This progress of modern times in knowledge of the true and enjoyment of the beautiful expresses, on the one hand, a valuable element of our monistic religion, but is, on the other hand, in fatal opposition to Christianity. For the human mind is thus made to live on this side of the grave; Christianity would have it ever gaze beyond. Monism teaches that we are perishable children of the earth, who for one or two, or, at the most, three generations, have the good fortune to enjoy the treasures of our planet, to drink of the inexhaustible fountain of its beauty, and to trace out the marvellous play of its forces. Christianity would teach us that the earth is “a vale of tears,” in which we have but a brief period to chasten and torment ourselves in order to merit the life of eternal bliss beyond. Where this “beyond” is, and of what joys the glory of this eternal life is compacted, no revelation has ever told us. As long as “heaven” was thought to be the blue vault that hovers over the disk of our planet, and is illumined by the twinkling light of a few thousand stars, the human imagination could picture to itself the ambrosial banquets of the Olympic gods above or the laden tables of the happy dwellers in Valhalla. But now all these deities and the immortal souls that sat at their tables are “houseless and homeless,” as David Strauss has so ably described; for we know from astrophysical science that the immeasurable depths of space are filled with a prosaic ether, and that millions of heavenly bodies, ruled by eternal laws of iron, rush hither and thither in the great ocean, in their eternal rhythm of life and death.
The places of devotion, in which men seek the satisfaction of their religious emotions and worship the objects of their reverence, are regarded as sacred “churches.” The pagodas of Buddhistic Asia, the Greek temples of classical antiquity, the synagogues of Palestine, the mosques of Egypt, the Catholic cathedrals of the south, and the Protestant cathedrals of the north, of Europe—all these “houses of God” serve to raise man above the misery and the prose of daily life, to lift him into the sacred, poetic atmosphere of a higher, ideal world. They attain this end in a thousand different ways, according to their various forms of worship and their age. The modern man who “has science and art”—and, therefore, “religion”—needs no special church, no narrow, enclosed portion of space. For through the length and breadth of free nature, wherever he turns his gaze, to the whole universe or to any single part of it, he finds, indeed, the grim “struggle for life,” but by its side are ever “the good, the true, and the beautiful”; his church is commensurate with the whole of glorious nature. Still, there will always be men of special temperament who will desire to have decorated temples or churches as places of devotion to which they may withdraw. Just as the Catholics had to relinquish a number of churches to the Reformation in the sixteenth century, so a still larger number will pass over to “free societies” of monists in the coming years.
[CHAPTER XIX]
OUR MONISTIC ETHICS
Monistic and Dualistic Ethics—Contradiction of Pure and Practical Reason in Kant—His Categorical Imperative—The Neo-Kantians—Herbert Spencer—Egoism and Altruism—Equivalence of the Two Instincts—The Fundamental Law of Ethics: the Golden Rule—Its Antiquity—Christian Ethics—Contempt of Self, the Body, Nature, Civilization, the Family, Woman—Roman Catholic Ethics—Immoral Results of Celibacy—Necessity for the Abolition of the Law of Celibacy, Oral Confession, and Indulgences—State and Church—Religion a Private Concern—Church and School—State and School—Need of School Reform
The practical conduct of life makes a number of definite ethical claims on a man which can only be duly and naturally satisfied when they are in complete harmony with his view of the world. In accordance with this fundamental principle of our monistic philosophy, our whole system of ethics must be rationally connected with the unified conception of the cosmos which we have formed by our advanced knowledge of the laws of nature. Just as the infinite universe is one great whole in the light of our monistic teaching, so the spiritual and moral life of man is a part of this cosmos, and our naturalistic ordering of it must also be monistic. There are not two different, separate worlds—the one physical and material, and the other moral and immaterial.
The great majority of philosophers and theologians still hold the contrary opinion. They affirm, with Kant, that the moral world is quite independent of the physical, and is subject to very different laws; hence a man’s conscience, as the basis of his moral life, must also be quite independent of our scientific knowledge of the world, and must be based rather on his religious faith. On that theory the study of the moral world belongs to practical reason, while that of nature, or of the physical world, is referred to pure or theoretical reason. This unequivocal and conscious dualism of Kant’s philosophy was its greatest defect; it has caused, and still causes, incalculable mischief. First of all the “critical Kant” had built up the splendid and marvellous palace of pure reason, and convincingly proved that the three great central dogmas of metaphysics—a personal God, free will, and the immortal soul—had no place whatever in it, and that no rational proof could be found of their reality. Afterwards, however, the “dogmatic Kant” superimposed on this true crystal palace of pure reason the glittering, ideal castle in the air of practical reason, in which three imposing church-naves were designed for the accommodation of those three great mystic divinities. When they had been put out at the front door by rational knowledge they returned by the back door under the guidance of irrational faith.
The cupola of his great cathedral of faith was crowned by Kant with his curious idol, the famous “categorical imperative.” According to it, the demand of the universal moral law is unconditional, independent of any regard to actuality or potentiality. It runs: “Act at all times in such wise that the maxim (or the subjective law of thy will) may hold good as a principle of a universal law.” On that theory all normal men would have the same sense of duty. Modern anthropology has ruthlessly dissipated that pretty dream; it has shown that conceptions of duty differ even more among uncivilized than among civilized nations. All the actions and customs which we regard as sins or loathsome crimes (theft, fraud, murder, adultery, etc.) are considered by other nations in certain circumstances to be virtues, or even sacred duties.