some statements as concrete which, in consequence of their more general
character, he, without that preparation, might be tempted to despise
as “mere philosophy.” If in our experiment on animals “the dark side”
is something which, as such, exists only in a definite whole, the
same thing is implied in a great many terms which we are continually
using as trivial words in common life. We do not realize generally
that all their meanings presuppose definite wholes in which something
plays that rôle to which the words apply, as “the dark side” applies
to the rôle one gray plays in a pair of grays. I give the following
few examples, selected from a large store: The German “Rand” (English
“brink” or “edge”) is such a word; again “Anfang” (beginning), “Ende”
and “Schluss” (“end” and “close”), “Stück” and “Teil” (“piece” and
“part”), “Rest” (“rest” or “remnant”); and even “Loch” (“hole”) and
“Störung” (“disturbance”), which presuppose a definite experienced
whole, with respect to which an area may appear as a “hole,” or some
factor as a “disturbance.” Intentionally I do not restrict my examples
to those cases in which the words apply to sensory facts. There is
not the slightest reason why I should do so. And the reader will
easily understand that talking about a “disturbing” factor in the case
of “thinking” presupposes a definite dynamical whole, as it does in
sensory experience. There is no meaning in the word without it. Whoever
is slightly acquainted with musical theory will recognize at once that
a tone cannot have the character of the “tonic” without belonging to
a larger musical whole, in which it plays a definite rôle; of course,
the same is true of the leading-tone, which has its strong dynamical
properties in the definite key of a sequence of tones, and not
independently.
Obviously we must have similar cases in the world of adjectives and
verbs. Indeed, “hohl” (“hollow”) and “offen” (“open”), “complete” and
“incomplete” belong in the same group, as terms referring necessarily
to specific wholes. Finally, in the realm of activities and events we
might give a long list in which there ought to be included: “starting”
or “beginning,” “ending” and “finishing” or “closing,” “desisting” and
“interrupting,” also “proceeding” and “continuing,” even “deviating,”
“bending,” “retarding” and so forth. If we try to find out what we
mean when we use terms like “hesitating” or “deviating” with reference
to the activities of others or to heard music or to our own stream
of thought, we shall find that their meaning depends upon extended
dynamical structures, the change of which is described by those words.
They may be applied to sensory experience, but their essential meaning
remains the same in other fields of experience, because the principal
aspects of _gestalt_ are found in all of them. To say that they are
imported into these other fields from the region of sensory experience,
in a merely analogical way, would be no more than another vicious
circle of the kind described above (cf. pp. 212-214).
BIBLIOGRAPHY
W. Köhler: Psychol. Forschung 4. 1924.
W. Köhler: _Die physischen Gestalten_. 1920.
E. Rubin: _Visuell wahrgenommene Figuren_. 1921.
W. Sander: _Bericht ü. d. 9. Kongress f. exper. Psychologie_. 1927.
M. Wertheimer: Psychol. Forschung 4. 1924.
VII
_Behavior_
IT will be difficult to understand this and the next chapters unless
we first solve a problem which presents serious difficulties to some
psychologists.
When I referred to “objective experience” in an earlier discussion
I laid great stress upon the fact that things, their movements and
changes, are given as _outside_ or _before_ us. At the same time
“objective experience” is regarded as depending upon processes in a
certain field of the brain. How then can it appear before us? About
the facts there can be no doubt. Under certain conditions a sound may
be localized in my head, it is true; but that tree over there is seen
as something far off and the window, though much nearer, is still
_outside_, beyond any possibility of doubt. Functionally, however,
their existence, as is the case of all the other surrounding objects,
is a matter of processes in my brain, and therefore _in_ me. So much
can be proved by the simplest physiological considerations.
Let us attack this problem from the physiological side at once. For
simplicity’s sake we shall proceed at first as though the visual field
were the only objective experience we have.
One thing is immediately obvious. Though we usually have many objects
before us, their totality appears as ordered in one visual space, so
that any one of them has definite spatial relations to all the others.
This statement is rather superficial, because it neglects the actual
grouping and “belonging together” of some objects rather than others;
but for our present purposes it will be sufficient. The pencil is
nearer to that book than to the lamp, the knife is between the book and
the fountain-pen, and so forth.
As all properties of the field depend upon physiological processes in
the brain or certain of their properties, so the relative position
of experienced objects will depend upon a definite order of the
processes which are their physiological basis; the mere geometrical
localization of the processes in the brain cannot be the correlate of
seen spatial order. I take it for granted that whatever is experienced
has a _dynamical_ basis physiologically, i.e., depends upon physical
states and events. Process-in-extension, coherent functionally and
self-maintaining dynamically, is supposed to contain those dynamical
relations between “segregated wholes,” which, in experience, appear as
positions of objects in mutual relation and order. Of course, these
dynamical relations, underlying experienced spatial order, exist in
an aggregate of cells and fibers, which are extended in physical
space. But only the dynamical relations count for our problem, not the
geometrical distances and areas as such, through which that dynamical
order extends. Still we may safely assume not only that, where two
objects touch each other in visual experience, the _dynamical contact_
of the corresponding processes is immediate and direct, but that the
two processes take place in two _neighboring areas_ of the brain.
Again, if two objects are experienced as separated from each other in
visual space, some process, _not_ corresponding to the objects, will
mediate _dynamically_ between them; and at the same time the area of
the first will not be in geometrical contact with the area of the
second. We shall not go further. The _geometrical_ distribution of
processes in the brain will _not_ be an adequate picture of visual
order in all respects. Only with respect to those crudest properties
of visual space, neighborhood and distance in general, will the
underlying dynamical order of processes be extended homologously in
brain-space.[41] But no more need be assumed in order to picture in
imagination what follows, and to discuss our problem in simple terms.
We must not forget, however, that, if in the next paragraph relative
localization in visual space is connected with relative position of
processes in the brain, this is meant as an abbreviation for the
_dynamical_ relations of process-in-extension.
In visual experience the pencil there is external to that book and
at a certain distance from it. We know now, at least in a general
scheme, what is the physiological basis of this separation. Our next
task will consist in applying that scheme consistently. My hand is
in the same visual field as an experienced object. Evidently, as
this new segregated whole is external to the pencil and the book in
visual experience, the process, corresponding to it in the brain,
must be external to the processes corresponding to the pencil and to
the book, dynamically and, as we have seen, geometrically. There is
not the slightest reason why the hand, as a visual object, should be
treated in a manner different from the pencil or the book, or the
spatial relation between the hand and pencil or the book different
from the spatial relation between the latter. Beside my hand I have
other parts of myself in the visual field: my arm, for instance, very
often my feet, my chest and, though in peripheral vision, the tip of
my nose. They are visual experiences, exactly as are the pencil and
the book. Therefore, in my brain as a _physical_ system there must
be processes corresponding to these experienced bodily members, as
there are processes underlying those objective experiences which I do
not reckon among the parts of what I call my body. And the processes
underlying the seen book, the seen pencil and all the other surrounding
seen objects will be external to the processes which underlie the
experiences of arm, feet, chest and nose, for the same reason that the
processes corresponding to those seen objects are external to each
other.
Here we have, in principle at least, the solution of our problem. To
some extent my body, to which common speech frequently refers as “I,”
is a group of visual experiences just as other things are. As these are
seen external to each other, so “I” am experienced external to all of
them in vision. If I find no difficulty in their appearing separately
in different parts of the field, and if their mutual localization can
be understood by the dynamo-geometrical relations of the processes
underlying them, I am simply obliged to apply the same idea to
myself as a visual experience in the same field and to the processes
underlying this experience. No new hypothesis is needed to explain why
“I” am external to those objects and they external to me. If there were
a paradox in their relative localization with regard to “me,” the same
paradox ought to be found in their mutual localization. I have only
to become aware of the fact that, as a visual experience, this “I”
depends upon processes in a definite circumscribed part of my brain as
a physical system, no less than do any other objects in the field.
Following this consideration, it becomes an almost impossible idea
that things should be experienced as being “in me.” The pencil might
be experienced _in_ the book just as well! Everybody is accustomed to
discriminate sharply between the thing as a _physical object_ and as
the _experienced whole_, corresponding to it, which appears in the
visual field. If we could only accustom ourselves also to make the same
distinction as radically and consistently in the case of our body! In
one meaning this body is a physical organism, certain processes of
which underlie _all_ experience. At the same time “my body” or “myself”
is a particular one among all other sensory experiences, and, as such,
it is also represented by definite particular processes in a definite
part of the brain at a given moment. Dynamo-geometrical relations in
the brain-field mean spatial relations in visual experience. In this
respect, other visual things are evidently outside or external to the
special thing called “my body.” But, you say, all these processes
are _in_ the brain, i.e., _in me_, after all! That does not matter
for our problem, because experience depends upon the processes of a
definite field, and experienced space depends upon the totality of
dynamo-geometrical relations _in_ it; the only meaning which “in” and
“outside” have in experience is determined by this dynamical context,
and to the _physical_ place which this context has in the physical
world, in the physical body, and more particularly in the physical
skull, _there does not correspond any experience at all_. All the
possible spatial relations we can have in sensory experience are
restricted to the inner dynamical properties and relations of that
field; the anatomical relation between this field and its surroundings,
which do not contain “psychophysical” processes, is an affair of
the physical world which does not occur in my sensory experience.
Therefore, “things” are “before” and “around” me, as far as experience
is concerned. If somebody expects that “things” or “I” or both should
be localized in my brain, he does not see that in the first half of
this sentence he is talking about direct experiences whereas in the
second half “my brain” is a concept referring to physical existence. So
he confuses experienced space with the space of the physicist, which
no one experiences directly, and he expects to see certain particular
parts of _experienced_ space localized in relation to parts of
_physical_ space, which is altogether impossible.
This is also the reason why every one is so astonished when he is
first told that things, colors, etc., which he experiences as being
external and distant, depend upon events occurring in himself! Of
course, this is correct if meant physiologically, so that “himself” is
the physiological organism, not experienced directly. It is far from
correct and evident for some one who does not discriminate between the
physical organism and “himself” as one particular whole in experience,
because for the most part, distant things and colors do not appear
as depending upon that particular experience, “himself,” at all.
Why should they? In experience a tree depends upon “myself” just as
much or as little as in the brain the particular and local process
corresponding to “myself” determines that corresponding to the tree.
Such an influence will sometimes occur and will then be experienced,
too, but in general the “tree” and “I” will not depend upon each other
more than any other segregated wholes depend upon each other when,
dynamically, they are distant from each other.
Perhaps all this is too well known to be discussed here. But four years
ago a distinguished psychiatrist formulated this as the most difficult
problem to be found in all the relations of “mind” and “body”: that
things appear as being outside of us, whereas we should expect them to
be in our interior!
As yet we have taken “ourselves” and “things” exclusively as visual
experiences. But the situation remains the same if we consider other
experiences as well. Things, their properties, events and so on, may
be experienced by touch instead of visually; things are warm or cold,
they smell, are heavy, audible and so forth. But all these experiences
are somehow localized in experienced space, either in a well-defined
or in a more confused manner. All of them appear as localized more or
less in relation to visual experiences. So a voice is heard as outside
the window; this room, given visually, seems to have or contain the
smell of a cigarette, and the cold surface of the safety-razor in my
hand is felt where the thing is seen. Two different explanations may
be given for the fact that all sensory experiences appear in one and
the same space.[42] _Either_ the reason is the same as for the special
case of binocular vision in which, notwithstanding the duality of
peripheral sense organs, one single visual space contains all visual
experience. What has occurred here may have happened with respect
to _all_ sensory experiences as depending upon a large number of
different sense organs: in phylogenesis, and also in early individual
life, for dynamical reasons which we do not have to discuss here, the
distribution of sensory processes in the brain may have developed in
such a direction that, now, all of them occur in one psychophysical
field and that, therefore, corresponding to their dynamo-geometrical
relations, all sensory experience appears in one experienced space.
_Or_ the relative localization of experiences furnished by different
sense organs may have been _learned_ by all of us in early childhood,
so that in consequence of that learning a sound, for instance,
would seem to issue from a place in the same space in which we see
objects. In any case, whether we accept the more “nativistic” or the
“empiristic” explanation, all sensory experiences are now given to us
in one space, the same space in which we have visual objects around
us and, in one region of which, parts of “ourselves.” Some of the
non-visual experiences are localized outside, as sounds are almost
universally, and also weights; but other non-visual experiences appear
_inside_ that region of the visual field which we call ourselves, as,
for instance, the feeling of “coldness” and all kinesthesis. In the
interior of this region we find eventually a great many experiences the
origin of which may be a matter of much discussion, but which certainly
are localized there somewhat diffusedly, as our feeling “tired,”
“nervous,” “healthy,” even “happy” and so forth, i.e., the more or less
“subjective” experiences. From what we have said about the separation
of visual experiences as belonging partially to ourselves and partially
to our surroundings, it will be obvious that the same thing is true of
all other experiences except certain particular experiences which are
always localized in our interior. All this is not more astounding than
is the external localization of visual things outside our body, itself
a particular visual thing.[43]
After these preliminary remarks we are prepared for the treatment of
an old problem: How does it come to pass that we ascribe to others
experiences similar to those we have ourselves? We continually seem
to do that, not only in general, but in particular; we attribute to
others definite particular experiences at a definite time. To begin
with, I shall not discuss the question, whether such attribution can
be legitimated in psychology as a science. But in common life something
like sympathetic attribution seems to be a most frequent occurrence,
and may be regarded as fundamental for social psychology. What is its
nature, and what are its modes of occurrence? A certain paradox is
connected with the problem: sometimes other people seem to judge my
subjective experience more soundly from without than I am able to do
it myself “from within.” What shall I say, for instance, in order to
describe to others what I feel as a lack of inner determination or
as hesitation in a certain situation? But others say that they “see”
that hesitation most clearly on my face, and I am inclined to believe
them, since I know that characteristic expression very well from my
observation of others. I think it was Nietzsche who occasionally
said that somehow the “you” is earlier than the “I.” This seems to
apply most of all to our knowledge of “character” and “personality,”
since it is extremely difficult to get a definite picture of our own
character from our subjective experiences, whereas the main traits of
the character of others may sometimes be strikingly apparent in their
attitude.
I do not think that the language of others is our main or most
trustworthy cue, in the sense that the content of it might be taken as
a description of their experience. People do not talk sincerely about
their subjective experiences, and we ascribe to them pomposity or
modesty, friendliness or coldness, without their telling us a single
word about such traits. In a foreign country, we appreciate to a great
extent that others are “provocative” or “kind,” though we may be
absolutely unable to understand their language. Where we do understand
their words, their _manner_ of talking is often a better cue, and we
trust it more than the content of their talk. Also, a certain kind of
silence can occasionally tell us more about others than any number of
words could reveal in the same situation. Furthermore, the behavior of
apes, for instance, shows the unprejudiced observer that they usually
“understand” each other very well, though they do not use language,
in the usual meaning of that word. For these reasons, our discussion
will deal with a fundamental aspect of our problem, even if we exclude
language from it as communication by the meaning of words and sentences.
The answer which philosophers have given to the question raised, is
very well known. Since I cannot directly perceive the experiences of
another, the only evidence available is his body or, more particularly,
the changes and events which I observe as occurring on its surface,
or issuing therefrom. These, however, have nothing to do with the
non-apparent direct experiences of other persons, apart from the
simple rule of concomitant variation in accordance with which definite
direct experiences unobservable to others are usually accompanied
by definite bodily events which are observable by others. Originally
I learned this rule for myself alone, by observing that definite
experiences were accompanied by definite movements or changes in _my_
own body. This observation, made millions of times very early in my
life, induces me to draw an inference by analogy wherever afterwards I
observe the same bodily events in others. From the fact that the Earth
is inhabited by organisms the inference is sometimes drawn that there
also are organisms on another planet, similar to the Earth, as Mars is,
for instance. In the same manner we are said to infer that behind the
several bodily reactions or “expressions,” which we observe in others,
there are occurring unobservably definite experiences similar to those
we have experienced in ourselves when we have observed ourselves
undergoing the same bodily changes. Evidently such an inference
cannot be worth very much, as the parallel astronomical case shows.
Furthermore, the whole theory seems to be an arbitrary construction,
since no one explicitly draws such inferences by analogy in common
life, though he may “understand” his fellow men to a considerable
degree.
Therefore, a modification of that hypothesis is proposed by
psychologists. The basis of it remains the same: In millions of
cases we have had experiences when we could observe bodily reactions
in ourselves at the same time. The constant repetition of these
simultaneous occurrences has built up associations between them, so
that in the future the mere observation of certain bodily events will
forcefully reproduce the idea of the associated definite experiences.
But we may go further: instead of “free” ideas we very often get an
“assimilation” of the reproduced material by the reproducing material.
So the symbol + looks like “adding,” a coffin appears imbued with
the gloominess of death, and the flag with the special value of our
country. In the same way, by an enormous force of association, the
bodily changes of others appear as imbued with those experiences which
have so repeatedly accompanied those changes in ourselves. This is the
reason why we seem to _see_ friendliness in other people’s faces or to
_hear_ anger in a certain animal cry.
Evidently we are dealing once more with a special application of the
meaning theory. I do not believe it to be in principle a solution of
the problem. First of all, from its viewpoint we should be utterly
unable to understand any behavior in others except that which we know
because of its extremely frequent occurrence in ourselves. But this
logical consequence of the theory is not quite corroborated by the
facts, for sometimes I understand others as being highly different from
me. The characteristic manliness of Douglas Fairbanks is something
which impresses me very much, though unfortunately I shall never be
able to achieve it myself. On the other hand, a certain kind of envy,
mean and hideous to the highest degree, is plainly visible to me in
certain definite facial expressions of others. But I am happy to state
that it does not occur among my own subjective experiences. Again, some
psychologists are right in protesting that the theory does not work in
the most important of all cases, which is that of facial expression.
We do see changes in the “expression” of other people’s faces; but we
usually do not see our own face. No one usually looks into the mirror
when he is angry. We may “feel” some contractions of our face when
we are angry, but since the angry face of others is given to us in
_visual_ experience, there does not seem to be a reproducing factor
here which might have been associated with our subjective experiences
in previous life. Finally, a chimpanzee reacts very quickly and
adequately to the friendly or the angry attitude of another chimpanzee.
Shall we assume that he projects into the other’s face the reproduction
of his own subjective experiences? This seems to be a rather bold
assumption!
Let us consider for a moment what is implicitly presupposed in this
hypothesis, as in that of the “inference by analogy.” Why should our
“understanding” of others be such an indirect procedure? Obviously,
because we are convinced that “the mental life” of others is something
radically different from and even incomparable with the bodily events
which we can observe in their behavior. Nothing but an external
correlation seems to exist, and to be possible here, between the facts
of two different worlds. If that is so, we should expect that, in spite
of assimilation, it must be extremely easy to analyze the product.
Where things are combined, the natures of which are so different as to
make them incomparable, the slightest effort toward analysis should
separate them at once. But if in a friendly-looking face we try to
separate the mere bodily configuration and the friendliness, we find
the task rather difficult, as long as we look at the whole face and do
not analyze the face itself as a mosaic of colored spots.