The Philosophy of Opposition

THE University of Berlin is celebrating this autumn its one hundredth anniversary. The beginnings of this educational enterprise were intimately associated with its pioneer professor and rector— the patriot, philosopher, and teacher, Johann Gottlieb Fichte, who by his labors and personality gave to the university the early promise of distinction which through the course of its history it has so brilliantly realized. There is a phase of the philosophy of Fichte which profoundly affected the moral traditions, not only of the university, but of the German people generally, and which should prove exceedingly suggestive to all who may be concerned with a practical philosophy of life.

This idea of Fichte’s I would characterize as the philosophy of opposition. His theory was born of experience, and through bitter years of adversity and deprivation he evolved the cardinal doctrine of his practical creed: that, in the making of a man, power is born of opposition; that struggle begets strength; that resistance provokes vigor of body and of spirit; and that the very obstacles to progress make progress possible. This was not merely the teaching of the class-room. It became the dominant note of his stirring appeal to the German nation. By his challenge of circumstance, Fichte sought to arouse his countrymen from the torpor of humiliation which had been induced by the disasters of the Napoleonic wars. In his Addresses to the Ger-man Nation he endeavored to awaken the spirit of the people to an appreciation of the fundamental truth that the distress of a nation is the patriot’s opportunity; and that out of the depths of adversity it is possible for a people to arise to a new life of strength and power. In this he appeared not only as a priest to the national conscience, but as a prophet as regards the nation’s destiny.

Fichte’s philosophy, however, is not for the past alone, nor exclusively for the German people; but now, after a century, and in reference to the present-day problems of life, we may well pause to consider the kindly offices of opposition in the evolution of human capacity and character. Human nature is the same the world over; and, quite irrespective of the age or of the land in which one may happen to live, it remains universally true that man is born to struggle, not only for what he may wish to possess, but also for what he is fitted to become. We are in this world to fight. Under what banner does one draw his sword? That is the question of chief interest and concern.

The earliest consciousness of self, the vague impression of one’s individuality as distinct from the world about him, comes to the child, when for the first time he becomes aware of the barriers of his young life. As he puts forth his hand, and feels the first shock of opposition as a check upon his free activity, then and there he experiences the first throb of personality. The ‘I,’ the heart of his being, the inner self, is revealed by the resistance of the things or forces about him which he must encounter, and which he recognizes instinctively as something different from the self within, and never to be confused with it. The power of self-assertion is provoked by the very power which opposes the inner self and seeks to overcome it. And later in life there often comes a second awakening to a more profound sense of personality, when we find ourselves amidst a storm of opposition which emerges in some significant crisis of our experience. Such a crisis may mark not only a new birth of power, but also a new order of being. It often becomes a moral renaissance. Under the fire of opposition, in the collision of opinion, a new spirit is quickened, daring great things and capable of great things. In an experience of such a nature, one realizes that he is something more than a human machine; that he is not a puppet nor a slave; not a being merely, to feed and sleep and play; not a creature caught in the toils of circumstance, but a man, and as such bound to recognize the truth that man’s vocation is a call to freedom and to duty.

It is well for us if we early recognize the fact that every difficulty in life is a challenge. Is there something within the man to meet it, or not? That is the question which every one must ask himself. Upon his response his fate is fixed. Obstacles suggest opportunities, if they are only regarded in their true light; they put a man upon his mettle, stimulate his energies, strengthen his power of resistance, increase his art of resource, and inspire a spirit of courage and determination. If there is any latent power, resistance discovers it. The line of least resistance, on the other hand, can never be the line of development and of progress; for then there is nothing to call forth hidden possibilities. But resistance creates necessarily a demand for new methods and devices, new processes, new inventions, the conservation of forces, and the more considerate direction of effort.

Not only, however, is progress assured by overcoming resistance, and in spite of it, but resistance itself is often an essential factor in progress. No leverage is possible without the resisting medium of a fulcrum, so that without resistance it would be impossible for us to get a foothold upon the earth even in the ordinary act of walking. We know that it is not the strength of the arm only, but the stubborn stuff of the bow which speeds the arrow. It is a commonplace, moreover, of electrical theory, that a current of electricity, passing freely through its conducting wire, gives no visible evidence of its existence; but when it meets the resistance of the carbon points, it bursts into light. The illumination results from the opposition offered by the resisting medium, and this generates heat of such intensity as to become incandescent and the bearer of light. In the world also of human affairs and relations, much of the light has its source in the clash of opposing forces, and the struggle to overcome resistance.

Life is a game, we say; and from time to time we urge one another to play the game fair and to a finish. In this reference, we must remember that the zest of a game consists in one’s skill to overcome opposition. An opponent who fails to call forth our best endeavor deadens interest in the sport, whatever it may be. A one-sided contest means loose playing and flagging zeal; on the other hand, the more skilled and alert an adversary, the more resourceful and aggressive our game. In the contests of life where there is no worthy competitor, there can be but slight achievement and little glory. The uphill game, however, which is won through no adventitious aid of favor or fortune, but solely upon its merits and by stubborn persistence, brings a glow of satisfaction which is wholly unknown in the triumph of an easy victory. We do not care to play with a novice, we demand the rigor of the game, and free scope for the display of our powers. It is possible, therefore, to meet the opposition which life holds for us, in the spirit of adventure, and ride forth to meet the foe with high hope and the joy of battle in our heart.

This idea, however, which would represent life as a game, does not adequately portray the true philosophy of opposition. The game-conception of life emphasizes perhaps too much the idea of victory or defeat; for to overcome in life is not merely to win a victory, but it is rather to gain a mastery over the powers which oppose us. And complete mastery is possible only when we learn the secret of transforming opposite powers into coöperative agencies in serving our needs and ministering to our purposes. There is a savage superstition that every foe killed in battle surrenders his spirit of valor and courage to the one who slays him. In some such manner we gain in strength when we can so subdue opposing forces as to make them contributory to our resources of energy, and thus in a sense a part of us. All conquests in life come through the ability to dominate circumstance. We are not passive beings, to become the play of nature’s forces about us, but free agents, with the power of initiative and the will to compel these forces to do our bidding.

The two conquests which are of supreme significance for us, which we must achieve, or else face inevitable failure in life, are the conquest of knowledge and the conquest of character. Our primal limitation throughout the various phases of experience is that of ignorance. When we find ourselves in any situation where the nature of the forces in opposition to us is unknown, such forces are not only an obstacle to progress, but may prove a most serious danger as well. It is not simply that all effort is obviously futile under such circumstances, but it is quite likely also to be disastrous, inasmuch as our very striving may become our undoing. But when the nature of the powers arrayed against us is adequately discerned, it is then possible, not only to combat them successfully, but also to direct them to our obvious advantage.

The life of every individual may be appropriately represented by an inner circle of knowledge, placed within a vast outer circle of the unknown. Growth, progress, attainment, all are possible only when there is an ever-increasing expansion of this inner circle, transcending its own limits, and appropriating more and more of the outlying region within the area of its comprehension and appreciation.

Undiscovered countries forever lie beyond the confines of our understanding, and we feel under compulsion to push forward the frontiers and possess these new lands in the name of knowledge. The process of transforming the unknown into the known is life, education, development. It is a process essentially of assimilation. It consists in making knowledge a part of our own being; for knowledge is not primarily a possession, it is a power; it is not a stored mind, it is a trained skill; it is not a mass of information, but a living spirit. In this sense we overcome the world therefore when we so comprehend the nature of its powers as to make them our own, and compel them to obey our will.

We speak of ‘the world in which we live,’ or of ‘the world which is about us.’ These phrases, however, are quite misleading, if they are taken literally. ‘The world in which we live’ is in reality only so much of the great world, after all, as lives in us; it is that which we understand, and which our knowledge commands. It would be truer to fact, therefore, if we should say that the world is in us, rather than we in the world. A million persons live in one and the same city, and yet their various pursuits, occupations, and professions form distinctly separate worlds of activity and of interest. Each one makes his own world; for knowledge creates as well as discovers. Consequently one’s world is large or small, as one chooses. Its boundaries are determined by that area which one’s intelligence controls, and which one has reclaimed from the waste stretches of ignorance. Our world is simply the sphere in which our skill and proficiency find play, and in which we speak with authority. The building of such a world is no light task. The pursuit of knowledge is proverbially difficult, and yet in the struggle for it we are fighting for a kingdom.

The progress of knowledge is illustrated not only in the development of individual capacity and efficiency, but as well in the history of humanity as a whole. The progress of civilization has been a continuous process of enlarging the area of commanding knowledge generation after generation. By the toil of the ages, the conquests of human thought have been steadily maintained. Nature, however, does not reveal her secrets gratuitously; but they must be wrested from her. For nature, like the kingdom of heaven, suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force. Man has invaded nature from many sides, and has established over every conquered region his sovereign control. Even that which lies beyond the range of his observation must sooner or later surrender to the bold attack or patient siege of his subduing thought. There is a whole universe of suprasensible phenomena, a world of the allpervading ether, a world of magnetic fields and electric waves, a world of ultra-violet rays, of radio-active forces, of ions and electrons, of ideoplasm and entelechies, a world which eye has not seen, nor ear heard, but which the mind of man has penetrated, and brought under its control. Man possesses the earth, and his title to it is knowledge. His understanding of the laws of nature is a patent of proprietary right over the domain of nature.

However, mere knowledge of itself is not power. To convert knowledge into power there must be ceaseless activity, and a wise direction of all our energies. With every effort of will which man puts forth to command and humanize his environment, there is an expansion of the inner circle of personality as well as that of knowledge. Wherever resistance is overcome, limitations removed, or difficulties transferred into advantages, there is a conquest of character, and the growth of a larger soul in the process of appropriating to itself a larger world. When the circle of life contracts, it is evident that the world is encroaching upon the domain of personality; but when it expands, we may be sure that the power of personality has asserted itself, and is in the way of overcoming the world. An eternal warfare is waging between the necessity of nature on the one hand, and the manifestation of the free spirit of man on the other. In this contest man has always the advantage, for he wields the weapon of thought, against which no foe can prevail.

In his philosophy of life, Fichte regards the material world, the course of its events, its routine of universal law, the every-day circumstance and commonplace of experience, as merely the stage-setting of the great moral drama of life. ‘Our world,’ he says, ‘is the sensualized material of our duty. What compels us to yield belief in the reality of the world is a moral force, — the only force that is possible for a free being.’ Every historian is bound to regard the world, in a certain sense at least, from this Fichtean point of view; for the end of history is primarily the display of character, and the office of the historian is essentially that of a psychologist who deals with human documents. All institutions — social, political, and religious — represent the objectified will of men. They make permanent record of habits, of controversies and conflicts, of received opinion and established procedure. The events of life are of slight significance which fail to show the good or evil of human nature, its weakness or its strength, its noble or ignoble strain. Even the work of a man’s hands should give some evidence of his quality of mind, and disposition of heart; some intimation of his purpose and desire, of his struggles, of his defeats and victories.

The forces of nature with all the material elements of the world subserve therefore the ends of a higher order, the moral order, and they possess for us a final significance only in so far as they directly or indirectly fulfill this function. All things have a meaning for us, according to their relation to man, and man has a meaning according to the position which he is able to take, and maintain, amid the obligations and responsibilities of his surroundings.

For a man’s life, however, to have a moral significance, the inner circle of power should expand in such a manner as to inclose within its bounds of control other selves as well as other things. The nature of man is such that he does not develop normally in solitude; for it is indeed true that character is formed in the stream of the world. While man has to contend against the forces of nature and subdue them to his will, the supreme test comes when the conflict is with human nature, with another personality like himself, which stands opposed to him, urging equal rights and equal privileges. The gospel of selfassertion therefore must be tempered by a due consideration of others.

When we urge the rights of freedom and of conscience for ourselves, we are constrained in consistency to recognize similar rights for others whose wills may clash with ours. The rules of the game are made impartially for all comers, and not for any individual or for the few. The rights of an individual, however particular they may be in any specific instance, can be justified solely by proving that they rest upon some universally valid ground. What I can in justice claim for myself, and if necessary should fight to maintain, I must in all honor allow even in my thoughts to any other human being similarly situated. Life is not a struggle for existence in which one wins necessarily at the expense of another’s loss, where one survives while the remnant is pushed to the wall. This is a poor view of life; it is the animal view of life; it is anti-social, and inhuman. There is no relation between man and man in which some reciprocity of advantage may not be secured, and it is our paramount duty to discover the means to this end, and cause it to prevail. The most signal victories in life are gained, not by conquering others, but conquering for them. We overcome, not by excluding our fellow men from the circle of selfrealization, but by enlarging that circle so as to include others within the area of common interests and sympathies. To convert an antagonist into an ally is the consummate art of diplomacy. To conclude a wise treaty between two nations upon terms of mutual benefit is of greater service to one’s country than winning a battle, or sinking an enemy’s fleet. The supreme victory is that which can be shared. In human affairs the conquests of coöperation alone are worthy. Through them the individual creates for himself an empire of power whose boundaries are determined solely by the number of lives which are brought within the range of his care and concern. One who is conscious that he holds his power in trust will not be likely to use it arbitrarily, or tyrannically, but with justice to all, and to the one end, — that of the common good.

The relations of life approach the normal as individual progress is identified with some form of social welfare, and the prosperity of one becomes the good fortune of the many. When the conditions of society, however, tend to array man against man, class against class, and life becomes a veritable struggle for existence, then all coöperative endeavor must cease, which means always an abnormal state of human relations, and the deterioration of social and national life.

In the Germany of Fichte’s age, foreign invasion and oppression had restricted the free spirit of high endeavor, and had discouraged all effort save that of the bare preserving of one’s existence. Fichte felt that under such conditions progress either of the individual or of the nation was wholly out of the question; that coöperative effort would be unavailing, and striving for individual advantage would be ignoble.

These sentiments he expressed to his class at the close of a lecture one memorable day in the year 1813. He spoke to them with a grim fervor concerning the impending danger to their country in the presence of an invading army, and the patriot’s duty to respond to the call of need; then he concluded his appeal with these ringing words, which proved to be his valedictory to his students, and to the German people: ‘This course of lectures will be suspended until the end of this campaign. We will resume them in a free country or die in the attempt to recover her freedom.’

Such was the spirit of one whose philosophy of life is most strikingly illustrated in his profound conviction that ‘a nation becomes a nation through common struggle.’