Part 34

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.

These inconsistencies are not felt, chiefly because of the power which abstractions usually exercise over men in the present day. A faith in abstractions reigns amongst us which is capable of far greater things than faith in religion or faith in reason. We are surrounded by the bustle of a fierce and ceaselessly increasing struggle for existence: ideas are overgrown by interests; the motives of people in general are trivial, and all spiritual aspiration is feeble, and along with this there is an unutterable amount of pretence which permeates and distorts all conduct. Yet the disagreeable aspect of this condition seems to vanish as soon as the mere word "humanity" is mentioned. But what is humanity from the point of view of Naturalism other than a collection of beings of nature? How can a power to elevate and to strengthen proceed from this conception, which in the naturalistic context signifies no more than the subjective unification of the individuals? Or, again, the idea of a ceaseless progress of humanity is placed in opposition to the confusions which exist in the present. But how can this idea be established if a compelling reason is not active within man? How could the present be so incomplete and so full of perplexity as it seems, especially to the advocates of the idea of progress, if century after century had made progress upon progress? Rather, if man has such a noble nature as he is assumed to have, life should be full of reason and bliss. The old faith saved man by resorting to an invisible world; it required a firm confidence in that which one did not see. The new faith, which denies an invisible world, desires more: it desires that we should be convinced of the direct opposite of that which we see and comprehend. These considerations in no way signify a depreciation on our part of the effort to attain freedom and equality--an effort that has an indisputable validity. But this validity must be based upon a whole of life and be more definitely determined, otherwise the effort is stifled by the inconsistencies in which the conceptions of freedom and equality are involved in the minds of their advocates.

The independence of the individual and the spontaneity of the spiritual life are endangered not only by the mechanism of a bureaucracy indifferent to spiritual values but also none the less by the movements of the masses, which in modern life in particular surround and browbeat the individual. The man of the present day often believes that he has gained freedom when in reality he has only changed the nature of his dependence. What makes the movements of the masses, with their so-called public opinion, so irksome is the falsehood that is generally contained in this opinion, which is presented as proceeding from the experience and decision of a great majority, and therefore as having a definite presupposition of truth. The fact, as a rule, is that a few venture an assertion and urge it upon the others with unobserved compulsion, since they proclaim as already existent the agreement that they are only seeking. Of course sometimes there is much more in public opinion; it may be the expression of a spiritual necessity which subjects to itself the dispositions of men. Whether public opinion is to be an interpreter of truth or a mere product of man remains to be decided; and this decision can rest only with the individual. He will be equal to making this decision if he possesses a spiritual experience, and has in this a touchstone by which to distinguish the genuine from the false.

Philosophy can maintain the rights of the individual only so far as he is rooted in spiritual relationships and derives power from them; it must absolutely oppose all glorification of the natural, spiritually destitute individual. We find such a glorification to-day more especially in that which, with particular emphasis, is called "modern" morality, but which in fact threatens rather to be a complete negation of morality; even though this negation is against the intentions of its advocates, mostly women, who display great enthusiasm for this "modern" morality. It seems as though life is limited and degraded because society, particularly in the matter of the sexual life, prescribes rigid statutes which, if they were not irrational at the beginning, have nevertheless become irrational, and tend to brand the right as wrong and the wrong as right. The shaking off of these restrictions and of the pressure of society in general seems to promise a form of life incomparably more powerful, sincere, and individual: this life is also to offer more beauty, for to-day generally the idea of beauty is emphasised with great partiality where life has no clear ideas and no significant content.

This criticism of the statutes of society is not entirely without reason. Such statutes do not in themselves constitute a morality, as it is easy to imagine they do; but they only advocate a morality; as life undergoes such far-reaching changes, these statutes must continually be examined anew as to their validity and value. But this relativity does not make them worthless, and does not justify their complete rejection in favour of an absolute freedom on the part of individuals. We could expect an elevation of life by such an effort for freedom only if we might assume that the individuals are thoroughly noble, energetic, and spiritually rich, and if in the relations between the sexes a state of paradisiacal innocence reigned which only the evil arrangements of society had disturbed. But this is a way of thinking which does more honour to the hearts than to the heads of its advocates. He who takes men as they really are and does not paint them in romantic colours, and who at the same time recognises the dangers of a highly developed, pleasure-seeking, and over-refined state of culture, will not despise those social arrangements, notwithstanding their relativity, but value them as an indispensable safeguard against the selfishness, the greed for pleasure, and the instability of the mere individual--a safeguard not only against the tyranny of externals but also for the individual against himself. It is unfortunate enough that such safeguards are necessary; but, as they are necessary, it is better to preserve and improve them as much as possible than to reject them, and to expose humanity to dangers that might throw it back into the condition of the animals. Man is not better because he is painted more beautifully; rather Pascal is right when he says: "L'homme n'est ni ange ni bête, et le malheur veut, que qui veut faire l'ange fait la bête."

The tendency to think that man may be transformed inwardly and the whole condition of life raised by changes in external organisation is most definitely felt in the social movements of the age. In this there is a clearly marked opposition to the earlier mode of thought, which, placing a low estimate upon everything external, and finding greatness too easily in disposition, overlooked how much the organisation of the conditions of life means for men in whom the spiritual is only in process of development; and, further, failed to notice that there is also a strong movement from external to internal. Nevertheless, the fact cannot be denied, notwithstanding all this, that the problems of the whole and of man's inner nature require to be treated as of chief importance. Otherwise, as Aristotle suggested, notwithstanding all the alteration of conditions, the old problems will continually make their appearance anew, and the substance of life might easily suffer from that which was intended to improve its condition.

In conclusion, we may briefly consider the problems that have been raised in the nineteenth century by the increased emphasis on the idea of nationality. Influences of an idealistic nature first raised the cultivation and establishment of a particular national character to the position of a matter of the greatest importance. This character appeared to be an extremely valuable form of individualisation of the spiritual life, a form in which that life attains to concreteness and greater definiteness and penetration. The co-existence of these individual nationalities gave promise of an incomparably richer formation of the life of humanity as a whole: the inner development of their peculiar natures, and their lofty rivalry, also promised to bring a wealth of arousing and elevating motives. The nineteenth century has, indeed, won an incalculable amount through this movement; to take up an abstract cosmopolitanism again would be decidedly retrograde.