Philosophy of the Unconscious

by Eduard Von Hartmann

  That we very often do not know what it is we really will, nay, even often imagine we are willing the contrary, until by the pain and pleasure resulting from the decision we are instructed concerning our true will, every one will probably have had opportunity of observing in himself and others. In these doubtful cases we often naïvely think that we are willing what appears to us good and laudable, e.g., that a sick relation, whose heir we are to be, may not die, or that in a collision between the common weal and our individual weal the former is preferred, or that an engagement formerly entered into may be kept, or that our rational conviction and not our inclination and passion may gain the day. This belief may be so strong that afterwards, if the decision falls out contrary to our supposed will, and yet no grief but an unbounded joy takes possession of us, we do not know how to give over astonishment at ourselves, because we are now suddenly aware of disillusion, and learn that we unconsciously have willed the contrary of what we had imagined. Since, now, in this case, we only conclude to our proper will from our pleasure (or pain), this pleasure is manifestly the sign of the satisfaction of an unconscious will. This becomes still more evident if we consider how, from the excessive astonishment that such a will can have unconsciously existed in our own soul, the transition is quite gradual through the stages of slight suspicion, doubt, and conjecture that one indeed willed otherwise than was imagined to the final open self-deception, where we very well know how we willed, but endeavour to persuade ourselves and others, with more or less success, that we willed just the opposite. Closely allied are the cases in which the temptation to self-deception does not at all exist, and the surprise which accompanies the pleasure only consists in this, that for a very long time the will has not emerged into consciousness, as, e.g., when a friend believed to be long dead suddenly enters my room. Even then it is our unconscious will whose satisfaction takes the form of fearful joy, but I now do not need to infer the existence of this will in myself from the occurrence of pleasure, but can directly assume it from the memory of earlier times, when I have often wished to enclose the lost friend once more in my arms.

  We know from Chap. iv. A. that the conscious and unconscious will are essentially distinguished by this, that the idea which forms the object of will is conscious in the one case, unconscious in the other. When we recall this proposition, we perceive the transition of pleasure or pain from unconscious will to those feelings which are somewhat obscure in that their quality is entirely o partially conditioned by unconscious ideas. We now see that the former is only a special case of the latter, in that in the former the ideas which form the content of the satisfied will remain unconscious, and perhaps only the ideas which bring satisfaction become conscious (as, e.g. in maternal love); but this does not quite meet the cases where, immediately on the occurrence of pleasure or displeasure, the existence and the kind of the unconscious will are inferred by consciousness, because the latter could only hesitate between two or a very few species of will.

  But now the circumstances are rarely so simple that the feeling consists in the satisfaction or non-satisfaction of a single definite desire, but the most different kinds of desires cross one another in the greatest number at every moment, and by the very same event some are gratified, others not gratified; accordingly there is neither pure nor simple pleasure and displeasure, i.e., there is no pleasure which does not contain a pain, and no pain with which a pleasure is not bound up, but there is also no pleasure which is not compounded of the simultaneous satisfaction of the most different desires. As actual volition is the resultant of all contemporaneous desires, so is also the satisfaction of the will the resultant of all simultaneous satisfactions and non-satisfactions of particular desires; for it comes to the same thing, whether one operates directly with the resultant, or with the several components, and then takes the resultant of the partial results. Now it is evident that one part of the several desires may be conscious, another may, nay, for the most part, will be unconscious; then is the pleasure also compounded of those pleasures which are determined by conscious and those which are determined by unconscious ideas. The latter fact must give that obscure character to the quality of the feeling, that constant remainder, which, with all our effort, can never be grasped by consciousness.

  But there are other points besides the unconscious will where unconscious ideation determines the speciality of the feeling, to wit, the perception or idea producing the feeling may be unconscious to the brain, strange as it at first seems. For it might be thought the idea which produces the satisfaction of the will can only come from outside, or through cerebrally conscious ideation in the play of fancy, and in both cases the resort to consciousness cannot be avoided. But in this it is forgotten that there are other central nervous parts which, just as much as the brain, have a consciousness per se which is capable of pleasure and pain. But now one can well imagine, that the feelings of pleasure or pain of these centres can easily be conducted to the brain, without the conduction being so well contrived, that the perceptions themselves, which produce in those centres pleasure or pain, could reach the brain. In this manner the brain probably receives pleasant and painful sensations which have been conducted to it, but not their grounds of origin; and therefore such feelings and moods reflected from other centres in the brain have something very incomprehensible and enigmatical about them, although their power over the cerebral consciousness is not seldom very great. The latter, then, generally searches after other apparent causes of its feelings which are by no means the correct ones. The less the cerebral consciousness has raised itself to a certain independence and elevation, the more power do the moods springing from the relatively unconscious possess over it; thus in the female sex more than in the male, in children more than in adults, in the sick more than in the healthy. Most distinct are these influences in hypochondria, hysteria, and at the period of important sexual changes, e.g., puberty and pregnancy. These influences are also by no means merely expressed in moods, i.e., in the disposition to entertain cheerful or gloomy feelings, but they even directly give rise to feelings in the cerebral consciousness, as is again best observed in persons suffering from hypochondria.

  “Look at that child: what wild delight, what merry skipping, what gladsome laughter, what a glistening eye; all questioning as to the cause would be in vain, or the causes enumerated would be utterly disproportionate to the glee. And suddenly, and again without any conscious reason, all is changed; the child is quietly lost in itself, its eye troubled, its lips pouting, on the point of weeping, peevish and sad, whereas a moment before it was contented and full of mirth” (Carus’s “Psyche”). Where else should these feelings, whose peculiarity it is to be referable only to unconscious ideas, take their rise than from vital perceptions of the lower nerve-centres? That in man the power of these feelings appears to us so much the greater the less the independence of the cerebral consciousness, permits us to conclude that among the animals their significance is likewise the greater the lower we descend in the animal scale, which might be expected à priori, since in this descent the mental enjoyments and sufferings of the human cerebral consciousness dwindle more and more.

  One will now see how, also, other sensuous feelings which, in part, are determined and accompanied by clearly conscious perceptions of the brain, for the rest remain obscure and unintelligible so far as they are brought about by perceptions and feelings of lower centres. Thus, e.g., one may compare the facility with which we can reproduce completely and clearly, as mere idea, any simple feeling that is determined by the perception of the higher senses leading direct to the brain, with the want of success in trying to recall clearly and completely hunger and thirst or sensual enjoyment.

  Lastly, there remains the possibility that yet other unconscious ideas help in determining the special nature of the states of feeling. We have, namely, already seen above that sensuous perception frequently only has for its consequence a sensation of pleasure or pain if it occurs with a certain strength, whilst it persists of itself
below this degree, as indifferent objective perception, without causing such a feeling. But now hardly any sensuous perception is quite simple, but is compounded of a number of elements which are only combined into a unity through the common act of perception. Still one or several of these partial perceptions may very well be followed by feeling, whilst the other partial perceptions remain indifferent in respect of feeling. Nevertheless, if the union of these different partial perceptions into one total perception is not accidental, but grounded in the nature of the object, not only will those productive of feeling, but also the indifferent parts of the whole perception, blend with the feeling, and help, at the same time, to determine the quality of the whole mental state, because, indeed, the mind has no interest in undertaking the separation of the feeling-producing from the indifferent parts. Thus, e.g., every characteristic property of the vocal timbre and note influences the character of the pleasurable feeling which is produced in me on hearing a particular singer, and were it not that these slight differences, which only just enable me to distinguish different voices, possess the power to produce a difference in the degree of the enjoyment, I should not be in a position to separate the enjoyment, which I have experienced in hearing this particular singer, from those fine shades of the indifferent perception, without losing the special quality of the feeling experienced. This only proves that we have never practised ourselves in separating out what is properly pleasure and displeasure in our psychical states, but have comprehended all states of the mind in which pleasure and displeasure appear, including all accompanying perceptions and ideas (nay, even desires), under the term Feeling. One now sees that even among the merely concomitant perceptions there may be some unconscious for the brain, as has just been shown in the case of those productive of feeling. Still more important, however, do these concomitant ideas become when we pass from the sphere of sensuous perception into that of intellection.

  We have now reviewed in general the different modes in which feeling may be determined by unconscious ideas, and perhaps on this occasion already the importance of unconscious ideas for the whole emotional life may have also become visible. This importance cannot be rated too highly. Let any one take for test whatever feeling he pleases, and seek to grasp it with perfectly clear consciousness in its whole extent. It is in vain; for unless satisfied with the most superficial explanation, he will constantly stumble on an irresolvable remainder, which mocks at every endeavour to illuminate it with the burning-glass of consciousness. But now, if one asks, what then has been done with the part that has become clear whilst it has been embraced with full consciousness, we shall be obliged to say that it has been translated into thoughts, i.e., conscious ideas, and only so far as feeling has been translated into thoughts has it become clearly conscious. But that feeling, even if only partially, has been recast into conscious ideas, sufficiently proves indeed that it already unconsciously contains these ideas, for otherwise the thoughts would, in fact, not be the same as the feeling. If the previously unconscious part of feeling, on being passed through consciousness, shows itself as material of thought, we may suppose the same also of the part of the feeling not yet interpenetrated by consciousness; for both in the individual and in humanity as a whole, the boundary between the not-understood and the understood part of feeling is always shifting.

  Only so far as the feelings can be already translated into thoughts, only so far are they communicable, if we disregard the always extremely scanty instinctive language of gesture; for only so far as feelings are capable of being translated into thoughts are they to be rendered into words. One knows, however, what difficulty there is in the communication of feelings; how often they are unrecognised and misunderstood; nay, even how often they are declared to be impossible. In general, feelings can only be understood by him who has had them; only a hypochondriac understands the hypochondriac, only he who has loved, the lover. How often, however, do we fail to understand ourselves; how enigmatical often are our own feelings, especially when they occur for the first time; how liable are we to the greatest self-delusions with regard to them! We are often mastered by a feeling which has already struck firm roots in our inmost being without our suspecting it, and suddenly, on some occasion or other, there fall, as it were, scales from our eyes. One has only to remember how often the souls of pure girls are completely possessed by a first love, which they would with a good conscience stoutly deny; but should the unconsciously loved one incur a danger from which they can save him, then all at once the hitherto bashful maiden stands forth in the full heroism and sacrificing spirit of love, shunning neither ridicule nor slander. Then, however, she also knows at that same moment that she loves and how she loves. But as in this instance love, so at least once in a lifetime every spiritual feeling, has existed in us, and the process in virtue of which we become self-conscious once for all, is the translation of the unconscious ideas which determined feeling into conscious ideas, i.e., thoughts and words.

  1 Although the feeling of present non-satisfaction may be always united with positive desire, the feeling of a present (but doubtfully enduring) relative satisfaction frequently with the negative; yet these present sensations can in no case be conceived as the desire itself, but only as cause of the desire (more exactly, as occasions or opportunities which indicate to the uprisen or actual world-wili the path of its manifestation in the world-process). For desire itself necessarily refers to a not yet existing future state, could, accordingly, always only be explained as an idea or fore-feeling aroused by those present feelings or strengthened by them (comp. Sect. A. Chap. iv.)

  IV.

  THE UNCONSCIOUS IN CHARACTER AND MORALITY.

  THERE is no manifestation of will without an exciting cause or motive. The will of the individual is primarily potential, a latent force, and its passage into the manifestation of energy, into definite volition, requires as sufficient reason a motive which always possesses the form of a mental representation. These psychological premisses I assume. Volition as such only differs in intensity. All other apparent attributes of the volition belong to its contents, i.e., to the mental pictures of the objects of volition, and this content again is connected with the motives. According to the kinds of objects most eagerly desired (as sensual enjoyment, goods and gold, praise, honour and renown, successful love, enjoyment of art and artistic productions, knowledge, &c.), is volition itself distinguished into different main tendencies (impulses), as, e.g., inordinate longing after enjoyments of sense, covetousness and avarice, vanity, ambition, and lust of fame, ardour of love, artistic impulse, thirst for knowledge, and the spirit of inquiry, &c.

  If, now, this content of volition were solely dependent on motives, psychology would be very simple and the mechanism definite for all individuals. Experience shows, however, that one and the same motive, quite apart from accidental differences of disposition, acts differently on different individuals. Public opinion fails to affect one, is all in all to another. To this man the laurel crown of the poet or a beautiful woman seems contemptible, whilst another sacrifices his life-happiness for their possession. One offers his property to save his honour, another sells it for a bribe. Good doctrines and fine examples spur this man to emulation, and that man they leave unaffected. Rational reflection is here the determiner of all action, there it has no motive power, and the certain prospect of destruction is not able to restrain a third from his folly, &c. For the most part, consciousness can assign no reason why this motive (say, the expected announcement of a new scientific discovery) possesses an attraction for me, why that one (say, the announcement that at the entertainment to which I am invited a gaming-table will be opened) acts as a feeble inducement. The most that can appear in consciousness in the shape of an intermediary is the expectation of a greater or smaller pleasure; but what is enigmatical and unfathomable in my nature is, why I promise myself a great pleasure from hearing of a new discovery, but from the game of hazard a small or no pleasure at all, whilst the converse is the case with my neighbour.
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br />   How a particular individual will be affected by this or that motive no one can say prior to experience; but if we know how a man reacts on all possible motives, we know all his idiosyncrasies—become acquainted with his character. Character is then the mode of reaction on every special class of motives, or, what is the same thing, a condensed expression for the stimulating power of every particular class of desires. As there is no motive which belongs exclusively to one of these classes, always or commonly a greater number of impulses are affected; and the resultant of the desires hereby simultaneously excited is the active will, which unceasingly and immediately involves the act if this is not prevented by physical causes. If we now ask what sort of a process, then, this reaction of the will on motive and this opposition of the desires to the single resultant is, we must confess that we certainly perceive its existence through undoubted inferences from the facts falling within the domain of consciousness, but that we can say nothing with regard to its particular nature, because our consciousness affords no knowledge thereof. In any case, we only know the first term, the motive, and the last term, the particular volition or result; but what that is which reacts on motive we can never experience, no more than we can take a look into the nature of this reaction, which altogether wears the character of reflex action or reflectorial instinct, as we have seen in the special case of Compassion and some other impulses in Sect. B. Chap. i. We have, doubtless, in part, a consciousness of the conflict of various desires, but only so far as we have, in former simpler cases, experienced the various desires apart as resultants, and apply our former experience to the present case. How incomplete these experiences are, however, and how imperfectly they are used for the understanding of a present psychical process, every one doubtless will have experienced in his own person.