SOURCE: “A New System of Philosophy,” in The Academy, Vol. III, No. 43, March 1, 1872, pp. 90-93.

[In the following review of Philosophy of the Unconscious, Lawrenny attempts to discredit Hartmann's conclusions.]

A NEW SYSTEM OF PHILOSOPHY.

The rise of a new philosophical system, which its adherents hail as embodying the most important metaphysical discovery since Hegel and Schopenhauer, cannot be viewed with indifference, and curiosity changes into interest when we find on what principles it claims to rest. Dr. Hartmann modestly confesses that the mysteries of the Dialectic Philosophy are as inaccessible to him as to the ordinary world, and he declares in favour of a simple inductive method, by which he hopes to reconcile or at least to lay the foundations of a system which shall reconcile and embrace the last conclusions of physical science and speculative philosophy. He does not disguise from himself the difficulty of the task, and it would certainly be impossible to exaggerate its importance. In examining the value of his present contribution towards its accomplishment, we must remember that something is gained if only the conditions of the problem have been clearly stated, and the best means for its solution correctly pointed out. For this reason we are anxious to do full justice to the Philosophy of the Unconscious, and though the author is somewhat unmethodical in the exposition of his views, this can perhaps be better done by following his own arrangement than by recasting his arguments in a logical order which he might repudiate.

The nature and existence of “the Unconscious” have to be explained and demonstrated in the course of the work, but the meaning of the name can be described at once; it does not stand for unconsciousness, but for “the unknown positive subject of whom unconsciousness can be predicated,” for the unconscious Will and unconscious Idea of the Unknown. The name is new, but the thing, as the author explains, is only his equivalent for the common first principle of every considerable philosophy (Spinoza's Substance, Schelling's Subject-Object, Fichte's Ich, Plato's and Hegel's Idea, Schopenhauer's Will, &c.), now for the first time approached by the light of scientific experience instead of à priori reasoning. To relieve philosophy from the reproach of remoteness and unpracticality would be much, and considering how slowly metaphysical science advances, it would perhaps be more to have suggested a name which designates the sum of our actual ignorance rather than a climax of fancied knowledge. There are some scientific discoveries which are a mere question of time and patience, there are others which may reasonably be expected to follow from the first, and there are also questions which we are at present quite unable to conceive as soluble by the methods of mathematical or physical science. If these questions have anything more than their inscrutability in common, x might be a better name than the Unconscious for the unknown quantity; but it is certainly well that there should be some general name under which we can conceive all that we do not know in contradistinction to all that we do or easily might know. Unfortunately, Dr. Hartmann aims at more than this simple clearance of the intellectual ground, and the whole superstructure of his argument rests on no more solid basis than the evidences of design in nature! It is the old story of the watch and the watchmaker with fresh illustrations taken from the more curious facts of natural history, and we might think we were reading Paley but that the name of the artificer is changed, for the Unconscious is endowed with all the old theological properties, Eternity, Omniscience, Omnipotence, and especially Incomprehensibility, which serves here as elsewhere to explain why the others are not of more use to their possessor.

The author confesses that he does not hope to convince any one who is not already persuaded that nature works with a purpose (Endzweck), and he is perhaps right not to think highly of the efficiency of reasoning if he himself, after studying Spinoza, Hume, and physical science, still finds it possible to ascribe anthropomorphic motives to nature and to consider cause as a metaphysical idea. However, in support or confirmation of the opinion where it exists, he has one curious argument. Assuming that everything must have an efficient cause, that cause must lie either in the material circumstances attendant on the production of the effect, or in other material circumstances, or it must be of a spiritual nature. The second alternative is inadmissible because all the material circumstances which can in any way influence the result are supposed to be reckoned in the first, so that it may be said that there is an equal antecedent probability in favour of the material or the spiritual character of the desired cause. Thus far there is nothing amiss, except the application of the law of chances to ascertained physical facts; but the author proceeds to argue as if no physical facts were ascertained, that the probability of the cause being spiritual increases with every material circumstance that is set aside as not cause. In illustration he enquires why hens sit, and children see with their eyes, and enumerates the conditions required for both phenomena, with the omission of the one thing needful in the eyes of a naturalist—their descent from animals with eyes and a habit of hatching eggs. Of course the laws of inheritance can only give the reason, not the cause, of the occurrence, and science does not trouble itself to provide the hen with an adequate motive for her sudden adoption of a sedentary life, such as Dr. Hartmann finds in the intention of the Unconscious that the species shall be preserved. But in the second case there is not even the appearance of voluntary action, and all the mathematical formulæ brought together to determine the degree of improbability (0.99994) that the fourteen physical conditions of sight which he enumerates should come together fortuitously, are little short of absurd in face of the simple fact that parents with two eyes and the necessary optical apparatus do, under normal conditions, invariably give birth to children similarly endowed.

The body of the work—for thus far we have not got beyond the introduction—is divided into three sections:—A. The corporeal manifestations of the Unconscious; B. The Unconscious in the mind; C. The metaphysics of the Unconscious. In these, two points have to be established: first, that the words unconscious thought and unconscious will do not involve a contradiction in terms; and, secondly, that we see traces in nature of thought and will which we cannot refer to any known conscious subject. It is one of the difficulties of the attempt to reconcile science and speculation that we are obliged to use abstract terms before the nature of the things they denote has been ascertained. In the present case we are called upon to recognise the assumed effects of Will and Idea in the first book, while the possibility of their existence is considered in the second, and their reality not till the third book. A better arrangement might have been possible, though, we admit, not easy. Following the author, we begin with “the unconscious will in the independent spinal and nervous systems,” and the “unconscious idea which presides at the execution of involuntary (i.e. reflex or mechanical) movements.” Apart from the teleological tendencies already noticed, it is a matter of indifference (or terminology) whether conscious human will is explained away into the action of physical laws, or whether the action of physical laws is uniformly described as voluntary, but less than nothing is gained if we are simply invited to credit nature with will in its popular acceptation of free preference and choice. In some passages the author seems almost guilty of this inconsistency, but it is not a necessary part of his system. Will in the abstract does not exist, and any particular act of Will can only will the transition from one state or condition to another. The tenour or content (Inhalt) of the Will is formed by the Idea of two states, one of which is viewed as actual and the other as desirable, and the will itself is the longing or striving after the realisation of the second idea, or, to speak more precisely, Will is defined as the immediate cause of whatever change takes place.

Before tracing the distinction between conscious will and idea and the same faculties as ascribed to the Unconscious, we have to ascertain what the author understands by consciousness. In the first part the answer is that of simple materialism: the threshold of consciousness is passed whenever the clearness and strength of the brain-vibrations reaches a certain point. It is in the account of what takes place short of that point, and in the metaphysical explanation of the dawn of consciousness, that, for better or worse, we come to something original. Consciousness (Bk. C. 3) is also “the stupefaction of the will at the sensible existence of an idea not willed by itself.” How the will, which, according to a very able argument, is shown a few pages farther on to be naturally and necessarily unconscious, can be supposed capable of feeling (i.e. being conscious of) astonishment, is not explained. And the companion demonstration that consciousness cannot be an inherent element of the idea, but must be something accidental to it produced from without, has the effect, whether intentionally or not, of neutralising all the preceding materialist admissions. In effect Dr. Hartmann makes conscious thought material, and unconscious thought the reverse, a proceeding plainly at variance with his own principles of the economy to be observed in explaining natural phenomena. The passages which he quotes from idealist philosophers, who knew even less than we do of the physiology of the brain, to show that they recognised the existence of thought which had not quite passed the threshold of consciousness, refer in their original contexts rather to thought which as thought is not yet quite perfect and complete. Spinoza's “confused ideas” should have been coupled with Kant's “dunkle Vorstellungen.” We should have expected to find a writer, who goes so far in his devotion to positive science, prepared either to deny the existence of unconscious ideas or to explain it as a state of the brain to which the finishing touch, which brings consciousness, was still accidentally wanting. Materialism offers the simplest solution of such problems as memory, association, &c., for material modifications of the brain may be of many kinds or degrees without quite reaching that kind or degree which corresponds to completely developed thought or consciousness. And it is not easy to see why, after braving the dangers and difficulties of an unpopular system, he rejects its help when most readily available. If consciousness presupposes thought, and thought presupposes certain physical conditions, the cross requisition of a contradiction to will is superfluous, though its presence may be recorded as a fact in psychology. But psychology is not the author's strongest point, at least there is much that might be objected in detail to his account of the next phase of the unconscious idea, in which it seems simply to be a name for as much of our ordinary mental processes as has become mechanical and involuntary from habit, or is too swift and simple for analysis.

After the proof that unconscious thought is possible follows the enquiry into the thought of the Unconscious, and all Dr. Hartmann's learning and ingenuity are called upon to bridge the yawning gulf between the two. He explains by the influence of the Unconscious in language the strangely perfect grammatical arrangements of barbarous languages, which have before now been claimed by Christian apologists as evidences of the miraculous origin of speech, and are scarcely more strange than the way in which figures lead of themselves from one combination to another, or the way (only proving that human thought obeys its laws) in which men of genius divine remote discoveries, and one intelligent system of philosophy is always on the point of blending with another, and that of leading to a third. But his chief reliance is of course upon the argument from design, in support of which he multiplies stories of instinct and instances of adaptation, from all of which he draws the same inference which their number does not strengthen; namely, that the course of the material universe is governed and actuated by mind, to wit, the mind of the Unconscious, an entity of a somewhat theological character, indefinitely more so at least than Spinoza's God, as the author in his third edition expressly admits. Here it is that Dr. Hartmann disappoints expectation; the Unconscious, or, as we should prefer to say, the Unknown, must be looked upon provisionally as the agent in innumerable natural processes; but it is impossible that a general name, improbable that a supernatural being, should be actuated by human feelings such as want and wish. The actual tendencies of nature can and must be recorded and summed up, but we can account for very few, and the attempt to explain and motive all has never yet led to anything but Fetishes. But even supposing, as in the absence of proof to the contrary is allowable, that the Unconscious is the one and indivisible mind of the universe, it does not, on the whole, will the preservation of every species, but (since it is omnipotent) what takes place, i.e. the struggle for existence, and the alternating inferiority of its own most ingenious contrivances for offensive and defensive warfare.

The distinction between the will of the brain and that of the nervous or muscular system is no doubt valid. The brain possesses very little indirect and no direct power of influencing the course of such vital functions as the circulation, respiration, digestion, &c., which are fairly paralleled to the instinctive life of less developed animals, and like that might perhaps be ascribed to the unconscious will of the organism, but have nothing to connect them with the intelligent will of the Unconscious. The author supposes “intelligence in the central organs,” but the intelligence is probably of the same transcendental character as the will and the ideas: for, whatever else is doubtful, science certainly tends to establish an indissoluble actual connection between rational and conscious mind and brain-fibre of a particular kind. It is for physiologists to decide whether the spinal marrow and ganglions do what they do in so far as they approximate in composition to the organ of thought, but the intelligence of which Dr. Hartmann speaks is independent of these conditions. Instead of resolving the dualism of mind and matter into a higher or simpler unity, the third hypothetical element which he introduces merely parodies the known forms of the other two, and while its very existence does not admit of scientific proof, the imaginary fertility of the principle discourages really hopeful trains of thought. Thus, in the third Book the author appears for a moment on the point of arguing to the real existence of the world from the independent material existence of the human body as evidenced by the material conditions of thought, some of which fall within and others without the direct sphere of consciousness. The hint is not followed up, though we can scarcely imagine a discovery more likely to lead to the reconciliation of science and philosophy than a rational inference from physical facts in favour of a doctrine which no deductions à priori have yet succeeded in securing against the attacks of scepticism.

It would take too long to examine the “Metaphysics of the Unconscious” as carefully and minutely as they deserve, for even when we decline to follow, or perhaps fail to trace, the thread of the main argument, the incidental matter is always interesting and suggestive, and the more abundant that the author's method is not severely consequent. Chap. V., “Matter as Will and Idea,” is perhaps the most important, though the physical theories it contains are rather in advance of our present knowledge, and, a still more serious objection, they do little to support the metaphysical assumptions previously made. In a perfectly consequent scheme unconscious mind would correspond to rudimentary atomic matter; the Unconscious would begin where the conscious ends, and the continuity of nature, already defended in a chapter on Consciousness in the Vegetable Kingdom, might have been firmly established. The existence and nature of the Unconscious, however, having been already taken for granted, it only remains to reduce the elements of consciousness to their simplest form. Matter is, on the one hand, “a system of atomic forces in a state of equilibrium,” on the other, “a combination of acts of will emanating from the Unconscious.” Of course, the idea of force ends by swallowing up that of the material upon which it acts; but we must ask what is a Kraftpunkt without the idea of extension, and therefore of body; and in this atmosphere of rarefied speculation the paradoxical redundancy of the Unconscious to cause what is already accounted for, or to account for what does not take place, is more apparent than ever. The conception of individual existences is also rendered unnecessarily difficult by the attempt to deduce their singularity from the Unity and Totality of the Unconscious. Individuality of character is surely either a series of facts or a generalisation based on them, and in real existence it is similarly either physical or rational; the germ-cell and the conscious mind are one and many, according to the definition preferred.

We have not as yet noticed the extent of Hartmann's obligations to Schopenhauer, which are about equivalent to those of Schopenhauer to Kant, but rather less freely and gratefully acknowledged. In the chapter on “The Unreason of Willing and the Misery of Being,” Schopenhauer's influence is supreme, for pessimism is not the conclusion to which a systematic admiration of the works of nature would seem to point. Optimism of an unusually sweeping character would have been more natural, and indeed the supposition of unconscious happiness seems almost necessary to stimulate the unconscious will to give effect to the unconscious idea. Instead of this we find one more paradox. The Unconscious is All-wise and All-powerful, and the world is the best possible world; but that does not interfere with its being heartily bad, and in fact a great deal worse than nothing. Why it could not have been better is not exactly explained, though the author is no doubt right in supposing that it would if it could. His remedy for its evil estate only differs from that of Schopenhauer in being more radical. Annihilation is the goal, but the annihilation of the individual is not enough.

“Du kannst im Grossen nichts vernichten Und fängst es nun im Kleinen an”

is the reproach he addresses to his master. The release of one man is followed (such is the imbecility of will) by the birth of another, and even if the whole human race were to die out by common consent, nothing would be gained, for “the poor world would still continue and the Unconscious would have to take the first opportunity of creating a new man or other similar type.” “The whole creation groaneth and travaileth with us,” and the problem is to enable the rational will for self-destruction to outweigh the blind, alogical, absolutely stupid creative will. Consciousness is the first step towards the attainment of the desired result, but the later ones are involved in mystical obscurity, only for our encouragement it is pointed out that the world will probably have an end, because it has an Endzweck (aim) which would be absurd on its part if the aim were not attainable, while its attainment of course marks the conclusion of the world-process thereto directed. Here however an awful prospect opens before us. Even when the universe has committed suicide by the exercise of moral forces as yet undreamt of, “the possibility still remains that the potentiality of the will may once again decide itself in favour of willing,” and a new universe and after that another and an endless series beyond may come in the future to know “the misery of being.” It is true that the author calculates the probabilities after his favourite fashion, and settles that the chances are against existence, but the apprehensions he excites are too lively to be allayed by a sum. Schopenhauer's Nirwana is surely better than this still more Indian vision of infinite worlds. The blind will which has once produced the calamitous phenomena of existence may do so again, for it is as incapable of experience or memory as of reflection, while no being capable of reflection could have voluntarily created the mass of evil actually extant.

This last rather circular argument has not prevented the obvious enquiry as to the difference between Dr. Hartmann's Unconscious and the God of the vulgar. In the rapidly succeeding second and third editions of his work he has attempted to answer the question in a manner which seems, upon the whole, intended to qualify the uncompromising irreligion of his central standpoint. He treats Pantheism as the inevitable outcome of philosophical theism, and admits that the Unconscious is simply the Pantheist's God without the attribute of consciousness, which he thinks ought not to be ascribed to nature on the mere ground of analogy, though he was content to attribute intelligence for no better reason. He concludes that there is no valid distinction between philosophical theism rightly understood and the philosophy of the Unconscious, but the motto on his title-page,

“Speculative Resultate nach inductiv-naturwissenschaftlicher Methode,”

should warn him not to carry his concessions too far. Philosophical theism, however “rightly understood,” is not a doctrine that can easily be proved by the inductive methods of natural science. The other additions, amounting in all to something like a seventh part of the original work, serve rather to complete and amplify the superstructure than to strengthen the foundations of the system, or to modify its general character.

To sum up the results of this new philosophy in a few words: The Unconscious is a metaphysical divinity who reigns but does not govern; Will is an irrational fate whose decisions are not final, and Consciousness is the creature of one and pupil of the other of these two inaccessible forces which it is to reconcile in the common destruction of itself and them. Untenable as a system, the Philosophy of the Unconscious is certainly the work of an able man, but the author is heedless as well as daring, and he follows the uncertain course of his ideas without pausing often enough to compare the whence and the whither.

Hartmann's answer is at least frank and explicit. The universe, he says, is a mere Form or manifestation of “the Unconscious,” which it has assumed in order to rid itself of the burden of its miserable existence, by cheating itself into nothingness. This is the best answer, perhaps the only one, which an atheist and a Pessimist can arrive at, for it is a reductio ad absurdum of the principles that he started with.

We have first to consider in what sense, and by what means, the plurality of phenomenal being is reduced by Hartmann to the unity of the Unconscious. How can he be a decided Monist, in spite of the elaborate argument which he has just constructed in favor of the “real” existence in Space, outside of our minds, of the countless material things which constitute the outer world? His answer is, that the universe is independent of our thought, independent even of all human thought. It is not a subjective fancy of the percipient Ego of consciousness, not a dream-world arbitrarily fashioned by our own vain imaginings; but it is an objective manifestation of the Unconscious, which would continue to be “real,” even if there were no eye to behold it, and no thought in which it could be reflected. The unity of the Unconscious is not destroyed by the countless multiplication of its phenomenal aspects, any more than the sun in the heavens ceases to be one, because its image is mirrored in innumerable pools and streams. Herbart is right in maintaining that the multiplicity of individual being is as broad and true as the reality of existence itself; but his mistake consists in failing to recognize the strictly phenomenal character of all reality and all existence. Subjective Idealism had a just presentiment that reality is only phenomenal; but it distorted and defaced this thought, because it recognized only a subjective phenomenality, whereby plurality was degraded into a merely personal illusion. In its essence and inmost nature, the universe is only an objective manifestation of one omnipresent Intellect and Will; but it is a “real” presentation to my thought in all its myriad forms, just as the image of the sun reflected in a brook is a “real” image; and it will continue to be thus manifested after my mind shall cease to be.

Then, what are Matter and Space per se, in their inmost being, apart from the phenomenal aspects under which they are manifested to consciousness? Schopenhauer says, Matter consists only of the purely subjective forms of Time, Space, and Causality presented to Sense by the universal Will as visible and tangible; and therefore it is mere Vorstellung, a Presentation to thought, a mental picture. Hartmann says, Matter is the Will and Intellect of the Unconscious, made objective in what the physicists call “Force,” which is only a manifestation of mind, a spiritualistic principle. Hence, like Berkeley, he does not idealize Matter in the sense of making it unreal, but only spiritualizes it. Force is real in the highest or absolute meaning of that term; for it is only Will and Intellect in action, and therefore it would continue both to be and to appear, though there were no brain, no human consciousness, to witness its activity. It was thus displayed and objectified in material forms, as we learn from geology, before any animal life appeared upon the earth.

In the chapter on “Matter as Will and Intellect,” Hartmann presents an elegant and concise statement of the Atomic Theory, in the form in which it is now accepted by most physicists and chemists, and argues conclusively, that the “atom” thus conceived is merely a mathematical point, which is the seat of force, the assumption of an inert and material substratum of this force being an arbitrary and really unmeaning hypothesis. The conclusion at which he arrives agrees perfectly with the doctrine propounded, as far back as 1758, by Father Boscovich. Hartmann presents his conclusion in these words: “Matter is therefore a system of atomic forces in a certain state of equilibrium. From these atomic forces, in their various combinations and reactions, arise all the so-called forces of matter, such as gravitation, expansibility, crystallization, chemical affinity, etc. The lines of action of all the forces cut each other in a mathematical point, which we call the seat of force, and this seat is movable.” The doctrine of Boscovich, as summed up by Dugald Stewart, is, that “the ultimate elements of which Matter is composed, are unextended atoms, or, in other words, mathematical points, endued with certain powers of attraction and repulsion; and it is from these powers that all the physical appearances of the universe arise. The effects, for example, which are vulgarly ascribed to actual contact, are all produced by repulsive forces, occupying those parts of space where bodies are perceived by our senses.”

The attractive force of each atom, Hartmann argues, has a definite end and aim, before the result is produced by it of bringing another atom nearer; it must, therefore, be conceived as a striving or effort, and the actual approximation of the two atoms to each other, an approximation not yet effected, as the purpose of this effort. In so far as the effect is already produced, the striving has come to an end, and no longer exists; only so far as the movement still remains as yet unrealized, is any effort to realize it possible. Hence, the movement, which is a definite one of approach with increasing velocity, must exist in idea, as the purpose of an intellect, before it exists in reality, as a result accomplished; otherwise, it would be an aimless effort, without any definite object, which is contrary to experience. Then the movement cannot be produced, as Schopenhauer supposes, by a mere blind Will or force acting vaguely, without reference to any particular result; but this Will must be accompanied and directed by Intellect, by which it is pointed, so to speak, to a preconceived and determinate end. Consequently, the atomic force, like every other action of the Unconscious, must be viewed as the joint expression of Will and Intellect acting together in inseparable union.

Having found what Matter is, per se, apart from its phenomenal manifestation, we have next to consider what the Space is, as being per se, in which all Matter exists. Hartmann has already proved, that the idea of Space in the human mind is constructed by the Unconscious out of “local signs,” in such wise as to appear a priori to consciousness. But what is the external and objective manifestation, to which this idea corresponds? This also, we are told, is a creation of the Unconscious, which builds up both the idea, and what is called the “reality” of pure Space. If it is a mere Presentation to thought (Vorstellung), or mental picture, which first brings ideal Space before the mind, then the Space exists ideally in the Presentation, and this proves that the Presentation itself does not exist in the ideal Space. In other words, mental or cognitive action, as such, is wholly independent of Space; and it is absured to ask after the particular locality, the presence chamber, of the intellect in the brain. Mind is wherever it acts; that is, it is ubiquitous to the whole nervous organism. The unconscious Will is that which realizes ideal Space, by adding to it “reality,” or objective manifestation, which mere thought cannot give. Then, what we call “real” Space, as a creation of the Will, must be subsequent to that which creates it, and therefore the Will, as such, exists out of Space, whether the Space be considered as a mere Presentation to thought, or as a reality. Hence, both Intellect and Will are unspacial in their very nature, since the former creates Space in idea, and the latter creates it in “reality.” It follows, therefore, that even the atomic Will, or what we call atomic force, exists outside of Space and independent of it; for as Schelling says, it is prior to extension.

It also exists outside of Time; for as we have seen, it is characteristic of the action of the Unconscious, that it never wavers or doubts, it needs no time for consideration, and it is independent of memory, since it acts unerringly as well before as after experience; therefore it does not, like conscious reason, proceed by comparison and inference, but it grasps the result instantaneously, through its infinite power of Hellsehen or clairvoyance, the conclusion being instinctively apprehended at once, not after the premises, nor through them, but in them, the whole logical process being completed by one act and in a single moment. The thought of the Unconscious, therefore, has no duration in Time; and though it is manifested only at a particular epoch, when an emergency arises, and therefore at a definite date, we must remember that this is the date, so far as we know, only of its manifestation in the world of phenomena, but not of its action per se; nay, the very act of its manifestation through some phenomenal change is that which first establishes a difference between one moment and another, that is, which first creates Time as a phenomenon, though not as absolute being. Try to imagine a universe at perfect rest, manifesting no change on its surface, no movement either of sun or star, even consciousness lapsing into quiescence, and therefore ceasing to be, because not cognizant of any variation of its state. In such a universe, as in dreamless sleep, one hour would be as a thousand years; Time would not even appear to be, since, to our apprehension at least, if not occupied by events or conscious thoughts, Time is a mere blank, is nothingness.

The realm of the Unconscious, therefore, like the Intelligible World of Kant, exists outside of Space and Time; and the doctrine of Monism, the essential Oneness of all things, follows as a necessary inference. Space collapses into a mathematical point; Time shrinks into the indivisible present moment; and One becomes identical with All. The Unconscious creates both of these phenomenal Forms, and thereby individualizes the objects and events which are manifested in them. Moreover, as we have just seen, the objects themselves, as they all consist of Matter in its various forms, whether organic or inorganic, from a clod of earth up to man, are also creations of the one omnipresent Will and Intellect; so that the universe is the mere expression of its action and its nature. Before we can fully understand the motive which led to the formation of the universe and determined its character, we must consider Hartmann's theory of the origin of Consciousness, and its dependence upon molecular action in the brain.

That the cerebral hemispheres are to a certain extent the organ of some of our mental faculties, or that through which they act, is what no spiritualist thinks of denying; since he might as well deny that the eye and ear, together with the portions of the brain specially connected therewith, are the organs of visual and audible sensation. The language of Hartmann, that the brain, and the ganglia which perform in part certain functions of the brain, are the conditions of animal consciousness, even seems, if taken literally, to go hardly as far as this; since it amounts only to saying, that conscious mental action is so far dependent upon the state of certain portions of the nervous organism, that it cannot be manifested except through their agency. Of course not; we all know perfectly well, that when the brains are out, the man will die; and that when there is serious lesion or other disturbance of the brain, the patient often becomes unconscious. But Materialism pure and simple identifies the two kinds of action; it declares that molecular agitation or change in the cerebral hemispheres is sensation and thought, the two phenomena being merely two aspects of one and the same thing. I object to this doctrine, not merely that it is a blank hypothesis without any evidence in its favor, but that it is meaningless; it is equivalent to saying that a dance of atoms is a syllogism. Hartmann is prevented from accepting this absurd doctrine, because the very essence of his theory is, that Will and Intellect in the Unconscious first create the brain at a comparatively late stage of their manifestation. Without the previous independent action of Mind, not even space, time, or matter would have been manifested; there would not have been any brain. Hence, Hartmann is forced to adopt the conclusion, which had been previously enounced by Schelling, that the brain is the condition, or necessary prerequisite, for the origin, not of mind as such, but of Consciousness. Mind acts independently in the Unconscious; but it cannot become cognizant of itself, and therefore cannot be emancipated from its servitude to the Will, till it has deluded the Will into building up a brain.

Consciousness, says Hartmann, is not a continuous and fixed state, but a process; it is an action frequently repeated, a constant becoming conscious. Will and Intellect, as we have seen, are inseparably united in the Unconscious, which cannot have a determinate volition without knowing what it wills, nor a definite conception or presentation to thought without instantly realizing it in act by an exertion of Will. Now the essence of Consciousness consists in breaking up this companionship, in sundering the union of the two faculties, by forcing upon the mind a novel perception which is not a purpose of its own volition, and therefore exists in opposition to the Will. Consciousness is the stupefaction of the Will at this violent intrusion upon its domain, this presence of an unexpected and unwelcome visitant. Because a brain has been constructed, an impression upon it from the world without, in spite of the opposition of the Will, has become possible. The Unconscious has objectively manifested itself by conjuring up an external universe for the very purpose of thus severing the union between the Intellect and the Will, and thus releasing the former from the misery entailed upon it through its hitherto indivisible connection with blind and unreasoning volition, that is, from an incessant striving and effort which is constant suffering. It looks forward to a state of unbroken calm, to quiet contemplation and rest unbroken by the feverous agitations of desire. To this end it has created space, and peopled it with countless living organisms, rising by imperceptible gradations from the lowest forms of vegetable life up to animal existence, and so on still upwards to man, in whose perfected brain pure conscious thought first becomes possible without any intermingling of volition or desire. The development of Consciousness, and, through that, the severance of Intellect from Will, is the guiding purpose of creation. Through Space and Time as principia individuationis, separate individual existences, as objective phenomena, first become possible; before these Forms were evolved, All was One, as it is still in essence. Through the independent action and reaction of these separate existences on each other, the human brain is affected with the molecular vibrations which force conscious sensation and perception upon the intellect. The action thus rendered necessary is involuntary and distasteful, since it takes place without the concurrence of the individual Will. Hence Consciousness is born in pain, every act of it being attended with aversion and suffering. It is, says Hartmann, “a bitter medicine, but without it no recovery is possible; and as it is swallowed at every moment in infinitesimal doses, its bitterness soon escapes perception.”

Some indications of a theory similar to this respecting the origin of Consciousness may be gleaned from earlier writers, especially from some of the mystics. Thus Jacob Böhme says, “nothing can become revealed to itself without opposition or contrariety. For if there is nothing which resists it, the process of its development goes on unchecked, and it is not thrown back upon itself in reflection. But if it does not come back upon itself, as to that from which it originally went forth, then it knows nothing of its primitive condition.” And in like manner Schelling argues, that “if the Absolute is to become manifest to itself, then, in respect to its objective, it must appear as dependent upon something else, upon something foreign to itself. This dependence, however, is not of the essence of the Absolute, but belongs merely to its manifestation.” Hence he concludes, that “not the mental states themselves, but the Consciousness of them, is conditioned by an affection of the organism; and if the empiricists had restricted their assertion to the latter point, there would be nothing to object to their doctrine.”

We come now to the great question between Monism and Plurality or Individualism. Have we sufficient evidence that the Unconscious which works in any one living organism, say, in my own body and mind, is one and the same with that which similarly affects and governs every manifestation of life around me, and which is, in fact, omnipresent in nature, creating and controlling all objects and events in order to carry out a single purpose? If Hartmann's argument here still leaves a doubt whether he has fully proved his point, it is because the question lies within the domain of pure metaphysics, and his method, which is that of induction as applied in the physical sciences, appears not only insufficient, but inapplicable to the conditions of the problem. He sanctions and adopts, it is true, the usual metaphysical reasoning of the Philosophers of the Absolute, especially that founded upon the merely phenomenal character of Space and Time, and the consequent unreality of all distinctions of individual being. But he endeavors to supplement and fortify this argument by considerations drawn from the various branches of physiology and natural history.

He relies, in the first place, upon the axiom denominated Occam's razor, entia non multiplicanda sunt prœter necessitatem, ultimate principles are not to be multiplied more than is absolutely necessary. If one principle of the Unconscious, for instance, is enough satisfactorily to account for all those operations and processes in my own organism which do not come within the purview of Consciousness, the burden of proof falls upon him who maintains that there are many such principles, coördinate with each other, and all working harmoniously towards one and the same end. The unity of the Unconscious in this case is also farther indicated by the unity of the organism within which it acts, by the continuity of its action, by the singleness of purpose or final cause which seems to be the object of its endeavor, and by the manner in which all the parts are made to coöperate with each other and with the whole. Moreover, as we have seen, matter and consciousness themselves are only phenomenal forms of the Unconscious; and therefore the unity of this principle in any individual organism is the strongest expression of unity which can be found anywhere in nature.

But the consciousness of Peter is phenomenally distinct from that of Paul; and it is certainly conceivable that the Unconscious also, which directs the life of one, is not identical with the corresponding principle manifested in the other. Hartmann's argument in favor of the essential unity of this principle is perfectly conclusive; it coincides in every respect with the ordinary argument of the theist to prove the unity of God. It is only when he reasons as a Pantheist or Monist, only when he strives to identify the One with the All, that the weakness of his theory becomes manifest. It is only in reference to this latter portion of the doctrine, that he finds himself reduced to the necessity of maintaining, that our idea of the distinction between unity and plurality, after all, is merely relative. What we usually call an Individual, whether it be a stone, a living organism, a community, or a universe, is not absolutely one, for it confessedly has a multiplicity of parts. No one denies a sort of unity in creation; in a certain sense, a creator or artist is one with his work, for this is the expression at once of his thought, his character, his endowments, and his skill. It is commonly said of a great artist, that he puts himself into his work.

But this is not absolute oneness, of which, as it seems to me, we have a perfect type in the absolute indivisibility of the thinking Self, which is a pure Monad, so that in respect to it the distinction between whole and part is meaningless. I know, for I have the direct testimony of consciousness, that the being which I call Myself is an absolute unit; that I am one in all my acts, in my responsibility, in the remembered past and the perceived present; that it is not one portion of me which feels, another which imagines, and a third which wills, but that these are only various modes of action of one agency. I also know, that my remembered self is one and the same with my present self; otherwise, no assertion of memory could be trusted, no imputation of wrong-doing could be justified, no chain of reasoning depending upon the remembrance of its several steps could be relied upon. Hence, no process of inference, however ingenious, can shake this knowledge; for as it does not rest upon argument, but upon direct intuition, the reasoning which would refute it stultifies itself. One who is conscious of having committed a great crime many years ago cannot reason himself into a conviction that he is now a different being from the one who incurred the guilt; the stings of remorse prove that he is one and the same with the perpetrator. When it is urged that we cannot describe Self, or give any definition of personality, except by enumerating its attributes and successive states, the answer is, that in this respect it is in the same category with all the simple ideas of consciousness, which, as John Locke told us long ago, cannot be defined because they do not admit either of analysis or description. Hence, they cannot be communicated to another person except by giving him an opportunity of obtaining them for himself. I cannot teach a congenitally blind person what the color blue is; and even if the learner has eyes, I can instruct him only by showing him a blue object, and taking for granted, what is by no means sure, and never can be rendered sure, that it makes the same impression upon his organs of vision that it does upon mine. If the spontaneous action of his intellect had not previously evoked in the child's mind the idea or perception which is called “myself,” no possible instruction, no principle of imitation, no conceivable combination of a sign with the thing signified, could teach him how to use the word “I” correctly, any more than one blind from birth could learn what “blue” means.

Monism is shivered upon this rock, that it is compelled to deny the separate individual being of the Ego, and thereby to contradict the immediate testimony of consciousness. We have here an indubitable case of absolute unity, like that of a mathematical point; and a doctrine of Alleinheit, which seeks to establish merely a relative unity, like that of a hive of bees, or even of the several parts, or physiological units, of a living organism, does not amount to much. Hartmann fails to perceive that the position of Descartes, afterwards adopted by Fichte, is really impregnable. All his reasoning upon the subject, ingenious as it is, is actually confuted in three words: Cogito, scilicet sum. Though the word “Individual” properly signifies indivisible, and is therefore strictly applicable only to an absolute unit, the Philosophy of the Unconcious assumes that there is a hierarchy of “Individuals,” every one of which, except the lowest, is a unit relatively to all which are above it, though it is an organized community of those which are next below it in the scale.

Adopting the cellular theory of Virchow, Hartmann teaches that a living organism is a skilfully constituted community of almost countless living cells, every one of which has an independent life and definite functions, the coöperation of all the different classes of them being necessary to keep up the economy of the organism as a whole, an Individual of a higher order, which they collectively constitute. Billions of such cells circulate in the blood of every grown-up man, and all have their various and independent offices to perform, like the working bees which keep up the collective life of the hive. Still farther; any one of these cells has its distinct parts and organs, such as the cell-wall, the matter contained therein, the nucleus, and the nucleolus; and each of these has its special functions, the performance of which is necessary in order that the collective whole may do its work. Here again, therefore, we have an Individual organism constituted by an association of Individuals of a lower order. And nothing hinders us from going still lower, guided by the light of analogy when the power of the microscope fails,—from considering each of these cell-organs as a community, or little state, made up of primitive atoms or Leibnitzian Monads, every one of which, through its special nature, stage of development, or particular place in the system, contributes its part to qualify the cell-organ for its office.

We have next to consider the relation of the Individual of consciousness, or the spiritual unit, to the external and material Individual in which it acts. Here again, according to Hartmann, we have a hierarchy of relative units, the consciousness of the cerebral hemispheres being the dominant one in the system, and therefore controlling and regulating the separate consciousness in each of the ganglia or lower nervous centres, although itself dependent in some measure on the coöperation of its ministers. And a similar relation is asserted to exist between the consciousness of each ganglion and that of every separate cell which enters into the formation of that ganglion and capacitates it for its work. Lower than this Hartmann does not go in search of the phenomenal unit of mind; for, as we have seen, molecular disturbance of a certain degree of strength or vivacity is a necessary condition of the origin of consciousness, faint impressions upon the nerves and brain passing without notice. In any organism lower than the cell, he finds no trace of action energetic enough to give rise to consciousness. Each Individual consciousness is constituted by the joint action of those next below it in the scale; and, in turn, is itself controlled and inspired by that which is above it, and which enters as an unconscious factor into its work. Then the brain-consciousness of every individual man in the universe may be regarded either as a constitutive element, or as an objective manifestation, of the universal and all-pervading Unconscious; if it be the former, we have only a relative unity; if it be the latter, then the doctrine is an unproved hypothesis. Either form of the theory contradicts our immediate intuition of the independent unity of human consciousness, and rests upon a supposition, which is entirely devoid of evidence, that there is a separate consciousness in every ganglion, and even in every cell, of the human organism.

Hartmann would have us believe, that consciousness does not belong to the essence, but only to the phenomenal form or manifestation, of individual being. I maintain, on the contrary, that self-consciousness is the only strictly indivisible being that we directly know, the primitive atom (Uratome) being merely a supposition invented to explain the phenomena, and either the God of the theist, or “the Unconscious” of our author, being revealed to us not immediately, but by inspiration or inference. He says, that the undivided ant or polyp has one consciousness, but when cut apart, that it has two; and that this is true, also, of parent and offspring before and after their physical connection with each other is severed; and also that the halves of two different polyps, each of which has a consciousness of its own, when brought together and united, form but one animal and one consciousness. I answer, it is an unproved and improbable hypothesis that the ant, polyp, or offspring still in qremio matris, has any consciousness at all. He argues, that the doctrine of the Unconscious being one and the same in all things explains all that is marvellous and otherwise inscrutable in the phenomenon of Hell-sehen or clairvoyance; since on this theory, the seer is identical with the seen. The obvious reply is, that the phenomena are also perfectly explicable on the doctrine of the theist, that there is an Intellect and Will which is omnipresent, but not identified with the universe; for the inspiration of the Almighty, which first endowed man with understanding, can also give him “the vision and the faculty divine.” I need not dwell on the remainder of the discussion, since it tends to show, at the utmost, as in this last instance, that the essential unity of all things is a possible, but not that it is a probable, hypothesis.

In the popular sayings, which are also maxims of science, that Nature does nothing in vain, but always acts for the best, invariably adopting the simplest means of effecting its purpose, Hartmann finds proof of the Leibnitzian doctrine, which he implicitly adopts, that this is the best possible universe, being a manifestation of the infinite wisdom and power of its author, governor, and constant guide. In truth, little more is needed than a recapitulation of what has been already proved in order fully to establish this conclusion. As every action of what we call force is the expression of Will, which would not be Will if it were not made determinate by a definite content, or aim, every act of the Unconscious must have a special purpose. And this must be the best purpose, since it is dictated by an allwise intelligence; for the omnipresent Intellect never blunders, wavers, or doubts, but having all the data at its command without requiring the aid of memory, instantaneously grasps the right conclusion from them; and by virtue of its infinite prevision (Hellsehen), it must select the best possible ends and the best possible means of attaining them. Its action is incessant, and whenever or wherever need exists, it always intervenes at the fittest moment. All this is seen in the healing and recuperative agency of nature; in its first building up the organism with its countless contrivances and excellences, and then preserving it through perpetually repairing the waste of old material; by its keeping up the species through propagation, and constantly ennobling it through “the survival of the fittest.” “These incessant interventions of an allwise Providence are even natural; that is, they are not arbitrary, but conformable to law; for they are determined by a logical necessity, and therefore must be always adapted to the infinitely varied relations and needs of the present moment, and to the ultimate purpose for which all things exist.” “In truth, our contemplations of organic life only confirm the lofty affirmation of Christian theology, that the government of God is not merely a general direction of earthly affairs as a whole, but its immeasurable perfection and minuteness are marvellously revealed in just this respect, that his controlling Providence is omnipresent and equally efficient in the least, as in the greatest, events.”

The wisdom of the Unconscious is all the more to be praised when it economizes force, and avoids a constantly recurring necessity of labor, through some ingenious contrivance, whereby in each case the end is sure to be obtained in the fittest possible manner. The most comprehensive and important of all such contrivances is the entire system of physical and chemical laws. But as the very nature of mechanism confines it to a class of homogeneous cases, while in fact many cases are peculiar in some respects, these contrivances, however admirable, can never do away with the necessity of frequent immediate intervention by the Unconscious. As soon as the expenditure of force in the creation of a mechanism would be greater than the economy of force effected by it, which is the case generally with complex combinations of circumstances, recourse must be had to what is called a special Providence. Of this nature are all inspirations to individual human minds whereby the course of history is permanently affected, and the tide of culture and progress is turned towards the end which the Unconscious always had in view. A thought suddenly occurring at the right moment to a Cromwell or a Napoleon, a Luther or a Loyola, may alter the whole aspect of human affairs in the civilized world.

In view of such considerations as these, we cannot avoid attributing to the Unconscious the divine qualities of omniscience, omnipresence throughout all time, and absolute wisdom. Then we must adopt the doctrine of Leibnitz, and believe that, at the beginning of all things, all possible universes were present in idea to the divine Intellect, and that this universe was made actual merely because it is the best possible out of the whole number. Being incapable of error, the Unconscious cannot have been deceived in its estimate of the comparative value of this world; and being omnipresent and incessantly active throughout all time, there could not have been any pause or omission in its government, whereby the world could have deteriorated from its pristine state. These are the conclusions, be it observed, of an avowed materialist and atheist, who finds himself driven to them by inductive reasoning from observed facts.

He refuses to admit, however, the remainder of the doctrine of Leibnitz, that evil is merely of a privative character, since it is not the entire absence, but only a diminution, of conceivable good. Designating an unmixed good as A, and an evil as a, Hartmann argues, that any reasonable person would desire to possess A alone, rather than A + a. But he is wrong, for by supposition, a is not unmixed evil; and if the amount of good in it predominates over the evil, while the evil is also a necessary condition of the existence of this good, then A + a is preferable to A alone. It is an evil to have a broken finger; but this is no sufficient reason for amputating it, since even in its present state, with the chance that the bone may be reunited, it is better than no finger at all. The doctrine of Leibnitz merely affirms that there is no evil without some compensation; and this is true, if we take a sufficiently broad view of each case. Even if the finger be amputated, a hand with three fingers is not to be condemned as an incumbrance. Our view is sufficiently broad only when we consider human life as a whole; before the Pessimist can establish his conclusion against Leibnitz, he ought to take the aggregate results of existence, and show that there is an absolute preponderance of evil over good. This he cannot do, even if we take for granted the illogical assumption, which he always makes, that happiness, and not holiness, is man's highest interest.

But Hartmann is right in maintaining that the principal doctrine of Leibnitz leaves the matter short; for although the universe in which we live is the best possible, it may very well be that it is still so bad that no universe at all, that is, nothingness, would be preferable. “Bad is the best” is even a popular saying; the best road between two towns in a rugged district may still be a detestable one. The philosophy of Leibnitz, however, when thus engrafted upon that of Schopenhauer, is an immense improvement on the doctrine of the latter; since the union of the two doctrines proves, that the only evil which exists is inherent in the nature of things, and is properly regarded as “metaphysical” or irremediable. The supposition of its removal being a contradiction and an absurdity, the existence of it brings no imputation either upon the wisdom or the goodness of the Creator. The presence of the so called evil may be even a necessary means of producing the utmost possible amount of good, so that its absence or removal would be a positive defect in the plan of the universe. If the compensatory good is in considerable excess over the harm resulting from the only possible means of creating that good, it is obvious that the aggregate beneficial result will be greater than it would have been if all harm had been prohibited. Hartmann himself points out for admiration the wisdom of the Unconscious, as manifested by implanting in the human heart those impulses of pity, beneficence, gratitude, distributive fairness, and retributive justice, which counteract the feeling of egoism or selfishness that is necessary for the preservation of individual well-being. Here, surely, the net result of good obtained is greater than would have been possible, had selfishness been altogether eliminated.

After what has been said, we may dismiss unnoticed Hartmann's long and gloomy disquisition upon the miseries of human life, whereby he attempts to prove that the existence of the universe is only an impertinent and burdensome interlude in the comparatively blissful realm of nothingness, and that a well-informed intellect would prefer not to be. He admits that the whole inquiry, though important in its bearings on the ultimate principles of philosophy, is not of immediate influence on the subject promised in the title of his work, “the Unconscious.” Most of his argument is intended to dissipate the illusions of the vulgar mind in respect to the attainableness of happiness either here or hereafter, and thereby to induce the educated and thinking mind to strive only after such improvement of the intellect as will finally correct these illusions, and dispose mankind generally to bring the world to an end by common consent. But the whole subject of Pessimism has been considered at sufficient length in connection with the philosophy of Schopenhauer, and I gladly waive any further treatment of the dismal topic. A healthy mind, not constitutionally disposed to gloom, and neither harassed by exceptional experience of the ills of life, nor corrupted by metaphysical refinements, could not seriously entertain the theory for a moment.

We come now to the last question, What is the ultimate Purpose, the final end and aim, to which all minor and immediate aims are subservient, for the creation of the world and for the development of its affairs through its continuance in being? What motive had the measureless wisdom of “the Unconscious” for this particular manifestation of itself, when it was free to assume any other mode of being, or to carry out any other “Process” of development? This ultimate motive, according to Hartmann, cannot be the promotion of justice and morality, or the increase of virtue; for he is a utilitarian, and holds that virtue is not an end, but only a means for the attainment of some worthier object. Neither can it be happiness, for he thinks he has proved that this is not obtained at any stage of the Process, but only its opposite, misery, this being aggravated, too, as the development of history goes on, through the clearing up of illusions and the augmentation of consciousness. Neither can freedom be the aim of the Process, “for I hold that freedom is nothing positive, but only the absence of compulsion; and since the Unconscious is one and all, there is nothing which could place it under constraint.” Freedom, moreover, is a consciousness of the absence of necessity; and therefore the increase of freedom is identical with the enhancement of consciousness. And this is a sufficient indication of what is already evident on other grounds, that we can hope to ascertain the ultimate purpose of creation only by searching for it in that direction where we behold a decided and constant progress. And this is to be found in the development of consciousness; for here alone we witness continual advancement from the primitive cell up to the dawn of animal life, and thence to the culmination of such life in the brain of man. Thus Hegel says, “every thing which takes place in heaven and on earth, the life of God and all that is done in time, strives only to this end, that the Spirit may know itself, may become an object to itself, may rise from self-involved to distinct and separate being; it is self-diremption or duplication, in order to be able to find itself and to come to itself.”

The ever-rising development of consciousness, therefore, marks the drift of the current, and shows the direction in which we are hastening; yet it cannot be, in itself, the end or ultimate purpose of the journey. For consciousness, as we have seen, is born in pain, lives in pain, and purchases by pain every step in its own advancement. And what has it in itself as a compensation for all this suffering? Only a vain duplication of self in a mirror! Was there not, then, already real misery enough, without doubling it in the magic-lantern of consciousness? Since the infinite wisdom of the ruling Intellect must be opposed to any such increase of suffering, it cannot be that consciousness is an end unto itself, but its development must serve as a means to some higher end. Every thing which lives strives after happiness; this is the most universal principle of action that we know of; it is the essence of the Will itself seeking its own gratification. Mere Will, however, though it is the only spring of activity, is essentially blind; it is not merely illogical or irrational, because it does not reason at all, even wrongly. It simply craves, and acts out its cravings in automatic volitions. Hence it is properly alogical, being entirely devoid of reason, just as the Intellect, being in its very nature distinct from Will, cannot act, but simply knows. Consequently, this ill-matched pair, indissolubly united in the Unconscious, cannot coöperate; neither can help the other. Vainly does the all-wise Intellect perceive that the unreasoning Will is entirely in the wrong, since its ceaseless craving for happiness merely increases misery; the alogical Will cannot heed its warnings, and cannot impart its own capacity of action to its wise but helpless companion. As long as they are tied together, like a balky team, they neutralize each other's powers. Blind Will determines that the universe, miserable as it is, shall continue in being; for this is the result of the persistent action of Will. Intellect determines how and what the universe shall be, not directly indeed, but through holding up a picture of the best possible state of the world as something to be striven for; and this ideal is instantly realized by the Will.

Bad is the best, however; and this the Intellect knows full well. It has recourse to an artifice, therefore, in order to obtain the utmost feasible good. Happiness is unattainable; but freedom from pain, which is the nearest possible approximation to it, may be secured by a return to nothingness. Hence the Intellect forms the conception of a universe in which the Will shall be divided against itself, through the indefinite multiplication of individuals, each striving independently for ends of its own; and the necessary result of such independent action, as we have seen, is the emancipation of Intellect from the Will through the development of Consciousness. This conception of a universe, of course, is instantly realized by the blind Will, which knows not that it is thereby cheated into a contest with itself, that ideas will thus be forced upon it which it has not willed, that thought will thus be served from action, and that the finite Intellect, thus made independent, will be gradually led, through the enhancement of consciousness and the increase of knowledge, to will the annihilation of all things, and thus to rid itself of the misery of existence. As Intellect can never be separated from the Will in the Unconscious, the ultimate purpose of the universe is to effect this divorce through the action of finite conscious minds and the advancement of knowledge, which must finally correct the illusions which keep up the vain pursuit of happiness, and bring about by common consent the end of all things.

Schopenhauer's philosophy aims at the same result, but proposes to accomplish it by a different method, namely, by advising the individual man to cease to will, and thereby, through asceticism, self-denial, and the privation of nourishment, to cease to be. Hartmann justly objects, that this would be only protracted and painful suicide by starvation, and be no more efficient as a means of bringing the world to an end than the death of an individual in the ordinary course of nature. Final deliverance from the misery of this world cannot be obtained by an act of individual Will, as this is merely phenomenal, but only by universal consent, which would be an expression of the universal Will that is both one and all. And this deliverance is not near at hand, but must be worked for as an object in the distant future. It can take place only at the close of “the Process,” at the termination of the struggle between Consciousness and the Will, when the development of the former shall have reached its climax, at the last day, when the cravings of the Will shall be silenced, when activity shall cease, and “Time shall be no more.” We can do something, indeed, to hasten this consummation, by laboring for the advancement of knowledge, which will finally convince the whole human race, that all is vanity and vexation of spirit. Not by personal renunciation and cowardly withdrawal from the conflict, therefore, as Schopenhauer teaches; but by bearing our burden, by affirming the Will to live with all its pains and sorrows, by devoting ourselves to the cultivation of the intellect and to the education of the race, shall we help to bring the universe nearer to the haven of rest, to the blissful repose of nothingness. “Bravely onward, then, in the great Process of development, as laborers in the Master's vineyard! For it is only this Process which can lead to final redemption.”

And this is the Gospel of Monistic Atheism! It is one long wail of despair, which always must have utterance when man finds that he is without a Father, and the universe without a God. It would be a waste of time and effort to dwell upon the extravagance of the theory, or to offer arguments in its confutation; for I cannot believe that it is seriously entertained, as an opinion influencing conduct, by any sane student, or even by its author himself. Descartes laid one permanent corner-stone of modern metaphysics in his Cogito, scilicet sum; and Kant established another in his “Groundwork of Ethics,” when he pointed out the absolute and imperative character of the Moral Law. Any system which is based upon an arbitrary denial of these two fundamental truths of consciousness may be summarily put aside; it can merit notice only as a matter of curiosity, and as an illustration of the wild vagaries of which the human mind is capable. Nearly all that is really valuable in Hartmann's work is found in its first two Books, which contain the whole Philosophy of the Unconscious properly so called. In these we have a storehouse of curious and interesting facts, admirably illustrated and dovetailed into system, and much that is original and profound in speculation. The third Book, containing what is called “the Metaphysics of the Unconscious,” is for the most part an exercise of perverted ingenuity, for it is a jumble of incongruities and contradictions. It is an attempt to reconcile materialism with spiritualism, realism with idealism, optimism with pessimism, atheism with the belief in a divine Providence, and monism with common sense. But even this medley will be of service to the attentive student, as it evinces a large acquaintance with German philosophy, and great power of reducing its different systems to their briefest possible expression, of pointing out their leading characteristics, and making nice distinctions between them. Even at his worst, Hartmann has three considerable merits; he is learned, he is ingenious, and he is never dull.