Philosophy of the Unconscious

by Eduard Von Hartmann

  This theoretical discrimination of Instinct from the conscious activity of the understanding could easily be misinterpreted by the opponents of my way of regarding the matter, as if I asserted a wide gulf to exist between the two in practice likewise. The latter, however, is by no means my opinion; on the contrary, I have already pointed to the possibility of both kinds of psychical activity being combined in different proportions, so that through their intermixtures in different degrees, there occurs a gradual transition from pure instinct to pure conscious reflection. We shall, however, see later on (B. Chap. vii.) that even in the highest and most abstract rational activity of the human consciousness there are certain factors of the highest importance, which essentially agree with that of instinct.

  On the other side, however, the most wonderful manifestations of instinct not only occur in the vegetable kingdom (as we shall see in C. Chap. iv.), but also in those lowest organisms of the simplest structure, in part unicellular, which in any case stand far below the higher plants in conscious intelligence, but to which such a power is usually denied. If in such microscopic unicellular organisms, in respect of which the question whether they are of animal or of vegetable nature is devoid of meaning, we must admire instinctive adjustments which far exceed merely reflectorially stimulated movements, then every doubt must be laid to rest, whether there really exists an instinct, the derivation of which from conscious rational activity appears radically hopeless. I adduce as an example a recently observed phenomenon, which is perhaps more astonishing than anything previously recognised, because the problem is therein solved of accomplishing, with incredibly simple means, various ends to which in higher animals a complicated system of motor organs is subservient.

  Arcella vulgaris is a lump of protoplasm in a concavo-convex, brown, finely perforated shell, from the concave side of which it protrudes through a circular opening, by means of processes (pseudopodia). If a drop of water, containing living arcellæ be observed through a microscope, a specimen may usually be seen accidentally lying on its back at the bottom of the drop of water, making vain efforts for one or two minutes to grasp a firm point with its pseudopodia. Then there suddenly appear generally from two to five, sometimes even more, dark specks in the protoplasm at a mean distance from the periphery, and usually at regular intervals from each other, which are quickly enlarged to distinct spherical air-bubbles, and at last fill a respectable part of the hollow of the shell, thereby thrusting out a portion of the protoplasm. The number and size of the several bubbles are in inverse proportion. After five to twenty minutes the specific gravity of the Arcella is so far reduced that the animalcule, lifted from the water by its pseudopodia, is carried towards the upper surface of the drop, on which it now walks. Then after five to ten minutes the bubbles disappear, the last little speck by jerks, as it were. If, however, as the result of an accidental twist, the Arcella comes up to the surface of the drop, the vesicles continue to grow, but only on one side, becoming smaller on the other; in consequence of which the shell assumes a position more and more oblique, and at last vertical, until finally one of the processes takes firm hold, and the whole turns over. From the moment that the animal gains a firm footing the vesicles become smaller, and the experiment may be repeated as often as it pleases after their disappearance. The places of the protoplasm which form the bubbles continually change; the non-nucleated protoplasm of the pseudopodia alone does not contain air. With longer fruitless endeavours there occurs visible exhaustion; the animal abandons the attempt for a time, and renews it after a pause for refreshment. Engelmann, the discoverer of this phenomenon, says (Pflüger’s Archiv für Physiologie, vol. ii.): “The changes of volume usually take place in all air-bubbles of the same animal simultaneously, in the same way and in the same degree. There are, however, not a few exceptions. Frequently some grow or diminish much quicker than others. It may even happen that one air-bubble becomes smaller while another increases. All these changes are throughout perfectly adapted to their end. The formation and growth of the air-bubbles has for object the bringing the animal into such a position that it can maintain itself by means of its pseudopodia. When this end is attained the air disappears, without our being in a position to discover any other reason for this disappearance. … If these circumstances be taken note of, it is possible, with almost complete certainty, to foretell whether an Arcella will develop air-bubbles or not, and, in case gas-bubbles are already in existence, whether they will expand or become smaller. … In the power of changing their specific gravity the Arcellæ possess a remarkable expedient for rising to the surface of the water or for settling at the bottom. They not only avail themselves of these means under the abnormal circumstances in which they find themselves during microscopic investigation, but also under normal circumstances. This is concluded from the fact that at the surface of the water, where they live, a few specimens are always found to contain air-bubbles.”—

  Those whom the foregoing instances do not constrain to reject the explanation of instinct by conscious reflection must admit the demonstrative force of the following highly important testimony of facts. Thus much is certain, that the reflection of conscious understanding can only take into account such data as are given in consciousness; if, then, it can be definitely proved that data indispensable for the result cannot possibly be consciously known, it is thereby proved that the result cannot spring from conscious deliberation. The only way, according to the common assumption, whereby the knowledge of external facts can be obtained is sensuous perception; we have then to show that knowledge indispensable to the result cannot possibly be obtained by means of sensuous perception. The following are the points to be proved: Firstly, that the facts in question belong to the future, and all data are wanting in the present circumstances wherefrom to infer their occurrence in the future; secondly, that the facts in question do indeed exist at the present time, but are manifestly closed to conscious apprehension by the circumstance, that only the experience of former cases can supply material for the interpretation of the data afforded by sensuous perception, and this experience, so observation shows, is excluded. It would make no difference, as far as our argument is concerned, if, as I hold to be probable, in the progress of physiological knowledge, all examples about to be cited for the first case should turn out to belong to the second, as has undeniably happened with many examples formerly adduced. For an à priori knowledge without any ap-pulse from the side of sense is hardly to be called more wonderful than a knowledge which is evinced, indeed, on occasion of certain sensuous perceptions, but can only be conceived to be connected therewith by such a chain of inferences and applied knowledge, that its possibility must be decidedly denied in the state of the faculties and development of the particular animals.—An example of the first case is afforded by the instance of the larva of the Stag-beetle in digging for itself a suitable cavity, on occasion of passing into the chrysalis state. The female larva digs a hole as large as itself; the male, however, though of the same size, one as large again, because the horns which will hereafter be developed are about the length of the animal. The knowledge of this circumstance is indispensable to the result, and yet every indication is wanting at the time whereby to infer this future event. The following is an example of the second case:—Ferrets and buzzards fall upon blind-worms or other non-poisonous snakes without more ado, and seize them just as they come in their way; the adder however, even if they have never seen one before, they grasp with the greatest circumspection, and try first of all to crush its head, in order to avoid being bitten. Since there exists nothing else capable of inspiring fear in the adder, if this behaviour is to proceed from conscious reflection, the conscious knowledge of the dangerous character of its bite is indispensable. But now, as this can only be gained by experience, and yet the same precaution is observed by animals that have been kept in confinement from their birth, it cannot proceed from reflection. On the other hand, there evidently follows from these two examples the fact of an unconscious cognition of par
ticular circumstances, the existence of an immediate knowledge without the intervention of sensuous perception and consciousness.

  This has always been recognised and indicated by the words fore-feeling and presentiment. But, on the one hand, these terms have reference only to the future, not to that which exists at the present time but is imperceptible owing to its remoteness; on the other, they denote only the slight, vague, undefined resonance in consciousness of the unerring and sure state of unconscious knowledge. Accordingly, the word fore-feeling is appropriate so far as vagueness and indefiniteness are suggested, whilst at the same time it is easy to see that no mere feeling devoid of all, even unconscious ideas, can have any influence on the result, but only a mental representation, since this alone contains knowledge. The presentiment reverberating in consciousness may certainly, in certain circumstances, be tolerably distinct, so that among human beings it can be fixed in thoughts and words; but even in man, as our experience teaches us, this is not the case with the instincts proper, for in their case the resonance of unconscious knowledge in consciousness is mostly so weak, as to be actually expressed only in accompanying feelings or moods, and to form only an infinitely small fraction of common feeling. That such an obscure sympathy on the part of consciousness is quite insufficient to give the cue to conscious reflection is evident. On the other hand, it is also clear that conscious reflection would be superfluous, since the particular rational process must have been already unconsciously performed; for every vague presentiment in consciousness is only the consequence of a definite unconscious knowledge, and the knowledge, of which we are here speaking, is almost always the idea of the purpose of the instinctive action, or one closely connected therewith. E.g., in the case of the larva of the Stag-beetle, the aim is to have room for the two sprouting horns; the means, to procure room by excavation; the unconscious perception, the future growth of the two horns. Lastly, all instinctive actions give the impression of absolute certainty and self-assurance, and there never occurs in them, as in conscious resolution, any delay, doubt, or hesitation, never (as will be shown in C. Chap. i.) any genuine error, so that one cannot possibly ascribe to the obscure nature of the presentiment such an invariable precise result; indeed this feature of absolute accuracy is so characteristic, that it may pass for the only clear defining mark of action from instinct when compared with action from conscious reflection. From this, however, it again follows that a principle altogether different from that which underlies conscious action must be at the bottom of instinct, and that can only be found in the determination of the will by a process lying in the Unconscious, for which this character of undoubted self-assurance is claimed in all the following inquiries.

  Some may be surprised that I have ascribed to instinct an unconscious knowledge, produced by no sensible experience, and yet unerring; but this is no consequence of my view of Instinct, but rather a strong support of this view, derived directly from the facts. Accordingly we cannot be spared the trouble of considering a number of examples illustrative of this point. In order to be able to use a single word for the unconscious knowledge, which has not been acquired by way of sensuous perception, but is met with as an immediate possession, I shall (as “presentiment,” for the reasons assigned, is not suitable) employ the term “clairvoyance,” which, it must be clearly understood, will here only have the force of the given definition.

  Let us now consider in order a few examples from the instincts of fear of enemies, appetence, the migratory impulse, and propagation.—Most animals know their natural enemies before any experience of their hostile intentions. Thus a flock of young pigeons becomes alarmed, even without an older guide, and scatters if a bird of prey approaches. Oxen and horses, indigenous in regions where there are no lions, no sooner scent a nocturnal prowler than they become restless and anxious. Horses, on crossing a bridle-path which ran past the old house of the beasts of prey of the Berlin Zoological Garden, were wont to become terrified and restless on scenting their wholly unknown enemies. Sticklebacks swim quietly about among the rapacious pikes, which do not attempt to attack them; for if by oversight a pike ever actually attempts to swallow a stickleback, the latter with its projecting dorsal spines sticks in his throat, and the pike must infallibly die of hunger; accordingly cannot transmit his painful experience to posterity. The foresight of the ferret and buzzard in regard to adders has been already mentioned; similarly it was observed that a young Honey-buzzard, on being presented with its first wasp, only devoured the animal after it had crushed the sting out of its body. In some countries the people live chiefly on dog’s flesh. Dogs in the presence of these people are said to become quite wild and ungovernable, as if they recognised in them foes whom they would like to attack. This is the more remarkable, as dog’s fat outwardly applied (e.g., rubbed on the shoes), attracts dogs by its smell. A young chimpanzee, at the first sight of a gigantic snake, was observed by Grant to fall into the greatest alarm; and even among us human beings, too, it is not so rare for a Gretchen to spy out a Mephistopheles. Very remarkable is it that the insect Bombex attacks and slays a Parnope wherever it finds one, without making any use of the corpse. We know, however, that the latter lies in wait for the eggs of the Bombex, and is therefore the natural foe of its race. The phenomenon well known to the tenders of oxen and sheep as “the goading of cattle by the gadfly” furnishes analogous evidence. If a “breeze” or gadfly approaches a herd, the latter become quite wild and run hither and thither in confusion as if beside themselves, because the hatched larvæ from the eggs of the fly deposited on their hide penetrate the skin and cause painful festerings. These gadflies, which have no sting, very much resemble the stinging gadflies, and yet the latter are but slightly, the former extremely, feared by cattle. As the consequences of the painless deposition of the eggs only make their appearance after a considerable lapse of time, a conscious inference of the connection cannot be assumed.

  No animal, whose instinct has not been killed out by unnatural habits, eats poisonous herbs; even the ape, spoiled by residence among men, may with safety be employed in the primitive forests as a fruit-taster, as it rejects with a cry the poisonous fruits which are offered it. Every animal chooses just those vegetable or animal substances for its food which suit its digestive organs, without having received any instruction on the matter, even without a previous use of the organ of taste. If now it must certainly be assumed that smell, and not sight, is the critical organ for the discrimination of materials, still it is no less enigmatical how the animal recognises that which suits its digestion by odorous rather than by visual impression. Thus the kid cut from the womb by Galen enjoyed milk alone of all the proffered food and drink, refusing to touch aught else. The Hawfinch splits the cherry-stone by turning it in such a way that the beak exactly hits the suture, and it does this as well with its first cherry-stone as with its last. Finches, martens, and weasels make little holes on the opposite side of the egg about to be drained of its contents, that the air may rush in and facilitate suction. Animals not merely know their proper food, but also often seek appropriate remedies with correct personal diagnosis and unacquired therapeutic knowledge. Thus dogs often eat a good deal of grass, especially couchgrass, when they are sick; as, for instance, according to Lenz, when they are afflicted with worms, which are evacuated enveloped in the undigested grass, or if they want to remove splinters of bone from their stomach. They make use of thorny rest-harrows as laxatives. Fowls and pigeons pick lime from walls and roofs if their food does not afford enough lime to form egg-shells. Little children eat chalk when they have heartburn, and pieces of charcoal if they suffer from flatulence. We also find, under certain circumstances, these special nutritive or curative instincts in adult human beings when unconscious nature gains the upper hand, e.g., among the pregnant, whose capricious appetites probably make their appearance, when a certain state of the fœtus renders a particular composition of blood desirable. Field-mice bite out the germs of the gathered grain, that they may not sprout in winter. />
  A few days before the coming of cold weather the squirrel gets in its stores most diligently, and then closes its dwelling. The birds of passage go from our regions to warmer lands at a time when they have no lack of food, and when the temperature is considerably higher than at the period of their return: the like holds good of the time when animals go into winter quarters, which beetles frequently do in the warmest days of autumn. When swallows and storks find their way home again, travelling hundreds of miles over lands totally different in appearance, it is ascribed to the keenness of their sense of locality; but when pigeons and dogs, after having been turned round twenty times in a sack and carried off to an unknown region, nevertheless run home in a straight line, no one can say anything more than that their instinct has guided them, i.e., the clairvoyance of the Unconscious has enabled them to divine the right path. In years when there will be an early winter, most birds of passage begin to make preparations for their departure sooner than usual. If a very mild winter is imminent, many species do not depart at all, or migrate only a short distance southwards. If a severe winter occurs, the tortoise makes its winter abode deeper. If grey geese, cranes, &c., soon withdraw from the spots in which they had made their appearance at the beginning of spring, there is a prospect of a hot and dry summer, when the deficiency of water in those places would render breeding impossible to marsh and water birds. In years when floods occur, the beaver builds its dwelling higher; and in Kamtchatka, when a flood is imminent, the field-mice suddenly withdraw in a body. If a dry summer is approaching, in April or May spiders weave their pensile toils several feet in length. When in winter house-spiders run to and fro, boldly contend with one another, construct new and numerous webs one over another, cold will set in in from nine to twelve days; on the other hand, if they conceal themselves, there will be a thaw.