Problems of Metaphysics

Ontological Problem

On the Practical Conclusions of Materialism

Before delving into the theoretical implications of the viewpoint just presented, I would like to make a few general remarks.

First, a word about materialism's tendency to regard the spiritual with a certain disdain, seeing it as a trivial and peripheral outcome of natural processes. I believe that, regardless of the magnitude of the role played by what we call spirit in the universe, it remains, for us as humans, the only element that holds immediate significance and meaning; without it, the world would become insignificant and indifferent to us. Imagine a world devoid of life and soul, lacking sensation and thought, absent of spirit and history; one where nothing can be said about it beyond the proclamations of astronomy and physics. Now let us suppose that a person enters this world, knowing nothing but equipped with perfect reason; a highly accomplished astronomer approaches him, eager to reveal the entirety of the universe, detailing individual celestial bodies, their masses and movements, and explaining physical and meteorological phenomena in exhaustive detail. For a while, this individual might listen with interest. However, if the astronomer were to delve into increasingly complex cosmic systems, examining them in the same meticulous fashion, the listener would eventually lose patience and inquire: “What is the purpose of all this? What does it signify?” If he were to be told that it signifies nothing, that it is merely reality and nothing more could be said about it, he would, in confusion and disappointment, turn away and declare: “Well, if this is truly all that can be conveyed about the world, then I have had enough, and I thank you for your efforts.” The materialist philosopher would behave no differently. Ultimately, his interest in the world is tied to the presence of cerebral phenomena, with their objective reflections, which coalesce into that remarkable phenomenon we call historical life. In practice, he also views the external world as a means and instrument for the manifestation of spirit; for him, the body serves as both the organ and symbol of the soul; all his objectives lie within the realm of spiritual historical life. Even from a purely theoretical standpoint, spirit constitutes the central point of reference; let him argue that the emergence of spirit is an infinitesimal moment in cosmic development—without that moment, the celestial bodies would be no more significant to him than the grains of sand played with by the waves and wind.

How profoundly the spirit’s interest manifests within the world is clearly evident in the distribution of scientific labor across the two sides of reality—nature and history. If we were to extract from our vast libraries all that pertains to spiritual historical life—everything related to history and philology, politics and morality, theology and philosophy, sociology and jurisprudence, medicine and technology—we would be left with a very modest remainder. Conversely, if we were to remove from our extensive encyclopedias and dictionaries the same articles and retain only those related to astronomy and physics, chemistry and mineralogy, the remaining material would fit into a slim volume. It is unlikely that this will ever change. For the human spirit, what bears direct significance in reality will forever remain the human spirit.

My second observation concerns the implications of materialism for morality and behavior. A widely held view posits that materialism harbors dangerous moral consequences; that alongside religion, it also undermines morality and faith in ideals. Its practical conclusion is said to be that virtue is but a hollow dream, conscience a whim, and moral law a clerical invention; true wisdom in life is to seize all that one can from existence.

I do not believe that one can subscribe to this view, at least not in this form. Human behavior is not primarily determined by metaphysical notions about the nature of reality, but mainly by natural impulses and temperament, upbringing, and life circumstances. If there exists a connection between theoretical and practical materialism, it does not manifest in such a way that metaphysics dictates life; rather, it is life that shapes metaphysics. A vacuous and superficial existence tends to foster a nihilistic outlook on life, characterized by a low valuation of life and its purpose, a rejection and mockery of the noblest aspects of human nature, a loss of reverence for moral and spiritual greatness, and disbelief, ridiculing all idealistic aspirations. This nihilistic understanding of life naturally inclines toward materialist worldviews, eagerly relying on the "conclusion of science" that both the world and history are mere products of meaningless chance; that blind forces have combined atoms only to indifferently disperse them again in the next moment. In contrast, a proper, honest, good, and great life possesses a natural inclination toward idealistic metaphysics; it finds elevation and solace in a worldview that frames its highest goals and ideals as forces upon which reality itself is founded. Here, too, the spiritual historical life serves as a mediator: from the aspiration toward grand objectives arises a faith in the predominance of ideas, in the realm of Providence within the historical life of humanity; this faith acquires a theoretical foundation in the notion that reality itself is rooted in ideas, that the world is a creation of God.

These tendencies do not always prevail; there are enough decent individuals who do not proceed beyond materialistic metaphysics, and conversely, there are those who, while professing idealistic philosophical or ecclesiastical beliefs—not merely with their lips but with their intellect—follow base, sensually selfish motives in their lives. Nevertheless, significant forms of life direction tend to surround themselves with important forms of representation. Each individual strives, as best as they can, to interpret the meaning and significance of life and reality from the most profound experiences of their own existence.

Indeed, a reverse influence of worldview on life perspectives also occurs. Will becomes more assured in itself by surrounding itself with a coherent and harmonious set of ideas. Particularly, a significant and sudden transformation in one's worldview can profoundly impact one’s way of life. A young person, in whom school and family have instilled the notions of ecclesiastical doctrine, enters a new environment. In a factory, in commerce, in school or university, he comes into contact with “enlightened” peers, becoming acquainted with popular scientific literature that addresses nature and history from the standpoint of hostility toward superstition and clericalism. Suddenly, it is as if his eyes are opened; “This is all a deception that filled my head in childhood; the world exists eternally, man is nothing more than a specially evolved species of animal, moral laws and the afterlife are clerical fabrications to frighten fools.” Such a revolution in worldview will undoubtedly have a reciprocal effect on life. The newly enlightened will then philosophize further: since God and the afterlife do not exist, I may consequently indulge in all that I desire; everything that pleases is permissible. Those who are so concerned with preserving religion "for the people" reason in relation to their own selves in precisely the same manner. Thus, he begins—perhaps initially not without internal resistance—to do what was previously forbidden by religion and morality; trampling upon inherited customs and showing contempt for conscience becomes a proud emblem of freedom and enlightenment.

That such phenomena indeed occur is beyond any doubt; they transpire daily before our eyes, repeating themselves thousands of times. In our time, it may be rare to find a life entirely devoid of such reasoning. However—and this must now be added—this reasoning is entirely erroneous. The rejection of the moral law is not a logical consequence of the materialist theory of reality; rather, it stems from a false conception of the nature of the moral law (a conception that is not always free from the influence of our upbringing), which holds that the moral law is nothing more than a collection of arbitrary commands and prohibitions imposed upon us despotically from above. Under such a view, alongside belief in the existence of a transcendent ruler, the significance of his supposed commandments inevitably diminishes. But this conception is false: the moral law is not alien to our nature; it is not tyrannically imposed upon us, as was the Continental System upon the peoples of Europe at the dawn of this century, locking access to countless goods and joys; rather, it is the law of our very essence. The laws of morality are the laws of nature. Whether we attribute to them a transcendent significance or not, they are, above all, natural laws of human life—in the sense that they represent the conditions for its health and well-being. In accordance with the natural order of things, their violation brings calamities and ruin upon nations and individuals, while adherence to them leads to welfare and peace.

There is no basis within the metaphysical concepts of materialism to deny this. Experience, which acquaints us with other natural laws, also instructs us in this regard. Whoever disregards the laws of statics will see their constructions collapse, no matter their thoughts on those laws. Whoever transgresses the laws of medical dietetics will pay the price with ill health and disease, regardless of whether they believe in the obligation of those laws. Similarly, those who breach the laws of morality pay for it with their own happiness in life, and their opinions do not alter this fact. Those who neglect their duties towards their own lives, who succumb to excess and debauchery, destroy the fundamental conditions of their own well-being. Those who abandon themselves to idleness and the pursuit of pleasure, thinking they will find happiness in this way, ultimately perish from surfeit and revulsion toward life; this is a biological law of human nature—just as it is a law that successful activity is accompanied by pleasure and that strength increases through exercise. Finally, those who violate the commandments of social morality primarily disrupt the lives of others; yet, as social beings, they also bear the consequences. Those who are inattentive to their surroundings, arrogant, cruel, and base invoke aversion, hatred, and corresponding behavior in response to these feelings; opinions regarding the nature of moral laws do not alter this reality. But there is no one for whom this indifference would be tolerable; there is not a single person in the world who does not require the love and trust of those around them, for whom distrust and hatred are not inherently painful and harmful in their consequences. Even in the case where someone might manage to commit injustice and baseness unnoticed and unpunished, such an act would not be without impact: the fear of exposure would remain; for it is a remarkable fact that those who have something to hide are constantly preoccupied with the belief that they are being watched. The consciousness of guilt renders one solitary. Even if someone were to succeed in shedding all ties to others, they would still find no peace before their own inner judge. Blinded by passion, one may deceive oneself for a moment into believing that they have uprooted their conscience, yet one fine day it will reassert itself with a loud voice. When the fervor of passion has been satisfied, when memory and awareness return, or as strength and vitality diminish with age, the soul is confronted by the disheartening image of past deeds. In the end, it is unlikely that there exists a single person who could look back upon a life full of triviality and vulgarity, full of lies and cowardice, full of malice and baseness, with a sense of satisfaction; at the very least, it would be inadvisable for anyone to seek such an experience. The lives of so-called swindlers and their companions, or of great and small rogues, are rarely depicted openly by themselves or by others. Were such a thing to occur (and it might be a not entirely useless endeavor), it is hardly likely that anyone would release from their hands a book bearing the impression: “This was a happy and desirable life.” And even if such a life achieved all external successes, if it committed all acts without consequence and reveled in all pleasures, it would still scarcely appear to an observer as a beautiful and desirable fate. Thus, as long as the world exists as it is, and as long as human nature remains as it has thus far, moral laws will endure, regardless of how reality is constructed—be it from atoms or immaterial substances, or however else it may be. The only task that materialism may set for itself here is to explain these undoubtedly given facts by means of its own resources. If it is correct, if the mental life is indeed a function of the brain, then its endeavor must be to present both the laws of morality and the laws of logic as a peculiar construct of the human brain; it must attempt to show how a certain structure of cortical substance, a particular state of known ganglionic cells, gives rise to specific desires and feelings, to particular judgments about one’s own and others' behavior. As a biologist, it might also add how this structure, along with other devices of organic life, functions in the preservation of the individual and the species. And concerning the practical side of the matter, let it strive to ground the “gymnastics” and dietetics of the “moral ganglia” or “cavities of conscience” upon its physiological understanding of the brain, thus finally establishing the teaching of education upon a “scientific” foundation.

Until this is accomplished, the materialist must content himself with those “temporary laws”; he has no grounds for not doing so; the invalidity of moral laws is in no way a logical deduction from the view that all that is real is body or a function of the body. It is possible that here and there among materialistic writers there emerges a tendency to speak of morality and conscience with a certain degree of disdain, as though they were matters about which “science” has no cause to treat; a tendency to hold things in contempt or to ignore them altogether when they present difficulties for construction from their own theory—this tendency is encountered everywhere. This is an incidental matter. Ancient materialism, being more philosophical, i.e., more universal in its perspective than the recent materialism of doctors and physiologists, aims precisely at morality; only ignorance could lead one to believe that the morality of Democritus or Epicurus bears any relation to the morality of debauchery. It is discipline of the spirit—this is what it teaches.

In conclusion, however, one more observation must be made: refuting an opposing theory based on its dangerous consequences always leaves a negative impression; it arouses suspicion that one fears theoretical scrutiny; while belief persists in the possibility of proving the truth of any perspective, it is not exalted as good. Indeed, in the end, there is only one form of delusion that is perilous; things are as they are: how could true representations of them be harmful or false ones beneficial?