But we need not dwell in the meantime on these and the many other difficulties and riddles presented by our cosmological hypothesis. However these may be solved, a general consideration will remain-namely, that whether the world is governed by law or not, whether it is sufficient unto itself or not, there _is_ a world full of the most diverse phenomena, and there _are_ laws. Whence then have both these come? Is it a matter of course, is it quite obvious that they should exist at all, and that they should be exactly as they are? We do not here appeal without further ceremony to the saying "everything must have a cause, therefore the world also." It is not absolutely correct. For instance, if the world were so const.i.tuted that it would be impossible for it not to exist, that the necessity for its existence and the inconceivability of its non-existence were at once explicit and obvious, then there would be no sense in inquiring after a cause. In regard to a "necessary" thing, if there were any such, we cannot ask, "Why, and from what cause does this exist?" If it was necessary, that implies that to think of it as not existing would be ridiculous, and logically or metaphysically impossible. Unfortunately there are no "necessary" things, so that we cannot ill.u.s.trate the case by examples. But there are at least necessary truths as distinguished from contingent truths. And thus some light may be brought into the matter for the inexpert. For instance, a necessary truth is contained in the sentence, "Everything is equal to itself," or, "The shortest distance between two points is a straight line." We cannot even conceive of the contrary. Therefore these axioms have no reasons, and can neither be deduced nor proved. Every question as to their reasons is quite meaningless. As examples of a "contingent" truth we may take "It rains to-day," or "The earth revolves round the sun." For neither one nor the other of these is necessarily so. It is so as a matter of fact, but under other circ.u.mstances it might have been otherwise. The contrary can be conceived of and represented, and has in itself an equal degree of possibility. Therefore such a fact requires to be and is capable of being reasoned out. I can and must ask, "How does it happen that it rains to-day? What are the reasons for it?" But as we must seek for sufficient reasons for "contingent" truths, that is, for those of which the contrary was equally possible, so a.s.suredly we must seek for sufficient causes for "contingent" phenomena and events, those which can be thought of as not existing, or as existing in a different form. For these we must find causes and actual reasons. Otherwise they have no foundation. The element of "contingency" must be done away with; they must be shown to result from sufficient causes. That is to say nothing less than that they must be traced back to some necessity. For it is one of the curious fundamental convictions of our reason, and one in which all scientific investigation has its ultimate roots, that what is "contingent" is only apparently so, and in reality is in some way or other based on necessity. Therefore reason seeks causes for everything.
The search for causes involves showing that a thing was necessary. And this must obviously apply to the world as a whole. If it were quite obvious that the world and its existence as it is were necessary, that is, that it would be contrary to reason to think of the world, and its phenomena, and their obedience to law as non-existent, or as different from what they are, all inquiry would be at an end. This would be _the_ ultimate necessity in which all the apparent contingency of isolated phenomena and existences was firmly based. But this is far from being the case. That anything exists, and that the world exists, is for us absolutely the greatest "contingency" of all, and in regard to it we can and must continually ask, "Why does anything exist at all, and why should it not rather be non-existent?" Indeed, all our quest for sufficient causes here reaches its climax. In more detail: that these celestial systems and bodies, the ether, attraction and gravitation should exist, and that everything should be governed by definite laws, all literally "as if shot from a pistol," there must undoubtedly be some sufficient reason, certain as it is that we shall never discover it. It is true, as some one has said, that we live not only in a very fortuitous world, but in an incredibly improbable one. And this is not affected by the fact that the world is completely governed by law. Law only confirms it. The fact that all details may be clearly and mathematically calculated in no way prevents them from being fundamentally contingent. For they are only so calculable on the basis of the given fundamental characters of the world.
And that is precisely the problem: "Why do these characters exist and not quite different ones, and why should any exist at all?"
If any one should say: "Well, we must just content ourselves with recognising the essentially "contingent" nature of existence, for we shall never be able to get beyond that," he would be right in regard to the second statement. To get beyond that and to see what it is-eternal and in itself necessary-that lies at the basis of this world of "contingency" is indeed impossible. But he would be wrong as to the first part of the a.s.sertion. For no one _will_ "content himself." For that all chance is only apparently chance, and is ultimately based in necessity, is a deeply-rooted and fundamental conviction of our reason, one which directs all scientific investigation, and which cannot be ignored. It demands ceaselessly something necessary as the permanent basis of contingent existence. And this fact is and remains the truth involved in the "cosmological proofs of the existence of G.o.d" of former days. It was certainly erroneous to suppose that "G.o.d" could be proved. For it is a long way from that "idea of necessity" to religious experience of G.o.d. And it was erroneous, too, to suppose that anything could be really "proved."
What is necessary can never really be proved from what is contingent. But the recognition of the contingent nature of the world is a stimulus that stirs up within our reason the idea of the necessary, and it is a fact that reason finds rest only in this idea.
The Real World.
(4.) What was stated separately in our first and second propositions, and has. .h.i.therto been discussed, now unites and culminates in the fourth. For if we note the vital expressions of religion wherever it occurs, we find above all one thing as its most characteristic sign, indeed as its very essence, in all places and all times, often only as a scarce uttered wish or longing, but often breaking forth with impetuous might. This one thing is the impulse and desire to get beyond time and s.p.a.ce, and beyond the oppressive narrowness and crampingness of the world surrounding us, the desire to see into the depth and "other side" of things and of existence.
For it is the very essence of religion to distinguish this world from, and contrast it as insufficient with the real world which is sufficient, to regard this world which we see and know and possess as only an image, as only transiently real, in contrast with the real world of true being which is believed in. Religion has clothed this essential feature in a hundred mythologies and eschatologies, and one has always given place to another, the more sublimed to the more robust. But the fundamental feature itself cannot disappear.
In apologetics and dogmatics the interest in this matter is often concentrated more or less exclusively upon the question of "immortality."
Wrongly so, however, for this quest after the real world is not a final chapter in religion, it is religion itself. And in the religious sense the question of immortality is only justifiable and significant when it is a part of the general religious conviction that this world is not the truly essential world, and that the true nature of things, and of our own being, is deeper than we can comprehend, and lies beyond this side of things, beyond time and s.p.a.ce. To the religious mind it cannot be of great importance whether existence is to be continued for a little at least beyond this life. In what way would such a wish be religious? But the inward conviction that "all that is transitory is only a parable," that all here is only a veil and a curtain, and the desire to get beyond semblance to truth, beyond insufficiency to sufficiency, concentrate themselves especially in the a.s.sertion of the eternity of our true being.
It is with this characteristic of religion that the spirit and method of naturalism contrast so sharply. Naturalism points out with special satisfaction that this depth of things, this home of the soul is nowhere discoverable. The great discoveries of Copernicus, Kepler, and Newton have done away with the possibility of that. No empyrean, no corner of the world remains available. Even the attempted flight to sun, moon, or stars does not help. It is true that the newly discovered world is without end, but, beyond a doubt, in its outermost and innermost depths it is a world of s.p.a.ce and time. Even in the stellar abysses "everything is just the same as with us."
All this is doubtless correct, and it is very wholesome for religion. For it prompts religion no longer to seek its treasure, the true nature of things, and its everlasting home in time and s.p.a.ce, as the mythologies and eschatologies have sought them repeatedly. It throws religion back on the fundamental insight and on the convictions which it had attained long before philosophy and criticism of knowledge had arrived at similar views: namely, that time and s.p.a.ce, and this world of time and s.p.a.ce, do not comprise the whole of existence, nor existence as it really is, but are only a manifestation of it to our finite and limited knowledge. Before the days of modern astronomy, and without its help, religion knew that G.o.d was not confined to "heaven," or anywhere in s.p.a.ce, and that time as it is for us was not for Him. Even in the terms "eternity" and "infinity" it shows an antic.i.p.atory knowledge of a being and reality above time and s.p.a.ce.
These ideas were not gained from a contemplation of nature, but before it and from independent sources.
But though it is by no means the task of apologetics to build up these ideas directly from a study of things, it is of no little importance to inquire whether religion possesses in these convictions only postulates of faith, for which it must laboriously and forcibly make a place in the face of knowledge, or whether a thorough and self-critical knowledge does not rather confirm them, and show us, within the world of knowledge itself, unmistakable signs that it cannot be the true, full reality, but points to something beyond itself.
To study this question thoroughly would involve setting forth a special theory of knowledge and existence. This cannot be attempted here. But Kant"s great doctrine of the "Antinomy of Reason" has for all time broken up for us the narrowness of the naturalistic way of thinking. Every one who has felt cramped by the narrow limits in which reality was confined by a purely mundane outlook must have experienced the liberating influence of the Kantian Antinomy if he has thought over it carefully. The thick curtain which separates being from appearance seems to be torn away, or at any rate to reveal itself as a curtain. Kant shows that, if we were to take this world as it lies before us for the true reality, we should land in inextricable contradictions. These contradictions show that the true world itself cannot coincide with our thought and comprehension, for in being itself there can be no contradictions. Otherwise it would not exist.
The ancient problems of philosophy, from the time of the Eleatic school onwards, find here their adequate formulation. Kant"s disciple, Fries, has carried the matter further, and has attempted to develop what for Kant still remained a sort of embarra.s.sment of reason to more precise p.r.o.nouncements as to the relation of true being to its manifestation,
The Antimony of Our Conception of Time.
A few examples may serve to make the point clear. The first of the antinomies is also the most impressive. It brings before us the insufficiency of our conceptions of time, and shows the impossibility of transferring, from the world as it appears to us, to real Being any mode of conceiving time which we possess. The difficulty is, whether we are to think of our world as having had a beginning or not. The nave outlook will at once a.s.sume without further ado a beginning of all things.
Everything must have had a beginning, though that may have been a very long time ago. But on more careful reflection it is found impossible to imagine this, and then the a.s.sumption that things had no beginning is made with as little scruple. Let us suppose that the beginning of things was six thousand, or, what is quite as easy, six thousand billion years ago.
We are at once led to ask what there was the year before or many years before, and what there was before that again, and so on until we face the infinite and beginningless. Thus we find that we have never really thought of a beginning of things, and never could think of it, but that our thinking always carries us into the infinite. Time, at any rate, we have thought of as infinite. We may then amuse ourselves by trying to conceive of endless time as empty, but we shall hardly be able to give any reason for arriving at that idea. If time goes back to infinity, it seems difficult to see why it should not always have been filled, instead of only being so filled from some arbitrary point. And in any case the very fact of the existence of time makes the problem of beginning or not beginning insoluble. For such reasons Aristotle a.s.serted that the world had no beginning, and rejected the contrary idea as childish.
But the idea of no beginning is also childish or rather impossible, and in reality inconceivable. For if it be a.s.sumed that the world and time have never had a beginning, there stretches back from the time at which I now find myself a past eternity. It must have pa.s.sed completely as a whole, for otherwise this particular point in time could never have been arrived at. So that I must think of an infinity which nevertheless comes to an end. I cannot do this. It would be like wooden iron.
The matter sounds simple but is nevertheless difficult in its consequences. It confronts us at once with the fact, confirmed by the theory of knowledge, that time as we know it is an absolutely necessary and fundamental form of our conceptions and knowledge, but is likewise the veil over what is concealed, and cannot be carried over in the same form into the true nature of things. As the limits and contradictions in the time-conception reveal themselves to us, there wakes in us the idea which we accept as the a.n.a.logue of time in true being, an idea of existence under the form of "eternity," which, since we are tied down to temporal concepts, cannot be expressed or even thought of with any content.(2)
The Antimony of the Conditioned and the Unconditioned.
The antinomy of the conditioned and the unconditioned leads us along similar lines. Every individual finite thing or event is dependent on its causes and conditions, which precede it or co-exist in inter-relation with it. It is conditioned, and is only possible through its conditions. But that implies that it can only occur or be granted when all its conditions are first given in complete synthesis. If any one of them failed, it would not have come about. But every one of its conditioning circ.u.mstances is in its turn conditioned by innumerable others, and every one of these again by others, and so on into the infinite, backwards and on all sides, so that here again something without end and incapable of end must have come to an end, and must be thought of as having an end, before any event whatever can really come to pa.s.s. But this again is a sheer impossibility for our thinking: we require and must demand something completed, because now is really now, and something happens now, and yet in the world as it appears to us we are always forced to face what cannot have an end.
The Antimony of Our Conception of s.p.a.ce.
To bring our examples to a conclusion, we find the same sort of antinomy in regard to s.p.a.ce, and the world as it is extended in s.p.a.ce. Here, too, it becomes apparent that s.p.a.ce as we imagine it, and as we carry it with us as a concept for arranging our sense-impressions, cannot correspond to the true reality. As in regard to time, so also in regard to s.p.a.ce, we can never after any distance however enormous come to a halt and say, "Here is the end of s.p.a.ce." Whether we think of the diameter of the earth"s...o...b..t or the distance to Sirius, and multiply them by a million we always ask, "What lies behind?" and so extend s.p.a.ce into the infinite. And as a matter of course we people it also without end with heavenly bodies, stars, nebulae, Milky Ways and the like. For here again there can be no obvious reason why s.p.a.ce in our neighbourhood should be filled, while s.p.a.ce at a greater distance should be thought of as empty. Therefore we actually think of star beyond star, and, as far as we can reckon, stars beyond that without end. For s.p.a.ce extends not merely so far, but always farther. And the number of the stars is not so many, but always one more. This sounds quite obvious, but it has exactly the same impossibility as we found in our "past infinity." For although we are carried by our conceptions into the infinite, and to what never could have an end, it is impossible to a.s.sume the same of reality.
It is remarkable and quite characteristic that the whole difficulty and its peculiar nature become much more intelligible to us through the familiar images and expressions of religion. There we readily admit that we cannot comprehend the number of the stars and stellar s.p.a.ces, because for us they never reach an end, there being always one more; but that in the eyes of G.o.d all is embraced in His universality, in a "perfect synthesis," and that to Him Being is never and in no point "always one more." G.o.d does not count.
Without the help of religious expressions we say: Being itself is always itself and never implies any more; for if there were "always one more" it would not be Being. It can only exist "as a perfect synthesis," which does not mean an endless number, which nevertheless somewhere comes to an end-again wooden iron-but something above all reckoning and beyond all number, as it is beyond s.p.a.ce and time. And that which we are able to weigh and measure and number is therefore not reality itself, but only its inadequate manifestation to our limited capacity for understanding.
But enough of this. The puzzles in the doctrines of the simple and the complex, of the causeless and the caused, into which this world of ours forces us, should teach us further to recognise it for what it is-insufficient and pointing beyond itself,-to its own transcendent depths. So, too, the problems that arise when we penetrate farther and farther into the ever more and more minute, and the indefiniteness of our thought-horizons in general should have the same effect.
Intuitions of Reality.
(5.) There are other evidences of this depth and hidden nature of things, towards which an examination of our knowledge points. For "in feeling and intuition appearance points beyond itself to real being." So ran our fifth proposition. This subject indeed is delicate, and can only be treated of in the hearing of willing ears. But all apologetic counts upon willing ears; it is not conversion of doubters that is aimed at, it is religion which seeks to rea.s.sure itself. Our proposition does not speak of dreams but of facts, which are not the less facts because they are more subtle than others. What we are speaking of are the deep impressions, which cannot properly be made commensurable at all, which may spring up directly out of an inward experience, an apprehension of nature, the world and history, in the depths of the spirit. They call forth in us an "anamnesis," a "reminiscence" in Plato"s sense, awakening within us moods and intuitions in which something of the essence and meaning of being is directly experienced, although it remains in the form of feeling, and cannot easily, if at all, find expression in definable ideas or clear statements. Fries, in his book, "Wissen, Glaube, und Ahnung," unhappily too much forgotten, takes account of this fact, for he places this region of spiritual experience beside the certainties of faith and knowledge, and regards these as "animated" by it. He has in mind especially the impressions of the beautiful and the sublime which far transcend our knowledge of nature, and to which knowledge and its concepts can never do adequate justice, facts though they undoubtedly are. In them we experience directly, in intuitive feeling, that the reality is greater than our power of understanding, and we feel something of its true nature and meaning.
The utterances of Schleiermacher(3) in regard to religion follow the same lines. For this is precisely what he means when he insists that the universe must be experienced in intuition and feeling as well as in knowing and doing. He is less incisive in his expressions than Fries, but wider in ideas. He includes in this domain of "intuitive feeling" not only the aesthetic experiences of the beautiful and sublime, but takes the much more general and comprehensive view, that the receptive mind may gather from the finite impressions of the infinite, and may through its experiences of time gain some conception of the eternal. And he rightly emphasises, that such intuition has its true place in the sphere of mind and in face of the events of history, rather than in the outer court of nature. He, too, lays stress on the fact that doctrinal statements and ideas cannot be formulated out of such subtle material.
The experience of which we are speaking may be most directly and impressively gained from the great, the powerful, the sublime in nature.
It may be gained from the contemplation of nature"s harmonies and beauties, but also of her overflowing abundance and her enigmatical daemonic strength, from the purposeful intelligibility as well as the terrifying and bewildering enigmas of nature"s operations, from all the manifold ways in which the mind is affected and startled, from all the suggestive but indefinable sensations which may be roused in us by the activity of nature, and which rise through a long scale to intoxicated self-forgetfulness and wordless ecstasy before her beauty, and her half-revealed, half-concealed mystery. If any or all of these be stirred up in a mind which is otherwise G.o.dless or undevout, it remains an indefinite, vacillating feeling, bringing with it nothing else. But in the religious mind it immediately unites with what is akin to it or of similar nature, and becomes worship. No dogmas or arguments for disputatious reasoning can be drawn from it. It can hardly even be expressed, except, perhaps, in music. And if it be expressed it tends easily to become fantastic or romantic pomposity, as is shown even by certain parts of the writings of Schleiermacher himself.
The Recognition of Purpose.
(6.) We must now turn to the question of "teleology." Only now, not because it is a subordinate matter, for it is in reality the main one, but because it is the culminating point, not the starting point, of our argument. If the world be from G.o.d and of G.o.d, it and all that it contains must be for some definite purpose and for special ends. It must be swayed by eternal ideas, and must be subject to divine providence and guidance.
But naturalism, and even, it appears, natural science, declares: Neither purposes nor ideas are of necessity to be a.s.sumed in nature. They do not occur either in the details or in the whole. The whole is an absolutely closed continuity of causes, a causal but blind machinery, in regard to which we cannot ask, What is meant to be produced by this? but only, What causes have produced what exists? This opposition goes deep and raises difficulties. And in all vindication or defence of religion it ought rightly to be kept in the foreground of attention, although the points we have already insisted on have been wrongly overlooked. The opposition concentrates itself to-day almost entirely around two theories of naturalism, which do not, indeed, set forth the whole case, but which are certainly typical examples, so that, if we a.n.a.lyse them, we shall have arrived at an orientation of the fundamental points at issue. The two doctrines are Darwinism and the mechanical theory of life, and it is to these that we must now turn our attention. And since the best elucidation and criticism of both theories is to be found in their own history, and in the present state of opinion within their own school, we shall have to combine our study of their fundamental principles with that of their history.
We can here set forth, however, only the chief point of view, the gist of the matter, which will continue to exist and hold good however the a.n.a.lysis of details may turn out. For the kernel of the question may be discussed independently, without involving the particular interests of zoology or biology, though we shall constantly come across particular and concrete cases of the main problem in our more detailed study.
The struggle against, and the aversion to ideas and purposes on the part of the nature-interpreters is not in itself directed against religion. It does not arise from any antagonism of natural science to the religious conception of the world, but is primarily an antagonism of one school of science to another, the modern against the mediaeval-Aristotelian. The latter, again, was not in itself a religious world-outlook, it was simply an attempt at an interpretation of the processes of nature, and especially of evolution, which might be quite neutral towards religion, or might be purely naturalistic. It was the theory of Entelechies and _formae substaniales_. In order to explain how a thing had come to be, it taught that the idea of the finished thing, the "form," was implicit in it from the very beginning, and determined the course of its development. This "form," the end aimed at in development, was "potentially," "ideally," or "virtually" implicit in the thing from the beginning, was the _causa finalis_, the ultimate cause which determined the development. Modern natural science objects to this theory that it offers no explanation, but merely gives a name to what has to be explained. The aim of science, it tells us, is to elucidate the play of causes which brought about a particular result. The hypothetical _causa finalis_ it regards as a mere _asylum ignorantiae_, and as the problem itself not as its solution. For instance, if we inquire into the present form and aspect of the earth, nothing is advanced by stating that the "form," the primitive model of the evolving earth was implicit in it from the beginning, and that it gradually determined the phases and transition-stages of its evolution, until the ultimate state, the end aimed at, was attained. The task of science is, through geology, geognosy, mineralogy, geodesy, physical geography, meteorology, and other sciences to discover the physical, chemical, and mechanical causes of the earth"s evolution and their laws, and from the co-operation of these to interpret everything in detail and as a whole.
Whether modern natural science is right in this or not, whether or not it has neglected an element of truth in the old theory of Entelechies which it cannot dispense with, especially in regard to living organisms, it is beyond dispute that, from the most general point of view, and in particular with reference to teleology, religion does not need to concern itself in the least about this opposition. "Purposes," "ideas," "guidance"
in the religious sense, are quite unaffected by the manner in which the result is realised; everything depends upon the special and particular value of what has been attained or realised. If a concatenation of causes and stages of development lead to results in which we suddenly discern a special and particular value, then, and not till then, have we a reason and criterion for our a.s.sumption that it is not simply a result of a play of chances, but that it has been brought about by purposeful thought, by higher intervention and guidance of things. Certainly not before then.
Thus we can only speak of purposes, aims, guidance, and creation in so far as we have within us the capacity for feeling and recognising the value, meaning and significance of things. But natural science itself cannot estimate these. It can or will only examine how everything has come about, but whether this result has a higher value than another, or has a lower, or none at all, it can neither a.s.sert nor deny. That lies quite outside of its province.
Let us try to make this clear by taking at once the highest example-man and his origin. Let it be a.s.sumed that natural science could discover all the causes and factors which, operating for many thousands of years, have produced man and human existence. Even if these causes and factors had actually been pure "ideas," _formae substantiales_ and the like, that would in no way determine whether the whole process was really subject to a divine idea of purpose or not. If we had not gained, from a different source, an insight into the supreme and incomparable worth of human existence, spiritual, rational, and free, with its capacity for morality, religion, art and science, we should be compelled to regard man, along with every other natural result, as the insignificant product of a blind play of nature. But, on the other hand, if we have once felt and recognised this value of human existence, its highest dignity, the knowledge that man has been produced through a play of highly complex natural processes, fulfilling themselves in absolute obedience to law, in no way prevents our regarding him as a "purpose," as the realisation of a divine idea, in accordance with which nature in its orderliness was planned. In fact, this consideration leads us to discover and admire eternal plan and divine guidance in nature.
For it does not rest with natural science either to discover or to deny "purpose" in the religious sense in nature; it belongs to quite a different order of experience, an entirely inward one. Just in proportion as I become aware of, and acknowledge in the domain of my inward experience and through my capacity of estimating values, the worth of the spiritual and moral life of man, so, with the confidence of this peculiar mode of conviction, I subordinate the concatenations of events and causes on which the possibility and the occurrence of the spiritual and moral life depend, to an eternal teleology, and see the order of the world that leads to this illuminated by everlasting meaning and by providence.