Philosophy of Spiritual Activity
GA 4
II. The Desire for Knowledge
Two souls, alas! reside within my breast,
And each withdraws from, and repels, its brother.
One with tenacious organs holds in love
And clinging lust the world in its embraces;
The other strongly sweeps, this dust above,
Into the high ancestral spaces.—Faust, I, Scene 2. (tr. Bayard Taylor)
[ 1 ] In these words Goethe expresses a trait which is deeply ingrained in human nature. Man is not a self-contained unity. He demands ever more than the world, of itself, offers him. Nature has endowed us with needs: among them are some the satisfaction of which she leaves to our own activity. However abundant the gifts which we have received, still more abundant are our desires. We seem born to be dissatisfied. And our desire for knowledge is but a special instance of this dissatisfaction. Suppose we look twice at a tree. The first time we see its branches at rest, the second time in motion. We are not satisfied with this observation. Why, we ask, does the tree appear to us now at rest, then in motion? Every glance at nature evokes in us a multitude of questions.
Every phenomenon we meet presents a new problem to be solved. Every experience is to us a riddle. We observe that from the egg there emerges a creature like the mother animal, and we ask for the reason of the likeness. We observe a living being grow and develop to a determinate degree of perfection, and we seek the conditions of this experience. Nowhere are we satisfied with what nature spreads out before our senses. Everywhere we seek what we call the explanation of the facts.
[ 2 ] The something more which we seek in things, over and above what is immediately given to us in them, splits our whole being into two parts. We become conscious of our opposition to the world. We oppose ourselves to the world as independent beings. The universe has for us two opposite poles: I and World.
[ 3 ] We erect this barrier between ourselves and the world as soon as consciousness is first kindled in us. But we never cease to feel that, in spite of all, we belong to the world, that there is a connecting link between it and us, and that we are beings within, and not without, the universe.
[ 4 ] This feeling makes us strive to bridge over this opposition, and ultimately the whole spiritual striving of mankind is nothing but the bridging of this opposition. The history of our spiritual life is a continuous seeking after the unity between ourselves and the world. Religion, Art, and Science follow, one and all, this goal. The religious believer seeks in the revelation which God grants him, the solution of the world problem, which his I, dissatisfied with the world of mere phenomena, sets him as a task. The artist seeks to embody in his material the Ideas which are in his I, that he may thus reconcile that which lives within him and the outer world. He, too, feels dissatisfied with the world of mere appearances, and seeks to mould into it that something more which his I contains and which transcends appearances. The thinker searches for the laws of phenomena. He strives to master by thinking what he experiences by observing. Only when we have made the world-content into our thought-content do we again find the unity from which we had separated ourselves. We shall see later that this goal can be reached only if the problem of scientific research is comprehended much more deeply than is often done. The whole situation, as I have here stated it, meets us, on the stage of history, in the conflict between the one-world theory, or Monism, and the two-world theory, or Dualism. Dualism pays attention only to the separation between the I and the World, which the consciousness of man has brought about. All its efforts consist in a vain struggle to reconcile these opposites, which it calls now Spirit and Matter, now Subject and Object, now Thinking and Appearance. The Dualist feels that there must be a bridge between the two worlds, but is not able to find it. In so far as man is aware of himself as “I,” he cannot but put down this “I” in thinking on the side of Spirit; and in opposing to this “I” the world, he is bound to reckon on the world's side the realm of percepts given to the senses, i.e., the Material World. In doing so, man assigns a position to himself within this very antithesis of Spirit and Matter. He is the more compelled to do so because his own body belongs to the Material World. Thus the “I,” or Ego, belongs as a part to the realm of Spirit; the material objects and processes which are perceived by the senses belong to the “World.” All the riddles which belong to Spirit and Matter, man must inevitably rediscover in the fundamental riddle of his own nature. Monism pays attention only to the unity and tries either to deny or to slur over the opposites, present though they are. Neither of these two points of view can satisfy us, for they do not do justice to the facts. The Dualist sees in Spirit (I) and Matter (World) two essentially different entities, and cannot, therefore, understand how they can interact with one another. How should Spirit be aware of what goes on in Matter, seeing that the essential nature of Matter is quite alien to Spirit? Or how in these circumstances should Spirit act upon Matter, so as to translate its intentions into actions? The most acute and the most absurd hypotheses have been propounded to answer these questions. However, up to the present the Monists are not in a much better position. They have tried three different ways of meeting the difficulty. Either they deny Spirit and become Materialists; or they deny Matter in order to seek their salvation in Spiritualism; [Editor's footnote: The author refers to philosophical “Spiritualism,” as opposed to philosophical “Materialism.” Cf. p. 15, last lines.] or they assert that, even in the simplest entities in the world, Spirit and Matter are indissolubly bound together, so that there is no need to marvel at the appearance in man of these two modes of existence, seeing that they are never found apart.
[ 5 ] Materialism can never offer a satisfactory explanation of the world. For every attempt at an explanation must begin with the formation of thoughts about the phenomena of the world. Materialism, thus, begins with the thought of Matter or material processes. But, in doing so, it is ipso facto confronted by two different sets of facts, viz., the material world and the thoughts about it. The Materialist seeks to make these latter intelligible by regarding them as purely material processes. He believes that thinking takes place in the brain, much in the same way as digestion takes place in the animal organs. Just as he ascribes mechanical and organic processes to Matter, so he credits it with the capacity to think in certain circumstances. He overlooks that, in doing so, he is merely shifting the problem from one place to another. Instead of to himself he ascribes the power of thinking to Matter. And thus he is back again at his starting-point. How does Matter come to think about its own nature? Why is it not simply satisfied with itself and content to accept its own existence? The Materialist has turned his attention away from the definite subject, his own I, and occupies himself with an indefinite shadowy something. And here the old problem meets him again. The materialistic conception cannot solve the problem: it can only shift it to another place.
[ 6 ] What of the Spiritualistic theory? The Spiritualist denies to Matter all independent existence and regards it merely as a product of Spirit. But when he tries to apply this theory to the solution of the riddle of his own human nature, he finds himself in an awkward position. Over against the “I,” or Ego, which can be ranged on the side of Spirit, there stands directly the world of the senses. No spiritual approach to it seems open. It has to be perceived and experienced by the “I” with the help of material processes. Such material processes the “I” does not discover in itself, so long as it regards its own nature as exclusively spiritual. Within all that it achieves by its own spiritual effort, the sensible world is never to be found. It seems as if the “I” had to concede that the world would be a closed book to it, unless it could establish a non-spiritual relation to the world. Similarly, when it comes to acting, we have to translate our purposes into realities with the help of material things and forces. We are, therefore, dependent on the outer world. The most extreme Spiritualist, or, if you prefer it, Idealist, is Johann Gottlieb Fichte. He attempts to deduce the whole edifice of the world from the “I.” What he has actually accomplished is a magnificent thought-picture of the world, without any empirical content. As little as it is possible for the Materialist to argue the Spirit away, just as little is it possible for the Idealist to argue away the outer world of Matter.
[ 7 ] When man directs his consideration upon the “I,” he perceives, in the first instance, the work of this “I” in the conceptual elaboration of the world of Ideas. Hence a philosophy the direction of which is spiritualistic may feel tempted, in view of man's own essential nature, to acknowledge nothing of spirit except this world of Ideas. In this way Spiritualism becomes one-sided Idealism. Instead of going on to penetrate through the world of Ideas to the spiritual world, Idealism identifies the spiritual world with the world of Ideas itself. As a result, it is compelled to remain fixed with its world-view in the circle of the activity of the Ego, as if it were bewitched.
[ 8 ] A curious variant of Idealism is to be found in the theory which F. A. Lange has put forward in his widely read History of Materialism. He holds that the Materialists are quite right in declaring all phenomena, including our thoughts, to be the product of purely material processes, but, in turn, Matter and its processes are for him themselves the product of our thinking. “The senses give us only the effects of things, not true copies, much less the things themselves. But among these mere effects we must include the senses themselves together with the brain and the molecular vibrations which we assume to go on there.” That is, our thinking is produced by the material processes, and these by the thinking of our I. Lange's philosophy is thus nothing more than the philosophical analogy of the story of honest Baron Münchhausen, who holds himself up in the air by his own pigtail.
[ 9 ] The third form of Monism is that which finds even in the simplest being (the atom) the union of both Matter and Spirit. But nothing is gained by this either, except that the question, the origin of which is really in our consciousness, is shifted to another place. How comes it that the simple being manifests itself in a two-fold manner, if it is an indivisible unity?
[ 10 ] Against all these theories we must urge the fact that we meet with the basic and primary opposition first in our own consciousness. It is we, ourselves, who break away from the bosom of Nature and contrast ourselves as “I” with the “World.” Goethe has given classic expression to this in his essay Nature although his manner may at first sight be considered quite unscientific: “Living in the midst of her (Nature) we are strangers to her. Ceaselessly she speaks to us, yet betrays none of her secrets.” But Goethe knows the reverse side too: “Mankind is all in her, and she in all mankind.”
[ 11 ] However true it may be that we have estranged ourselves from Nature, it is none the less true that we feel we are in her and belong to her. It can be only her own working which pulsates also in us.
[ 12 ] We must find the way back to her again. A simple reflection may point this way out to us. We have, it is true, torn ourselves away from Nature, but we must none the less have taken with us something of her in our own nature. This quality of Nature in us we must seek out, and then we shall restore our connection with her. Dualism neglects to do this. It considers the human interior as a spiritual entity utterly alien to Nature and attempts somehow to hitch it on to Nature. No wonder that it cannot find the coupling link. We can find Nature outside of us only if we have first learnt to know her within us. What is allied to her within us must be our guide to her. This marks out our path of inquiry. We shall attempt no speculations concerning the interaction of Nature and Spirit. We shall rather probe into the depths of our own being, to find there those elements which we saved in our flight from Nature.
[ 13 ] The examination of our own being must bring the solution of the problem. We must reach a point where we can say, “Here we are no longer merely ‘I,’ here is something which is more than ‘I.’“
[ 14 ] I am well aware that many who have read thus far will not consider my discussion in keeping with “the present position of science.” To such criticism I can reply only that I have so far not been concerned with any scientific results, but simply with the description of what every one of us experiences in his own consciousness. That a few phrases have been added about attempts to reconcile man's consciousness and the World serves solely to elucidate the actual facts. I have, therefore, made no attempt to give to the expressions “I,” “Spirit,” “World,” “Nature,” the precise meaning which they usually bear in Psychology and Philosophy. The ordinary consciousness ignores the sharp distinctions of the sciences, and so far my purpose has been solely to record the facts of everyday experience. I am concerned, not with the way in which science, so far, has interpreted consciousness, but with the way in which we experience it in every moment of our lives.
II. Der Grundtrieb zur Wissenschaft
Zwei Seelen wohnen, ach! in meiner Brust,
Die eine will sich von der andern trennen;
Die eine hält, in derber Liebeslust,
Sich an die Welt mit klammernden Organen;
Die andere hebt gewaltsam sich vom Dust
Zu den Gefilden hoher Ahnen.Faust I
[ 1 ] Mit diesen Worten spricht Goethe einen tief in der menschlichen Natur begründeten Charakterzug aus. Nicht ein einheitlich organisiertes Wesen ist der Mensch. Er verlangt stets mehr, als die Welt ihm freiwillig gibt. Bedürfnisse hat die Natur uns gegeben; unter diesen sind solche, deren Befriedigung sie unserer eigenen Tätigkeit überläßt. Reichlich sind die Gaben, die uns zugeteilt, aber noch reichlicher ist unser Begehren. Wir scheinen zur Unzufriedenheit geboren. Nur ein besonderer Fall dieser Unzufriedenheit ist unser Erkenntnisdrang. Wir blicken einen Baum zweimal an. Wir sehen das eine Mal seine Aste in Ruhe, das andere Mal in Bewegung. Wir geben uns mit dieser Beobachtung nicht zufrieden. Warum stellt sich uns der Baum das eine Mal ruhend, das andere Mal in Bewegung dar? So fragen wir. Jeder Blick in die Natur erzeugt in uns eine Summe von Fragen. Mit jeder Erscheinung, die uns entgegentritt, ist uns eine Aufgabe mitgegeben. Jedes Erlebnis wird uns zum Rätsel. Wir sehen aus dem Ei ein dem Muttertiere ähnliches Wesen hervorgehen; wir fragen nach dem Grunde dieser Ähnlichkeit. Wir beobachten an einem Lebewesen Wachsrum und Entwickelung bis zu einem bestimmten Grade der Vollkommenheit: wir suchen nach den Bedingungen dieser Erfahrung. Nirgends sind wir mit dem zufrieden, was die Natur vor unseren Sinnen ausbreitet. Wir suchen überall nach dem, was wir Erklärung der Tatsachen nennen.
[ 2 ] Der Überschuß dessen, was wir in den Dingen suchen, über das, was uns in ihnen unmittelbar gegeben ist, spaltet unser ganzes Wesen in zwei Teile; wir werden uns unseres Gegensatzes zur Welt bewußt. Wir stellen uns als ein selbständiges Wesen der Welt gegenüber. Das Universum erscheint uns in den zwei Gegensätzen: Ich und Welt.
[ 3 ] Diese Scheidewand zwischen uns und der Welt errichten wir, sobald das Bewußtsein in uns aufleuchtet. Aber niemals verlieren wir das Gefühl, daß wir doch zur Welt gehören, daß ein Band besteht, das uns mit ihr verbindet, daß wir nicht ein Wesen außerhalb, sondern innerhalb des Universums sind.
[ 4 ] Dieses Gefühl erzeugt das Streben, den Gegensatz zu überbrücken. Und in der Überbrückung dieses Gegensatzes besteht im letzten Grunde das ganze geistige Streben der Menschheit. Die Geschichte des geistigen Lebens ist ein fortwährendes Suchen der Einheit zwischen uns und der Welt. Religion, Kunst und Wissenschaft verfolgen gleichermaßen dieses Ziel. Der Religiös-Gläubige sucht in der Offenbarung, die ihm Gott zuteil werden läßt, die Lösung der Welträtsel, die ihm sein mit der bloßen Erscheinungswelt unzufriedenes Ich aufgibt. Der Künstler sucht dem Stoffe die Ideen seines Ich einzubilden, um das in seinem Innern Lebende mit der Außenwelt zu versöhnen. Auch er fühlt sich unbefriedigt von der bloßen Erscheinungswelt und sucht ihr jenes Mehr einzuformen, das sein Ich, über sie hinausgehend, birgt. Der Denker sucht nach den Gesetzen der Erscheinungen, er strebt denkend zu durchdringen, was er beobachtend erfährt. Erst wenn wir den Weltinhalt zu unserem Gedankeninhalt gemacht haben, erst dann finden wir den Zusammenhang wieder, aus dem wir uns selbst gelöst haben. Wir werden später sehen, daß dieses Ziel nur erreicht wird, wenn die Aufgabe des wissenschaftlichen Forschers allerdings viel tiefer aufgefaßt wird, als dies oft geschieht. Das ganze Verhältnis, das ich hier dargelegt habe, tritt uns in einer weltgeschichtlichen Erscheinung entgegen: in dem Gegensatz der einheitlichen Weltauffassung oder des Monismus und der Zweiweltentheorie oder des Dualismus. Der Dualismus richtet den Blick nur auf die von dem Bewußtsein des Menschen vollzogene Trennung zwischen Ich und Welt. Sein ganzes Streben ist ein ohnmächtiges Ringen nach der Versöhnung dieser Gegensätze, die er bald Geist und Materie, bald Subjekt und Objekt, bald Denken und Erscheinung nennt. Er hat ein Gefühl, daß es eine Brücke geben muß zwischen den beiden Welten, aber er ist nicht imstande, sie zu finden. Indem der Mensch sich als «Ich» erlebt, kann er nicht anders als dieses «Ich» auf der Seite des Geistes denken; und indem er diesem Ich die Welt entgegensetzt, muß er zu dieser die den Sinnen gegebene Wahrnehmungswelt rechnen, die materielle Welt. Dadurch stellt sich der Mensch selbst in den Gegensatz Geist und Materie hinein. Er muß dies um so mehr tun, als zur materiellen Welt sein eigener Leib gehört. Das «Ich» gehört so dem Geistigen als ein Teil an; die materiellen Dinge und Vorgänge, die von den Sinnen wahrgenommen werden, der «Welt». Alle Rätsel, die sich auf Geist und Materie beziehen, muß der Mensch in dem Grundrätsel seines eigenen Wesens wiederfinden. Der Monismus richtet den Blick allein auf die Einheit und sucht die einmal vorhandenen Gegensätze zu leugnen oder zu verwischen. Keine von den beiden Anschauungen kann befriedigen, denn sie werden den Tatsachen nicht gerecht. Der Dualismus sieht Geist (Ich) und Materie (Welt) als zwei grundverschiedene Wesenheiten an, und kann deshalb nicht begreifen, wie beide aufeinander wirken können. Wie soll der Geist wissen, was in der Materie vorgeht, wenn ihm deren eigentümliche Natur ganz fremd ist? Oder wie soll er unter diesen Umständen auf sie wirken, so daß sich seine Absichten in Taten umsetzen? Die scharfsinnigsten und die widersinnigsten Hypothesen wurden aufgestellt, um diese Fragen zu lösen. Aber auch mit dem Monismus steht es bis heute nicht viel besser. Er hat sich bis jetzt in einer dreifachen Art zu helfen gesucht: Entweder er leugnet den Geist und wird zum Materialismus; oder er leugnet die Materie, um im Spiritualismus sein Heil zu suchen; oder aber er behauptet, daß auch schon in dem einfachsten Weltwesen Materie und Geist untrennbar verbunden seien, weswegen man gar nicht erstaunt zu sein brauchte, wenn in dem Menschen diese zwei Daseinsweisen auftreten, die ja nirgends getrennt sind.
[ 5 ] Der Materialismus kann niemals eine befriedigende Welterklärung liefern. Denn jeder Versuch einer Erklärung muß damit beginnen, daß man sich Gedanken über die Welterscheinungen bildet. Der Materialismus macht deshalb den Anfang mit dem Gedanken der Materie oder der materiellen Vorgänge. Damit hat er bereits zwei verschiedene Tatsachengebiete vor sich: die materielle Welt und die Gedanken über sie. Er sucht die letzteren dadurch zu begreifen, daß er sie als einen rein materiellen Prozeß auffaßt. Er glaubt, daß das Denken im Gehirne etwa so zustande komme, wie die Verdauung in den animalischen Organen. So wie er der Materie mechanische und organische Wirkungen zuschreibt, so legt er ihr auch die Fähigkeit bei, unter bestimmten Bedingungen zu denken. Er vergißt, daß er nun das Problem nur an einen andern Ort verlegt hat. Statt sich selbst, schreibt er die Fähigkeit des Denkens der Materie zu. Und damit ist er wieder an seinem Ausgangspunkte. Wie kommt die Materie dazu, über ihr eigenes Wesen nachzudenken? Warum ist sie nicht einfach mit sich zufrieden und nimmt ihr Dasein hin? Von dem bestimmten Subjekt, von unserem eigenen Ich hat der Materialist den Blick abgewandt und auf ein unbestimmtes, nebelhaftes Gebilde ist er gekommen. Und hier tritt ihm dasselbe Rätsel entgegen. Die materialistische Anschauung vermag das Problem nicht zu lösen, sondern nur zu verschieben.
[ 6 ] Wie steht es mit der spiritualistischen? Der reine Spiritualist leugnet die Materie in ihrem selbständigen Dasein und faßt sie nur als Produkt des Geistes auf. Wendet er diese Weltanschauung auf die Enträtselung der eigenen menschlichen Wesenheit an, so wird er in die Enge getrieben. Dem Ich, das auf die Seite des Geistes gestellt werden kann, steht unvermittelt gegenüber die sinnliche Welt. Zu dieser scheint ein geistiger Zugang sich nicht zu eröffnen, sie muß durch materielle Prozesse von dem Ich wahrgenommen und erlebt werden. Solche materielle Prozesse findet das «Ich» in sich nicht, wenn es sich nur als geistige Wesenheit gelten lassen will. Was es geistig sich erarbeitet, in dem ist nie die Sinneswelt drinnen. Es scheint das «Ich» zugeben zu müssen, daß ihm die Welt verschlossen bliebe, wenn es nicht sich auf ungeistige Art zu ihr in ein Verhältnis setzte. Ebenso müssen wir, wenn wir ans Handeln gehen, unsere Absichten mit Hilfe der materiellen Stoffe und Kräfte in Wirklichkeit um setzen. Wir sind also auf die Außenwelt angewiesen. Der extremste Spiritualist, oder wenn man will, der durch den absoluten Idealismus sich als extremer Spiritualist darstellende Denker ist Johann Gottlieb Fichte. Er versuchte das ganze Weltgebäude aus dem «Ich» abzuleiten. Was ihm dabei wirklich gelungen ist, ist ein großartiges Gedankenbild der Welt, ohne allen Erfahrungsinhalt. So wenig es dem Materialisten möglich ist, den Geist, ebensowenig ist es dem Spiritualisten möglich, die materielle Außenwelt wegzudekretieren.
[ 7 ] Weil der Mensch, wenn er die Erkenntnis auf das «Ich» lenkt, zunächst das Wirken dieses «Ich» in der gedanklichen Ausgestaltung der Ideenwelt wahrnimmt, kann sich die spiritualistisch gerichtete Weltanschauung beim Hinblicke auf die eigene menschliche Wesenheit versucht fühlen, von dem Geiste nur diese Ideenwelt anzuerkennen. Der Spiritualismus wird auf diese Art zum einseitigen Idealismus. Er kommt nicht dazu, durch die Ideenwelt eine geistige Welt zu suchen; er sieht in der Ideenwelt selbst die geistige Welt. Dadurch wird er dazu getrieben, innerhalb der Wirksamkeit des «Ich» selbst, wie festgebannt, mit seiner Weltanschauung stehen bleiben zu müssen.
[ 8 ] Eine merkwürdige Abart des Idealismus ist die Anschauung Friedrich Albert Langes, wie er sie in seiner vielgelesenen «Geschichte des Materialismus» vertreten hat. Er nimmt an, daß der Materialismus ganz recht habe, wenn er alle Welterscheinungen, einschließlich unseres Denkens, für das Produkt rein stofflicher Vorgänge erklärt; nur sei umgekehrt die Materie und ihre Vorgänge selbst wieder ein Produkt unseres Denkens. «Die Sinne geben uns... Wirkungen der Dinge, nicht getreue Bilder, oder gar die Dinge selbst. Zu diesen bloßen Wirkungen gehören aber auch die Sinne selbst samt dem Hirn und den in ihm gedachten Molekularbewegungen.» Das heißt, unser Denken wird von den materiellen Prozessen erzeugt und diese von dem Denken des «Ich». Langes Philosophie ist somit nichts anderes, als die in Begriffe umgesetzte Geschichte des wackeren Münchhausen, der sich an seinem eigenen Haarschopf frei in der Luft festhält.
[ 9 ] Die dritte Form des Monismus ist die, welche in dem einfachsten Wesen (Atom) bereits die beiden Wesenheiten, Materie und Geist, vereinigt sieht. Damit ist aber auch nichts erreicht, als daß die Frage, die eigentlich in unserem Bewußtsein entsteht, auf einen anderen Schauplatz versetzt wird. Wie kommt das einfache Wesen dazu, sich in einer zweifachen Weise zu äußern, wenn es eine ungetrennte Einheit ist?
[ 10 ] Allen diesen Standpunkten gegenüber muß geltend gemacht werden, daß uns der Grund, und Urgegensatz zuerst in unserem eigenen Bewußtsein entgegentritt. Wir sind es selbst, die wir uns von dem Mutterboden der Natur loslösen, und uns als «Ich» der «Welt» gegenüberstellen. Klassisch spricht das Goethe in seinem Aufsatz «Die Natur» aus, wenn auch seine Art zunächst als ganz unwissenschaftlich gelten mag: «Wir leben mitten in ihr (der Natur) und sind ihr fremde. Sie spricht unaufhörlich mit uns und verrät uns ihr Geheimnis nicht.» Aber auch die Kehrseite kennt Goethe: «Die Menschen sind alle in ihr und sie in allen.»
[ 11 ] So wahr es ist, daß wir uns der Natur entfremdet haben, so wahr ist es, daß wir fühlen: wir sind in ihr und gehören zu ihr. Es kann nur ihr eigenes Wirken sein, das auch in uns lebt.
[ 12 ] Wir müssen den Weg zu ihr zurück wieder finden. Eine einfacheÜberlegung kann uns diesen Weg weisen. Wir haben uns zwar losgerissen von der Natur; aber wir müssen doch etwas mit herübergenommen haben in unser eigenes Wesen. Dieses Naturwesen in uns müssen wir aufsuchen, dann werden wir den Zusammenhang auch wieder finden. Das versäumt der Dualismus. Er hält das menschliche Innere für ein der Natur ganz fremdes Geistwesen und sucht dieses an die Natur anzukoppeln. Kein Wunder, daß er das Bindeglied nicht finden kann. Wir können die Natur außer uns nur finden, wenn wir sie in uns erst kennen. Das ihr Gleiche in unserem eigenen Innern wird uns der Führer sein. Damit ist uns unsere Bahn vorgezeichnet. Wir wollen keine Spekulationen anstellen über die Wechselwirkung von Natur und Geist. Wir wollen aber hinuntersteigen in die Tiefen unseres eigenen Wesens, um da jene Elemente zu finden, die wir herübergerettet haben bei unserer Flucht aus der Natur.
[ 13 ] Die Erforschung unseres Wesens muß uns die Lösung des Rätsels bringen. Wir müssen an einen Punkt kommen, wo wir uns sagen können: Hier sind wir nicht mehr bloß «Ich», hier liegt etwas, was mehr als «Ich» ist.
[ 14 ] Ich bin darauf gefaßt, daß mancher, der bis hierher gelesen hat, meine Ausführungen nicht «dem gegenwärtigen Stande der Wissenschaft» gemäß findet. Ich kann dem gegenüber nur erwidern, daß ich es bisher mit keinerlei wissenschaftlichen Resultaten zu tun haben wollte, sondern mit der einfachen Beschreibung dessen, was jedermann in seinem eigenen Bewußtsein erlebt. Daß dabei auch einzelne Sätze über Versöhnungsversuche des Bewußtseins mit der Welt eingeflossen sind, hat nur den Zweck, die eigentlichen Tatsachen zu verdeutlichen. Ich habe deshalb auch keinen Wert darauf gelegt, die einzelnen Ausdrücke, wie «Ich», «Geist», «Welt», «Natur» und so weiter in der präzisen Weise zu gebrauchen, wie es in der Psychologie und Philosophie üblich ist. Das alltägliche Bewußtsein kennt die scharfen Unterschiede der Wissenschaft nicht, und um eine Aufnahme des alltäglichen Tatbestandes handelte es sich bisher bloß. Nicht wie die Wissenschaft bisher das Bewußtsein interpretiert hat, geht mich an, sondern wie sich dasselbe stündlich darlebt.
II The basic drive for science
Two souls dwell, alas! in my breast,
One wants to separate from the other;
The one holds on, in the ardor of love,
Clings to the world with clutching organs;
The other lifts itself violently from the Dust
To the realms of high ancestors.Faust I
[ 1 ] With these words, Goethe expresses a trait deeply rooted in human nature. Man is not a uniformly organized being. He always demands more than the world freely gives him. Nature has given us needs; among these are those whose satisfaction she leaves to our own activity. The gifts given to us are abundant, but our desires are even more abundant. We seem to be born to dissatisfaction. Only one particular instance of this dissatisfaction is our urge for knowledge. We look at a tree twice. One time we see its branches at rest, the other time in motion. We are not satisfied with this observation. Why does the tree appear to be at rest on one occasion and in motion on the other? So we ask. Every time we look at nature, we ask ourselves a series of questions. With every phenomenon that confronts us, we are given a task. Every experience becomes a riddle for us. We see a creature emerge from the egg that resembles the mother animal; we ask why this resemblance exists. We observe the growth and development of a living being up to a certain degree of perfection: we search for the conditions of this experience. Nowhere are we satisfied with what nature spreads out before our senses. We search everywhere for what we call the explanation of the facts.
[ 2 ] The excess of what we seek in things over what is directly given to us in them divides our whole being into two parts; we become aware of our opposition to the world. We confront the world as an independent being. The universe appears to us in the two opposites: I and world.
[ 3 ] We erect this partition between ourselves and the world as soon as consciousness lights up within us. But we never lose the feeling that we do belong to the world, that there is a bond that connects us to it, that we are not a being outside but within the universe.
[ 4 ] This feeling generates the aspiration to bridge the gap. And the bridging of this opposition is ultimately the whole spiritual endeavor of humanity. The history of spiritual life is a continuous search for unity between us and the world. Religion, art and science pursue this goal in equal measure. The religious believer seeks in the revelation that God grants him the solution to the riddles of the world that his ego, dissatisfied with the mere world of appearances, gives him. The artist seeks to imagine the ideas of his ego into the material in order to reconcile what lives within him with the outside world. He too feels unsatisfied by the mere world of appearances and seeks to mold into it that something more which his ego, going beyond it, contains. The thinker searches for the laws of phenomena, he strives to penetrate by thinking what he experiences by observing. Only when we have made the content of the world into our content of thought, only then do we find the context again from which we have detached ourselves. We will see later that this goal can only be achieved if the task of the scientific researcher is understood much more deeply than is often the case. The whole relationship that I have outlined here confronts us in a world-historical phenomenon: in the contrast between the unified world view or monism and the two-world theory or dualism. Dualism focuses only on the separation between the self and the world as carried out by the human consciousness. His entire endeavor is a powerless struggle for the reconciliation of these opposites, which he sometimes calls spirit and matter, sometimes subject and object, sometimes thought and appearance. He has a feeling that there must be a bridge between the two worlds, but he is unable to find it. By experiencing himself as "I", man cannot think otherwise than this "I" on the side of the spirit; and by opposing this "I" to the world, he must reckon to it the world of perception given to the senses, the material world. Thus man places himself in the opposition of spirit and matter. He must do this all the more because his own body belongs to the material world. The "I" thus belongs to the spiritual as a part; the material things and processes that are perceived by the senses, to the "world". All riddles relating to spirit and matter must be found by man in the basic riddle of his own being. Monism focuses solely on unity and seeks to deny or blur the opposites that once existed. Neither of the two views can satisfy, because they do not do justice to the facts. Dualism sees spirit (ego) and matter (world) as two fundamentally different entities and therefore cannot understand how the two can interact. How is the mind supposed to know what is going on in matter if its peculiar nature is completely alien to it? Or how is it to act upon it under these circumstances, so that its intentions may be translated into deeds? The most astute and the most absurd hypotheses have been put forward to solve these questions. But monism has not fared much better to this day. It has so far tried to help itself in three ways: either it denies the spirit and becomes materialism; or it denies matter in order to seek its salvation in spiritualism; or it claims that even in the simplest world being, matter and spirit are inseparably connected, which is why one need not be at all surprised when these two modes of existence, which are nowhere separate, appear in man.
[ 5 ] Materialism can never provide a satisfactory explanation of the world. For every attempt at an explanation must begin by forming thoughts about world phenomena. Materialism therefore begins with the thought of matter or material processes. It thus already has two different areas of fact before it: the material world and the thoughts about it. He seeks to understand the latter by conceiving them as a purely material process. He believes that thinking comes about in the brain in much the same way as digestion in the animal organs. Just as he ascribes mechanical and organic effects to matter, he also attributes to it the ability to think under certain conditions. He forgets that he has now only transferred the problem to another place. Instead of himself, he attributes the ability to think to matter. And this brings him back to his starting point. How does matter come to think about its own nature? Why is it not simply satisfied with itself and accepts its existence? The materialist has turned his gaze away from the definite subject, from our own ego, and has arrived at an indeterminate, nebulous entity. And here he is confronted with the same riddle. The materialist view is not able to solve the problem, but only to postpone it.
[ 6 ] What about the spiritualist view? The pure spiritualist denies matter in its independent existence and understands it only as a product of the spirit. If he applies this world view to the unraveling of his own human essence, he is driven into a corner. The ego, which can be placed on the side of the spirit, is suddenly confronted by the sensual world. There seems to be no spiritual access to it; it must be perceived and experienced by the ego through material processes. The "I" does not find such material processes in itself if it only wants to be considered a spiritual entity. What it works out spiritually never contains the sensory world. The "I" seems to have to admit that the world would remain closed to it if it did not relate to it in a non-spiritual way. In the same way, when we set about acting, we must transform our intentions into reality with the help of material substances and forces. We are therefore dependent on the outside world. The most extreme spiritualist, or if you like, the thinker who presents himself as an extreme spiritualist through absolute idealism, is Johann Gottlieb Fichte. He attempted to derive the entire world structure from the "I". What he really succeeded in doing was a magnificent conceptual image of the world, without any experiential content. Just as it is impossible for the materialist to decipher the spirit, it is just as impossible for the spiritualist to decipher the material outside world.
[ 7 ] Because man, when he directs knowledge to the "I", first perceives the work of this "I" in the mental formation of the world of ideas, the spiritualist worldview can feel tempted, when looking at its own human essence, to recognize only this world of ideas from the spirit. In this way, spiritualism becomes a one-sided idealism. It does not come to seek a spiritual world through the world of ideas; it sees the spiritual world in the world of ideas itself. As a result, he is driven to remain within the effectiveness of the "I" itself, as if spellbound, with his worldview.
[ 8 ] A strange variety of idealism is the view of Friedrich Albert Lange, as he represented it in his widely read "History of Materialism". He assumes that materialism is quite right when it declares all world phenomena, including our thinking, to be the product of purely material processes; only, conversely, matter and its processes are themselves a product of our thinking. "The senses give us... effects of things, not faithful images, or even the things themselves. But these mere effects also include the senses themselves, together with the brain and the molecular movements conceived in it." In other words, our thinking is generated by material processes and these are generated by the thinking of the "I". Lange's philosophy is therefore nothing other than the story, translated into concepts, of the brave Munchausen, who holds on to his own shock of hair freely in the air.
[ 9 ] The third form of monism is that which already sees the two entities, matter and spirit, united in the simplest being (atom). However, this achieves nothing other than moving the question that actually arises in our consciousness to a different arena. How does the simple being come to express itself in a twofold way if it is an undivided unity?
[ 10 ] Against all these points of view it must be asserted that the ground and primordial opposition first confronts us in our own consciousness. It is we ourselves who detach ourselves from the mother earth of nature and confront the "world" as "I". This is classically expressed by Goethe in his essay "Nature", even if his style may initially be considered completely unscientific: "We live in the midst of it (nature) and are strangers to it. She talks to us incessantly and does not reveal her secret to us." But Goethe also knows the flip side: "People are all in her and she in all of them."
[ 11 ] As true as it is that we have alienated ourselves from nature, it is equally true that we feel that we are in it and belong to it. It can only be her own work that also lives in us.
[ 12 ] We must find our way back to her. A simple consideration can show us this way. We may have torn ourselves away from nature, but we must have taken something with us into our own being. We must seek out this natural being within us, then we will find the connection again. Dualism fails to do this. It regards the human inner being as a spiritual being completely alien to nature and tries to link it to nature. No wonder it cannot find the link. We can only find nature outside ourselves if we first know it within ourselves. That which is like it within ourselves will be our guide. Our path is thus mapped out for us. We do not want to speculate about the interaction of nature and spirit. But we want to descend into the depths of our own being in order to find those elements that we rescued when we fled from nature.
[ 13 ] The exploration of our being must bring us the solution to the riddle. We must come to a point where we can say to ourselves: Here we are no longer merely "I", here lies something that is more than "I".
[ 14 ] I am prepared for the fact that some people who have read this far will not find my explanations "in line with the current state of science". I can only reply that so far I have not wanted to deal with any scientific results, but with the simple description of what everyone experiences in their own consciousness. The fact that individual sentences about attempts to reconcile the consciousness with the world have also been included is only for the purpose of clarifying the actual facts. I have therefore not attached any importance to using the individual expressions such as "I", "spirit", "world", "nature" and so on in the precise way that is usual in psychology and philosophy. Everyday consciousness does not know the sharp distinctions of science, and up to now it has merely been a matter of recording everyday facts. It is not how science has interpreted consciousness up to now that concerns me, but how it lives itself every hour.