My third principal work consists now of two parts; the first, historically critical part, appeared at the end of 1881, under the title: “Das religiose Bewusstsein der Menschheit im Stufengang seiner Entwickelung;” the second, systematic part, is issued simultaneously with this ninth edition of the “Philosophy of the Unconscious,” under the title, “Die Religion des Geistes.” The first part deduces from the previous course of evolution of the religious consciousness of humanity by immanent criticism that stage as historical postulate, to which Religion must accordingly in consistency be elevated; the second part systematically carries out the point of view merely hinted at in the first, not, however, in dogmatic, but in phenomenological form, i.e., by a psychological analysis of the religious consciousness and by deduction of its metaphysical postulates and ethical consequences.
EDUARD VON HARTMANN.
BERLIN, August 1882.
PHILOSOPHY OF THE UNCONSCIOUS.
INTRODUCTORY.
GENERAL PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.
(a.) Object of the Work.
“To have ideas, and yet not be conscious of them,—there seems to be a contradiction in that; for how can we know that we have them, if we are not conscious of them? Nevertheless, we may become aware indirectly that we have an idea, although we be not directly cognisant of the same” (Kant, “Anthropology,” sec. 5, “Of the ideas which we have without being conscious of them”). These clear words of the great clear thinker of Königsberg offer at once a starting-point for our investigation, and the field of inquiry itself.
The sphere of Consciousness is like a vine-clad hill which has been so often ploughed up in all directions, that the thought of further labour has become almost loathsome to the public mind; for the looked-for treasure is never found, although rich and unexpected crops have sprung from the well - worked soil. Mankind very naturally began its researches in Philosophy with the examination of what was immediately given in Consciousness; may it not now be lured, by the charm of novelty and the hope of a great reward, to seek the golden treasure in the mountain’s depths, in the noble ores of its rocky beds, rather than on the surface of the fruitful earth? Undoubtedly auger and chisel and prolonged irksome labour will be needed before the golden veins are reached, and then a tedious dressing of the ore ere the treasure be secured. Let him, however, who is not afraid of toil follow me. Is not indeed the supreme enjoyment to be found in labour itself?
The conception “unconscious idea” is certainly somewhat paradoxical to the naïve understanding, but the contradiction contained therein is—as Kant says—only apparent. For if we can only be cognisant of the actual contents of consciousness—thus can have no knowledge of aught out of consciousness—by what right do we assert that that, whose existence is revealed in consciousness, could not also exist outside our consciousness? Truly in such a case we should be able to affirm neither existence nor non-existence, and accordingly would have to rest content with the assumption of non-existence, until in some other way we acquired the right to make positive affirmation of existence. This has generally been the view adopted up to the present time. The more, however, Philosophy has abandoned the dogmatic assumption of immediate cognition through sense or understanding, and the more it has perceived the highly indirect cognisability of everything previously regarded as immediate content of Consciousness, the higher naturally has risen the value of indirect proofs of existence. Accordingly, reflective minds have from time to time appeared, who have felt constrained to fall back upon the existence of unconscious ideas as the cause of certain mental phenomena otherwise totally inexplicable. To collect these phenomena, to render probable the existence of unconscious ideas and unconscious will from the evidence of the particular cases, and through their combination to raise this probability to a degree bordering on certainty, is the object of the first two sections of the present work. The first treats of phenomena of a physiological and zoopsychological nature, the second deals with the department of mental science.
By means of this principle of the Unconscious the phenomena in question at once receive their only possible explanation, an explanation which either has not been expressly stated before, or could not obtain recognition, for the simple reason that the principle itself can only be established through a comparison of all the relevant phenomena. Moreover, by the application of this as yet undeveloped principle, a prospect opens up of quite novel modes of treating matters hitherto supposed to be perfectly well known. A number of the contrarieties and antinomies of earlier creeds and systems are reconciled by the adoption of a higher point of view, embracing within its scope opposed aspects as incomplete truths. In a word, the principle is shown to be in the highest degree fruitful for special questions. Far more important than this, however, is the way in which the principle of the Unconscious is imperceptibly extended beyond the physical and psychical domains to achieve the solution of problems which, to adopt the common language, would be said to belong to the province of metaphysics. These consequences flow so simply and naturally from the application of our principle to physical and pyschological inquiries, that the transition to another department would not be remarked at all, if the subject-matter of those questions were not otherwise familiar to us. There is a general tendency of thought towards this single principle. In each succeeding chapter one piece more of the world crystallises, as it were, around this nucleus, until, expanded to all-unity, it embraces the Cosmos, and at last is suddenly revealed as that which has formed the core of all great philosophies, the Substance of Spinoza, the Absolute Ego of Fichte, Schelling’s Absolute Subject-Object, the Absolute Idea of Plato and Hegel, Schopenhauer’s Will, &c.
I beg, therefore, no one to take offence at this notion of unconscious representation if at first it have little positive significance. The positive content of the conception can only be gradually acquired in the course of the investigation. Let it at first suffice that an unknown cause of certain processes, outside of and yet not essentially foreign to Consciousness, is thereby signified, receiving the name “idea,” because it has in common with what is known in Consciousness an ideal content, which itself has no reality, but can at the most resemble an external reality in the ideal image. The notion of unconscious will is clearer in itself, and appears less paradoxical (comp. Chap. A. i. conclusion). As it will be shown in Chap. B. iii. that Feeling can be resolved into Will and Idea, these two being thus the only fundamental psychical functions which, according to Chap. A. iii., are inseparably one, so far as they are conscious, I designate the united unconscious will and unconscious idea “the Unconscious.” Since, however, this unity again only rests upon the identity of the unconsciously willing and unconsciously thinking subject (Chap. C. xv. 4), the expression “the Unconscious” denotes also this identical subject of the unconscious psychical functions,—a something in the main unknown, it is true, but of which we may at least affirm, that besides the negative attributes “being unconscious and exercising functions unconsciously,” it possesses also the essentially positive attributes “willing and representing.” As long as our speculation does not transgress the limits of individuality, this may be sufficiently clear. When we, however, view the world as a whole, the expression “the Unconscious” acquires the force not only of an abstraction from all unconscious individual functions and subjects, but also of a collective, comprehending the foregoing both extensively and intensively. Lastly, it will appear from Chap. C. vii. that all unconscious operations spring from one same subject, which has only its phenomenal revelation in the several individuals, so that “the Unconscious” signifies this One Absolute subject. This must suffice as a general indication of our theme.
“Philosophy is the history of philosophy,”—to that I subscribe with all my heart. He, however, who should take this assertion to mean that truth is to be found in the past alone would fall into a very serious error; for there is a dead and a living past in the history of Philosophy, and life is only to be found in the present. Thus in a tree, the solid stem of dea
d-wood which defies the storm is formed by the growth of earlier years, and a thin layer alone contains the life of the mighty plant, until in the next year it too is numbered with the dead. It was not the leaves and flowers, which captivated the beholders in bygone summers, that gave enduring strength to the tree,—these at the most contributed, when fallen and faded, to manure its roots,—it was the slight and unregarded annular growth of the stem, and the insignificant young shoots, that increased its girth, height, and solidity. It is not merely strength for which the living ring is debtor to its dead forefathers, but by holding them in its embrace, expansion likewise; wherefore for the newly sprouting ring, as for the tree, the first law is really to embrace and enfold all its predecessors, the second, to grow from the root upwards self-dependently. The problem how to fulfil these two conditions in Philosophy verges on the paradoxical, for they who overlook the situation have usually lost the ingenuousness necessary for making a true beginning, and he, who attempts a new departure, generally presents some crude dilettante product from having insufficiently appreciated the previous historic evolution.
I believe that the principle of the Unconscious, which forms the focus in which all the rays of our inquiry meet, when conceived in its generality, may not improperly be regarded as a new point of view. How far I have succeeded in penetrating into the spirit of the previous development of Philosophy I must leave to the judgment of the reader. I will only remark that, having regard to the plan of the work, the proof, that nearly everything that can be looked upon as genuine heart-wood in the history of Philosophy is embraced in the final results, must be limited to brief hints, which have in part been more elaborated in various special inquiries, to which reference will be made at the proper place.
(b.) Method of Research and Mode of Exposition.
Three leading methods of research are to be distinguished—the dialectic (Hegelian), the deductive (from above downwards), and the inductive (from below upwards). The dialectic method I must, without now entering upon reasons pro or con,1 entirely exclude, for the reason that, at least in the accepted form of it, it is ill-adapted for common comprehension, a feature which cannot here be overlooked. The advocates of that method, who are above all others bound to recognise the relativity of truth, will, it is hoped, not condemn the present work on account of its naturalistic character, especially when they consider the positive stand made against common opponents, and its utility as a propædeutic for non-philosophers. We have then to weigh the comparative advantages of the deductive or descending, and of the inductive or ascending method.
Man arrives at the scientific stage when he tries to comprehend and explain to himself the totality of the phenomena which surround him. Phenomena are effects whose causes he desires to know. As different causes may have the same effect (e.g., friction, the galvanic current, and chemical changes, Heat), so, too, a single effect can have different causes. The cause assumed for an effect is consequently only a hypothesis, which can by no means possess certainty, but only a probability, to be determined by extraneous considerations.
Let the probability that U1 is the cause of the phenomenon E be = u1, and the probability that U2 is the cause of U1 be = u2 then the probability that U2 is the remote cause of E = u1, u2; from which it is clear that at every stage backwards in the chain of causation the coefficients of probability of the several causes in respect of their proximate effects go on multiplying, i.e., become continually smaller (e.g., multiplied by itself nine times becomes about .) If the degree of probability of the causes did not again rise through the number of hypothetical causes becoming fewer, and through more effects being explicable by a single cause,1 the probabilities would soon by continual multiplication reach values so small as to be unserviceable. Now if the causes of all cosmical phenomena could be regressively traced, until they were referred to one or a few ultimate causes or principles, Science, which is one, as the world is one, might attain perfection by way of the inductive method.
Supposing, however, any one to have solved this problem in a more or less complete form, the question still remains, whether, in imparting his convictions to others, he would do better to follow the track from phenomena backwards and upwards to the original causes, or to deduce the existing world from such first principles? We are dealing here with an alternative; for when Schelling in his final system asserts the necessity of a combination of both processes, beginning (see Werke, Abth. ii. Bd. 3, S. 151, Anm.) with a negative ascending philosophy, and concluding with a positive descending philosophy, this duplication is only made possible by assigning a distinct sphere to each, and by retaining the former for the purely logical domain. In other words, he applies the inductive method only to facts of inner thought - experience (comp. Werke, ii. I, pp. 321 and 326), whilst in his positive philosophy he seeks to exhibit the highest Idea thus obtained as result as the really Existent and the principle of all Being (comp. ii. 3, p. 150), endeavouring to derive therefrom the facts of outer experience by means of the deductive method. (Krause’s ascending and descending didactic order is somewhat similar.) Even if the results thus deductively obtained in any way satisfied the demands of Science, still such an arbitrary separation of inner and outer experience could not be scientifically justified; and in any case, as regards the latter province, the before-mentioned alternative would again present itself, whether the ascending or descending method be preferable for exposition. The decision must undoubtedly be given in favour of the ascending or inductive method; for—
1. As the person to be guided dwells in the lower region of fact, his proper starting-point is there, and his upward course is always from the known to the unknown. On the other hand, to place him at the outset at the point of view of first principles would necessitate a salto mortale, and then he would have to proceed from one unknown point to another, only reaching the known again at the conclusion of his journey.
2. Every one is persuaded that his own opinion is the correct one, and consequently distrusts any novel doctrine. He must, therefore, know how another has arrived at his sublime results, if his own distrust is to be removed, and this requires the employment of the ascending method.
3. Men are secretly inclined to distrust their own understandings, as well as obstinately to stand by opinions once adopted. It is therefore exceedingly difficult to convince any person by deduction, because he always distrusts the method, even when he has no specific objection to raise; whereas in induction he needs think less strenuously and exactly, but can, as it were, touch the truth by sight and direct perception.
4. Deduction from first principles, supposing it to be absolutely flawless, may perhaps be imposing by its vastness, compactness, and subtlety, but does not produce conviction. For since the same effects can arise from different causes, in the most favourable case deduction only proves the possibility of these principles, by no means their necessity; it does not even give them a coefficient of probability, as the inductive method does, never advancing beyond the bare notion of possibility. To speak figuratively, it is undoubtedly indifferent, if we want to become acquainted with the Rhine, whether we travel up-stream or down-stream; but for the dweller at the mouth of the Rhine the natural course is up-stream, for if a magician should come and transport him in a twinkling to the source of a certain river, he would be wholly unable to tell if it were really the source of the Rhine, and whether he is not about to undertake a long, tedious journey in vain. And when he arrives at this river’s mouth, and finds himself in an unfamiliar region instead of in his own home, the wizard perhaps tries to persuade him that it really is his home, and many a one readily credits him for the sake of the beautiful journey itself.
After what has been stated, it would be inexplicable how anybody who had arrived at his principles by the inductive path should take the deductive method for their communication and proof; and, in fact, this never occurs. The truth is, that philosophers who deduce their systems (whether the method be revealed or concealed), have arrived at their principles by the only
way save induction which is open to them, viz., by a sort of mystical flight, as will be shown in Chap. B. ix. In their case deduction is the attempt to descend from the mystically acquired results to the reality to be explained, and that too by a path, which has always possessed a fascination for system-loving minds dazzled by the certainty of the results attained in the very different science of mathematics. For such philosophers deduction is certainly the appropriate method, since their given starting-point is the upper region of thought. Apart from the circumstance that both the method of proof itself as well as the principles to be proved must always, as everything human, be defective, and that accordingly deduction always leaves an unfilled interval between primary principles and the reality to be explained, the worst feature of the case is that deduction cannot prove its own principles, as Aristotle long ago showed, in the most favourable case obtaining for them only a bare possibility, but not a definite probability. The principles may perhaps gain somewhat in comprehend sibility by the process, but no power of convincing, and the attainment of a conviction of their correctness is left exclusively to mystic reproduction, as their discovery consisted in mystical production. It is the greatest misfortune for Philosophy, so far as it employs this method, that the assurance of the truth of its results is not communicable as in the case of inductive science; and even the comprehension of its content, as is well known, is no easy matter, because it is infinitely difficult to pour a mystical conception into an adequately scientific mould. Philosophers, however, only too frequently deceive both themselves and their readers with regard to the mystical origin of their principles, and try, in the absence of good proofs, to give them a scientific support by subtle sophisms, the worthlessness of which escapes notice through the firm belief of the truth of the result. Here is the explanation of the circumstance, that people (save in the rare exception of a certain mental affinity) feel an extreme repugnance to the study of the philosophers, when they turn to their proofs and deductions, but, on the other hand, are attracted and fascinated in the highest degree by the imposing compactness of their systems, their grand views of the world, their flashes of genius illuminating the darkest recesses, their deep conceptions, their ingenious aperçus, their psychological acumen. It is the mode of proof that inspires the man of science with his instinctive aversion to Philosophy,—an aversion which in our own time, when in every department of life Realism is triumphant over Idealism, has risen to supreme contempt.
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