Philosophy of the Unconscious Read online

  “Whenever consciousness is able to replace the Unconscious, it ought to replace it, just because it is to the individual the higher, and such objections to it as that the constant application of conscious reason renders pedantic, costs too much time, etc., are mistaken; for pedantry only arises from imperfect use of the reason, when, in applying general rules, one does not take account of the particular differences, and reflection costs too much time only with deficient material of knowledge and unsatisfactory theoretical preparation for practice, or with irresolution, which can only be obviated by the use of reason itself.”

  And again:

  “I may be proud of the work of consciousness, as my own deed, the fruit of my own hard labour; the fruit of the Unconscious is as it were a gift of the gods, and man is only its favoured messenger; it can therefore only teach him humility.”

  C. K. O.

  MAGDALENE COLLEGE,

  CAMBRIDGE.

  1 For a general treatment of Hartmann’s writings and their influence on German thought, the reader may consult “Eduard von Hartmann,” by Wilhelm von Schnehen (vol. xx. in Frommann’s “Klassikern der Philosophie,” Stuttgart, 1929), to whom we are indebted for the portrait which appears as a frontispiece. The earlier study by Drews, “Ed. v. Hartmanns Philosophisches System im Grundriss” (Heidelberg, 1902), like the same author’s less voluminous “Das Lebenswerk Ed. v. Hartmanns” (Leipzig, 1907), has also a metaphysical orientation.

  2 It is, however, at least open to question whether the Kantian epistemological ultimate, usually symbolized as a plurality (Dingen-an-sich), was rightly identified by Schopenhauer with his own volitional “Weltgrund”—always metaphysically conceived.

  1 “New Essays,” p. 47.

  2 Murphy, “An Historical Introduction to Modern Psychology” (1929), pp. 48–50.

  3 Also in his Preface to the eleventh German edition (1904).

  4 The original and independent theories of G. H. Lewes, Hering, Creighton, and Samuel Butler probably deserve more attention than such of the earlier approaches as are more familiar to the historian—the systematic treatment of “mental latency” by Hamilton, for example, or the neuro-physiological hypotheses of Mill and Carpenter.

  1 A useful and carefully documented introduction to the historical and contemporary literature of the Unconscious will also be found i “Modern Theories of the Unconscious” (London, 1924), by Dr. W. L. Northridge. Reference may further be made to Hartmann’s own brief “Grundriss der Psychologie” (1908), and to the elaborate treatise of his disciple and commentator, Drews, “Psychologie des Unbewussten” (Berlin, 1924).

  AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE SEVENTH EDITION.

  THAT I am in general no friend of prefaces, the previous six editions of this book have proved. When, however, a work meets with so kindly and indulgent a reception as the present one, it might be interpreted as a kind of affectation in the author if he persistently avoided that direct communication with his readers which is customary in prefaces. As I know myself to be as free from such prudery as from obtrusiveness, I will no longer abstain from appearing before the curtain in the usual fashion, and from discussing certain points of a somewhat external or even personal nature,—the less, as the attacks of opponents on my character and private life have already compelled me, by a frank description of my course of life,1 to afford my readers the requisite materials for forming a judgment of their own on the value of those attacks.

  I can truly say that never was author more surprised by the success of his book than I by that of the “Philosophy of the Unconscious.” A moderate acquaintance with the history of the book-trade as regards philosophical literature would alone have sufficed to destroy any possible illusion of a young author’s vanity; the lamentations of Schopenhauer on the tardiness with which a really important work makes its way, bore emphatic testimony to the compatibility of a certain self-consciousness with incredulity concerning outward literary results; public opinion at the time of the formation of the North German Alliance appeared moreover as unfavourable as possible for the reception of a systematic philosophical work; and lastly, I was, at the bottom of my heart, far too much of a Pessimist not to be prepared for the worst, as was only naturally to be expected from the apathy of the public as regards philosophical things in general, and the ill-will of the professional class towards the dilettante interloper in particular. If the result proved this prognosis to be erroneous, the reason was partly that it had been founded only on an observation of symptoms discernible on the mere fringe of the spiritual life; partly that journalism busied itself with unwonted energy with the new venture; partly, lastly, that my publisher had taken an especial interest in my efforts, and zealously exerted himself to push the sale of the book (all risks being from the first taken on his own shoulders).

  The importance of the latter fact had been entirely overlooked by Schopenhauer, who had imagined that it was enough to write an important book and to print it at his his own cost, and the rest was the affair of the public. This view is, however, just as one-sided as the opposite one, that an altogether worthless book of an unknown author without any attraction for the public, even in a bad sense, could be helped to a trade success by a mere publisher’s puff. Whilst all the industry of a publisher in respect of a book, that is not recommended by one reader to another, always leads only to commercial loss, it is true that what is good and important, commonly at the end of a chapter of accidents, is preserved from total oblivion, but it may have to make its way with extreme slowness.

  If Schopenhauer had had my good fortune to find a publisher, who would have personally interested himself for his great work, those long decennia of entire neglect would have been spared him, which contributed so much more and more to embitter his peculiarly constituted mind, and to paralyse his rich creative powers. The consequence would have been, that the German nation would have been imbued a generation earlier with the rich spirit of the Schopenhauerian Philosophy, and that the leisured philosopher would have received a powerful stimulus to apply his extraordinary talent during his long lifetime to the accomplishment of far more numerous and varied undertakings. In both respects the indirect effects, as regards the present mental horizon of the educated public in Germany, might have been simply incalculable.

  That Reviews of the “Philosophy of the Unconscious” appeared in so unusually large a number, was doubtless owing to the circumstance that this book was discovered to afford a fit subject for discussion, not only by the professed philosophical magazines and the ordinary literary journals, but also by most of the more considerable reviews both at home and abroad, by the majority of the theological periodicals, by the most influential political newspapers of Germany and Austria, as well as, lastly, by certain educational and medical papers, and that the publishing house had not omitted to send copies for review to all these categories of periodical literature. The book was acknowledged, even by its chief opponents, in spite of the utmost deprecation of its fundamental tendency and particular assertions, to be yet for the most part a noteworthy phenomenon of recent philosophical authorship, and found perhaps among the reviewers of the literary and political journals so many warm friends, because among these the philosophy of Schopenhauer had prepared the ground for its comprehension. The two critics who were the first decidedly to point out the significance of the book were Councillor Dr. Rudolph Gottschall, and Dr. David Asher; those who perhaps exercised the relatively largest influence on the rapid diffusion of the book, Dr. Heinrich Landesmann (Hieronymus Lorm), and Dr. Carl Baron du Prel. All four stood substantially under the influence of Schopenhauer. But, likewise, on the part of certain Hegelians, the book early received warm acknowledgments, e.g., from Professor Dr. Ernst Kapp, and Dr. Max Schaslei (President of the Philosophical Society of Berlin). It would lead me too far to cite here all the names of those to whose kind indulgence in their public criticism of my efforts I owe aid and encouragement to further labour; to all these men I herewith render my sincere thanks.

  Not
less, however, do I owe my highly-esteemed opponents and foes the greatest gratitude, who, by their unwearied attacks on my performances and efforts, have ever and anon turned the flagging attention of the public to my writings, and have kept alive the interest therein. Unhappily I must own, that among the many, who felt themselves called to critically annihilate me, there were only very few who could be deemed competent to speak on such questions. This phenomenon is quite natural, and is ever recurring; the first polemical demonstrations against a novel doctrine are almost always lacking in that unprejudiced perception and matter-of-fact objectivity, which can only appear in the course of time through a gradual clearing-up of speculative differences.

  But now that a philosophical book by a hitherto unknown author should so rapidly make its way in so many circles of the educated public, and that so many writers should be induced to undertake its critical examination in books, pamphlets, and journals, further needs for its explanation the recognition of two pre-suppositions founded on the circumstances of the time, namely, in the first place, a fierce philosophical hunger on the part of the public at large, concealed beneath the apparently extreme apathy in regard to philosophical inquiries; and, secondly, a state of unusual prostration of the Guild-philosophy professionally bound to satisfy this need. The attitude of contempt and scorn of philosophy so fashionable in the fifth and sixth decades of the century had, at the end of the last decennium, attained a pitch which had something forced and affected about it, like the old whistling of the peasant-boy at the dark churchyard; the unmetaphysical empiricism, which little by little began to become alarmed at its self-glorification, was ripe for a sudden conversion, and what had prevented this conversion for so many years was only the forbidding aridity and poverty of the academical philosophy, which could not but strengthen the common contempt of philosophy in the minds of its entertainers. At this juncture appeared the “Philosophy of the Unconscious;” the public was able to absorb so relatively large a number of copies of this metaphysical work, because it had become, during the long period of philosophical unproductivity, as parched as a field after a prolonged drought, and the exaggerated estimate frequently formed of the “Philosophy of the Unconscious” must be in large measure attributed to the circumstance, that its value was measured against the background of the contemporary book-market of the Guild-philosophy, which gave it an intrinsically undeserved prominence by the force of contrast.

  The rapidly succeeding editions offered an opportunity to continually revise the matter of the work, to more fully elucidate those passages which had given rise to frequent misunderstandings, to fill up minor gaps which had become perceptible in the sequence of thought, to open up more varied prospects, if only by short indications, to lay bare more evidently and to fathom more deeply the inner connection of the principles, and to take account of the relevant progress of the special sciences in supplementary paragraphs. Welcome as this opportunity was to me on several grounds, no less burdensome was its frequent repetition. To work additions into a finished book is a far more troublesome and time-absorbing occupation than one may think who has not himself attempted it; and what was eminently distracting and disagreeable was the annual recurrence of the press corrections. To me the first reading through of what I have myself written is an extremely painful task; but to be obliged to be always reading one’s own production over and over again becomes at last so loathsome, that one gets to wonder how a third person can find any interest in it. Accordingly I felt it as a kind of release when the publishing firm proposed, on the preparation of the fifth edition, to stereotype the text. I felt very sensibly what important considerations oppose such a fixation of the work of a living author, but it still remained open to me to supplement subsequent additions, and the wish to free myself from the annual corrections, and once for all to have done with the book, was too urgent for me to be deterred by suoh scruples. It is a painful position, when a writer has given his interest and thought to new tasks, and is constantly hindered and distracted by the firstlings of his brain, who have become real powers, ever anew claiming at the hands of their father their right to further care and culture.

  That part of the “Philosophy of the Unconscious,” which for some years had least satisfied my augmented demands, was Section A, on “The Manifestation of the Unconscious in Bodily Life.” No one will wonder at this who is familiar with the progress of Physiology in general and that of Nervous Physiology in particular in the last decennium. When in the winter 1864–65 I wrote this section, the sources from which I had drawn my material were even then not of the newest date; I name in particular “Wagner’s Dictionary of Physiology,” and the manuals of Physiology by Johannes Müller; Valentin, and Burdach.1 For certain chapters (e.g., that on the Reparative Power of Nature) I was simply compelled to have recourse to older works, or to the writings of Burdach, because the more recent Physiology carefully ignored everything that could not be forced into the materialistic mould. Here, however, a change for the better deserves to be signalised.

  On the preparation of the third and fifth editions I hesitated considerably whether I should not subject Section A to a complete reconstruction, but, after mature reflection came to a negative conclusion. A philosophical, far more than any other scientific work, is bound to take account in its disposition and architectonic of artistic considerations, which of course need only have unconsciously cooperated in its composition. And as it is a dubious affair to alter an architectural plan or a drama, so too in the architectonic of a philosophical work, one removes undeniable errors and defects, and introduces fresh incongruities and disharmonies, of which there had been no thought. The connoisseur always sees, thereafter, that the work is not out of one mould, that he has patchwork and piece-work before him. Better is it, in such a case, one leaves the old with its defects just as it is, and adds something altogether new. This holds good not only for works of art, but also for philosophical works; for no-where is it less imperative to set forth the truth as finished result than in Philosophy, where, on the contrary, what is strictly instructive and stimulating for the reader is to be sought in the opening the mental eye to a growing and broadening truth. Accordingly I have preferred not to withhold from the new readers, whom the “Philosophy of the Unconscious” hopes to obtain in this new edition, the original draught of Section A, but instead of a remodelling of the same, to add as an Appendix a dissertation “On the Physiology of the Nerve-Centres,” from which they may perceive in what manner I should now treat this part in the event of a fresh composition. At the same time this Appendix serves as a supplement to Section A, the knowledge of which it presupposes in respect to the present advanced stage of our knowledge of the physiology of the Nervous System. Repetitions from the text of the “Philosophy of the Unconscious” I have endeavoured to avoid, so far as the necessary connection of the dissertation admitted. As this Appendix is a physiological, so my book, “Truth and Error in Darwinism” [reproduced entire in the “Journal of Speculative Philosophy” (St. Louis, 1877–78)] forms a biological complement to the natural-philosophical part of the “Philosophy of the Unconscious,” especially to Chapter VIII. A.; the close connection of the two supplementary writings will not escape the attentive reader.

  I am quite conscious of the difficulty of my position with regard to contemporary representatives of Physical Science. They are either adherents of the old school, i.e., they pay homage to a so-called exact empiricism, which never ventures to elevate its glance from the scrutiny of the particular to a more general survey of the great whole, and cross themselves in the presence of all philosophy; or they aim at a natural-philosophical theory of the world—are thus adherents of Darwinism in its crass mechanical and anti-teleological form. The one class, as matter of course, has a horror of all philosophy as such, no matter whether the latter endeavours on its part to strike up an alliance with Physical Science or not; the other class recognises, indeed, in principle the necessity of an understanding between Natural Science and Philosophy, but thinks
it sees in the teleological metaphysic espoused by me the opponent of that philosophy, to which alone it hopes to throw a bridge. Thus it comes to pass that the one part of scientists ignores me because I am philosopher, the other combats me because I am such a philosopher. But already the first signs of a rising generation are discernible, which recognises not only the title of philosophy in general, but also the title of an idealistic philosophy beside and above the mechanical cosmic theory of the Sciences of Matter, a union, which alone is able to reconcile that Idealism, to which the German people owes its greatness, with the results of the most recent investigation, and to obviate a total breach between the Future and the Past, between the Intellect and the Heart. It is my firm conviction that the exclusively mechanical Cosmism of Darwinism is only an historical transition from the prior shallow Materialism to a complete and whole Ideal-realism, and will only serve to effect and facilitate the passing of the living and rising generation of physical inquirers from one pole to the other. In furthering this indispensable and inevitable reconciliation of modern Physical Science, and its grand but one-sided results, with the idealistic culture of our nation, I believe that I am in fact doing a better service to Natural Science than those exclusive devotees of the same, who possess the in itself estimable courage of consistency, of desiring to subject the whole modern theory of the world to a radical transformation, according to the partial method of Physical Science, in which the highest spiritual treasures of our civilisation must perforce fall a sacrifice to consistency.

  Until the coming race of naturalists acknowledges my efforts in this direction I must be satisfied with the recognition, which has already been accorded thereto in rich measure by those representatives of our idealistic culture, who, far removed from ignoring or condemning the results of modern physical science, perceive the necessity of an organic fusion of the same with idealism, but have hitherto missed a suitable leader in the solution of this problem declared impossible by the exclusive representatives of Physical Science itself. On this ground for some time even Theology has begun to prize in me a valuable ally, although hardly any one has more plainly declared than I, that Christianity is no longer a vital factor of our developing civilisation, and has already traversed all its phases.