and develop, and seek to bring near to humanity. The doctrines they
contain are ultimately only the framework or the outward manifestation
of that world-transcendent inwardness; they desire to realise its power
of deliverance and elevation completely. They themselves have their
support and justification in this transcendent spiritual life, and the
precedence of one to the others will be judged by the degree to which in
affirmation and negation they develop this spiritual life in its
world-transcending sovereignty and in its world-penetrating power. From
the point of view of that life, religion as a whole must maintain its
truth and its indispensable nature: where that life is lacking, religion
is simply a delusion, a folly the absurdity of which is hardly
conceivable; but where it is developed religion must pass current as
that which, of all things, is the most certain, as the fundamental axiom
of the whole spiritual life. Between this "either--or" there is no
middle course; historical experience shows that religion has been to
men and ages either the most certain of all things or the one about
which there has been most dispute.
We can now return to the question that led us to this discussion, to the
question of the rationality of our reality. To be sure, even after the
further revelation of the spiritual life, the answer is not so easy as
the adherents of religion often think. For they often believe that with
the acknowledgment of a world-transcendent spirituality, its triumphant
manifestation within our world is immediately assured; and with this
conviction they attempt to present this world as a kingdom of justice,
even if not of love. But all endeavour, however energetic, and all
recourse to subtlety of thought, yield no satisfactory conclusion: at
most, the possibility is reached that that which seems irrational may
acquire some rationality in more comprehensive relations; but even if
that is so, we are not free from irrationality; and those mere
possibilities are far from being equal to counteracting the strong
impression of the reality of evil. Even religion, which would bring
about a transition to the better, is itself deeply involved in this
irrationality; a painful martyrdom has often been imposed upon its
heroes, and its form has continually degenerated in the course of
history through the influence of human error and passion. Since in the
latter the restriction is presented as an opposition to the divine, the
view of the world as it immediately appears is darkened rather than
illuminated.
Nevertheless, through the revelation that the world has a deeper basis,
the perplexity concerning life and reality is essentially changed. Evil
is not removed; the external view of things is not altered; the good is
perhaps strengthened, and, indeed, life in its innermost depth withdrawn
from all power of perplexity and led to a new stage. So far, the
irrationality may appear in another light from this point of view, as
hence the conflicts and the convulsions may themselves be factors which
help life to realise its own ideal and to establish it in the new world.
In history, suffering has been regarded as absolutely irrational, and
has been unconditionally rejected only where man has been regarded as
essentially complete. But if an immense problem is recognised in
suffering, then suffering also, by rousing us to activity and by making
us less inflexible, may acquire a positive value and be of service in
the development of being. This, however, does not give us a theodicy; it
justifies neither philosophy nor religion in trying to act as advocate
for the Deity. To us evil is an insoluble riddle: no formula can make it
intelligible why a powerful and clear reason is implanted in our world
and that at the same time the lower most obstinately asserts itself in
opposition, treats it as a matter of indifference, offers an
insurmountable resistance to it.
Thus we can hardly reach a decision in regard to our last conviction by
way of intellectual consideration; rather, in the decision concerning
the "either--or" which is the question here, our whole being is
involved. On the one side there is the external impression of the world,
the weakness of the good, its perversion into evil, the apparent
indifference of the world-process towards the aims of the spirit, the
apparent futility of all that would advance beyond nature. Can anything
that is aroused within our inner being, and with so much toil finds any
form, arise in opposition to this immeasurable world? This will be
possible only when a movement of the world itself, and not a mere
product of man, is recognised in that which is aroused within man: for
only then will its extension be a matter of complete indifference, and,
however mean an extension it shows in the human sphere, a turning of the
whole would be proved, a revolution of the whole accomplished. Then that
which for us emerges on the edge of our life must nevertheless be
regarded as the sustaining basis and the controlling power of reality as
a whole. Our whole investigation has championed the view that the
turning to the spiritual life implies a movement of the world: wherever
the independence of the spiritual life is acknowledged the supremacy of
reason cannot be doubted.
But it is one thing to acknowledge such a thesis to be necessary,
another to give it the power to convince and impress, without which it
does not leave the realm of phantoms, and does not become a living
power. This is possible only where the spiritual life is taken up as our
own life, and developed as our own life; where, therefore, its
vindication attains to the overwhelming power and the axiomatic
certainty of self-preservation. The centre of reality will be changed
for us only if we change the centre of our own life, and find true
immediacy no longer in sense impression, but in self-determining
activity.
The acknowledgment of a self-conscious inwardness, of a
world-transcendent spirituality, together with the recognition of
another kind of world, full of oppositions, must give a characteristic
form to our conception of our reality. Here, a rational solution of the
world-problem is for ever excluded, and the world present to man must be
accepted as a particular kind of reality, which cannot be regarded as
the only and ultimate one. From this point of view the whole life of
humanity must appear to be a mere link in a great chain; an act of a
drama, the course of which we are unable to survey; the fundamental idea
of which, however, glimmers through sufficiently clearly to point out a
direction to our life.
Through the emergence of a world-transcendent inwardness there appear
characteristic tasks and complications, also for the more detailed
development of our life. Unqualified esteem for that inwardness has
often led religions to demand that life should be placed solely and
entirely in that transcendent sphere, in the realm of faith and of
disposition, and to free life as far as possible from the work of the
world; the former life seemed to excel the latter as the divine the
human. But this comparison does not hold good; for the divine is to us
not only a world-transcendent sovereignty but also a world-pervading
power: to honour the former preponderatingly may be the only salvation
for times and individuals in a state of prostration and collapse, and in
this way life would be given a preponderatingly religious character; but
this form of life can never be accepted as the normal one and the one
alone worth striving for. For one thing, that transcendent world, as far
as its contents and tasks are concerned, is presented to us only in
outline; all its more detailed nature must result from the world of our
activity, and must retain a symbolic character. If the connection of the
spiritual world with the empirical world is broken it falls into the
danger of becoming destitute; so that religion may come to be simply a
revelling in feeling; or a devotion, indifferent to all content and
which, therefore, judged by spiritual standards, is worthless. It is by
hard work alone, in relation to men and things, that our life acquires a
spiritual character. Religion does, indeed, elevate life above work, and
give to life its full depth. Still, movement and differentiation must be
included within a vital whole; and the relation to activity which is the
chief factor in life cannot be given up even at its greatest depth. The
high estimate of spirituality may not rightly lead to a mean estimate of
nature, to a conflict with nature such as has been the case in the realm
of religion in the tendency to asceticism. For as certainly as our
acknowledgment of an independent spirituality involves a subordination
of nature, this subordination does not imply a mean estimate, still less
a rejection. Asceticism which appears to be the attainment of a high
level of spiritual life soon leads to an inward degeneration. For in
asceticism the chief task is not the powerful development and courageous
advance of spirituality, but simply a negation and suppression of sense.
Reflection and thought will thus be centred upon just those things
beyond which the spiritual movement wishes to lead. Particular temporary
circumstances may make the tendency to asceticism comprehensible; such
times were over-refined and diseased, and the diseased may not rightly
give to life its rule.
But if, in this way, we oppose a specifically religious or ascetic form
of life we are not prevented from acknowledging the strong and fruitful
influence of a world of transcendent inwardness upon life as a whole.
For its perfect health and breadth, our life needs two tendencies which,
though they directly contradict each other, must, nevertheless, within
us be complementary to each other: it needs an energetic conflict
against all that is irrational, and at the same time to be elevated into
a sphere in which everything is rational, into a realm of peace and
perfection. Within the spiritual life itself, tasks are given their form
and are estimated on the one hand from the human point of view, and on
the other from an ultimate, one might say an absolute, view of things.
The significance of this distinction is to be seen most clearly in
history, and, perhaps, in the contrast between the Greek and the
Christian character. The former places man in the midst of the world,
and requires him energetically to take up the struggle for the cause of
rationality and decisively to reject the irrational. Suffering and pain
were to be avoided; man was never to submit to them. Courage appeared to
be the chief quality of this form of life, and in relation to others
justice was its determining idea. But if this idea demands that each
should receive according to his achievement, then the higher and the
lower, the noble and the common, must be distinctly separated and never
allowed to be confused. That the noble form a small minority, and that
history hardly promises any change in this matter, is a fact that has
not escaped perception; and the permanence of the antithesis of an
esoteric and an exoteric form, therefore, appears to be inevitable. The
difference that exists is regarded as due primarily to nature, not to
free decision. To make nature completely active, and to unify that which
it offers in a scattered and an unsystematic manner, appears to be our
whole life-work.
The result, therefore, is a powerful, active, self-conscious life, which
not only affects us by its results but to which we must assign a
permanent significance. But as the only and exclusive form of life, it
involves great restrictions and rigour; its limitations may remain
hidden in days of joyful creative activity and in the highest circles of
society, but they must be keenly felt if life falls into a condition of
stagnation, and man, as man, asks questions with regard to the
happiness of life. This destiny may then become an intolerable
compulsion; mere courage, an over-exertion of human power; mere justice,
severity and unmercifulness; the sharp distinction between men, an
actual separation, which tends on the one side to proud haughtiness and
on the other to doubt and depression. A keen perception of such
limitations and dangers must necessarily force life into new paths.
The counter movement has won the victory in Christianity, which makes
not work in the world but the relation to a world-transcendent spiritual
life the chief thing. Man does not in the first place trust a nature
that safely leads him but at the same time limits him; but his nature
seems full of problems, and to need a complete transformation, which
only a miracle of grace can accomplish. Men are not regarded as being
separated by fixed differences, but in comparison with the divine
perfection all differences vanish, and from the relation to God the
feeling of equality and brotherhood is evolved. Thought of in relation
to the requirement of a pure inwardness of the whole being, differences
in achievement are totally insignificant: justice gives place to an
infinite love that dispels all harshness, makes all differences
consistent and harmonious, and tolerates no feeling of hostility.
The antithesis of a nature which is operative within the world and which
elevates above the world must permeate life as a whole and must give
rise to opposite tendencies in every part of life. On the one hand,
there is a distinct formation in finite relations, an insistence upon
plastic organisation and complete consciousness of life; on the other,
an aspiration towards the infinite, a more submissive faith, a more
unrestrained disposition, a higher estimate of the naïve and the
childlike. In the former, man, full of confidence in his own power,
himself produces a rationality of reality, and disdains all aids alien
to himself; in the latter, life is sustained by a trust in an infinite
good and power which, in a way transcending the capacity of man, guides
to the attainment of the best; in short, as a whole and in its
individual aspects each is a fundamentally different type of life from
the other.
The type of life advocated by Christianity has resulted in a great
deepening of life; it cannot possibly be given up again in favour of an
earlier type. But this Christian type also does not suffice for the
moulding of life as a whole. Most severe complications would ensue if
the position of Christianity were taken up as an ultimate conclusion and
an absolute evaluation in the conditions which at present exist, and its
principles without further consideration were applied to our life as a
whole. The annulling of all differences, even of spiritual capacity; the
displacement of justice through pity; the cessation of the conflict
against evil; the low estimate of man's own power, would all endanger
most severely the rational character of life; an adoption of this type
of life in its entirety would lead to the discontinuance of the work of
culture; in particular, it is inconsistent with any kind of political
organisation. Finite conditions are not to be judged by infinite
standards; and we men are, after all, in the finite and remain so.
And so, from the earliest times since Christianity, from being merely
one of opposing systems, became the dominant power, compromises have
been sought. The system of the development of power and of justice has
nevertheless asserted its influence, and though Christianity has had an
external supremacy, this system has forced characteristically Christian
life to be regarded as a matter of mere subjective disposition and of
private life. But as such compromises do not fully and truly express
spiritual necessity, they easily lead to falsity. To rise above this
tendency to make such compromises, the acknowledgment of the right and
of the limits of each type, the acknowledgment of the necessity of both
within a comprehensive whole, is necessary. Such a whole and along with
it a common ground, upon which the movements meet together, and can
strive to understand one another, is given to us by the spiritual life,
acknowledged in its independence. It is not for us to force our life
into a finished scheme, but to develop fully and to acknowledge the
movements and oppositions which exist in our life. True, life will ever
remain unfinished, but can we wish to make it more complete than it can
be, and can the incompleteness cause us anxiety, when we are sure of its
main direction?
III
APPLICATION TO THE PRESENT
CONSEQUENCES AND REQUIREMENTS
_Introductory Considerations_
With a consideration of the present we set out: to the present we now
return. The convictions at which we have arrived, and which have led us
to a characteristic philosophy of life, must now be considered in
relation to the needs of the present; we must see whether this
philosophy proves to be true in this connection, and this by its own
development, as well as by the simplification of the condition of a
time, which, as it is immediately experienced, is confused in the
highest degree.
But, at the outset of our treatment of this problem, we perceive how
difficult it is for the acknowledgment of an independent spirituality to
determine our relation to the temporal environment; we see how this
acknowledgment transforms that relation into a problem. The conception
of the "present" is by no means simple and certain, even as far as its
external boundary is concerned. The mere to-day is obviously too short a
period to constitute the present; but how much is to be added and where
must it cease in order that we may have a genuine present? True, the
present must involve a characteristic content that associates the
moments and unites them so as to produce a common effect; but does our
time give us such a content? The first glance at the state of life in
our time reveals a chaotic confusion, which includes the most diverse
endeavours, now in passionate union, now in complete indifference to one
another, and yet again in harsh hostility; further, there is a constant
displacement of the individual elements by a process of elevation and of
degradation. Even if something common and permanent is operative in the
present, its close amalgamation with this change and movement prevents
it from being purely developed: the truth contained in the present state
of life is inseparably mixed with human error and passion.
And yet this is not an experience simply of the present, but one common
to all ages. For fundamental spiritual creation has always been effected
in the direst contradiction to the social environment. What harsh
judgments, and judgments that set its value at nil, have been passed
upon society with regard to its capacity not only in religion but also
in philosophy and art! How severe a conflict has been carried on in all
departments of life against the presumption of society! The present,
especially, is troubled by these problems, because, as has become
evident to us from the beginning of our investigation, it carries within
it movements of a diverse and contradictory nature, so that it can
hardly produce a consistent impression of the whole, still less attain
to a definite character. Human interests and parties seek with all their
energy to impress upon the time their own character; they call that
modern which is useful to and in harmony with themselves. The most
diverse tendencies cross one another; experiences in particular
departments of life determine the conception of the whole; the different
classes of society follow different courses in accordance with their
different interests; much that is accidental is regarded as vital and is
allowed to influence us: the extreme has the advantage of being able to
make an impression upon us; and the superficial and the negative creep
into favour through the easiness of the conclusion presented by them: in
short, in this state of the time, that which arises in human opinion is
incapable of offering to spiritual endeavour a secure support and an
orientation concerning its aims.
This uncertainty cannot be removed by turning our attention to history,
by taking an interest in past ages. For, with whatever clearness a
highly developed science of history may present the whole course of the
ages to us, to believe that our own life is enriched and made more
stable by this, we must confuse knowledge and life, the mere present
representation of earlier times and the appropriation of them by our own
activity--a danger into which the purely academic mode of thought easily
falls. The power and the tendency of life in the present determine the
nature of our appropriation of the past and of its transformation in
self-determining activity. If this life stagnates, then we are helpless
in face of the stream of earlier systems of thought. Even if these
systems attract us to themselves, and carry us with them for a time,
finally they will manifest their antitheses and throw us back again upon
ourselves: we cannot escape from ourselves; we can never find a
substitute from outside for want of conviction and power of our own. It
is a fundamental error, not, indeed, of historical research but of a
feeble historical relativism, to expect us to form a conviction of our
own by concerning ourselves with the past; and to think that the later
stage in history proceeds from the earlier as a self-evident final
result. By taking such an attitude to the past we should only fall into
the half-will and half-life common to an age of decadence. If the
present is thus uncertain in the heart of its spiritual nature, and it
is not possible to escape from this uncertainty by resorting to the
past, it may appear to be essential that we should be completely
delivered from the tyranny of time, and that we should take up an
attitude of entire unconcern of its affirmation and its negation of
spiritual endeavour.
But a rejection of the immediate relation to time by no means settles
the matter. If spiritual work were completely dissociated from the
temporal environment and the historical movement, it would be dependent
solely upon the capacity of the mere individual and upon the passing
moment; all relation, all community of work, would thus be given up, and
the performance of others could not be anything to us, nor our
achievement anything to others; there would be no inner building up of
life, and no hope of reaching greater depths. Not only is it impossible
to abandon such aims, but our experience of spiritual work itself
contradicts the disintegration of life into nothing but isolated
points. If all spiritual creation is effected in contradiction to time,
what is denied in this contradiction is rather that which lies upon the
surface of time than that which is deeper; rather human accommodation to
than the spiritual content of time. All who believe that distinctive
human history is sustained by the activity of a spiritual life will
attribute to time such a spiritual content.