Those concomitant feelings of desires are generally of a highly peculiar and characteristic nature, conditioned at the same time, for the most part, by bodily feelings which are reflectorially called forth in adjoining parts of the body by the respective cerebral affections. Think of anger and its rush of blood; of fear and terror, with their arrest of the circulation, difficulty of breathing, and trembling; the suppressed sob, vexation, and grief, with their life-corroding influences; impotent rage, with its choking and bursting sensations; affection, with its tears and its relaxed breast and stomach; longing, with its consuming woe; sensuous love, with its gushing glow; vanity, with its heart-leapings; effort at thought and strained reflection or considering, with its peculiar reflex feelings of tension at different parts of the scalp, according to the part of the brain subjected to strain; defiance, inflexible obstinacy, and fixed resolution, with their peculiar muscular contractions; disgust, with its anti-peristaltic movements of the fauces and stomach, &c., &c.
How much the character of these feelings is dependent on such bodily admixtures will be easily granted by every one. How much it is simultaneously conditioned by accompanying unconscious representation has been discussed at the end of Chap. iii. B.—If, now, the man thinks to apprehend the will directly in consciousness in three ways (1) from its cause, the motive; (2) from its accompanying and succeeding feelings; and (3) from its effect, the act; and all the time (4) has the content or object of the will as representation actually in consciousness,—it is no wonder that the illusion of being immediately conscious of the will itself is very tenacious and firmly fixed by long habit, so that it allows the scientific view of the eternal unconsciousness of the will itself only with difficulty to make way and to obtain a firm footing in the mind. But let any one only once carefully test himself with several instances, and my assertion will be found confirmed. If any one at first believes himself conscious of the will itself, he soon observes, on closer examination, that he is only conscious of the conceptual representation “I will,” and at the same time of the idea which forms the content of the will; and if he pursues the investigation, he finds that the ideal presentation “I will” has always simultaneously arisen in one of the stated three ways or in several, and nothing more is found in consciousness, even after the most searching examination. One thing, however, is still very remarkable, viz., if (as happens to everybody) we are vexed that our previous opinion has to be abandoned, and one says to oneself, “Still I can will what and when I will, and know that I can will, and now, e.g., I do will,” yet that which is taken for direct perception of the will is nothing else but reflex bodily feelings vaguely localised, and, indeed, feelings of defiance, obstinacy, or even merely of decided firm resolve. Here, then, arises the semblance of consciousness of the will itself in the second mode, from accompanying feelings. This, too, will be found verified certainly only when one gives oneself the trouble to make trial of it.
Finally, however, I have to mention yet one last decisive reason for the unconsciousness of all will, which quite directly decides the question. Every man knows what he wills only so far as he possesses the knowledge of his own character and of the psychological laws, the sequence of motive and desire, feeling and desire, and the strength of different desires, and can from these calculate beforehand the result of their struggle, or their resultant, the will. Entirely to fulfil this requirement is the ideal of wisdom, for only the ideally wise man always knows what he wills; all other men, however, know the less what they will the less they are accustomed to study themselves and the psychological laws, to keep their judgment always free from disturbance by passion, and, in a word, to make conscious reason (as suggested in Chap. xi. B.) the motive of their life. Therefore a man knows the less what he wills the more he abandons himself to the Unconscious, the inspiration of feeling. Children and women rarely know it, and only in the simplest cases; animals probably still more rarely. Were knowledge of the will not an indirect constructive calculation, but a direct conscious apprehension, as in pleasure, displeasure, and representation, it would be absolutely incomprehensible how it should so frequently come to pass that we firmly believe we have willed one thing but are taught by the act that we have willed another. (Comp. vol. i. pp. 252 and 262.) In the case of something directly entering into consciousness, e.g., pain, there can be no room for error; that of which we have immediate self-apprehension truly exists, for we apprehend it immediately in its own nature.
Since the will in and of itself is under all circumstances unconscious, it is now also comprehensible that, for the becoming conscious of pleasure or displeasure, the will itself is precisely similarly circumstanced, whether it is united with a conscious or an unconscious representation. For the becoming conscious of displeasure, which indeed is already in opposition with will in such and such a manner, it is obviously indifferent whether the idea which forms the content of will is conscious or unconscious; at the most, it might appear of importance for the becoming conscious of pleasure. If the content of the will is a conscious representation, the possibility of the becoming conscious of its satisfaction is clear without more ado; perhaps also, if it is an unconscious idea, this possibility exists with the help of accompanying feelings and perceptions. If, namely, in n cases these accompanying feelings and perceptions have had for their consequence m times a displeasure and n—m times none, one instinctively concludes that these feelings and perceptions may be the work of an unconscious will which was not satisfied m times, i.e., produced pain, whence it immediately follows that it must be satisfied n—m times. Thus this satisfaction may, in consequence of the contrast, also attain to consciousness with a will whose content always remains unconscious, if it is only accompanied by regularly recurring marks, which, in place of the idea which forms its content, can figure as representative of the inherently eternally unconscious will. This must be added as supplementary to Chap. iii. B., where these points could not be weighed.
The insight thus obtained of the unconsciousness of the will in itself throws an interesting light on ever-recurring endeavours in the history of philosophy to resolve will into idea; I merely name the most prominent—Spinoza, and in recent times Herbart and his school with the most detailed attempt in this respect. This endeavour, which in less degree is manifested also by Hegel, would be utterly inexplicable in the case of such great thinkers, if the will, which in its essence is entirely heterogeneous to the idea, were something immediately given in consciousness; they become, however, through the circumstance that one never finds in consciousness the will itself, but always only the idea of the will, not only explicable, but authorised and demanded for the exclusively conscious standpoint, since the will has actual existence only in the sphere of the Unconscious. It is, therefore, also characteristic that just the most dilettante of all considerable philosophers, Schopenhauer, disregarding this requirement of strict thought, claims to have found the will as core of his own being directly in consciousness. As the philosophising of common sense thinks to grasps things immediately in external perception, just as dogmatically did Schopenhauer imagine himself to have apprehended the will immediately in inner experience. Criticism annihilates the one as the other dogmatic semblance of instinct, but science gives again to cognition, as conscious mediate possession, what it has destroyed of blind, immediate instinctive faith.
4. Consciousness has no degrees. —Our principle has yet to stand one final test. If, namely, our assumption is correct, that consciousness is a phenomenon the essence of which consists in the opposition of the will to something not proceeding from it and yet sensibly present, that thus only those elements of ideation or feeling can become conscious which light upon a will found in opposition with them, i.e., on a will which does not will or negates them, it follows from this that consciousness can as little as naught or negation have differences of degrees. The question is one of a pure alternative: “Becoming conscious or remaining unconscious?” If the will comports itself affirmatively, the latter occurs; if it is nega
tively related, the former. There is no stronger or weaker in negation, for negation is a positive, not a comparative conception. There may, indeed, be a partial and complete negation, but this is not difference in the negation, but in the negated object, and can, therefore, establish no difference of degree in negation itself. A partial negation must in our case have for its consequence the becoming conscious of the one and the remaining unconscious of the other part, but in no case could there emerge a difference of degree in consciousness as such.
What becomes conscious, the object or the content of consciousness, may then show a more or less; but consciousness itself can only be or not be, never be more or less. Undoubtedly the will also, which by its negating of the object posits the becoming conscious of the same, may exhibit difference of degrees, be stronger or weaker; but the strength of this will, presupposing that it at all lies above the threshold, has no influence at all on the alternative, “becoming conscious or not,” only whether its content be affirmatively or negatively related to the object of the becoming conscious affords ground for a decision. Hence no difference in the degree of consciousness can be derived from the strength of the opposing will; either something becomes conscious or does not become conscious; in no case can it become more or less conscious. I will try to make this state of the case still clearer by an example in the matter of willing.
If I will to give something to a beggar, I certainly will more if I give him a half-crown than if I give him a penny; this is the more or less of content, which does not at all touch the question of the intensity of will as such, for the will itself may, in both cases, be equally strong, whether I intend to present him with half-a-crown or a penny. On the other hand, with the same content the will may have very different strength; e.g., if of two men each wills to give the beggar a penny, the one may possibly be dissuaded from so doing by a very slight cause, whereas the will of the other overcomes strong counter-motives. This is the degree of difference of the will as such. The degree of difference of the content we have in consciousness also; the graduated difference of consciousness as such must, on the other hand, be wanting according to the a priori derivation from our principle; should this a priori consequence of the same not be confirmed by experience, this would be an indirect attack on the principle itself.
What especially stands in the way of the empirical recognition of that proposition is the confusion of the notion consciousness with two other allied notions, first attention, secondly self-consciousness.—Attention we have already repeatedly (vol. i. pp. 131–132, 174–175, also 275, 276) seen to be a nerve-current, produced both reflectorially as well as voluntarily, which runs its course in sensory nerve-fibres from centre to periphery, and serves the purpose of heightening the conductivity of nerves, especially for weak stimuli and weak differences of stimuli. Attention accordingly consists of material nervous vibrations. Inasmuch as these run from centre to periphery, it is inevitable that they should, even without giving rise to perception, be reflected from periphery to centre. Moreover, through attention a number of muscles are contracted for every sensory sphere, in order to facilitate the reception of the perception by the organ; and lastly, certain other muscles, especially muscles of the scalp, are reflexively contracted. These three movements agree in this, in bringing sensations to the organ of consciousness by means of material vibrations, i.e., attention as such is an object of perception, and consequently of consciousness. One may be easily convinced of this if in the dead of night one has occasion to listen attentively for a signal, or to look towards the horizon to see whether a rocket will be sent up. If for pure ideation certainly also muscular tension of the sense-organ is absent, yet the reflex tension of the muscle of the scalp remains (whence the word “cracking one’s brain”), and the effect of the nervous vibrations as such. Wherefore also that attention is distinctly felt which is not directed to an external sense, but merely to the inner ideational life of the brain, as any one may easily observe in himself when he is searching for a word that has escaped him.
Attention enhances the irritability of the parts which it affects, and thereby facilitates both the revival of former ideas and also the perception of weak stimuli and differential stimuli. We cannot definitely assert that it magnifies the amplitude of the vibrations, because the intensity of a sensation (e.g., intensity of sound) is not perceptibly increased by enhancement of attention. Yet this also, as I hold to be extremely probable, may be merely apparent, in that the increase of intensity has already begun unconsciously to abate, just as the magnifying of an object by nearer approach is not easily perceived, and the comparison of two circular openings equidistant from the eye is not essentially easier than that of two unequal ones at a greater distance.—Be that, however, as it may, this much is certain, that we have a double estimate in every sensation, both of the strength of the sensation, so far as it depends on the stimulus, and also of the degree of the applied attention; that thus an element is added to perception through the cerebral vibrations of attention, which makes the total perception richer and more comprehensive (quite apart from the circumstance that all sensations cannot at all reach the brain and its consciousness without a certain degree of reflex attention). The like holds good, however, for mere cerebral ideas, and in still greater degree.
An idea emerging from memory is also enriched and heightened by attention. It is certainly not changed in its general contents, but whereas in an idea for which one is inattentive everything is misty and dissolving, pale and colourless, indiscernible as if at a great distance, the outlines, colours, and details become the more defined, vivid, and closer the higher the degree of attention. The reason of this is, that all our ideas rest on sense-impressions, and only in these do the pale, spectral notions become clothed with flesh and blood, but that the sensuous representations become so much the more plastic and vivid, the larger is the part of the special nerve of sense and organ of sense which is drawn into sympathy, the wider the representation is peripherally projected outside. In sense-perception there thus occurs by the increase of attention an enrichment of content only so far as, by means of the enhanced conductivity, also slighter concomitant details reach the cerebral consciousness, and the perception of the vibrations of attention themselves becomes more intense. In the idea of memory, however, beside these moments there is also added the enhancement of sensuous vividness and definition.
To this must in all cases be added the hitherto un-mentioned prevention of disturbance by other perceptions, which is of the highest importance. Usually, namely, there exists in the waking state a certain sense of attention in the whole sensitive nervous system, which naturally is feeble for any single point of the same, and is only enhanced reflexively in this direction by a more strongly acting stimulus. Accordingly there usually arises a great division and distraction of attention, so that consciousness finds in itself an infinitely mixed content of merely weak perceptions. But if now there takes place a severe strain of attention in a particular direction, thus, e.g., on a sense or the brain only, this, with the limited sum of energy of the organism, can only happen at the expense of attention in all other directions, and therefore all partial enhanced attention is a concentration of the same, which forms a contrast to the distraction. Instead of the infinitely numerous weak perceptions, consciousness now finds as its content one energetic idea, whilst the sum of all other perceptions is reduced to a minimum. One sees that the content has essentially changed so much that it perfectly suffices for the explanation of the changed state; there is nothing present which pointed to a gradual change of consciousness in itself. It is, however, on the other hand, obvious how easily a defective discrimination of attention and consciousness may lead to the opinion that consciousness, just as much as attention, has degrees; and it will often be found that consciousness is spoken of where attention is meant. Attention may have degrees, because it consists of nervous vibrations, and in all nervous vibrations the magnitude of the vibrations of amplitude conditions the intensity of the sensatio
n; consciousness, however, can have no degrees, because it is an immaterial reaction, which either does or does not occur, but, if it occurs, always takes place in the same way.
The distinction between consciousness and self-consciousness has been already indicated at the beginning of this chapter. Self-consciousness can, of course, not be conceived without consciousness; how far a complete absence of self-consciousness can be in fact established must still remain doubtful, since, indeed, self-consciousness also is in the first instance instinctively born as so-called slight self-feeling. Thus much is certain, that a very clear consciousness occurs pretty often with the minimum of self-consciousness; nay, even the more clear becomes the objective consciousness in the same individual, the more self-consciousness disappears. Nobody is in a position really to enjoy a work of art unless he really forgets himself. In the same way self-consciousness almost entirely ceases when one is steeped in some scientific book; but when one is productive and absorbed in deep reflection, then one is so absent not merely from the surroundings, but even from oneself, that no thought remains for one’s own most important interests; nay, even, on being suddenly addressed, one has first to recollect one’s own name. And yet in these moments consciousness is clearest of all, just because it is wholly merged in the subject, i.e., attention has reached the highest degree of concentration. This absorption in a subject is, however, necessary wherever the ideational process is called upon to do something considerable, except in practical questions of personal interest, because here all the aims of the whole life are to be regarded in their importance with respect to one another; thus the identity of the Egos of different times, the personality, plays a leading part. For the same reason, however, exclusively practical natures also, who can never forget themselves and their aims and interests, are regularly devoid of every higher scientific and artistic faculty.
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