The further determination of the Absolute

Preface

It would be difficult for any one to be more conscious than I am of the extreme crudeness of this paper, and of its absolute inadequacy to its subject. My excuse must be that I knew the conclusions at which it arrived were held by scholars whose right to pronounce on such points was different indeed to my own. It seemed that, if my arguments could not justify my conclusions, my conclusions might excuse my arguments. And I hoped that an attempt to explain my position to a few of my teachers and fellowstudents might produce criticisms or refutations which should be profitable either in improving or preventing any further work on my part.

I fear that, in my uncertainty as to whether I meant to write for people who were interested in my reasoning or people who sympathised with my conclusions, I have failed in both attempts, and that I have been at once too technical and too personal. It is not easy, in the borderlands of metaphysics, to avoid both these errors at once, and I can only hope that between the two something may be found which some one may care to read.

If any one thinks I have been talking about things which should not be spoken, or at any rate be written about, it may interest him to know that I am very much inclined to agree with him.

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The progress of an idealistic philosophy may, from some points of view, be divided into three stages. The problem of the first is to prove that reality is not exclusively matter. The problem of the second is to prove that reality is exclusively spirit. The problem of the third is to determine what is the fundamental nature of spirit.

The importance of the second of these stages is very great. The universe stands transfigured before our eyes. We have gained a solution of our difficulties — still abstract, indeed, but all-extensive. Because the fundamental nature of ourselves and of the universe is the same, we are enabled to say that the universe and ourselves are implicitly in harmony — a harmony which must some day become explicit. The world can present' no problem which we cannot some day solve ; it is therefore rational. And our nature can make no demand, can set no aim before itself which will not be seen some day to be realised in the world, which is therefore righteous. The harmony in question holds good, no doubt, not of the irrational and unrighteous self of the present, but of the rational aud righteous self of the future. But we know that whatever turns out to be the fundamental fact of our nature will have complete realization and satisfaction, and this fundamental fact of our^nature is not only superior to all other aspects of us, but is the only reality, of which they are merely phases and misconceptions. And we know, therefore, that not a thought, not a desire, can affect us, however apparently false and trivial, which will not be found to be realised in its truth by the ultimate reality of things. All that we know, all that we want, must be found in that reality, and will not be found the less, because much more than we can at present perceive or desire will be found there too.

But this result, though comprehensive, is still abstract, and is therefore defective even from a theoretical point of view. It does not enable us to see the ultimate nature of the universe, and to perceive that it is rational and righteous.

We only know in an abstract way that it must be rational and righteous, because it fulfils the formal condition of rationality and righteousness — harmony between the nature of the universal and the nature of the individual. Such a skeleton is clearly by no means complete knowledge. And it is therefore, to some extent, incorrect and inadequate knowledge ; for it is knowledge of an abstraction only, while the truth, as always, is concrete. The content of the universe has not been produced by, or in accordance with, a self-subsistent law. It is the individual content of the universe which is concrete and self-subsistent, -and the law is an abstraction of one side of it, with which we cannot be contented. From a theoretical point of view, then, the assertion of the supremacy of spirit is comparatively empty unless we can determine the fundamental nature of spirit.

The practical importance of this determination is not less. As a guide to life, the knowledge of the absolutely desirable end is, no doubt, not without drawbacks. Christ's remark " Be ye perfect, even as your father in heaven is perfect" reveals a fundamentally wrong principle. A certain degree of virtue, as of knowledge and happiness, is appropriate and possible for every stage of the process of spirit. By the aid of reflection we may perceive the existence of a stage much higher than that in w^hich we are. "But the knowledge that we shall some day reach it is not equivalent to the power of reaching it at once. We are entitled to as much perfection as we are fit for, and it is useless to demand more. An attempt to live up to the Summum Bonum, without regard to present circumstances, will be not only useless, but, in all probability, actually injurious. The true course of our development at present is mostly by thesis and antithesis, and an attempt to become virtuous as the crow flies will only lead us into some cul dc sac from which we shall have to retrace our steps.

Nevertheless, the knowledge of the goal to which we are going may occasionally, if used with discretion, be a help in directing our course. It will be something if we can find out what parts of our experience are valid per se^ and can be pursued for their own sake, and what are merely subsidiary. For however long it may take us to reach the Absolute, it is sometimes curiously near us in isolated episodes of life, and our attitude towards certain phases of consciousness, if not our positive actions, may be materially affected by the consideration of the greater or less adequacy with which those phases embody reality.

In close connection with the attitude which we take up towards any experience is the emotional - significance which it bears for us. And the success of a more complete determination of the nature of spirit would not be unimportant with regard to its effect on our happiness. The position from which we start has indeed already attained to what may be called the religious standpoint. It assures us of an ultimate solution which shall only differ from our present highest ideals and aspirations by far surpassing them. From a negative point of view, this is complete, and it is far from unsatisfactory as a positive theory. But it is clear that, if so much knowledge is consoling and inspiriting, more knowledge would be better. It is good to know that reality is better than our expectations. It would be still better to be able at once to expect the full good that is coming. If the truth is so good, our hopes must become more desirable in proportion as they become more defined.

And, if we descend to more particular considerations, we shall find that in other w^ays more complete knowledge might conduce to our greater happiness. For there are parts of our lives which, even as we live them, seem incomplete and merely transitory, as having no value unless they lead on to something better. And there are parts of our lives which seem so fundamental, so absolutely desirable in themselves, that we could not anticipate without pain their absorption into some higher perfection, as yet unknown to us, and demand that they shall undergo no further change, except an increase in purity and intensity. Now we might be able to show of the first of these groups of experiences that they are, in fact, mere passing phases, with meaning only in so far as they lead up to and are absorbed in something higher. And we might even be able to show of the second that they are actually fundamental, lacking so far in breadth and depth, but in their explicit nature already revealing the explicit reality. If we can do this, and can justify the vague longings for change on the one hand, and for permanence on the other, which have so much effect on our Hves, the gain to happiness Avhich will result will not be inconsiderable.

Let us now endeavour to consider what data we have for our enquiry. Hegel (Encyclopaedia. Section 236) defines the Absolute Idea, which is the content of Spirit, as "der BegrifF der Idee, dem die Idee als solche der Gegenstand, dem das Objekt sie ist." If we translate this into terms more appHcable to our present purpose, we shall find, I think, that it means that Spirit is ultimately made up of various finite individuals, each of which finds his character and individuality by relating himself to the rest, and by perceiving that they are of the same nature as himself. In this way the Idea in each individual has as its object the Idea in other individuals.

To justify this conception of the nature of Spirit would be a task beyond the limits of this paper. Indeed it could only be done by going over the whole course of Hegel's Logic. But it may not be impossible to indicate briefly some reasons why it should recommend itself to us.

In the first place it is quite clear that Spirit cannot be an undifferentiated unity. It must have some character, or it would be reduced to the state of mere Being, which is the same as Nothing. And character implies relations. Now ultimate reality cannot, of course, have any relations with things external to itself, since no such things exist. Ultimate reality must, therefore, be taken as a whole which is differentiated into an organism of parts, which by their relations to one another constitute its character.

And these parts again must, each for itself, partake of the essential nature of Spirit. For although Spirit is only realised in them in so far as they are united, it is nevertheless realised in each part, and not merely in the union. That the Idea has itself as a "Gegenstand" and an "Objekt" indicates that the Idea is manifested in numerically distinguishable centres. Besides this, we have seen that reality must be regarded as differentiated, and if the Idea is not present in each differentiated part, then the relative independence of the parts must be considered ^s something alien to the Idea. And if anything did remain ahen to it, the Idea could not yet be called Absolute. Each part of Spirit must therefore itself be spirit, and expresses (at present, of course, only implicitly) its full nature. And Spirit is thus made up of spirits — to use a common expression— each a part of the whole, but each at the same time a perfect individual, because it expresses the whole nature of Spirit. In other words the Absolute realises itself in a community of individuals like ourselves — in what has been termed the Civitas Dei.

We may arrive at this conclusion from another point of view, if we consider that the course of development is always from a whole which has no diflferentiated parts, and therefore no real unity, to one which is a real unity of differentiated parts. Here again, for a detailed proof, a reference to Hegel would be necessary, but the fact is one which can be easily observed. The lowest abstractions in Nature are Space and Time, the parts of which are, in themselves, absolutely indistinguishable, and have not the slightest independent existence. And unity is as much lacking to Space and Time as individuality. Any part of either can be separated from any whole of which it may be a part without the slightest alteration in its nature. We find here at once infinite divisibility, and an entire absence of objective divisions. Advancing to the subject matter of physics we find that parts have now slightly differentiated themselves from one another, and, at the same time that the wholes have gained some slight degree of unity. In chemistry both the individuality of the parts and the coherence of the wholes have again increased. And in any case which falls under the category of organic life we find that the parts lose all meaning on being separated from the w'hole, just because they are so highly differentiated into a scheme which finds its unity in that whole. When we arrive at the Absolute, the unity has become perfect, and so must the differentiation. That which is most completely differentiated is the individual, and we again reach the conclusion that the absolute must consist of individuals bound together by a unity closer than any which wq know at present, who are, for that very reason, more completely individuals than we can at present imagine.

Or once more. It is certain that finite spirits exist at present. If they ceased to exist as such in the Absolute, they must either have gone out altogether, or be merged in something else. The first alternative is scarcely possible, since Spirit is the fundamental reality of the universe, for it is difficult to see what cause could be contained in the universe which would be adequate to the destruction of even a part of absolute reality. The only destruction we know is that of forms and combinations, and we have no reason to believe, I doubt if we can even conceive, that the content of a form is ever destroyed. Moreover, if spirit could cease to be, its existence would be in time. It is, however, a consequence of an idealism based on the Dialectic, that time is not an adequate expression of ultimate reality, and if spirit is ultimate reality it cannot be conceived as merely in time.

The suggestion, on the other hand, that finite spirits may possibly be merged in the infinite without actual destruction, involves a fallacy. It implies that in Spirit, as in the material world, there is a substance or matter which is indifferent to the form it takes, and which can go from one form to another.

Without tracking this error to its roots it must suffice us to observe here that such a view inevitably involves the application of the conception of quantity to Spirit. The Absolute must be considered as in some way affected by the absorption of the finite spirits into itself. If it were not there could be no valid distinction between absorption and the absolute destruction already considered. And, ex hypothesis it is not affected by their form, for the form is supposed to disappear. Either the form is conceived as destroyed altogether, or as passing into the higher form characteristic of the Absolute. In either case the form of the Absolute is left unaffected.

We can only conceive it then as affected by the magnitude of the finite spirits which it absorbs. But to speak of an individual as containing a certain quantity of Spirit, as a bottle does of whiskey, is a glaring misapplication of a quite inadequate category. We are thus forced to the conclusion that finite spirits can no more be merged than they can be annihilated, that, since they unquestionably exist at present, they must be taken as existing in the Absolute.

T have endeavoured to summarily recapitulate the grounds which make it probable that the Absolute is composed of individuals closely connected with one another, although all actual proof must depend on a detailed study of the dialectic. We must now enquire in what manner those individuals will be able to express, at once and completely, their own individuality and the unity of the Absolute.

Human consciousness presents three aspects. On the one hand we have knowledge. Here we endeavour to effect our unity with that which is outside us, by constructing in our own minds a faithful representation of the outside reality. On the other hand in volition we postulate something as demanded by our own nature, and endeavour to produce a harmony between ourselves and our enviroment by discovering or producing an agreement between our demands and the facts. Besides these, there is feeling. In so far as we perceive ourielves to be out of harmony with our surroundings, we feel pain, in so far as we feel ourselves in harmony with them, we feel pleasure. Feeling accompanies every mental state. Even if pleasure and pain be exactly balanced, there is an equilibrium, but not an absence of feeling.

We may observe that knowledge and volition are correlative methods of endeavouring to obtain that unity between individuals which is the perfection of spirit, while feeling is not so much a struggle towards the goal as the result of the process, so far as it has gone. Through knowledge and volition we gain harmony, and, according as we have gained it more or less completely, our feeling is pleasurable or painful. The absence of any independent movement of feeling renders it unnecessary, for the present, to consider it separately.

I shall first enquire what general aspect would be presented by spirit, if we suppose knowledge and volition to have become as perfect as possible. It will then be lO

necessary to ask whether knowledge and volition are permanent and ultimate forms of the activity of spirit. I shall endeavour to show that they are not, that they both postulate, to redeem them from paradox and impossibility, an ideal which they can never reach, and that their real truth and meaning is found only when they imply and lead on to a state of the mind in Avhich they themselves, together with feeling, are swallowed up and transcended in a more concrete unity. I believe that this unity will be found to be essentially the same as that mertal state which, in the answer to our first question, we shall find to be the practically interesting aspect of knowledge and volition in their highest perfection as such. This state will thus have been shown to be, not only the result which the process of the universe tends to produce as its final outcome, but also to be the only truth and reality of spirit, of which all other spiritual activities are only distortions and abstractions, and into which they are all absorbed. It will not only be the highest truth, but the only truth. We shall have found in it the complete determination of Spirit, and therefore of reality.

Let us turn to the first of these questions, and consider what would be the result in our attitude towards the universe, when both knowledge and volition had reached perfection. To answer this we must first determine in rather more detail what would be the nature of perfect knowledge and volition.

In the first place we must eliminate knowledge as the occupation of the student. The activity and the pleasure which lie in the search after knowledge can form no part of the Absolute. For all such activity implies that some knowledge has not yet been gained, and that the ideal, therefore, has not yet been reached. The ideal must be one, not of learning, but of knowing.

And the knowledge itself must be enormously changed in its nature.. At present much of our knowledge directly relates to matter ; all of it is conditioned and meditated by matter. But if the only absolute reality is Spirit, then, when knowledge is perfect, we must see nothing but Spirit everywhere. We must have seen through matter till it

II

disappears. How far this could be done merely by greater knowledge on our parts, and how far it would be necessary for the objects themselves, which we at present conceive as matter, to first develop explicitly qualities now merely implicit, is another question, but it is clear that it would have to be done, one way or another, before knowledge could be said to be perfect.

Nor is this all. Not only must all matter, but all contingency, be eliminated. At present we conceive of various spirits, — and even of Spirit in general — as having qualities for which we can no more find a rational explanation than we can for the primary qualities of matter, or for its original distribution in space. But this must disappear in perfected knowledge. For knowledge demands an explanation of everything, and if, at the last, we have to base our explanation on something left unexplained, we leave our system incomplete and defective.

Since knowledge essentially consists of argument from data, it would seem that such perfection could never be attained, since each argument which explained anything must rest upon an unexplained foundation, and so on ad infijiitiim. And it is true that we can never reach a point where the question " Why ? " can no longer be asked. But we can reach a point where it becomes unmeaning, and at this point knowledge reaches the highest perfection of which, as knowledge, it is susceptible.

The ideal which we should then have reached would be one in which we realised the entire universe as an assembly of spirits, and recognised that the qualities and characteristics which gave to each of these spirits its individuality, did not lie in any contingent or non-rational peculiarity in the individual himself, but were simply determined by his relations to all other individuals. These relations between individuals, again, we should not conceive as contingent or accidental, so that the persons connected formed a mere miscellaneous crowd. We should rather conceive them as united by a pattern or design, resembling that of a picture or of a living organism, so that every part of it was determined by every other part, in such a manner that from any one all the others could, with sufficient insight, be deduced, and that no change could be made in any without affecting all. This complete innerdependence is only approximately realised in the unity which is found in aesthetic or organic wholes, but in the Absolute the realisation would be perfect. As the whole nature of every spirit would consist exclusively in the expression of the relations of the Absolute, while those relations would form an organic whole, in which each part, and the whole itself, would be determined by each part, it follows that any fact in the universe could be deduced from any other fact, or from the nature of the universe as a whole.

If knowledge reached this point, the only question which could remain unanswered would be the question, "Why is the universe as a whole what it is, and not something else?" And this question could not be answered. We must not, however, conclude from this the existence of any want of rationality in the universe, for the truth is that the question ought never to have been asked. For it is the application of a category, which has only meaning within the universe, to the universe as a whole. Of any part we are entitled and bound to ask " why," for, by the very fact that it is a part, it cannot be self-subsistent, and must depend on other things. But when we come to an all-embracing totality, then, with the possibility of finding a cause, there disappears also the necessity of finding one. Self-subsistence is not in itself a contradictory or impossible idea. It is contradictory if applied to anything in the universe, for whatever is in the universe must be in connection with other things. But this can of course be no reason for suspecting a fallacy when we find ourselves obliged to use the idea of that which has nothing outside it with which it could stand in connection.

To put the matter in another light, we must consider that the necessity of finding causes and reasons for phenomena depends on the necessity of showing why they have assumed the particular form which actually exists. The inquiry is thus due to the possibility of things happening otherwise than they did, which possibility, to gain certain knowledge, must be excluded by assigning definite causes for one event rather than the others. Now we can imagine the possibility of any one thing in the universe being different from what it actually is. But there is no meaning in the supposition that the whole universe could be different from what it is. On this subject we may refer to Mr. F. H. Bradley, who has demonstrated (Logic, Book I., Chap. VII.) that a possibility is meaningless unless it has some element in common with what actually exists. If, however, the actual universe was shown to be a completely interdependent organism, then nothing could be different from it in part without being entirely different from it, for the existence of one feature of such an organism would involve all the rest. And the possibility that the universe might have been entirely different from what it now is, would leave no feature common to it with actual existence, and would be therefore unmeaning. If the possibility of variation is unmeaning, there can be no need to assign a determining cause.

We can thus reject any fear that the necessity which exists for all knowledge to rest at last on the immediate shows any imperfection Avhich might prove a permanent bar to the development of Spirit. For we have seen that the impulse Avhich causes us even here to demand fresh mediation is unjustified and even meaningless. But we shall have to consider in the second part of this essay whether the possibility of even making the unjustified demand does not indicate that for complete harmony we must go on to something which embraces and transcends knowledge.

Let us now pass on to the ideal of volition. We can in the first place exclude, as incompatible with such an ideal, all volition which leads to action. For action involves that you have not something which you want, or that you will be deprived of it if you do not fight for it, and both these ideas are fatal to the fundamental and complete harmony between desire and environment which is necessary to the perfect development of Spirit.

Nor can virtue have a place in our ideal, even in the form of aspiration, whatever Mr. Green may say to the contrar}'. Like all other vices, however dear, it will have to be left outside the door of heaven. For virtue implies a choice, and choice implies either uncertainty or conflict. In the completed ideal neither of these could exist. We should desire our truest and deepest well-being with absolute necessity, since there would be nothing to deceive and tempt us away. And we should find the whole universe conspiring with us to help us onward. Under these circumstances there would be no more virtue in obeying the law, for example, of courage, than in obeying the law of gravitation. The use of the word law in both cases would no longer be misleading, for all difference between precepts and truths would have ceased, when the righteous was ipso facto the real.

The ideal of volition is rather the experience of perfect harmony between ourselves and our environment which excludes alike action and choice. This involves, in the first place, that we should have come to a clear idea as to what the fundamental demands and aspirations of our nature are. Till we have done this we cannot expect harmony. All other desires will be in themselves inharmonious, for, driven on by the inevitable dialectic, they will show themselves imperfect, transitory, or defective, when experienced for a sufficiently long time, or in a sufficiently intense degree. And, besides this, the very fact that the universe is fundamentally of the nature of Spirit, and therefore must be in harmony with us when we have fully realised our own natures, proves that it cannot be in the long run in harmony with us so long as our natures remain imperfect. For such a harmony with the imperfect would be an imperfection, out of which it would be forced by its own dialectic.

And this harmony must extend through the entire universe. If everything (or rather everybody) in the universe is not in harmony with us our ends cannot be completely realised. For the whole universe is connected together, and every part of it must have an effect, however infinitesimal, upon every other part. Our demands must be reconciled with and realised by every other individual.

And again we cannot completely attain our own ends unless everyone else has attained his own also. For, as was mentioned in the last paragraph, we cannot attain our own ends except by becoming in perfect harmony with the entire universe. And this we can only do in so far as both we and it have become completely rational, it follows that for the attainment of our ends it would be necessary for the entire universe to have explicitly developed the rationality which is its fundamental nature. And by this self-development every other individual, as well as ourselves, would have attained to the perfection of volition. Moreover, looking at the matter from a less formal point of view, we may observe that some degree of sympathy seems inherent to our nature, so that our pleasure in some one else's pain, though often intense, is never quite unmixed. And on this ground also our complete satisfaction must involve that of all other people.

We have now determined, as well as we can the nature of perfected knowledge and volition, as far as the formal conditions of perfection will allow us to go. What is the concrete and material content of such a life as this? What does it come to? I believe it means one thing, and one thing only — love. When I have explained that I do not mean benevolence, even in its most impassioned form, not even the feeling of St. Francis, I shall have cut off the one probable explanation of my meaning. V, hen I add that I do not mean the love of Truth, or Virtue, or Beauty, or any other word that can be found in the dictionary, I shall have made confusion worse confounded. When I continue by saying that I mean passionate, all-absorbing, all-consuming love, I shall have become scandalous. And when I wind up by saying that I do not mean sexual desire, I shall be condemned as hopelessly morbid — the sin against the Holy Ghost of Ascalon.