Chapter VII: Part 7

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.

This makes us wonder for a moment why philosophers and some psychologists should suppose that the facts of behavior, which we can observe in others, should be _toto genere_ different from the experiences which these others may have. But the reason is obvious enough. The “stuff” and the “events” which occur in the “bodily” world, on the one hand, and in the “conscious” world, on the other, are believed to have incomparable properties since Descartes. This is philosophy. And we may perceive at once that, in this connection at least, it is bad philosophy. For this reason: in the introduction to this chapter we saw that the noun “body” is dangerously ambiguous. It may either mean a physical organism which, as such, cannot be experienced directly any more than the physical structure of an atom, or it may mean an experienced “thing,” as a segregated visual whole. Now, if we talk about the “bodily events” and so forth, as the only material we can have and observe in order to understand others, the meaning of the word “bodily” can refer only to the experienced thing and its changes as sensory experiences, since the physical body of another does not occur _as such_ in any part of our direct experience. It is as remote and distinct from our sensory experience as is the “consciousness” of others. Therefore, when we discuss how we “understand” other people, we have to decide first of all, whether or not our sensory experience of others as _experienced_ “bodies” contains a more direct cue for that understanding. Of course, our sensory experience of others depends ultimately upon stimulation issuing from their physical bodies. But in the fifth chapter we found that our sensory experience will sometimes give us more valuable hints about the realities in which we are interested than the physical events themselves, which constitute the stimuli for that experience, are able to give. So, though in the genetic series our sensory experience of others is more remote from their “mental life” than are the physical events issuing from the surface of their bodies, we may find something valuable in the former which we cannot find in the latter. The most interesting question is whether our sensory experience of the behavior of others can give us a hint about those events in them which in ourselves we call _subjective_ experiences. We would regard it as such a hint if we could discover a similarity between our sensory experience of the behavior of others and those subjective experiences. Suppose that there were such a similarity, we could then dispense with the indirect approach through inferences by analogy, or through association and assimilation, since theory has approached the subjective experience of others indirectly only because it had assumed as a prior dogma that there could not be any similarity at all between the events of the “bodily world” and of “mental life.”

I will proceed cautiously. In its efforts to assort experiences into separate classes, psychology has introduced certain rigid distinctions and barriers among the several classes which, first of all, we shall try to remove.

One of these barriers, built by Helmholtz, is that between the qualities of the different senses, as though they were incomparable. I contend that they are comparable in more than one case. “Brightness,” for instance, is an attribute of some auditory as well as of visual experiences. We may go a little farther and say that in the “coolness” of an object which we touch there is a certain affinity to brightness, whereas in “warmth” there is something similar to dark nuances. In the preceding chapter I mentioned the fact that the German word “rauh” is used for certain auditory experiences as well as for a definite character of touched surfaces. Again, the German poet Morgenstern states that

_Die Möwen sehen alle aus, als ob sie Emma hiessen._

(All seagulls look as though their name were Emma.)

To the German at least, because of his pronunciation of the name, its sound seems to contain something similar to the aspect of the birds. But we may construct another example. If, looking at these two figures (18 and 19), the reader is asked to choose which he would rather call “takete” or “maluma,” he will probably be able to decide with ease.[44]

I take it for granted, then, that there are some similarities between the experiences we have through different sense organs. In passing we may remark that in primitive languages one finds much evidence for assuming that the names of things and events often originate according to this similarity between their properties in vision or touch, and certain sounds or acoustical wholes.[45] In modern languages, it is true, most of these names have lost much of this character.

For our main problem it is interesting to know what names are given to subjective experiences. First of all, most of us will agree with the statement that, if peripheral vision is “confused” in comparison with foveal vision, in this respect almost all subjective experience is more similar to peripheral than to foveal vision. And if the reader agrees with me here, he has admitted that in one point, at least, subjective experiences may be compared with objective experiences. Recently Klages has collected a large number of words which we apply to subjective experiences and all of which have at the same time a meaning in the realm of objective experience.[46] Here a few instances must suffice. Something arouses a “bitter” feeling in us. In German one talks about being in a “soft” mood (_“weiche” Stimmung_). “Sweet” love seems to occur in all countries, also “bright” joy or “dark” grief, and not only in my country is wrath called “hot.”

More dynamically, one talks about a tense expectation, this subjective experience being compared with what we feel when we touch a taut string. A certain kind of thinking is called “straight,” and every one knows immediately what is meant by it. We may have “rest” or “restlessness” in a visual field, but we apply the same terms to something similar in our subjective experience. When one feels nervous one might use “flickery” as an appropriate word for his subjective state, it being similar to visual flicker, for instance. Again, we feel “attracted” towards something or inclined to “reject” the idea of it; our spirits are “high” or “low,” and so forth. The reader will be able to fill out the list by dozens of other terms which, as these few examples, are used both for objective and subjective experiences without creating difficulties of understanding in communication. Some psychologists may refuse to draw any conclusions from such verbal hints. They will say that here we have to do with mere analogies. I cannot accept this as an argument, however, because what else is an analogy but some kind of similarity? Language does not use the words generally applied to sensory experiences in a haphazard way as terms for subjective experiences. If one of these terms is applied to just one class of subjective states or experiences, and not to others, and a second of these terms is applied exclusively to a second class, and so on, there must be some principle which regulates this definite extension of meaning. Furthermore, there must be something at the basis of the correct _understanding_ of this kind of verbal practice, when a _new_ application and transfer of meaning is suddenly invented by some one trying to describe his subjective state in a lively manner. I contend that this _something_ is a certain degree of similarity between definite experiences of the “inner” and “outer” world.

Though I realize that there is some truth in the James-Lange theory of emotional experiences, I do not wish to make my statements seem to depend upon this theory. Of course, if the so-called emotional aspect of subjective experience _is_ sensory experience issuing from our muscles, viscera, and so forth, it will be a truism that emotional experiences are “similar” to certain “sensory” experiences, since they are declared even to be identical by that hypothesis. But we may recognize a similarity without accepting the identity. From this viewpoint, maintaining a certain cautiousness toward the James-Lange theory, we may find a similarity even between subjective experiences and those of vision or hearing, so that, in this respect, our theory would be more general than that of James and Lange.

With this preparation we can approach the problem, whether our objective experience of the behavior of others is capable of showing us something essentially similar to their “mental life”--a question which has a reasonable meaning if understood in terms of the last paragraphs. I shall discuss a few concrete cases in which unprejudiced observation seems to give a clear answer.

Two scientists in Poland are talking about the difference of their theories. I can observe their behavior as it develops before me in my visual and acoustical experience but, since they talk in a foreign language, I cannot understand their words. For a while the aspect of the scene is calm, both visually and acoustically. But suddenly the man to the left, as though “struck” by some of his colleague’s words, makes but a slight receding movement of the head and, from this moment, the quality of his voice and the expression of his face show a certain character of hardness. To this change there seems to correspond immediately a transformation of the other’s behavior, insofar as, from now on, the man to the right becomes a picture of what the musician calls “crescendo,” both as I see and as I hear him. Soon the first person also becomes increasingly dynamic, and the whole scene is approaching an extreme state of agitation, when presently I see the man to the right looking at a placard on the wall and smiling. He says a few words to the other, who also looks in that direction, a certain brightness appearing on his face at the same time; and from this moment their conversation resumes its initial smoothness and placid quality.

These scientists happen to know the German language. So, when the discussion is over, the man to the left tells me that a short while after the conversation started some unexpected words of his friend appeared to him as a personal offense or insult, and that he could not avoid having a bitter feeling as a result of it. The friend, on the other hand, reports that, beginning rather abruptly, the man to the left manifested such a closed and hard appearance, as though to indicate that he would never surrender his position or be open to persuasion, and that as a result he felt anger continually rising and increasing within himself. The first, the man to the left, reports that a similar wave of irritation occurred in himself after a while; and both of them tell me that the placard on the wall reads “Keep smiling” in their language, and that, almost at once after becoming aware of it, they felt much more relaxed and calm.

Is it really possible to deny that in such a case my objective experience pictures some essential traits of what the others experience subjectively? I see the two scientists as one visual group, the members of which are directed towards each other in all their attitudes. Similarly, each of them feels that he is attacking the other or defending his own opinions against an attack directed toward them. Again, the sudden receding movement of one of them pictures very well the felt increase of social distance which followed from something like an offense. Neither will deny that, from this moment, there began an emotional crescendo, which found an adequate expression in the visual and acoustical crescendo of my sensory experience of the total scene. Finally, I could see the return to calmness, resulting from their looking at the placard for a moment. And this calmness itself, as seen and heard by me, is similar to what both tell me about their subjective state at that time.

But the lesson which this example teaches seems extremely general to me. It seems to teach that all forms of dynamical development occurring in subjective experiences may be expressed by similar forms of objective experiences in the sensory field of an observer. Quite generally the inner processes, whether emotional or intellectual, show types of development which may be given names, usually applied to musical events, such as: _crescendo_ and _diminuendo_, _accelerando_ and _ritardando_. As these qualities occur in the world of auditory experiences, they are found in the visual world too, and so they can express _similar_ dynamical traits of inner life in directly observable behavior. Who has not found himself occasionally walking faster when thinking about the disagreeable attitude of an adversary! Again, to the increasing inner tempo and dynamical level there corresponds a _crescendo_ and _accelerando_ in visible movement. Of course, the same inner development may express itself acoustically, as in the _accelerando_ and _reforzando_ of speech. Or look at your friend on different mornings. Sometimes his movements will be even and calm, sometimes his whole visible surface, his face and his fingers, will be unstable and restless. He does not need to tell you in the first case that he is well and at rest, nor in the second that he feels restless subjectively, because both states are apparent directly in your objective experience. In the same way, hesitation and lack of inner determination become visible in a form obviously similar to them as subjective experiences, as _ritardando_ of visible or audible behavior, or as slight, disorderly, starting movements in different directions, not organized into one whole. As long as human beings behave naturally, any _sudden_ change of inner direction, any sudden event in their subjective life, will appear as a sudden event on their visible surface or in their speech-melody. In a moment of _sudden_ fright, human beings _jump_ back, or start. When some one experiences that flash by which a new idea or the solution of a problem comes to him, he will suddenly interrupt his walking or abruptly strike his head. Here both his inner experience and his outer aspect will exhibit the same interruption of continuity. For similar reasons the activity of a man, as it is seen by us, will often show an organization which corresponds to the organization of his doing and planning, as experienced subjectively. Actions which flow from one determining source appear as one stream of visible events in most cases. Where a new “idea” leads to new action in subjective experience, the observer will see one stream of visible development ceasing and another one starting independently. If one action consists of relatively segregated members, subjectively, the same “articulation” will frequently prevail in visible behavior. So with regard to dynamical structure, not only the so-called expressive movements but also the practical behavior of human beings is a good picture of their inner life, in a great many cases. The reader who may have lost the feeling here that I am discussing concrete things should review an earlier chapter in which, among other examples, the organization of seen movement was considered. In my book _The Mentality of Apes_ the description of animal behavior includes a great many instances of this type.

It will be convenient, however, to treat in detail a few examples which are of a somewhat different kind. In objective as well as in subjective experience we find states to which the names of “tension” and “direction” may be applied. If my attention is attracted by a strange object, a snake for instance, I feel directed toward it and at the same time a feeling of tension is experienced. A friend, even if he has not recognized the snake, will see me and especially my face and eyes directed toward it; in the tension of my face he will have a visual picture of my inner tension, as in its direction he has a direct picture of the direction which I experience. It cannot be said in objection that vision will not apprise him in any way of my “connection” with the object, since there is nothing in space between my eyes and the snake, which might be a “stimulus” for his seeing that connection. Such an argument seems to forget what has been said about grouping in visual space. As soon as my eyes are seen looking in a definite direction--and in this respect our eyes are astonishingly expressive--a segregated whole or object, which in the field of an observer is situated in that line of direction, may become immediately connected with my gaze and my whole person. This case of grouping is not more problematic than all the others we have discussed. We may at once add the case in which the direction of attitude is the opposite, i.e., away from something. Again, grouping may become so striking that no one can see such a movement or reaction without referring it to a definite object, from which it is averted, exactly as the event is felt subjectively by the person whom we are observing. As an example, I give the following statements, taken from a famous experiment, literally:

“He started to reach for the head of the animal with the forefinger of his left hand but withdrew it suddenly before contact.”

(Wool is presented to a child in a paper package).... “He then began to play with the paper, avoiding contact with the wool itself.” Both statements occur in Dr. Watson’s description of his experiments with children.[47] In the first, the movement of a finger is compellingly seen as _directed toward the animal_, though “objective” methods of observation, as Dr. Watson understands the term, would not find the slightest connection in space between the finger and the animal, and though, therefore, his description seems to imply an almost purposive psychology. In the second statement, the same observation applies to the words “avoiding contact with the wool.” “Avoid” is a term which may surprise us in a description governed by the ideal of the natural sciences and the fear of so-called “purpose.” However that may be, the example shows that, in visual experience, the tendency toward grouping and directed reference is so strong that even the most radical behaviorist cannot resist it. Therefore, if I “avoid contact” with a definite object or if I “reach for” another, these facts of my experience must be excellently pictured in the organized field which an observer of my behavior himself beholds as his _objective_ experience.

In the last few examples it is the spatial, more than the temporal, side of visible behavior which resembles the inner experiences of a person. This is also the case, where a state of inner depression expresses itself in a drooping carriage of the body as a visual whole, similar to the posture of the normal person in a period of extreme fatigue or sorrow, but even more decidedly in the attitude characteristic of certain insane patients. Just the contrary is seen in those patients who enjoy a supranormal euphoria or “elevation.” Usually, their body as a visual thing will show most clearly a corresponding erectness, and in one case, which Dr. Janet described admirably at the last International Congress, the patient began to walk on tiptoe.

Most readers will be well acquainted with the next case which, by the way, is particularly interesting for social psychology. A man in a leading position, but perhaps a little too good-hearted for his office, treats his inferiors as friends. When he sometimes finds himself obliged to censure one of them severely, and to make him feel that friendly relations are over, such a man becomes a most suggestive object of observation. If he has not already trained himself on previous occasions, he will have the greatest difficulty in uttering those decisive words which will show the other quite openly and definitely that the superior has radically changed his mind. In spite of the best intentions provided by a feeling of duty, those words will not be uttered, but in their place others which do not go to the center of the affair. They come near to it; the other man may guess the whole truth from them if he is sensitive enough, but they leave something like a screen around the main point. Viewed from without the official’s activity is a picture of his inner perturbation. The stress of firm intention is in him, but social factors prevent his behaving entirely according to his intentions. Consequently you may see him walking up and down before the other, as a magnetic needle swings in the field of force. He himself feels the strain and the obligation to act directly, but also feels that he is constantly “deflected.” When he stops, his eyes are worth observing. All the inner direction and difficulties of a person become visible more easily in the sensitive play of the eyes than elsewhere, particularly under the pressure of “social forces.” Of course, it is rather easy to say nice things (which one does not believe) to another man, while looking into his eyes steadily. Social forces are not opposed to that; on the contrary, they operate precisely in that direction. But try to look into another’s eyes, i.e., toward what we experience for some reason as the center of the other man’s personality, and then tell him what obligates you to be less friendly toward him, and, as it were, to reject him socially! For some persons this is an extremely onerous task. So the man in our example may well intend to look into the other’s eyes; but his own eyes will either stop short somewhere, at the mouth or the nose, for instance, or when they reach the full glance of the other man, they will be deflected very soon as though by an irresistible force. Just as this man feels his intentions bending around and his words avoiding the socially decisive step, his visible behavior appears to us as persistently deflected from the main direction, which is toward the other, and especially from the visible center of his personality, i.e., his eyes.

This may suffice as a description of cases in which the similarity of the objective and the subjective experiences of the same behavior seems to me obvious. The reader will find a great many other examples, as soon as he begins to observe other people from this point of view. If that similarity is not a familiar fact to the psychologist, the reason may be the analytical tendency of our science. Indeed, when we think of other people’s appearance in terms of local nuances of brightness, chroma, and so forth, we feel inclined to deny the idea of such similarity. But as soon as we look upon behavior more naïvely and are not afraid to recognize grouping, and a great many qualities of the von Ehrenfels type, as realities in sensory experience, the similarity becomes obvious in thousands of cases.

Our problem has a genetical side also. Why should behavior in the objective experience of an observer be similar to what is being experienced subjectively by the individual under observation? The answer is rather simple in the case of temporal and dynamical traits of behavior. A pianist while playing a sonata is living in a dynamical stream, the organization of which is very clear to him. In his experience he ends one “phrase” now and at a definite moment begins the next one. He starts a _crescendo_ as the Ehrenfels-quality of one musical development and a _ritardando_ as that of another. Whatever the laws of motor innervation may be, the impulses which are conducted to his muscles follow the organization of the scheme he “has in mind.” The final results are sound waves, and these are not dynamically organized, because in the air one wave is independent of the previous waves and so forth. But something remains which is sufficient for organization in those who listen. Where he intends a _crescendo_ as an Ehrenfels-quality, the product of his playing will be a series of waves of increasing intensity. In those who listen this series will produce an acoustical whole which again has the same Ehrenfels-quality of “swelling.” Where, in his experience, he ends a “phrase” and afterwards starts a new one, the relations of the waves as to temporal distance, intensity, and so forth, will be such that in the acoustical organization experienced by the audience one whole ends and a new one begins at corresponding moments. In some respects the situation is the same as in the case of physical objects that appear as segregated wholes in visual experience. Though among the light-waves reflected by the surfaces of objects, and consequently among the stimuli projected upon the retina, there is no organization, the relations between the stimuli are so well preserved that, in the nervous system, organization, which depends upon those relations, will generally build up “adequate” wholes. As in this case, organization comes nearer the objective facts in some essential points than the indifferent mosaic of stimuli does, so in our example, acoustical organization will correspond to something in the pianist which does not exist _as such_ in the sound waves between him and his audience. Once more the mediating properties of the stimuli are their relationships. If we assume that the pianist has experiences similar to our own, the knowledge implicit in our acoustical organization goes beyond the knowledge implicit in our having visual objects as segregated wholes. For the organization which we experience will correspond not only to the organization of his nervous processes, but also to the organization of his musical “intentions,” as he _experiences_ them. In order to understand this, we must remember the concluding remarks of the second chapter. If the pianist intends a musical phrase as a whole, shall we assume that the processes corresponding to that experienced development-as-a-whole are also one whole functionally, or shall we assume the contrary? Where, for his experience, the phrase ends and after a discontinuity a new one begins, shall we suppose that the corresponding processes of his brain are functionally continuous or shall we assume that the physiological organization is discontinuous, and hence similar to that of his experiences? _Gestalt_ psychology assumes the similarity of organization in both cases; it makes this hypothesis quite generally and in all respects. And from this viewpoint the genesis of communication between the experiences of one man and those of another becomes simple enough. The experiences of the first, the pianist, are a picture of the corresponding processes in his brain, so far as organization is concerned. Innervation of the pianist’s muscles occurs as something like a projection of that picture upon his muscles. The sound-waves which he produces are not organized, but the relations between them somehow correspond to and represent that previous organization. In a similar nervous system a new organization is built up depending upon those relations existing among the acoustical stimuli. To some degree it will be similar to that which exists or has just existed in the nervous system of the pianist. Therefore the experience corresponding to these processes will be correspondingly similar to the organization of the experience in the pianist. As in this example, the similarity between the inner experiences of one man and the sensory experience of another may be explained wherever we find such a correspondence existing with respect to temporal organization and dynamics.

It will not be necessary to repeat the argument in the case of “direction,” of “tension,” of “lack of determination,” and so forth. Even where we do not have full insight into the reasons _why_ the peripheral overt behavior of a human organism pictures the organization of its experiences, or better that of the corresponding processes in his brain, we have to admit that this connection very often exists. The temporal and other relations of the stimuli which are produced by such activity in one organism are just the right ones, then, to determine the appropriate organization and similar Ehrenfels-qualities in other organisms receptive to those stimuli. A man who makes a great effort to find a name which he cannot immediately remember will, very probably, contract his face. The face thus contracted produces just the constellation of stimuli which, in the objective experience of another, will determine the character of “tension” as an Ehrenfels-quality of that face as a visual whole. We have also seen how the almost inevitable visual grouping of a man with those objects towards which he is directed, will complete the picture so that, in this respect too, we see something similar to what is going on “in” that man.

At this point the reader may protest that, after all, our understanding of other people remains an indirect affair. Though, in our objective experience, the other may exhibit properties similar sometimes to his inner experiences, our objective experience remains something different numerically from those inner experiences of another. The first gives us what we call “bodily events” in direct objective experience, whereas the second will never become an objective experience of ours. Therefore, in one point at least, we do not seem to be better off than other theorists! Something like a concluding step in our analysis seems to be needed if we are to use our objective experiences as a basis for guessing about similar inner processes in others.

Indeed, the discussion has proceeded to this point as though in this final step the old and the new idea would become identical compulsively, the only difference being the acknowledgment of a much better basis for this last step in the new theory. It is now time, however, to change this aspect of the problem. It has to be changed in the direction of agreement with what is sound and justified in behaviorism.

If I recollect the incidents of a day which has been particularly filled with social contacts and the continual necessity of understanding other people, I have to confess that I have scarcely, if ever, had an “image,” or anything like it, of the inner experiences of those other people! To speak the truth: I have never even thought of the possibility of having one. I intentionally summon such an “image” now, in the hope of producing and “having” what, from the usual viewpoint, should always be the kernel of social understanding. But the resulting product is very poor and decidedly unusual. It becomes quite obvious by such a test that generally social understanding does _not_ depend upon that procedure. What else happens then? The answer is simple, though it will surprise some of my readers.

In my objective experience of my neighbor’s anger there is no “dualism” between the “movements of his body” and his “inner experiences.” Even for the scientist this dualism does not exist, so long as he remains naïve and does not theorize too much. To ask for the _final step_ from certain of our objective experiences, viz., the behavior of others, to the inference of their inner life, is nothing but the introduction of a sophisticated, scientific and philosophical classification into a field which, to the unprejudiced observer, does not require such a treatment. Philosophy, in trying to build up a picture of the world, may be compelled, perhaps, to make a distinction between “mind” and “body.” But that does not mean that our objective experience of others must appear to us as something insufficient and limited, _behind_ which an altogether different kind of event occurs. This is not necessary because objective experience as such contains _all_ the material needed for understanding others, at least in all those cases which we have treated here. When I refer to the calmness of another man standing before me in everyday life, I refer to his visible appearance, which is not something “merely” visible to me, but contains all the “calmness” I am interested in _without any further idea about something additional such as, for instance, his “consciousness_.” If he becomes more and more excited, according to my eyes and ears, this _crescendo_ is not an indifferent sensory fact. In its dynamical properties it _contains_ what I call the man’s excitement, and I do not think of the man as a locus of events belonging to an essentially different world. At least, before I begin to philosophize, I do not do so. In the same way, when I refer to other men’s “hesitation,” “restlessness,” “determination,” “depression,” “avoiding,” “reaching for,” and also their “joy,” “fear,” “anger,” “embarrassment” and so forth, I am usually far from inferring “inner experiences” in them, by making “a last step” from my sensory experiences into quite another field. On the contrary, what I denote by those terms _remains_ entirely in sensory space. Though the terms may also be applied to _my_ inner experiences, which often are strikingly similar to those objective experiences, they do not usually refer to the inner experiences of others when used in an everyday description of their conduct.

May I ask the reader to make an experiment before criticizing these statements? It is easy enough to produce embarrassment in some one. If the reader tries it and if he becomes convinced that he has been successful, he should ask himself whether what he calls the embarrassment of the other is not present to him in sensory space. He should also ask whether or not he imagines something out of another world, i.e., the subjectively experienced embarrassment of the other, when he “understands” that man’s behavior, as we understand each other in daily life. Sometimes, it is true, we experience the other man’s attitude as something issuing from “his interior.” But what is here called “his interior” is a part of the same sensory space in which his visible face is seen. Even such a description does not refer to events in a world apart; it means an event in the self-same world in which we see the other “looking at a definite object,” for instance. If in my objective experience the other man is a segregated whole and if to this whole there corresponds a functional whole of processes in my brain, we have no right to expect that the dynamics of that functional whole should be restricted to its boundary in all cases, the interior of it remaining altogether empty. So we may well understand the fact that sometimes a dynamical attitude seems to issue from another person’s “interior.”

The conclusion of this discussion is that the “numerical difference” between fear as experienced subjectively and fear as experienced objectively by an observer, shall not be denied. But we have to add immediately that this theoretical difference does not play an appreciable rôle in common life, because here, from the viewpoint of a naïve observer, the frightened behavior, as it is experienced objectively, _is the_ fear of the other. Similarly, to this observer the pencil before him _is the_ pencil, though in a moment of theoretical consideration he may realize that, in addition to it, there exists a pencil as an unexperienced physical object.

I mention one more consequence of this theory or, as one should better say, of this description: All physical events or states which send similar constellations of stimuli to our eyes and ears, as issue from the physical body of another person, will look or sound “emotional,” “restless,” “directed towards something,” “determined,” and so forth, just as a living person does. No one can hear naïvely the rumbling _crescendo_ of thunder without thus understanding it as “menacing.” Different types of weather are experienced in the same manner, i.e., as calm or restless or friendly, and so forth.[48] No one thinks of imagining the subjective experiences of the weather in such a case. What surrounds us in sensory space, we describe as restless or menacing or friendly, because these are the dynamical attributes or Ehrenfels-qualities which characterize the sensory experiences in question.

I wish to state expressly, however, that sometimes the problem of “understanding” seems to present difficulties which cannot be solved in this way. Wherever the objective experience which we have of another person does not appear as similar to those inner experiences which he probably has, a new situation is before us. One might say, for instance, that, from the viewpoint of our theory, laughing as seen and heard by others is not an appropriate expression of that group of subjective states which are usually accompanied by laughing. Whether in such cases the theory of association and assimilation, or any other indirect explanation, may be accepted as a supplement, I shall not try to decide here. Suppose that such a supplement should become necessary; the facts described in this chapter would be an excellent basis for it, because where understanding has already occurred as something direct and obvious, this core of experiences might well tend to complete itself in the form of meaning acquired indirectly. On the other hand, we do not claim that what is going on within a person will _always_ be evident in his sensory appearance. A theory that would pretend so much could not possibly be right. Most persons begin to conceal themselves to some degree early in life. A well-trained actor or pianist does not “look” his stage fright at all; he does not “sound” it either. To be sure, sometimes, calmness acquired as a social form will become transparent in consequence of some slight but treacherous nuance of effort in it. Real embarrassment, as, for instance, in the example considered above (pp. 253-255), is a thing which few people can conceal altogether. By no means can we deny, however, that innumerable passing events and traits of inner life remain hidden in social contact, because suppression of peripheral “projection” has become a facile automatism in adults. Moreover, I shall concede without hesitation that, on the way from organized processes in one person through the transmission by waves of light or sound to new organization in a second person, much may be lost or distorted. The theory gives us neither an altogether new nor an altogether perfect key to another person’s inner life; it tries only to describe so far as it can that kind of understanding which is the common property and practice of mankind.

A special relevant task consists in considering what further effects those sensory experiences may have, which, possessing the qualities of calmness or restlessness, of tension or relaxation, and so forth, appear to us both in our fellow men and the weather. In our nervous system, the processes underlying those experiences do not remain isolated, the psychophysical field is larger, and other parts of it are very apt to develop processes which we experience as subjective. We have seen that these have much in common with the processes underlying our objective experience of the behavior of others. Therefore, a rather direct influence seems to be possible. Social contagion particularly, but also fear, as an effect of menacing objective experience, or haughtiness as a consequence of the humbleness of others, experienced objectively, must be considered from the new viewpoint.

These are problems which we may leave to a future time when the simpler facts described in this chapter will have found more general acknowledgment. One word more shall be said, however, about the application of the new viewpoint to scientific method. In this respect one might be inclined to say that such an understanding of others is all right for the purposes of common life, but not for those of science. It ought to be excluded, therefore, from behavioristic studies as something which originates in our sensory processes as a very indirect and complicated result of stimulation. We have seen, however, that even such a radical behaviorist as Dr. Watson does not keep himself free from its use, because too little would be left of the qualitative observation and description of behavior, if he should try seriously to exclude even the slightest trace of that “understanding.” Take the example of the physicist! If he would exclude from objective observation whatever exists for him as a product of sensory organization only, he could neither rely upon the sensory segregation of _objects_, including his apparatus, nor upon their _form_ as a visual experience, since it does not exist without the “indirect and complicated” processes of sensory organization. It is obvious that such an extreme procedure would make his scientific task an impossible affair. Quite the same is true of behavioristic psychology. At least as preliminary material the sensory experiences which we have considered in this chapter have to be used, wherever they occur as striking and evident in behavior as objective experience. With naïve confidence the physicist did likewise to a great extent, before he could develop the present methods of his science which restrict the use of sensory experience to certain special and very reliable cases. In our young science it will be convenient to follow his example with caution, as we proposed in the second chapter. But I wish to lay some stress upon the necessary caution. Only those should be allowed to apply this method in objective psychology who know how to discriminate between the apparent data of objective experience and the mere play of untrained and prejudiced imagination.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Buytendijk und Plessner: _Philosophischer Anzeiger_. 1925.

E. von Hornbostel: _Festschrift Meinhof_.

L. Klages: _Vom Wesen des Bewusstseins_. 1921.

W. Köhler: _Die Methoden der psychologischen Forschung beim Affen_
(Cf. Chapter II).

Usnadze: Psychol. Forsch., 5. 1924.

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_Association_