We live in one world, but we act like we live in two.
We characterize these two worlds in many different ways: Mind and body, “inner life” and “outer life,” subjective and objective, quantity and quality, scientific truth and religious faith, and so on. We recognize truth claims in each of these worlds, but we act as if and believe that these worlds are irreconcilable. God will not reveal itself in a particle accelerator, and interpretation of a work of art will not assume the objective truth of natural law. We live, it may be said, with a “two-realm theory” of truth.
But any two-realm theory of truth is profoundly unsatisfying: What is the relationship between these realms? What is the relationship of science to ethics? Can the gulf between them, in fact, be crossed, or are we destined simply to suffer a tear in the fabric of the universe, a consciousness split in two?
(This is not the place to go deeply into the consequences of two-realm theories of truth, but we could indicate the importance of this by pointing out the way religious fundamentalists—sticking to the truths of faith—may use weapons that brutally demonstrate the truths of science.)
First, I acknowledge that some on each side will dispute my characterization and claim that we actually live only in one world, that the other is illusion, or that one is built on the first.
Some believe we live in one, material, physical world, but they then have to create a (religious) belief that mind, consciousness, value, and so on will ultimately be explicable through material and material processes.
Some believe we live in one, spiritual world—that matter is some sort of illusion—but they will still break their ankles when they trip over Dr. Johnson’s rock. (“After we came out of the church, we stood talking for some time together of Bishop Berkeley's ingenious sophistry to prove the nonexistence of matter, and that every thing in the universe is merely ideal. I observed, that though we are satisfied his doctrine is not true, it is impossible to refute it. I never shall forget the alacrity with which Johnson answered, striking his foot with mighty force against a large stone, till he rebounded from it—‘I refute it thus.’ -James Boswell, Life of Johnson)
If we acknowledge, at least, that we live with two realms of truth, and that it is unsatisfying to do so, then we may seek a larger view of the world, one that unites seemingly objective scientific truth with seemingly subjective artistic or poetic or ethical truth. This is one of the fundamental tasks of anthropsophy, and represents one of Rudolf Steiner’s primary aims.
One of Rudolf Steiner’s most acute insights, found in his Philosophy of Freedom, is that thinking precedes any experience of the possibly dual nature of the world. In thinking, we may say, we create the possibility of seeing the world in subjective and objective terms. Thinking exists before this division. We think, and, in thinking, discover that the world seems two-fold.
Only thinking, therefore, can potentially unite any division that we ourselves introduce into the world.
This insight does not answer all questions, does not address all objections, does not immediately stitch up a rent in the fabric of the universe. But it points the way—perhaps the only possible way—out of the prison of a split consciousness.
It’s tempting to believe, therefore, that the reconciliation of the so-called mind-body problem, the resolution of a two-realm theory of truth into a unified view of the world, because it is based in thinking, is work for the intellects of brilliant academics.
A moment’s reflection, however, will show that this is false. Who are and who have been the greatest proponents of this two-realm theory of truth? The most brilliant persons of modern history—Descartes, Kant, you name it. Who are most susceptible to see the world as constituted of two apparently irreconcilable realms of truth? The highly educated and the scientifically-minded.
Yet children are untroubled by this apparent division. We could say that children are ignorant of the truth, or, with greater respect, we could say that they still perceive the world as one and have not yet employed their thinking to divide it. “Except ye turn, and become as little children, ye shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18:3)
Although it is not a common insight that human thinking precedes a division of the world into two realms, each with its own apparent truth, it is also not difficult insight. An average middle-schooler can comprehend it, I believe. And high school students can, if posed appropriate questions, acknowledge and wrestle with it.
Recognizing the importance of thinking, the point is not then to continue thinking in what Henri Bortoft calls a “downstream” way, sticking to the channels and canals of convention—we do plenty of that, day in and day out. The point is to work to think in new ways, ways that lead to an active unification of the world. At each moment, especially moments of choice and decision, we can resolve to recognize that the world is one, and to bring into being thoughts, feelings, and actions that honor this simple truth. There is, then, no once-and-for-all statement that reconciles the halves of the world. There is the hard work of generations to sew up the rift we may all acknowledge, stitch by stitch.
I’ve made my point, briefly, so now let me address the reason for writing this.
The course of an education, from early childhood through elementary school to high school, covers the introduction of a child into the world in which we all live. He or she will necessarily grow from an unconscious unity with the world into our present split consciousness. Even if a child’s parents have a different view of the world, it is not possible to escape the modern, two-realm mindset. School, playmates, advertisers, books, a flood of influences will ensure that we all become modern people. (And I have no problem with this. I love being a modern person, and wouldn’t want it any other way.)
But what happens then? In high school and college, we generally continue to indoctrinate students into our unexamined two-realm theory of truth. We ask them to specialize, to fit themselves for a world without asking too many questions about the unexamined assumptions on which our world is built. Chief among these, I maintain, is this untenable treatment of the world as if there are two separate realms of truth.
Adolescents and young adults, however, at the same time that they are learning—as they should learn—about the triumphs of science and technology and art and literature—are capable of learning that there are views, historically and philosophically based views, that our current assumptions about the world are not the only ones, nor are they necessarily true. And they are capable of learning that our two-realm theory is just that—a supposition, an assumption. And they are capable of learning that thinking introduces this division into the world. And they are capable of learning that creative thinking may be able to show us ways to overcome this split.
For these reasons, more than many other more mundane reasons, I believe that Waldorf high schools—and the teaching that teachers in any school could impart if they chose to—can offer a valuable service to young men and young women growing into a world with which they will have to live for the rest of their lives.
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