solution of the problems and a harmonising of the oppositions of our
existence. It is a matter of general knowledge how this synthesis has
elevated and ennobled life, and is still increasingly felt as an
influence tending to further development and harmony. But it is equally
well known how the progress of life has rebuffed the claim of this
system of life to be the only valid one. We have become aware of
contradictions which do not find sufficient acknowledgment in this
system: a gulf deeper than it is able to transcend has made its
appearance between man and his environment: in particular, the supremacy
of form, which constitutes the basis of the system, has been shaken.
Antiquity, at its highest development, had, without much consideration,
given to form a living soul; its later course dissolved this union, the
soul degenerated more and more into an inwardness of feeling, and gave
up all claim, if not to the world, yet to its organisation and
formation: form, deprived of soul, threatened to become superficial, and
to change life into play and enjoyment. It was at this point that
Christianity intervened with a powerful effect, but it has not, in the
sense with which we are here concerned, produced an organised system of
life.
Such a system was first produced in the Modern Age, and more
particularly in the period of the Enlightenment. This system makes force
the centre of life; to increase force without limit is the task of
tasks. The elements of reality are centres of force; but these elements
are not isolated, because force is called forth only by force, and the
amount of life depends on the degree to which relations are developed.
Since in this way one tends towards another, they become interweaved and
joined, and the many are united. For this system the world does not
appear as a work of art which rests in itself, but as a process that
ceaselessly increases in volume: the main achievement of spiritual work
is, with complete consciousness and self-determining activity, to take
possession of this process, which actually surrounds us; to change its
infinite life as much as possible into our own life, and to co-operate
to the best of our capacity for its advancement. Since here spiritual
work never tolerates a state of inactive peace, never accepts the world
as a rigid destiny, but is concerned to develop the world, to analyse
the world as it first appears into its elements in order to reach the
forces that move it, life acquires a more active relation to the
environment than it does in the earlier, more contemplative system, and
feels itself to be more in the workshop of reality.
The relation of knowledge and life is changed from its traditional
character. Research cannot transform the world from the apparent calm
and completeness of the immediate impression into movement and
development, without analysing the representation offered into its
ultimate elements; ascertaining their laws, and finally, with the help
of the idea of unlimited time, reconstructing from the beginning the
world, which it had first of all destroyed. With such destruction and
reconstruction modern research brings the world much nearer to us, and
gives us more power over it than does the earlier type. Corresponding to
the understanding of reality from its evolution, man finds his own life
in a progressive movement. Human society is regarded less as a
well-arranged work of art than as a complex of forces, which come to
full development and make sure progress only in their relation. The
chief demand is for the greatest amount of freedom of movement; the
greatest number of relations between individuals, and a ceaseless
increase of the stream of life, that should take up into itself all that
bear human features. The individual also must realise his existence as
one of "becoming" and motion; he is not bound by a closed standard of
nature. Through the power of his spiritual nature he is able to
assimilate ever new capacity, and to grow without limit: nothing gives
more proud courage and joyous force to his life than this consciousness
of an inner infinitude. A characteristic ideal of culture and education
is formed: all individual departments of spiritual work are now regarded
primarily as means to the increase of human power, and must assume a
form corresponding to this. And so life everywhere becomes more active
and more powerful: it finds its aim within itself, in its own elevation,
and has therefore no need to seek it in something external; the whole
existence of man becomes more his own work. As work comes more deeply
into touch with the nature of things the development of power becomes at
the same time a controlling of the world. It was not to be wondered at,
therefore, when the modern man, with the development of this system of
life, believed that for the first time he had left a childlike condition
of constraint and limitation, and entered a state of freedom and
maturity.
But the further development of life shows clearly enough that this
system, which makes force and movement its leading principles, is not
the final stage of human endeavour: the leading idea of our whole
investigation is that human endeavour is more than this. We have seen
that a system of mere force and movement gives no soul to work and does
not lead life to self-consciousness and self-determination. A rushing
stream seizes us and carries us along with it, but we reach no position
independent of it; and so we cannot unify the multiplicity, nor gain a
content from its immeasurable achievement; indeed, the increasing
extension of life divides us more and more into single forces, and
deprives us of a self that transcends the movement. At first this was
not fully perceived, since the soul was implicitly assumed to be force
and the extension of movement was regarded as a pure gain to the life of
the soul. But the further development and the keener emphasis on the new
state attained could not but clearly indicate the contradiction here
involved; could not but lead to a separation between soul and work, and
force them into conflict. Hence there is a danger of work becoming
mechanical, and of the life of the soul, which, with this separation, is
thrown back entirely upon the subjective, being lost in indefiniteness.
These experiences of mechanical work and indefinite subjectivity give
birth to a new situation, in which the problem of the soul, a problem
which in the earlier systems remained in the background, is forced into
prominence. The task of life is seen to be a more fundamental one; it is
a matter not so much of altering a given reality in one way or another
as of first discovering a genuine reality, of advancing beyond all mere
activity to a being which exists within the activity.
It has become evident to us in many ways that from the recognition of
this a characteristic form of life proceeds. The only question is
whether the change is capable of bringing about a thorough organisation
of life, whether it can produce independent centres of life and unite
them into a community of life, and thus lead to the development of a
system of life. We ourselves most resolutely maintain the view that this
is really possible; that life is in process of forming itself into a new
whole, and that with the clearer establishment of this, problems which
have existed from early times receive full explanation, and a definite
advance is made in their solution.
We saw that, in its highest stages of development, life concentrates at
particular points, and that a characteristic sphere of life is in this
way brought forth, as, for example, in spiritual individualities,
national character, and so on. As soon as these developments are
acknowledged to be spiritual and are sufficiently distinguished from
simply natural existence, as soon as the manifestation of a new world is
recognised in them, they become a great problem. Then they cannot be
regarded as a mere product of a particular part of nature, but must be
accepted as primarily a creation from the spiritual life as a whole, a
creation which at the same time must maintain itself and transform in
its own activity that which it receives. The relation to the spiritual
world as a whole is the fundamental relation of life, and yet the
further development of life does not follow immediately from the
relation to the whole, but from the relation to the innumerable other
centres of life; the infinitude that the individual being acquires from
the relation to the whole receives that which is particular in its
organisation and its content only from the experience of the relation to
others. The relation to others, however, is not produced by nature, but
as spiritual, only from the spiritual world as a whole and must be
continually sustained by the whole. The relations of individual to
individual will therefore be included within the whole, and through the
presence of the whole will be essentially advanced beyond the capacity
of mere nature. The love that arises here is fundamentally different
from all the love which arises from natural impulse; and, understood in
this manner, notwithstanding all that may be doubtful in respect of its
fulfilment in individual matters, there is much point in the demand of
Augustine, that, in the relation of man to man, not man but God should
be set in the first place, and that man is to be loved only through God.
However, it is not an increase of activity alone that is sought in the
multiplicity of relations, but a growth of being--a being not beyond all
activity, but existent within it. It is necessary not only that the
life-process achieve more, but also that it grow in itself, change that
which is alien to it into its own, and display more reality within
itself; life must experience every single activity as the manifestation
of the activity of the whole, and thus, along with unlimited extension,
preserve self-consciousness.
The demand for a self-conscious life, the demand for an elevation of
activity to the organisation and development of being, by no means
excludes other forms of activity, if only for the reason that this
demand presents a high ideal to which man can only very slowly
approximate. But this ideal constitutes an aim and a standard for all
other activity; the giving of form and the increasing of force must aid
in the development towards this aim if they are not to become devoid of
real worth. The more necessary it is to insist upon an animation of
reality through the development of self-conscious life, the more must we
guard against the danger of anthropomorphism, which, when we are hasty
and impatient, inevitably finds an entrance to and corrupts the whole of
our thought and life. Only with much toil and with continual
self-criticism can life be brought to the point where the transition to
self-consciousness is possible; and even then the whole cannot, under
human circumstances, be attained at one stroke; but at first life must
endeavour to concentrate, to form a nucleus so that in this way it may
acquire a firm basis, and from this take up a struggle for its further
spiritualisation.
The same thing is to be seen in the differentiation and the gradation of
life: everywhere a movement towards self-consciousness begins, but the
emergence of this movement forces an antithesis into prominence, and
life is completely transformed into work and conflict. Thought cannot be
satisfied with representing the world as a work of art or as a process;
thought must seek self-consciousness in the world. This it finds in the
emergence of an independent spiritual life and in reality's
coming-to-itself; at the same time the difference between spirit and
nature becomes more pronounced, and all the divergences in life
increase. Men can find their highest unity neither in joining together
so as to form a whole as a work of art, nor in a system of progressive
increase of force. Neither alone could prevent society from becoming
spiritually destitute, nor could both together. Society also needs a
self-consciousness and acquires it only through the development of a
spiritual content and spiritual character; but this must be won by
continual struggle from the medley which constitutes the general
condition of social life. Again, the individual does not attain a
content for his life through an immediate combination of his powers so
as to form a harmonious whole, or through increasing them without
limit; the individual also must by activity concentrate his life and so
gain the basis of a new world: never is he in his life, as a whole,
personality and spiritual individuality. True, there lies within him the
potentiality to become such a spiritual individuality, and this
potentiality may be transformed in his own activity; and the existence
thus acquired can affect the rest of life, arousing and elevating it.
Thus the ideal is set completely in the distance; it is seen that we do
not live our life from a given basis, but that, on the contrary, we have
first to acquire the basis and to preserve it by continuous work; it is
not a particular direction of life, but a genuine life itself and with
this a spiritual being that is in question. We appear, therefore, more
imperfect than ever before. But in this connection the imperfection
itself is a witness that important tasks are set before us, and that
superior forces rule in us. In the midst of all that is obscure it
cannot fail to be recognised that there is a movement towards the
development of a new self-conscious reality above the capacity and the
interests of mere man. This movement has been manifested in great
historical achievements, in the formation of fruitful systems of life
which at the same time were developments of the life of the individual.
It has brought forth ever new creations; now it sets before us the task
of developing a new system of life which does complete justice to
self-consciousness, and in accordance with its main idea must also
transform all individual aspects and departments. Where we recognise so
much to do, we are certainly far removed from opinion and pretence.
II. THE MORE DETAILED FORM OF OUR SPIRITUAL LIFE
(a) THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH AND REALITY
Whatever there is peculiar in our conception of the spiritual life must
be manifested and proved in reference to the problem of truth and
reality. In the first place our conception decidedly rejects the widely
held view of truth as a correspondence of our thought with an external
reality. For the attainment of independence by the inner life makes it
impossible for something externally existing to be taken up into life
without undergoing an essential change. It is also inconceivable from
this point of view how something beyond us could in any way attract and
arouse us. The problem of truth can do this only if it originates within
our own life: it can become a compelling power only if the attainment of
truth aids us to transcend a division within ourselves which has become
intolerable. The representation of life, that we have given, makes it
quite evident that such a division does spring up within us. Within our
own life a certain activity begins, which becomes wider and wider, and
which would signify our whole being. But this activity finds limits and
contradiction within ourselves: much takes place in our experience
independent of this activity and apparently without our co-operation; a
certain condition of things exists, and asserts a rigid actuality; and,
so far as this condition extends, we are bound; we bear something
impenetrable within us. So long as these two sides of our being remain
separated life is not complete and genuine: activity lacks a foundation,
a content, and a direction that is sure of its aim; and all the bustle
of free movements, all effort of reflection cannot conceal the state of
spiritual poverty. On the other hand, the fact that we bear so much
within us that only half belongs to us and that presses upon us like a
fate must cramp and oppress us. And so life does not experience itself
as a unity; it lacks an inner truth, since activity presents itself as a
whole and yet is not one. Life itself is therefore a problem. The
problem must be felt to be the more serious the stronger the desire for
a self-consciousness becomes. However, self-consciousness cannot
possibly be reached without a transcendence of the division between
activity and the given condition of things. Life has first to seek
itself, its unity, its perfection; and it is just this that is the
problem of truth: and in this problem life is turned not towards
externals, but towards itself. We understand now how the desire for
truth can exert such an enormous power, for, in this struggle for truth,
we fight not for something alien, but for our own being.
This conception of truth determines also the nature of the effort to
attain truth. The task cannot be to subordinate one side of life to the
other, and to derive one side as far as possible from the other; that
is, to transform the given condition of life as far as possible into
free activity, or to adapt activity to the given condition in such a way
that activity is merged into it; but the task is one of pressing forward
to a transcendent active whole which unites the two sides, and develops
them both; and in mutual relation gives to activity a content and to the
given condition a soul. We have seen how a movement to attain such a
unity runs through history and extends into the soul of the individual.
That life is in general able to unify and raise itself is the
presupposition of all striving after truth: the proof of this, however,
is to be found in the actual furtherance of life, in the new contents
which are thus obtained.
Such a way of regarding truth, that is, as an upward endeavour of life
to its own unity, a unity not forced upon it but immanent, exhibits its
unique nature especially in its opposition to the intellectualistic
conception of truth, which, notwithstanding that it has been rejected
and attacked so often, still continues to assert a mighty power.
According to the intellectualist, cognition should treat the problem and
solve it of its own capacity; it seems that the synthesis that is sought
must be found in the first place in the realm of thought, and thence
imparted to the rest of life. As a fact, however, knowledge itself is
affected with particular severity by the division of free activity and
fixed given condition; and from its own capacity thought cannot attain
to a state of full creative activity which alone is able to overcome the
division, but for the attainment of this is referred to an advance of
life as a whole which alone can reach an essentially new position. To be
sure, cognition has particular fundamental logical principles which
regulate all its work. But to regulate and to produce are two different
things. The most scrupulous adherence to these principles does not lead
beyond reflection to an inner relation to the object, to an inner
transcendence, a penetration, and an appropriation of the object; it
leaves us still in the position of simply attempting to know, in a state
of mere reflection and search. All real knowledge involves a spiritual
creation, an advance, and a self-formation of life as a whole. The chief
epochs of culture have therefore given a distinctly unique character to
the inner nature and the fundamental texture of knowledge; the character
given to it by one epoch being entirely different from that given to it
by another. Modern knowledge does not differ from earlier knowledge only
in a quantitative way: as soon as its connection with the chief
synthesis characteristic of modern life is revealed, it can no longer be
regarded as absolute knowledge, but only as a particular kind of
knowledge beyond which there are possibilities of further developments.
From life as a whole the conflict will extend into all its individual
departments, and give to the activity in them a greater intensity.
Religion, art, and human society all have first to overcome the
opposition of subjective power and alien given condition, and thereby to
win a truth. In no case does truth mean a taking up of things which are
presented to the activity of life--it means rather an advance of life to
its own perfection.
In accordance with this conception of truth, that which claims to be
true will not be able to prove its right otherwise than through its
power, that is, through its capacity to embrace life as a whole and to
raise it above opposition into the state of complete activity. Every
such attempt must prove its power and its right in opposition to rivals
by being able to wrest from them the truth contained by them, and in new
relationships to lead beyond the state they reach, and to change life
more into a self-consciousness than they are able.
Hence the endeavour after truth here shows more movement, more freedom,
more multiplicity: different starting points and different ways may be
chosen, and the correctness of the one need not involve the
incorrectness of the other. The only indispensable thing is that the
movement pass beyond the state of division and reflection to one of
complete activity; only in that way can the content of life gain through
the movement of life. And so we see the great significance of progress
in work, in spiritual work; according as it succeeds, genuine life is
distinguished from the mere will to live. To be sure, each piece of work
that is here undertaken is a venture; it is far easier and far more
secure to continue in the state of mere reflection and reasoning. But
the latter does not lead us to an experience and a decision in a matter
concerning the development of life, and therefore does not bring us a
step further in this chief matter. Work with its failures is better than
all subtle contemplation which leads to no activity; for failure can
lead us beyond itself to truth, while feebleness and inactivity keep us
in the old position.
In our conception of it truth is anything but a system of universal
propositions out of which, by deduction, all detail might be derived.
Rather the organisation of life into an inner unity, upon which in this
view of truth everything depends, will exclude all that is only general
and turn towards the differentiation of the whole. The more life
progresses in this direction the less is it a mere application of
general principles; the less does it find its consummation after the
manner of a conclusion from given premises; the more does it become a
progressive activity, a new formation and an elevation.
In this conception, there is also room for a truth peculiar to the
single individuals. As the comprehensive life-synthesis can permeate
every individual detail of existence, so it is necessary for every
individual life-centre to realise its own particular synthesis, and that
every individual should fight for his inner unity and thus, also, for a
truth of his own; he must, however, realise this unity and truth in
every particular activity. A truth which is not my truth is, for me, not
a complete truth. Only it is necessary that such individualisation be
effected within the whole, not independent of it; it must result from
the inner necessity of creative activity, not out of a vain wish to
excel. In any case, it follows here that, as the immanent and universal
form of truth requires more activity and power, it is also able to grant
more free movement and multiplicity. Truth and freedom have been thought
opposed to one another in the course of history; if the former seemed to
require unconditional submission, the latter had a strong tendency to
shake off every tie as an oppressive yoke. If we see that truth of life
can be reached only through freedom, and also that freedom acquires a
content and a spiritual character only through its relation to truth,
the opposition by no means entirely disappears, but a basis is won upon
which we may strive to attain an agreement and a fruitful interaction
between the two.
* * * * *