II The Ethical Principle
II
THE ETHICAL PRINCIPLE
The intricate situation of to-day necessarily incites us to reflection. We must consider our life as a whole; we must ask ourselves whether human existence comprises various kinds and gradations of life, and whether a task thus arises which embraces all man's endeavour. There can be no doubt that human life is not confined to one single plane,—that all variety of endeavour does not easily unite to form a definite entity, but that heterogeneous elements meet and mingle in man.
Man at first appears to be part of nature, of the world of sense, subject to its laws and impulses. Dim and unreasonable instincts pervade man's soul with compelling force. Our conceptions grow out of sense impressions, and form at first the purely mechanical concatenation which we term "association," while all our efforts are directed towards individual self-preservation. In all this, man is entirely within the limitations of nature. Yet though this natural life at first predominates, it does not represent the whole of our life. We become aware of new features, which we characterise as "spiritual." We see how man grows independent of his environment, and strives to subdue it from without and within. By thought he frees himself from the shackles of his environment, and asserts himself against the whole world; at the same time he is driven back to the world, and feels impelled to fathom it and to make it his own by personal experience. His actions do not always remain a mere part of nature's concatenations. He can detach himself from all cohesion. In unbridled egoism he can subordinate every event and action to his own well-being; or he can absorb into himself all that at first existed beside him and apart from him, and that often appeared hostile, and can thus manifest boundless love and sympathy. His natural instinct of self-preservation will then appear too small and insignificant; he can even come to feel its narrow restrictions as intolerable.
If we pass from the individual to the whole of mankind, we see in civilisation and culture a new form of life opposed to mere nature. For man is no longer swayed and ruled by what assails him from without, but he confronts it with new aims and ideals. He judges and weighs; he approves and rejects; he forms new complexes, like those of state organisation and of science. In all this, man is the representative of a new and specific kind of life; he manifests an independence unknown to nature.
This new life differs from nature and from what may be attained on the basis of nature, not only in single characteristics, but in all its manifestations and even in its fundamental essence. Nature forms a tissue of separate elements, which come into reciprocal action but lack all inner cohesion. Great complexes are thus formed, but no combination amounts to real cohesion: there is no inner whole, and no life proceeding from such an inner entity.
All life grows out of contact with the environment; therefore intellectual participation is indissolubly bound to the world of sense. In this life of nature, the intellect can create no conceptions independent of sense impressions, and action cannot free itself from the power of natural impulse. All inner values can here be nothing more than an accessory and reminiscence of what reaches us from without.
We see something essentially different, wherever spiritual life develops. Here life is not decomposed into a multitude of separate particles, but inner cohesions are formed, which embrace and dominate all achievement of individual beings. This is especially the case when human thought aspires towards Truth. Every individual has his own sum of conceptions and his own special associations; but he does not possess a truth of his own. All search for truth is based on the conviction that something must be acquired which is common to all men, and which embraces and governs them all. Aspiration thus extends far beyond separate individuals. We have here not a disconnected mass of assertion and dogma; all is gathered into a well ordered cohesion, and all separate efforts result in progression to the whole. Every kind of intellectual endeavour presents a similar situation. Thus the Good and the Beautiful are not values confined to single individuals; every man striving after them, only contributes towards the sum of common endeavour, and what he wins for himself is at the same time a gain for all. Aspiration is not confined to a limited number of separate results, but the manifestation of a great whole is sought for: a comprehensive realm of the good and the beautiful.
Once the mind is thus concentrated on the whole, greater spiritual independence inevitably ensues. For it is necessary to rise above the sense impression and constantly to assert the autonomy of the soul, if aspiration from the whole and to the whole is to be successfully developed. From being a mere accessory, the soul now becomes in all respects a source of independent life. In science ideas gain a significance of their own, apart from the impressions of sense; they develop their own laws, and react with transforming power on what they have absorbed, as we see in the case of mathematics. Our own mind supplies the forms in which we shape our world. Feeling also frees itself from sense impressions. Sense enjoyment no longer suffices for man's happiness. His relation to other human beings does not remain confined to external contact; pity and love can embrace the whole of mankind, as is proved by the great religions. We can no longer doubt man's capacity of aspiring to values far beyond external possessions; and his inner life, the development of his own individual personality may become a matter of paramount importance to him.
But this inner life, with all its distinct manifestations, can cope successfully with the outer world and its forcible inroads, only by developing an inner realm which it extends to an independent world of its own. This does in reality take place. What was at first beside us and apart from us, can be transferred to the soul without merging into it. The antithesis between internal and external values, which at first seemed to disintegrate life, can be overcome, if spiritual endeavour absorbs the object and brings it into reciprocal action with spiritual forces. Where spiritual development is at its highest, life does not fluctuate between the subjective and objective, but unites both in itself, brings them into reciprocal action, and develops one by means of the other. Such a triumph over antitheses is to be seen most clearly in the province of art. Art is not merely capable of copying external objects as exactly as possible, or of rendering with the greatest possible truth the feeling of the individual: really great art must embrace both factors and blend them to a perfect unity. This is how a real work of art is created, which then gives to life an inner expansion and a new reality.
As in art, so also in the other provinces human life. In the mutual relation of man to man, the spiritual phase by no means does away with all distinctions, but it exalts us above them, and embraces them all from a higher point of view. Individuals are not to be merged in a hazy and colourless whole, but in rising towards a higher life an inner communion becomes possible, within which even what is alien becomes to a certain extent our own. This enables men to understand each other, to put themselves in the place of one another, to find themselves in others. Man acquires in such communion a vaster self, which is not dependent on one tiny atom, but has a whole world of its own.
If scientific research is not to degenerate into barren scepticism, it must also overcome the antithesis of the subjective and the objective. To do this, it assimilates external objects by means of thought, and strives to embrace at the same time both the inner man and the outer world, developing one by means of the other.
We observe everywhere this tendency to subject everything to the operation of spiritual forces—to create and develop an inner world. Here all problems are confined to life itself, which is no longer concerned with extraneous matters, but with itself alone. In this inner world, life develops in its own way; it finds its aims and ideals in itself, in its own perfection, in its complete triumph over the antitheses it embraces.
How are we to interpret this new life and its origin? It cannot have proceeded from that nature inferior to man, from which it differs even in its most elementary fundamental forms. It cannot be a creation of man alone, in whom—as experience proves—it is far too weak, too much alloyed with lower and sensual elements, for a new gradation of life to originate in him. Nothing therefore remains but to recognise in this inward tendency a movement of the universe—a movement in which man is privileged to participate, but which he could never engender from out of his own nature. The recognition of such a movement completely changes the aspect of reality. The universe now seems to embrace two planes, and to be rising—at least as far as humanity is concerned—from one plane to the other. A new light is cast on reality, which ceases to be a collection of separate and non-cohesive elements, and becomes capable of comprehensive operation and of self-concentration. We realise that what at first appeared to be the whole of reality was only its outer aspect, which is supplemented by the new depth revealed to us. It is only the development of these depths that gives life its real significance; values come into existence which lie beyond the natural instinct of self-preservation—such values as the good, the true, and the beautiful.
Let us now see how this order of things strikes and influences man. The new phase of life at first appears—in man—only in a few individual operations, while his life and aspiration are still mainly determined by nature and natural self-preservation. A certain spirituality does indeed appear wherever there is human life, yet only as something subordinate, as an accessory to another kind of life, but without the autonomy necessary to a comprehensive and self-centred whole, which could develop its own specific character. If man is to participate in the movement of the universe and bring the spiritual into full operation in himself, this autonomy of the spiritual life is of paramount importance. It can only develop where a movement reaches man from the universe, embraces him, and determines his further course. But, at the same time, man must recognise and seize this impulse, thus taking possession of this new life. We have seen that what used to be considered of secondary importance, is now of paramount value. This requires a reversion of the original order of things, a readjustment of the values of life. We have not to realise any new achievement within a given sphere of activity, or to further develop existing conditions; we have to acquire an essentially new life.
The requirements thus formulated lead to a system of ethics. Its fundamental doctrine is man's power to rise by free action to the higher plane of cosmic life, and to develop it with all the strength of his soul. We have shown that the new object of our endeavour is not something unfamiliar that suddenly invades our consciousness. For it is the working within us of some spiritual force, that exalts us above the animal world to the status of human beings. But the spiritual life undergoes an essential change, as soon as it acquires autonomy within us. As long as it was held to be of secondary importance, it was chiefly appreciated as a means towards human ends: spiritual forces were to give us more power over external realities, and fuller enjoyment of life, but we did not penetrate into the life of the spirit and there find a new world. If we do this in accordance with the transformation of life we have been considering, great results will soon appear. In science and art, as well as in law and morality, our efforts will be accompanied by such strength, devotion, and gladness as we never before experienced. We shall operate with the laws and powers inherent in the things themselves; we shall become indifferent to outer profit and success, and shall find full satisfaction in the manifestation of genuine spiritual life, in spite of the trials and difficulties it may offer. If the spiritual life can thus grow towards perfection, undisturbed by human aims, it will manifest all its values in rich and pure abundance; it will reveal a new world, and will open up a new depth of reality. We thus take possession of a world which exalts us far above all petty human considerations, yet which is not alien and unfamiliar to us, but is essentially our own life and being.
With autonomy, the spiritual life also gains more unity. As at first manifested in human life, it is divided into a variety of separate branches—such as art, science, law, technical knowledge—which lack all inner cohesion and mutual understanding. If the autonomy of the spiritual life reveals a new phase of reality, it must also form a comprehensive whole, of which all the separate provinces are but the various manifestations. They themselves now appear in a new light, and every province must determine its position and significance in the whole, and must submit to the operation of the forces proceeding from the whole. This will give more depth and more soul to the activity in each separate province, while all will seek to come into closer touch and to supplement one another.
All this implies a great task for man. He is an imperfect and unfinished being, full of contradictions. He has to seek and achieve genuine life; he must penetrate from the sphere of effects to that of their causes; he must recognise the great cosmic movement as a personal concern of his own, and must thus give meaning and value to his life and aspiration.
We have here a matter of vast import. Not only must the new world be recognised and taken possession of by the individual, but a new order of things, valid for all humanity, must be created and triumphantly asserted against an entirely different order of things. Instead of the mere juxtaposition which the world of sense at first presents to us, we must establish inner cohesion in society and history. The efforts of all humanity must supplement the visible world, to which we remain bound, by an invisible one, and must make of this invisible world the chief seat of human life. While time is forever flowing onward, permanent truths and values of life must be found, which can sustain from within all aspiration and endeavour. We human beings must realise a higher life within given natural conditions; and to do this, we have first to create and establish a new order of things within our own sphere of existence. This transforms our life into a never ending task, but also imparts to it an incomparable greatness. While thus striving forward, the individual must first of all submerge himself in the new world as a whole, until he finds there his true life, his real and higher self. A complete negation of the little Ego and emancipation from it are requisite. This does not mean that the individual is to disappear and be absorbed by the infinite. The infinite becomes a living present at this special point, and the individual must take possession of it and assert it. He must also promote the forward movement of life, and must enrich reality by the culture of a spiritual individuality, very different from the one nature has given him. This spiritual individuality can only develop on the basis of the spiritual life, from which it takes its aims and standards; and it must always be in harmony with the movement of the whole.
It is evident that all these factors have laid the foundations for a system of ethics. As we have seen, life as a whole challenges man to a great change, to a decision, an action, but also to unremitting work for the establishment of a new order of things. That which gives us human beings our pre-eminence and constitutes our innermost essence is not to be gained without our own efforts, and pervades our life as a continuous task. We may call the morality arising thence the Ethics of the Spiritual Life, for the centre of life and its ruling motive lie in man's relation to a superior spiritual life, which is at the root of his own being and yet has to be acquired by his own action and effort. Morality represents the principles underlying this great change. Morality grasps the question as a whole. Morality elucidates the fact that all the variety of work is dominated by strife for a spiritual self, a strife which can only be successful if the original situation is reversed.
We must now try to determine more closely what form these ethics are to take, and whether they are able to overcome the objections which confront every kind of morality.