If the impersonal element predominates in work, the social side of modern life offers, on the other hand, more direct union and more reciprocal action between man and man. This was, at first, mainly theoretical. It was pointed out how much one man depends on his fellow-men. People realised that the individual develops with other individuals and as part of the community, with which his aspirations are indissolubly connected, even when he imagines he is striking out a path for himself. But such theories could only have so much influence, because they were in harmony with the realities of life. Modern life, with its technical developments, brought individuals into close touch and created new opportunities of mutual intercourse, uniting men both in success and in failure. Thus grew up the consciousness of human solidarity, the recognition of men's interdependence, the idea of mutual obligation. The result is a wealth of humane activity, which penetrates into all the ramifications of life, attacking and seeking to eradicate all forms of want and misery, instead of merely helping to relieve individual cases. We encounter the earnest endeavour to impart material and spiritual possessions, as far as possible, to all men; to help and strengthen the less favoured section of humanity; to further the interests of aspiring spirits. These efforts are but various aspects of one great duty, which we feel we cannot ignore; we can no longer look upon them as works of mercy, which it is a virtue to perform. This is at the root of the social idea. And this social idea is, in our day, the greatest bond of union between human beings; not only does it stir individuals, but it also exercises a strong influence on law, education, and so forth. In this respect our time has a right to claim undoubted superiority over all former times.
These moral achievements of the present, valuable as they are, yet have their inner limitations. Nearly all movement here proceeds outward, and is directed towards distinct single achievements, while the culture and welfare of the inner man are mostly treated as of secondary importance. Zeal for surface ends leads to the neglect of the central values of life. Yet all outer achievement only means real gain for us, if it promotes the growth of the whole man, of his soul, of his personality, making him nobler, greater, and happier. If there is no development and strengthening of the centre of life, achievement on the surface is apt to result in grave complications, and all that is great in the present may thereby be driven into the wrong channels. Another danger grows out of the ever increasing tendency to organise work. Owing to the necessity of specialising and differentiating, the amount of work is restricted which the individual can comprehend and master. He is tempted to concentrate his interest on his own little province, to be indifferent to everything outside it, and to lose all consciousness of a leading idea and of a great whole. He thus falls a prey to the narrow conceit of the specialist, and finally pushes aside as worthless accessories all matters of general interest, all the questions and sorrows of humanity at large.
By furthering a spirit of pity for human want and misery, without giving to life an inner value and a higher aim, we are in danger of becoming sentimental and of producing inner languor in spite of all outer activity. We are often more anxious to procure for man a comfortable and pleasant life, than to promote inner growth; and our care for the weak, which is quite justified, leads us to take such weak individuals as a criterion and to lower life to their level.
Modern life often lacks the necessary hardness and vigour; in our care for the rights of individuals, we are inclined to neglect the rights and requirements of the whole and also of the spiritual life. So we are in danger of losing that which according to Goethe, "No one brings with him into the world, yet which is all important if a man is to become a man in every respect: reverence."
If we review the whole and consider the balance of moral profit and loss in our day, the result cannot be a favourable one. No full substitute is offered for what is lost. We have gained in breadth, but we have lost in depth and strength. Above all, morality is in danger of losing its former ruling position, and of having a subordinate one assigned to it. It can therefore no longer call forth reverence, or be treated as an independent aim and ideal. We realise at once the gravity of this loss.
But this unfavourable aspect only holds good, if we consider the present time as something complete and incapable of further development. If, on the contrary, we seek to grasp all that is struggling into life, all the requirements of our time that yet await fulfilment: then the situation is quite different and far more favourable. What mainly told against morality was the prevalent over-estimation of everything pertaining to the visible life which surrounds us in nature and in human society. The invisible realms of religion and the ideal have, as we have seen, often grown dim and shadowy. Many of our contemporaries deny them altogether, and look to the visible world for full satisfaction of all man's wants, even of his spiritual and intellectual requirements. This could only appear possible because, in reality, the invisible world of spiritual values continued to influence even those who denied it, and because it supplemented and completed the achievements of the visible world. It is, however, characteristic of our time, that the old fusion is no longer possible, and the irreconcilable antithesis between these two conceptions of life stands out in bold relief. With increasing zeal, the movement in favour of the visible world—that is to say, Naturalism—tries to eradicate everything appertaining to the invisible world, and to fashion the whole of life in accordance with its own principles. Naturalism tolerates no rival, and declares war to the death to Idealism.
We now see the truth of Bacon's words: "Veritas potius emergit ex errore quam ex confusione" (Truth can more easily emerge from error than from confusion). For if we accept naturalism as the only valid conception of life, and develop it consistently in all its bearings, we cannot but see its incapacity to embrace the whole of life. The apparent victory of naturalism thus contains the germ of a defeat, the beginning of a great reaction. What becomes of man and of human life, if the visible world means to him the only form of reality? He is then but part of nature—dark and soulless nature. The vast expansion and range of nature overwhelms him with the consciousness of his own insignificance, while, at the same time, nature is absolutely indifferent to his wishes and aspirations. What he makes of himself and his life has not the very slightest significance for this world of nature. All aspiration which transcends his natural instinct of self-preservation must appear to be mere folly. Such ideals as personality and character are but held to be illusions.
If man turns away from the outer world and takes refuge in his own sphere, in the social life among his fellows, naturalism there shows him a mere juxtaposition, but no inner community which could offer new aims or develop new values. What remains is only a number of individuals inhabiting the same little corner of the universe. Each of these individuals strives to gain recognition of his own merits, and to assert himself, to the detriment of others. Much sordidness and hypocrisy become rampant, and it is impossible to counteract them within so narrow a range, or to hope for the growing up of a nobler and purer race of men. The individual remains bound to the condition of society, which also determines his own nature; he appears to be but a product of the social environment. Having no deeper source of life within himself, how should he be able to escape from the trammels of society, to rise above it or oppose it? Society and environment thus become the destiny of man; and there is no scope for freedom, for initiative, for independent action.