Part 2 of 3
'This is the way that Schiller takes. The division that he finds is not between the State and the individual, but, in the beginning of the eleventh Letter (p. 51), he conceives it as the duality of "person and condition", namely as the self or ego and its changing affectedness . Whereas the ego has a relative constancy, its relatedness (or affectedness) is variable. Schiller thus intends to seize the discord at the root. Actually, the one side is also the conscious ego-function, while the other is the collective relationship. Both determinants belong to human' psychology. But the various types will respectively see these basic facts in quite a different light. For the introvert, the idea of the self is doubtless the abiding and dominant note of consciousness, and its antithesis for him is relatedness or affectedness. For the extravert, on the contrary, much more stress is laid upon the continuity of the relation with the object, and less upon the idea of the self. Hence for him the problem is differently situated. We must hold this point in view and consider it more fully as we follow Schiller's further reflections. When, for instance, he says the person reveals itself "in the eternally constant self and in this alone", this is viewed from the standpoint of the introvert. From the standpoint of the extravert, on the other hand, we should say that the person reveals itself simply and solely in its relationship, i.e. in the function of relation to the object. For only with the introvert is the" person" exclusively the ego; with the extravert the person lies in his affectedness and not in the affected self. His self is, as it were, of less importance than his affection, i.e. his relation. The extravert finds himself in the fluctuating and changeable, the introvert in the constant. The self is not "eternally constant", least of all with the extravert, for whom, as an object, it is a matter of small moment. To the introvert, on the other hand, it has too much importance: he therefore shrinks from every change that is at all liable to affect his ego. For him affectedness can mean something directly painful, while to the extravert it must on no account be missed. The following formulation immediately reveals the introvert: "In every change to remain himself constant, referring every perception to experience, i.e. to the unity of knowledge, and relating each of its varying aspects in his own time to the law of all times; this is the command given him by his reasoning nature" (p. 54). The abstracting, self-contained attitude is evident; it is even made a supreme rule of conduct. Every occurrence must at once be raised to the level of experience, and from the sum of experience a law for the future must also immediately emerge; whereas the other attitude, in which no experience shall be made from the occurrence lest laws might transpire which would hamper the future, is equally human.
It is altogether in keeping with this attitude that Schiller cannot think of God as becoming, but only as eternally being (p. 54); hence with unerring intuition he also recognizes the "God-likeness" of the introverted attitude towards the idea: "Man, presented in his perfection would be the constant unit, remaining eternally the same amid the floods of change." "Man carries the divine disposition incontestably within his personality" (p. 54).
This view of the nature of God agrees ill with His Christian incarnation and with those similar neo-Platonic views of the mother of the Gods and of her son, who descends into creation as Demiurgos.  But it is clear from this view to which function Schiller attributes the highest value, the divinity, viz. the constancy of the idea of the self. The self that is abstracted from affectedness is for him the most important thing, and hence, as is the case with every introvert, this is the idea which he has chiefly developed. His God, his highest value, is the abstraction and conservation of the self. To the extravert, on the contrary, God is the experience of the object, the fullest expansion into reality: hence a God who became human is to him more sympathetic than an eternal, immutable law-giver. Here I must observe in anticipation that these points-of-view should be regarded only as valid for the conscious psychology of the types. In the unconscious the relations are reversed. Schiller seems to have had an inkling, of this: although indeed his consciousness believes in an unchangingly existing God, yet the way to God-hood is revealed to him by the senses, hence in affectedness, in the changing and living process. But this is for him the function of secondary importance, and, to the extent that he identifies himself with his ego and abstracts it from the "changing" process, his conscious attitude also becomes quite abstracted; whereby the function of affectedness or relatedness to the object perforce relapses into the unconscious. From this state of affairs noteworthy consequences ensue:
I. From the conscious attitude of abstraction, which m pursuit of its ideal makes an experience from every occurrence, and from the sum of experience a law, a certain constriction and poverty results, which is indeed characteristic of the introvert. Schiller clearly feels this in his relationship with Goethe, for he sensed Goethe's more extraverted nature as something objectively opposed to himself . Significantly Goethe says of himself: "As a contemplative man I am an arrant realist. I find that among all the things which confront me I am in the position of desiring nothing from them or added to them, and I make no sort of discrimination among objects beyond their interest for myself."  Concerning Schiller's effect upon him, Goethe very characteristically says: "If I have served you as the representative of many objects, you have led me from a too intense observation of outer things and their relationships back into myself. You have taught me to view the many-sidedness of the inner man with finer equity" etc.  Whereas in Goethe Schiller finds an oft-times accentuated complement or fulfilment of his own nature, at the same time sensing his difference, which he indicates in the following way:
"Expect of me no great material wealth of ideas, for that is what I find in you. My need and endeavour is to make much out of little, and, if ever you should realize my poverty in all that men call acquired knowledge, you will perhaps find that in many ways my aspiration has succeeded. Because my circle of ideas is smaller I traverse it more quickly and oftener. I may, therefore, even make a better u&e of what small ready cash I own, creating a diversity through form which the contents lack. You strive to simplify your great world of ideas, while I seek variety for my small possessions. You have a kingdom to rule, and I only a somewhat numerous family of ideas which I would fain expand to a small universe."
-- Letter to Goethe, Aug. 31st 1794.
If we subtract from this utterance a certain feeling of inferiority characteristic of the introvert, and add to it the fact that the extravert's "great world of ideas" is not so much under his rule as he himself is subject to it, then Schiller's presentation gives a striking picture of the poverty which tends to develop as a result of an essentially abstract attitude.
II. A further result of the abstracting, conscious attitude, and one whose significance will become more apparent in the further course of our investigation, is that the unconscious develops a compensating attitude. For the more the relation to the object is restricted by the abstraction of consciousness (because too many 'experiences' and 'laws' are made), all the more insistently does a craving for the object develop in the unconscious. This finally declares itself in consciousness as a compulsive sensuous hold upon the object, whereupon the sensuous tie takes the place of a feeling-relation to the object, which is lacking. or rather suppressed, through abstraction. Characteristically, therefore Schiller regards the senses, and not the feelings, as the way to God-hood. His ego lies with thinking, but his affectedness, his feelings, with sensation. Thus with him the schism is between spirituality as thinking, and sensuousness as affectedness or feeling. With the extravert, however, matters are reversed: his relation to the object is developed, but his world of ideas is sensational and concrete.
Sensuous feeling, or to put it better, the feeling that exists in the state of sensation, is collective, i.e. it begets a state of relation or affectedness, which at the same time always translates the individual into the condition of "participation .mystique", hence into a state of partial identity with the sensed object. This identity declares itself in a compulsory dependence upon the sensed object, and it is this which again prompts the introvert, after the manner of the circulus vitiosus, to an intensification of that abstraction which shall abolish both the burdensome relation and the compulsion it evokes. Schiller recognized this peculiarity of the sensuous feeling: "So long as he merely senses, craves, and works from desire, man is still nothing more than world" (p. 55). But since, in order to escape affectedness, the introvert cannot abstract indefinitely, he ultimately sees himself forced to shape the external world. "That he may not be merely world, he must impart form to matter" says Schiller (ibid.); "he shall externalize all within, and shape everything without." Both tasks, in their highest achievement, lead back to the idea of divinity from which I started out.
This connection is important. Let us suppose the sensuously felt object to be a man -- will he accept this prescription? Will he, in fact, permit himself to take shape as though the man to whom he is related were his creator? To play the god on a small scale is certainly man's vocation, but ultimately even inanimate things have a divine right to their own existence and the world long ago ceased to be chaos when the first man-apes began to sharpen stones. It would, indeed, be a serious business if every introvert wished to externalize his narrow world of ideas and to shape the external world accordingly. Such experiments happen daily, but the individual ego suffers, and very justly, from this "God-likeness".
For the extravert, this formula should run: "to internalize all that is without and shape everything within". This reaction, as we saw just now, Schiller evoked in Goethe. Goethe gives a telling parallel to this. He writes to Schiller: "In every sort of activity I, on the other hand, am -- one might almost say -- completely idealistic: I ask nothing at all from objects,. but instead I demand .that everything shall conform to my conceptions." (April 1798). This means that when the extravert thinks, things go just as autocratically as when the introvert operates externally . This formula therefore can hold good only where an almost complete stage has already been reached; when in fact the introvert has attained a world of ideas so rich and flexible and capable of expression. that the object no longer forces him upon a Procrustean bed; and the -extravert such an ample knowledge of and consideration for the object that a caricature of it can no longer arise when he operates with it in his thinking. Thus we see that Schiller bases his formula upon the highest possible, and therefore makes an almost prohibitive demand upon the psychological development of the individual -- assuming also "that he is thoroughly clear in his own mind what his formula involves in every particular. Be that as it may, it is at least fairly clear that this formula: "To externalize all that is within and shape everything without" is the ideal of the conscious attitude of the introvert. It is based, on the one hand, upon the hypothesis of an ideal range of his inner world of concepts and formal 'principles, and, on the other, upon the possibility of an ideal application of the sensuous principle, which in that case no longer appears as affectedness, but rather as an active power. So long as man is "sensuous" he is "nothing but world"; that he may be "not merely world he must impart form to matter". Herein lies a reversal of the passive, enduring, sensuous principle. Yet how can such a reversal come to pass? That is the whole question. It can scarcely be assumed that a man can give to his world of ideas that extraordinary range which would be necessary in order to impose a congenial form upon the material world, and at the same time convert his affectedness, his sensuous nature, from a passive to an active condition, thus bringing it to the heights of his world of ideas. Somewhere or other man must be related, subjected as it were, else would he be really God-like. One is forced to conclude that Schiller would let it reach a point at which violence was done to the object. But in so doing he would concede to the archaic inferior function an unlimited right to existence, which as we know Nietzsche has actually done -- at least theoretically. This assumption, however, is by no means conclusive with regard to Schiller, since, so far as I am aware, he has nowhere consciously expressed himself to this effect. His formula has instead a thoroughly naive and idealistic character, a character withal quite consistent with the spirit of his time, which. was not yet infected by that deep mistrust of human nature and human truth which haunted the epoch of psychological criticism inaugurated by Nietzsche.
The Schiller formula could be carried out only by a power standpoint, applied without ruth or consideration: a standpoint with never a scruple about equity and reasonableness towards the object nor any conscientious examination of its own competence. Only under such conditions, which Schiller certainly never contemplated, could the inferior function also win to a share in life. In this way, archaic, naive, and unconscious elements, though decked out in a glamour of mighty words and lovely gestures, ever came crowding through, and assisted in the moulding of our present 'civilisation,' concerning the nature of which humanity is at this moment in some measure of disagreement. The archaic power instinct, which hitherto had hidden itself behind the gesture of culture, finally came to the surface in its true colours, and proved beyond question that we "are still barbarians." For it should not be forgotten that, in the same measure as the conscious attitude has a real claim to a certain God-likeness by reason of its lofty and absolute standpoint, an unconscious attitude also develops, whose Godlikeness is orientated downwards towards an archaic god whose nature is sensual and brutal. The enantiodromia of Heraclitus forebodes the time when this deus absconditus shall also rise to the surface and press the God of our ideals to the wall. It is as though men at the close of the eighteenth century had not really seen what that was which was taking place in Paris, but persisted in a certain aesthetical, enthusiastic, or trifling attitude, that they might perchance delude themselves concerning the real meaning of that glimpse into the abysses of human nature.
"But in that netherworld is terror,
And man tempteth not the gods,
Craving only that he may never, never see
What they in pity veil with night and horror."
-- Frau Schiller's Der Tauche.
When Schiller lived, the time for dealing with the underworld was not yet come. Neitzsche at heart was much nearer to it, for to him it was certain that we were approaching an epoch of great struggle. He it was, the only true pupil of Schopenhauer, who tore through the veil of naivete and in his Zarathustra conjured up from that lower region ideas that were destined to be the most vital content of the coming age.
(b) Concerning the basic instincts[/b]
In the twelfth Letter Schiller deals with the two basic instincts, to which at this point he devotes a somewhat fuller description. The "sensuous" instinct is that which is concerned with the "placing of man within the confines of time, and making him material." This instinct demands that "there be change, and that time should have a content. This state, which is merely filled time, is called sensation" (p. 56). "In this state man is nothing but a unit of magnitude, a filled moment of time or -- more correctly -- he is not even that, for his personality is dissolved so long as sensation rules him and time carries him along" (p. 57). "With unbreakable bonds this instinct chains the upward-striving mind to the world of sense, and calls abstraction from unfettered wandering in the infinite, back into the confines of the present."
It is entirely characteristic of Schiller's psychology that he should conceive the expression of this instinct as "sensation", and not as active, sensuous desire. This shows that for him sensuousness has the character of reaction, of affectedness, which is altogether characteristic of the introvert. An extravert would undoubtedly first lay stress upon the character of desire. There is further significance in the statement that' it is this instinct which demands change. The idea wants changelessness and eternity. Whoever lives under the supremacy of the idea, strives for permanence; hence everything that pushes towards change must be against it. In Schiller's case it is feeling and sensation that oppose the idea, since by natural law they are fused together as a result of their undeveloped state. Schiller did not even sufficiently discriminate in. thought between feeling and sensation, as the following passage demonstrates: "Feeling can only say: This is true for this subject at this moment; but another moment or another subject may come and revoke the statement of this present sensation" (p. 59). This passage clearly shows that, with Schiller, sensation and feeling are actually interchangeable terms, and its content reveals an inadequate valuation and differentiation of feeling as opposed to sensation. Differentiated feeling can also establish universal validity; it is not purely casuistical. But it is certainly true, that the "feeling-sensation" of the introverted thinking type is, by reason of its passive and reactive character, purely casuistical. For it can never mount above the individual case, by which it is alone stimulated, to an abstract comparison of all cases; because with the introverted thinking type this office is allotted not to feeling but to thinking. But matters are reversed with the introverted feeling type, whose feeling reaches an abstract and universal character and can establish permanent values.
From a further analysis of Schiller's description we find that "feeling-sensation" (by which term I mean the characteristic fusion of feeling and sensation in the introverted thinking type) is that function with which the ego is not definitely identified. It has the character of something inimical and foreign, that "destroys" the personality; it draws it away with it as it were, setting the man outside himself and alienating- him from himself. Hence Schiller likens it to the affect that sets a man "beside himself" . When one has collected oneself, this is termed with equal justice" being oneself again,  i.e. returning once more to the self, restoring one's personality". The conclusion, therefore, is unmistakable that to Schiller it seems as though "feeling-sensation" does not really belong to the person, but is merely a more or less precarious accessory, to which on occasion "a robust will is victoriously opposed". But to the extravert it is just this side of him which seems to constitute his real nature; it is as if he were actually with himself only when he is affected by the object -- a circumstance we can well understand, when we consider that the relation to the object is his superior, differentiated function to which abstract thinking and feeling are just as much opposed as they are indispensable to the introvert. The thinking of the extraverted feeling type is just as prejudicially affected by the sensuous instinct as is the feeling of the introverted thinking type. For both it means extreme" limitation" to the material and casuistical. Living through the object has also its" unfettered wandering in the infinite", and not abstraction alone, as Schiller thinks.
By means of this exclusion of sensuousness from the idea and range of the 'person', Schiller is able to arrive at the view that the person is "absolute and indivisible unity, which can never be in contradiction with itself." This unity is a desideratum of the intellect, which would fain maintain its subject in the most ideal integrity; hence as the superior function it must exclude the sensuous or relatively inferior function. But the final result of this is that crippling of the human being which is the very motive and starting-point of Schiller's quest.
Since, for Schiller, feeling has the quality of "feeling-sensation" and is therefore merely casuistical, the supreme value, a really eternal value, is given to formative thought, the so-called "formative instinct"  as Schiller calls it: "But when thought has once affirmed This is, it is decided for all time, and the validity of its pronouncement is vouched for by the personality itself, which offers defiance to all change" (p. 59). But one cannot refrain from asking: Does the meaning and value of personality really reside only in what is constant and permanent? Can it not be that change, becoming and development, represent even higher values than sheer "defiance" against change? 
When the formative instinct becomes the guiding power and the pure object works in us, then is the supreme unfolding of being, then do all barriers dissolve, then, from a unit of magnitude, to which needy sense confined him, has man arisen to a unit of idea embracing the entire realm of phenomena. No longer are we individuals, but the race: through our mind is the judgment of all minds pronounced, and by our deed is the choice of every heart represented."
It is unquestionable that the thought of the introvert aspires towards this Hyperion; it is only a pity that the unit of idea is the ideal of such a very limited class of men. Thinking is merely a function which, when fully developed and exclusively obeying its own laws, naturally sets up a claim to general validity. Only one part of the world, therefore, can be comprehended through thinking, another part only through feeling, a third only through sensation, etc. There are, in fact, various psychic functions; for, biologically, the psychic system can be understood only as an adaptation system; eyes exist presumably because there is light. Thinking, therefore, under all circumstances commands only a third or a fourth of the total significance, although in its own sphere it possesses exclusive validity -- just as vision is the exclusively valid function for the reception of light-waves, and hearing for sound-waves. Hence a man who sets the unit of idea on a pinnacle, and senses "feeling-sensation" as something antithetic to his personality, can be compared with a man who has good eyes but is nevertheless quite deaf and anaesthetic.
"No longer are we individuals, but the race": certainly, if we exclusively identify ourselves with thinking, or with any one function whatsoever; for then are we collective and generally valid beings, although quite estranged from ourselves. Outside this quarter-psyche, the other three quarters are in the darkness of repression and inferiority. "Est-ce la nature, qui porte ainsi les hommes si loin d'eux-memes?" we might here ask with Rousseau -- is it indeed Nature, or is it not rather our own psychology, which so barbarously overprizes the one function and allows itself to be swept away by it? This impetus is of course a piece of Nature, namely that untamed, instinctive energy, before which the' differentiated type recoils if ever it should 'accidentally' reveal itself in an inferior and despised function, instead of in the ideal function, where it is prized and honoured as divine enthusiasm. Schiller truly says: "But thy individuality and thy present need change will bear away, and what to-day thou ardently craveth in days to come she will make the object of thy loathing." [Letter xii] Whether the untamed, extravagant, and disproportionate energy shows itself in sensuality -- in abjectissimo loco -- or in an overestimation and deification of the most highly developed function, it is at bottom the same, viz. barbarism. But naturally no insight of this state can be gained while one is still hypnotized by the object of action so that one ignores the How of the acting.
Identification with the one differentiated function means that one is in a collective state; not, of course, that one is identical with the collective as is the primitive, but collectively adapted, for "the judgment of all minds is expressed by our own", in so far as our thought and speech exactly conform to the general expectation of those whose thinking is similarly differentiated and adapted. Furthermore, "the choice of every heart is represented by our act," just in so far as we think and do, as all desire it to be thought and done. There is certainly a universal belief and desire that that value is the best and most worth while wherein an identity with the one differentiated function is as fully achieved as possible; for that brings the most obvious social advantages, albeit the greatest disadvantages to those minorities of our nature, which often constitute a great portion of the individuality.
"As soon as one affirms", says Schiller, "a primordial, therefore necessary, antagonism of the two instincts, there is of course no other means of preserving unity in man than for him unconditionally to subordinate the sensuous to the reasoning instinct. Mere uniformity can only result from this, not harmony, and man still remains eternally divided." (pp. 61 ff.).
"Because it costs much to remain true to one's principles through every fluctuation of feeling, one seizes upon the more comfortable expedient of consolidating the character through the blunting of feeling, for in sooth it is infinitely easier to obtain peace from a disarmed adversary than to command a daring and robust enemy. Very largely also this operation includes that' process which we call 'forming the man' and this in the best sense of the word, where it embraces the idea of an inner cultivation and not merely outer form. A man thus formed will indeed be safeguarded from being mere crude nature or from appearing as such; but he will also be armoured by principle against every sensation of nature, so that humanity will reach him as little from without as from within." (pp. 67 ff.)
Schiller was also aware ~hat the two functions, thinking and affectedness (feeling-sensation), can substitute one another (which happens, as we saw, when one function is preferred).
"He may shift the intensity which the active function demands upon the passive one (affectedness), he can substitute the formative instinct by the instinct for material, and convert the receiving into a determining function. He can assign to the active function (positive thinking) the extensity which belongs to the passive one, he can entrench upon the instinct for material to the benefit of the formative instinct and substitute the determining for the receiving function. In the first instance, never will he be himself; in the second, he will never be anything else." (pp. 64 ff.)
In this very remarkable passage much is contained which we have already discussed. When the energy belonging to positive thinking is bestowed upon "feeling-sensation", which would be equivalent to a reversal of the introverted type, the qualities of the undifferentiated. archaic "feeling-sensation" become paramount, i.e. the individual relapses into an extreme relatedness, or identification with the sensed object. This state corresponds with a so-called inferior extraversion, i.e. an extraversion which, as it were, detaches the individual entirely from his ego and dissolves him into archaic, collective ties and identifications. He is then no longer "himself", but a mere relatedness; he is identical with his object and consequently without a standpoint. Against this condition the introvert instinctively feels the greatest resistance, which, however, is no sort of guarantee against his repeated and unwitting lapse into it. Under no circumstances should this state be confused with the extraversion of an extraverted type, although the introvert is continually prone to make this mistake and to show towards the true extraversion that same contempt which, at bottom, he always feels for his own extraverted relation . The second instance, on the other hand, corresponds with a pure presentation of the introverted thinking type, who through amputation of the inferior feeling-sensation condemns himself to sterility, i.e. he enters that state in which "humanity will reach him as little from without as from within".
Here also, it is obvious that Schiller continues to write purely from the standpoint of the introvert, because the extravert, who possesses his ego not in thinking, but rather in the feeling relation to the object, really finds himself through the object, while the introvert loses himself in it. But when the extravert, proceeds to introvert, he comes to his inferior relationship with collective ideas, i.e. to an identity with collective thinking of an archaic, concretistic quality, which one might describe as sensation-presentation. He loses himself in this inferior function just as much as the introvert in his inferior extraversion. Hence the extravert has the same repugnance, fear, or silent, scorn for introversion as the introvert for extraversion.
Schiller senses this opposition between the two mechanisms -- thus in his own case between sensation and thinking, or, as he also says, between "material and form", or again "passivity and activity" (affectedness and active thinking)  -- as unbridgable. "The distance between sensation and thinking" is "infinite" and "any sort of mediation is absolutely inconceivable". The two "conditions are opposed to each other, and can never be joined."  But both instincts are insistent, and as "energies" -- as Schiller himself in very modern fashion regards them  -- they need, and in fact, demand effective "discharge". "The demands of both the material and the formative instincts are a serious matter; for the one is related in cognition to the reality while the other to the necessity of things."  "But the discharge of energy of the sensuous instinct must, in no way, have the effect of a physical disability or a blunting of sensation, which only deserves universal contempt -- it must be an act of freedom, an activity of the person, tempering everything sensual by its moral intensity."  "Only to the mind may sense give place." It must follow, then, that the mind may give place only in favour of sense. Schiller, it is true, does not say this directly, but it is surely implied where he says:
"Just as little should this discharge of the formative instinct have the effect of a spiritual disablement and a loosening of the powers of thought and of will;. for this would mean a lowering of mankind. Abundance of sensations must be its honourable source; sensuousness itself must maintain her province with conquering power and resist the despotism which the mind with its encroaching activity would willingly inflict upon her."
In these words a recognition of the equal rights of "sensuousness"  and spirituality is expressed. Schiller therefore concedes to sensation the right to its own existence. But, at the same time, we can also see in this passage allusions to a still deeper thought, namely the idea of a "reciprocity" between the two instincts, a community of interest, or symbiosis, as we should perhaps prefer to call it, in which the waste-products of the one would be the food-supply of the other. Schiller himself says that" the reciprocity of the two instincts consists in this, that the effectiveness of the one both establishes and restricts the effectiveness of the other, and that each in its own separate sphere can reach its highest manifestation only through the activity of the other." Hence, if we follow out this idea, their opposition must in no way be conceived as something to be done away with, but must, on the contrary, be regarded as something useful and life-promoting, which should be preserved and strengthened. But this is a direct attack against the predominance of the one differentiated and socially valuable function, since it is the primary cause of the repression and absorption of the inferior functions. This would signify a slave-rebellion against the heroic ideal which compels us, for the sake of one, to sacrifice the remaining all.
If this principle, which as we know, was first especially developed by Christianity for the spiritualizing of man -- subsequently becoming equally effective in furthering his materialization -- were once finally broken, the inferior functions would find a natural release and would demand, rightly or wrongly, the same recognition as the differentiated function. The complete opposition between sensuousness and spirituality, or between the "feeling-sensation" and thinking of the introverted thinking type would therewith be openly revealed. This complete opposition, as Schiller also allows, entails a reciprocal limitation, equivalent psychologically to an abolition of the power principle i.e. to a renunciation of the claim to a generally valid standpoint on the strength of one differentiated and generally adapted, collective function.
The direct outcome of this renunciation is individualism, i.e. the necessity for a realization of individuality, a realization of man as he is. Let us hear how Schiller tries to approach the problem. "This reciprocity of the two instincts is indeed merely a problem of the reason; it is a task which man is able wholly to solve only through the perfecting of his being. It is the idea of his humanity in the truest meaning of the word; hence it is an absolute to which in the issue of time he can constantly approach without ever attaining."  It is a pity that Schiller is so conditioned by his type; if it were not so, it could never have occurred to him to look upon the co-operation of the two instincts as a "problem of the reason", since opposites are not to be united rationally: tertium non datur -- that is the very basis of their opposition. Then it must be that Schiller understands by reason something else than ratio, namely a higher and almost mystical faculty. Opposites can be reconciled practically only in the form of compromise, i.e. irrationally, wherein a novum arises between them, which, though different from both, has the power to take up their energies in equal measure as an expression of both and of neither. Such an expression cannot be contrived; it can only be created through living. As a matter of fact, Schiller also means this latter possibility, as we see in the following sentence:
"But should instances occur when he (man) proved at the same time this double experience, wherein he was not only conscious of his freedom but also sensed his own existence; when feeling himself to be matter, he, at the same time, knew himself to be spirit; in this unique state and in no other would he gain a complete vision of his humanity, and the object which evoked this vision would serve as the symbol of his accomplished destiny." 
Thus, if the individual were able to live both faculties or instincts at the same time, i.e. thinking by sensing and sensing by thinking, out of that experience (which Schiller calls the object) a symbol would arise which would express his accomplished destiny, i.e. his way upon which his Yea and his Nay are reconciled.
Before we take a nearer survey of this idea, it would be well for us to ascertain how Schiller conceives the nature and origin of the symbol: "The object of the sensuous instinct is Life in its widest meaning; a concept that signifies all material being, and all things directly present to the senses. The object of the formative instinct is Form, a concept that embraces all formal qualities of things and all relations of the same to the thinking function."  The object of the mediating function is, therefore, "living form" according to Schiller; for this would be precisely that symbol which unites the opposites: "a concept which serves to describe all aesthetic qualities of phenomena, which embraces in a single word the thing called beauty in its fullest significance". But the symbol also presupposes a function which creates symbols and, while creating them, is an indispensable agent for their apprehension. This function Schiller calls a third instinct, the play instinct; it has no similarity with the two opposing functions; it none the less stands between them and does justice to both natures, always provided (which Schiller does not mention) that sensation and thinking are recognised as serious functions. But there are many with whom neither sensation nor thinking is wholly serious; in which case seriousness must hold the middle place instead of play. Although in another place Schiller denies the existence of a third mediating instinct (p. 61), we will nevertheless assume, though his conclusion is somewhat at fault, his intuition to be all the more accurate. For, as a matter of fact, something does stand between the opposites, though it has become invisible in the differentiated type. In the introvert it lies in what I have termed "feeling-sensation". On account of its relative repression, the inferior function is only partly attached to consciousness; its other part is dependent upon the unconscious. The differentiated function is most fully adapted to outer reality; it is essentially the reality-function; hence it is as much as possible shut off from any admixture of phantastic elements. These elements, therefore, become linked up with the inferior functions, which are similarly repressed. For this reason 'the sensation of the introvert, which is usually sentimental, has a very strong tinge of unconscious phantasy. The third element, in which the opposites merge, is on the one hand creative, and on the other receptive, phantasy-activity. It is this function which Schiller terms the play-instinct, by which he means more than he actually says. He exclaims: "For, let us admit once and for all, man only plays when he is a man in the fullest meaning of the word, and he is only completely man when he is playing."  For him the object of the play instinct is beauty. "Man shall only play with beauty, and only with beauty shall he play."
Schiller was actually aware what it might mean to assign the chief position to the 'play-instinct'. The release of repression, as we have already seen, effects a recoil of the opposites upon each other plus a compensation, which necessarily results in a depreciation of the hitherto highest value. For culture, as we understand it to-day, it is certainly a catastrophe when the barbaric side of the European comes uppermost, for who can guarantee that such a man, when he begins to play, shall forthwith take the aesthetic motive and the enjoyment of pure beauty as his goal? That would be an entirely unjustifiable anticipation. As a result of the inevitable debasement of cultural achievement a very different result must first be expected. Therefore with justice Schiller observes: "The aesthetic play instinct will, therefore, in its first essays be scarcely recognizable, because the sensual instinct with its capricious temper and savage lusts ceaselessly intervenes. Thus we see crude taste avidly seizing upon the new and startling, the motley, adventurous, and bizarre, even upon the violent and savage, and fleeing nothing so eagerly as simplicity and calm."  From this passage' we must conclude that Schiller was aware of the danger of this conversion. It also follows that he cannot himself acquiesce in the solution found, but feels a compelling need to give man a more substantial foundation for his manhood than the somewhat insecure basis which an aesthetic-playful attitude can offer him. That must indeed be so. For the opposition between the two functions, or function-groups, is so great and so inveterate that play alone could hardly suffice to counterbalance all the difficulty and seriousness of this conflict -- similia similibus curantur: a third factor is needed, which at the least can equal the other two in seriousness. With the attitude of play all seriousness must vanish, whereby the possibility of an absolute determinability presents itself. At one time the instinct is pleased to be allured by sensation, at another by thinking; now it will play with objects, and now with ideas. But in any case it will not play exclusively with beauty, for in that case man would be no longer a barbarian but already aesthetically educated, whereas the actual question at issue is: How is he to emerge from the state of barbarism? Above all else, therefore, it must be definitely established where man actually stands' in his innermost being. A priori he is as much sensation as he is thinking; he is in opposition to himself -- hence must he stand somewhere in between. In his deepest essence, he must be a being who partakes of both instincts, yet may he also differentiate himself from them in such a way that, although he must suffer the instincts and in given cases submit to them, he can also apply them. But first he must differentiate himself from them, as from natural forces to which he is subject but with which he does not regard himself identical. Concerning this Schiller expresses himself as follows: "This inherency of the two root-instincts in no way contradicts the absolute unity of the mind, provided only that man distinguishes himself from both instincts. Both certainly exist and work in him, but in himself he is neither substance nor form, neither sensuousness nor reason." 
Here, it seems to me, Schiller refers to something very important, viz. the separability of an individual nucleus, which can be at one time the subject and at another the object of the opposing functions, though ever remaining distinguishable from them. This discrimination is itself as much an intellectual as a moral judgment. In the one case it happens through thinking, in the other through feeling. If the separation does not succeed, or if it is not even attempted, a dissolution of the individuality into the pairs of opposites inevitably follows, since it becomes identical with them. The further consequence is an estrangement with oneself, or an arbitrary decision in favour of one or the other side, together with a violent suppression of its opposite. This train of thought belongs to a very ancient argument, which, so far as my knowledge goes, received its most interesting formulation, psychologically, at the hands of Synesius, the Christian bishop of Ptolemais and pupil of Hypatia. In his book De Somniis  be assigns to the "spiritus phantasticus" practically the same psychological role as Schiller to the play-instinct, . and I to creative phantasy; only his mode of expression is metaphysical rather than psychological, which, being an ancient form of speech, is hardly suitable for our purpose. Synesius speaks of it thus: "Spiritus phantasticus inter aeterna et temporalia medius est, quo et plurimum vivimus." ("The phantastic spirit comes between the eternal and the temporal, in which [spirit] are we also most alive".) The "spiritus phantasticus" combines the opposites in itself; hence it also participates in instinctive nature upon the animal plane, where it becomes instinct and incites to dsemoniac desires:
"Vendicat enim sibi spiritus hiv aliquid velut proprium, tanquam ex vivinis quibusdam ab extremis utrisque, et quae tam longe disjuneta sunt, ovvurrunt in una natura. Atqui essentiae phantastivae latitudinem natura per multas rerum sortes extendit, descendit utique usque ad animalia, quibus non adest ulterius intellectus. .. Atque est animalis ipsius ratio, multaque per phantasticam hanc essentiam sapit animal, &c. .. Tota genera daemonum ex ejusmodi vita suam sortiunter essentiam. Illa enim ex toto suo esse imaginaria sunt, et iis quae fiunt intus, imaginata." 
[Google translate: "For to him, but now claims for his ground that it is proper to it, is from the ends of the as from a vivina for both, and the things that are, so far away disjuneta, ovvurrunt in the nature. And yet, many of the concrete by means of the nature of the essence of the breadth of the lots phantastivae stretched it out, of course, came down as far as the animals to whom he is not present longer any understanding of ... and it is the animal of the same system, the essence of many things in this wise, a fantastic animal, & c. .. the whole of his sortiunter kinds of demons from the essence of such a life. For those things of the imagination with all its own being, and they are things that take place inside, I imagine."]
Psychologically, demons are interferences from the unconscious, i.e. spontaneous irruptions into the continuity of the conscious process on the part of unconscious complexes. Complexes are comparable to demons which fitfully harass our thoughts and actions, hence antiquity and the Middle Ages conceived acute neurotic disturbances as possession. When, therefore, the individual stands consistently upon one side, the unconscious ranges itself squarely upon the other, and rebels -- which in all probability was what must have befallen the neo-Platonic or Christian philosophers, in so far as they represented the standpoint of exclusive spirituality. Particularly valuable is the allusion to the phantastic nature of the demons It is, as I have previously discussed, precisely the phantastic element which becomes associated in the unconscious with the repressed functions. Hence, if the individuality (a term which more briefly expresses the individual nucleus) is not differentiated from the opposites, it becomes identified with them, and is thereby inwardly rent, i.e. a tormenting disunion takes place. Synesius expressed this as follows: "Proinde spiritus hic animalis, quem beati spiritualem quoque animam vocaverunt, fit deus et daemon omniformis et idolum. In hoc etiam anima poenas exhibet." ("This spiritual essence, which devout men have also called the vital flame, is both God and idol and demon of every shape. Herein also doth the soul receive her chastisement.") Through participation in the instinctive forces the spirit becomes "a God and a demon of many shapes". This strange idea becomes immediately intelligible when we recollect that in themselves sensation and thinking are collective functions, in which through non-differentiation the individuality (the spirit, according to Schiller) has become dispersed. Thus the individuality becomes a collective being, i.e. god-like, since God is a collective idea of an all-pervading nature. "In this state", says Synesius, "the soul suffereth torment". But deliverance is won through differentiation; because the spirit, when it has become" humidus et crassus" ("wet and fat") sinks into the depths, i.e. becomes entangled in the object; but when purged through pain it becomes dry and hot and again ascends; for it is just this fiery quality which distinguishes it from the humid nature of its subterranean abode. Here the question naturally arises, by virtue of what power can the indivisible, i.e. the individuality, maintain itself against the separative instincts? That it can do so upon the line of the play-instinct even Schiller, at this point, no longer believes; for here we are dealing with something serious, some considerable power which can effectively detach the individuality from the opposites. From the one side comes the call, of the highest value, the highest ideal; while from the other comes the enchantment of the strongest desire: "Each of these two root-instincts", says Schiller," as soon as it reaches a state of development, must of necessity strive towards the satisfaction of its own nature; but, because both are necessary and since both must pursue antagonistic objects, this two-fold urgency is mutually suspended, and between the two the will asserts a complete freedom. Thus it is the will which behaves as a power towards both instincts, but neither of the two can, of itself, behave as a power towards the other. There is in man no other power but his will, and only that which abolishes man, death and every destroyer of consciousness, can abolish this inner freedom." 
That the opposites must cancel each other is logically correct, but practically it is not so, for the instincts stand in mutual and active opposition, causing, temporarily, insoluble conflicts. The will could indeed decide, but only if we anticipate that condition which must first be reached. But the problem how man may emerge out of barbarism is not yet solved; neither is that condition established which alone could lend the will such efficacy as would reconcile the two root-instincts. It is in fact the sign of the barbarous state that the will has a one-sided determination through one function; yet the will must none the less have a content, an aim. And how is this aim to be reached? How else than through a preliminary psychic process by which either an intellectual or an emotional judgment, or a sensuous desire, shall provide the will with its content and its goal? I f we allow sensuous desire as a motive of will, we act in harmony with the one instinct against our rational judgment. Yet, if we transfer the adjustment of the dispute to the rational judgment, then even the fairest and most considerate allotment must always be based upon rational grounds, whereby the rational instinct is conceded a prerogative over the sensuous.
The will, in any case, is determined more from this side or from that, just so long as it is dependent for its content upon one side or the other. But, to be really able to decide the matter, it must be grounded on a mediate state or process, which shall give it a content that is neither too near nor too remote from either side. According to Schiller's definition, this must be a symbolical content, since the intermediate position between the opposites can be reached only by the symbol. The reality presupposed by the one instinct differs from the reality of the other. To the other it would be quite unreal or apparent and vice versa. But this dual character of real and unreal is inherent in the symbol. If only real, it would not be a symbol, since it would then be a real phenomenon and therefore removed from the nature of the symbol. Only that can be symbolical which embraces both. If altogether unreal, it would be mere empty imagining, which, being related to nothing real, would be no symbol.
The rational functions are, by their nature, incapable of creating symbols, since they produce only a rational product necessarily restricted to a single meaning, which forbids it from also embracing its opposite. The sensuous functions are equally unfitted to create symbols, because, from the very nature of the object, they are also confined to single meanings which comprehend only themselves and neglect the other. To discover, therefore, that impartial basis for the will, we must appeal to another element, where the opposites are not yet definitely divorced but still preserve their original unity. Manifestly this is not the case with consciousness, since the whole nature of consciousness is discrimination, distinguishing ego from non-ego, subject from object, yes from no, and so forth. The separation into pairs of opposites is entirely due to conscious differentiation; only consciousness can recognize the suitable and distinguish it from the unsuitable and worthless. It alone can declare one function valuable and another worthless, thus favouring one with the power of the will while suppressing the claims of the other. But, where no consciousness exists, where the still unconscious instinctive process prevails, there is no reflection, no pro et contra, no disunion, but simple happening, regulated instinctiveness, proportion of life. (Provided, of course, that instinct does not encounter situations to which it is still unadapted. In which case damming up, affect, confusion, and panic arise).
It would therefore, be unavailing to appeal to consciousness for a decision of the conflict between the instincts. A conscious decree would be quite arbitrary, and could never give the will that symbolic content which alone can create an irrational settlement of a logical antithesis. For this we must go deeper; we must descend into those foundations of consciousness which have still preserved their primordial instinctiveness; namely into the unconscious, where all psychic functions are indistinguishably merged in the original and fundamental activity of the psyche. The lack of differentiation in the unconscious arises in the first place from the almost direct association of the brain centres among themselves, and in the second from the relatively weak energic value of unconscious elements , It may be concluded that they possess relatively little energy from the fact that an unconscious element at once ceases to remain subliminal as soon as it receives a stronger accent of value; this enables it to rise above the threshold of consciousness, which it can achieve only by virtue of a specific informing energy. Therewith it becomes an "irruption", a "spontaneously arising presentation" (Herbart). The strong energic value of the conscious contents has an effect like intensive illumination, whereby distinctions become clearly perceptible and mistakes eliminated. In the unconscious, on the contrary, the most heterogeneous elements, in so far as they possess only a vague analogy, may become mutually substituted for each other, just by virtue of their relative obscurity and frail energic value. Even heterogeneous sense-impressions coalesce, as we see in the "photisms" (Bleuler) of "audition coloriee". Language also contains not a few of these unconscious blendings, as I have shown for example with sound, light, and emotional states. 
The unconscious, therefore, might be that neutral region of the psyche where everything that is divided and antagonistic in consciousness flows together into groupings and formations. These, when examined in the light of consciousness, reveal a nature that exhibits the constituents of the one side as much as the other; they nevertheless belong to neither side, but occupy an independent middle station. This mediate position, constitutes for consciousness both their value and their worthlessness; worthless in so far as nothing clearly distinguishable emerges instantaneously from their formation, thus leaving consciousness embarrassed as to its purpose; but valuable in so far as their undifferentiated state gives them that symbolic character which is essential to the content of a mediatory will.