Another search for truth

By Abel J. Jones

The result of the inquiry into the solutions of the problem offered in the past is to show that they are all inadequate to explain and to give an ideal to the whole of life. Perplexed as to the truth of the existence of a higher world, man looked to the natural world for a firm basis to life. Here he failed to find rest—rather, indeed, he found less security than he had previously felt, for did not naturalism make of him a mere unconscious mechanism, and deny the very existence of his soul? Then he turned to humanity, and the opposing tendencies of socialism and individualism came into evidence. Each hindered the other, each shook his traditional beliefs, and each failed to give him a satisfactory goal for life. Socialism concerned itself with external social relations, but it gave life no soul. Then individualism confined man to his own resources, and there resulted an inner hollowness which became painfully evident. Socialism and individualism fail to provide a sure footing. Instead of finding certainty, man has fallen into a still deeper state of perplexity.

What shall he do? Must he once again leave the realistic systems of Naturalism, Socialism, and Individualism, and return to the older systems of Religion and Idealism? Was he not wrong in giving up the thought of a higher invisible world? Has not the restriction of life to the visible world robbed life of its greatness and dignity? This it certainly has done, and there is little wonder that the soul of mankind is already revolting, and shows a tendency once again to look towards religion and idealism for a solution of life.

But the educated mind can never again take up exactly the same position as it once did in regard to religion and idealism. The great realistic theories have made too great a change in the standard of life, and in man himself, to make it possible for him to revert simply to the old conditions, and the older orthodox doctrines of religion can never again be accepted as a mere matter of course. But the great question has again come to the forefront—is there a higher world, or is the fundamental truth of religion a mere illusion? This is the question that calls for answer to-day, an answer which must be different, as man is different, from the answers that were given in the past. A satisfactory answer is impossible without understanding clearly the relation between the Old and the New, and without taking account of the great, if partial, truths that the realistic schemes of life have taught mankind.

To accept unreservedly Naturalism, Socialism, and Individualism is impossible, for these rob life of its deeper meaning. To return to the older doctrines without reserve is equally impossible.

Shall we ignore the question? This would be a fatal mistake. Some throw themselves into the rush of work, and endeavour to forget the deeper problems of life—but "the result is a life all froth and shimmer, lacking inward sincerity, a life that can never in itself satisfy them, but only keep up the appearance of doing so." There must be some decision; for is not society being more and more broken up into small sections, possessing the most variable standards of life, and evaluating things in a diversity of ways? Such an inward schism must weaken any effort on the part of humanity to combine for ideal ends. Perhaps he of narrow vision, who sees nothing in life but sensuous pleasure, is happy—but it is the happiness of the lower world. Perhaps, too, he of the superficial mind is happy, who sees no deep contradictions in the solutions offered, and is prepared to accept one to-day and another tomorrow—but his happiness is that of the feeble mind.

What then can be done? Shall we despair? Never! The question is far too urgent. To despair is to accept a policy that spells disaster to the human race. The immediate environment is powerless to give life any real meaning. We must probe deeper into the eternal—and it is from such investigations that Eucken outlines a new theory of life.

But before we proceed to deal with Eucken's contribution to the problem, it will be profitable to stay awhile to consider how it is that we can obtain truth at all, and what are the tests that we can apply to truth when we think we have attained it. It is the problem of the possibility of knowledge, really, that we have to discuss in brief. Eucken himself does not pay much direct attention to this difficult question, for, as has been already pointed out, he refuses to be drawn from his main problem. It is impossible, however, to appreciate Eucken without understanding clearly the position he takes up in this matter.

What is truth? How can we know?—these are entrancing problems for the profound thinker, and have been written upon frequently and at great length. But we can do little more at present than give the barest outline of the positions that have been taken up. Every search for truth must assume a certain position in this matter; in studying Eucken's philosophy it is of the first importance—more so perhaps than in the case of most other philosophers—to keep in mind clearly from the outset the position he implicitly assumes.

The simplest theory of knowledge is that of Empiricism, which holds that all knowledge must be gained through experience of the outside world, and of our mental states. We see a blue wall, we obtain through our eyes an impression of blueness, and are able to make a statement: "This wall is blue." This, of course, is one of the simplest assertions that can be made, and consists merely in assigning a term—"blue"—the meaning of which has already been agreed upon, to a colour that we appear to see on a wall. The test of the truth of this assertion is a simple one—it is true if it corresponds with fact. If the same assertion is made in regard to a red wall, then it is obviously untrue. Our sense impressions give rise to a great variety of such expressions. We state "the wall is blue" as a result of an impression obtained through the organs of sight; then we speak of a pungent smell, a sweet taste, a harsh sound, or a rough stone, on account of impressions received respectively through the organs of smell, taste, hearing, and touch. But, of course, all such assertions are superficial in character—there is little more in them than the application of a conventional term to an observed phenomenon, they avail us little in solving the mysteries of the universe.

Strictly speaking, this is for the empiricist the limit of possible knowledge, but he would be a poor investigator who would be content with this and no more. The empiricist tries to go a distinct step in advance of this. The scientist observing the path of a planet travelling round the sun, finds that its course is that of an ellipse. He studies the path of a second planet, and finds that this also travels along an elliptical orbit. Later he finds that all planets he is able to observe travel in the same kind of path—then he hazards a general statement, and says, "All planets travel round their suns in elliptical orbits." But now he has left the realm of certainty for that of uncertainty. There may be innumerable planets which he cannot observe that take a different course. He hazards the general statement, because he assumes (sometimes without knowing that he does so) that nature is uniform and constant, that it will do to-day as it did yesterday, and does in infinite space as it does in the visible universe.

The knowledge that is possible to the empiricist, then, is merely that which is derived from direct experience, and simple summations or generalisations into a single assertion of a number of similar assertions, all of which were individually derived from experience. This is the position scientists as such, and believers in the theory of naturalism, take up as to the possibility of the knowledge of truth to the human mind. They are entirely consistent, therefore, when they arrive ultimately at the agnostic position, and contend that our knowledge must necessarily be confined to the world of experience, and that nothing can be known of the world beyond. But they are fundamentally wrong in overestimating the place of the sense organs, and forgetting that while these have a part to play in life, they do not constitute the whole of life.

A far more satisfactory theory is that of Rationalism. It is a theory that admits that the human mind has some capacity for working upon the data presented to it by the sense organs. Man is no longer quite so helpless a creature as empiricism would make him. He is able to weigh and consider the facts that are presented to the mind. The method rationalism uses to arrive at truth is that of logical deduction, and the test of truth is that the steps in the process are logically sound. We may start from the data "All dogs are animals" and "Carlo is a dog," and arrive very simply at the conclusion "Carlo is an animal." The conclusion is correct because we have reasoned in accordance with the laws of logic, with the laws of valid thought. All logical reasoning is, of course, not so simple as the example given, but it may be stated generally that when there is no logical fallacy, a correct conclusion may be arrived at, provided, too—and herein lies the difficulty—provided that the premises are also true. These premises may be in themselves general statements—how is their truth established? They may be, and often are, the generalisations of the empirical sciences, and must then possess the same degree of uncertainty that these generalisations possess. Some philosophers have contended that certain general ideas are innate, but few would be found nowadays to accept such a contention. At other times mere definitions of terms may serve as premises. One might state as a premise the definition "A straight line is the shortest distance between two points," and the further statement that "AB is a straight line between A and B," and conclude that the line AB represents the shortest distance between two points A and B. In a manner similar to this Euclid built his whole mathematical system upon the basis of definitions and postulates, a system the complexity and thoroughness of which has caused all students of mathematics at one time or another to marvel and admire. But, of course, a definition is little more than assigning a definite term to a definite thing. It is when we begin to consider the premises that are necessary for arriving at the profound truths of the universe that we find the weakness of rationalism. How are we going to be provided with premises for this end? Shall we begin by saying "There is a God" or "There is no God"? How is the pure reasoning faculty to decide upon the premises in the matter of the great Beyond? We may weigh the arguments for and against a certain position, and we may think that the probability lies in a certain direction, but to decide finally and with certainty by mere cold logical reasoning is impossible. We may bring out into prominence through logical reasoning truths that were previously only implicit, but to arrive at absolute truth with regard to the invisible world, through intellect alone, has long been admitted to be an impossibility. The illusion of those who would believe that truth which was not already implied in the premises could ever be obtained by mere intellectual reasoning has long since been dispelled.

Perhaps it comes as a shock to the reader who has always insisted upon a clear intellectual understanding and a rigid reasoning upon all things, to find within what narrow limits, after all, the intellect itself has to work—it can do little more than make more or less certain generalisations concerning the world of experience, and then to argue from these, or from definitions that it itself has framed. Of course some of the ancient philosophers did try through a course of rigid reasoning to solve the great problems, and for a long time it was customary to expect that all philosophers should proceed in the same way.

Modern philosophers, of whom William James, Bergson, and Eucken are conspicuous examples, have appreciated the futility of such a task, and have sought other means of solving the problem. The mistake in the past has been to forget that the intelligence is but one aspect of human life, and that the experience of mankind is far more complicated a matter than that of mere intellect, and not to be solved by intellect alone. Intellect has to play a definite part in human life, but it does not constitute the whole of life. Life itself is far greater than intellect, and to live is a far more important thing than to know. The great things are life and action; knowledge is ultimately useful in so far as it contributes to the development of life and the perfection of action. Philosophers have for too long a period made knowledge an aim in itself, and have neglected to take proper account of the experiences of mankind. Their intellectual abstractions have tended to leave actual life more and more out of consideration, with the result that they have been baffled at every turn. The more we think about it, the more we become convinced that the mysterious universe in which we live will only divulge just enough of its secrets to enable us to act, and this it gives us with comparatively little trouble on our part. If we consider an ordinary piece of wood, we find it is hard and offers a certain resistance, and our knowledge of these elementary facts enables us to put it to use, but we shall never really solve the mysteries of its formation and growth. These lead of course to very interesting speculations, but their solution seems to be as far off as ever. We can know little but that which we require for life. The making of life and action the basis of truth rather than trusting to the intellect alone, is the great new departure in modern philosophy.

One of the theories of knowledge that springs from laying emphasis upon life and action is that of Pragmatism, of which the late Professor William James was one of the greatest exponents. Pragmatists contend that the test of truth is its value for life—if the fact obtained is the most useful and helpful for life, then it is the true one. Suppose we are endeavouring to solve the great question, "Is there a God?" We weigh the arguments for and against, but find it difficult to arrive at a definite conclusion, because the arguments on both sides seem equally plausible. How are we to decide? We cannot postpone the decision indefinitely—we are forced to make a choice, for upon our decision depends our aim and ideals in life. We are faced with a "forced option," and must choose one or the other. We ask ourselves the question, "Which will be of the greatest help to our lives—to believe that there is, or that there is not a God?" and we decide or will to believe the option that will help life most. It is a striking theory, but space forbids our discussing it in detail.

The position Eucken adopts is that of Activism. In common with pragmatism it makes truth a matter of life and action rather than of mere intellect, and considers fruitfulness for action a characteristic of truth. He differs from the pragmatic position in that he contends that truth is something deeper than mere human decision, that truth is truth, not merely because it is useful, that reality is independent of our experience of it, and that truth is gained intuitively through a life of action.

The riddle of the universe is solved for Eucken through life and action. While continual contemplation and thought is apt to paralyse us, "action is the best defensive weapon against the dangers and trials of human existence." "Doubt is not cured by meditation, but by action." He believes that we can attain certainty through action of much that cannot be justified on rational grounds. If we wish to understand the vital truths of life we must concentrate our souls on a good purpose—the activity that follows will bring its revelation. The problems of life are solved by the life process itself. By acting in a certain way, man comes into intimate relationship with the great reality of life, and then he comes to know, not so much about reality, as within reality. The ant in whom such complex instincts are developed, knows probably nothing at all about its little world, but knows everything necessary within its little world. It does not err, it does the right thing at the right time, and that because it is in tune with its universe, hence acts from pure instinct in the right way. If intellect were to enter into the case, its actions might become less reliable, and it would blunder far oftener. In the case of man, his thinking capacity often militates against successful instinctive and habitual actions—the moment we start to consider, we hesitate and are lost. In the same way, if the soul of man is brought into tune with the great reality, it has but to act, and though it may never know all about reality and be able to frame abstract theories of the universe, still it may know with or within reality, and be thus enabled to act in the best way under various circumstances. This is the theory of activism; it lays great stress upon action, and upon intuition through action, and while it does not ignore the intellect, it holds that when the intellect fails there is a possibility of the practical problem of life being solved through a life of action, when life is directed towards the highest ideals. The danger of an activistic position, of course, is to undervalue the reasoning powers of man. Some critics hold that Eucken does this; the reader must judge for himself, but in doing so it will be well to remember that before trusting to intuitive revelation, Eucken demands the setting of one's face towards the highest and best.

In the next chapter we can follow Eucken in his search for the great reality in life.

"Rudolph Eucken", by Abel J. Jones