life appear. At the level of nature only that which serves the
self-preservation and the advancement of the life of the individual
being is estimated as a good; all that is involved in this may be
comprehended under the conception of utility. But notwithstanding its
great power over man the consideration of utility does not form the only
motive of his life. For a detailed treatment of this matter we may refer
to what was said in the discussion of "The Growth of Man beyond Nature."
At present we are concerned especially with the view that the new that
appears in us should be acknowledged to be the manifestation of a new
world and the expression of our real being. In the growing of man beyond
nature negation usually preponderates; he must limit the impulses of
his natural _ego_, acknowledge and respect the rights of others, be
ready to subordinate and sacrifice himself. It is for the most part not
evident what can commend such a negation to him and give it power over
him; and an impulse aroused to clear consciousness and strong desire
may, therefore, feel this entire connection with a new world to be an
unwarrantable limitation, and reject it as a violent intimidation and a
degradation of life. The matter is seen in its right light only when
negation is regarded as the reverse side of affirmation, and even then
only if the winning of a new life and being is acknowledged in this
affirmation. The positive impulse of self-preservation is indispensable
to complete vital-energy, but mere self-assertion on the part of an
individual in opposition to others does not constitute a genuine self; a
genuine self is constituted only by the coming to life of the infinite
spiritual world in an independent concentration in the individual. Only
thus does life, which otherwise were empty, acquire a content. Then the
individual is no longer compelled to develop his powers in conflict with
other individuals, but in directing his life towards this infinite
spiritual world, in its complete appropriation and organisation. Hence,
only that which raises the spiritual content of life can be regarded as
good, and goods will be compared in value in accordance with this
standard. The more they lead beyond mere results to the development of a
new being and self, the more essential they are to spiritual
self-preservation; everything else becomes a means or a preliminary
condition. Negation, also, has greater significance and importance from
this point of view. The new affirmation can acquire no complete truth
and no real power in man without a fundamental deliverance of life from
mere nature and its particularity. Without earnestness of renunciation
the new life sinks back to the old or both are combined in an
undifferentiated unity, with the consequence that the new life loses its
power to stimulate to new endeavour. As human beings are, this negation
must always be a sharp one.
In this connection, it may be said that life needs the stage of law
which restricts natural impulse, and constrains to the acknowledgment of
superior organisations of life; but from the stage of law there must be
progress to the stage of love, which for the first time reveals an inner
relation to reality and reacts upon the stage of law, giving it a soul.
On the other hand, a love that would be genuine comes not to destroy the
law, but to fulfil, to take it up into itself. As love and law are
indisputable powers in the life of humanity, so they also proclaim the
emergence of a new world and the development of a new being within the
domain of humanity.
(d) _The Transcending of Division_
A particularly severe conflict with regard to the problem of the unity
of life arises between the natural condition of man and the requirements
of an independent spiritual life. The spiritual life demands an enduring
whole which includes all multiplicity within itself and of which the
movement originates within: human existence is primarily a juxtaposition
of individuals and a succession of moments; no union seems to be more
than that which is constituted by a mere collection of the individuals.
If the division were not in some way transcended no spiritual life could
grow up within humanity, and man have no share in the building up of a
spiritual world. The nineteenth century gave a confident answer to the
problem: it contended that history and society of their own capacity
bind the elements of life into stable forms which take up all
multiplicity into themselves and raise our existence to spirituality. We
most emphatically deny the validity of this contention, and hope to show
that history and society themselves involve difficult problems; further,
that only when we conceive them in a particular way are they able to
help in the unification of life and then only in a limited manner; and
lastly, that they do not so much produce a spiritual life as presuppose
it, as essential to their own existence. Naturalism and Intellectualism
have also confused the outlook; if we free it from this confusion,
history and society will take a secondary place in our estimation; they
will themselves be seen to be deeper and more comprehensive and to
involve movements which extend further than appears in immediate
experience; and they will become witnesses to the living presence of the
spiritual life within humanity.
(i.) _The Spiritual Conception of History_
The nineteenth century transmitted to us a conception of history that is
far more peculiar in nature and far more open to attack than is usually
recognised: history is represented as a great stream which takes up all
individual achievements into itself, unites them, and, regardless of all
human error and caprice, leads surely to its end. No genuine achievement
is lost, and all gain seems to be permanent; beyond all the trouble and
uncertainty of the moment appeal is made to the power which, directing
and elevating, permeates the movement, clarifies and refines it. In this
conception the necessity of a process that has the power of determining
its own activity and making its own decision is primary. The fact that
the matter is not so simple as this conception of history represents is
shown by the experience of the age itself, which directly contradicts
it. For according to this conception the whole past should discharge
itself into the present and so impart its whole result immediately to
us, and the direction that our activity ought to take should be pointed
out to us with complete certainty by history. But we are distinctly
aware of the extent to which this direction is a matter of question and
doubt, and of the uncertainty into which we have fallen with regard to
the relation of the present to the past: in the process of our
investigation we saw this in particular in the division and conflict
between the different systems of life. History is seen to be a difficult
problem far more than a secure fact; and we are compelled to take up a
new consideration of the question.
In this consideration a distinct delimitation of the achievements
characteristic of man is primarily necessary. Modern science already
recognises a history of nature, and much that was formerly regarded as
complete is now seen to be in a state of flux and movement. Since every
event leaves effects behind, in the course of ages the results
accumulate, develop, and act upon one another, that which comes later is
conditioned by the influence of the earlier and is intelligible only in
relation to it, a distinctive historical method gains currency. Geology
presents to us with particular clearness a history of this type. In so
far as man belongs to nature and the spiritual life has not yet
developed to any degree of independence in him, he is also the subject
of such a history. That which happens within him leaves behind effects
that become the conditions of later occurrence. This conception of
history, as determined solely by mechanical causes, is still maintained
in some quarters in spite of further developments of thought. But it is
not apparent from this point of view how, even with the greatest
accumulation of effects, history could yield anything of gain to an
inner unity, to a life from the whole: for that, man must bring with him
something essentially new; and as a matter of fact this is what he does.
Not only do events happen to us and change our condition, but with our
own activity we are able to hold fast to these events, to give to them
an inner permanence, to bring them ever anew from the dim distance into
the living present. We do not drift onward with the stream of time, but
withstand it; seek to wrest something fixed from "becoming" and change,
and salvation in the eternal. We cannot do this without altering the
whole view of things and manifesting a new spiritual capacity.
The retention in mind of individual events by means of annals, monuments
and similar methods is the beginning of a history of a higher kind: even
so much shows a greater activity, since it involves a judgment of the
significance of events, and on the basis of this judgment begins to
wage war against the destroying power of "cormorant devouring time." The
achievement is incomparably higher, if certain spiritual unities and
tendencies are adhered to and are given permanent currency: thus
religion in particular gave a stability to life and delivered men from
the tyranny of the mere moment. The matter remains simple so long as the
movement is within a single people or a definite sphere of culture. But
in its progress it goes far beyond these limits. New peoples arise; the
state of culture undergoes great changes, indeed revolutions; life is
taken up from new starting points, from which everything of importance
to earlier ages loses its value. But it is lost only for a time; a
desire to return to it and to bring it into complete harmony with the
new is soon felt. The circle of vision is thus increasingly widened, and
all multiplicity is finally united into a whole. This retention of the
past is primarily a matter of knowledge and of intellectual
appropriation. But it is not limited to this; it would operate not only
in the extension of knowledge but beyond this in the development of
life. Whatever has been won by human power is to be preserved, unified,
and used to advance the present. Thus, there arises a historical
culture; an education on a historical basis; religion and philosophy,
art and law derive power and content from the work of universal history,
and life as a whole seems to win a greater comprehensiveness and
stability. And so it has come to appear as though the past imparts its
whole result to the present without any effort on the part of man and
without incurring him in any risk.
In reality the case is entirely different. The stream of the ages
becomes spiritually significant to us only in so far as we develop an
independence of it. The stream does not itself, automatically and
independently of us, select the elements of value which it contains or
unite the ages to a harmonious result: we ourselves must achieve this.
Spiritually regarded, we do not from the beginning stand upon a sure
foundation, on which we might peacefully build; we must first acquire
such a foundation through endeavour, and in this matter we see doubt and
violent change continually make that uncertain which is apparently most
secure, and make it necessary to seek greater depths.
For this treatment of history, involving, as it does, self-determining
activity, an elevation above time is essential. Without in some way
transcending time we could not survey individual events and unite them
in one representation. But we would do far more than that; we would
select and take up into our own life that which is valuable in the
earlier, in order thereby to enrich and strengthen our life, and to lead
it as far as possible from the present of the mere moment to a present
encompassing the ages. How could this come to pass unless we were able
to secure an independent vantage ground transcending the stream of the
ages; a vantage ground from which we may survey and judge the ages,
appropriate some elements from them and reject others? Experience shows
clearly enough that the tendency and the content of life with which we
meet the past, decide what shall be its spiritual representation, and
how we shall stand in relation to it. For experience shows that each
main tendency of life has its own view of history and its own treatment
of history; it shows further that every change in life which is in any
way far-reaching involves an alteration in our relation to the past;
gives prominence to the new, and relegates the old to the background.
There arises therefore a history of history; a history, for example, of
that which in the life of Antiquity has seemed essential and valuable to
the different later ages. For us, therefore, history, in regard to its
spiritual nature, is involved in constant change. The past does not
decide concerning the present so much as the present concerning the
past; the past is not something dead and fixed behind us; ever anew it
becomes the object of passionate conflict.
But does not this dependence of the past upon the present deprive
history of all independence and of all value? Does it not surrender life
completely to the contingency of the changing moments? Does it not
destroy all inner unity of the ages? This would, in fact, be the case
if the matter remained on a simply human basis; if a spiritual life
transcending time were not manifested through all the changes of the
ages; if a spiritual history could not be distinguished from a narrowly
human one. Spiritual history is concerned with that which through all
human activity and endeavour reveals a self-conscious inner life and
which, as such a revelation, is valid not only for a particular age but
through all ages and independently of all ages. Spiritual history would
be impossible unless there is active within us from the beginning an
independent spiritual life which first realises its content through the
historical process.
Such a transcendent nature is most evident at those highest points of
human development which we call "classical," not because they should
dominate and bind all ages, but because in them the spiritual life
attained to a complete independence over against man, lifted him above
himself into the fire and flood of creative activity, and made it
possible for him to produce characteristic contents. These classical
achievements are especially important for the development of life if
they not only bring something new in individual departments and in
particular directions, but also shape and present the whole to us in a
distinctive manner, and seek to appropriate to themselves, and in the
appropriation to elevate, the spiritual impulse that exists in man; if a
new being, in contrast to nature and society, emerges and would become
lord of the whole. Life as a whole is thus transformed into a problem
and a conflict. The question is whether this movement is able to take up
everything into itself and to lead life to its highest level, or whether
it meets with an insuperable resistance. In this matter life tests
itself by itself, by its own development--a thing which is possible only
if its experiences arise out of its being as a whole. If in a particular
case it proves that essential requirements remain unsatisfied, that the
movement is not able to include the spiritual life within itself, a
severe convulsion is inevitable, the spiritual life as a whole comes to
a standstill, and there can be no advance until life concentrates anew
and the new concentration gains ground. It is to be expected that a new
concentration will bring forward and develop that, in particular, which
formerly did not find complete satisfaction. In the first place,
therefore, there is an abrupt break and the emergence of an apparently
irreconcilable opposition: the old is relegated to the background;
tested by the new, the old soon comes to be regarded as a complete
mistake. In reality it is not so. For, as certainly as spontaneous
creative activity was operative in the old and produced characteristic
contents, it involves something which, superior to all the change of
time, will survive convulsion and doubt, and assert itself in some way
in a more comprehensive life. But the old will not survive and re-assert
itself unless the timeless reality within it separates itself from all
human and temporary addition; unless it manifests what lies behind the
historical form.
The same thing happens in the case of the new movement that arises. With
all its greatness of achievement, limitations become manifest in it;
then, more comprehensive forms arise; and so in the historical movement
as a whole the spiritual life is revealed in forms continually
increasing in content. In opposition to the tendency for one age to be
separated from another, however, a desire for unity, for a life which in
some way embraces the multiplicity of movements and concentrations of
life, and binds them into a whole, makes itself felt. A unity can hardly
be achieved by simply regarding the different concentrations and
tendencies as on the same level and making a compromise between them;
rather it is necessary that the different concentrations and different
movements contend with one another; it is just their conflict which may
elevate and deepen life. The movement to secure this unity and to retain
elements from the past is not an accumulation of elements and tendencies
in time, but an increasing deliverance from time, the establishment of a
timeless truth independent of the change of things. Experiences, of
which the external manifestations no longer exist, are again called to
life, and preserved for all time by spiritual power; indeed, that which
is lost in immediacy by the absence of the external manifestation is
more than compensated for by an advance to the source of the power:
things which in their temporal form are a mere co-existence are
transformed into an organised whole. Movements, which in history have
often been engaged in passionate conflict, may enter into a relation of
interaction, and may be regarded as a sequence of stages, in which the
earlier prepares for the later, and the later presupposes the earlier;
in which all give life to and further one another. A universal life thus
progressively arises within the domain of man; the individual
achievements unite more and more to the building up of a new, enduring
world; the whole realises itself in the individual occurrence, and
through the development of a time-inclusive present transcends the mere
moment.
This movement of life in history involves more unrest, conflict and
doubt, than the nineteenth-century doctrine of evolution implied. For
this doctrine saw in the historical movement the unfolding of a
spiritual life, sure as regards its foundation and its main direction;
the antitheses within that movement seemed to be involved in a single
process, which determined the limits of each tendency in relation to the
others; a transcendent necessity was regarded as leading to the
development of all in their relation to one another. As a fact, the
conflict is also concerning the substance and the main direction of the
whole; the spiritual life must first realise itself within the region of
mankind, and it is realised through the toil and work of man himself. It
is just the fact that the problem is an ultimate one, that even the
fundamental forms of life develop only in conflict and experience, and
that we are concerned not with winning simply this or that in life, but
genuine life itself, that makes history significant. At the same time,
this brings man into a more inward relation to the spiritual life, and
this life is made more his own life and being than if he were
surrounded by the power of physical or intellectual processes. Nothing
makes humanity as a whole more significant than that in its province and
through its work the new world begins to develop.
With such a conception of history, the philosophical treatment of it
must direct its attention chiefly to the independent spirituality which
in the course of the centuries, and especially in great changes, is
evolved in contrast with the narrowly human; and to the main direction
which is given to life by this spirituality. The philosophical treatment
of history ought first of all to trace the liberation of life from the
simply human; the inner elevation of our being to a more-than-human.
Antiquity at the height of its spiritual development began to desire a
universal truth independent of man; a moulding of life in accordance
with an inner right; and an order of things beyond the power of human
caprice, as was shown by the giving symmetry and harmony precedence in
art, and justice in conduct. Christianity brought about a liberation of
the innermost disposition, the root of endeavour and of love, from
purely natural impulse, however ennobled; and in this way brought men
into new relationships and set them before new tasks. The Modern Age on
the part of science began a relentless conflict against the
anthropomorphism of the mode of life as immediately experienced; thus it
has made the spiritual life even in its form independent of man, in that
it has created spiritual complexes and has recognised in them movements
and inner necessities of their own. Through the whole of this movement
of universal history life frees itself more and more from its dependence
upon mere man, and from the bondage to "given" presuppositions and
"given" natural impulses, and from a "given" world in general. Life is
based more and more upon its own independent nature, and from its
position of independence develops a new kind of being. It is this gain
of a new world through struggle that alone gives to history a meaning
and an inner unity.
If history thus accomplishes the formation of great spiritual complexes,
and if there is an endeavour to fit these with all their antitheses into
an all-comprehensive whole, if it unites all ages and all powers with
the bond of a universal task, it is a clear witness to the living
presence of the spiritual life within the human sphere. Apart from this
presence all these achievements would be impossible, and the whole
movement must vanish into thin air. The estimate of history here given
is valid only when a spiritual history is clearly distinguished from
merely human history. Only when history as a whole gains a soul and a
support from this spiritual history are the non-spiritual factors able
to attain to any rational significance; only then can history have a
meaning and transcend the relativity from which otherwise it cannot
escape. On the one hand, history demands for its own existence the
presence of a spiritual world within humanity; on the other, it
testifies to this presence by that which is characteristic in its own
content; by that which can be understood only as a progressive
disclosure of such a world.
(ii.) _The Spiritual Conception of Society_
The problem of society is closely akin to that of history. In the life
around us a certain union is attained in that men dwell together, but
this immediate union does not simply of itself produce a spiritual
unity, a spiritual whole: if society manifests such a unity, then in it,
also, a distinctive revelation of the spiritual must be acknowledged.
Modern science shows clearly and distinctly that the individual is not
an isolated atom, but exists in relation with a social environment; and
that, even to the innermost recesses of his being, he is determined by
the constitution of this environment. But science falls into serious
error if it goes beyond the truth of this contention and attempts to
represent spiritual creation as the result of the mere inter-relation
and accumulation of individual powers. For between spiritual creation
and this inter-relation and accumulation of individual powers, in spite
of all their external proximity, there is the widest divergence.
Spiritual creation requires to be treated as an end complete in itself,
and must follow the laws of its own being; it claims an inalienable
supremacy above all trivial human interests, which yet for a time
dominate the common life. Further, it cannot succeed without the
development of an inner unity which maintains and characteristically
forms a whole of life. The existence of men side by side gives rise to a
variety of opinions, strivings, dispositions, which mingle confusedly
together; the usual condition of things that arises from this confusion
has anything but a definite character. The condition of our own time
must convince everyone who is unprejudiced, how little this pitiable
confusion can of itself produce anything spiritual and associate men
together in an inner unity. For in the epoch of railways, telegraphs and
newspapers, of large towns and of factories, movements of the masses are
certainly not lacking; they surround the individual and influence him
more strongly than ever before. But where, out of all the fluctuation of
public opinion, out of the confusion and bustle of life, does creative
spiritual activity arise, give to life an inner content, and unite
humanity in an inner community? Rather, we see humanity continually
split up into opposing factions; we see the strife tend more and more to
affect the foundation of our existence.
However, in spite of the spiritual impotency of the movements of the
masses, creative spiritual activity has emerged in humanity, has
overcome the separation of the individuals and inwardly unified the
forces of life. It must not only be possible to effect, but we must
actually effect a unity which transcends the individuals, a union which
has its source in the spiritual life itself.