever a content comes into question it will at once arise and
manifest its urgency. This problem, therefore, will not suffer itself to
be thrust into the background; we can neither dally with it nor turn
aside from it. The individual, indeed, in his sphere of free decision
and of independent action can withdraw himself from the question, but he
can do so only at the price of the debasement of the quality of his
life, only in that, from an independent co-operator in the building up
of the ages, he becomes a dependent under-worker.
(c) THE FORM OF THE PROBLEM
Only a few words are now necessary to come to a more definite
understanding concerning the form of the problem, which, with compelling
force, rises into prominence out of all this complexity. Where the
convulsion is such a fundamental and universal one as it shows itself to
us to be, it is of the first importance to rise above the existing
chaos, and to avoid all that which, even indirectly, would lead us back
to it. Many of the aids which would-be healers of the time's evils
recommend with vigour therefore need not be considered.
Every attempt to make a direct compromise between the different forms of
life, to appropriate eclectically this aspect from one and that aspect
from another, is inadequate. The view that none of the systems of life
could have won so much power over mankind without containing some kind
of truth, which may not be lost, has, to be sure, a good deal of truth
in it. It is first necessary, however, to attain a position from which
this truth in each case may be ascertained and rightly appreciated; and
we can only reach such a position in opposition to the confusion which
surrounds us.
A recourse to history and an adherence to a high achievement of the past
promise just as little help. One thing is certain: history cannot be
eliminated from our life; its highest achievements invite us to consider
them again and again. But what is to be accepted by us as "high,"
indeed, what as "spiritual" history, is not at all definite without
further consideration. It is what is esteemed in our own conviction as
true and great which decides in this matter. We look at history from the
position of the present and with the spirit of the present. If,
therefore, as we saw, the present has fallen inwardly into a state of
complete uncertainty and doubt, our consideration of history must be
affected in the same way; and, of course, not its external data, but its
inner spiritual content and meaning must be made uncertain. At the same
time, we cannot fail to recognise that in reference to the central
problem with which we are concerned, the present situation is quite
peculiar, and lacks historical parallel. Sharp contrasts have always
been found in human experience; and in transitional periods in history
they have been felt with painful acuteness. But never did they so extend
over the whole of life and so deeply affect fundamentals; never was
there so much uncertainty with regard to what should be the main
direction of endeavour, and the meaning of all human existence and man's
relation to the universe, as in the present. Everything which to earlier
ages appeared an inviolable possession has become to us a problem. What
gain, therefore, in respect of the chief matter could a return to the
past bring? In his investigation of the far-off ages the scholar may for
a time forget the present: the attitude of mind which may result in
bringing him fame for his work would be dangerous and destructive as a
disposition of the whole of mankind. For we cannot treat that which is
foreign to our nature as something of our own, without losing our
distinctive character and degrading our own life to one of mere
imitation.
Further, it has become impossible to strive for the ideal by selecting
from the realm of experience a single point and treating it as an
archimedean point, as absolutely fixed, and shaping our life from it.
Descartes attempted to do this with his "I think," and Kant with his "I
ought." But it is very doubtful whether there is an archimedean point in
man; whether to make such an assumption is not to over-estimate man. The
experience of history shows further that that which some have taken as
absolutely primary and axiomatic has been regarded by others as
derivative, and has been explained in an entirely different manner. The
presentationalist does not deny the actuality of thought, or the
naturalistic thinker conscience; but he understands it as a subsidiary
phenomenon, and therefore can find no support in it. How then can that
overcome all doubt which itself calls forth serious doubt?
A whole sphere can be withdrawn from the confusion and used to overcome
it just as little as can a single leading point. For the uncertainty
with regard to the whole extends far into every individual sphere; and
such a sphere may appear, to one in one way, and to another in another.
Science is not infrequently treated as though it were enthroned on high,
supreme above all the struggles and the doubts of existence, and as
though, from its sovereign capacity, it were able to give a secure
content of truth to life. It is true that science has much in its forms
and in its work which is not the subject of dispute; but that with which
we are here concerned--its intrinsic value, its spiritual character, and
its place in life as a whole--is by no means a matter beyond dispute. As
a matter of fact, every system of life has its own assertion in
reference to this problem: to each to know signifies something different
and is capable of something different. Whoever decides for one of these
assertions concerning the nature of knowing has at the same time made a
decision concerning the systems of life. He stands not outside, but in
the midst, of the struggle. The same thing holds good with regard to
morality, which is often welcomed as a secure refuge from the doubts of
science. For, however certain it may be that in this sphere also there
is no difference of opinion in respect of many things, as, for example,
concerning the goodness or badness of certain types of conduct, still,
the more we come to be concerned with principles the more do problems
arise. In the immediate present the fact is most unmistakably clear that
in this field also the fight does not rage around the interpretation of
a given and acknowledged fact, but around the fact itself. What a
different purport and meaning morality has in the systems of Religion,
Immanent Idealism, Naturalism, Socialism, and Individualism
respectively!
Finally, the attempt to give to life stability and peace by turning to
the subject, to personality, as to a point removed from all perplexity,
also fails. We should be the last to place a low estimate upon
personality, but the conception receives its meaning and value only in
its spiritual connections, and without these it soon becomes nothing
more than a mere term, which blurs and blunts the great antithesis of
existence. If that which is called personality exists as a merely
individual point by the side of things, then we can never discover how
occupation with things is capable of transforming life as a whole. If,
however, in this activity we should win an inward relation to infinity
and a spontaneity of life, then this admission involves a confession
concerning reality as a whole which can never be justified by a theory
which regards the mere individual as the starting-point. That the idea
of personality implies a problem rather than a fact is indicated by the
different conceptions of it which we meet in the different systems of
life. In considering personality, Religion thinks of the immediate
relation of the soul to God; Immanent Idealism, of the presence of the
infinite at the individual point; Individualism, of the supremacy of the
free subject over against the social environment. It is only by reason
of the common terminology that we fail to recognise how great the
differences are in the thought on the matter; how that which one regards
as of value in personality is severely attacked by another.
All these attempts therefore prove to be inadequate because they lead
back to the state of uncertainty they were meant to overcome. To reject
them, however, involves us in a certain assertion, which to some extent
points out the main direction which further investigation must follow.
No external compromise can help us, but only the winning of a
transcendent position which is capable of giving to each factor its
right without reduction; no flight into history can lead us to the
truth, but only an activity of the present, not, however, of the present
of the mere moment, but which embraces the work of universal history; no
placing a single point or sphere into a supreme and all-dominant
position can help us to overcome division, but only a conflict for a new
whole; no mere turning to personality is of value before a sure basis is
given to it from the whole! All leads us to this conclusion: we must
strive for a new system of life. And to achieve this is not impossible,
for, as we saw, a system of life is not imposed upon us by fate, but
must arise from our own activity. If the systems which have previously
been formed no longer satisfy, why cannot mankind evolve others? Or is
it proved that the existent forms exhaust all possibilities? A too
narrow conception of life was seen to be a common defect of all these
systems; its richness broke through the attempted unifications, and with
this they fell into irreconcilable contradiction. Should not a synthesis
be possible which would do more justice to the whole extent of life;
which need not deny and exclude so much; and which might also unite what
at first seems absolutely contradictory? Doubtless such a synthesis
would not be achieved all at once; it is inevitable that growing life
should involve many discords and movements within itself. Yet this
synthesis would present itself at least in a manner similar to that of
the extant systems; and, since it strives after something human, it must
always be mindful of its limits.
Should such a universal synthesis be at all possible, it must certainly
be something which is to be found and disclosed rather than something
which simply is to be produced from ourselves. How could we hope to
advance to it if it were not somehow involved in the depth of our being,
and in our fundamental relation to the world, and if it did not already
exist here in some way? It is a matter, therefore, of arousing to fuller
independence and at the same time of raising inwardly something which
exists within us; of recognising something new and even astonishing in
the old and the supposedly self-evident, so that the truth of the
universe may become our truth and give power to our life.
A task of this kind is a matter of the whole soul and not merely of the
understanding; it is a concern of humanity, not of the individual alone.
Of that which the single individual may contribute towards the
attainment of the aim it is hardly possible to think humbly enough. And
yet each has to use his power to the best of his ability; if in cases of
great necessity and of ill-fortune in matters of an external kind the
individual considers it only right to hasten to help, how could he
withdraw himself where the task is the satisfying of a spiritual need
of mankind? Still less than in the former case is he able to disregard
the matter as something alien and indifferent to himself. For, in the
struggle for the whole, he fights at the same time for the unity of his
own being, for a meaning for his own life.
II
THE OUTLINE OF A NEW PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS AND CONSIDERATIONS
Our inquiry ended in a definite negation; it showed the present
condition of things to be marked by severe internal conflict and in
danger of dissolution from within. Many movements of thought and life
cross, disturb, limit, and oppose one another. Since what to one seems a
wholesome truth seems to another pernicious error, all inner community
of life disappears, and with it all firmness of conviction and joy of
creative activity. The more these conflicting tendencies develop the
more do they crush and destroy all the traditional elements of our life;
the more are the spiritual contents and goods, which the necessities of
life compel us to adhere to, deprived of their basis in the depths of
the soul. The confusion which prevails in the present time, with its
continual change, its rapid alteration of circumstances, its power to
convey the most diverse impressions, its production of ever new
combinations, might even attract and entertain us if it were no more
than a drama. But if the confusion is more than this, if it includes our
destiny and is meant to signify the whole of our life, then, by reason
of its detrimental effects upon the whole of life and upon man's
inwardness, and by reason of its lack of content and soul, it must
completely fail to satisfy us, and must provoke an energetic resistance.
True, a condition of things so full of contradictions has also its
advantages; it accords to the activity of the individual the greatest
liberty and gives him a feeling of supremacy; its dissolution of
everything previously regarded as fixed enables uncontrolled feeling and
unstable mood to acquire power, and at one time to flatter man
pleasantly, and at another to carry him away impetuously. The
individual's attainment of freedom, however, gives as yet no content to
life; and the feeling of supremacy is as yet not a real supremacy. These
feelings and tendencies, which, within a wider whole of life, certainly
serve to add to its animation, inevitably lead to a state of vagueness
and emptiness when they put themselves forward as the whole. The
supposed aids which are offered us are no more than mere pretences; and
they become dangerous and harmful so far as they deceive us concerning
the seriousness and tension of the situation.
The feeling of tension was increased through the historical treatment
which accompanied our inquiry. For, from the point of view of history,
the present confusion shows itself to be not a temporary obscuring of an
indisputable truth, or a tendency on the part of man to become feeble
and weary in the appropriation of such a truth, but to involve in doubt
the basal nature of truth itself: the meaning of our life as a whole was
seen to have fallen into uncertainty. The systems of thought, in the
light of which we have hitherto regarded reality and steered the
oncoming flood of appearances, have broken up and dissolved. We have
become defenceless in face of the impressions of the environment which
affect us with increasing force, and impel us now in one direction, now
in another. It is not simply this or that aspect in human existence, but
the whole of man's nature which has become problematical in this
dissolution. Formerly, the chief result of the effort of universal
history had seemed to be that man rises more and more above nature and
builds for himself a realm with new contents and new values. Now, the
desire to be something higher than nature appears to be a bold
presumption; the idea that man has a special position is ably contested,
and every distinctive task is denied him. Man appears to be far too
insignificant and to possess far too little freedom to be able to take
up arms against the world and to obtain the mastery of it. Doubts such
as these are all the more painful because they are the result of our own
work; in that we toiled, investigated, and pressed forward, we
undermined the foundations of our own life; our work has turned with
destroying power against ourselves. With the increase of external
results, life as a whole has become increasingly hollow; it has no
longer an organising and governing centre. Is it to be wondered at if
the finer spirits of our age are weary, disheartened, and repelled by
the feeling of the disharmony of the whole of present culture, which
calls for so much effort from man and yields him so little genuine
happiness; speaks of truth and lives from semblance and pretence;
assumes an imposing mien and utterly fails to satisfy when confronted
with ultimate problems? Is not the power of attraction, which the figure
of St. Francis of Assisi was recently able to acquire, an eloquent
witness to the reality of the longing for more plainness and simplicity
in life? And yet we cannot take up again the position occupied by an
earlier age; we cannot take up a past phase unchanged. No return to the
conditions of the past can bring satisfaction to the spiritual needs of
the present, for a device of this kind always leads by a detour back
again to the starting-point. Ultimately, it is from ourselves alone that
help can come; and we can have recourse to no means other than those of
the living present.
First of all, our state of necessity must be admitted to the full, and
the danger of a further degeneration of life in respect of its spiritual
nature adequately estimated. It is always a gain to obtain a clear idea
of the condition of the matter in question and to grasp the problem as a
whole. For, through this, we are saved not only from illusions leading
to error, but also from the authority of the mere present and from a
feeling of anxiety and fear in the presence of contemporary opinion. If
this age is in a state of such uncertainty; if it achieves so little for
that which concerns the foundations of our spiritual existence, then
neither its agreement can impress us, nor its opposition appal us; but
the endeavour to make life firm again can seek confidently what is
needful for it, and, with care in regard to what it shall affirm and
deny, can follow the way which its own necessities point out.
One fact in particular must tend to increase our confidence in this
endeavour: the fact, namely, that a negative result, which proceeds from
our own work, cannot be a mere negation, but must contain an affirmative
element within it. From what reason could the traditional systems of
life have become inadequate to man other than that they do not satisfy a
demand that we ourselves make upon them, and must make upon them? It is
plain that we need and seek more than we possess, and this seeking
betrays that our being is wider or deeper than was assumed in those
systems. Why did each of the different systems become inadequate, unless
it was that life itself rejected as too narrow the standard involved in
them? Why was it impossible to regard the different systems as having a
certain validity, to allow them to continue side by side, and divide our
existence amongst them, if not because we cannot possibly give up all
claim to an inner unity? If, then, the present confusion is rooted in a
wrong relation between our desire and our achievement, we need not
faint-heartedly surrender ourselves to it. It is plain that there is
something higher in us, which we have to arouse to life and realise to
its fullest extent. We may be confident that the necessity of our being,
which gave rise to the desire, will also reveal some way by which it may
be satisfied.