rather a paltry substitute for a realm of reason than such a realm
itself. A noisy and self-conscious agitation, much unrest and
excitement, but little substance and soul; a ceaseless anxiety
concerning the means of life and hurried pursuit of them, and in the
occupation with the means forgetfulness and neglect of life itself; much
self-glorification and ostentation, and little reverence for the
spiritual life--such is social life in general. Where the vanity,
emptiness, and falsehood of the social machinery have come to be clearly
perceived, man has become absolutely wearied and satiated, and has often
fled from society to nature, to seek therein simple truth and enduring
peace. But he could believe it possible to find such in nature only
because he read this truth and peace into it from himself; as,
nevertheless, he must ultimately return to those of the same nature as
himself: thus he remains in a state of vacillation between nature, which
is indifferent to the spiritual life, and humanity, which corrupts the
spiritual life by drawing it down to the level of the narrowly human. If
the spiritual life nowhere attains to pure unfolding and certain effect
within our experience, how can the spiritual life be accepted by us in
this experience as the essence of reality? In the midst of such doubt,
the original suspicions, which may have receded before the hope of the
emergence of a new world, also become felt again--the insignificance of
the external manifestation of the spiritual life in contrast with the
immeasurableness of nature; the late appearance of the spiritual life in
the world-process, and its probable disappearance as a result of the
expected changes in the conditions of nature. Does not everything tend
to give us the impression that the spiritual life signifies no more than
an episode in the world-process; an episode which passes fleetingly, and
does not affect the fundamental nature of reality at all? The necessity
of such a conclusion remains concealed so long as man, in an undeveloped
state of life, is able to fill the world with forms similar to himself,
and to understand the control of nature on an analogy with human
conduct. But the progress of culture and especially the growth of
scientific knowledge have, with irresistible power, taken us beyond that
state; have led us from dream and illusion to a state of complete
alertness. Has not all independence of the spiritual life become
doubtful with this progress of culture and scientific knowledge, and
must we not give up all claim to subject our existence to its
sovereignty, and to determine our life and effort spiritually? For there
cannot be any doubt that, with the spiritual life, the characteristic
organisation of our existence also falls. It may be that we have thought
superficially and confusedly enough to declare something to be in itself
falsehood and deceit, and at the same time to give to it the guidance of
our life.
(b) CONSIDERATION AND DEMAND
The previous train of thought may appear to be a plain and
straightforward negation, a complete renunciation of the spiritual life
as the most adequate solution of our problem. But that train of thought
is itself the result of a superficial treatment; every deeper
consideration inevitably contradicts such a summary procedure. A
contradiction of that train of thought is found especially in the fact
which governs the whole course of our investigation, that with the
transition to the spiritual life there appear essentially new magnitudes
and values, new forms and contents of life, which advance beyond not
only the nature but also the capacity of mere man. Whence all these, if
spiritual life is only delusion? The new in us may be never so
powerless; still, the fact that it emerges in our world of thought and
hovers before us as a possibility proves that it has a certain reality
also within us.
Further, is the spiritual life, ultimately, in every sense so powerless
as it at first appears? That it does not pass by as a phantom among our
presentations is shown by the fact that we do not simply receive the
existing condition of things, and its degrading oppression of the
spiritual life, but we feel it to be a cause of harm and of pain to us.
Could we experience this if we belonged entirely to that condition of
things; and is not Hegel right when he says that he who feels a
limitation is already in some way above it? We feel the insufficiency,
the feebleness, the threadbareness of all human morality; could we feel
this if we did not experience a longing for a more genuine morality? And
whence arises this longing in opposition to an entirely different world,
if not from a spirituality implanted within our own being? We perceive
the limitations in our knowledge; a growing insight into all its
conditions and oppositions may lead us in this matter almost to complete
scepticism: but whence came the desire for an inner elucidation of
reality; and how did even the idea of it originate, if we belong
entirely to the darkness of a nature that is less than spiritual, and if
there is no fight at all within us? We feel that the rapid flow of time,
its change and course, its sudden revolutions sometimes even into the
complete opposite of the previous state, is a defect, a source of
serious danger to truth: could we feel this to be so if our whole being
were centred in the passing moment; if we did not survey and compare the
different times; if our being did not participate in something
super-temporal? And lastly, if the feeling that culture is inadequate
and indeed nothing but a pretence is so strong and so painful, then here
again we set ourselves in a position independent of the condition of
things, and judge that condition by a transcendent standard which only
our own being can supply. If all these aims were only invented by man
and applied to life in an external manner, failure to realise them could
not agitate us as it does.
Besides, the matter is not by any means at an end with the feeling of
the inadequacy of our position; a movement in opposition to this
condition is also not lacking. For, as has been seen throughout our
whole treatment, spiritual operation, creative activity is to be found
within human experience. It meets us with especial clearness at the
heights of the work of history; but these also belong to humanity as a
whole, and the light kindled there is not entirely lost in the mist of
the commonplace circumstances of every day. In relation with these
heights of endeavour there is, in humanity as a whole, a movement in
opposition to the tendency of mediocre culture to fill life entirely; a
longing for a more spontaneous, a purer, and a more genuine life. Our
own power of creation may be dormant; only the advent of a strong
suggestion, or a serious convulsion, is necessary and it breaks forth
forcefully, and shows distinctly that there is more spirituality in man
than the circumstances of every day allow us to perceive. The spiritual
movement manifests itself also in private life and in the relation of
individual to individual. He who does not measure spiritual greatness by
physical standards will often find more genuine greatness in the
simplicity of these relations than in the famous deeds of history; and
at the same time he will find that through these relations an effective
presence of the spiritual life within human experience is strengthened.
If in its opposition to human perversion of it genuine spiritual life
does not always reach a definite positive result, the operation of that
life as the law and the judge of human things is all the more distinct.
Man may try to withdraw himself from the spiritual life; he may reject
and mock at that which the age presents to him as an aim; he may seek to
fill his life completely with human interests and inclinations: but he
cannot do this without degenerating into a state of destitution, which
even he himself soon finds to be intolerable, and without being forced,
with the compulsion of necessity, to surrender much which it is
impossible for him to surrender. The catastrophes of history in which
that which has been found insignificant sinks, and that which carries a
spiritual necessity within it rises, careless, as it seems, of the weal
or the woe of man, show in letters of brass that the spiritual life may
not be modified by man at his pleasure, in this way or that, in
accordance with his circumstances and his mood.
When we consider all the facts together, we do not get the impression
that the spiritual life is simply a fleeting illusion that may easily be
banished; but rather, that there are serious complications, out of which
we cannot find our way; and that something occurs within us, something
is begun within us, that is unaffected by mood and caprice, and that
shows us to be in relations much more comprehensive, though obscure in
the highest degree. In particular, for a treatment that starts out from
the life-process, and sees the spiritual movement chiefly in strivings,
collisions, and even in failures, there can be no doubt concerning the
actuality of this movement, the emergence of a new life, and thus of a
new stage of reality in man.
When we recognise the actuality of the spiritual movement the relation
of the spiritual life to nature and to the world is also to be regarded
differently from the manner in which the negative mode of thought
represents it. It is now impossible, as it often happens, more
particularly among philosophising natural scientists, to consider the
representation of nature as a complete representation of reality, and to
leave the spiritual life out of attention as something supplementary and
subsidiary. The spiritual life is now itself acknowledged to be a
reality, and must help to determine the representation of reality as a
whole. Nature must be more than a soulless machine if its evolution is
to lead, as it does, to the point where a self-conscious life emerges.
Within our own experience points of transition are not lacking where
nature produces something that becomes elevated to the spiritual, and
furthers the spiritual life. The difference of the sexes, for example,
is primarily a matter of natural organisation, and what a rich source of
spiritual animation it is! Nothing manifests the union between nature
and the spiritual life more convincingly than the beautiful, when, in
accordance with the result of our investigation, it is regarded as a
characteristic unfolding of the spiritual life, and not as something
which merely fascinates man and is a source of pleasure to him. For how
could the external receive a characteristic soul by being taken up into
the inner life; how could the inward need an external form for its
perfection if the two realms were not united, if a comprehensive reality
did not transcend the antithesis?
Lastly, it should not be forgotten that it is modern science, especially
in its latest phases, with its destruction of the supposed self-evidence
of the sense impression of nature, that has placed the relation of
nature to the spiritual life in a more favourable light than it was
placed by the dogmatic mechanistic theory, which in earlier times seemed
to be the ultimate solution of the problem of their relation. Nature has
again become far more of a problem to us, and we recognise that our
conception of it is a work of the spirit. The old facts of the
connection and interaction of phenomena, of the conformity to law on the
part of occurrences, of the developments of form, and of a progress to
even more artistic complexes and ever finer organisation, once more make
us feel, and far more keenly than before, that they involve difficult
problems. It is more clearly evident to us than it was formerly that
every attempt to make these facts intelligible is made by the spiritual
life and by analogy with the spiritual life. If in such analogy we do
not go beyond symbols, yet the symbols themselves betray a depth and a
secret of reality. At the present time when scientific work is at its
highest stage of development, the shallowness and the rashness of a
radical negation are distinctly recognised.
It is true that for the particular life-problem that we are considering
we have not yet gained much from this recognition; to perceive the
impossibility of an absolute negation does not in itself imply the
victory of a joyful affirmation. For all the perplexities that
previously occupied us still remain, as do the limitation and the
curtailment of the spiritual life which proceeded from these
perplexities; the whole movement also remains in its state of
stagnation. As certainly as on the one hand there is too much of the
spiritual life presented to us to allow of negation, so on the other it
is by no means sufficient for the removal of all doubt.
Mere research can tolerate a state of hesitation between affirmation and
negation; it must often refrain from a decision in the case of special
problems. Life, however, cannot endure any such intermediary position;
for life, such hesitation in arriving at a decision must result in
complete stagnation, and this would help the negation to victory. If
life is faced with an "either--or" the affirmation has a prospect of
victory only if the situation previously described may be in some way
transformed in its favour. This cannot come to pass unless the spiritual
movement can transcend the limitations which appear in human life, and
unless a further development can proceed out of the limitations
themselves. Only such an advance can help the endangered affirmation to
victory. But whether the spiritual movement does transcend these
limitations, not a logical consideration of concepts but only the
experience of life will decide; let us enquire therefore whether life
offers what we seek.
(c) THE VICTORY
The questions that are given rise to in the consideration of human life
as it is are answered in the affirmative with joyful certainty by the
religions. The religions do this in that they announce to man the help
of a transcendent order; an appearance of divine power and goodness in
the domain of man. But after the far-reaching changes of life and of
conviction that we have experienced, can this confidence still be
justified? And have we a place for this assertion of help from a
transcendent order when we acknowledge the reality of the independent
spiritual life?
Everything of a religious character and even that which is related to it
meets, at least upon the surface, in the present the keenest opposition.
This opposition is aroused in the first place by anthropomorphism--the
indulgence in merely human representations and desires--which is often
found associated with religion. If the essence of religion were
inseparable from such anthropomorphism, the dissolution and submergence
of religion could hardly be prevented. But according to the witness of
history, an energetic conflict against all such mere anthropomorphism
has been carried on within religion itself and, in its highest stages of
development, religion has demanded a complete surrender of everything
narrowly human: anthropomorphism and religion are, therefore, not
absolutely identical. Our investigation, emphasising as it does the
radical distinction between the substance of the spiritual life and its
appropriation by man, counselled us to be cautious in reference to this
matter, and warned us against a hasty rejection of religion.
The essence of religion is still less affected by the charge that modern
natural science in conceiving of the spatial world as infinite leaves no
room for a visible heaven. For, to take such a criticism seriously, we
must not only think of religion as at a primitive stage which, in the
development of its spiritual content, it has overstepped, but we must
also completely ignore the fundamental revolution that modern philosophy
and the whole tendency of modern thought have accomplished in the
representation of the visible world. Modern thought has destroyed the
self-evidence that the naïve man attributed to that representation, by
the experience and the proof that the visible world around us does not
come to us completely as we represent it, but that we form the
representation from our point of view, and under the conditions of our
spiritual nature. Our own activity is embodied in the representation;
and it will depend upon the value of this activity how far the
representation may be accepted as reality as a whole and the ultimate
and absolute world. Now, as in the visible world the spiritual life is
always bound up with something alien and which cannot be completely
transformed by the activity of that life, so every assertion of an
independent spiritual life is a protest against the view that the world
of sense is the only world. But in that, unless the spiritual life is
independent, there is neither science nor culture, the priority of a
world other than that of sense cannot be in any way a matter of doubt to
philosophy.
But a world other than the world of sense is by no means the
transcendent world of religion; such a world as the latter could be
reached only by a continuation of the life-process beyond the position
yet attained; the course of our investigation, however, has left no
uncertainty concerning the direction in which such a world is to be
sought. We saw that the spiritual life could not acquire an independence
without becoming a universal life: only the immediate presence of this
universal life at the individual point arouses and preserves a spiritual
life in it. In spite of this immediate presence of the whole, the life
of man receives its more detailed organisation and development from his
relation to the environment and in the building up of a world; the unity
that exists in the whole reveals itself at first only in relation to the
multiplicity. There is, therefore, still the possibility that a new and
characteristic life should evolve out of an exclusive relation to the
whole; such a life, in contrast to that building up of a world, would
bear a world-transcendent character. This possibility constitutes the
only way of advancing beyond the position hitherto reached.
Now, however much work in the world forms the main part of our life and
asserts itself to be such, yet, as a fact, our life is not taken up
entirely by such work. In the striving of humanity and in the soul of
the individual there is a movement towards a world-transcendent life, a
life that first attains to a complete inwardness when it becomes
world-transcendent. Only such an inwardness offers a firm support, a
spirituality unperverted by the perplexities of the world; but this is
not possible otherwise than by man's gaining participation in a
world-transcendent spiritual life which is purely and absolutely
self-conscious: this life must become man's own life, and spirituality
in this way self-consciously advance towards divinity. This makes it for
the first time intelligible how life, even when it suffers complete
failure in its work in the world, even when the activity exerted upon
the world is completely frustrated, by no means degenerates into a state
of destitution and ruin. For a new task is now revealed to man in his
own attitude to the spiritual life as a whole, a relation which may in
different cases be very different in character, and he may find in the
solution of the task incalculable difficulties. Here activity also
changes its character, since without any external manifestation it can
become complete and purely inward: character can free itself of
everything passive and become fully active; from being a mere
accompaniment it can become an active whole. All this, however, is
possible only if life is directed toward a world-transcendent
spirituality and only by the power of such a spirituality.
As this new kind of life does not make its appearance suddenly, but is
prepared by the whole evolution of spiritual life, which we have
previously considered, so its main individual tendencies are also
related to this evolution. Essential qualities of the spiritual life are
manifested in work in the world, but in this they do not come to pure
formation and victorious establishment: only the elevation to the
world-transcendent self-consciousness makes possible that with which the
spiritual life as a whole cannot well dispense, indeed in which it has
its essential nature. The striving itself, and its arousing and motive
power, could not be explained if the end were not operative within our
life: "Thou wouldst not seek me, if thou hadst not already found me"
(Pascal).
The spiritual life in man could have no hope of acquiring truth if it
were not rooted in a life which transcends all error and which in some
way imparts to us this transcendence. If the spiritual life in man did
not know of certain truth sustained at one innermost point, a truth that
exerts a directing power on all human undertaking, and prevents it from
becoming fixed in error, man would lose all confidence in truth in face
of the obscurities and errors of life as they are shown by the work of
culture. Further, for the maintenance of the spiritual life, the
preservation of spontaneity, a possibility of overcoming all restriction
by nature and of defying destiny is absolutely necessary. But in work in
the world this spontaneity is subject to the most severe limitations;
the power of fate surrounds man on all sides: in the natural course of
things even his own work becomes a rigid destiny to him, and chains him
with inexorable necessity. As in the case of the individual, so also in
that of humanity as a whole, life is a gradual narrowing, an ever
further exclusion of original possibilities; and this tendency is
continually felt as an increasing oppression in its opposition to the
freedom of the will and an independent present. How may the spiritual
life be prevented from growing feeble and senile, if new pure beginnings
cannot be produced from a fundamental relation transcending the relation
with the world, if from this fundamental relation a spontaneous life
cannot spring up ever anew? The fact that humanity is able not only to
transform the nature of culture in its particular aspects, but also to
fall into error concerning culture as a whole, without surrendering
itself, is an indication that the life of humanity is not exhausted in
work in the world. The spiritual life must unite in an inner community
all who participate in it; and this is impossible unless the spiritual
life leads man to a point where all walls of partition and all
differences fall away. But spiritual work increases rather than
diminishes these differences; with culture the differentiation of men
also grows. We must sink ever deeper in such differentiation; lose more
and more the possibility of a mutual understanding, of a life and
feeling with one another and for one another, if this movement toward
differentiation does not come into contact with a transcendent power
that counteracts it, if some power does not unite us inwardly. What
other power could this be than the spiritual life itself, and how could
it effect this result otherwise than in the revelation of a
world-transcendent self-conscious life which thus presents itself as an
Absolute? For, then a removal of differences in negative and in positive
matters becomes possible: in negative matters so far as all achievements
in the human sphere, however distant they may be from one another,
appear equally inadequate when they are judged by the standard of an
absolute life: in positive matters so far as the absolute life produces
something at each point transcending all complexity, by which the
movement is freed from its restrictions and resumes its flow, and by the
imparting of which to man in the innermost depth of his being, reveals a
new life in which all may in like manner participate. The possibility of
a finally valid affirmation of life is first attained when this
world-transcendent self-conscious life is acknowledged. Without turning
to the absolute life, life could not withdraw from its perplexities;
suffering and guilt would crush man. With this turning, however, he
acquires, not in his merely human nature, but so far as he is taken up
into the absolute life, part in the perfection, infinity, and eternity
of that life: in the midst of all change and becoming something
immovable is disclosed to him; in the midst of all dependence upon the
world, a sure world-transcendence; in the midst of all darkness and
suffering, a state of incalculable bliss. From the ultimate depths the
Yes triumphs over the No, which, at the first glance, seems so easily
its superior.
This transition derives a power to convince primarily from the union of
the individual tendencies so as to form a vital whole of
world-transcendent inwardness. Such a whole, thoroughly characteristic
in its nature, is never a work of mere man, a product of critical
reflection; it can proceed only from the spiritual life itself. Looked
at from the point of view of that life this whole cannot be regarded as
something later and as something supplementary; but it will be seen that
that which for us first attains complete clearness through suffering and
convulsion must be effective from the beginning, and already exist in
the work upon the world. If, however, it becomes our possession only
when it takes precedence, then the whole prospect of reality must be
altered and deepened, and for us life will be divided into the stages of
the establishing, struggling, triumphing of spirituality.