in the detection and the elimination of contradictions can be explained
only in this context. Logic, as we saw, played an unassuming rôle in
this matter, and the indolence of man always inclined to easy
accommodation and compromise. It was the increased vital energy, the
adoption of a particular issue as the main issue, that made movements,
which had long existed in a state of harmony and peace, irreconcilable
enemies, and drove them to a life-and-death struggle. With a lower level
of spiritual activity the Middle Ages unsuspiciously united a religion
of ecclesiastical organisation with a religion of personal feeling and
disposition; and it did not feel that there was an inconsistency in
their union so much as that one was the completion of the other. As soon
and so far, however, as in the Modern Age spirituality won more
independence and more self-consciousness, and felt itself to be the
centre of the whole, it was inevitable that a dependence upon an
external order should be experienced only as an intolerable oppression;
and the division of life between the one and the other became an
impossibility. It was necessary only that a powerful and passionate
personality, like that of Luther, should take up the problem, and make
it the sole object of his effort, and the hour of revolution had come.
How meanly they think of the controlling forces of history who would
trace back such changes to the selfishness or the vanity of individuals!
Looked at from our point of view, the inner changes within the life of
universal history often appear to be simplifications--cases of energetic
concentration on the essential, and of fundamental separation of the
subsidiary. The truly great carry on a ceaseless conflict against the
chaotic confusion which the life of the majority is wont to produce ever
anew--a condition in which matters of the first importance are confused
with those that are subsidiary; all inner gradation is lacking; and the
great is treated as something insignificant, and the insignificant as
something great. There is a struggle to secure a clear differentiation
and gradation; to establish a centre, and to transform life into a
genuinely self-conscious life. Have not all the principal revivals of
religion, of morality, of education, been simplifications?
These movements show life in a particular form; something emerges in it
which, unconcerned with the weal and the woe of man, follows its own
course and makes absolute demands; and, more than anything else,
disturbs and destroys his calmness and complacency. How heavily Germany
has had to pay for the movement of the Reformation by being thrown back
politically, nationally, and economically! It is inevitable that all
movements of an ideal kind, the social movement of the present included,
should appear from the point of view of natural well-being, troublesome
and pernicious disturbances. They can be regarded as something higher
only when we acknowledge that life does not consist entirely in external
relations, or in the endeavour to attain harmony with the environment,
but that an inner task grows out of life itself, and first gives to
human existence a value and a dignity.
In the development of a self-consciousness and of a movement of life
itself, we rise above the motive of utility, by which nature is swayed.
It is a moral element in the widest sense; it is the consciousness of
something objectively necessary, unconditionally transcending the ends
of the narrowly human, that first gives to convictions axiomatic
certainty and to conduct the right energy. This moral element attains to
a more independent display in the moral self-judgment of man that is
called "conscience." True, this conception has been the subject of much
error and has been much over-estimated. Not only has the moral judgment
less power over man than is frequently assumed, but that which is called
conscience is often--generally, in fact--nothing more than a by-product
of custom and of accommodation in human social life. In this case the
inner life has still attained no independence, but remains dependent
upon the environment; and the disposition thus produced is nothing more
than a feeling of aversion to the results of conduct, nothing more nor
less than concealed fear of punishment--a state of the soul which the
most prominent thinkers have, with good reason, stigmatised as a
manifestation of weakness and cowardice. But, however much that is
foreign to it and of an inferior order may have been associated with
conscience, nevertheless, judging conduct, as it does, according to the
inward disposition and not according to consequences, conscience is a
unique, original phenomenon. To whatever extent conscience, as we know
it, may have had its source in something external, and in however great
a degree it may depend upon changing circumstances, it is nevertheless
impossible to explain the fundamental fact by reference to the
environment. For, if our life depended solely and entirely upon the
environment and no movement arose from within, all influence from
without could do nothing but subdue us by sheer force; there could never
be an independent recognition and acceptance of the command addressed
to us; never the feeling of an inner responsibility for conduct; never
an independent extension of the original precept; and yet all these
phenomena are in fact found in human experience. True, we are affected
very greatly by external forces; but that they may achieve what they do
a movement from within must meet them, take them up, and carry them
further. The enormous amount of pretence which flourishes amongst us
with regard to matters of morality, and which so easily obscures our
vision for the chief matter, would be unintelligible if the spiritual
did not manifest some kind of independence in the moral judgment. Unless
there is such a development towards independence, the moral judgment
must also, as far as its content is concerned, be determined by the
condition of the social environment: it could never follow a course of
its own; never give rise to anything new; never enter into inner
conflict with the environment. Yet, as a matter of fact, we find these
tendencies in abundance. The individual is able, in the light of his own
moral conviction, to approve and value something which all around him
reject; and conversely, to condemn and reject something which all around
him esteem and respect; and this he is able to do under the compulsion
of inner necessity, and not simply out of a love of vain paradox. This
opposition of individuals to the condition of things in the social
environment has been the main source of all inner progress in matters of
morality. For it is in matters of morality, in particular, that that
which hitherto had given no offence has become intolerable to
individuals; and that new and imperative demands such as had never been
made before have emerged with constraining power. Or did the idea of
humanity, the abolition of slavery, and the commandment to love one's
enemies, for example, arise in some other way? If in respect of such
matters as these that which on its first appearance was paradoxical
quickly came to be regarded as self-evident, what else was operative in
bringing about this result than an inner necessity, from which, when
once we become conscious of it, we can never again escape? Suitable
conditions in the social environment were, of course, also necessary for
the fulfilment and the extension of those moral requirements; but they
could never have originated from the environment, or have derived from
it their unconditional nature, their certainty of victory, and their
indifference to all external consequences: qualities without which they
could not have effected what they have.
In the life of the individual the moral judgment manifests its power in
affirmation as well as in negation. If it approves one's disposition and
conduct, it gives to life a greater stability and joyfulness; if it
condemns, then existence is paralysed by division. In this experience it
is implicitly assumed that the distinction of good and evil has its
source neither in the preferences of the human individual nor in those
of the human society; but that in this antithesis a new order that is
present only to the inner nature is revealed.
We see, therefore, that in contrast with its attachment to the external,
life attains an independent inwardness which we are compelled to
acknowledge, however mysterious the inward may at present be to us, and
however little we may be able to define its nature more closely. Earlier
in our investigation we were led to recognise a movement of life from
the narrowness of the individual to the comprehensiveness of the whole.
It is obvious that our two results are closely connected with each other
and refer to each other. For we attain a unity, as contrasted with the
juxtaposition of the elements of the visible world, only through a
powerful activity from within; but this activity cannot emerge unless
life forms a whole in contrast with its dissipation into disconnected
points.
These two developments are obviously sides of the same life--a life
which bears a totally different character from that of the psychical
life which forms a mere continuation of nature. Within the soul itself
there is a distinction between two levels, of which that other than
nature may in agreement with established usage be called "spiritual,"
however little may be implied by this expression; however mysterious,
indeed, the conception may for the present be. In contrast with the old,
this new level is unmistakably at a disadvantage. The old seems to
include the whole range of human existence; the new, on the other hand,
must toilsomely struggle for a place of some kind. Nevertheless, in
spite of its external insignificance, the spiritual gives birth to a
movement of no mean character; in face of all opposition it seeks to
form a centre of life of its own, and to make this the chief basis of
effort; it is to be found thus in the life of mankind as revealed in
history, and also in that of the individual. Within the conception of
culture we comprehend all achievements distinctive of man. But what is
culture if it does not assure to man a position independent of nature;
if it does not set up ideals which can arise only out of a new life?
Ultimately the chief motive-power of culture is the longing of mankind
for a new kind of being in contrast to that of nature. Culture
necessarily becomes superficial and empty when it directs human striving
to external objects and does not lead through all occupation with
externals to its own development and to the advance of its own being.
The work of culture is genuine and powerful only when man seeks in it
his own true and ultimate self.
How every development of the spiritual advances towards the attainment
of a new unity of life may be more clearly seen in the case of the
individual, in relation to whom we meet with the conceptions of
personality and of spiritual individuality. However much confusion there
may be in the ordinary use of these conceptions, the conception of
personality merits the estimation in which it is held only if it is
regarded as the bearer of a new life in contrast to that of nature, and
not simply as something added to nature. The development is more evident
with the conception of spiritual individuality. For such an
individuality is by no means something given to a man in the natural
characteristics which he brings with him into life. Within this
particular nature, as a rule, many things, significant and
insignificant--things which are original in himself and things which are
due to external influence--are chaotically confused; and, as it lacks an
inner unity and an adjustment of the different aspects, one aspect may
directly contradict another. If the individual is no more than these
natural characteristics, he can become active as a whole only through a
summation of the multiplicity, and not through a dominating and
organising unity. With the transition to the new kind of life a desire
for such a unity awakens and gives rise to a definitely characteristic
movement. A unity must be found within us in some manner; it must be
included in the range of possibilities open to us. But in order to
obtain supremacy it must be grasped, be appropriated and strengthened by
our self-activity. We ourselves therefore become a task in the treatment
of which it is possible to fall into serious error. Looked at from this
point of view our spiritual nature is seen to be the product of our own
activity. We cannot fail to recognise a peculiar interweaving of freedom
and fate in our existence.
The inner history of all creative minds shows how great may be the
inspiration and the tension which arise in this striving to realise a
spiritual nature; an inspiration and a tension which are evident even
when the main direction for the realisation of this nature has been
easily found and only the more detailed form has to be sought: they are
still more apparent when the main direction itself is in question. How
toilsome it has often been for a man to come to that in which his
strength lay, and with the aid of reflection to attain a state of secure
creative activity; to unite all forces to a common achievement; and to
make a distinct advance beyond the traditional position of the spiritual
life! Life was by no means a completed gift and something to be easily
enjoyed, even in the case of natures lavishly equipped by destiny--as,
for example, Goethe: it was in a struggle for itself that it won a
complete independence and a proud superiority over everything external.
This struggle was being fought in all his cares, in all thought for
natural and social well-being, all utilitarian considerations in regard
to the externals of life. It gave to the man amid all his doubts and
agitations the certainty of being something unique, something
indispensable; at the same time it lifted him into an invisible world,
and enabled him to understand his own life as an end complete in itself.
How different this is from the struggle for existence, for the
preservation of physical life; and how clearly a new life, another kind
of reality, arises in these movements! The new life does not by any
means appear only at the heights of spiritual creation; rather it would
be true to say that the life which is present in the whole of human
existence becomes most easily discernible at these heights. The movement
towards a spiritual individuality may be begun in the most simple
conditions; and it is not to be estimated according to the degree of its
achievement. For, where world stands against world, everything depends
upon the decision with regard to the fundamental principle, and this may
be made at any point. The mere possibility of making such a decision
testifies here irrefutably to a reality: the reality of a new order of
things.
3. THE INNER CONTRADICTION OF THE NEW LIFE
The conclusion we are led to is that a new life distinct from that of
nature arises in our soul. With a great diversity of manifestations, it
surrounds us with an indisputable actuality; no one can fail to
recognise that something of importance, something distinctive comes to
pass in us. But as soon as we try to comprehend these manifestations as
a whole, and to ascertain the meaning of the whole, a difficult problem
arises. It is comparatively easy, however, to come to an understanding
as to the negative aspect of the matter. It is obvious that the new life
is not an embellishment or a continuation of nature; it would bring with
it something essentially new. Again, it is obvious that it is not a
product of a single psychical function, such as thought or feeling; it
would form a whole transcending the psychical functions, and from this
whole determine the form of each function distinctively. But what is
this new reality and this whole to which the course of the movement
trends? The more we reflect over the question the more strongly we feel
that it is a direction rather than a conclusion that is offered to us in
this matter; something higher, something inward and so on is to evolve,
but what is embedded in the inward and in what this supremacy is based
is at present not apparent. Further, every attempt at a more definite
orientation at once reveals to us a wide gulf, indeed a harsh
contradiction, between the content of that which is sought and the form
of existence from which it is sought. The chief impulse of the spiritual
life is that it wills to liberate us from the merely human; to give us a
share in the life of the whole; to remove us from a happening between
things to their fundamental happening. Seen from within, the history of
humanity is primarily an increasing deliverance of life from bondage to
the narrowly human, an emergence of something more than human, and an
attempt to shape our life from the point of view of this: it is an
increasing conflict of man with himself. At the same time, however, it
is a taking up of the whole into himself; since man in all his planning
and striving is related to the whole, it seems to him that his own
nature must remain alien to himself if the whole does not disclose
itself to him and allow him to participate in a life which has its
source in ultimate depths; if in the life of the whole he does not find
a purer and a more genuine self. The idea of truth impels us beyond all
the limitations to which a particular being is subject, beyond all
communication of things from without. There must be nothing between us
and reality; the inner life of reality must become ours, and thus our
life will emerge for the first time from a shadowy existence to full
reality, from the narrowness of the mere individual to the
comprehensiveness of infinity. The idea of the good makes similar
demands. To the spiritual movement, the advancement of merely human
well-being is far too mean an aim. This movement makes us clearly
conscious of the triviality of mere happiness; of the oppressive and
destructive effect of a continual reference to our own subjectivity; and
of the unworthiness of treating love and justice as only means to our
welfare. It becomes at the same time an urgent duty to break through the
narrow limitations of the natural ego, and to conduct our life from the
point of view of objective truth and comprehensiveness, and so for the
first time to become capable of genuine love and justice.
It is true that these aims are lofty, and, we feel we have the right to
say, aims that may not be rejected. But it is not at all evident how
they are to be reached from the position of man; it is not at all clear
how man shall press forward from mere existence to the creative basis,
from the part to the whole: for his particularity and his mere existence
hold him fixed. But in his existence nature preponderates by far:
individual tendencies of a new order do appear; but how could they in
their state of isolation and weakness bring about a revolution and place
life on a new foundation? As a matter of fact, we usually find these
impulses to a new life drawn into the service of natural and social
self-preservation, and, over against the passionate struggle for
existence, condemned to complete impotence and shadowiness.
The whole life of culture makes us clearly conscious of this perplexity.
The essence of that life consists in this, and by this alone can it be
held as true--that it wills to build up a new, spiritual reality within
the sphere of humanity. But to what extent is such a reality
recognisable on the basis of experience? In and with all civilisation
man continues obstinately bent upon the attainment of his own ends: the
struggle for material goods exerts an immense influence upon and
controls men; an indescribable amount of pretence and hypocrisy
accompanies and surrounds the spiritual movement. Between that which man
really strives for, and that which he asserts that he is striving for,
and which perhaps it is his intention to strive for, there is great
divergence. Falsehood like this is not limited to individuals; our whole
culture is one monstrous deception in so far as it promises to develop
humanity to something new and higher, while in reality the new is
occupied mostly with polishing up the old, the life of nature, to give
it a glittering appearance. It is on this account that in times of
criticism and introspection so much opposition has been offered to
culture; that such passionate scorn has been aroused against the
hypocrisy and pretence which pervades its whole life. But although we
are fully aware of its deplorable state, we do not break its power over
us. It is perhaps the most bitter of all our experiences that we are
held fast under the spell of a condition of things concerning the vanity
and futility of which no one with any insight has the slightest doubt.
However, in moralising over this state of things we ought to guard
ourselves from becoming too passionate. For it is a question whether it
could be otherwise; whether the fault is in any way in our will, and is
not solely and entirely in the nature of our being itself. For it is
certainly a contradiction throughout that man, who is an individual
being existing by the side of others, and whose life belongs to the
domain of experience, should set himself in a universal life
transcending all particularity and live from the bases of reality. How
can that which is primarily a part of a given world build up a new
world? Ideas like those of the true and the good are, from this point of
view, simply delusions, manifest impossibilities; man may trouble and
weary himself with them, but all his endeavour only leads him into a
state of greater confusion. These ideas are to him for ever an "other"
world; he may expand himself and develop, but he does not come a step
nearer by doing so.
It is true that in striving for truth, man advances beyond sense
presentation to the activity of thought; but the thoughts always remain
his--thoughts of mere man. However much he may widen his own sphere as a
consequence of his reflection upon them, he does not go beyond it. In
history also the striving for a scientific comprehension of truth
appears to be a vain struggle; the passing through different phases has
not brought it nearer its aim so much as, with ever-increasing
clearness, it has manifested the impossibility of attaining what is
sought.
The ancient conception of truth, with its belief in a relationship of
the being of man with the whole; with it assumption of an easy
transference of life from one to the other; with its view of truth as an
agreement of thought with an external reality, has through the course of
life become untenable; it has been rejected through the influence of the
tendency of our being to become more inward. For this tendency
necessarily led to a detachment from the environment of the world, and
to a separation of the two sides of our experience. We became clearly
conscious of this separation at the beginning of the Modern Age. We saw
that, if we were not to give up all claim to truth, only one course
remained possible: to make a division within the human domain, a
division between a merely human and something else which might be
regarded as the presence of universal and genuine life in man. And so
Spinoza distinguished an objective thought from the springs of the
emotions; Kant distinguished practical reason from the theoretical which
is bound up with the limitations of human nature; and Hegel elevated the
thought-process, which manifests itself in the work of universal
history, far above the opinions and the wishes of individuals. Each of
these championed a distinctive conception of truth and a characteristic
form of the spiritual life; but with regard to all attempts we come to
doubt whether even that proclaimed as more than human is not still
within the domain of man; whether in every case we do not wrongly
declare the last point which we reach to be the deepest basis of
reality.
The position is somewhat similar with regard to the idea of the good. In
the attempts to which we have referred, it passed current as a
deliverance from all selfish happiness, which was felt to be intolerably
narrow. A new, purer, and more comprehensive life is to proceed from
the winning of a new position. Now, there are many different conceptions
of happiness, and higher levels are distinguished plainly from lower.
But the highest level does not transcend human desire; man must bring
all into relation with his own well-being. He cannot in opposition to
his own well-being adopt something alien as an end in itself; his
activity can be aroused for nothing which has not some value for
himself. In this case also, therefore, the bounds of his life hold him
fast, and, unless these bounds are transcended, the good cannot be
distinguished from the useful. Of this a clear confirmation is furnished
by the experiences of religions. In their origin they wished to free man
from himself and to set him in a new life--whether they promised
tranquillity in a surrender to the infinite whole or won a positive
content by the revelation of a kingdom of divine love. How soon the
succession of events has led back to a quest of happiness! How soon has
it become evident that the religions have far less revealed a new world
to the majority of mankind than chained them more firmly to the old; and
that they easily arouse to greater power the raw instinct of life, which
they desired to overcome!
We seem to be shut in on all sides: it seems a monstrous inconsistency
to wish to build up from man a world transcending man; to remove him
into a world other than that of a man. A world of this kind is, however,
essential to the spiritual life; with its abandonment that life is only
a delusion; and the less intelligent people who reject as a meaningless
folly all striving for the true and the good seem to be right.
* * * * *