What shall he do? Must he once again leave the realistic systems of
Naturalism, Socialism, and Individualism, and return to the older
systems of Religion and Idealism? Was he not wrong in giving up the
thought of a higher invisible world? Has not the restriction of life to
the visible world robbed life of its greatness and dignity? This it
certainly has done, and there is little wonder that the soul of mankind
is already revolting, and shows a tendency once again to look towards
religion and idealism for a solution of life.
But the educated mind can never again take up exactly the same position
as it once did in regard to religion and idealism. The great realistic
theories have made too great a change in the standard of life, and in
man himself, to make it possible for him to revert simply to the old
conditions, and the older orthodox doctrines of religion can never again
be accepted as a mere matter of course. But the great question has again
come to the forefront--is there a higher world, or is the fundamental
truth of religion a mere illusion? This is the question that calls for
answer to-day, an answer which must be different, as man is different,
from the answers that were given in the past. A satisfactory answer is
impossible without understanding clearly the relation between the Old
and the New, and without taking account of the great, if partial, truths
that the realistic schemes of life have taught mankind.
To accept unreservedly Naturalism, Socialism, and Individualism is
impossible, for these rob life of its deeper meaning. To return to the
older doctrines without reserve is equally impossible.
Shall we ignore the question? This would be a fatal mistake. Some throw
themselves into the rush of work, and endeavour to forget the deeper
problems of life--but "the result is a life all froth and shimmer,
lacking inward sincerity, a life that can never in itself satisfy them,
but only keep up the appearance of doing so." There must be some
decision; for is not society being more and more broken up into small
sections, possessing the most variable standards of life, and
evaluating things in a diversity of ways? Such an inward schism must
weaken any effort on the part of humanity to combine for ideal ends.
Perhaps he of narrow vision, who sees nothing in life but sensuous
pleasure, is happy--but it is the happiness of the lower world. Perhaps,
too, he of the superficial mind is happy, who sees no deep
contradictions in the solutions offered, and is prepared to accept one
to-day and another tomorrow--but his happiness is that of the feeble
mind.
What then can be done? Shall we despair? Never! The question is far too
urgent. To despair is to accept a policy that spells disaster to the
human race. The immediate environment is powerless to give life any real
meaning. We must probe deeper into the eternal--and it is from such
investigations that Eucken outlines a new theory of life.
But before we proceed to deal with Eucken's contribution to the problem,
it will be profitable to stay awhile to consider how it is that we can
obtain truth at all, and what are the tests that we can apply to truth
when we think we have attained it. It is the problem of the possibility
of knowledge, really, that we have to discuss in brief. Eucken himself
does not pay much direct attention to this difficult question, for, as
has been already pointed out, he refuses to be drawn from his main
problem. It is impossible, however, to appreciate Eucken without
understanding clearly the position he takes up in this matter.
What is truth? How can we know?--these are entrancing problems for the
profound thinker, and have been written upon frequently and at great
length. But we can do little more at present than give the barest
outline of the positions that have been taken up. Every search for truth
must assume a certain position in this matter; in studying Eucken's
philosophy it is of the first importance--more so perhaps than in the
case of most other philosophers--to keep in mind clearly from the outset
the position he implicitly assumes.
The simplest theory of knowledge is that of _Empiricism_, which holds
that all knowledge must be gained through experience of the outside
world, and of our mental states. We see a blue wall, we obtain through
our eyes an impression of blueness, and are able to make a statement:
"This wall is blue." This, of course, is one of the simplest assertions
that can be made, and consists merely in assigning a term--"blue"--the
meaning of which has already been agreed upon, to a colour that we
appear to see on a wall. The test of the truth of this assertion is a
simple one--it is true if it corresponds with fact. If the same
assertion is made in regard to a red wall, then it is obviously untrue.
Our sense impressions give rise to a great variety of such expressions.
We state "the wall is blue" as a result of an impression obtained
through the organs of sight; then we speak of a pungent smell, a sweet
taste, a harsh sound, or a rough stone, on account of impressions
received respectively through the organs of smell, taste, hearing, and
touch. But, of course, all such assertions are superficial in
character--there is little more in them than the application of a
conventional term to an observed phenomenon, they avail us little in
solving the mysteries of the universe.
Strictly speaking, this is for the empiricist the limit of possible
knowledge, but he would be a poor investigator who would be content with
this and no more. The empiricist tries to go a distinct step in advance
of this. The scientist observing the path of a planet travelling round
the sun, finds that its course is that of an ellipse. He studies the
path of a second planet, and finds that this also travels along an
elliptical orbit. Later he finds that all planets he is able to observe
travel in the same kind of path--then he hazards a general statement,
and says, "All planets travel round their suns in elliptical orbits."
But now he has left the realm of certainty for that of uncertainty.
There may be innumerable planets which he cannot observe that take a
different course. He hazards the general statement, because he assumes
(sometimes without knowing that he does so) that nature is uniform and
constant, that it will do to-day as it did yesterday, and does in
infinite space as it does in the visible universe.
The knowledge that is possible to the empiricist, then, is merely that
which is derived from direct experience, and simple summations or
generalisations into a single assertion of a number of similar
assertions, all of which were individually derived from experience. This
is the position scientists as such, and believers in the theory of
naturalism, take up as to the possibility of the knowledge of truth to
the human mind. They are entirely consistent, therefore, when they
arrive ultimately at the agnostic position, and contend that our
knowledge must necessarily be confined to the world of experience, and
that nothing can be known of the world beyond. But they are
fundamentally wrong in overestimating the place of the sense organs, and
forgetting that while these have a part to play in life, they do not
constitute the whole of life.
A far more satisfactory theory is that of _Rationalism_. It
is a theory that admits that the human mind has some capacity for
working upon the data presented to it by the sense organs. Man is
no longer quite so helpless a creature as empiricism would make
him. He is able to weigh and consider the facts that are presented
to the mind. The method rationalism uses to arrive at truth is that
of logical deduction, and the test of truth is that the steps in the
process are logically sound. We may start from the data "All dogs
are animals" and "Carlo is a dog," and arrive very simply at the
conclusion "Carlo is an animal." The conclusion is correct because
we have reasoned in accordance with the laws of logic, with the laws
of valid thought. All logical reasoning is, of course, not so simple
as the example given, but it may be stated generally that when there
is no logical fallacy, a correct conclusion may be arrived at,
provided, too--and herein lies the difficulty--provided that the
premises are also true. These premises may be in themselves general
statements--how is their truth established? They may be, and often
are, the generalisations of the empirical sciences, and must then
possess the same degree of uncertainty that these generalisations
possess. Some philosophers have contended that certain general ideas
are innate, but few would be found nowadays to accept such a
contention. At other times mere definitions of terms may serve as
premises. One might state as a premise the definition "A straight
line is the shortest distance between two points," and the further
statement that "AB is a straight line between A and B," and conclude
that the line AB represents the shortest distance between two points A
and B. In a manner similar to this Euclid built his whole mathematical
system upon the basis of definitions and postulates, a system the
complexity and thoroughness of which has caused all students of
mathematics at one time or another to marvel and admire. But, of
course, a definition is little more than assigning a definite term to
a definite thing. It is when we begin to consider the premises that are
necessary for arriving at the profound truths of the universe that we
find the weakness of rationalism. How are we going to be provided with
premises for this end? Shall we begin by saying "There is a God" or
"There is no God"? How is the pure reasoning faculty to decide upon the
premises in the matter of the great Beyond? We may weigh the arguments
for and against a certain position, and we may think that the probability
lies in a certain direction, but to decide finally and with certainty
by mere cold logical reasoning is impossible. We may bring out into
prominence through logical reasoning truths that were previously only
implicit, but to arrive at absolute truth with regard to the invisible
world, through intellect alone, has long been admitted to be an
impossibility. The illusion of those who would believe that truth which
was not already implied in the premises could ever be obtained by mere
intellectual reasoning has long since been dispelled.
Perhaps it comes as a shock to the reader who has always insisted upon a
clear intellectual understanding and a rigid reasoning upon all things,
to find within what narrow limits, after all, the intellect itself has
to work--it can do little more than make more or less certain
generalisations concerning the world of experience, and then to argue
from these, or from definitions that it itself has framed. Of course
some of the ancient philosophers did try through a course of rigid
reasoning to solve the great problems, and for a long time it was
customary to expect that all philosophers should proceed in the same
way.
Modern philosophers, of whom William James, Bergson, and Eucken are
conspicuous examples, have appreciated the futility of such a task, and
have sought other means of solving the problem. The mistake in the past
has been to forget that the intelligence is but one aspect of human
life, and that the experience of mankind is far more complicated a
matter than that of mere intellect, and not to be solved by intellect
alone. Intellect has to play a definite part in human life, but it does
not constitute the whole of life. Life itself is far greater than
intellect, and to live is a far more important thing than to know. The
great things are life and action; knowledge is ultimately useful in so
far as it contributes to the development of life and the perfection of
action. Philosophers have for too long a period made knowledge an aim in
itself, and have neglected to take proper account of the experiences of
mankind. Their intellectual abstractions have tended to leave actual
life more and more out of consideration, with the result that they have
been baffled at every turn. The more we think about it, the more we
become convinced that the mysterious universe in which we live will only
divulge just enough of its secrets to enable us to act, and this it
gives us with comparatively little trouble on our part. If we consider
an ordinary piece of wood, we find it is hard and offers a certain
resistance, and our knowledge of these elementary facts enables us to
put it to use, but we shall never really solve the mysteries of its
formation and growth. These lead of course to very interesting
speculations, but their solution seems to be as far off as ever. We can
know little but that which we require for life. The making of life and
action the basis of truth rather than trusting to the intellect alone,
is the great new departure in modern philosophy.
One of the theories of knowledge that springs from laying emphasis upon
life and action is that of _Pragmatism_, of which the late Professor
William James was one of the greatest exponents. Pragmatists contend
that the test of truth is its value for life--if the fact obtained is
the most useful and helpful for life, then it is the true one. Suppose
we are endeavouring to solve the great question, "Is there a God?" We
weigh the arguments for and against, but find it difficult to arrive at
a definite conclusion, because the arguments on both sides seem equally
plausible. How are we to decide? We cannot postpone the decision
indefinitely--we are forced to make a choice, for upon our decision
depends our aim and ideals in life. We are faced with a "forced option,"
and must choose one or the other. We ask ourselves the question, "Which
will be of the greatest help to our lives--to believe that there is, or
that there is not a God?" and we decide or will to believe the option
that will help life most. It is a striking theory, but space forbids our
discussing it in detail.
The position Eucken adopts is that of _Activism_. In common with
pragmatism it makes truth a matter of life and action rather than of
mere intellect, and considers fruitfulness for action a characteristic
of truth. He differs from the pragmatic position in that he contends
that truth is something deeper than mere human decision, that truth is
truth, not merely because it is useful, that reality is independent of
our experience of it, and that truth is gained intuitively through a
life of action.
The riddle of the universe is solved for Eucken through life and action.
While continual contemplation and thought is apt to paralyse us, "action
is the best defensive weapon against the dangers and trials of human
existence." "Doubt is not cured by meditation, but by action." He
believes that we can attain certainty through action of much that cannot
be justified on rational grounds. If we wish to understand the vital
truths of life we must concentrate our souls on a good purpose--the
activity that follows will bring its revelation. The problems of life
are solved by the life process itself. By acting in a certain way, man
comes into intimate relationship with the great reality of life, and
then he comes to know, not so much _about_ reality, as _within_ reality.
The ant in whom such complex instincts are developed, knows probably
nothing at all _about_ its little world, but knows everything necessary
_within_ its little world. It does not err, it does the right thing at
the right time, and that because it is in tune with its universe, hence
acts from pure instinct in the right way. If intellect were to enter
into the case, its actions might become less reliable, and it would
blunder far oftener. In the case of man, his thinking capacity often
militates against successful instinctive and habitual actions--the
moment we start to consider, we hesitate and are lost. In the same way,
if the soul of man is brought into tune with the great reality, it has
but to act, and though it may never know all _about_ reality and be able
to frame abstract theories of the universe, still it may know _with_ or
_within_ reality, and be thus enabled to act in the best way under
various circumstances. This is the theory of activism; it lays great
stress upon action, and upon intuition through action, and while it does
not ignore the intellect, it holds that when the intellect fails there
is a possibility of the practical problem of life being solved through a
life of action, when life is directed towards the highest ideals. The
danger of an activistic position, of course, is to undervalue the
reasoning powers of man. Some critics hold that Eucken does this; the
reader must judge for himself, but in doing so it will be well to
remember that before trusting to intuitive revelation, Eucken demands
the setting of one's face towards the highest and best.
In the next chapter we can follow Eucken in his search for the great
reality in life.
CHAPTER IV
THE PAST, PRESENT, AND THE ETERNAL
In investigating the problem of human life, Eucken lays great stress
upon the history of man in past ages--this is one of the special aspects
of his philosophy. The fact is, of course, not surprising; he who would
explain the life of man would be unwise to ignore the records of the
past life of the human race. The thinker who examines the present only,
is apt to be narrow in his ideas, to fail to look upon events in their
proper perspective, and to be unduly affected by the spirit of the age
in which he lives--the student of history avoids these pitfalls.
Moreover, man does not become aware of the depth of his own soul, until
he has "lived into" the experience of the past. This is what the
profound investigator of history does; he lives again the life of the
hero, he feels with him as he felt upon special occasions, and in this
way there is revealed to him a profundity and greatness of human
experience, of which he would have been largely unaware if he had
trusted to his own experience alone, and to the superficial examination
he is able to make of the experiences of those living men with whom he
comes into contact. In this way he is able in a sense to appropriate the
experience of the greatest personalities unto himself, and enrich
considerably the contents of his own soul.
Through a study of history, too, we become aware of the intimate
connection that exists between the present and the past. The present
moment is a very transient thing; its roots are in the past, its hopes
in the future. "If all depends on the slender thread of the fleeting
moment of the present, which illumines and endures merely for a
twinkling of an eye, but to sink into the abyss of nothingness, then all
life would mean a mere exit into death.... Without connection there is
no content of life." We are apt to look on the past as something dead,
but it exists in living evidence in our souls to-day. It oppresses us or
stimulates us to action, it tyrannises over us or inspires us to higher
things. It has been customary to look upon the past as irrevocable.
Recent writers, of whom Maeterlinck and Eucken are striking instances,
have endeavoured to show how the past can be remoulded and changed. The
past depends upon what we make of it to-day; if we despise our evil
conduct in former days, then the past itself is changed and conquered.
The mistake that is made is to regard the past as a thing complete in
itself; what appears to be finished is really only completing itself,
and we must take a view of the whole of a thing, and not merely the
parts that have already manifested themselves. Through such
considerations we become more and more aware of the ultimate connection
between the past and present, and of the part the present can play in
the remaking of the past.
Our investigations of history leads us, too, to differentiate between
the temporary and the eternal in the realm of thought. We find at a
certain period of history a trend of thought that can largely be
accounted for by the special conditions of life at the time, and which
disappears at a later age. But in addition to this we become aware of
truths that have found a place in the thoughts of various ages and
countries, and we are led to regard these as the eternal
truths--expressions of an eternal ever-present reality. This eternal
present we find to be something independent of time, something that
breaks the barriers between the past, present, and future. "Thought,"
says Eucken, "does not drift along with time; as certainly as it strives
to attain truth it must rise above time, and its treatment must be
timeless." The beliefs of any age are too much coloured by the special
circumstances of that age to express the whole of truth, yet beneath the
beliefs of the ages there is often an underlying truth, and this
underlying truth is the eternal truth, which is not affected by time,
and at the basis of which is the eternal reality.
This eternal truth persisting through a variety of temporary and more or
less correct expressions of it is to be observed in a marked manner in
the moral ideas of mankind. What a variety of ethical doctrines have
been expounded and believed, yet how striking the similarity that
becomes apparent when they are further examined! In practice, the
standard of morality has often been based on mere utility, but it has
taken a higher and more absolute basis in the mind of man. Ideas
concerning morality have generally been nobler than can be accounted for
by environment, and by the subjective life of the individual. Why this
ultimate consistency in the moral aspirations of the ages, why a
categorical imperative, and why does conscience exist in the human
being?--these facts cannot be accounted for if there is no deeper basis
for life than the life of humanity at any definite period of time.
The unchangeable laws of logic, too, are instances of the eternal truth.
The principles of the validity of thought are entirely independent of
individuals, of the passage of time, and of the environment of man. "Our
thought cannot advance in the definite work of building up science
without producing and employing a definite logical structure, with fixed
principles; these principles are immanent in the work of thought, they
are above all the caprice and all the differences of the individuals."
Whence again this consistency in a changeable and subjective world?
The marvellous influence that ideas have exerted upon man again points
to the persistence and power of the eternal. Is it not strange how it is
that man often serves but as a mere instrument for the realisation of an
idea, and how he is often carried away by an idea to do things which are
against his own personal interests and desires? And when he and his
generation have passed beyond human sight, we often find a new
generation direct their endeavours in the same way, and we wonder what
is behind such a continuity in the struggles of mankind.
The history of great personalities in the realms of literature, art, and
science show in a remarkable way how men have risen above the influences
of their time, and beyond the cramping tiredness of the mere flesh.
Could a great thinker like Aristotle be entirely conditioned by flesh
and environment? And what of the great artists and poets who have
conquered the chains of mortal finitude and breathed of higher worlds?
Every one of them is a convincing testimony of the possibility of
mankind transcending the material, and taking unto itself of the
resources of a deeper world.
Then the dissatisfaction of the ages with their limited knowledge of
truth cannot but tell of a great eternal something that stirs at the
basis of the human soul. The people of to-day find the various systems
of the day inadequate; they search for something higher, and the mere
fact that they search beyond matter and the mere subjective human
qualities is in itself a testimony to the existence of a world higher
than the material and subjective.
What is it that makes it possible for one human being to "live into" the
experience of others who lived long ago, and for the present to conquer
and alter the past? How can we account for the eternal trait in thought,
for the unchanging laws of logic, for the consistency of moral ideals,
and their transcendence over flesh and immediate circumstances? What is
the force behind the idea, and how can we account for the continuous
struggle of mankind in certain directions? And, finally, what is it that
makes it possible for men to rise beyond themselves, to shake away the
shackles of matter and vicinity, and to delve deep into the profounder
world?
If we can find what it is that makes all this possible, then surely we
have found the greatest thing in the world--the reality. And Eucken's
answer is clear and definite. It must be something that persists, is
eternal and independent of time, and it must extend beyond the
individual to a universal whole. This must be "the Universal Spiritual
Life," which, though eternal, reveals itself in time, and though
universal, reveals itself in the individual man, and forms the source
from which the spiritual in man "draws its power and credentials."
This, then, is the result of Eucken's search for reality--he has found
it to exist in a Universal Spiritual Life. Of course he has not arrived
at his conclusion by a system of rigid proof; it has already been
pointed out how impossible it is to arrive at the greater truths of life
in such a manner.
He has done, however, that which can be reasonably expected in such
cases. To begin with, he has given us a striking analysis of the
essential characteristics of human life, and he has found there a
yearning and a void. He has given us a masterly discussion of eternal
truth as contrasted with the temporary expressions of it. He has taught
us how the present can overcome the past, and how man can ascend beyond
the subjective and material. And he has led us to feel that reality must
lie in the eternal that appears to be at the basis of the highest and
greatest in man.
Moreover, he has given a fair and thorough treatment of the solutions
that have been offered in the past. He has shown how inadequate they are
to explain life. He has shown how the modern solutions "cannot perform
their own tasks without drawing incessantly upon another kind of
reality, one richer and more substantial." This in itself shows "beyond
possibility of refutation that they do not fill the whole of life." He
has demonstrated how the acceptance of these systems depends upon an
implicit acceptance of a higher life. "The naturalistic thinker ascribes
unperceived to nature, which to him can be only a coexistence of
soulless elements, an inner connection and a living soul. Only thus can
he revere it as a higher power, as a kind of divinity; only thus can he
pass from the fact of dependence to a devotional surrender of his
feelings. The socialist bases human society, with its motives mixed with
triviality and passion, on an invisible community, an ideal humanity....
The individualist in his conception exalts the individual to a height
far more lofty than is justified by the individual as he is found in
experience." All these assume more or less unconsciously the existence
of that "something higher" which they attempt to deny.
So far, then, we have seen how Eucken proves the inadequacy of the
realistic conceptions of life, and how they really depend for their
acceptance upon the assumption of a Universal Spiritual Life. We have
still to see how he attempts to prove that basing human life upon an
eternal spiritual life satisfies the conditions he himself has laid down
for a satisfactory solution of the problem. He has to show that the
theory gives a satisfactory explanation of human life, that it gives a
firm basis for life, that it releases man from being governed by low
motives, and admits of the possibility of human personality, freedom,
and creation. We shall see in the chapters that follow that he makes a
convincing case for accepting the belief in the Universal Spiritual Life
as the basis of human life and endeavour.
CHAPTER V
THE "HIGH" AND THE "LOW"
Eucken makes the recognition of the existence of a Universal Spiritual
Life the starting-point of his constructive work. He takes up a position
which he calls the noological position. Many theories take up a
materialistic position; they assert the reality of the material world,
and endeavour to explain the world of matter as something independent of
the human mind. Other theories assert the superiority of mind over
matter, and endeavour to examine the mind as though it were independent
of the material world. These two types of theories have been in
continual conflict; the one has attempted to prove that thought is
entirely conditioned by sense impressions received from the material
world, the other regards the phenomena of nature as really nothing other
than processes of the mind.
Eucken finds reality existing in the spiritual life, which while neither
material nor merely mental, is superior to both, admits the existence
(in a certain sense) of both, and does away with the opposition between
the rival types of theories. Eucken does not minimise or ignore the
existence of the natural world. The question for him is not the
independent existence of the worlds of nature and mind--this he admits;
he is concerned rather with the superiority of the spiritual life over
the merely material and mental.
The natural life of man has been variously viewed in different ages. The
writer of the Pentateuch described man as made in the image of God, and
the natural man was exalted on this account. Some of the old Greek
philosophers, too, found much in nature that was divine. Christianity
took a different view of the matter--it exalted the spirit, and
emphasised the baseness of the material. The growth of the sciences made
man again a mere tool of laws and methods, but it considered matter as
superior to mind, mind being entirely dependent upon impressions
received from matter. The question continually recurs--which is the
high, which is the low? Shall nature triumph over spirit, or spirit over
nature?
Pantheism replies to the question by denying that there is anything high
as distinguished from the low. There is but one; and that one--the whole
universe--is God. There is no evil in the world, says pantheism,
everything is good--if we could understand things as they really are we
should find no oppositions in the universe, and no contradictions in the
nature of things. The world as it is, is the best of all possible
worlds--there is perfect harmony, though we fail to appreciate it. Other
optimistic theories, too, deny the existence of evil and pain, and try
to explain our ideas of sin to be mere "points of view." If we could see
the whole, they tell us, we should see how the parts harmonise, but now
we only see some of the parts and fail to appreciate the harmony. In
this way they try to explain away as unreal the phenomena of evil and
pain.
But Eucken has no patience with such theories. For him the oppositions
and contradictions of life are too real and persistent. The antagonisms
"stir us with disgust and indignation." Evil cannot be considered
trivial, and must not be glossed over; it is in the world, and the more
deeply we appreciate the fact the better it will be for the human soul.
Man in his lower stages of development is just a child of nature, and
his standards of life are those of the lower world. He seeks those
things that satisfy the senses, he attempts the satiation of the lower
cravings. In the realm of morals his standard is utility--that is good
which helps him to obtain more pleasure and to avoid pain. In social
life his conduct is dictated by custom--this is the highest appeal. The
development of man along the lines of nature ends at this point--and if
nothing more is to happen, then he must remain at a low level of
development. Matter and mind cannot take him beyond--the mind as such
only helps towards the further satisfaction of the lower demands of man.
But there is something far greater in highly developed manhood than the
petty and selfish. Man is capable of conceiving and adopting higher
standards of morality than those of utility and pleasure, and it is the
spiritual life that enables him to do this. It is the spiritual that
frees the individual from the slavery of the sense world--from his
selfishness and superficial interests--that teaches him to care less for
the things of the flesh, and far more for the beautiful, the good, and
the true, and that enables him to pursue high aims regardless of the
fact that they may entail suffering and loss in other directions. This,
then, is the "High" in the world; the natural life is the "Low."
But what is the relation of the natural to the spiritual life? In the
first place, the spiritual cannot be derived from the natural, inasmuch
as the former is immensely superior to the latter, and that not merely
in degree, but in its very essence. The spiritual is entirely on a
higher plane of reality, and there cannot be transition from the natural
to the spiritual world. The natural has its limitations, and beyond
these cannot go. So far as the natural world is concerned man can never
rise above seeking for pleasure, and making expediency and social
approbation the standards of life, hence there is little wonder that
those ethical teachers who make nature their basis, deny the possibility
of action that is unselfish and free. "The Spiritual Life," however, as
Eucken says, "has an independent origin, and evolves new powers and
standards."
Neither do the two aspects run together in life in parallel lines. On
the contrary, the spiritual life cannot manifest itself at all until a
certain stage of development is reached in nature. It would seem
impossible to conceive of the animal rising above its animal instincts
and tendencies; its whole life is conditioned by its animal nature and
its environment. Man stands at the junction of the stages between the
purely natural and the purely spiritual. On the one hand, he is a member
of the animal world, he has its instincts, its desires and its
limitations; on the other hand, he has within him the germ of
spirituality. He belongs to both worlds, the natural and the spiritual.
He cannot shake off the natural and remain a man--to separate the two
means death to man as we know him. But there is a great difference
between his position in the natural world and his position in the
spiritual world. He seems to be the last word in the world of nature, he
has reached heights far beyond those reached by any other flesh and
blood. He is, so far as we know, the culminating point of natural
evolution--the final possibility in the natural world. But the stage of
nature only represents the first stage in the development of the
universe.
There is an infinitely higher stage of life, the spiritual life. And if
man is the final point of progress in the world of nature, he is, in his
primitive state, only at the threshold of the spiritual world. But he
is not an entire stranger to the spiritual--the germ is in him, and the
spiritual is consequently not an alien world for him. If the spiritual
were something entirely foreign it would be vain to expect much progress
through mere impulses from without. On the contrary, it is the spiritual
that makes man really great, and is the most fundamental part of his
nature.
The two stages of life, then, are present in man--the natural and the
spiritual; the former highly developed, the latter, at first, in an
undeveloped state.
Now the great aim of the universe is to pass gradually from the natural
to the spiritual plane of life. This does not mean that the latter is
the product of the former stage, for this is not the case. It means that
the deeper reality in life is the spiritual, and that the spiritual
develops through the natural in its own particular way. And this
particular way is not a mere development but a _self_-development. The
aim of the spiritual is to develop its own self through the human being.
In this way man is given the possibility of developing a self--a
personality in a very real sense.
Thus we arrive at some idea of the relation there exists between the
spiritual and the natural, and of the place of the spiritual and the
natural in man. The spiritual is neither the product nor an attribute of
the natural. Man is the border creature of the two worlds; he represents
the ultimate possibility of the one, and possesses potentialities in
regard to the other. The great object of his life must be to develop,
through making use of and conquering the life of nature, his higher self
into a free, spiritual, and immortal personality. The progressive stages
in this direction must be dealt with in the next chapter.
CHAPTER VI
THE ASCENT TO FREEDOM AND PERSONALITY
In the previous chapter we found that man in his primitive stage is
largely a creature of the lower world. His desires are those of the
animal kingdom, his ideal is utility, and social approbation his God. At
this stage he is a mere nothing, no better than a slave to his passions
and to the opinions of his fellow-beings. He possesses neither freedom
nor personality--for he is but a tool in the hands of other impulses and
forces. There is no controlling self--he is not a lord in his own
kingdom. Some men do not get beyond this very low level, but for ever
remain mere shuttlecocks driven hither and thither by more or less
contradictory impulses.
The germ of the higher world that resides within him may sometimes make
itself felt, but "so long as there is a confused welter of higher and
lower impulses, ... so long is there an absence of anything essentially
new and lofty."
Man's aspirations for things that are higher, are at the outset very
sluggish and vague, for a being that is so much dominated by the natural
world is apt to concentrate its attention upon it and to remain
contented with it.
But there comes a time in the lives of perhaps most men when a distinct
feeling of dissatisfaction is felt with the life of natural impulse and
of convention. The man feels--perhaps in a vague way at first--that
there is something too merely animal in the sense world, or that there
is an intolerable emptiness and hypocrisy in a life of slavish devotion
to the opinions of society. Perhaps he feels that his passions govern
him, and not he his passions. The higher life stirs within him, and he
begins to question the rightness of things. He learns to appreciate for
the first time that the natural impulses may not be the noblest, and
that custom may not be an ideal guide. His soul is astir with the
problem of life--the result very largely depends upon the solutions that
are presented to him. Perhaps the naturalistic solution is made to
appeal to him, and he is taught to trust nature and it will lead him
aright. Or maybe the pantheistic theory is accepted by him, and he is
led to believe that the world as it is is entirely good, and that he has
but to live his life from day to day, and not worry himself about the
ultimate end and purpose of things. Or other optimistic theories of life
that deny the existence of evil may influence him. All these solutions
may give him temporary peace of mind, and perhaps indeed form efficient
stumbling-blocks to any further spiritual progress.
But the spiritual beginnings within us often show remarkable vitality.
They may under certain conditions lead us to appreciate the existence of
a distinct opposition in the world--the opposition between the lower
world and the higher self. Man finds that the natural is often low,
evil, and sordid, and at this stage the higher spiritual world makes a
strong appeal to him. By degrees he comes to feel the demands of the
lower world to be a personal insult to him. What is the lower material
world that it should govern him, and he a _man_? The claims of pleasure
and utility to be standards of conduct strike him as arrogant, and he
revolts against the assumption that higher aims can have no charm for
him. His previous acceptance without consideration of the moral
standard of the community he now looks upon as a sign of weakness on his
part--for is he not himself, a person with the power of independent
judgment and evaluation? It is the first great awakening of the
spiritual life in man, when his whole soul is in revolt against the low,
sordid, and conventional. What shall he do? There is only one course
that is worthy of his asserting personality--he must break with the
world. Henceforth he sees two worlds in opposition--the world of the
flesh on the one hand, the world of the spirit on the other, and he
arrays himself on the side of the higher in opposition to the lower.
When he does this the spiritual life in him makes the first substantial
movement in its onward progress--this movement Eucken calls the
_negative movement_. It does not mean that the man must leave the world
of work and retire into the seclusion of a monastery--that means
shirking the fight, and is a policy of cowardice. Neither does it mean a
wild impatience with the present condition of the world--it means rather
that man is appreciating in a profound way the oppositions that exist,
and is casting his lot on the side of right. He renounces everything
that hinders him from fighting successfully, then goes forth into the
thick of the battle. The break must be a definite one and made in a
determined manner. "Without earnestness of renunciation the new life
sinks back to the old ... and loses its power to stimulate to new
endeavour. As human beings are, this negation must always be a sharp
one."
The negative movement, then, is the first substantial step in the
progress of the spiritual life. The man's self breaks out into
discontent with nature, and this is the first step to the union of self
to the higher reality in life. The break with the world is in itself of
course but a negative process. This must attain a positive significance.
If the self breaks away from one aspect of life, it must identify itself
more intimately with another. This occurs when the individual sets out
definitely on a course of life in antagonism to the evil in the world.
When this takes place, there arises within him a _new immediacy_ of
experience. Hitherto the things that were his greatest concern, and that
appealed to him most, were the pleasures of the natural world. But these
things appeal to him no longer as urgent and immediate--but as being of
a distinctly secondary character. A new immediacy has arisen; it is the
facts of the spiritual world that now appeal to him as urgent and
immediate. "All that has hitherto been considered most immediate, as the
world of sense, or even the world of society, now takes a second place,
and has to make good its claim before this spiritual tribune.... That
which current conceptions treat as a Beyond ... is now the only world
which exists in its own right, the only true and genuine world which
neither asks nor consents to be derived from any outside source."
This new immediacy is the deepest possible immediacy, it is an immediacy
of experience where the self comes into contact with its own vital
principle--the Universal Spiritual Life--and brings about a fundamental
change in the life of the individual. The inner life is no longer
governed by sense impressions and impulses, but the outward life is
lived and viewed from the standpoint of the inward life.
But a new immediacy is not all that follows in the train of the negative
movement--on the contrary, the highest possible rewards are gained, for
freedom, personality, and immortality are all brought within the range
of possibility.
Once a human being decides for the highest he is on the highroad to
complete freedom. The freedom is not going to be won in a moment, but
must be fought for by the individual through the whole course of his
life. His body is always with him, and will at times attempt to master
him--he must fight continually to ensure conquest. Difficulties will
arise from various quarters, but he is not going to depend only upon his
own resources. All his activity involves in the first place the
recognition of the spiritual world, but more than this, he appropriates
unto himself of the spiritual world--this in itself is an act of
decision. And the more we appropriate unto ourselves of the Universal
Spiritual Life, the more we decide for the higher world, the freer we
become. Indeed, "it is this appropriation ... of the spiritual life that
first awakens within the soul an inward certitude, and makes possible
that perfect freedom ... so indispensable for every great creative
work." By continually choosing and fighting for the progress of the
Universal Spiritual Life, it comes to be our own in virtue of our deed
and decision. Hence man has attained freedom--the lower world no longer
makes successful appeal. He has become a part of the spiritual world,
and his actions are no longer dictated by anything external, but are the
direct outcome of his own self. He has freely chosen the highest, and
continually reaffirms his choice--this is perfect freedom.
Man gains for himself, too, a personality in the true sense of the term.
Eucken does not mean by personality "mere self-assertion on the part of
an individual in opposition to others." He means something far deeper
than this. "A genuine self," says Eucken, "is constituted only by the
coming to life of the infinite spiritual world in an independent
concentration in the individual." Following a life of endeavour in the
highest cause, and continual appropriation of the spiritual life, he
arrives at a state of at-one-ness with the universal life. "Man does not
merely enter into some kind of relation with the spiritual life, but
finds his own being in it." The human being is elevated to a self-life
of a universal kind, and this frees him from the ties and appeals of the
world of sense and selfishness. It is a glorious conception of human
personality, infinitely higher than the undignified conceptions of
naturalism and determinism.
And if man wins a glorious personality, he may gain immortality too.
Unfortunately, Eucken has not yet dealt fully with this question, but he
is evidently of the opinion that the spiritual personalities are
immortal. As concentration points or foci of the spiritual life, he
believes that the developed personalities are at present and in prospect
possessors of a spiritual realm. But there will be no essential or
sudden change at death. That which is immortal is involved in our
present experience. Those who have developed into spiritual
personalities, who have worked in fellowship with the great Universal
Life, and become centre-points of spirituality, have thus risen supreme
over time and pass to their inheritance. Those who have not done so, but
have lived their lives on the plane of nature, will have nothing that can persist. |
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