not with a merely formal modification is shown by the following
considerations. If thought, in the manner previously supposed, takes its
starting-point in a world existing independently of the subject, then in
order to subordinate reality spiritually thought will comprehend it in
the most general conceptions. Ultimately, the being of things will be
sought in formal ontological magnitudes, as, for example, in "pure
being." If the whole abundance of reality appears to be derived simply
from these general conceptions, it is in danger of being transformed
into nothing but schemes and shadows, and of losing all genuine life.
If, as opposed to this, the subject alone is taken as the
starting-point, then more life and more movement is indeed assured, and
a more varied prospect will be acquired, but there is no possibility of
distinguishing between that which is only contingent to the individual
and that which forms a common inner world; there is no possibility of a
rejection of the narrowly human, or even of extricating a realm of ideas
from the abundance of impressions: if in the former case knowledge lost
all content, in the present case it threatens to be completely
dissolved. If, further, on the one hand abstract universal conceptions,
and on the other the subjective states of individuals, form the stem of
knowledge, then neither in one nor in the other does the fullness of
spiritual reality attain its due--the reality that exists in the
building up of a genuine spiritual culture. But in the type of
philosophy advocated by us this is the chief thing; since in contrast to
the psychological and the cosmological treatment this philosophy
develops a noölogical treatment, and sees the central domain of
philosophical research in the elucidation and unification of facts
which, in the construction of a spiritual world in the province of man,
appear in the whole and in every branch. In this connection the
conception of fact is something more ultimate and universal in its
relations; but it is just that which makes it more valuable for the
conviction as a whole.
This conception of its task will bring philosophy into a closer relation
with personal life, as well as with the work of history, without making
it the mere instrument either of the one or the other. Otherwise it
would seem irrational, and a tendency from which one must free oneself
as much as possible, that in philosophy, personality, not only in
creative activity but also in appropriation, signifies so much. The
object, on the contrary, acquires a positive value, if we are certain
that the standard of life is ultimately also the standard of knowledge;
if with this the degree of the development of life at a particular point
necessarily decides the nature of the work of thought there achieved.
The near relation of the thinker to the proximate and the more distant
culture environment is explained from this position in a manner no less
satisfactory: the relation can then remain close, even if in the first
place it appears to be one of conflict and opposition. Similarly, the
whole movement of history acquires a greater significance for knowledge;
far-reaching changes of life transform the temporal situation, since
they permit us to experience, see, and seek something else; all these
changes, however, demand from thought an attention to and an
appreciation of the whole. Nothing other than this is involved in the
requirement that thought must correspond with the historical state of
spiritual evolution.
This acknowledgment of personal and of historical life by philosophy
makes it intelligible why philosophy manifests so much diversity and
opposition, and why on the surface it shows so little unity. Where the
conviction of an independent spiritual life rules, the faith in a unity
of truth can be shaken by this fact just as little as the courage to
creative activity can be paralysed. The basing of thought upon the
spiritual life also has the advantage that the main types of thought can
be derived from the different positions which may be taken up towards
the spiritual life, and thus a limit may be set to the otherwise
indefinite abundance. From this point of view there are for us five
chief types of thought and world-conception. Minds first divide on the
question whether we can unify life at all, and at the same time whether
we may venture to make an assertion concerning reality as a whole. He
who rejects this as impossible and readily surrenders himself to the
conflict of immediate impressions might be called an indifferentist. If,
however, a striving towards unity is admitted, then the question whether
a spiritual life with a reality and values of its own in contrast with
nature may be acknowledged or not becomes the point of decision, and the
basis of division into opposing camps. He who gives a negative answer to
the question, and regards nature as the whole of reality, becomes an
advocate of Naturalism. He, however, who answers in the affirmative, and
may be called an idealist, is immediately confronted with a new problem.
He cannot acknowledge the spiritual life without at the same time giving
it the supremacy; but now the doubt arises whether this supremacy may be
easily and peacefully established, or whether it meets with strong
opposition. When the existence of these oppositions is denied, or they
are regarded as being easy to overcome, there grows up an optimistic,
contemplative form of Idealism, which to the holders of other forms
inevitably seems abstract and shallow. If, on the contrary, the
oppositions are fully acknowledged, the final division originates with
the question whether finally we are to submit to the state of stagnation
brought about by these oppositions, or whether by some kind of
reinforcement of the counteraction to this state of stagnation life may
once more be set in progress: the former gives rise to Scepticism and
Pessimism, the latter to Activism, as it has been discussed by us in an
earlier section. It is easy to see what distinctive lines of conflict
and what kinds of conflict must arise between the indifferentist, the
naturalistic thinker, the optimist, the sceptic, and the activist.
However, we cannot allow this to detain us; it must, nevertheless, be
pointed out here, that in philosophy the possibilities are not yet
exhausted, and that to avail ourselves of these possibilities nothing is
more necessary than a close relation of its work with the life-process,
and a firmer grounding in the independent spiritual life.
(c) ART AND LITERATURE
Nowhere does modern life throb more violently and more strongly than in
art and literature. That which in this department has a claim to
permanence acquires especial power from the fact that this department
had to establish itself anew in opposition to an attempt to curtail it.
For who could deny that a culture of work and of utility had a tendency
to reduce artistic literary creation to the position of an accompaniment
and a fringe of another kind of life, to a diversion for idle hours? The
more we feel the limitations of the life of work and utility the more do
art and literature become independent tasks. From art and literature we
expect more lightness, more agility, and more joy in life; they should
conduct life from too great an attention to externals to
self-consciousness, and in this way give life a soul. They should
strengthen individuality in opposition to the levelling tendency of the
culture of the masses, wrest simple fundamentals from chaotic confusion
of life, and aid the time in reaching a comprehensive vital-feeling and
a synthesis transcending its inconsistencies. In opposition to that
which oppresses us and degrades us to instruments of a meaningless
machinery, we desire some kind of province where life rests in itself
and purposes nothing else but itself; where it springs up with complete
spontaneity; and where it can express itself with complete freedom, and
in this expression find its highest joy.
From such a longing a new art that permeates our life has arisen. Art
must seek new means of expression for the new situation; it cannot serve
the development of a new life-content without bringing about liberation
from all conventional statutes; it cannot prevent a threatened tendency
of life to become stagnant without desiring a fully free place for the
subject, and for the development of his individuality. He who sees
chiefly the dangers in everything forgets that nothing new and great can
arise without bringing dangers with it.
From the point of view of the system that we champion, we can quite well
understand the significance of the æsthetic movement of the present,
acknowledge the deliverance of life which it has accomplished, and in
general we can go a good distance with it. But there comes a point where
the courses diverge; not because we think less of the capacity of art,
but we believe that we think more highly of its task. This deliverance
from the culture of work, this turning to individuality, promises an
essential elevation of life only if a new kind of being, a new world, is
able to break forth in the soul that depends upon itself; if the
individual in his conflicts aids the development of the infinite life;
if, through all transformations and prostrations, man wins an inner
relation to the whole and to things, and by this grows beyond the
narrowly human.
If this does not come to pass, the movement remains on the surface of
sense experience and related to the activity and occupation of mere man;
and so it cannot make anything higher or essentially new of us; it
remains subject to the oppositions of the age instead of becoming
superior to them. We are, indeed, enriched by the most diverse forms of
expression: even the most concealed circumstances, the most delicate
pulsations of the soul, cannot withdraw themselves from being
represented. None the less, the description of the world-environment
acquires the most striking clearness and penetration, and in the
incalculable wealth of individual forms of art virtuosi are not lacking
at whose capacity of execution we are astonished. But all this gives to
art no spiritual content and no real greatness. It can, indeed, bring an
inexhaustible abundance of stimuli to bear upon individuals and spread a
shiny gloss over existence and life, but it cannot raise life
essentially. The care of the mere individual, with his changing
circumstances, prevents art from taking up sufficiently the problems of
the present situation as a whole; of the spiritual condition of humanity
as a whole.
And so art in this form is not able to grasp the epoch with its
spiritual movement as a whole, and to further humanity in the struggle
for spiritual existence, in which to-day all individual problems are
included. Humanity is in a serious crisis; the old foundations of life
are about to give way, and the new are not yet secured. The world has
rejected the standards which man had imposed upon it; it turns against
him, and leaves him nothing more in particular. To be assured of a
distinctive significance man needs a strengthening, and at the same time
an aroused reflection forbids him all help from outside. The fact that
that which is hostile and threatens to degrade and to annihilate man
takes possession of his own province of life and penetrates into it
gives a particular acuteness to these problems. We are not only
surrounded externally by a dark fate, but our soul also degenerates in
it, and becomes more and more a soulless mechanism. Indeed, our own
activity becomes the most dangerous opponent of the soul, since in
forming and taking part in complexes of work which ever become greater
it turns against us and takes the soul from the soul.
An art which has its basis in the individual and which does not advance
to spiritual substance cannot possibly prevent the threatened
dissolution of life. Even the most wonderful expression of disposition,
even the most delicate and most fluid representations of conditions, do
not free us from the chaos of the time: they might easily bind us still
more strongly to it, since they weaken the power, indeed the tendency to
energetic concentration, and increase the tendency to degenerate into a
state of weakness and decay; while to overcome these dangers it is
necessary primarily to increase our activity, to win again an active
relation to reality. Art cannot free itself from that condition of
feebleness without entering into a close relation with the central task
of life and acknowledging a spirituality transcending the subjective
circumstances and interests of mere man. If these requirements are not
satisfied, no talent can prevent a decline of art into a more refined
Epicureanism.
But where such a spiritual life is acknowledged, and at the same time
there arises the task of winning for man a new life, a new spiritual
reality, art inevitably acquires a great significance, and becomes
absolutely indispensable. Without the liberation which it brings, and
its presentation of things in a harmony, how could a whole with definite
character be raised? How could the new that hovers before us acquire
form and exert a penetrating power without the help of a constructive
imagination which precedes its realisation? How could the soul's
innermost experience permeate life as a whole, and ennoble its whole
structure without the help of art? The higher we place the ideal of
life, the more does the spiritual content which immediate existence
manifests become a mere sense form, the more is æsthetic activity
necessary to prevent disunion of life, in the midst of all oppositions
to give it some kind of unity, and in the midst of the passion of
conflict some rest within itself. But, to achieve this, art may not
purpose to form an oasis in a wilderness of life, but, hand-in-hand with
other activities, must fight for spiritual experience and a genuine
meaning of life as a whole.
(d) POLITICAL AND SOCIAL LIFE
To treat of the complicated problems of the political and social life of
the present does not come within our purpose; we can consider them only
so far as the task of the construction of an independent spiritual world
is affected either for good or evil by the nature of their solution.
In contrast to the epoch of the Enlightenment, the nineteenth century
brought about a transition from the individual to society: social life
has developed in numerous branches, has disclosed a superabundance of
new facts, and has set us new tasks. But this development has also
brought much perplexity with it. It becomes evident in this development
also, that each spiritual movement that attains power experiences in its
further course limitations, and is degraded by its contact with human
conditions. Along with the social movement there has been the
often-discussed change by which life from being centred in an invisible
world becomes occupied with the visible one, and by which all
departments of life are given a naturalistic, realistic character and
tendency. There has been no lack of opposition to the movement to make
society the first consideration; the opposition has gone even so far as
to dispute the right of the whole. Further, the earlier and the later
conception of society, the idealistic and the realistic, are often
confused; and from this confusion contradictions arise that not only
confuse our ideas but also degrade our life. There is a danger that a
zealous and excited occupation with nothing but individual tasks may
take our attention from the whole, and that the problems which the inner
condition of man involves may not obtain due consideration.
This turning to society is most manifest in the powerful advance of the
state. In this, an inner longing for a more social life, as Hegel
especially philosophically advocated it; and actual changes of
conditions operated together, and strengthened one another. The more
definite manifestation of individuality on the part of nations and the
sharper division between them; the active interest of wider circles in
political problems; the mechanical organisation of work, with its more
exact differentiation and its more rigid organisation of forces; but
primarily the longing, which grows out of the ceaselessly increasing
economical and social perplexities, for a power superior to the parties
in dispute and acting as arbitrator--all these have immeasurably
increased the power of the state in different degrees among different
peoples, but in general through the whole civilised world.
The freedom of the individual, therefore, cannot but suffer from
manifold limitations; there arises a danger that the individual may
gradually lose all initiative, and expect all stimulation from the
state. The spontaneity and the wealth of life suffer from the tendency
to increase the power of the state, and a bureaucracy which delights in
correct forms, but which spiritually is entirely unproductive, indeed
even indifferent, appropriates more and more to itself. The substance of
the spiritual life is also threatened by the fact that the omnipotent
state is inclined to treat that life, with all its branches, as a mere
means in the attainment of its own particular aims; to look upon science
and art, and chiefly religion and education, especially with regard to
that which they achieve for the aims of the state, and to shape them as
much as possible in accordance with these aims. There is also a strong
tendency to follow the same course to accomplish the ends of the
contemporary form of government. An independent and genuine spiritual
life can hardly offer too great an opposition to such a perversion,
with its deification of human forms. But the matter is by no means
simple; for not the will of single individuals and parties, but the
whole tendency of modern life has given this power to the state; indeed,
on the economic side the state will soon experience a further increase
of power. The more the guidance on this side belongs to the state, the
more necessary is a free movement of spiritual culture in opposition to
it; the more urgent is the demand that the amalgamation of church and
state should be discontinued--an amalgamation which, by the growing
disputes that arise from it, forces religion into an undignified
position; the more definitely is a greater independence to be desired
for school organisation in all its branches. The Germans especially have
much to do in this matter; and there is much at stake. For, with the
limitations of our spatial extension, we can be a permanent determining
factor in world-culture only by giving our culture the greatest
intensity; but this requires a calling forth of the complete power and
of the spontaneity of individuals. Ultimately, in this matter also, the
chief thing proves to be the taking up again of central problems and the
realisation of human being in its innermost depths as an unconditional
end in itself and the bearer of an infinite life. No conception can
guard us from sinking to the position of puppets of the soulless
mechanism of the state, if we do not find the power to give soul to our
life and to maintain it against all attempted limitation.
The longing for more freedom and independence has therefore an
indisputable validity. But this acknowledgment may easily lead to new
complications by freedom and independence being conceived in a manner
much too external, and also by a really questionable association of
these ideas with the problem of equality. The conviction of the modern
man concerning the world on the one hand, and the demands of life on the
other, are often in direct contradiction with regard to the conception
of equality. We become aware of our limitation on all sides: we are
represented simply as a product of heredity and environment: all
possibility of making a decision for ourselves is rejected as a
delusion. If thus we are deprived of all independence and all
spontaneity of life, then even in social life we shall become mere
bearers of a _rôle_ imposed upon us by a dark fate. One does not see how
freedom could retain a value, arouse enthusiasm, and lead to sacrifice
in such a case. If the whole is a soulless mechanism, in which only the
excess of existent power is the cause of decisions, then we ourselves
cannot be exceptions.
Other complications have their origin in the democratic tendency which
permeates not only our political endeavour but also our whole life of
culture. How far-reaching a change, indeed how complete a revolution,
has been accomplished by this tendency in opposition to a condition of
things which has stood for hundreds or rather thousands of years, is but
seldom fully appreciated. In the earlier form of social life spiritual
work was the chief matter only of a limited and exclusive circle; to the
people as a whole it was only secondary, and the benefit that they
received from it was often of the most meagre character. Even the
Reformation left this aristocratic form of life as it was; for as
certainly as it made the care for every individual member of the church
more urgent, that care was bestowed from above in an authoritative
manner. The earlier Enlightenment, as it was represented, for example,
by Bayle, was of the conviction that the deliverance from delusion and
superstition would always be limited to a small circle of those standing
spiritually high, and would never reach the masses. We know how this has
changed; how the masses are determined to form a mere dependent body of
the so-called higher classes no longer, but to take the problem of life
independently into their own hands, and how they obtain their
representation of the world and the task of their life from that which
is more immediately present to them and directly concerns their welfare;
and how in this way they are inclined to look upon themselves as the
whole of humanity. We have already referred to the danger that culture
as a whole will thus be made shallow--a danger that arises from the fact
that here the decision is made by those who scarcely participate in the
work of history, and who depend almost entirely upon the immediate
impression. Further, we have already contended that only a
simplification and rejuvenation of culture are able to cope with this
danger. The fact is important that this democratic movement appeals to
the equality of all who bear human features. Here again there appears to
be a direct contradiction between theoretical conviction and actual
conditions. Experience everywhere shows a pronounced inequality among
men; it shows this not only in the traditional social relationships but
also in the organisation of modern industry. More, however, than all
social arrangements, nature shows the greatest inequality amongst men;
and the actual relation of individuals in work and idleness, in love and
hate, in independent thinking and blind subordination shows it none the
less. From the point of view of experience the idea of equality seems to
be an empty phrase. If it is more than this, if we recognise in it a
truth that we cannot afford to lose, then it implies the conviction that
humanity has spiritual relations; that each has a significance in a
spiritual nature, and that there is a universal life present everywhere
which opposes the guilt and folly of the individual and even in spite of
himself gives him a value. Thus we have seen that in history, religion
and ideal culture were the first to bring the idea of equality into good
repute. But to-day the champions of equality turn with particular
keenness against religion and ideal culture, and are not aware that in
so doing they are destroying the foundations of their own belief.