I and Thou

The individual finds their place within a culture, and that culture progressively expands its experiences in the realms of It (and not Thou). As time passes and cultures grow and extend, their experience grows along with it; in this way, “the world of objects in every culture is more extensive than that of its predecessor” (35). What connects the human person to the world of the It are the activities of experiencing and of using, both of which allow the person to make progress at the natural and biological level.

Above the biological lies the spiritual: “SPIRIT IN ITS HUMAN MANIFESTATION is a response of man to his Thou” (36). Within the life of the spirit is the ability to speak and communicate with words and language. Speech is unique because it is not something that human beings produce, but is something in which human beings exist: “[I]n actuality speech does not abide in man, but man takes his stand in speech and talks from there” (36). The life of the spirit exists “between I and Thou” (36). Silence in the presence of the Thou is the proper response, as language can be a tool used to try and manipulate and control the Thou, which would then turn the Thou into an It.

In coming to know, in gathering knowledge, things can only function as It; as It, they can be discerned and categorized, and can be mapped out structurally. The same thing occurs with art: it is received and known as something outside the knower and by a capacity for being structured. What allows the presence of the Thou, in opposition, is activity and life. The decreased ability to enter into relation is what pushes the person toward the life of experience and use. Pushing one toward this life are the twofold realities of institutions and feelings.

Institutions exist as extrinsic realities, “where all sorts of aims are pursued, where a man works, negotiates, bears influence, undertakes, concurs, organises, conducts business, officiates, preaches” (39). Feelings, on the other hand, are intrinsic realities, “where life is lived and man recovers from institutions” (39). Both of these can distract from the ability to form true relations: institutions as outside forces, and feelings as that which creates the illusion of community. Feelings may accompany relation, but they are not the source of mutual relation. In the example of marriage, the feelings follow upon the mutual recognition of the Thou; in recognizing that a marriage is built upon the mutual relation that lives in the recognition of the Thou, the impossibility of the harmony of two I’s becomes evident.

While relation—the I—Thou word—is of utmost importance, this does not mean that the I—It conjunction is evil. It is only when the I—It becomes a taskmaster and tyrant that it becomes something truly wicked. The world of It cannot be done away with entirely, but it needs to be constantly made subservient to the world of Thou; It needs to be made to facilitate life with and for the Thou.

In becoming enslaved to the I—It conjunction, the person loses their freedom: “Only he who knows relation and knows about the presence of the Thou is capable of decision. He who decides is free, for he has approached the Face” (44). At times, the existence and importance of this freedom disappears since the human person is never limited to the world of It; in all cases, the person can abandon the world of experience for the world of relation.

Culture remains alive and free as long as it places relation at the center; culture ossifies and dies when it is overrun by the world of It. When It is considered the ruling factor, then freedom disappears; the concept of karma exists in this space, when a forgotten past is blamed for the present conditions. Belief in fate as well destroys freedom and the life of the present, and it is crucial that this is not tolerated, for “to be freed from belief that there is no freedom is indeed to be free” (48). What is key to remember is that both destiny and freedom exist as truths, but only the one who seeks freedom will preserve destiny, while the one who seeks destiny will fail to find and bring about either. Seeking the wrong thing will result in the loss of both, as will the act of seeking after anything other than the center of life.

Freedom is a result of purposely acting against the will that is arbitrary, and intentionally directing it. The person “must sacrifice his puny, unfree will, that is controlled by things and instincts, to his grand will, which quits defined for destined being” (49). Sacrificing initial, temporary things for grander things is necessary; in allowing space for sacrifice and grace, the person moves through life without allowing the world of It to get in the way of the search for relation, truth, and spirit. Doing so is the search for true destiny—destiny which would remain elusive if sought for its own sake.

What allows for freedom is the I of the I—Thou relation, which “makes its appearance as person and becomes conscious of itself as subjectivity” (51). This is in direct contrast to the I of the I—It conjunction, which “makes its appearance as individuality and becomes conscious of itself as subject” (51). The human appears as a person inasmuch as they enter into relation with another, with the Thou. The person is diminished when they appear—or desire to appear—as the individual which is set apart from, and distinct from, everything else. When the I is set apart to experience and to be the individual, there is no genuine sharing, and when there is a failure in sharing, “there is no reality” (52).

Consciousness of one’s own personhood and individuality creates a person who is more an individual, someone whose individuality is primary. When the person is focused rather on their existence, personhood is primary in a way that retains an orientation to the world of Thou.

In truth, what exists is something between reality and non-reality, for human beings do not exist at either extreme: “No man is pure person and no man pure individuality. None is wholly real, and none wholly unreal. Every man lives in the twofold I” (53). Some men live the I in ways that transcend the manner of others. Socrates lived his I in a way that emphasized dialogue, continuously reaching outward to the other in a search for conversation and for truth. The philosopher Goethe too lived his I in a full way, looking out toward nature and allowing himself to encounter the mysteries of nature as Thou. Above all else, the I of Jesus of Nazareth was lived fully in relation to the Father, the supreme Thou of which any man can speak of as Thou. For Jesus, to say I meant simultaneously to say Thou, acknowledging the relation of Father and Son. It is only in alienation that human beings shudder and realize the terror of their own position in the world. This alienation can be banished, however, by constantly referring outward to the world as Thou; in the recognition of the world of Thou, there comes recognition that there is always another, and thus humanity is never truly alone.