Part 9

Man desires a self-conscious life, a deliverance from all external ties, a removal of all oppressions. This desire is a lofty one, but one which, as things are, is very difficult of attainment. For not only in what happens to us, but also in the innermost depths of the soul--in our spiritual constitution--we are bound up with an overwhelming and impenetrable world. The mechanism of nature as well as the organisation of society surrounds and visibly and invisibly coerces us. At first sight we are no more than parts of an immense whole, and appear to be completely determined by that which happens in this whole; we come from it and sink back into it, and every moment we are dependent upon that which takes place around us. What is Individualism able to do against such forces, and what does it succeed in achieving towards life's attainment of independence? The means it employs are the arousing of an unrestrained mood, and the withdrawal of life to the greatest possible concentration in its own passive states of consciousness. Because by these means man is in some measure relieved from the oppression of things, he imagines himself to be fully free. But is he free simply because he appears to himself to be so; free, to take the example of Spinoza, in the way in which the stone thrown up into the air might during its motion suppose itself to be free? As a matter of fact, as everyday experience shows us, it is just in his moods that man is least stable and least lord of his own soul, and that the most diverse circumstances, physical and psychical, visible and invisible, great and small, influence and compel him. The transitoriness of appearances, which form the matter of fact as far as moods are concerned, is lacking in all firm relation, all inner construction of life; for nothing is more mobile, nothing more subject to sudden changes, than mood--nothing except the surface of the rolling sea, or a reed shaking in the wind. The life of mood is, in reality, a purely superficial life; a projection of the psychical nature on to the surface of the immediate passive states of consciousness. Life in this case attains no depth, content, or independence, but only subjective opinion, the mere semblance of independence. We shall see that Individualism so persistently offers the semblance instead of the real thing that it has come to believe that with the production of the semblance it has acquired the reality. Life can only attain a real independence when it has been widened to a realm in itself, when inner relations, antitheses, problems thus become evident; and when, through the exercise of activity upon these, an inner world is raised up, which confidently places itself in opposition to the endlessness of the soulless world and is able to take up the struggle with it. We must show unrelenting hostility to any attempt to identify mood with inner spirituality, with the soul's self-consciousness; for, really, there is no greater contrast than that between simple disposition and spiritual depth, between the man of mere sentiment, with his dependence and vacillation, and the personality rooted in an inner infinity.

And so the independence and the predominance of the individual over the social environment, which Individualism asserts, are nothing more than an appearance. For what is offered in this system is far less a self-conscious life and an undisturbed pursuance of our own course than the inclination to say and do the opposite of that which is said and done by the majority of those who surround us. It is easy to see that life, as a matter of fact, always remains related to its environment and to the standard of that environment; and that what is represented here as independence is nothing but a different kind of dependence, an indirect dependence. To the endeavour of Individualism to provide a free course for the individual with his particularity it is scarcely possible to offer any opposition. Unfortunately, however, intention and realisation are different things, and Individualism is apt to assume as something simple and self-evident that which of all things is the most difficult, that is, individuality itself. Just as Socialism promises a sure advance of life as a result of the removal of external hindrances, so Individualism expects a magnificent advance of an inexhaustible individualistic culture, if only the statutes by which the community oppresses and limits the individual are annulled. What, then, is the real state of the matter? Are men so full of spiritual impulse that it is only necessary to open up a course for it? And further, does that which is peculiar in a man signify, as a matter of course, that he is an individuality with some sort of value?--and is it at once capable of forming a centre of life? How indefinite and how lacking in consistency the psychical nature of man usually is! How much that is lofty and how much that is mean, how much that is noble and how much that is vulgar, is found here! Shall this chaos display itself and be extolled as an individuality? In truth, an inner unity appertains to a genuine individuality, and the ascertaining and realisation of this are not simply a gift from nature, but a result of spiritual endeavour. To attain to a genuine individuality requires an energetic concentration of life; an overcoming of the spirit of indifference; a unifying of the multiplicity of experience; often, also, a transcending of sharp contradictions. How difficult it has been for even the most prominent individualities--men such as Luther, Kant, Goethe--to find their true selves, that is, the essence of their being, the aspect in which their strength lay! How great a problem, and what an object of the keenest conflict, their genuine individuality formed to them! How could a task of such difficulty find fulfilment, and life a unification and elevation, in superficial and fleeting mood? If in order to make men independent individuals it sufficed to declare them so, we should indeed be much further advanced than unfortunately is the case.

The new life ought not to be simply autonomous, independent and individual, it should also be powerful and great. Is the mere evolution and cultivation of sentiment able to give such power and greatness to an unrestrained passivity? Of course, in its own estimation unrestrained mood can raise itself high above the whole world, and so magnify the supposed independence as to give rise to a feeling of supreme power; but again, it is only a representation of power, a semblance of power, and not a real power, that is reached. Mere mood and genuine power constitute an irreconcilable antithesis. Attention to and cultivation of sentiment may refine life; it will at the same time weaken and dissipate it. Power develops and grows only in grappling with resistances, whether they be outside or within one's own soul. Life will acquire a powerful character only where an active spirituality is acknowledged, which, drawing from its own nature, holds up standards and aims to the actual condition of reality, especially to its own soul, and undertakes to change this condition in accordance with the requirements set by these standards and aims. Æsthetic Individualism, however, as we saw, conceives of the spiritual life as chiefly receptive and contemplative; as an appropriation, a mirroring and an enjoyment of an existent reality. Thus for it the spiritual life might be closely connected with this existent reality, indeed might be one with it; but at the same time the view robs that life of the power of arousing and elevating, of independent construction and secure advance.

An aristocratic character, the separation of an exoteric and an esoteric sphere, has been distinctive of an æsthetic conception of life from ancient times even until now. The fact appealed to in justification of its assumption of this character is beyond doubt: it is that, not only in art but in all spiritual creation, only few among those creating or reproducing stand high; that genuine creation always comes about in opposition to the mediocre; that if it identified itself with the interests and conditions of the majority it would be deeply degraded, indeed inwardly destroyed. But this is a contrast between spiritual creation and human circumstances, not a division of humanity according to two sets of circumstances; in truth, fewer of the really great than of those great in their own estimation have boasted of greatness. For the genuinely great have been occupied far too much by the demands of their task, and been too deeply conscious of the inadequacy of human capacity, to have been able to indulge in a reflection upon and a vain enjoyment of themselves. The infinity of the task by which, rather than by other men, they measured themselves made even the highest result appear inadequate to them. It is necessary to Individualism to represent the unmistakeable distinction between a culture that is genuinely spiritual and one that is merely human, as a difference between two classes of men; and it is only because it knows no objective restraint, no inner necessities, and can measure men only with men, that it is able to believe itself justified in looking down upon other men from its standpoint--as though the mere profession of faith in its programme at once effected an elevation of nature.

The undertaking to transform life completely into something of positive value, suddenly and directly to advance to complete affirmation of life, is associated with the desire for power. So far as this is simply a desire to abandon an irresolute and narrow mode of thought, false humiliation and self-belittlement, and mere accommodation to circumstances in tasks where the beginning is difficult and calls for great effort, we may frankly admit its justification. But the matter is not so simple as it is represented in this train of thought. Ultimately no spiritual movement which would win mankind can give up its claim to a final affirmation of life. Even the most completely pessimistic systems, systems of absolute negation--as, for example, the original Buddhism--could not conquer wider areas without making that negative milder and transforming it into an affirmative. But the question is whether, after all that humanity has experienced and suffered, a quick and immediate affirmation is possible; whether the way to a final affirmation does not lead rather through an energetic negation. So long as the restriction which life felt seemed to come from outside only, and not to reach the inner recesses of the soul, as the prevailing mode of thought in Antiquity represented the case to be, the decisive rejection of all suffering, the proud armouring of the soul against all pain, could be accepted as the crown of all virtues. In face, however, of actual experience, Antiquity could not continue to hold such a conviction. For good or for evil, it was compelled to regard suffering as something more important and to occupy itself more with it, and, until Christianity opened up new paths, it fell into the danger of losing all vital energy. Whatever position one may take up with regard to the dogma and the tendencies of Christianity, the fact cannot be struck out of history that it has laid bare infinite perplexities in the soul of man in regard to his relation to the world, and at the same time has taken up suffering into the centre of life, not to perpetuate it, but to rise above it by the revealing of a world of spirit and of love. This has not made life easier, but more difficult; yet at the same time it has made it greater, deeper, and more inwardly determined. Every scheme of life which light-heartedly professes to be able to lead us quickly over suffering and to cast it off proves itself to be intolerably superficial, if not frivolous. Superficiality easily triumphs over men and becomes their first opinion; men seem to welcome first every way of thinking which makes life comfortable and presents no demands of any sort. But the problems of our existence, and the longing for genuine and not merely illusory happiness, remain, and in face of the seriousness of these problems it soon proves to be fleeting and vain to try to find satisfaction in that which is simply comfortable.

The case is no different in regard to Individualism and the problem of morality. The value of an energetic opposition to laws of convention and external etiquette is beyond question; but it should not be forgotten that such a conflict has been carried on within the sphere of morality and religion from ancient times; that in every age that which was spiritually highest has forcibly withstood the efforts of men illegitimately to claim absolute validity for their statutes and tendencies. But Individualism commits the error of asserting that the mean morality which is reached at the average level of humanity constitutes the essence of morality, and in so doing excludes from itself the feeling for everything great and deep which lies within morality. With all its talk of greatness and breadth, Individualism makes life narrow, since it leads man solely to the cultivation and unfolding of his own passive states of consciousness, and permits the pleasure-seeking _ego_ to draw everything to itself and hold it fast there. Everything, however, which exists beyond his sphere it interprets as a mere "other" world, and thus declares all submission to the object for its own sake, all forgetfulness of self, all becoming more comprehensive, and all renewal through genuine love, to be only delusory. Further, in this system, in which natural impulse governs everything, the conceptions of responsibility and guilt, and with this the antithesis of good and evil, must be held to be the result of a narrowly human way of thinking, as something which, though serving no real purpose, still alarms men and overawes life. Yet through the development of a spiritual activity which places it in a more inward and free relation to reality, humanity has really advanced beyond the position in which man acted as a part of mere nature. In this, too, Christianity also marks a great advance; we have only to picture to ourselves the life-work of Augustine in order to have a clear example of the separation of a genuine morality, as the expression of a new world based upon freedom, from the attention to and cultivation of natural instincts. The greatest thinker of the Modern Age, Kant, has only established this distinction in a newer form. In this connection responsibility and guilt, as transcending nature, also become a witness of greatness; they give expression to the fact that man is an independent co-operator in the universe, and regards the world as in some sense his own; to the fact that life does not simply happen to him, but also through him. For, along with freedom and its world, the old world of given existence remains and holds us fast, not merely externally but inwardly also; life is a severe conflict between higher and lower, between freedom and destiny. With so much that is complicated and perplex, life must be regarded as in the highest degree unfinished. But just because of this it involves an incalculable tension, and even in its constraints and pains it leaves the self-preservation and the welfare of the mere subject at a level far beneath itself. When, therefore, Individualism, neglecting the movement of universal history, wishes to limit us to this mere subject, and, effacing all dividing lines, calls upon us to submit to every force which plays upon us, and to enter into the glad enjoyment of life, there is really no difference between this and advising a man, who has gone through the many and difficult experiences of life, to throw to the winds all he has thus gained, and to please himself again with the games of childhood.

The position is similar with regard to the relation of the spiritual and the sensuous, as Individualism represents it. It is rightly opposed to both a monkish asceticism and a conventional, feigned, low estimate of the sensuous; it is indeed with good reason that Æsthetic Individualism defends the right of the sensuous. But to give the sensuous its right does not mean to permit it to be joined together in an undifferentiated unity with the spiritual, as though it were of equal value. Naïve ages were able to strive for a perfect balance of spiritual and sensuous; but, with the increasing depth of the life of the soul, a division has resulted which no toil and no art can simply remove again. Now, therefore, either the spiritual will be dominant over the sensuous or the sensuous over the spiritual. In Individualism, with its amalgamation of the spiritual and the sensuous, by which all claim to spiritual activity, and therefore to all independence of spiritual life, is given up, the sensuous will inevitably dominate over the spiritual. The result is simply a degeneration of the spiritual, a refined sensuousness; and it is defenceless against an intrusion of vulgar pleasure. Will any one seriously assert that we find ourselves to-day in a naïve position in relation to sense?

In this respect, as in all others, the strength of Individualism lies chiefly in criticism; its refined perception makes it especially capable of apprehending clearly the errors of the traditional conceptions of life. Its influence, however, suffers from the contradiction which it involves, in that it purposes to solve the problems, to which only an independent and self-determining spiritual life is equal, with the means of sense experience. Such a spiritual life is to be attained only by transcending this sense experience. Owing to the fact that Individualism places its sole attention upon the surface of sense experience, its aims, in themselves of the highest necessity, must be distorted and grossly misrepresented. Independence, greatness, and certainty--ever hovering before life--cannot be attained by Individualism in reality, but only in picture and semblance. And it can lend to this appearance a moderate power of conviction only because, just in the same way as the other modern organisations of life, it enriches itself imperceptibly from the same traditional modes of thought and of culture, in opposition to which it stands, and of which the impelling motives are to it a sealed book.

Thus, in truth, it does not offer mere and pure subjectivity, but subjectivity on the basis of a rich life of culture, which it is itself unable to produce, but without which it would lapse at once into complete emptiness. The æsthetic-individualistic scheme of life proves to be a phenomenon, accompanying a ripe, indeed an over-ripe, culture. An independent culture, with its labour and its sacrifice, it is unable to produce.

To reject Æsthetic Individualism means to attack modern art and its service to life just as little as to reject Naturalism and Socialism is to estimate meanly modern natural science and present social endeavour. On the contrary, it may be said that, as Naturalism has no keener antagonist than modern natural science, so modern art, with the energy which is bestowed upon it and with its many-sided expansion of the soul, stands not in agreement with but in opposition to Æsthetic Individualism. For, indeed, a creative artist of the first rank has never subscribed to a merely æsthetic conception of life. Still, however much artistic endeavour and a merely æsthetic conception of the world may be associated by the individual, in their nature they remain differentiated, and no appreciation of art is able to justify the æsthetic conception of life, which subjects all life to a contradiction; works against life in striving to attain its own ends; neglects the development through the centuries; and, instead of the substance hoped for, offers only opinion and appearance. How can life find a support in this?

II. CONSIDERATION OF THE SITUATION AS A WHOLE AND PRELIMINARIES FOR FURTHER INVESTIGATION

(a) THE NATURE OF THE NEW AS A WHOLE AND ITS RELATION TO THE OLD

From the description that has been given of the modern systems of life, we have seen that the Modern Age is by no means homogeneous, and that the conception "modern" has more than one meaning. Culture, in particular, has a character fundamentally different according as life finds its basis on the one hand in something external to itself, in nature, or in society, or on the other hand in the subjective states of consciousness. But that a common striving is present in spite of every difference, indeed of every antithesis, is proved by the energy with which all deny and reject the older form of culture and its transcendence of sense experience; by the vigour of the struggle against that which is regarded by the more modern systems as mere phantasy and deception, but which nevertheless continues to dominate social life. The kinship of these systems extends, beyond a common acquiescence in a negation, to a common affirmation. On all sides a thirst after a more forceful reality, and a more imposing immediacy of life, is to be found. Sense experience manifests itself throughout as fuller in content and more plastic; and so the chief point of support is found within it, and, though in different ways, the whole of life is organised from it. Still, granted that this could be effected only in opposition to the traditional conduct of life, the new is by no means desirous of remaining in a state of mere opposition. It seeks rather to unite the opposing elements to itself, to adapt them to itself, and to satisfy to the fullest extent the ideal demands of human nature. It is an attempt entirely to renew and completely to revolutionise life--a vast undertaking! Whether it has succeeded, or whether it is still engaged in bringing the attempt to a successful issue, is the problem that we had to investigate.