Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

NEW BOOKS REVIEWED

THE TRAGIC SENSE OF LIFE. By Miguel de Unamuno. Translated by J. E. Crawford Flitch. London: Macmillan and Co., Limited.

When one says that Miguel de Unamuno is perhaps the most original philosopher writing to-day, one does not mean to use originality in quite the usual sense. Intellectually, there is nothing strikingly new in Unamuno's work; it simply reflects the generally anti-rationalist tendency of modern European thought, a tendency of which Pragmatism is one phase and Bergsonism another. Unamuno's originality lies somewhere about the junction of the intellectual element with the feeling element. Hence it is his personality that holds one, and he reminds us in turn of all the great individualists of Emerson, of Carlyle, of Samuel Butler, of Walt Whitman, even of Montaigne. His words are racy with feeling; he seems to drag his ideas whole out of the welter of experience. His book, The Tragic Sense of Life, is powerful because it is profoundly human. Unamuno is never weary of emphasizing the conflict between reason and life, between the heart and the head. "Everything vital is anti-rational, not merely irrational, and everything rational is anti-vital. A terrible thing is intelligence. It tends to death as memory tends to stability." The rationalist consolation is not a real consolation: there is no life in it. Leave out life and you leave out all; so that pleasure for pleasure's sake and duty for duty's sake come to mean nearly the same thing. "The merely and exclusively rational man is an aberration and nothing more. The tragic history of human thought is simply the history of a struggle between reason and life-reason bent on rationalizing life and forcing it to submit to the inevitable, to mortality; life bent on its own vital desires."

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

What especially characterizes Unamuno is his continual stress upon the idea of immortality. The feeling for immortality (not the concept of it) he seems to consider the really central element in the human soul. "Is it possible for us to give ourselves to any serious and lasting work, forgetting the vast mystery of the universe and abandoning all attempt to understand it? Is it possible to contemplate the vast All with a serene soul if we are conscious of the thought that a time must come when this All will no longer be reflected in any human consciousness." And immortality must be no empty notion: "I dread the idea of having to tear myself away from my flesh; I dread still more the idea of having to tear myself away from everything sensible and material, from all substance." Thus there is in all this writer's thought a kind of fleshliness and materialism, which carries with it its own morality.

It is as if a man should suddenly stop in the midst of his most important and pressing concerns and say to himself, "Now what do I, the real man, the whole

man, really think and want?"-and should find that all his interest revolved round the two ideas of life and death. Conclusions arrived at by some such process of self-questioning Unamuno expresses with a robustness and a complete sincerity that give to many of his sayings a powerful stimulus, an almost painful interest. Just this note of earnestness has hardly been heard before. The book as a whole is a bit incoherent; it resembles in form one of the prophetic books of the Old Testament; it is, after all, difficult to formulate, except in the vaguest terms, Unamuno's final philosophy. But the harsh, downright, and penetrating assertions with which the book is filled, its mere outcries, may find entrance into one's mind and suddenly alter one's whole point of view. And the point of view that Unamuno violently forces upon us finally is this: that the tragic conflict between heart and head is not the obstacle to ethics, but the very foundation of ethics; ethics is the product of this struggle. We come out with the robust doctrine that all virtue is based upon "uncertainty, doubt, perpetual wrestling with the mystery of our final destiny, mental despair, and the lack of any solid and stable dogmatic foundation." Try to base virtue upon certainty, and it ceases to be virtue; base it on dogma and it becomes fanaticism.

All this is Unamuno's profoundly human, distressingly sincere version of James's Pragmatism-a "will to believe" energized by deep instincts. "Conduct, practice," avers the author, "is the proof of doctrine, theory. 'If any man will do His will,' said Jesus, 'he shall know of the doctrine whether it be of God or whether I speak of myself."'

It is hardly an exaggeration to say that, whatever may be one's philosophical attitude, to miss reading this book would be as great a loss as not to have read Sartor Resartus.

SECRET DIPLOMACY. By Paul S. Reinsch. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company.

The core of Mr. Reinsch's book is his criticism of secret diplomacy as it operated in the period of incubation of the World War. Compared with this, his earlier chapters are but leisurely and entertaining explorations of the past, satisfying curiosity, but not vitally affecting present problems. The conceptions of Machiavelli scarcely need rehearsing, and no reader acquainted with European history in the most general terms needs to examine the diplomatic methods of Talleyrand and Metternich in order to become convinced that secret diplomacy is a historical survival from the period of the absolutist state. Without disparaging historic research, one may say that these things, as treated by Mr. Reinsch, in a book intended for general reading, are of little more than antiquarian interest. For the purpose of producing broader convictions by building up a historic background, a method resembling that of Mr. Wells's celebrated Outline would perhaps be more effective than the somewhat detailed and anecdotal method adopted by Mr. Reinsch.

If it be true that secret diplomacy, not only in Germany and Austria-Hungary, but also among the Allies was one of the causes but for which the war might have been prevented, then nothing else relating to the subject is relatively of much importance.

Of Sir Edward Grey, Mr. Reinsch writes: "Thus a minister, to whom national intrigue and duplicity were essentially foreign, who was trusted by his country and who wanted peace, was brought by the methods of secret diplomacy into a position where he had actually incurred the moral obligation to assist another country without having the power for peace which the ability to avow that relationship openly, to take the responsibility, and to confront Germany therewith would have given him."

If this be true, then England and France must share with Germany, in some degree, responsibility for the war!

Here is the point that needs the fullest discussion-a point on which previous diplomatic history throws comparatively little light. Profitably pursued, it would seem to lead directly into the broader question of the present conception of nationality. If secret diplomacy is a survival of the absolutist state, it is sustained to-day by a selfish and jealous nationalism, and it is with causes rather than symptoms that we should chiefly concern ourselves.

There would seem to be, therefore, an unconscious disproportion in Mr. Reinsch's book; yet the work contains much information and much clear statement. To the objection that delicate negotiations may be hampered by publicity, the author answers that we need more of Lincoln's faith in the plain people; and he encourages the belief that the discrediting of secret diplomacy and its gradual abandonment may be more effective in removing the causes of both war and international intrigue than persons rendered cynical by the results of the peace may be inclined to think. At a certain stage in civilization publicity becomes at once possible, necessary, and effective in order to secure the ends of society.

WHAT NEXT IN EUROPE? By Frank A. Vanderlip. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company.

It is apparently hard for Americans to realize the extent of the calamity that has overtaken Europe as the result of the war and as a result of the peace. This difficulty of comprehension is in part due to that general "economic illiteracy" (an excellent phrase which Mr. Vanderlip has contributed to the current discussion) which we share with other peoples, and in part to the difficulty we experience in thinking internationally: the misfortunes of others may easily be minimized. However obvious it may be that immense destruction of life and property means dead loss to the world, and that economic anarchy must result from the arbitrary process of carving out political states without regard for economic boundaries, few of us realize that European civilization is threatened with destruction.

It is strange that Mr. Vanderlip should find it necessary, even in a book intended for popular consumption, to lay principal stress upon the evils of inflated currency, and that he should discover the remedy in a principle so broad as that of international good-will and coöperation. Yet so it is. And because it is the only international agency that seems capable of bringing some degree of international coöperation, the League of Nations, Mr. Vanderlip believes, is one of the few curative forces now in operation.

It is largely, however, because Mr. Vanderlip speaks with authority; it is because, having thoroughly studied the condition of Europe and having penetrated the complexities of facts and figures down to the simple truth, he can sweep away illusions with a decisive gesture, that his book is of great value.

In brief, every nation in Europe faces a serious economic crisis. England, whose prestige is greatest, is not exempt. Because of the stagnancy of foreign trade, her whole economic system is menaced. "I am aware that this sober view of the English situation," writes Mr. Vanderlip, "is shared by few Americans. I found that it came as a surprise to the people of the Continent." If the terrible embargoes on trade are not removed and England's customers are not rehabilitated the British Isles may experience tragedy. France, despite the unique character of her investing public, and her consequent ability to float loans that would be impossible elsewhere, is on the verge. The economic condition of most other European countries, and especially of the so-called succession states of Central Europe, is pitiful. Continuous inflation of currency appears to afford the only escape from immediate anarchy, and the remedy is as bad as the disease. Responsible and far-seeing statesmen are caught in a vicious circle and cannot escape. Italy, it may be surprising to learn, has on the whole acted with most prudence, and has fared best; and it is in Italy that Mr. Vanderlip finds greatest signs of the working of those spiritual forces which may lead to regeneration.

Perhaps the most noteworthy fact about Mr. Vanderlip's book is, after all, this: that it sees salvation for the world in a combination of economic common sense and spirituality! The one is impotent without the other. This point of view has seldom, if ever, been so effectively expressed. Of course, a plan is necessary, and the carefully worked out scheme for the establishment of a Gold Reserve Bank of the United States of Europe which Mr. Vanderlip proposes seems the best remedy yet suggested for the worst evil that afflicts Europe, and the most effective and feasible form of American participation in European problems. Another vital suggestion is that the debts of European countries to the United States be used to establish credits in those countries for the purpose of financing projects of rehabilitation. Ultimately the United States would be repaid, much more surely than it could be under any other plan. It is not nature that is to blame for present conditions; it is human nature. "The people of Europe could be bountifully fed, well clothed, and could live on a high plane of material comfort, if there could be reasonable cooperation between racial and political groups."

LOST VALLEY. By Katharine Fullerton Gerould. New York: Harper and Brothers.

About the only faults one has to find with Mrs. Gerould's first novel are, as might be expected, technical faults. The novel has the spirit of great fiction in it, and the impression made by the best parts of it is deep and permanent. In the description of Lost Valley and its decadent inhabitants, in the situation of Madge Lockerby, a girl in whom the intellect and high spirit of the old Valley stock survive, though that stock has decayed all around her, there is grimness with beauty, a contrast that is genuinely human of spiritual elements with sheer ugliness. To include in one's vision of human nature the spiritual element, without indulging either in spiritualized sentimentality—which is the worst kind of sentimentality-or in the easy fatalism that tempts many a realist into inhuman ways, is an ability that few possess. Mrs. Gerould handles her materials with a restraint that recalls the manner of William Dean Howells when he wrote with most power and least circumlocution.

The story of Madge Lockerby is the story of a good woman-which means that it is a much harder story to write than is the story of a bad woman. Of all the things that have to be realized in fiction, moral strength is perhaps the hardest to depict adequately. Firmness of line in the portrayal of a virtuous character is rare. It is worthy of note, in these days, that the principal actor in this story is not Lost Valley, but Madge Lockerby; and in a day of ferocious Main Streets that eat up men's souls it is refreshing to be assured that a human being, however trammeled by circumstance, may after all possess some effective initiative. A good humanist, will perhaps admit readily enough that nine-tenths, at least, of our ordinary actions are impulsive, habitual, and more or less predetermined; but he will leave a margin for the human soul to struggle in, and sometimes he will let the struggle be successful. Nevertheless, he must have the proportion right. He must make due allowance, and a large one, for brute circumstances and inherited proclivities, and he must estimate the force of instincts and impulses as impartially as the veriest realist.

In a large part of her story Mrs. Gerould seems to achieve this just proportion, this skeptical, yet human view of life hence she attains a larger measure of conviction and a higher degree of interest than does many another novelist of to-day. You do not feel that she is going to drag Madge Lockerby out of her predicament by the hair of her head; it would seem perfectly consonant with the author's philosophy to let Madge drop into the bottomless pit; and yet there is a reasonable possibility that Madge may be saved, in part by her own efforts. She is not hall-marked for mediocrity or desuetude, as so many heroines are nowadays, by a few faint though accurate phrases of description at their first introduction. How often do we not sadly know on our first encounter with a fictitious person that a character described as he is described can never by any possibility rise out of himself!

There is much life, much vigor, and an austere beauty in the first part of Mrs. Gerould's book, while a delicate psychological tact determines the be

« ZurückWeiter »