Two souls reside,
alas,
within my breast,
And each one
from the other
would be parted.
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The one holds fast,
in sturdy
lust for love,
With clutching organs
clinging
to the world;
The other
strongly rises
from the gloom
To lofty fields
of ancient heritage.
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Faust I,
Scene 2,
lines 1112-1117.
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[1] In these words Goethe
expresses
a characteristic feature
which
is deeply rooted
in human nature.
Man is not organized
as a self-consistent unity.
He always demands more than
the world,
of its own accord,
gives him.
Nature
has endowed us
with needs;
among them
are some that
she leaves
to our own
activity
to satisfy.
Abundant
as are the gifts
she has bestowed upon us,
still more abundant
are
our desires.
We seem
born
to be dissatisfied.
And
our thirst for knowledge
is
but a special instance
of this dissatisfaction.
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,
now in motion?
Every glance at Nature
evokes in us
a multitude
of questions.
Every phenomenon we meet
sets us a new problem.
Every experience
is
a riddle.
We see
that
from the egg
there emerges
a creature like
the mother animal,
and
we ask the reason
for the likeness.
We observe
a living
being
grow and develop
to a certain degree
of perfection,
and
we seek the underlying conditions
for 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.
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[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 antithesis
to the world.
We confront the world
as independent beings.
The universe
appears
to us
in two opposite parts:
I and World.
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[3] We erect
this barrier
between ourselves
and the world
as soon
as consciousness first dawns
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 antithesis,
and
in this
bridging
lies ultimately
the whole spiritual striving
of mankind.
The history
of our spiritual life
is
a continuing
search
for the unity
between ourselves
and the world.
Religion,
art
and science follow,
one and all,
this aim.
The religious believer
seeks
in the revelation
which
God grants him
the solution
to the universal riddle
which his I,
dissatisfied
with the world
of mere appearance,
sets before him.
The artist
seeks
to embody
in his material
the ideas
that are in his I,
in order to reconcile
what lives
in him
with the world outside.
He too feels dissatisfied
with the world
of mere appearance
and seeks
to mould
into it that something more which
his I,
transcending it,
contains.
The thinker
seeks the laws
of phenomena,
and strives
to penetrate
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
out of which we
had separated ourselves.
We shall see later
that this goal
can be reached only
if
the task
of the research
scientist
is conceived
at a much deeper level
than
is often
the case.
The whole situation
I have described
here presents itself
to 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
I and 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.
It feels
that there must be a bridge
between the two worlds
but is not
in a position
to find it.
In
that man
is aware
of himself
as "I",
he cannot
but think of this
"I" as being
on the side
of the spirit;
and
in contrasting
this
"I" with the world,
he is bound
to put on
the world's side
the realm of percepts
given
to the senses,
that is, the world
of matter.
In doing so,
man puts himself
right
into the middle
of this 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
to the realm
of spirit
as a part
of it;
the material
objects
and
events
which
are perceived
by the senses
belong to the "World".
All the riddles
which
relate
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.
Dualism
sees
in spirit (I)
and matter
(World) two fundamentally 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 ingenious
and the most absurd hypotheses
have been propounded
to answer these questions.
Up to the present,
however,
monism
is not
in a much better position.
It has tried
three different ways
of meeting the difficulty.
Either it denies spirit
and becomes
materialism;
or
it denies
matter
in order to
seek its salvation
in spiritualism;
or
it asserts
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.
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[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 already confronted
by two different sets
of facts:
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
that digestion takes place
in the animal organs.
Just
as he attributes mechanical
and organic
effects to matter,
so
he credits
matter
in certain circumstances
with the capacity
to think.
He overlooks that,
in doing so,
he is merely shifting the problem
from one place
to another.
He ascribes
the power
of thinking
to matter instead
of
to himself.
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
just
to exist?
The materialist
has turned
his attention
away from the definite subject,
his own I,
and has arrived
at an image
of something
quite vague and indefinite.
Here the old riddle
meets him again.
The materialistic conception
cannot solve
the problem;
it can only shift it
from one place
to another.
[6] What
of the spiritualistic theory?
The genuine spiritualist
denies
to matter all
independent existence
and regards it merely
as a product
of spirit.
But
when
he tries to use
this theory
to solve
the riddle
of his own human nature,
he finds himself
driven
into a corner.
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.
Only with the help
of material
processes
can
it be perceived
and experienced
by the "I".
Such material
processes
the "I"
does not discover
in itself so long
as it regards
its own nature
as exclusively spiritual.
In what
it achieves spiritually
by its own effort,
the sense-perceptible 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.
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Similarly,
when
it comes
to action,
we have
to translate
our purposes
into realities
with the help
of material things
and forces.
We are,
therefore,
referred
back
to the outer world.
The most extreme spiritualist
-- or rather,
the thinker
who
through his absolute idealism
appears
as extreme spiritualist --
is
Johann Gottlieb Fichte.
He attempts
to derive
the whole edifice
of the world
from the "I".
What
he has actually accomplished
is a magnificent thought-picture
of the world,
without any content
of experience.
As little
as it
is possible
for the materialist
to argue the spirit away,
just
as little is it possible
for the spiritualist
to argue away
the outer world
of matter.
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[7] When man
reflects
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 world-conception
that inclines
towards spiritualism
may feel tempted,
in looking
at 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-outlook
in the circle
of activity
of the Ego,
as if bewitched.
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[8] A curious variant
of idealism
is to be found
in the view
which Friedrich Albert 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 thinking,
to be
the product
of purely
material processes,
but,
conversely,
matter and
its processes
are for him
themselves the product
of our thinking.
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"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."
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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 story,
in philosophical terms,
of the intrepid Baron Münchhausen,
who holds himself
up
in the air
by his own pigtail.
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[9] The third form of monism
is the one which finds
even in
the simplest entity (the atom)
both matter
and spirit already united.
But nothing
is gained by this either,
except
that the question,
which
really originates
in our consciousness,
is shifted
to another place.
How comes
it that the simple entity
manifests itself
in a two-fold manner,
if it
is
an indivisible unity?
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[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:
"Men are all
in her and
she in all."
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[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.
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[12] We must find
the way back
to her again.
A simple reflection
can point
this way out
to us.
We have,
it is true,
torn ourselves away
from Nature,
but
we must none
the less
have taken
something
of her
with us
into our own being.
This element
of Nature in us
we must seek out,
and
then
we shall find
the connection
with her once more.
Dualism
fails to do this.
It considers
human inwardness
as a spiritual entity
utterly alien
to Nature,
and
then attempts somehow
to hitch
it on
to Nature.
No wonder
that it
cannot find the connecting link.
We can find Nature
outside us
only
if we
have first learned
to know her within us.
What is akin
to her
within us
must be
our guide.
This marks
out our path
of enquiry.
We shall attempt
no speculations
concerning the interaction
of Nature and spirit.
Rather shall
we probe
into the depths
of our own being,
to find there
those elements
which
we saved
in our flight
from Nature.
[13] Investigation
of our own
being
must give us
the answer
to the riddle.
We must reach
a point
where
we can say to ourselves,
"Here
we are
no longer merely
'I',
here is something
which is more than 'I'."
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[14] I am well aware
that many
who have read thus far
will not find my discussion
"scientific",
as this term
is used today.
To this
I can only reply that
I have so far been concerned not
with scientific
results
of any kind,
but
with the simple description
of what
every one
of us
experiences
in his own consciousness.
The inclusion
of a few phrases
about attempts
to reconcile
man's consciousness
and the world
serves solely
to elucidate
the actual facts.
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I have therefore made
no attempt
to use
the various expressions
"I",
"Spirit",
"World",
"Nature",
in the precise way
that is usual
in psychology
and philosophy.
The ordinary consciousness
is unaware
of the sharp distinctions
made
by the sciences,
and my purpose
so far 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. |
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