THE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS
In our last chapter we have discussed the general and formal
characteristics of consciousness. These have appeared to us in the
scope of consciousness, in the different grades of clearness and
distinctness of its content, and lastly, connected with this, in the
relations of apprehension and apperception. The next question that
immediately presents itself is: Of what kind is the specific content
that appears to us in these forms? The answer to this question includes
the task of explaining the ultimate parts of this content, that cannot
be further disintegrated. Such ultimate parts are generally called
elements. Now it is one of the first tasks of each science, that deals
with the investigation of empirical facts, to discover the elements
of the phenomena. Its second task is to find out the laws according
to which these elements enter into combinations. The whole task of
psychology can therefore be summed up in these two problems: (1) What
are the elements of consciousness? (2) What combinations do these
elements undergo and what laws govern these combinations?
In contradistinction to the elements of consciousness let us call any
combination of such elements a psychical compound. The relation of the
two to each other can be at once made clear by the examples that lie
at hand. Let us return to our metronome. If we let one single beat
work upon consciousness and then immediately arrest the pendulum, we
have a psychical element. Such a beat cannot in general be further
disintegrated if we, as can easily be done in such a case, abstract
from the fact that we hear it from some special direction in space,
&c. If, on the other hand, we let two beats work, they constitute
at once a psychical compound. This becomes always more complex, the
more such beats we combine into a row, and the more we increase this
complication by different degrees of accentuation, as in the examples
of 2/8 and 4/4 time described above. Such an element of consciousness
as the single beat is called a sensation, a combination of elements
into rhythms of more or less complicated constitution is called an
idea. Even at the present time many psychologists use the word "idea"
only for a complex that does not arise from direct outward impressions,
i.e. only for so-called "memory images." For ideas formed by outward
sense impressions they generally use the word "perception." Now this
distinction is psychologically of absolutely no importance, since there
are really no valid differences between memory ideas and so-called
sense-perceptions. The memory ideas of our dreams are in general quite
as lively as sense impressions in the waking state, and it is for this
reason that they are often held to be really experienced phenomena.
The word "idea" denotes well the essential characteristic of all these
complexes. The idea (Greek idea) is the form or appearance of something
in the outer world. In the same sense, as belonging to the outer world,
we speak of the sensations and their complexes arising in our own body
as organic sensations, because we locate them in out own body, e.g. the
sensations of fatigue of our muscles, the pressure and pain sensations
of the inner organs, &c. The relatively uniform elements of touch and
organic sensations are distributed among the sensations of pressure,
warmth, cold, and pain. In contra-distinction to these, the special
senses of hearing, seeing, smelling, and tasting present an abundance
of sensations, each of which, according to its peculiar constitution,
is called a quality of sensation. Each such quality is besides variable
in its intensity. We can, for example, produce a certain beat in very
variable intensities, while the quality remains the same.
In all these cases we meet with the same relations between sensations
and ideas, as we saw in the metronome beats described above. Green or
red, white or black, &c., are called visual sensations; a green surface
or a black body is called a visual idea. The relation is exactly the
same as between the single beat and the row of beats. Only in this case
the combination of several sensations to an idea of a surface or of a
body forces itself upon us much more directly, and it requires a very
careful abstraction from this combination into an ideational complex,
in order to retain the conception of a sensation. But we can vary our
ideas of surfaces and bodies at will, while the colour remains the
same. So at last we are forced to look upon this element, that remains
the same in spite of all changes in the combinations, as a simple
sensation. In the same way we consider a simple tone as a sensation
of hearing, and a clang or chord, composed of several tones, as an
auditory idea, and so on. If the tones follow each other in a melodious
and rhythmical combination, then ideas of increasing complexity arise,
and in the same manner several relatively simple visual ideas may be
bound together into more extensive simultaneous or successive unities.
The senses of sight and of hearing in especial form in this way a great
variety of sensations and ideas, and they do this in two ways--firstly,
through the qualities of their simple sensations, and secondly,
through the complications of ideas, into which these sensations may be
combined. The simple scale of tones, from the deepest to the highest
tone that can be heard, consists of an infinite gradation of tonal
qualities, out of which our musical scale chooses only certain tones,
which lie at relatively large distances from each other. Musical clangs
are combinations of a number of such simple tonal sensations, and the
so-called compound clangs increase this complicated constitution of
the clangs by emphasising to a greater degree certain partial tones.
The simple light-sensations form a more concise manifoldness, but one
that stretches into different directions. Red, for example, on the
one hand goes over by constant gradations into orange and then into
yellow, and on the other hand we have just as many constant gradations
from each of these colour-shades through the lighter colour-tones into
white, or through the darker ones into black, and so on. The ideas of
this sense are absolutely inexhaustible. If we think of the manifold
forms of surfaces and bodies, and of the differences in distance and
direction, in which we perceive objects, it is obvious that it is
absolutely impossible to find any limit here. Thus the richness in
sensations and ideas, which each of the senses conveys, stands in close
relation to the spatial distance of the objects which they introduce
into consciousness. The narrowest region is that of the touch and
organic sense, where the impressions all refer to our own body. Then
come the sensations of the two so-called chemical senses of taste
and of smell. Even in man they have the important function of organs
of help or protection in the choice of food, as is the case in the
whole animal kingdom. The sensations and ideas of hearing stretch much
further. By means of them the outer world enters into relation with our
consciousness in language, song, and music. And last of all, the sense
of sight, the sense of distance in the real meaning of the word, gives
form and content to the whole picture of the outer world, that we carry
in our consciousness.
However different the qualities of sensations and the forms of
ideas may be, yet these elements and complexes all agree in one
particular--they all refer to the objective world, to things and
processes outside of us, to their qualities, their combinations, and
their relations. Our own body, to which touch and organic sensations
relate, forms in contradistinction to our consciousness a part of
this outer world. It is the nearest to us, but still a mere part of
the outer world. The question immediately arises: Do these objective
elements and complexes form the only content of consciousness? Or
in other words, are the only psychical elements such as we project
outwards? Or are there in our consciousness, besides this picture of
the outer world, other elements, which we do not apprehend as objects
or their qualities that stand in contradistinction to ourselves?
To answer this question let us use the metronome to help us. If we
choose time intervals of a medium length, say 1/2 to 1 1/2 seconds, and
if we make such a row of beats rhythmical by the voluntary emphasis
of certain beats in the manner described above, then each single
beat represents a sensation and the whole row of beats represents an
idea. At the same time, during the impression on consciousness of
such a rhythmical whole we notice phenomena that are not contained
in our definition of sensation or idea. Above all, we have at the
end of the row of beats the impression of an agreeable whole. If we
wish to define this concept of "agreeable" more accurately, we may
describe it as a subjective feeling of pleasure, which is caused by
outward impressions, which we therefore call agreeable. This concept
consists therefore of two parts--an objective idea, in our case the
row of beats, and a subjective feeling of pleasure. This latter is
obviously not in itself included in the impression of the row of beats
or in that which we call the idea. It is clearly an added subjective
element. It also shows itself to be such from the fact that we do
not project it into the outer world. It is apprehended directly as
a reaction of our consciousness, or rather, to express it at once
more fittingly, of our apperception. This shows itself also in the
relative independence of this feeling of pleasure from the objective
constitution of the impression. Since in such a simple compound as a
rhythmical row of beats the agreeableness is generally very moderate,
we clearly observe that with many individuals the feeling of pleasure
contained in it often sinks below the threshold of consciousness, so
that they only perceive the objective constitution of the beats. With
others this subjective reaction becomes very prominent. The feeling of
pleasure will, as is well known, become more intense, when harmonious
tones combine with the rhythmical beat into one melodious whole. The
agreeable feeling that then arises from the melody can scarcely be
wanting in any individual consciousness. Just here we note that the
degree of this feeling of pleasure for one and the same melody can
vary extraordinarily for different individuals. And these subjective
differences increase more and more as the melodious compound becomes
more complicated. A complicated tone-structure may produce the greatest
ecstasy in a musician, whereas it may leave an unmusical person
absolutely cold. The latter, on the other hand, may perhaps find a very
simple melody agreeable, and this same melody may appear trivial to the
musician and therefore disagreeable. In all these cases we see that the
feeling of pleasure, which is bound to certain sensations and ideas, is
purely subjective. It is an element that is not only dependent upon the
impression itself, but also and always and most of all dependent upon
the subject receiving the impression. And negatively the subjective
character of this feeling is shown in the fact that it is never
projected into the outer world, although it may be so closely bound up
with the idea that refers to the outer world.
But feelings of pleasure are not the only ones that we observe in our
rhythm experiments. If we call to mind the exact state of consciousness
between two beats of a rhythmical row, we notice that the apprehension
of the identity of two intervals arises by means of a subjective
process. This process takes place in the same manner within each of the
two compared intervals, and thereby gives rise to the impression that
they coincide. In ordinary life we generally speak of the phenomena,
that are observed in such cases, as a change from "expectation" to
"realisation." If we follow these phenomena a little more closely, we
notice that in our case the process of expectation is a continuous and
regularly varying one. At the moment immediately following one beat,
expectation strains itself to catch the next one, and this straining
increases until this beat really occurs. At the same moment the strain
is suddenly relieved by the realisation of the expected, when the
new beat comes. Then the same process is repeated during the next
interval. If the arrangement of the beat is more complicated because
of different degrees of emphasis, then these subjective processes
become in proportion more complicated, since several such processes of
expectation and realisation overlap one another.
What do these processes, which we so often meet, although not always
in such regular change as in a rhythmical row of beats, consist of?
It is obvious at a glance that expectation and realisation are both
elements that are not bound to the objective impression itself. These
processes can vary subjectively just as much as the agreeable feeling
that arises from a rhythmical row of beats or from a melody. It is now
pretty generally agreed that these peculiar elements of consciousness
arise within us and not without us. There is, however, still one
possibility that remains. It might be that sensations are the bearers
of these subjective phenomena of expectation, perhaps sensations that
are perceived while listening to a row of beats, arising partly in
the interior of the ear because of the straining of the membrane of
the tympanum, and partly in the mimic muscles that surround the ear.
These sensations correspond to the similar sensations in the eye in
expectation of visual impressions. Yet this hypothesis, on closer
examination, proves untenable for various reasons. First of all these
sensations continue, during the whole period of expectation, in a
relatively constant intensity, as far as can be observed. There is
no trace of that regular increase and that sudden transition to the
opposite process of realisation, such as we observed in our rhythm
experiments. Secondly, we can produce exactly similar sensations in our
ear, or round about our ear, or in the region surrounding the eye, if
we voluntarily contract the muscles in question, without our being in a
state of expectation, or if we send a slight electric current through
such muscles. In both cases the characteristic element of expectation
is wanting. Lastly, it is obviously impossible to account for these
phenomena by means of uniform muscle-sensations if we wish to explain
that superposition of states of expectation of different degrees and
extents, which we observed in more complicated rhythmical rows of
beats, or which happens in complicated psychical states arising through
intellectual processes. How could the sensations of the membrane of
the tympanum, or of the fixation muscles of the eye, account for that
intense feeling of expectation which an exciting novel or a good
play may cause? Add to this the fact that these states are quite as
subjective and dependent on the individual disposition of consciousness
as a feeling of pleasure that is awakened by an agreeable rhythm,
and it is at once obvious that these states, which we shall call
for shortness the contrasts of strain and relaxation, have the very
same right to be called feelings. For feelings, wherever they arise,
accompany, as subjective reactions of consciousness, sensations and
ideas, but are never identical with them.
We obtain therefore, with the above-mentioned medium rapidity of the
metronome, feelings of pleasure and feelings of strain and relaxation
in close connection with each other, as regular concomitants of
rhythmical impressions. This, however, is essentially changed if the
rapidity of the beats is altered. If we chose intervals of from to
3 seconds, strain and relaxation follow similarly as before. They
appear even more distinctly, since the strain increases, to a greater
intensity because of the longer intervals. But just as distinctly
does the feeling of pleasure decrease with this increase in the
length of the interval, and we soon reach the limit where the strain
of expectation becomes painful. Here, then, the former feeling of
pleasure is transformed into a feeling of displeasure, which is again
closely connected with the feelings of strain and relaxation. Now let
us proceed in the opposite direction by making the metronome beats
follow each other after intervals of 1/2 to 1/4 of a second, and we
notice that the feelings of strain and relaxation disappear. In their
place appears an excitement that increases with the rapidity of the
impressions, and along with this we have generally a more or less
lively feeling of displeasure. We see, therefore, a new feeling added
to those already found. We may call it most appropriately excitation.
It is sufficiently well known to us in ordinary life in its more
complicated forms, where it obviously forms an essential component
of many emotions, e.g. anger, lively joy, &c. We can also find the
contrast to this feeling of excitation with the help of the same
instrument, by suddenly decreasing the rapidity of the beats to their
medium rapidity again. This change is regularly accompanied by a very
distinct feeling of quiescence (a quieting or subduing feeling).
Accordingly our metronome experiments have brought to light three pairs
of feelings--pleasure and pain, strain and relaxation, excitation and
quiescence. At the same time it has been shown that only very seldom do
these forms of feeling appear isolated. Several of them are generally
combined together into one feeling-compound. We may call this latter
the aggregate feeling, and the former the partial feelings. It is
evident that between these two a similar relation exists as between
ideas and pure sensations. Besides this, the contrasts of each pair of
feelings--e.g. pleasure and displeasure--include the possibility of
all these contrasts balancing each other, so that a state almost free
from feeling may result. Just as, on the other hand, several partial
feelings very often join together to form one aggregate feeling, so
in more complicated states of emotion contrasting feelings may be
intertwined. They do not therefore in all cases compensate one another.
They sometimes join together to make contrasting combinations. Simple
cases of such contrasting combinations or disjointed moods can be
brought about in a simple form by means of the metronome. We arrange
the time of the beats so that the feeling of strain just begins to
become painful, while at the same time the feeling of relaxation, and
partly also the strain directed on this, still causes pleasure.
Let us now leave rhythmical acoustical impressions and consider any
other sense. We find everywhere the same pairs of feelings that we
produced by means of the metronome. It is very striking how the
feeling-character always follows in the same directions, if we give
successive impressions that give rise to contrasting feelings. Red is
exciting, while blue in contrast to it is quieting. In the same way a
deep and a high tone contrast. At the same time, the feeling-contrast
is here a mixed one, as the expressions "serious" and "solemn" for deep
tones, and "bright" and "lively" for the high ones, show. It would seem
as if with the deepest tones pleasure and displeasure combine together
to that total impression of seriousness, and to this a quieting feeling
is added when the deep tone stands in contrast to preceding high tones.
The feelings joined to the impressions of the senses of touch and
smell and taste are in general more uniform and simpler. Here we have
as contrasts the strong displeasure of a sensation of pain, and the
feeling of pleasure of a weak sensation of tickling. Similarly with
the pleasant impression of a sweet and the unpleasant impression
of an intensely bitter or sour taste, and so on. It is obvious,
however, that already among the smells we find many that possess
a composite feeling-quality, e.g. pleasant and at the same time
exciting, as menthol-ether, or unpleasant and exciting, as ammonia and
asafoetida. The organic or common sensations are also often of a mixed
feeling-character. Yet pleasure and displeasure predominate here most
of all.
An important characteristic of feelings consists lastly in the fact
that they combine themselves into an affective process, which as a
rule is joined to an ideational process. A temporal process of this
kind with an affective and ideational content, that changes but
is nevertheless joined together, we call an emotion, or with less
intensity and a more lasting nature of the feelings, a disposition.
Joy, delight, merriness, hope are emotions in which the predominant
feeling is pleasure; anger, grief, sorrow, and fear are emotions in
which displeasure predominates. Now in both these series of emotions
the exciting and quieting feelings and the feelings of strain and
relaxation in many cases often play an important part. The quieting
feeling combined with displeasure we call depression. Joy and anger
are exciting emotions, grief and fear are depressing, hope, sorrow,
and fear are straining. When, however, an expected result takes place,
or when the emotion of fear disappears, a strong feeling of relaxation
generally occurs. Many emotions are also characterised by a fluctuating
affective process, sometimes changing in intensity and sometimes in
quality. Anger, hope, and sorrow in especial show great fluctuations in
intensity. With hope, fear, and sorrow we very often find fluctuations
in quality. Hope and sorrow often change between themselves, and in
most cases increase in intensity because of this contrast. Especially
with the emotions we can perceive this affective process objectively in
the movements of the mimic muscles of the face, and when the emotions
are very strong in the other muscles of the body. These so-called
mimic and pantomimic "expression movements" are always combined with
characteristic changes of the movements of the heart and lungs. They
are in so far the most sensitive characteristics of these subjective
processes, since they can be observed even with the weakest emotions
and even with the simplest feelings, that have not yet been bound
together into an affective process. The expansion and contraction of
the small blood-vessels, especially of the face, that often happens in
a state of emotion, must also be mentioned here. In anger and shame we
notice blushing, and in fear and fright pallor.
A further class of important compound processes stands in close
connection with the emotions, i.e. the volitional processes. In many
cases, even at the present day, the will is held to be a specific
psychical element, or it is considered in its essence to be identical
with the idea of an intended act. A closer investigation of the
volitional process as to its subjective and objective characteristics
shows, however, that it is most closely connected with the emotions,
and that it really is to be considered an affective process. There is
no act of volition in which feelings of greater or less intensity,
which combine into an affective process, are not present. The
characteristic in which a volitional process differs from an emotion
consists essentially in the end of the process that immediately
precedes and accompanies the act of volition. If this end is not
reached, it remains simply an emotion. We speak of the emotion of
anger if a man merely shows his angry excitement in his expression
movements. On the other hand we speak of an act of emotion if he fells
to the ground the person who has excited his anger. In many cases the
emotions and their feeling-content, which form the constituent parts
of the volitional process, are weaker, but they are never absolutely
wanting. A voluntary action without feeling, one that follows from
purely intellectual motives, as many philosophers presuppose, does not
exist at all. On the other hand the volitional processes are marked
out from the ordinary emotions by characteristics which give volition
its peculiar character. Firstly there are certain ideas in the process
which possess a more or less strong feeling-tone, and which are in
direct connection with the end stage of the act of volition, and
prepare for it. We call such ideas the motives of volition. Secondly,
the end stage consists of characteristic feelings, which always occur
in essentially the same manner in all volitional processes. These we
generally call feelings of activity. They are very probably compounded
of feelings of excitation, of strain, and of relaxation, as a closer
subjective analysis and the concomitant objective expression-symptoms,
especially the movements of breathing, show. Excitation and strain
precede the conclusive act, relaxation and excitation accompany the
act, and continue for a short time afterwards. It is obvious that the
number and the reciprocal action of the motives are of decisive moment
for the constitution of the volitional process. If only one single
motive is present, which prepares the emotion and its discharge into
action, we call the volitional process an impulsive act; The acts of
animals are clearly in most cases such simple volitional acts. So also
in the psychical life of man they play a very important part--the
leading part in the more composite volitional processes, and they very
often arise out of these latter when these have been often repeated.
The actions that arise out of several conflicting motives of strong
feeling-tone we call voluntary acts, or if we are clearly aware of a
previous conflict of opposite motives, selective or discriminative
acts. According to this complication of motives, the end stage, which
is especially characteristic of the volitional processes, takes
different forms. With impulsive acts the whole process takes place
quickly; the concluding feelings of excitation, strain, and relaxation
are generally crowded together in a very short time. With voluntary
and especially with selective acts, the whole process is much slower,
and the feelings often fluctuate up and down. The same is often the
case with those complex volitional acts, which do not show themselves
outwardly in certain bodily movements, but which give rise to changes
in the process of consciousness itself. Such inner volitional acts are
noticed above all in the voluntary concentration of attention, in the
direction of thought guided by special motives, and so on.
Now if we investigate more closely these feelings of strain,
excitation, and relaxation, which make up these inner volitional
acts, we notice at once the great conformity of these with the
processes which accompany the apperception of an impression or of an
idea arising in consciousness through recollection. It is obvious
that these elements, grouped together under the name of "feelings of
activity," make up along with varying sensations the essential part of
impulsive and voluntary acts in the one case, and of the processes of
attention and apperception in the other. These processes also coincide
in so far as different forms of apperception correspond to impulsive
and voluntary action. If we apprehend an impression which is given
to us without our assistance, the attention seems in a sense to be
compelled to turn to this impression, following this single motive.
We can express this by saying we apprehend it passively. The feeling
of activity always follows such an impression. If on the other hand
we turn to an expected impression, then these feelings of strain
and excitation clearly precede the impression. We are aware that
our apperception is active. These have often been called processes
of involuntary and voluntary attention. But these expressions are
unsuitable, since in reality volitional processes are present in both
cases. They are, like impulsive and voluntary acts, merely processes of
different grades. It is at once evident that, by reason of this inner
conformity, apperception itself may be looked upon as a volitional
process. It occurs as an essential factor in all inner and outer
volitional acts, and as an ever-present one in the feelings of activity
so characteristic of the will. Herein lies the chief motive for the
fact that we look upon the will as our most private possession, the one
that is most identical with our inner nature itself. Our ideas seem in
comparison with it to be something external, upon which our will reacts
according to its feelings. And so at bottom our will coincides with our
"ego." Now this ego is neither an idea, nor a specific feeling, but it
consists of those elementary volitional processes of apperception which
accompany the processes of consciousness. They are always changing but
they are always present, and in this way form the lasting substratum
of our self-consciousness. The inner line of fortifications of this
ego are the feelings, which represent nothing more than the reactions
of apperception to outer experience. The next line consists of this
experience itself--the ideas, of which the ones that are nearest to
us, i.e. those of our own body, are most closely connected with the
volitional processes that are at work in the apprehension of them. And
so it happens at a naive stage of consciousness that they are combined
together with the ego itself into one unity.
We have now learned to recognise the emotions, dispositions, and
volitional processes as psychical contents, all of which differ from
each other in their characteristic processes. None of them, however,
contain anywhere specific elements. They can all of them be analysed
into the same forms of feelings. Although the volitional process in
especial is very peculiar, yet this peculiarity nowhere depends upon
specific ideational or affective elements, but solely upon the mode
of combination of these elements into emotions with their end stages
again composed merely of general affective forms. Still there remains
another question to be answered, which has not yet been settled by
the reduction of all feelings to the above-mentioned six principal
forms, viz. pleasure, displeasure, strain, relaxation, excitation, and
quiescence. Is each of these forms perfectly uniform? Does it always
return in the same quality? Or does it stand in a similar relation as
the colour "blue" stands to the different shades of that colour, so
that the principal form may not only appear in different grades of
intensity, but also in various qualities? To answer these questions
let us turn again to our metronome. It has again the advantage of
illustrating our problem by means of a very simple example. Let us take
two rows of beats in 4/4 time with the accents arranged differently as
in A and B, obtained by the method of subjective rhythm as described
above.
[Illustration]
Both contain the same number of rises and falls, but in a different
arrangement. A shows a pronounced example of a descending row of beats,
B a similar example of a row that first ascends and then descends.
With a suitable rapidity of the metronome we can easily hear at will
into the uniform beats of the pendulum each of these rhythms. If,
however, we have once made our choice between the two forms, then we
group the beats that follow the row A in exactly the same manner as the
row A, and the same thing happens with the row B. Such a spontaneous
repetition is only possible owing to the fact that at the last beat of
each row we group the whole together. This we do with the succeeding
beats as well, just as we have seen to be generally the case in
measuring the scope of consciousness. Now if we observe our feelings
we obtain an important addition to our previous observations. They
showed us that a very important part of such a process was composed of
the alternating feelings of strain and relaxation, and perhaps also
of excitation and quiescence, and lastly of agreeableness. This last
feeling was especially strong at the end of a row of beats, caused by
the arrangement of the single element into one rhythmically ordered
whole. It is obvious now that the centre of gravity of the affective
process lies every time at the end of a row, where the superimposed
rhythmical feelings run together into one unity. For it is unmistakably
this feeling that allows us directly to apprehend the succeeding rows
as identical with the preceding ones in a succession of similar rows.
What we apperceive is not the preceding row itself. The greater number
of its elements lie already in the darker field of consciousness.
We apperceive rather this aggregate feeling, which is joined to the
last directly apperceived element, and which is the resultant of
the preceding affective processes. Now let us compare this terminal
feeling, that lends a given rhythm its essential and peculiar affective
character, as it appears in the two examples represented by A and B.
It is evident that however much on the one hand a row may depend upon
the constitution and the arrangement of the preceding components, it
yet on the other hand always possesses its own specific quality. It
is true that we can always classify this under one or more of the six
chief qualities, and yet we do not thereby account for its own peculiar
quality, which differentiates it from the others of the same class. It
also cannot be considered a mere summation of the simple feelings that
axe joined to the separate parts of the process. The feelings of strain
and relaxation that are distributed over the rows A and B are the same.
They differ at most in the degree of intensity. We cannot therefore
understand why the feelings that remain behind at the end of each row
should be so different. But it is so. We can convince ourselves of
this more directly than in the experiments with voluntary rhythmical
emphasis, if we produce the rows A and B after one another by means
of knocking and without a metronome. Here the emphasised beats are
not only subjectively, but also objectively accentuated. If, by this
method, another observer compares the rows A and B given successively,
he obtains at the end of each row such differing impressions that
he cannot decide with certainty whether the rows are of equal or of
different lengths. We saw above, that with the repetition of similar
rows of beats, five rows of 4/4 time could be apprehended at once. Now,
however, as soon as the rhythm is changed, it is impossible to compare
one single row with another of differing rhythm. The aggregate feeling
concentrated at the end of each row of beats possesses each time a
qualitative colouring dependent upon the constitution of the rhythm.
This colouring coincides in its general form with the feeling of
agreeableness that arises at the end and with the feeling of relaxation
following the strain of expectation. These observations supplement
essentially our former results as to the apprehension of longer rows of
beats. We found that the knowledge that two rows were the same, always
came at the end of a row, and that this verification followed the rows
directly in one uniform act of apperception. Now we can explain this
phenomenon perfectly by the uniform nature and the instantaneous rise
of that resulting aggregate feeling. Because of this the last beat
in a rhythmical row comes to represent the whole row. 'The quality
of the rhythmical feeling that corresponds to the time in question
concentrates itself in a perfectly adequate manner in the apperception.
Thus the qualitative shades of feeling that are bound to the idea come
to represent the idea itself. This substitution is of the greatest
importance, above all from the fact, as we have clearly seen in the
rhythmical experiments, that the ideas and their components lying in
the darker fields of consciousness influence in their apperceptive
affective power the process of consciousness.
What has been here explained with the simple example of a row of beats,
can now be applied to ideational content of every kind. If we form a
melody by combining the rhythm with a certain ordered change of tones,
and if it is repeated, exactly the same process takes place as with the
repetition of an unmelodious row of beats. The qualitative resultant
of this whole, which here again is concentrated on the apperception of
the last impression and which makes an immediate repetition possible,
has, however, become very much richer. Here in the terminal feeling,
preparing itself during the course of the melodious collection of
tones, the whole concentrates itself again to a perfectly uniform
affective product complete in itself. It is the very same with any
other ideational compound. Even although the affective value is very
weak, it always receives a qualitative colouring from the composition
of the idea. This colouring appears, where other more lively affective
reactions are wanting, as a modification of the delicate feelings of
strain and excitation which accompany all processes of consciousness,
and especially of apperception. The great importance which feelings
have for all the processes of consciousness is often overlooked. This
applies to the processes of memory, cognition and recognition, and
also to the so-called activities of imagination and understanding. We
shall return to this when we discuss these various forms of psychical
combinations. At this point let us emphasise once again the result that
our observations have led us to as to the real nature of feeling. We
have called the feelings states that were connected with the subject,
subjective reactions of consciousness. We see now that this description
is not exactly incorrect, but that it is inadequate. What gives its
psychical value to a feeling arising from any objective content of
consciousness is not its connection with consciousness, but the fact
that it is closely bound up with the apperceptive processes. Feeling
is always bound to an apperceptive act. This came plainly to light
in the rhythmical experiments where the feeling arose from preceding
impressions. Feeling may therefore be looked upon as the specific way
in which the apperception reacts upon the content of consciousness that
stands in connection with the immediately apperceived impression.
Lastly, two other questions present themselves. How is it that feeling
possesses the characteristic of appearing in certain contrasts, viz.
pleasure and displeasure, &c.? And how is it that just three such pairs
of contrasts exist, which we shall call for the sake of shortness the
three dimensions of feeling? Since we are here dealing with ultimate
facts of psychological experience, which cannot be further analysed,
the answers to our questions cannot in the proper sense give an
explanation of these facts. That is, in reality, as impossible as to
explain why a blue colour is blue and a red one red. Considering,
however, the connection of the feelings with the total processes of
consciousness, we can try to explain these contrasts in this connection
The view of feeling as a way of reaction of the apperception upon a
given content gives us some help in understanding these affective
contrasts. We found that the act of apperception represented a simple
volitional act.
Now each volition contains latently either an attracting or an opposing
element. Our volition is attracted by the desired object, and it turns
away from the one that opposes us. Herein lies expressed, as we can
see, that fundamental relation of affective contrasts which now spreads
into different directions in the basal forms of feeling. Among these
the pair of contrasts of pleasure and displeasure may be looked upon
as a modification of the attracting and opposing elements, which are
directly connected with the qualitative constitution of the impression
or the idea. What we desire is joined with pleasure, what opposes
us with displeasure. On the other hand, the pair of contrasts of
excitation and quiescence will very likely stand in direct relation to
the intensity with which apperception enters into action, even although
qualitatively the content that calls it into action be pleasurable,
or the reverse, or indifferent. Now in so far as this action, called
forth by a certain content, consists of an increase or decrease of the
normal function of apperception, so the intensive side of the reaction
divides up into these two opposites--excitation and quiescence.
Lastly, because of the relation between the successive processes of
consciousness, each act of apperception stands at the same time in
connection with the preceding and the succeeding processes. Now,
according as apperception is directed to an immediately passed or to an
immediately coming row, a feeling of relaxation or of strain arises. We
may therefore look upon each single feeling in principle as a compound
that can be divided up into all these dimensions and into their two
principal directions. In each feeling these components are emphasised
more or less strongly or are quite wanting, while all the time the
total qualitative constitution of the content of consciousness gives
to the whole its specific colouring, which distinguishes it from every
other content.