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THE PLACE OF VALUE
IN A WORLD OF F.ACTS
A HE WILLIAM JAMES LECTURES ON PHILOSOPHY
AND PSYCHOLOGY were established at Harvard in
1929 from a bequest of the late Edgar Pierce. The
purpose of the Lectureship is to honor the
rnemoiy of William James and at the same time
provide public lectures and informal instruction
by an eminent scholar not permanently con-
nected with the University. Professor Kohler's
lectures were given as the third series on thn
foundation in the first half of the academic year
The Place of Value
In a World of Facts
By
WOLFGANG KOHLER
AUTHOR OF Gestalt Psychology and Mentality of Apes
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., LTD.
BROADWAY HOUSE, 68-74 CARTER LANE, E.G.
1939
COPYRIGHT, 1938, BY
LIVERIGHT PUBLISHING CORPORATION
All rights reserved. No portion of
this book may be reprinted without
written permission of the publisher.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO
RALPH BARTON PERRY
PREFACE
THE purpose of this book is philosophical. It differs,
however, from many other philosophical books in the de-
gree of attention which it gives to certain paits of science.
In recent years serious doubts have been raised as to
whether, in its present course, science will be able to con-
tribute much to the fundamental issues of mankind. Are
we to infer that the philosopher and the scientist should
live and work each in a world of his own? Actually, no
boundaries separate the problems of one from those of the
other. Thus, if there be no contact, something must be
wrong either with philosophy or with science, or, perhaps,
with both.
/ This conviction need not lead to a Positivistic attitude.
It has not done so in our investigation. Never, I believe,
shall we be able to solve any problems of ultimate prin-
ciple until we go back to the sources of our concepts, in
other words, until we use the phenomenological method,
the qualitative analysis of experience. In this our Posi-
tivists show scarcely any interest. They prefer to deal with
concepts which have acquired a certain polish in the his-
tory of scientific thought, and they think little of topics
to which these concepts cannot be directly applied. In the
present investigation a less conservative procedure has be-
come necessary, because at several points no adequate sci-
entific concepts have been available. Positivism may not
approve of our attempt on such occasions to gain clearer
notions through phenomenological analysis.
viii PREFACE
There is one lesson which the philosopher might learn
from the scientist, It is in the nature of philosophy to aim
at the solution of general problems; but it is in nobody's
power actually to achieve that much at once. Those who
nevertheless try to do so seem invariably to overlook essen-
tial aspects of their subject-matter We feel no confidence
in their conclusions. I wonder whether, with more patience,
philosophical thought might not in fact advance more
quickly. Such patience would assume the characteristic
attitude of research. It would be realized that, as a rule,
partial and preliminary problems have to be thoroughly
mastered before general solutions can be successfully at-
tempted. Occasionally one might then hear a philosopher
saying: 'Up to this point I now know my way; but I am
not at all sure what I may find around the next corner. I
regard this as natural; because, like science, philosophy
proceeds by steps/ I do not wish to imply that philosophers
should lose their interest in general solutions of general
problems. On the contrary, I believe, merely such steps
should be taken in philosophy as seem required in prepara-
tion for those final achievements. In our present situation,
however, the philosophical spirit might be more genuinely
expressed by work which thus prepares general solutions
than it would be by any premature endeavor to give these
solutions themselves.
I will confess that in this remark I am partly trying to
defend my own procedure. Time and again the present in-
vestigation has left scores of related questions entirely un-
answered. As to the main problem there has been, I hope,
some progress; but I have been unable to give a final
solution in general and in simple terms. In the present
sense of the word, therefore, this may not be a philo-
sophical book.
PREFACE ix
I feel very much indebted to Harvard University for the
honor of having been invited to deliver the third series of
William James Lectures.
To Professor R. B. MacLeod I wish to express my grati-
tude for the untiring patience with which he has tried to
give my text a greater resemblance to English. If this task
could not be quite satisfactorily accomplished it is my fault,
not his. To Professor M. Mandelbaum my thanks are due
for helping me with the correction of proofs and for pre-
paring the index, to my wife for her aid as an indefatigable
typist.
This book is dedicated to Professor Ralph Barton Perry
as a sign of my friendship and admiration. May I hope that
when reading it he will not regret that it bears his name.
WOLFGANG KOHLER.
November, 1938.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE .... i
II. THEORIES OF VALUE ... 35
III. AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 63
IV. BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 102
V. THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 142
VI. ON ISOMORPHISM 185
VII. ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 233
VIII. A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 279
IX. FACTS AND FORCES 329
X. MAN AND NATURE .... 370
INDEX 415
THE PLACE OF VALUE
IN A WORLD OF FACTS
CHAPTER I
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE
WHEN I was a young student in Germany, science and
all the other branches of human knowledge were held in
highest esteem. Their value was too generally acknowl-
edged, it seemed too self-evident to require the support
of any particular argument; and there were practically
no people who would have dared to discuss it critically.
It belonged to the noblest tasks of society and of the gov-
ernments to support all forms of research. Even children
were given as much knowledge and as much training in
intellectual operations as seemed compatible with their
capacities; because a state of ample information was so
obviously desirable.
In this respect as in others the atmosphere has now
changed tremendously, not only in Germany, but also in
other European countries. Immediately after the war, it is
true, the young people would crowd the lecture-rooms
of our universities, more eager to learn than they had ever
been before. It is not known whether they became dis-
appointed by what they heard there. But soon one could
hardly fail to observe that both the professors and their
work no longer enjoyed the customary appreciation. Grad-
ually signs of a critical attitude became visible in several
quarters, and what might have been a temporary lack of
interest proved to be a growing doubt as to whether all
learning whatsoever deserved unconditional reverence. A
number of years ago a popular German magazine went so
2 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
far as to ask several outstanding men of science about
their opinion concerning die Krise der Wissenschaft, the
crisis of science. And, since the term "Wissenschatt" has
a more general meaning in German than "science" has in
English, the inquiry of the magazine did not mainly refer
to particular difficulties which had arisen in physics;
rather the experts were expected to give their views about
the value of learning in general, confidence in which ap-
peared to be severely shaken. Of the answers which those
eminent men published in the magazine, I do not remem-
ber much more than that they were quite different from
each other; a few professors seemed to be almost as
sceptical as was public opinion; not a single answer was, I
believe, a fully convincing, frank confession of faith with
striking arguments to support it. This, of course, must be
due to the fact that the experts had been taken unawares.
Perhaps it was not altogether fair to ask them suddenly
such general questions. On the other hand: Why had the
magazine inquired? It seemed to presuppose that the av-
erage reader regarded die Krise der Wissenschaft as some-
thing obvious. Since I happened to know one of the
editors I asked him whether he also had lost confidence
in the power of learning, and, if so, for what reasons he
had become sceptical. Although my friend has had a
university education, he is far from being a professor. If
I give a condensed account of his statements here, I do it
with hesitation. For my academic habits, his interest in
what he called essential problems was far too impetuous,
and a reader with academic standards will doubtless agree
with me that to put questions of principle so crudely in
the foreground is not a sign of very good taste. Even so, a
strange form of European uneasiness, as I observed it in
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 3
1930 or 1931, is strikingly expressed in his curious com-
plaints.
"Yes," he began, "there is indeed a widespread teeling
that something is wrong with academic learning. And it
is probably not the worst people outside the universities
who during recent years have adopted a critical attitude.
In a way their dissatisfaction is connected with the un-
usual sequence of troubles which one after another have
disturbed Europe since 1914: the war, circumstances con-
nected with peace-making, inflation, economic and social
unyest, tremendous difficulties in government. Just now,
as people are beginning to be more hopeful, there has
come the world-wide business crisis and appalling unem-
ployment. Is it surprising that they arc growing restless?
We meant well, they say; we tried to remain confident;
if what we had achieved broke down we built it up again.
But why is it all so useless? Why ever more tiouble? What
is behind it? They go to the professors of social science
and to the historians. They ask these men about the
dynamics and the deeper meaning of historical develop-
ments. They want to know whether such events as this
chain of misfortunes are brought about by anonymous
historical forces, or whether they can be traced to definite
mistakes of responsible agents.
"What, do you think, do the professors answer? After
some deliberation there are always the same remarks about
the necessity of distinguishing between questions of solid
fact with which the authorities are actually occupied and
problems of value, of meaning and of moral or metaphysi-
cal interpretation, with which a sober discipline refuses
to deal. One professor said: 'O, politics!' he smiled in a
tired fashion 'it is certainly a muddle. You cannot
imagine how consoling it is to fall back on pure research.
4 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
The second edition of my "Dutch Immigration Into
Prussia During the Eighteenth Century" is just about to
appear. I have unearthed entirely unknown . . .' But his
interviewer left him, quite unconsoled, his heart* even
heavier than before. As a matter of fact I know of no
such interview that ever had a satisfactory end. All the
professors have their little farms which they are highly
skilled in cultivating. What grows there fills their minds
completely. But every one of them has been careful to
erect a fence against that vast, uncharted country beyond
his farm in which we others try to find our way and Can-
not. I have an uneasy feeling. What will happen if all this
special research is taken so seriously by those who do it,
while the essential questions of mankind seem almost to
be regarded as obnoxious? Professors fairly wince when
they hear such questions mentioned; at the first oppor-
tunity they retire each to his study, his Dutch immigia-
tion and his i8th century. They had better be careful,
however. It is not merely little farms, it is the geography
and the law of the open land which the people want to
hear explained. If the professors do not care, mark my
word, other teachers will emerge and will be followed,
whatever you may think of their explanations and of
their law.
"I mentioned a few typical questions by which the
people are greatly disturbed. There are others which they
ask with the same eagerness, but which the professors
never answer. 'Any research/ I heard a great teacher say,
'is valuable in itself. One cannot criticize it merely on the
ground that it has no consequences in a wider philosoph-
ical field/
"I doubt whether there is such an intrinsic value in
any learning whatsoever. However that may be, I do not
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 5
see why the term 'philosophical' should be used in this
connection. It is not speculation about remote questions,
it is our understanding of certain empirical matters to
which the professors fail to contribute. Or is the nature
of historical developments a metaphysical problem while
that of physical or biological developments is a problem
of science? When erecting fences around your particular
farms you do not only exclude metaphysics, but also a
good deal of human experience, unfortunately that part
of human experience insight into which is most urgently
needed. And yet you shrug your shoulders. This, you say,
is not your business. You do not feel responsible for what
happens outside your fences. I wonder whether you are
at all interested in our predicament.
"I must repeat, however, that there is more than mere
indifference in your attitude toward our problems. Why
this strange impatience in the faces of professors when we
ask our questions about man, society and history? Not a
few professors will tell us in so many words that they do
not wish to be molested by questions on such topics, and
some are frank enough to admit that they dislike these
topics themselves. We laymen do not understand this
attitude. We fail to see any reason why learned men should
assume an attitude of disdain with regard to certain sub-
ject-matters. Was the world created to fit a set of given
scientific methods? You seem to presuppose just this when
you look down upon some phases of creation, because
their appearance is not that of neat scientific material."
Although I was seriously annoyed by the crudeness of
this attack I suppressed my resentment and calmly gave
the man all the explanations which his naivete made obvi-
ously necessary. "You are right," I said. "Everyone of us
has his special domain in which he feels, and probably is,
6 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
competent. He refrains from trespassing on what you
call the country beyond. But it is easy to see the reason
for this reserve. In the course of more than two thousand
years, first mathematics and then one discipline after an-
other have learned to solve their problems properly. A
standard of achievements has thus been created of which,
for instance, Greek philosophers were quite unaware. Ex-
perience shows that concentration on a limited held is
necessary if our work is to measure up to that standard.
Nothing comparable with this standard has ever been
attained when people, instead of cultivating ceitain 'little
farms/ have tried to solve those general problems about
which you and many other contemporaries are so con-
cerned. Such failures are sufficiently common in our own
time and in our immediate neighborhood. In a way you
need not complain. A host of writers feel called upon to
tell us what the essence of man is, how the events of
history are brought about, and what course history will
have to take in the near future. They interpret, they
prophesy, they attribute meaning to history or they deny
it, all to their heart's content. When we try to read such
literature we find that even the darkest language ot
prophecy fails to hide the shallowness and the arbitrary
character of the underlying ideas. No actual knowledge
which nobody has of such matters merely subjective opin-
ions and the general malaise of our time, make these men
write. All their great words about your essential problems
of mankind have, however, at least one effect upon us:
Since there is no substance behind them we are by now
thoroughly tired not only of such literature as such, but
also of its alleged subject-matter. It is not a bad but a good
symptom if most professors refuse to join a chorus that
sings so consistently out of tune. When asked to choose
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 7
between writing badly about the greatest questions and
well about more modest topics we prefer the second alter-
native. It is perhaps a pity that no valuable statements can
yet be made about your major human issues; but by
mere wishing or by sheer will power you cannot found a
new domain of knowledge, however desirable, for which
the time has not yet come. Galileo observed how stones
fall to the ground. What a trivial occupation! But he was
right. His observations led to the foundation of general
dynamics."
I thought that this would silence him. But in the manner
which such stubborn people have he began at once to
turn my own arguments against me. "I have seen some of
those writings," he answered, "to which you allude, and
I do not like them any better than you do. But what is
responsible for their existence and for the unwholesome
influence which they doubtless exert? It is the academic
indifference and the disdainful attitude of those who
ought to clarity our thought in such matters. In prolonged
distress most people are unable to live without a frame
of reference, an interpretation of human life, which would
make their existence meaningful in spite of so much mis-
fortune. It the professors who have the necessary training
and the equally necessary intellectual discipline do not
give them what they need, these people will naturally
turn to surrogates, to Ersatz. Strange food will be eagerly
swallowed in times of famine. This may have deplorable
results. If such consequences appear in our case we shall
ask the protestors why they did not act while there was
still time. Plato intended to select the governing body of
his ideal state from the learned class. He must have been
thinking of a different kind. The professors of our time
shrug their shoulders much too often. They do not see
8 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
that with the great power of the skilled mind they also
assume a tremendous responsibility.
"I am glad that you mentioned natural science which,
as you rightly say, does not confine its investigations to
little farms; far be it from me to belittle the great ad-
vances which have been made in physics, in chemistry and
in certain branches of biology. So long as our attention
remains focussed on the material knowledge of these dis-
ciplines we shall feel inclined to celebrate the irresistible
force of the scientific mind. Personally I think quite as
highly of the services which such research has rendered* to
hygiene and to medicine. There, for once, science has
done a great deal for humanity. If I refrain from intoning
at this point the customary hymn in praise of technical
progress in human communication, travelling and so forth,
I do so for a good reason. Agreeable though this special
form of progress may be in several respects, it also deflects
the attention of those who enjoy it from much more essen-
tial issues of man. Gradually they become accustomed to
measuring the 'standard of living* of a people in terms
of mere material comfort; and they forget altogether that
the same development contributes little and often is even
harmful to the standard of living in a higher sense of the
word. On the now accepted scale, neither St. Francis nor
Luther had very much of a 'standard of living'; yet it
may be the great danger of our particular industrial
civilization that it neither gives birth to Luthers nor
accords sufficient thought to what a Luther of our times
would regard as his main business.
"But let me return to natural science. Here we see in-
deed what real knowledge is. The more we study natural
science, however, the more striking will the contrast be
between such achievements and our complete bewilder-
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 9
ment in all essential human matters. Take what the social
sciences have to offer and compare it with any part of
natural science. What an appalling difference both as to
available methods and as to the confidence which we
may have in the results! I know, they give us many his-
torical facts and much statistics in economics and in po-
litical science. But do such data lead to well-founded in-
sight into the dynamics of economic and of political
events? I need not answer this question: You answered it
for me when you said that nobody has actual knowledge
of jsuch matters, that no valuable statements can yet be
made about the major human issues, and that the time
has not yet come to found this new domain of knowledge.
Here you went much farther than I had done. I pointed
out that for some reason you do not like to deal with our
problems. Although I had some suspicion that, even if the
professors wished, they would not be able to investigate
such problems, I preferred to keep that suspicion to my-
self. But since to my surprise you admit the fact spon-
taneously I may as well be equally frank. Obviously this
is the situation: The general name of science or knowl-
edge is given to widely different occupations. A few of
these are concerned with matters which are comparatively
clear and simple. Such is the situation in mathematics, in
the sciences of inanimate nature and in certain parts of
biology. None of these disciplines tries to solve problems
which refer to the essential characteristics of man, to the
dynamics of society and of history. In this respect we have
made a most depressing discovery: Wherever the scientific
mind tries to handle these topics it loses its bearings; its
methods fail to yield any valuable results, and mere opin-
ions take the place which in real science is occupied by
knowledge. Evidently all these problems have one element
10 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
in common which makes them inaccessible to your tech-
nique. This common element is man. Whether considered
as an individual or in groups, i. c. in society and in history,
it is man to whose nature you are unable to do justice.
There is something in him which you cannot conquer by
procedures which are quite successful in present natural
science. For this reason your achievements begin to sink to
a much lower level when your thinking merely approaches
human affairs. Until recently we believed that the scien-
tific mind could clarify any subject-matter listed in the
university-catalogue. When in the present period of dis-
tress we found the prolessors unable to answer our ques-
tions, we began to discover that in certain departments
the customary technique of science is practically power-
less, and that nobody knows how to find new methods
which would apply in these fields. On the progiam of
these departments, man is the main item. Unfortunately
he is only on the program. Science properly speaking
achieves insight into its subject-matter. This can be done
so long as science keeps away from man, i. e. within a
limited zone of secondary subject-matters. In departments
which are supposed to study human life, discussion of
this program apparently serves as a substitute for actual
insight and factual knowledge.
"Do you realize what a terrific disappointment this
discovery meant for us? In this sense, if in no other, there
is a Krjse der Wissenschaft. It is a crisis concerning our
confidence in your work. A similar crisis occurs in a child
when he discovers that his apparently omnipotent parents
are often quite helpless and weak, that he cannot rely on
their support when things become very serious. Thus, in
our present troubles, we were badly in need of a frame of
reference that would give us an orientation, and we ex-
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 11
pected it from science. We know now that you have no
such frame and no orientation yourselves.
"Nor was this our only sad discovery. Once made sus-
picious we began to see other facts which had previously
escaped our notice. Why are the people in such bitter
need of a new orientation in our days? There have been
periods of quite as much distress in earlier times. But in
those periods the population of Europe had general con-
victions which gave it strength to stand the strain patiently.
There are no such convictions now. Why? Because of the
tremendous destructive power with which during the last
few hundred years learning and research have fought any
stable mental orientation that existed before the era of
science. At present we see science unable to give us such
a frame of reference. Can it be a mere accident that, in the
past, science has tended to destroy any conviction to which
it found mankind clinging, and that at present it seems
eager to destroy what may still be left?"
By now I began to leel considerable sympathy with those
professors who, as he said, did not like such conversations
about the "essential problems ot mankind." It was perhaps
unfortunate that no competent representative ol the social
sciences happened to be piesent. Of couise an expert in
these fields would have demolished his criticism in a few
sentences. Incidentally, I wondered why he had not men-
tioned psychology when speaking of disciplines to whose
subject-matter the basic issues of man belong. Being a
psychologist myself, however, natural pride and a sense of
caution forbade me to ask for an explanation. Laymen
have often strange ideas about the tasks which they be-
lieve psychology ought to solve. But I could not possibly
pass in silence over his startling assertion that science
exerts a destructive power on the general orientation of
12 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
mankind. In what sense, I wanted to know, could a steady
increase in valid information have any destructive effects?
The man seemed to have been waiting for this question.
It led at once to new charges against the scientific attitude.
"Your discoveries," he said, "do not directly refer to those
human affairs in which we are mainly interested. And yet
every major ntovement in science changes the appearance
of the environment in which man lives. Curiously enough
after any such movement this environment seems to look
colder and darker. Now, our view of ourselves is not
wholly independent of the illumination in which we. see
the world around us. If a shadow is thrown on our envi-
lonment, our own mood changes correspondingly, as it
were by reflection; we feel cold, and our own mind seems
to have darkened; it seems no longer to be the mind that
it was before. As a matter of fact this uncanny change is
becoming more and more apparent, the more rapidly
science extends its knowledge. But even the very first steps
of science had just the same effect on man. I have no wish
to discuss the validity of those scientific doctrines which
alter the appearance of our environment and, thus, of
ourselves. So far as their strictly scientific content is con-
cerned I feel compelled to accept them for the most part
as definitely established. You do not see how under these
circumstances any criticism remains possible? Let us con-
sider some historical facts, the history, so we may call it, of
Nothing But.
"Before there was any science nature appeared to man
as akin to himself. Things were of his kind, and events
resembled his own activities or sufferings; it is still so
among those tribes which we call 'primitive peoples/ In
consequence of it, intimate relations obtained not only
among the most varied parts of nature, but also between
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 13
man and his environment. Although such relations weic
often regarded as dangerous and some as terrifying, even
in this case they were at least familiar in type and to that
extent* understandable. When science developed, this view
of the world was gradually destroyed. Nature, so the physi-
cists say, bears little resemblance to man. Nor are we
allowed to believe that in the relations between one and
the other therfe can be any intimacy. Those particular in-
terconnections which the primitive view finds among con-
crete parts of our environment are with few exceptions
non-existent for the scientific mind. To be sure, the ab-
stract laws of physics apply generally; but in concrete
there seems to be little coherence in the world. It is loosely
knit. Its primary material are minute particles, and the
main principle which science recognizes in their behavior
is mere chance. This in itself is a long story. So much
progress in our appreciation of the world could not be
achieved in a few years. Galileo for instance, was entirely
unaware of the fact that nature is ruled by chance and
thus escapes all understanding. It was practically our gen-
eration which made this final discovery.
"If this story is long, it is also consistent in that all its
statements are negative: no resemblance, no intimacy, no
coherence, and not even causation. Within this world
there is little that can interest a human being who is not
given to the study of abstract rules as such. It is difficult
to see how he, entirely a foreigner, could ever appear in
such an environment. We must excuse him if he feels
lonely, cold and bewildered when he learns that this is his
situation. To make things worse, science regards him with
a hostile eye, because his superstitions and his anthropo-
morphic tendencies had given the world warmth, color,
intensity and sense. Thus one difficult step after another
14 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
became necessary until the truth was fully and satisfactorily
revealed, that nature is nothing but tiny inaccessible parti-
cles, and that their law is nothing but chance, the ways of
which nobody can understand.
"What I have to add serves merely to complete this
picture. Directly the work of science refers to nature, not
to man; and so does the Nothing But in terms of which
science tends more and more to express what it regards
as its modern attitude. But there aie two ways in which
this attitude must influence the view which man has of
himself. First, the shadow of Nothing But will soon- fall
upon man simply because he has a place within nature.
Secondly, in his work on nature the scientist discards a
great many characteristics of experience because, accord-
ing to him, they do not represent the properties ol nature,
but merely those of human perception or even imagina-
tion. Whenever thus some attribute of our experience is
rejected by those who build the edifice of objective physics,
this attribute seems justly labelled as nothing but a sub-
jective ingredient, as a disturbance in the path of science.
"Copernicus' discovery is a good example ol the way in
which man's location in nature makes Nothing But ap-
plicable to himself. This celebrated change in the descrip-
tion of astronomical facts had the very strongest emo-
tional effects on mankind: The home of man is not the
center of the universe. This planet is but a tiny speck of
matter in an altogether unimportant astronomical posi-
tion. He crawls along its surface. It is therefore sheer
anthropomorphism to attribute any particular value to
the aims of mankind. If Nothing But is a good term to use
in reference to the earth, then it is even more so in ref-
erence to its little inhabitant. I do not remember how
many times I found modern and consequently disillu-
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 15
sioned writers alluding to the miserable place which man
has on the map of astronomy. I read: 'We told you so/ be-
tween their lines, even if they did not print it.
"Of the sensory qualities of perception we speak in
terms of Nothing But tor the other reason: the very first
attempts to think about nature in the spirit of science led
to their elimination. Although outstanding features of our
environment, as it naturally appears to us, and altogether
essential lor its aesthetic character, they have none the less
no place in the scientist's world. They aie nothing but
subjective phenomena. No physics is possible until this
veil is removed. Among man's belongings this was the
first to lose its value because it had no value in science.
Observe how sure we are to hear from science statements
which Irom a human point of view are negative under all
circumstances. Objective nature is a world of Nothing
But; because such are its actual properties. A good deal
of human experience, on the other hand, tails under the
same category, because it fails to resemble that objective
world; in other words, just because in this respect it is
not Nothing But enough. 'Nature is a dull affair, sound-
less, scentless, coloiless; merely the hurrying of material,
endlessly, meaninglessly,' l and thus it is no good. Human
experience is not dull, it is hill of sounds, scents and
colors; it has ends and it has meanings. But then it, too,
is no good; such things disturb the physicist, because they
are not objective; they are nothing but human.
"Space and time, as we conceive them, had soon to
share the fate of the sensory qualities. What the physicist
calls space and time is, so he warns us, an abstract and an
enigmatic scheme to which we cannot transfer the rules
il found recently that these words aie quoted from A. N. Whitehead,
who does not of course share the opinion which they express.
i6 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
of spatial and of temporal experience. Like the sensory
qualia such experience is nothing but a subjective
phenomenon.
"It almost goes without saying that the so-called tertiary
qualities of our environment have, if possible, even less
value. How should there be any power in lightning and
in thunder? How any tenderness in a spring day? How
sadness in a rainy afternoon? The scientists do not even
take the time to formulate it expressly; so obvious does it
seem to them: there are no .such things in nature. To be
sure, properly speaking there are no such things even in
human perception; people are foolish and cannot resist
the temptation to project upon their wholly indifferent en-
\ironment what is so clearly nothing but their own emo-
tional reaction to such neutral percepts/*
I looked at the man speechless. Would he prefer igno-
rance to truth, if truth were uncomfortable? Would he
choose superstition instead of well-established knowledge,
because for the former the world is full of intense and
familiar human characteristics? If ever there was a reac-
tionary, here I had one before me. But he merely smiled a
little and went calmly on: "I know exactly what you are
thinking. Wait until I explain. But first let me tell you a
story.
"In a great museum of natural history I once saw a
curious exhibit. On a shelf there was a pile of cubes. The
sizes of these cubes represented the amounts in which the
different chemical elements occur in an average adult
human being: oxygen, hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen, and
so forth. On each cube there was an inscription which
gave the current market price of the substance in question,
and on a special table all these figures were neatly added.
The sum was, I believe, slightly more than $63, about
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 17
one half the value of a medium-size refrigerator. Although
by now prices may have changed, just as have those for
other commodities, the figures were at the time doubtless
perfectly correct, both as to pounds and as to dollars.
What, then, was wrong with the exhibit? Can anything
be wrong with correct statements?
"Yes, this is perfectly possible, and nothing occurs more
frequently. It is also a correct statement that approximately
70% of a human being is common water. And yet, if this
happened to be the only information about man which
would reach the inhabitants of another planet, these
creatures would almost certainly be led to an entirely er-
roneous conception of ourselves.
"Some objects are essentially structures, inasmuch as
their parts depend upon each other for theii existence.
In all the more interesting objects of this kind, however,
such interdependence has, let me say, a direction. Certain
parts arc more strictly indispensable for the existence of
others than the latter are for the existence ot the former.
I might say the same of function; as a matter of fact, with
such objects it is extremely hard to distinguish clearly
between structure and function. At any rate function has
in these rases an hierarchical order no less than has struc-
ture. The organism oi a mammal belongs to this class:
its paits are interdependent, but in such interdependence
there is an hierarchical order. The heart, for instance, is
more significant in this structure than is the tail. Circula-
tion is a more essential function than is the action of the
sympathetic system whose elimination, so I read recently,
alters other functions but does not make them impossible.
"But, I forget, is not this precisely the situation with
which you are dealing when, in psychology, you are con-
cerned with Ge^taltprobleme? Well, it seems to me, this
18 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
same situation leads to interesting consequences in our
appreciation of statements. The objects to which our pres-
ent discussion refers may as a rule be inspected in various
ways. As we concentrate upon one or another part of their
structure, upon one or another of their characteristics, we
shall obtain statements which may without any exception
be perfectly 'correct/ And yet these statements may do
more or less justice to the objects in question. The reason
is this: Since there is a hierarchy in such an object itself,
genuine truth about this object can only be given in a set
ot statements which, by its order, reproduces the hierarchy
of the objective structure. From the point of view of
entirely objective knowledge, therefore, a statement may
be 'correct' in one sense and at the same time more or less
true in another sense. Put in its right place among other
statements about the same thing, it will express a fully
adequate judgment; put in the wrong place it will be
misleading, although in a way it may remain literally
'correct.' Again, a single correct statement about a basic
feature of the object will in the same sense contain much
truth, even though this truth remain imperfect. But a
single 'correct* statement about a minor or an altogether
unessential phase of the object will be quite ambiguous,
because its meaning lacks that context in which it could
become definite and fair in respect to objective structure.
The former statement loses less by such omission than
does the latter, because the first refers at least to the
nucleus of the subject-matter, while the second hides the
existence of such a nucleus.
"As a matter of fact more happens than a mere omission
when single statements are given about unessential char-
acteristics of an object. Statements are symbols of thought
and of meaning. This is generally recognized, and we both
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 19
know how much has been done to clarify the nature and
the function ot such symbols as words and sentences. We
also realize that in sentences the sequence of words is
often $s much a symbol of meaning as are the words them-
selves. Yet another step becomes necessary it the sym-
bolism of language is to be fully understood: the meaning
of a statement depends upon its 'environment/ We just
recognized this fact when mentioning that statements
ought to have the right place in a set of other statements
to which they belong; this place as such has symbolic value.
Even thus, however, the symbolism ot language is not yet
exhausted, because, it a single or a few statements are
made about an object, and if no fuither 'environment* is
given to them, such silence around our actual judgments
has again symbolic value. Whether or not we are tully
aware of it, such a silence conveys the meaning: those
statements which we actually make are statements about
essential phases of the object in question; this is what has
to be said about the object. It follows that single, or a few,
'correct' statements which refer to unessential phases of
a subject-matter arc, when given alone, not as much am-
biguous as positively misleading and, always in the same
sense, untrue.
"We may now return to the museum exhibit. The pres-
ence ot those chemical elements in precisely those pro-
portions does not characterize the human oiganism as a
living concern; for in a corpse the same elements are
contained in exactly the same proportions, at least im-
mediately after death. And, so one should think, we
refer to the living organism, not to a corpse when we make
statements about 'the adult human being/ For the same
reason the market prices of those substances are entirely
irrelevant to an appreciation of man. From this curious
20 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
point of view the corpse and the living adult have the
same value. Thus the data of the exhibit, given singly as
they were, conveyed untruth to the public in just the
sense which I tried to explain a moment ago. They .had on
the other hand the great merit of contributing to the
atmosphere of Nothing But in which the more advanced
people want us to live. From now on, whenever I hear
further negativistic statements, I shall always remember
that exhibit and its implication: no more than $63.
"You will see at once that the same reasoning applies to
the strange attitude of those who base their appreciation
of man on the limited size of his planet and on the fact
that this planet travels on a secondary route. Since the
foremost characteristics of man show no direct relation
to astronomical dimensions and to the road-map of the
stars, why should we measure him in such an astronomical
coordinate system? We do not evaluate paintings in terms
of square inches, although we can measure them on this
scale and shall then find them practically non-entities in
comparison with the Sahara. Thus man can be seen in a
merely astronomical scheme of things; and, if he appears
in this scheme as almost non-existent, a corresponding
statement will be 'correct/ And yet, always in that same
sense, such a statement will be altogether untrue, particu-
larly if its negative import be transferred to essential prop-
erties of human life to which it actually bears no reference
whatsoever.
"To make my point clearer, I will for a moment reverse
the procedure and choose my coordinate system in such a
way that it fits the outstanding characteristics of man.
From this point of view, man represents an amazing level
of organization; moreover, at least some men seek im-
provement both of themselves and of human society so
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 21
persistently that this is doubtless the most essential of their
traits. Nowhere in the astronomical universe qua astro-
nomical do I find anything that approximates such
organization or such a need for improvement. On this
scale, then, one Socrates scores more highly than all the
known stars taken together. It might be said that the uni-
verse should not be measured on this scale. Perhaps it
should not. But then, why should Socrates be measured in
astronomical terms? It is an altogether arbitrary procedure.
"The negativists ought to be more cautious in handling
coordinate systems. Otherwise somebody will come sooner
or later, and will say: After all, Socrates belonged to the
universe, he was a part of it. What tremendous powers,
what amazing potentialities must be hidden everywhere
in the universe, if this planet could produce a Socrates.
''Negativists, however, have probably just as tender feel-
ings as have other people. I shall no longer hurt these
feelings by the threat of a possible optimism. Keeping on
the defence I will only say this: Many statements by which
advancing science makes man and his environment appear
discolored and devalued are suspect of being 'correct*
statements that are not actually true in our now so long
discussed sense. They refer to some properties of the
world in its relation to man, but preferably to those which
are not relevant for the picture of man in his relation to
this world and for the knowledge of man himself. Since
no other statements are added that would be more ade-
quate, the people must believe that thus the fundamental
truth about man and nature is revealed. Such belief will
be enormously strengthened by the fact that those state-
ments come from natural science which is supposed to offer
better truth than does any other source of information.
In this way they learn to speak in terms of Nothing But,
22 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
not only about nature, but also about themselves. The in-
formation, however, on which this attitude is based, be-
longs, if I am not mistaken, on the same shelf on which
I found the cubes and $63 as the price of a complete
adult/'
I do not like rhetoric very much; but I cannot deny that
something in these last remarks of his made a certain im-
pression on me. I refer particularly to his distinction be-
tween "correct" statements and the true knowledge
which is obtained only when statements are put in their
right places. If such remarks had come from men like
Wertheimer or Koffka, I should not have been surprised.
But it did surprise me to hear them from an outsider.
Perhaps there was more in the man than I had expected.
Since, however, his own opinion ot himsell seemed to be
high enough, I did not say anything about this point. It
was probably more appropriate to tell him, that as yet the
only conciete application of his principle which he had
given was to Copernicus* discovery; and that he would
still have to show in what sense other, perhaps disappoint-
ing, theses ot science were "correct," but not in his sense
genuinely true in their reference to man.
When he heard this, he said: "Once more, Professor,
you have given the answer yourself. Let us put two and
two together. May I repeat: Misleading and therefore un-
true 'correct' information will result when we make state-
ments about unessential phases of an object, while such
further knowledge as refers to the fundamental properties
of the same object is never added. Now, there may be
several reasons for not adding such further statements as
would give the others their right peripheral location. In
the first place, we may not wish to make such informa-
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 23
tion known, although it is at our disposal. Or, in the sec-
ond place, we cannot add those more essential statements,
simply because we lack the knowledge that would make
them 'possible. And this is actually the situation in which
the scientific mind finds itself in our case. You were, I
believe, particularly convincing when in the beginning of
our conversation you said that no valuable statements can
yet be made about the major human issues. If this be true
I have little to add. I can only conclude that those state-
ments of present science which in a way refer to man must
all be understood with this warning: Whether or not such
available information will finally prove to have any weight
in our appreciation of man, and what ultimate interpreta-
tion we shall have to give to it, these questions cannot be
answered until a way is found to deal adequately with the
fundamental phases of human life, and thus to establish
genuine truth about it.
"I am inclined to go a little farther, and to apply the
same principle to the sad picture which the scientists give
us of nature as such. Sometimes I cannot help wondering
just why practically all the statements of modern science
which seem relevant to our view of the physical world
tend to have the same negative character, in that they
make nature appear less and less understandable, more
and more foreign to our eyes. Could this strange regu-
larity have causes which are not altogether objective?
Science is not capable ot doing justice to man; his main
traits do not fit into its standardized categories. With this
premise, how could the scientists do justice to any phases
of nature in which it might resemble man? Such facts
would escape their attention or, rather, by the methods
which scientists use they would be rendered invisible;
and this would happen so regularly that after a while every
24 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
scientist would be convinced: there are no such facts. In
this case the present interpretation even of the physical
world might conceivably be open to revision, not as
though the physicists' present statements were incorrect,
but in the sense that in the future certain characteristics
of nature might come to the foreground and be more ade-
quately interpreted, which are as yet not seen in their
right places. If this should ever happen, Nothing But
might at the same time lose some of its influence on our
view of the physical world.
"But let me come back to the history of negativism in
science. This history has one chapter of which I have not
yet spoken, a chapter that has much to do with your own
field, with psychology. Once in a while a great movement
in science does refer to man more directly than was the
case in our previous instances. Perhaps I said too much
when I contended that science does not know how to deal
with man. In a way it knows only too well how to do it.
And we can predict what must happen on such occasions:
Science will misrepresent the very essence of man in order
to adapt him to its system. The outcome will be ever more
statements in which 'nothing but' are the predominant
words.
"With this expectation actual facts are in complete
agreement. When some of Darwin's followers began to
apply his particular theory of evolution to man as an
apparently reasoning animal, they were led to statements
in which the very nature of reasoning and of insight was
implicitly negated. I have no objection to the idea of
evolution. On the contrary, I believe that few other ideas
have widened our horizon as much as has this change in
our biological perspective. I am much less enthusiastic
about those special principles of evolution which, accord-
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 25
ing to the later Darwinists, are exclusively responsible for
the change of existing species and the emergence of new
forms of life. Since, however, we have as yet no better
theory it seems useless to discuss this point at present. On
the other hand, the application of these principles to the
mental life of man appears to me as both the most curious
and the most dangerous instance of Nothing But with
which I am acquainted.
"Human thinking is from this point of view a particular
function of the organism, just as are the processes of diges-
tion or of circulation and respiration. I can accept the first
half of this statement, but in its second half I recognize
premises which lead to preposterous confusion. Digestion,
for instance, depends on the existence of some major
structures, the mouth, the stomach, and so forth, and on
the piesence of some glands, or chemical devices, whose
products make adequate assimilation of foodstuffs pos-
sible. Digestion is not the same process in all the various
species of the animal kingdom, and the modifications
which in this respect occur from one species to another
have to be explained by a theory of evolution. In the
more orthodox form of Darwinian theory we hear about
two main factors by which the development of species and
of their functions is said to be achieved: chance variations
within the germ-plasm, which lead to subsequent and
corresponding variations in the structure of the adult or-
ganism, and the given properties of the environment,
by which 'unfitting' variants are eliminated. The only
primary changes which can be brought about in this man-
ner are obviously changes of structure, of anatomical
conditions. Organs become stronger or larger, new organs
are gradually formed, as one accidental variation follows
another, and as 'wrong' variants die out soon. If, therefore,
s6 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
digestion changes from one species to its descendants,
accidental variations in the germ-plasm must have led to
changes in those particular anatomical structures which
determine the course of digestion.
"Human thinking depends directly upon the function
of the human brain, more indirectly upon the function of
other organs. Nowhere else in the animal kingdom do we
find any thinking that approximates the level ol human
thought. Human thinking is thus a product of evolution.
If the Darwinian principles of evolution are generally
applicable, they have to be applied to this case. This has
been done, and here is the result: Just as do other parts
of the organism, so properties of the brain change when
accidental variations occur in the germ-plasm of animals.
Since such changes occur blindly, their influence on i unc-
tion will for the most part be detrimental. Animals will
die early when their brains and consequently their mental
processes function in such a new way. Occasionally, how-
ever, such a change of brain-structure and of mental func-
tion will lead to behavior that happens to fit the nature
of the objective environment even better than did the
previous behavior. The fortunate owners of such im-
proved mechanisms will, of course, live longer and have
many children, whose geim-cclls will then play the same
game of accidental variations on a slightly higher level. In
this manner there is no other way for them the Dar-
winists explain the appearance of anything like thinking
among the higher organisms, and particularly the emer-
gence of human reasoning.
"The implications of this theory were not at once
realized. It took the people some time until they saw
that what had happened meant a radical devaluation of
the notion of thinking. I hope that a few words will
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 27
suffice to make this perfectly clear. Where, indeed, is that
'fitness' located of which the theorists speak, and which,
they say, makes certain animals with certain brain-
structures and with corresponding mental functions sur-
vive in the struggle for existence? Such 'fitness' is not
located in the animal itself or in its functions as such; it is
a factual relation between, on the one hand, forms of
behavior that follow from those structures or those func-
tions, and, on the other hand, the actual properties of the
environment. If any mental function is called 'fitting/
such an expression is, from this point of view, always an
abbreviation. It does not refer to the function itself, nor
to any intrinsic trait of it; it merely refers to the external
results of this function in their relation to the equally ex-
ternal environment.
"Or let me put it this way: The theory regards normal
mental processes as causally detei mined by two factors.
First, there are the general laws of nature, which apply to
the organism as they apply to other systems. Secondly,
there are those anatomical structures which give such laws
a particular form of application in the case of the brain.
These conditions determine the course of mental processes
just as strictly as other conditions determine the course,
for instance, of digestion. As necessary facts they are in
no essential way different from any other facts. More par-
ticularly, as facts they are intrinsically by no means
'better* or more 'fitting' than are those mental functions
which lead in other variants to early death. Normal think-
ing, it is true, prevents such early death. But precisely this
is the only reason why we call it normal. Otherwise we
have no right to call one function more 'normal/ more
'fitting' or 'better' than any other. Thinking is 'right'
28 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
in exact proportion to its survival value, and in no other
sense whatsoever.
"By now it will be evident that according to this theory
we all suffer from a curious delusion. We believe that in
a given mental situation we draw this conclusion and not
another, that \ve decide for this action and not another,
because this conclusion and this decision appear to us as
directly asked for by the properties of that situation. Most
particularly is this the case in mathematics, and in mathe-
matical situations which do not seem to have any relation
to our chances of survival; but it is also true of a great
many other situations. It may not always be easy to see
at once and clearly just what a given situation demands,
and errors will occur quite often. But even then there
is at least awareness ot this most characteristic trait of
thinking: we feel that we ought to find that particular
decision which will have the right relation to the given
conditions of our problem. In recognizing the relations
which make one thing demanded in a constellation of
others, man exhibits what he calls insight. He does it in
purely intellectual activities, as when he says that this
follows from that, or that these two views are incom-
patible. He does it in his moral judgments when he says,
for instance, that this was not a fair trial, or that wanton
cruelty cannot be tolerated. Again, if he says: The weight
of those columns is altogether out of proportion in a
building of such light elegance, insight is once more the
outstanding characteristic of his statement.
"In all these cases fitness of one thing in its relation
to others, or also lack of such fitness, seems to be given or
to be found in direct inspection of certain situations.
When insight refers to practical situations it seems to us
itself a most practical gift, because its decisions tend to do
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 29
justice to the nature of such situations, which is merely
another expression of the fact that it is insight. To this
extent insight as such will also have survival value. Is it
this, however, that our theorists have in mind when they
claim that by chance variations and by the elimination
of unfitting variants man has acquired fitting modes of
mental activity? By no means. Take it the other way
around, the theorists would say, and then we shall agree.
When man experiences that certain sequences of mental
events lead to behavior which has, as a matter of fact, sur-
vival value, he calls such mental facts 'right/ It would
be better, however, if instead of this word some neutral
symbol were being used for those particular events; be-
cause the word 'right 1 leads to the unfortunate notion
that some combinations of mental facts are intrinsically
better than are others, and that mere inspection of a ma-
terial may disclose whether or not its parts fit each other.
Fitness means nothing but survival value. That direct
awareness of fitness, on the other hand, which you call in-
sight, and which seems to you to be independent of a pos-
sible survival value, such insight does not exist. It would
destroy our purely scientific conception of human mental
processes if, instead of being a factual and external rela-
tion, fitness or its absence were directly recognizable in
given situations. In a situation any particular thing is in-
trinsically as good, or rather, as indifferent as would be
any other thing by which we might replace it. And so
long as mental situations are being considered from a
scientific point of view, the same rule will hold in their
case. Science does not deal with values.
"I promised to show that in dealing with the essential
characteristics of man science will misrepresent such traits
entirely, and will thus adapt them to its system. I think I
30 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
have kept my promise: Insight, so science declares, is a
delusion; when critically examined it proves to be nothing
but the fact that the external consequences of certain men-
tal events have survival value.
"I call such a theory naturalistic; because it represents
intrinsic fitness as an illusory appearance of certain
natural and, as such, indifferent facts. I call the theory
relativistic; because, if intrinsic fitness and insight are re-
placed by mere survival value of certain mental facts, our
judgments on intellectual, on moral and on aesthetic mat-
ters are 'true' only in relation to the environment in
which we happen to live. If this environment should
change, other forms of so-called judging might become
more advantageous in the struggle tor existence; and what
was true before, would now become wrong. For this rea-
son the theory is thoroughly sceptical.
"You will not object that the Darwinists have never ex-
plicitly drawn such conclusions. It does not matter
whether they actually saw and formulated the sceptical
consequences of their theory. Such consequences were
doubtless implied in what they actually said, and alter a
while such scepticism became part of our intellectual
atmosphere. At any rate, if not the theorists in the field of
evolution, then your own colleagues, the psychologists,
made it perfectly clear, that, so far as they are concerned,
science objects to the very concept of insight. It is the
intensification of indifferent bonds among equally indif-
ferent mental contents, it is mechanical associations, or
that sounds still better in an era of Nothing But it is
conditioned reflexes which explain both the development
and the smooth functioning of mental processes. Insight?
When we last met, you told me yourself that some Ameri-
can psychologists always write 'insight* in quotation
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 31
marks as though it were either an extremely funny or a
slightly disreputable notion. I heard of one whose sub-
jects never mentioned any such concept in their introspec-
tive reports, and who consequently denied that there is
such a thing.
"The main issue, then, is clearly this: Is the human
mind to be regarded as a domain of mere indifferent tacts?
Or do intrinsic demands, fittingness and its opposite,
wrongness, occur among the genuine characteristics of its
contents? This question, you will admit, is in principle
the same whether we consider the more intellectual or
the moral and the aesthetic phases of mental life. In all
these fields we find the alternative: mere tacts or, besides
mere tacts, right and wrong in a sense, that varies to some
extent from one field to the others, but shows everywhere
the same fundamental contrast to mere facts. Let us for
the moment give the name value to this common trait of
intrinsic requircdness or wrongness, and let us call insight
all awareness of such intellectual, moral or aesthetic value.
We can then say that value and corresponding insight con-
stitute the very essence of human mental lite. Take any
major human problem, and you will find that it contains
this factor. Even the word problem has an understandable
meaning only in relation to the same factor. Most ot all
do those questions refer to value with which we went to
the professors, and which they never answered. When, dur-
ing the i8th centuiy, other religions began to lose ground,
there remained this one firm conviction, that insight
which they then called 'reason* is the guide on which
mankind can rely. However, when science tried to con-
quer mental life it found the notions both of value and of
insight so little to its taste that it refused to recognize
them as legitimate concepts.
32 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
"For this reason, Professor, your colleagues refuse to
answer our questions. For the same reason they dislike
our problems. Again for the same reason there is no actual
knowledge about the basic characteristics of man, of so-
ciety and of history. How could there be such knowledge?
It would have to refer to value and to insight in prac-
tically every sound statement. Without clearness about the
import of such notions no actual understanding of those
topics will ever be possible. You give us correct but mis-
leading statements about man so long as your statements
refer to mere facts and not to the very essence of the hu-
man world, to value and to insight in values. Lastly,
science is a destructive agent in that it tends to demolish
not only this or that particular valuation of man, but
even his belief in value as such, as a principle that trans-
cends mere facts.
" Modern science has given us not merely naturalistic
scepticism; it has in recent times added historical and
sociological versions of relativism. Moral convictions, for
instance, are said to be no more than a by-product of
historical circumstances, and to vary with these. Or, again,
such convictions are represented as mere tactual conse-
quences of given social structures, which vary when these
are changed. Sometimes a professor of the older genera-
tion shakes his head and asks in great astonishment why
the younger people of our time are so restless and so
cynical. What surprises me is his surprise. When once
born in the universities, the spirit of Nothing But does not
remain confined to these institutions and to scientific
books. Future teachers absorb this spirit in lectures and in
reading. Afterwards they propagate the same spirit in
high schools, both by what they say and by what they
never mention. Enlightened writers do likewise when
THE CASE AGAINST SCIENCE 33
writing in newspapers and in magazines. Thus negativism
spreads through a population like an epidemic. I feel with
Faust:
Nun ist die Luft von solchem Spuk so voll,
Doss niemand wcjss, wie er ihn meiden soil.
"Gradually Nothing But becomes the unformulated
creed of your postman, your politican and your prime-
minister. When this phase is reached and we have
reached it few people will have any stable convictions
beyond their personal interests, which seem to survive
even when, as values, they should also succumb. Except-
ing these interests there will be little that can make a
man move, mostly if action should be uncomfortable or
even dangerous. No principle will seem worth defending.
What after all are principles? The only principle that
still holds is: I want to be lett alone. On the other hand,
if certain people insist upon some new principle of their
own, and if it looks as though resistance might lead to
inconvenient consequences, why should we resist? 'What
is truth?' said Pontius Pilatus, who must have been an
advanced mind. We submit meekly because one principle
seems to us as good or as arbitrary as any other. Without
any conviction whatsoever nobody can be expected to have
much courage.
"It is late, my friend, and you want to go. Come again
some day, and let us then discuss what may happen to
science itself, when it is found unable to deal with value
and with insight. Man is not only a subject-matter of
science; he is also its author. From this point of view the
consequences of scientific Nothing But will necessarily
fall back upon science itself. Curiously enough, science
34 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
seems still to be regarded as a genuine value. As William
James once grimly remarked: According to the scientists
we must be willing to see the world perish, in order that
scientia fiat. But, it there is no other value, why should
science be an exception? Science can have no more weight
and sense than it itself attributes to human insight by
which it is produced. Indeed, any survey of the present
intellectual situation shows clearly that a sceptical inter-
pretation of the meaning of scientific knowledge is now
spreading just as fast among the scientists as general scep-
ticism is spreading among the population as a whole.
"When in America some shallow pretence, some un-
justly inflated notion is being attacked they use for such
action a term that sounds rough and has no place in the
dictionaries, but which is tremendously characteristic.
They call it 'debunking/ Inadvertently we have in all
countries begun to do something else: to debunk what-
ever is expressed in positive, and not in negative terms.
It is like a mental disease. Unfortunately I am not a scien-
tist and not a philosopher. Otherwise, do you know what
I should like to do? I should be willing to do some more
debunking. I should like to debunk the debunkers."
CHAPTER II
THEORIES OF VALUE
I HAVE reported about a conversation in which science
was bitterly attacked by a friend of mine. Either, he said,
science is impotent wherever it comes near the essential
problems of mankind, or else, where it does try to handle
human affairs, it tends to distort their very nature. At the
bottom of all human activities are 'Values/' the convic-
tion that some things "ought to be" and others not.
Science, however, with its immense interest in mere facts
seems to lack all understanding of such "requiredness."
Eventually this critic went so tar as to say that science is
apt to destroy its own basis and consequently its self-
confidence. There is no scientific procedure without at
least the requiredness of logic, the distinction between
essential and unessential facts, and so forth. A science,
therefore, which would seriously admit nothing but indif-
ferent tacts even in its own procedure could not fail to
destroy itself.
In other respects, I surmise, there may have been too
much sentimentalism in my friend's attitude. However,
after some deliberation, I have come to the conclusion that
in this one point at least there is something worth our
attention. It might be objected that, in his bitter polemic
against science, he has only set up a straw man in order to
knock it down again; that everywhere in science the no-
35
36 THE PLAGE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
tion of "requiredness" may be discovered as operating im-
plicitly or even explicitly. But I could hardly admit that
this would be an altogether adequate answer. There is a
tendency to discard such a notion from science. Why else
should some followers of Darwin have been so eager to
explain the logical side of thinking and the ethical side of
human life on the basis of mere facts? Moreover, many of
us in whose writings the notion of "something being de-
manded" is implicitly adopted, will not be able to formu-
late explicitly what is meant by such a term; at least we
cannot give a clear account of the relationship existing
between indifferent facts and things regarded as "re-
quired/' Thus, this notion has not yet a definite and well-
recognized place in the system of scientific concepts.
Scientists will insist upon "objective procedure," on
"careful verification/' or on "genuinely scientific theory,"
perhaps on "the principle of parsimony" and on "con-
sistency." Besides they will courageously defend freedom
of thought, of research and of speech. Implicitly all this is
accepted as valuable, as required. But the very next mo-
ment they will express their contempt of "metaphysical
speculations such as concern ethics," which "cannot be
submitted to the absolutely indispensable experimental
test." One begins to wonder whether logic would also have
to pass this indispensable testwhich is itself full of logical
premises. Certainly in science we are not very clear about
requiredness although our work is utterly imbued with it.
Nobody can deny, however, that this same concept has
played a dominant role in earlier phases of European
thinking, and that it is still a main topic of philosophy in
our time. Indeed all those philosophers who are not swept
away by the flood of modern Positivism seem to agree that
THEORIES OF VALUE 37
the problem of value or, more generally, of requiredness,
is gradually becoming the outstanding difficulty or the
eminent task of modern thought. Unfortunately, if the
scientists do not like to face such concepts frankly, the
philosophers are far from agreeing about their nature. A
survey of theories as given, for instance, by Professor
Perry x reveals a bewildering variety of opinions. So dif-
ferent are these interpretations that the field of value has
not even the same extension for different philosophers.
Ethics and aesthetics seem to be universally included; not
always logic. It is certainly not a comforting thought that
even this elementary question is answered in many ways.
For our present purposes we shall avoid a discussion of
the problem by choosing the term "requiredness" which
applies equally well to logic and to values in the narrower
meaning of the word.
If we consider the theories of a few philosophers, the
differences of interpretation will become obvious at once.
At the same time we shall learn about at least some of the
mistakes by which reasoning about requiredness is so
easily led astray.
Of Plato it may be said that the whole of his philosophi-
cal system is centered around this concept. And, like my
friend of the first chapter, the great Greek philosopher
seems utterly preoccupied by this one idea: to give an
adequate place to the notion of ' 'something which ought
to be." We remember how he tried to achieve this. "People
feel moral obligations," he would say, "they recognize
ideals, they speak about truth. Though they are not very
clear about such 'oughts/ there must be some source even
for imperfect convictions of this kind. Around all of us,
iR. B. Perry, General Theory of Value. 1926.
38 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
however, there is the empirical world of rather confused
occurrences. These alone could not possibly have induced
the people to discover notions like those of truth and of
'obligation/ There must then be another source of infor-
mation. In fact, if you handle people with special skill, you
will be able to extract from their own minds new insight
about things as they 'ought to be.' This may happen,
although during their actual lives they have never had
this particular knowledge before, and even though they
are certainly not reading it directly from any facts of outer
experience. All this would be easily explained if the new
insight were not altogether new after all, if it were, rather,
a case of recall or remembrance not of facts experienced
in this life, to be sure, but of facts in a previous life and
in a better, an imperishable world, where people were
actually surrounded by things 'as they ought to be/ 2
Somehow even the facts of the confused world around us
seem to remind us of this superior world; otherwise we
could not understand the restlessness of the people who
are always striving toward some improvement, and who
know that something 'is required/ that it ought to be/'
The charm of this doctrine and its incomparable pres-
tige must not prevent us from examining how much is
really achieved by it. Does it answer the question how,
2 Some philosophers have doubted whether Plato ically meant to
defend an existence of peifect things in a woild of then own If, some-
times, he speaks as though this were indeed his opinion and as though
people had ically had adequate perception of such 'pcifects" duung a
pievious life in that world, all this, acroidnig to their mteipietation, is
to be counted among the poetic talcs in which he often clothed the more
abstract, meaning of his theories Considering the intimacy, however,
which for the Greeks truth always seemed to have with genuine reality I
am not sure whether we are entitled to such a radical syrnbohzation of his
very definite statements
THEORIES OF VALUE 39
besides indifferent facts, there may be things required?
Does it render such a notion legitimate? I am afraid it
docs not. It only asserts that somewhere there are things
in existence as they ought to be; it praises their beauty
and their goodness; it points to some place outside our
world where they are, and gives a genetic explanation of
our imperfect knowledge of them. All this does not clarify
the concept itself. In fact, if certain objects are as they
should be, how do they differ from common things and
facts which simply are or occur? What in their constitu-
tion, gives them this enigmatic character? If we learn that
they are beautiful and good, this again does not mean
more than a repetition of our problem. If they are located
in a world outside our common experience, our problem,
too, has been shifted outside and become less accessible
there than it was before.
There is, in man, a remarkable tendency to be soothed
and satisfied whenever a problem, instead of being solved,
has merely been located somewhere. Take the example of
neurology in an earlier phase of its development. When
it had become obvious that such mental functions as
speech, other movements, vision, healing and so on are
connected with the activity of definite areas of the brain,
there was as much satisfaction for a time as though the
problems implied in those functions had been solved al-
together. Of course, those discoveries meant a great step
forward. If speech, for instance, is localized in definite
places of the neivous system, from now on our treatment
of the faculty of speech will necessarily take another course
than would otherwise have been the case. But our original
problem refers to a certain group of remarkable functions.
Even if we know where these are localized in the brain,
40 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
we do not yet understand how they are brought about in
their brain-centers. We now know the location of our
problem, but in its functional aspect it is still to be solved.
We are easily tempted, however, to take its localization for
its solution.
Between this example and Plato's procedure there is
some similarity of form. Once he has declared that, in
another world, the very essence of what "ought to be" may
be found, no problem seems to be left; though, actually,
the nature of this essence has not been clarified at all.
But in Plato's case, and more generally throughout phi-
losophy, yet another temptation is connected with the mere
localization of a problem: If you are occupied with a no-
tion to which you are ascribing the utmost importance,
and if you can then locate it in a place which is by com-
mon consent beautiful and worthy of reverence, this very
location of the notion may suffice to warrant its acceptance
and to render it immune to question. Logically dangerous
under all circumstances, such a way of thinking is less
acceptable than ever in the case of our problem. Indeed,
what does it mean when a place is so surrounded by an
atmosphere of reverence that its very name seems to be
imbued with a flavor of distinction? Obviously, this does
not indicate more than that something about this place,
some property of it, is eminently a matter of value, and
that practically all people have this same opinion about it.
Our task, however, is to elucidate this very concept of
something which "ought to be/' We do not solve the task,
if we locate the problem in a place to which the mass of
the people will, with us, ascribe a very high degree of
that same enigmatic quality. We were not asked to show
that our notion is extremely important in such a pro-
THEORIES OF VALUE 41
gram it would be presupposed that some things "ought to
be" in preference to others; we were asked to clarify this
notion. 3
In Plato's philosophy, the place where the problem be-
came absorbed in a halo of general reverence was not very
well defined. But certainly it had to be outside the con-
fused world of common experience, free from the most
confusing aspect of this experience, viz., endless change
and restlessness, finally free from that relativity which is
so utterly disturbing in all human decisions about what
"should be." "Eternal," "changeless," "absolute," such
are the terms sufficiently endowed with dignity to make us
forget that "dignity" is only a particular case of our very
problem.
It will be illuminating to consider one more phase in
the historical development of this problem: At the time
of Immanuel Kant, in the i8th century, the task had be-
come much more urgent. Its solution, however, had also
become much more difficult, since, under the impact of
young natural science and under the cruel scrutiny of
British Empiricism, many things which "ought to be" had
begun, for a careful observer, to show symptoms of weak-
ness and of that sickly change by which they were gradu-
ally transformed into mere facts which simply are or occur.
Even thenmy friend was right here there was already
so much destructive energy in human thinking that its
3 It is one of the oustanding traits of Professor Perry's General Theory
of Value that, over and over again, he insists upon the distinction
between the problem of value as such, the generic pioblcm, and all
investigations of more particular questions about values. Very often
such investigations cither tacitly presuppose some solution of the generic
problem, 01 the authors do not seem to see that there is such a problem,
and that aU further effoits depend upon its solution.
42 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
results began to undermine the very basis of science at
the same time. According to David Hume, we remember,
there is no evidence whatever that the effect which follows
given causes is to be regarded as something that "ought to
follow" them; it simply follows as a matter of fact. Thus
causation, apparently the main principle ot scientific re-
search, seems to lose altogether the character of an "intrin-
sic necessity" which we might "understand."
Kant has become famous for his attempt to save the
notion of strict requiredness in science and in other fields.
He starts by granting at once that the mere material given
to us is of a purely factual nature. Anything may occur
there, nothing, so far as we can see, is required. If, never-
theless, there is real science as mathematics, for instance,
and Newtonian physics; if, besides, so much in aesthetics
and ethics has the appearance of being intrinsically re-
quired, the source of all this must be found elsewhere.
And Kant is convinced that he has found the source: The
human mind, in all its departments, has a structure of its
own; therefore, whatever the human mind apprehends,
will always be grasped according to definite rules. All hu-
man experience will necessarily appear in forms which
correspond to the structure of the human mind. To that
extent, although only the impact of some material will
bring the mind into action, such action itself will follow
its own laws which are not derived from the material.
These laws, then, and the structure of the mind, expressed
by them, may be called a priori, that is: conditions to which
all experience and reasoning is subjected.
It is Kant's opinion that here we have the genuine
"necessity" we had been looking for, that those and only
those traits of our experience or thinking are really "re-
THEORIES OF VALUE 43
quired" which represent the forming power of the mind's
own structure. 4
Let us examine the alleged solution as we did in the case
of Plato's philosophy. I am afraid there is no solution.
Does the concept of a structure of the mind by itself eluci-
date the notion that certain things are intrinsically "re-
quired"? Certainly not. There is no direct relation between
one concept and the other. How about the idea that such
a structure will "necessarily" give its own form to all ex-
periences of the mind? Such an influence may be unavoid-
able as a fact; but I cannot sec that, in this manner, its
consequences would become "intrinsically required." On
the contrary, since the material docs not seem to have any
voice in the matter, and since, besides, we do not learn
from Kant why the mind should have precisely this struc-
ture and no other there is not a tiace of intrinsic re-
quircdness in Kant's "necessity" of structurali/ation. Seen
Iroin the side of the material, at least, this formation looks
almost as arbitrary as the selection of a first name by the
parents of a newborn child. 5
It is true that as yet I have not mentioned all parts of
Kant's theory. He tried to go iarther by searching for an
ultimate essential trait in the structure of mind which
4 1 do not overlook the fact that Kant has given two demonstrations
of his theory, one which has a slightly psychological and subjectivistic
flavor, and anothei in which he considcis what is logically implied in
strict science. If, however, in this second proceduie certain formal prin-
ciples aie found to he prerequisites of science it does not follow that
they belong to the stiuctuie of the mind There remains the other
possibility that, to some degiee at least, they aie inhcicnt in the
"niateual " The validity of Kant's thcoiy depends altogether upon his
assumption that, in the "material," theie is no intunsic principle oC
order Cf. J Land, A Study in Realism. 1920, p. 32.
s This is the reason why Kant's theoiy cannot he concretely applied.
In space and tune, foi instance, there are so many possibilities of
"formation" a priori. We fail to sec how in a given case a selection is
made from all these possibilities.
44 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
might be at the basis of all such formation. In his eyes
such an ultimate trait is given in the unitary character of
the mind, a necessary condition of all its form-giving
power. This conception, however, is far too general for a
real elucidation of our problem. Even such a simple ex-
perience as that one thing appears larger in size than
another, can hardly be understood without the assumption
that consciousness has a certain unitary character. This
relationship, however, as also the relations of brightness,
of shape, and so on, are, as such, of a completely indif-
ferent character, mere matters-of-fact again. There are, in
this sense of the term, relations between all possible ob-
jects and facts. The notion of requiredness, on the other
hand, seems to contain something that does not occur at
all in the concept of mere relation. Thus, the mind may
have a unitary character on the basis of this general idea
alone we cannot possibly solve our very concrete and par-
ticular problem of requiredness.
These critical remarks show at the same time that, in its
general outline, the solution attempted by Kant has much
in common with Plato's effort. Once again the problem
seemed almost to be solved, since it had been located in a
particular place, although in keeping with the intellectual
climate of the i8th century this was not a place outside
our world. In the meantime Descartes had lived, and grad-
ually the human mind had become an object of almost
general reverence among philosophers. Located there, the
source of genuine requiredness, all "oughts," seemed al-
most to be beyond scruple or criticism. Words like "the
mind" and "a priori" were now almost as good a protec-
tion as "eternal," "changeless" and "absolute" had been
at the time of Plato. Nevertheless, if we examine Kant's
theory, it contains very little about the nature of genuine
THEORIES OF VALUE 45
requiredness, and it fails completely where the relation of
this concept to mere facts is considered.
II
Kant's theory could not check the rise of the naturalis-
tic tide. During the igth century mere facts of science
began everywhere to occupy places which before had been
dominions of the "intrinsically required." Gradually some
philosophically-minded men began to retreat from one
field after another in order to defend a smaller area against
this danger the Vitalists from inorganic nature into the
biological realm, one group of Humanists and some
philosophers of culture still farther back into the realm of
the mind and its achievements. Even this, however, was
not sufficiently large a sacrifice. In the meantime the rela-
tivistic consequences of naturalism had become most
threatening precisely in this field; and there were people
who would go so far as to say that the principles of true
thinking, of logic, were nothing but laws of real thinking,
laws of nature, as it were, and therefore laws about the
occurrence of certain facts. At this point it was, of course, a
logician, Edmund Husserl, who saw the danger most
clearly. He tried to save the notion of "intrinsic required-
ness," in his own particular field but, very characteris-
tically, his attempt towards salvation began with a further
retreat.
Two naturalistic ideas which had proved to be fruitful
in other fields were, at the time, being somewhat hastily
applied as explanations of logical principles. One of them
was "learning," the other "evolution." Individuals have
learned to proceed mentally in certain ways, concepts have
gradually been formed by the superposition of many in-
46 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
dividual cases in memory, such would be the empiristic
interpretation of logic and of its conceptual material. In
the struggle for survival through many thousands of years
those individuals would have survived and therefore could
have had similarly endowed offspring who were equipped
with more practical mechanisms of thinking or association,
this would be the evolutionary explanation of logic.
Both these interpretations, Husserl found, had become so
much the fashion of the day, were being so lightly pro-
posed and accepted that hardly anybody would give much
attention to the thing itself, to the concepts and logical
principles which they were meant to explain. Under these
circumstances, so Husserl thought, even essential traits of
logical requiredness might be overlooked in the haste of
naturalistic interpretation, and some of these traits might
not agree with such explanations at all. This is one of the
main reasons which made Husserl formulate the slogan:
Back to the things themselves! And it is in this manner
that his challenge is to be understood. Wait a moment, he
seems to say, before you try to explain. Look catefully at a
thing before you begin to hide it behind a veil of routine-
ideas about learning and evolution. Try to get a full view
of what you intend to explain. Otherwise you may be led
completely astray. Since, however, all of us tend to be
carried away by naturalistic habits of thinking, and since,
in this manner, the very basis of philosophical meditation
becomes mixed up with doubtful hypotheses, looking at
things themselves is a difficult art which we have to de-
velop first of all. It is this art which Husserl calls
phenomenology.
In America phenomenology is not very popular. Many
scholars in this country feel safe when they use the established
concepts and methods of science. They do not like the idea
THEORIES OF VALUE 47
that, in philosophy at least, such procedures should be post-
poned until, in a patient survey of the thing in question, its
properties have become thoroughly known. For this attitude
two rather plausible reasons may be given. One of them is
that phenomenology seems dangerously similar to Introspec-
tion, which is generally regarded as a failure. The second
reason consists in Husserl's very radical procedure when mak-
ing use of the phenomenological principle. What indeed are
"the things" as such to which we should go back? What in
our view of these things, logical and otherwise, has to be re-
garded as a foreign ingredient, brought in by naturalistic
habits of thought? According to Husserl even any conviction
about existence and occurrence in a chain of facts has to be
discarded in our initial attempt towards a purely phenomeno-
logical treatment oi material.
I do not think that the first argument is altogether justi-
fied. The virtual phobia which has developed with respect to
the "Introspcctionist" treatment ot immediate experience
hardly befits the scientific mind. It seems, however, as though
there might be some force in the second argument. In trying
to discard all hypothetical elements from our view ol things
we may easily and inadvertently be influenced precisely by
hypotheses about this procedure. What constitutes the truly
phenomenological nature of something? What is to be re-
garded as an hypothetical addition to it? What, in other
words, is the criterion which Husserl applies when he sepa-
rates one from the other? I am not sure whether Husserl is
fully aware oi the danger latent in these inquiries. The main
objection against Introspection was not its interest in "things
themselves" but rather its arbitrary selection of some aspects
of expeiience as genuine and others as artifacts. 6 If Husserl
were in dangei of proceeding in a similar way, then a similar
criticism would of course apply to his kind of phenomenology.
I shall now try to state Husserl's main ideas about logic
in a slightly simplified form. 7
o Cf. the writer's Gestalt Psychology, 1929, ch. 3
7 I hope simplification does not make my report misleading.
48 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
His first thesis is that logical requiredness has little to
do with psychology, not even with the psychology of
thought-processes. Psychology is a science of facts as they
really happen. So conceived, it is full of those complicated
and doubtful naturalistic premises which we have just
mentioned. Besides, however, since psychology is a science
of facts there is, in this field, no adequate place for the
distinction between "true" and "wrong*" or "untrue."
Facts are never wrong or untrue, nor are they ever true
either. They are or they will occur, nothing else. "To be
true," on the other hand, is a special case of intrinsic
requiredness. It seems evident, therefore, that truth has
to be sought and found somewhere outside the realm of
mere facts, more particularly outside the field of
psychology.
We have to add, furthermore, that a solution in the
Kantian style does not agree with the principles of phe-
nomenology. What, after all, is the character of Kant's
statement that all requiredness is a consequence of the
structure of mind and of its forming power with regard to
the "material"? The statement is a hypothesis, since no-
body has ever observed how, by this power, an altogether
indifferent material was given form and requiredness. Hy-
potheses, however, belong in the world of facts, of science,
where all our troubles of relativation have come from.
Indeed, it is difficult to decide whether Kant's own alleged
salvation of requiredness does not also yield relativistic
consequences. 8 Kant was led to his theory by the convic-
tion that the material given to us cannot possibly arrive
8 Not a few philosophers and scientists really did interpret Kant as
though his epistemology meant a special foim of subjectivism and rela-
tivism. If the "sti net ure of the mind" is regarded as a definite fact which
actually is as it is, but which might be different quite as well, then we
are as near relativism as possible.
THEORIES OF VALUE 49
in our mind with its order and form given at the same
time. But he never even tried to prove this point. Husserl,
with Stumpf and Dilthey, declines to accept Kant's assump-
tion: according to him the material, let us say of percep-
tion, is given with much of its order and form directly.
One more reason, evidently, for going "back to the things
themselves." 9
I have to add at once that, for Husserl, all insight, i. e.,
in this connection all awareness of logical requiredness, is
strikingly analogous to perception in the usual meaning
of the word. When realizing the truth of a statement we
do not look upon any operation of our mind: we look
rather upon the content of the statement as upon some-
thing outside, distinct from our mental operations. From
the phcnomenological point of view, then, and in this
sense, there is no "subjectivity" in the logical requiredness
of a statement, since the logically required is before us, as
an object is before us when we perceive it. It is not only
before us, however. When looking upon it, we are, accord-
ing to Husserl, even looking beyond the world of facts.
If this seems strange at first, it becomes more plausible
if we consider an example. In elementary geometry much
use is made of the principle: Things equal to the same
thing are equal to each other. When considering such a
principle our situation is not essentially different from
that of perception. Indeed our attitude is strictly similar
to that of looking carefully upon an object. Besides, how-
ever, the object in question has noteworthy properties. The
words, for instance, in which I clothed the statement rep-
resent definite concepts. Well, then, is the content of a
concept like "equal" before us as something which merely
> In more recent )eais Husserl's phenomenology has taken a turn which
brings it nearer to Kant's epistemology.
50 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
happens at this moment? Not at all. It is looked upon as
an entity which is always ready for our inspection but does
not depend upon it. It remains the same in a world of
concepts in general, whether we consider it or not. When
we inspect concepts, therefore, we somehow seem to look
beyond the woild of mere facts, psychological facts in-
cluded. All of these have their definite and particular times
of occurrence, all have their definite duration, whereas
the content of a concept seems to be outside the course of
events and of time. The term "duration" or any date does
not apply to it just as the term "lectangular" does not
apply to "despair." What is true of our terms inasmuch
as they represent concepts remains equally true for the
principle as a whole. It is a correct principle. But is its
correctness something that happens or exists this very
moment, that may happen occasionally, while at other
times it does not exist? Even to speak about it in such
a manner seems inadequate. When reali/ing it we look, in
this sense, beyond the course of time and beyond the facts
which may occur in time. Truth and coirectness are in a
timeless ideal world of their own.
If our example appears too abstract to be convincing,
take another. So far as we are not color-blind all of us
know what is meant by the words "red," "blue" and
"purple." Here is a statement involving all of these terms:
Purple is a visual quality which as such has its place be-
tween the red and the blue. The statement is true. Con-
sidering merely the degrees of similarity which prevail
between the three qualities we cannot arrange them other-
wise. The order is "required." Does this mean that, at
this very moment only, our concept of purple has a place
between the red and the blue? By no means. We see im-
mediately that, quite independent of time, the statement
THEORIES OF VALUE 51
corresponds to the relation before us. Its content and
its requiredness are timeless, we might say eternal; it
remains the same and true whether we look upon it or
not.
This remarkable property of genuine truth is to be
compared with the behavior of facts. Facts are not only in
time and therefore perishable; from the standpoint of
knowledge they have another weakness. When once we
have observed a combination of facts we never know ex-
actly when, or even whether, the same combination will
occur again. Natural science, it is true, has its so-called
"laws." According to them a fact, observed carefully a few
times under definite conditions, will happen again as soon
as those definite conditions are given once more. The prin-
ciple undei lying all such laws, the principle of induction,
may well be applied everywhere in empirical science and
may even be indispensable there. But nobody has yet been
able to give a real proof of its soundness, nor has its use
in the handling of facts and the stating of laws ever been
finally justified. The reason is apparently that no facts are
evidently generated by other tacts, that there does not
seem to be any evidence of necessary sequence. Laws ot
fact can only be accepted, therefore, so long as they are
verified. And no amount of verification can possibly make
them more evident. At least we never know definitely
whether we have recogni/ed all the conditions involved.
Consequently we never know whether such a law has been
formulated with perfect accuracy. Let us consider once
more "evident" truth as revealed in phenomenology. Such
truth has no degrees of accuracy, and it does not depend
on "verification." Once we have looked upon it with our
mental eye, the relation of the colors red, blue and purple
is determined completely and finally. It follows that truth,
52 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
requiredness in thought and the laws of logic can never
be successfully interpreted as the outcome of "laws" about
psychological or any other facts. In the two cases the term
"law" seems to mean two different things.
This is HusseiTs solution of the problem in the case of
logic. Man is able to look into a world of timeless entities
and to read off from them evident truth, just as in percep-
tion he is reading off matters of perceptual fact. This last
escape, therefore, in which even the world of psychological
facts is left behind, seems to lead into a strange countiy
where truth is safe. And truth, I repeat, is a case of intrinsic
requiredness.
Thoroughly fact-minded people will be inclined to
deride HussciTs modernized Platonism. They should not
do it, however, before they have tried to give an adequate
theory of immediate evidence as exemplified, e g., in the
case of those three colors. If phenomenology is to be criti-
ci/ed, much may also be said in favor of its description of
logical evidence.
Once more, it is true, we find intrinsic requiredness
located in some particular realm, and once more we find
this realm adorned with dangerous woids. However, the
location as well as the application of such attributes are,
in this instance, based on a certain type of observation,
curious though it may appear to us. There is, phenom-
enally, something remarkably "objective" about concep-
tual truth in so far as its content seems segregated from the
stream of thinking. There is, besides, the remarkable dif-
ference between the directness of "evidence" or required-
ness on one side and the indirectness of guesses and of
verifications of factual laws on the other.
Nevertheless I cannot admit that, with HusseiTs descrip-
tion, analysis of intrinsic requiredness has been completed;
THEORIES OF VALUE ^
even less that the whole field of such requiredness has
thus been covered, and least of all that this held is alto-
gether outside the world of facts.
May I begin with the last point. If the world of truth
did not extend into the world of experiences and that is:
of facts how should we ever know of it? Inspection of
truth, as Husserl might call it, is an actual fact. As such,
the inspection could hardly reach its object, if the object
did not belong to the same realm of facts. Facts and the
material of evident truth seem after all to dwell in a
common universe. Concepts and evident truth, moreover,
may bear phenomenally the character of timelessncss, of
independence with regard to our reading and looking. But
why not? In common perception all solid things bear,
phenomenally, the character of being indifferent to and
practically independent of my looking upon them. There
is something of permanency in their appearance, beyond
actual perception. Yet nobody would deny that these
objects belong to the world of facts. Permanency, it is
true, is something different from timclessness. But the
example shows at least that, phenomenally, even objects of
simple perception do not necessarily share those temporal
traits which we ascribe to perceiving as an event. Not all
"facts" seem to behave in the same manner.
I shall now return to the second point. Banishing all
requiredness into a world by itself Husserl has evidently
pictured the world of facts as much poorer than it really
is. When something appears as required to people's eyes,
they do not only and not always look into a world outside
their lives. On the contrary, nothing can be more obvious
than that, over and over again, they do definite things and
they abstain from others because those real things are
actually required and these are not. According to Husserl
54 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
mathematics is a system of truth outside the world of
facts. But an engineer who has to build a bridge will con-
struct the bridge as mathematically required, and thus
truth will become immediately effective in the middle of
a world of facts. Mathematical truth can be transmitted
from one man to another at a certain date and in a
definite place. Truth has often economized human labor
and physical energy. There is no doubt then that truth
may at least in some cases be factual. Husserl is aware of
this though he might perhaps object to my formulation.
But I do not see that he gives a real explanation of this
amphibian nature of truth. Amphibian it is: Give a clever
boy the premises necessary for a sound conclusion, and
he will soon experience how, in his actual thinking, the
conclusion is born as a real fact, how it becomes required
in his stream of thought at a definite time. In this manner
mental life at least is full of dramatizations of just such
truth and lequiredness as Husserl prefers to consider in
its detached givenness only. I do not deny that a special
interest may be found in the timeless variety. But even
that, we found, is not altogether outside the realm of
facts. Once more, we seem to find an ambiguity in the
meaning of this term "facts." Should we, in careless speech,
give it a much too narrow connotation? With a puzzling
contrast between "facts" and "requiretlncss" we have begun
our survey of the situation. Now, it appears, requiredness
may occur at least as a psychological reality since it oper-
ates in mental life and has, even beyond it, many effects
which everybody would call facts.
THEORIES OF VALUE 55
III
What could a psychologist propose as an elucidation of
requiredness? Some opinions which one hears occasionally
expressed deserve our critical attention, although few
philosophers would fail to recognize their weakness.
Whatever the nature of values may be, if for the moment
we do not include logical requiredness in the meaning ot
the term, we have to admit that from person to person,
from tribe to tribe and from historical period to historical
period accepted values seem to vary enormously. It is this
fact which makes some influential theorists deny that a
system of ethics can be built on a basis acceptable to all
people. At least the axioms of the system, they would say,
could be arbitrarily chosen. Nevertheless the phenomenon
of value as such remains, whether or not there is agreement
about definite values. And precisely the variability of
values would make some inclined to believe that value
has to be interpreted in terms of habit.
Apparently such a theory would have a great advantage.
There is no word which sounds as bad to most psycholo-
gists as "purpose." Its meaning is supposed to contradict
the veiy principles of science. And "requiredness'' seems
to have a flavor of "purpose" in its connotation. An at-
tempt might therefore be made to reduce requiredness
to terms which, from the standpoint of sober science, would
be more acceptable. Perhaps this might be achieved, if
habit were the essential fact underlying value.
Do all habits contain a factor that would make us under-
stand value? I have, for instance, the habit of winding my
watch in the morning. So thoroughly is this a habit that
I am for the most part hardly aware of my activity. Is
there any requiredness in the habit as such? One might
56 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
say: That the watch be wound is required in view of its
practical use. But this statement does not contain the
term habit or any similar concept. Thus, it would seem
possible to speak about value in a context which does not
involve the concept of habit at all. This would clearly
create difficulties for a "habit theory" of value. It might
be said, however, that under these circumstances, consid-
ering the need for mental economy, an automatic proce-
dure would meet the situation much better than a fully
planned action every morning. This statement is full of
valuation, but this valuation is certainly not made clear
by the concept of habit as such. On the contrary, the value
of the habit is made dependent upon the fact that, in this
case, habit fulfills certain conditions given in the general
situation and in other values. The implication is, most
obviously, that in some cases a habit may fulfill such con-
ditions, but that in other cases something different from
habit gives value to an act. Consequently, as yet we have
found merely that habit is one among other things which
may appear as required. Thus the meaning of required-
ness remains, in principle, quite different irom the mean-
ing of mere habit as such. The first is not clarified by the
second.
Another example may bring us nearer to a "habit-
theory" of requiredness. I have "the habit" of smoking;
cigarettes and so on have a value for me. When I was
six years old there was for me no such value in tobacco.
The habit has developed and, at the same time, tobacco
has become valuable for me. Whoever is sensitive to nu-
ances in the meanings of words may feel at once that, now,
"habit" has a slightly different connotation. What are the
facts? There was a development, some form of "learning."
But it was learning of a particular kind: Some time ago
THEORIES OF VALUE 57
I had not begun to "like" something; now I "like" it.
What makes smoking a value tor me? That it was devel-
oped in some form of learning process? Or that there is
a liking? Let us suppose that the same liking existed with-
out the previous learning. Would tobacco and smoking
then be a value for me? They would. Consequently not
the process of habituation but the liking is the essential
side of this particular value-situation. This becomes even
more obvious if we change conditions a little. In a lit ot
dizziness produced by some intestinal trouble I am offered
a cigar. I lefuse with horror to accept it. Even the smoking
of others is detestable at the moment. This reaction is one
of negative valuation, and it has nothing to do with habit
except in so far as it indicates that even a strong habit may
be totally overcome by a direct dislike.
One might object that, aher all, habit-formation has in
our example produced the liking and the value. But, even
supposing that this were tine, liking as such would still
not be definable by its previous history. It would remain
liking, and as such it would be responsible for the value
wherever it came from. And what is the real history of
the case? The first experience of smoking, usually when it
occurs in early years, has several effects, some of which
arc disagieeable while others, perhaps barely perceptible,
are tather pleasant and are liked. I remember perfectly
how I discovered these as a boy. Some physiological
process, also observable in the case ot other poisons taken
in small doses, makes the unpleasant components disappear
rapidly. At the same time, naturally, the others soon be-
come conspicuous and are correspondingly better liked.
At last only the liking is left, and it becomes firmly estab-
lished. That it is thus established and automatized is the
habit-side of it. But that it constitutes value at all is due
58 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
to its character as liking. It comes then to this: What we
call habits in this and similar instances is another expres-
sion for liking, automatized in its occurrence and conse-
quences by habituation. In the liking there really seems to
be something closely related to value. Without the liking,
in any case, habit would be a mere matter-of-fact connec-
tion between certain situations, objects or ideas and certain
responses. Requiredness would not come in at all.
Extremists might object that in this argument I am pre-
supposing some distinguishing meaning of "requiredncss"
which, according to their view, can never be found because
there is no such thing. Somehow our primitive ancestors,
lacking as they were in scientific training, began to use such
fantastic terms. But these have no real meaning which could
not be translated in terms of mere facts. We should not bother
about superstitions. My answer would be that these state-
ments themselves are regarded as "valid" by those who make
them, that "should not" means a case of negative required-
ness if we understand each other at all. Moreover, I would
say, it is almost inconceivable that man should, for what must
be now thousands ol years, have distinguished between a
quaestio juris and a quacstio fa( ti, that in oui times people
should discuss the strange difference between mere facts and
cases of requiredness without any basis for such a distinction
in their experience. Such an assumption seems rather bold
from the standpoint of causation, so that, as a scientist, I am
loath to accept it.
It may not be altogether superfluous to add one more re-
mark. We sometimes say that when a reaction has become
associated with a given situation, the animal or man in ques-
tion "tends to" react in that manner whenever he finds him-
self in the situation. Obviously this is no elucidation of our
problem from the standpoint of an associationist. Either the
term "tending to" is used here as an equivalent to "being in-
clined to" or even "wishing." In this case quite a new factor
is introduced which, whether brought in by an associationist
or by somebody else, has no essential connection with the
THEORIES OF VALUE 59
concept of "association" as such. Or ehc, it is a case of mere
figurative speaking, as when the meteorologist would say that,
in our latitude, high pressure "tends to" be accompanied by
frost in winter-time. If this is the meaning, it expresses no
more than a probability of factual occurrence, and has noth-
ing whatsoever to do with rcquiredness.
If philosophers should think that all this discussion is far
too primitive, that no scientist could possibly have ideas such
as those considered in these last paragraphs, I envy them their
optimism. Strange things have often been said about such
problems ever since required ness became unpopular in
science and since, consequently, trained thinking about it
grew less common. It is lair, however, to admit that in recent
years such notions have begun to lose influence.
As a second explanation it might be said that value is a
term equivalent to "useful" or "expedient." Such terms
refer to human activities, and thus rcquiredness would
become a correlate of these. It is generally recognized,
however, that nothing is useful or expedient on its own
account. Both terms point to something beyond, which is
the thing primarily required. What is useful or expedient
owes this character to another and more immediate value.
And since it would be futile to explain the simple case in
teims of a complication we have not made any progress.
This is, by the way, one reason why so many philosophers
are not satisfied by a Pragmatistic theory of truth. If the
meaning of "truth" is reduced to that of "expedient," our
ga/e shifts to a greater distance in search of a point at
which abstract expediency might become concretely ex-
pedient. But until a definite theory of value is added we
can find no stable point on which to focus.
One might try other teims such as "pleasant" and its
negative counterpart "unpleasant." If, however, the last
attempt failed because primary requiredness cannot be
understood in terms of value that is indirect and bor-
60 I HE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
rowed, this further interpretation fails because a very
special example is not a theory of the general concept. I
know the meaning of such symbols as 3657 and 19. Asked
for the sum ot these numbers I should answer 3676 with
pertect assurance that this is strictly correct and required.
At the same time I am not aware of any pleasantness. If
there is any it is not worth mentioning. Pleasantness, there-
fore, does not accompany requireclness in such a manner
and so necessarily that we could use it as an interpreting
notion. If it has anything to do with requircdncss it is at
best a veiy special case by itself, no less so, by the way,
in ethics and aesthetics than in logic. It we should try to
apply the term more generally, its meaning would soon
be changed beyond recognition.
Quite apart from this criticism, the name of some qual-
ity which certain things may possess does not as such
explain how requircdness is related to mere facts. This is
true whatever adjective or noun might be chosen instead
of pleasantness. One may assume, however, that implicitly
the term has some further connotation because of which
it is mentioned in this connection. Such a hidden meaning
becomes indeed more apparent if pleasantness is translated
as "attractiveness." In fact, if a dynamic trait is inherent
in those things which are pleasant or unpleasant then we
seem to have made some progress. More particularly such
a trait might be attributed to either of two entities, the
object in question which would attract or repel the sub-
ject, or the subject which would strive toward or away
from the object. The first case would represent a remark-
able phenomenon. According to a wide-spread opinion the
objective side of our experience is strictly passive and can
only appear as active, if some "pathetic fallacy" is in-
volved. We shall come back to this problem. For the
THEORIES OF VALUE 61
moment it will be advisable to search for the interpreta-
tion of value on less debated ground. If, on the othei
hand, the meaning should be that we strive towards
certain things which are called pleasant and turn away
from others called unpleasant, then we are very near a
subjectivistic theory of value which demands immediate
attention. The outline of it became first visible when the
"habit-theory** of value was discussed. It should be clear,
however, that even with this dynamic inter pi etation such
a term as "pleasant" would still point to a very special
example. Not pleasantness but striving would have to be
the essential condition of all those instances in which
requircdness occurs; for we strive toward many things,
and only a few of them may properly be called pleasant.
Strictly negativistic theories, the authors of which refuse
to acknowledge rcquiredness as one essential side of our
experience, should be clearly distinguished from other
explanations in which "directed attitudes" are recognized
expressly as a central part of mental life and taken to be
the basis of requiredness People like or dislike things,
they seek some and avoid others. To the contrast between
"ought to be" and "ought not to be" there corresponds
the antithesis of such verbs as point to opposite tendencies
in human striving. All striving has an objective counter-
part. According to the nature of the attitude this counter-
part is called a demanded or a rejected thing. Striving is
perhaps too special a term for all those directed attitudes
which make a thing required or the opposite. Professor
Perry, the outstanding representative of this theory among
the moderns, takes "interest" as a term the meaning of
which might easily become sufficiently general to include
all special cases. Whatever the term, however, we are here
obviously on firmer ground. Something "ought to be," it
62 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
"should be" from my point of view, it is "asked for" by
me. This context seems at first sight to make the meaning
of requiredness perfectly understandable. Mental life is
"hormic," as Professor McDougall would call it. Probably
for this reason the theory has appealed to several philoso-
phers. It seems so simple and natural. It was boldly
defended by Spinoza when he said: "In no case do we
strive for, wish for, long for or desire anything because we
deem it to be good, but on the other hand we deem a thing
to be good, because we strive for it, wish for it, long for
it, or desire it." 10 The same view is held by Hobbcs. In
our time, von Ehrenfels seems to adopt the same theory,
though, as Professor Perry remarks, in his case as in others
there is a tendency to confuse the generic problem of value
with that of a hierarchy of particular values. From Pro-
fessor Perry we have the statements: "That which is an
object of interest is eo ipso invested with value," and also
"an object is valuable when qualified by an act of interest,"
i.e., in the experience of value the relation ot an object
to interest "assumes the role of adjective." In a simple
formula: "x is valuable interest is taken in x." n
This view again has often been criticized. On the other
hand, there is something in it which makes us feel that
at last we are in direct contact with our subject-matter,
that we are not trying any more to put something else in
its place. Just how the introduction of interest or striving
could produce this feeling of relief, why the contrast be-
tween mere facts and requiredness seems less disturbing
now, these are questions which we shall attempt to answer
next.
1 hthics, Part III, Piop 9 (Tiansl by R H M Elwcs, 1901)
a General Theoiy of Value, p 115 f W. McDougall, 1 suppose, would
appiovc of Pciry's statements
CHAPTER III
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS
I
IN Professor Perry's theory of value the essential con-
cept of interest seems intimately connected with biological
considerations. Interest, he says, is to be investigated
"upon the plane and in the context of physical nature,"
because the limitations of introspection have been "most
flagrant ... in that department of human nature with
which theory of value is primarily concerned." When
trying to define "interest" we have to use terms like "cona-
tion," "tendency," "striving." If again their meaning is to
be clarified we naturally and unavoidably fall back upon
"the action of the physical organism." 1 In this point I can-
not follow Professor Perry. One reason is that here we
have before us one of the major and most difficult problems
of natural philosophy. Assuming that his theory really
moves on biological ground, is it advisable thus to burden
the foundation of a general theory of value with assump-
tions about interest as a property of physical systems?
I do not think so. Precisely because such hypotheses will
be discussed later I shall try to keep the treatment of
requiredness as such independent of them. A second reason
is that one may doubt whether Professor Perry's theory
really uses biological concepts, whether, as a matter of
fact, his arguments do not belong in another sphere.
i General Theory of Value, pp. 141-144.
63
64 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
It may be essential for philosophical method that we see
our way clear with respect to this.
Animals, so Professoi Perry says in explaining his bio-
logical theory, periorm adaptive acts "in the expectation
of ... consequences/' "Owing to the capacity ot memory,
life is circumspect and p)ophetic." The animal "acts not
because of what is or has been, merely, but because of
what he anticipates." His attitude is one of feai or hope
"of something, which something is not upon the plane
of past or present physical existence as ordinarily
conceived." 2
I agree with Professor Perry when he holds the view
that psychology should proceed in conjunction with
biological research. I doubt, however, whether at the
present time there is any strictly biological evidence for
his statements as just reported. Let us take an example:
All valuable accounts of conation "appear to incorporate
something of the action of the physical organism." A This
statement may refer to the body of a subject who is trying
to characterize his own conation or, also, to the case in
which the behavior of others is characterized by conation.
I assume that all biological statements refer to the organs
of certain physical systems, the organisms, and to the phys-
ical operations of these organs, even if the organism "as
a whole" is functioning. If this is accepted, no strictly
biological observation has, as yet, discovered anything like
conation. Biological science as such has only found what,
under given conditions, actually happens in several parts
of the organism. Muscles contract, action potentials travel
along nerve paths, glands secrete; but in biological obser-
vation as such there never occurs any tendency or any
2 Ibid , pp 177-178.
3 Ibid , p. 144.
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 65
striving, nothing prophetic and no anticipation, quite as
little, indeed, as in any observation of the physicist.
It might be objected that in action we have, for instance,
a feeling of "effort' ' in our muscles. But this is an ambigu-
ous statement. We do not feel efforts in our muscles as
physical organs. Just as a star as an object of astronomical
research is not a visual object, just as in this case the visual
object has to be clearly distinguished from the astronom-
ical object, so the phenomenal body as a percept is to be
distinguished from the physical organism. The phenomenal
body has parts, e. g., arms and legs, which are given visually
and otherwise; in action it undergoes a great many
changes, such as those "efforts" which are localized in
(phenomenal) arms, legs and so on. We are aware of
these phenomena, and perhaps much of conation may be
characteri/ed as definite states in such parts ot the (phe-
nomenal) bodily selt. It is clear, however, that in this
case we are not making use of biological evidence. We
aie rather dealing with purely phenomenal data.
Again it might be objected that very often animals
"look" their expectation, their conation, striving and so
on. This is doubtless true as a description of those per-
cepts which we call higher animals. 1 As soon, however, as
we apply to the corresponding physical objects the methods
of natural science, e. g., of biology, nothing of these aspects
is left. We still find that the physical systems in question
move in the presence of certain environmental objects.
But it we should say that they move "in order" to reach
such objects or to get away from them, that they anticipate
future events, our expressions would have left the field
of evidence to which pure biology is as yet confined. It
would be an interpretation, and certainly not an interpre-
4 Cf the wiilci's Geilalt Psychology, ch. 7.
66 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
tation on the basis of natural science. Why in an animal
as a percept, i. e., in the phenomenal realm, there should
be conation and striving, whereas the methods of natural
science when applied to the corresponding organism do
not yield anything of the kind, is a moot question. But we
have to admit the difference as it is. It may be plausible
that, if we could share the animal's immediate experience,
we should find in it striving and conation, however local-
ized in his phenomenal w r orld; but this is not a thing
biologists are able to do. If they were, they would make
simple phenomenological statements instead of those
observations which belong to natural science. One cannot
argue that the term "biology" should not be too naiiowly
conceived, that biology, too, could make use ot all vari-
eties of percepts and phenomena. This is not the point we
are discussing. Our question is whether, in characterizing
conation or interest, we can achieve more by adding spe-
cifically biological evidence to psychological observation
in all its forms and made by any kind of people. The
answer is: No; because biology proper keeps "upon the
plane and in the context oi physical nature," and because
in this context no data ot conation have ever been found/'
The shortcomings of technical introspection in psy-
s In this discussion 1 have distinguished betueen pciccpts as parts of
the phenomenal woild and physical icahties in the physical cnvnonmcnt
which coi respond to them. I know that in some forms ot modem Realism
this distinction is not accepted In 0111 connection, however, the point
cannot be laised We aie asked to apply the concepts of biology. And if
there is overwhelming evidence foi anything in biology, it is precisely
this: that percepts aie based upon piocesses inside the otganism. How
then are they to be identified with pails of the physical environment?
We do not identify the sun with a chemical reaction which its rays
produce in some sensitive chemical mateiial alter travelling eight
minutes through astronomical space. According to biology the percept
"sun" is functionally no less distant from the physical sun than is the
chemical reaction. (C/. also ch. 4, pp. 109 ff)
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 67
chology have made Professor Perry reluctant to apply this
method in his characterization of interest. I sympathize
with his attitude in so far as artificial and prejudiced analysis
of immediate phenomena is concerned. But why should
simple and unsophisticated I might say: macroscopic-
awareness of conation and striving be condemned? It
cannot he futile and worthless; because, without any ex-
ception, whatever Professor Perry himself brings forward
in his excellent characterization of such concepts is based
on precisely such immediate awareness taken naturally and
at its face value. Contrary to his belief, what we call
biology could not have given him any help in his endeavor,
and what he did achieve was based on sound description
of phenomenal facts. Biological observations in the cus-
tomary sense did not contribute to his psychological
analysis; but perhaps biology will in the iuture profit by
his phenomenological insight.
Under these circumstances it will be advisable to do
frankly and explicitly, even against the fashion of the day,
what we must do perforce. Biology with its explanations
will come into the picture later on. But the theory of
value in general, of value generically, has to use the phe-
nomenological method. There is, in fact, no other method
since rcquiredncss or interest does not as yet occur among
the data of any science of natiue. All these data seem for-
eign to our subject matter. If we were to attempt to make
use of them at the outset we should speedily find ourselves
lost.
At the present time the ideas of modern Positivism are be-
ginning to unite with those of Behaviorism. In this process
Behaviorism seems to gain new loicc. Phenomenal data, so
the Positivist tells us, aie evidently the primary material from
which all scientific enterprise starts. But by no means, he
68 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
adds, is the interest of the scientist concentrated upon them.
We live among them, we know them, and poets who, with
philosophers, seem to be regarded as an inferior branch of
mankind dwell permanently in their midst. But science does
not wish to experience and to know, it wishes to explain. And
explanation is the building of constructs. There we are*
Phenomenal data do not occupy real science. Behaviorism was
right after all.
It may be granted at once that the final aim of science, in-
cluding psychology, is explanation. It cannot be admitted,
however, that for this reason psychologists should not be in-
terested in phenomenal data. It seems natural to acquire at
least some knowledge of those data which we intend to ex-
plain, which our constructs are expected to fit, before we
begin the construction. Otherwise, why should the constructs
fit? And it is not true that we know those data sufficiently.
If I were a Positivist I should, for this reason, insist upon
phenomenology as the genuine basis of all explanatory con-
struction.
This statement, however, has to be qualified: For our pur-
poses phenomenology is not to be restricted to the realm of
logic and of timeless entities. If, furthermore, some exponents
of phenomenology tend, by their work, to make us believe
that their occupation is necessarily sterile, this is their fault,
not that of the procedure as such. Even more important, the
very vaguest speculation has sometimes found a shelter under
the roof of phenomenology. With such aberrations we cannot
wish to have any connection.
Phenomenological description is still apt to be misun-
derstood almost at every step. One reason for it is that in
phenomenology, if it does not wish to introduce a com-
pletely new language, many terms have to be used which,
in explanatory science, are often employed in a different
sense. In order to avoid such wrong interpretations I shall
make a few statements about the phenomenal field in
which the connotation of the most necessary terms will
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 69
become apparent. I do it as the risk ot repeating what has
been said before.
Phenomenally, the bodily 'self 7 is not a physical entity
outside immediate experience as is the physical organism;
it is, rather, a percept of which we are aware, enriched by
changing moods, attitudes, efforts and activities. Similarly
'objects' in this discipline are phenomenal things, for in-
stance percepts. (Images, concepts, and the like, are also
called 'objects/ and not without justification.) Percepts are,
of course, not ghosts belonging somehow to the phenom-
enal 'self.' Those, at least, which we call 'things' look, in
geneial, most 'leal,' 'independent,' 'permanent' and 'sub-
stantial'; they often leel 'heavy' and as a rule 'resistant.'
All this implies in no sense a contradiction of their nature
as phenomenal things. Their place is not in the 'self-
why should these percepts be localized inside another
particular percept?, but in other parts ot phenomenal
'space,' near or far as the case may be. In this world which
is that of naive everyday lite, certain parts, events and
properties belong phenomenally to the 'self,' others be-
long to 'objects' or, more generally speaking, to the phe-
nomenal environment of the 'self.' The former have the
character of 'subjectivity' which, in this sense, is only
another name for the fact that they appear and are counted
as parts or states of the 'self; the latter have, in most cases,
the character of 'objectivity.'
It is most essential for phenomenological statements that
o Cf GestaU Psychology, ch. i and 7
7 The ambiguity of such tcims as self, objective, subjective, real, seems
to me so dangcious that in the next paiagiaphs I shall mention them
as 'self,' etc. whenever they icfcr to phenomenal data. To continue the
same pioccduie thioughout \\ould be too cumbeisome I shall, how-
ever, return to it where a clear distinction between the phenomenal and
other meanings of concepts is particularly difficult and at the same time
most impoi taut.
70 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
they never be confused with hypotheses or even with
knowledge about the functional genesis of phenomenal
data. 8 Where a thing has come from, to what its existence
or that of its properties is due, is a valid question, but
for the most part not a question for phenomenology.
What properties the thing actually has this is the question
of phenomenology. Personally but this goes beyond phe-
nomenologyI share the opinion of those who contend
that all phenomena without any exception are the cor-
relates of somatic processes in the nervous system. To
this extent they are, all of them, genetically subjective,
whether phenomenally they have the character of 'sub-
jectivity' or whatever their degree of phenomenal 'ob-
jectivity* may be. In this other sense, however, subjectivity
means dependence on the physical organism and its func-
tions; it does not mean dependence on the phenomenal
'self or belonging to this 'self/ In our present terminology
the 'self is, at any moment, one special complex of phe-
nomena, surrounded by others. Genetically or function-
ally it depends upon a special complex of processes in the
brain. 9
It is quite as important to realize that the meaning of
'objective' in the phenomenal field has no direct connec-
tion with physical existence outside the physical organism.
We tend to call such properties of our phenomenal en-
vironment objective as have a counterpart in the physical
environment of the organism. But the green color of a
leaf is phenomenally 'objective/ even if we decide that
no colors whatever occur in the physical world. For black
s To be sure, the inductive proccduie of science with all its hypotheses
and constructions is a subject-matter of phenomenology This docs not
mean, however, that the content of such assumptions should be mixed
\\ith purely phenomenological propositions.
Cf ch. 4, p 129
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 71
there is not even a direct stimulus, and still it is phenom-
enally 'objective* as the property of certain surfaces. So far
as we know there are no particular connecting physical
forces between just those stars which, as a phenomenal
group, are called the Dipper. Still, this group-unit as seg-
regated from other stars is 'objectively 1 there in the phe-
nomenal 'sky/
It is even more essential while more difficult and less
customary to discard in phenomenology all notions of
direct or indirect origin from those of 'subjectivity* and
'objectivity.' It may be that we learn to localize in 'objects'
certain properties which, originally, were not inherent in
them. Perhaps in some such cases the origin of those
properties has been the 'self with its wealth of traits and
events. If now, in adult life, such properties are localized
in 'objects' and share their phenomenal 'objectivity,' this
is a phenomenal tact which is not altered in the least by the
theory or perhaps even the full knowledge that previously
they were not thcie at all. Possibly in earliest infancy the
boundary between an 'objective' and a 'subjective' part of
the held was, phenomenally, quite different from what it
is in adult phenomenology. This, however, does not change
the boundary as it now is. No explanation can change a
phenomenon 01 its location
10 It is not )ct cuslomaiy to distinguish clcail) among the dilTeient
meanings of such tcnns as objective, subjective, sclt, etc. Undei these
ciicumstanccs it seemed to me advisable to diaw in tins chaptei a sharp
dividing hue between concepts which refei to the physical woild and
othcis which apply in the phenomenal realm In this lespect, 1 believe,
"phenomena ot tianscendence" lead to a certain complication A lew
of them will be discussed in other chapteis. If I were to do it here the
icadei might easily become confused.
72 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
II
I return to our main problem, which is the generic prob-
lem of value as such. The subjectivistic theory of required-
ness seems to resolve the paradoxical aspect ol this notion.
Apparently the mere introduction of human interest, striv-
ing, conation achieves the solution of the problem. We
have the impression moreover that the problem is, in
this way, not merely solved, but rather transformed into
something obvious; because striving and interest them-
selves are matters of everyday experience. It is precisely
this aspect of the theory \\hich may arouse one's caution.
Too frequently just the apparently obvious contains, and
most successfully hides, certain essential traits which de-
serve all our attention. I shall try to show that this applies
to the present case.
What was paradoxical in rcquiredness? It appeared par-
adoxical so long as we said: Facts are or liafrpen indiffer-
ently. There is no requiredncss about them. Consequently
there is no place for rcquiredness in a world of facts.
How, then, is this situation changed when rcquiredriess
is brought into connection with interest? The subjectivistic
theory makes us see that we were too hasty in our char-
acterization of facts. Not all of them are or occur indif-
feiently. In the very nature of some facts there is, as a
constitutional trait, a quality of acceptance 01 rejection
of something beyond. Human interest, striving, conation
are all of this kind. It belongs to their character that they
point or refer to other facts. Arid this reference to other
facts is far from neutral. They are very partial, they are
selective with regard to other facts to which they refer.
As soon as we make these properties of interest more ex-
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 73
plicit all apparent commonplaceness disappears from the
subjectivistic theory of requircdness.
The first point, it is true, is still simple enough and
not a novelty; some contents of the phenomenal held have
a direction or directedness, others not. A coin before me
does not point toward something, an interest does. Be-
cause of this property we shall borrow a term from math-
ematics and physics and call interest a vector. 11
With the second point we approach an essential side of
our problem which is usually well hidden under the dis-
guise of obviousness and commonplace speech. Interest
as a vector is experienced as issuing from a definite part of
the field. It it is 'my* interest, it issues from that particular
item in the field which I call 'myself -not from a pencil
to the left, not from a sheet of paper to the right. Why
repeat what eveiybody knows and what our language im-
plies? We do so because we arc dealing with one of those
cases in which experience does contain not merely an
isolated fact here and an isolated fact there, but also the
fact of their belonging togetlier. This is the phenomenal
aspect which practically is more implicit than explicit
when we say: "I am interested in," or when we speak of
"my interest." There are other such expeiiences of belong-
ing together, many of which have been dealt with by
Gestalt psychologists. 12 This particular one, however, in
which a vector is experienced as issuing horn a definite
part of the field has a special relevance in our present
discussion.
11 K. Lcwin and his students frequently use the term in then
investigations.
!2 Cf. Weithcimei's aiticle in Psycliol Forsch j t 1923, the wiitci's
repot t in Psychologies of Jf}2^ and Psychologic* of iftfo (cd by Muichi-
son), Gestalt Psychology, th 5 and 6, and Kollka's Principles of Gestalt
Psychology 1935.
74 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
A third point is no less implied in common language
than the second, but is in the same manner hidden by
the smooth cloak of everyday speech rather than really
accentuated. The subjcctivistic theory of requiredness
often refers to objects as causing or releasing a human
interest. This is one aspect of the role which objects of
all kinds play in subjective valuation. Another aspect is
that interest or striving is dnected toward the phenomenal
object in question. Not all causes have such effects. liut
it is this effect in our case which, implicit in common
speech, has to be made explicit. Interest is not only ex-
perienced as issuing from a particular part of the phe-
nomenal field. It is also experienced as referring to an-
other and, in most cases, a very definite part of the same
field. Here, then, we have a vector which, with two parts
of the field, forms an experiential unit, a specific context. 13
The three belong together in experience; one part is the
point of issue of the vector, the vector tianscends into the
objective region of the field, and the last part serves as
target or mark for the vector. In this case at least Hume's
bundle-description of the phenomenal field is utterly in-
adequate, because definite organization is here a concrete
trait in the field itself. There is in actual experience no
more doubt about the point toward which interest is
directed than about the point from which it issues. 14
Innumerable times in philosophy and psychology some
such expression has been used as: "something is the object
of an interest/ 1 But few seem to realize that the full mean-
ing of such simple terms is sufficient for a refutation ol
is I know of no English word that would correctly render the meaning
of the German "Zusammcnhang." In this predicament 1 have decided to
use the word "context" as a substitute For the purpose of this book it
will pcihaps acquire the connotation which is implied in the text
i* Cf desalt Psychology, ch. 10
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 75
Hume's atomistic psychology. We ate aware of definite
and very concretely organized dynamic contexts. There
are not separately: a self, an interest and many tilings in
the field, but, surrounded by many other items, a-sclf-
intcrested-in-one-definite-thing.
Under these circumstances it is not very important whether
we say that an interest is directed from the self to the object
or, perhaps better, that in the form of an interest the self is
directed toward the object.
In such organization, as we all know, the vector of in-
terest may be qualified in a great many different ways. It
may have the quality of hatred, of fear, of contempt, of
approval, of love, and so on All, however, have this in
common, that by such vectors the self either accepts or
rejects the corresponding objects. 15 It is this trait of
interest-situations with its two possibilities which gives the
subjectivistic theory of value its plausibility. It docs not,
however, make requiredness a commonplace matter. That
one part of the field should be directly experienced as
accepting or rejecting a definite other part of the field-
thus formulated and deprived of the staleness of everyday
speech the statement contains a most remarkable fact.
Where all this leads to will soon become apparent when
we discuss a last point. Professor Perry states that "any
object acquires value when an interest is taken in it," or
also "that which is an object of interest is eo ipso invested
with value." 16 I do not see quite clearly whether or not a
new property is thus attributed to the object when it
becomes an object of interest. In general Professor Perry's
Jf'Foi bievity's sake I use these terms in a general sense so that, for
instance, in icai the negative chaiactci of this paiticular attitude would
fall under the term rejection.
13 Ibid , pp. 115, 116.
76 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
remarks point to the interpretation that he regards ob-
jectivistic terms like value and valuable as mere forms of
speech the true meaning of which is not different from
"interest is taken in something." 17
We should not lose sight of the fact that some philoso-
phers have never been satisfied by theories which localize
all value in the self One reason for it may be that, besides
those meanings which I have mentioned, the unfortunate
word "objective" has still a third connotation in which it
is neaily equualcnt to "valid." Convinced that ethics
should be a system of strictly valid rules these theorists
would prefer an objectivistic interpretation of value since
"objective" means "outside of us," "independent" and
"valid" all at the same time. What is objective phenom-
enally exhibits, indeed, more steadiness on the average
than does the everchanging stream of our subjective lite.
Besides there seems to be less variability among the ob-
jective fields of different people than among their sub-
jective interests and tendencies I doubt, however, whether
this is the only motive of those who insist upon an ob-
jectivistic theory of requiredness. Where in the history
of philosophy one tendency of thought is never totally
subdued, however excellent the arguments of the oppo-
nents, there is some suspicion that both parties look upon
different sides of the phenomenological subject-matter, and
that they are both right within limits. Kven errors have
often some basis in the phenomenal material, so that they
17 This at least would follow from the thesis that "value is a specific
relation into which things . . may cntei with interested subjects" 01 that
"iclation to intciest assumes the role of adjective" If a stone becomes
warm when exposed to intense sunlight, its warmth is not, piopeily
speaking, a relation between the sun and the stone The piohlctn bcfoic
us is \\hcthcr the inteiest changes its object as the sunlight changes the
properties of the stone (Cf also General Theory of Value pp. 28-34.)
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 77
are not totally wrong. In our case the objectivists are so
insistent that it would not be prudent to ignore their
claims altogether.
The same warning may be found in the fact that almost
all naive people would be most indignant if we were to
tell them that their interested attitudes contain all the
values which they ran find in the world, and that they are
deceived when they believe that on the contrary objective
values make them assume these attitudes. Charm is a
special value-quality; so is loveliness and womanliness.
Tell an unsophisticated young man who is very much in
love that the object of the case has only neutral properties,
and that to speak about her charm is just a synonym for
the fact that he is in love. You will hear what he answers.
Again, if you make the corresponding observation to a
belligerent reactionary who declares that socialism and so-
cialists aie bad, he will emphatically lefuse to accept the
theory that without his hostile interest a socialist is a neu-
tral object. No, he would say, these people themselves are
bad. I may go farther and say that we find the same ob-
jcctivistic conviction everywhere and exemplified in all
possible varieties of value. This observation at least raises
the question why, il the contraiy is true, practically all
mankind should not be able to see this simple truth, why
they should hold precisely the opposite view, namely that
the diverse forms of value are inherent in the objects. 18
It seems to me, by the way, that such apparent objectivity
18 That the }<>un man may he completely alone in his conviction
about cliaim in his object is, of course, not to the point at all Whether
this com i etc example ot value is in his field a piopeity ol this object 01
not, is the only point we have to discuss here And the same applies
to the othei example Once inoic objectivity as heie in question is not
geneiahty 01 ^eneial validity. Resides, I lepeat, it docs not mean physical
existence cithci.
78 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
of values is of the very greatest practical importance. It
would be ever so much easier to convince somebody that
he is on the wrong track, if he could realize that value is
equivalent to valuing, i. e., only an act of his own. But
often he will be much too excited for such a conversion
because the bad or the great, the mean or the noble, are
so clearly before his eyes. And now you, his opponent,
pretend that you cannot see what is so obviously there.
How blind or stubborn you must be! Is not this our ex-
perience almost daily, for instance, in political discussion?
Personally I understand this objectivistic attitude of the
layman very well because I find myself exactly in his posi-
tion. That face looks mean and I abhor it. Dignity I hcai
in those words which I have just heard Mr X. speaking
and I respect him. Her gait is clumsy and I prefer to
look away. Everywhere value-qualities are found residing
in such objects as characteristics of them.
If this is true, there are, it seems, three possible inter-
pretations: Just as objects are round or tall, events slow
or sudden, so some have charm, some arc ugly by them-
selves, independently. In this case the subjectivistic theory
of value would appear to be at least incomplete. Again,
if and in so far as interest of any kind is taken in an object,
it acquires new concrete qualities, viz., value-qualities.
This might mean an amplification or completion ot the
subjectivistic theory. And thirdly: Besides the scli and its
interests, other factors in a field could perhaps, also by a
vectorial influence of some kind, create value-properties
in certain objects. In this case, as in the first, the subjecti-
vistic theory of value would be revealed as one-sided.
As to the first possibility I do not see any reason why
such "tertiary qualities" should not occur on the objective
side of the phenomenal field. Most arguments which have
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 79
been brought forward against their truly perceptual exist-
ence seem to be influenced by the ineradicable tendency
which we have to take percepts as pictures of physical
realities, if not as somehow identical with them. But no
physical sequence of tones has the ''minors-quality. Still,
"minor" is an objective property of certain objective au-
ditory events. That the basis of all argument about such
questions has been essentially changed by von Ehrenfels
and by Gestalt psychology is sufficiently known at present.
Therefore I may refer to the literature for more detail.
This does not mean, however, that, admitting such (inde-
pendent) tertiary value-qualities, we should sacrifice the
subjcctivistic theory altogether. It may still be right within
certain limits.
The third possibility seems altogether strange at first.
It will nevertheless occupy us later. As to the second in-
terpretation it is the path which the subjectivistic theory
should follow if, confronted with ample evidence of ob-
jective value-attributes, it wishes to preserve its own char-
acter. These, the theory would have to say, are products of
our acts of interest. And doubtless there are such cases.
F.ven to be a goal in general seems to give a thing a new
flavor. Not only is it the end, the terminating part of a
circumscribed context, comparable to the edge-quality
which a line assumes when a closed figure stands out
from the ground. It also begins to dominate in the
objective region of the field, to become its center, how-
ever unimportant, visually for instance, it would be other-
wise. There are cases in which this goal-quality may sur-
vive the most radical changes of the object. In dreams it
frequently happens that we find ourselves in pursuit of
a goal which gradually becomes so remote and unclear
that finally not even a shadow of an object-image remains.
80 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
In this case the object is nothing more than a mere some-
thing; and still it may have goal-quality.
To be more specific and perhaps more convincing:
After many hours on skis in a sharp frost we come home,
and before us there is brown, hot, fat meat just brought
in from the kitchen. Can anything look more appetizing
than this meat? This is when we are hungry. A short time
afterwards we have eaten too much and too hastily it
may be difficult for us even to stay near by when precisely
the same kind of meat is put upon the table for late-comers.
It does not look neutral now, it looks decidedly repulsive.
And have we not enough witnesses among the literary
libertines of all ages who describe the terrible change
which after a conquest transforms charm into something
quite neutral, if not slightly unpleasant. In both examples,
when the interest changes with satiety, the aspect of the
object changes as though from one end of a scale to its
zero-point and beyond.
So far we are in agreement with Professor Perry. "That
feeling/' he says, ''does somehow color its object is an
undeniable fact of experience, and a fact recogni/ed by
common speech in so far as all of the familiar feelings
assume the form of adjectives." 19 But he is not inclined
to accept this objective aspect of interest as genuine: We
cannot possibly localize the red of an object in our self;
this is therefore a truly objective quality. The "tertiary
qualities" on the other hand yield, he believes, to an effort
of attention. When we try hard enough we find them sep-
arating from the object and tending to unite with the self. 20
I am afraid that with this argument we approach the
procedure of Introspectionism. To the Introspectionist
Ibid , p 31.
20 Ibid t p 32.
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 81
certain phenomena appear as surprising and therefore sus-
pect. In such cases he asks attention to help him find the
real sensations. Perhaps attention is successful, in so far as
the disturbing fact disappears. Supposing that the change
be in the direction of a more customary phenomenon, the
Introspectionist will now say that he has found the real
fact. More and more psychologists are becoming convinced
that they arc not entitled to apply this procedure. If, in an
analytical attitude, I find an overtone in a clang which
before was phenomenally a completely unitary sound,
then my analysis has not corrected an error, an illusion;
it has changed one genuine phenomenon into another.
Again, if I direct my attention upon some happy feeling
in order to find out what it is really like, the chances are
that I shall destroy the feeling. All "tertiary qualities,'* too,
may be treated in this way and some of them thus changed
or destroyed. But it does not follow that their previous
existence was in any sense illusory. That some qualities,
c. g., colors, will often show more resistance than many
"tertiary qualities" docs not decide the point. A bar of
steel is not destroyed when we beat it with a hammer,
china is. Still china is as real as steel. We might in fact
almost deduce from the theory the consequence that such
"tertiary qualities" should change or disappear, if we look
upon them long enough with the cold scrutiny of scientific
analysis. Supposedly they are the objective-looking cor-
relates of definite interest-attitudes. Instead of these we
introduce the attitude of sober analysis. From the stand-
point of the theory it would be surprising if they should
remain unaltered under these circumstances. 21
21 In its general form the argument against the "attention-test" applies
also, if, as I believe, many value-qualities aie not due to subjective inter-
ests, but are inherent in phenomenal objects independently.
82 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
But, in this last argument, I may be misrepresenting the
theory. "It seems necessary," Professor Perry says, "at
some point to admit that the qualities of feeling may be
referred where they do not belong." 22 From the point of
view of phenomenology I cannot agree. Qualities belong
where we find them. And no explanation or theory can
convince us that they were not where we found them,
even if it should prove possible to shift them to another
place under changed conditions of subjective attitude.
The question of their origin is not the question of their
present location. The main point, however, is that ac-
cording to this theory the "tertiary qualities" are said
to be misplaced facts of subjective interest. If this were
correct, there should be agreement between the "tertiaiy
qualities" and the qualities of those interests which are
directed towards the objects in question. That this should
be the case in general I find it hard to admit. The charm,
womanliness and loveliness which may be found in certain
objects are qualitatively altogether different from the
present striving of the (male) self, but also from all other
interests or conations which he may have at other times.
If a face looks brutally stupid, this would be a "tertiary
quality" of the negative kind. Certainly the contempt and
aversion with which I look upon that face do not show
much similarity to this value-quality. Finally may we take
a case where the "tertiary quality" is undoubtedly a prod-
uct of the interest: The goal-character of any object of
positive striving is not similar to the striving itself. There-
fore it cannot be interpreted as misplaced striving.
We had to interrupt our analysis of subjective valuation
in order to consider the objective side of the situation.
We had previously come to the conclusion that in sub-
p. 31.
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 83
jective requiredness one part of the field, the self, is felt
as accepting or rejecting a definite other part of the field,
the object. There is a question whether sometimes the
object may not have value-qualities in its own right. But
there is no question that in general it acquires certain new
traits in so far as it is the target of those vectors. To sum-
marize:
Subjective valuation represents a special form of organi-
zation in which a vector issuing from one part of the field
is felt to accept or to reject another part. Under its influ-
ence this second part of the field acquires value-properties
of an objective character.
In this formulation I have not explicitly mentioned the
self as being the source of the vector. The general aspect
of the theoretical situation becomes and remains more
striking, if we do not mention it specifically. As soon as we
specify it, the situation tends to slip back into that atmo-
sphere of staleness and triviality in which the most essen-
tial problems of philosophy and psychology are so easily
hidden.
Against the subjectivistic theory the criticism has been
raised by Professor Urban that it is circular, as all other
forms of relational theory of value are. 23 It describes what
happens in value-situations but does not give a definition
of value; it actually presupposes the existence of value. It
seems to me that the task of a theory of value does not
necessarily consist in the reduction of requiredness to
something else. In this sense, I think, a definition of value
would be impossible. The only thing we can do is to bring
into full view the characteiistics of a value-situation. When
these have been uncovered it becomes possible to see them
in their relation to other phenomena, and thus to include
23/emrn. of Philos., Psychol. and Scient. Meth., /$. 1916.
84 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
the concept of requiredness in a larger theoretical struc-
ture. An attempt toward the achievement of such a larger
view will be our next goal.
Whether a consistent system of ethics can be founded on
a purely subjectivistic interpretation of value is not a question
which we are prepared to answer here. And it need not be
treated so long as there are serious doubts as to whether sub-
jective requiredness is the only requiredness existing. But
even the nature of merely subjective valuation proves that it
is utterly misleading to say: facts simply are or happen This
statement applies only to those indifferent facts which fill the
mental visual field of many scientists since the time of Hume
and the development of Positivism within the sciences. Vec-
tors which, issuing in definite contexts, are experienced as re-
sisting or as welcoming certain parts of a field are no less
genuine facts than are those indifferent events.
Ill
The attempt has been made by some philosophers to
objectify the relational theory ol value. If the universe
were the context within which value is determined, sub-
jective valuation would become an unimportant matter.
But how does the universe determine values? We know
so little about the universe and nothing about its de-
mands. I am afraid that, together with subjectivity, any
definite basis for a theory of requiredness would be elimi-
nated in such an attempt.
There is, however, another way of escaping a certain
limitation of the theory that all requiredness is centered in
the self.
In Gestalt psychology we distinguish three major traits
which are conspicuous in all cases of specific organization
or gestalt. Phenomenally the world is neither an indifferent
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 85
mosaic nor an indifferent continuum. It exhibits definite
segregated units or contexts in all degrees of complexity,
articulation and clearness. 24 Secondly such units show
properties belonging to them as contexts or systems. Again
the parts of such units or contexts exhibit dependent
properties in the sense that, given the place of a part in
the context, its dependent properties are determined by
this position.
May I use an old example once more: A melody is such
a context. If it is in 0-minor, for instance, mirtor is a
property belonging to the system, not to any note as such.
In this system the note a has the dependent trait of being
the tonic with its static quality.
Let us compare this with subjective requiredness as it
appears when the cover of everyday-staleness is lifted.
There is a definite context, comprising definite items in
the field which are experienced as belonging to the con-
text. There is secondly the vector which characterizes
this context as a system-property of it; striving does not
occur by itself. There is, thirdly, the goal-quality and
often other "tertiary qualities" in the object which are
due to its place in the context.
We can analyze the melody, but not in independent
parts. That would be destruction of the melody. Its minor-
character for instance would be lost. We can analyze the
situation of subjective requiredness, but again not in in-
dependent parts, all taken by themselves. The vector and
requiredness -cannot exist alone any more than a fish can
live out of water. Again, the object loses "tertiary quali-
ties" when the context dissolves.
24 That segregation of such units is not absolute, that it only makes
them comparatively independent parts of laigei contexts need hardly be
emphasized.
86 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
This is agreement in all essentials. Thus, value-
situations fall under the category of gestalt. This permits
us to hazard one more step forward.
If those cases in which the vector issues from the self are
special examples of gestalt, is there any reason a priori
why the self should always play this role? Why should
other contexts not exhibit similar vectors and conse-
quently also requiredness? No speculation can answer this
question. It is a question of facts and of phenomenological
observation. Therefore, instead of selecting the universe
as a context in which requiredness might be determined,
let us turn again to concrete and circumscribed contexts.
Are there any whose general structure is congruous with
the structure of subjective requiredness, but whose vectors
do not issue from the self?
Once more let us remind ourselves that the self is not
the physical organism, just as objects in our present con-
nection are not physical objects. And in particular let us
note that other persons are, for our present purposes, not
other physical organisms but percepts, most lively phe-
nomenal objects. To these refers our next phenomeno-
logical question: Does the self always play the dominant
role in our phenomenal field? Undoubtedly it does not.
Sometimes those other objects called other people may be
much more active and important in the field than we are.
Is there anyone who has never felt small and unimportant
in the presence of others whom we call powerful personali-
ties? Who has never wished to be led by another when
he was at a loss what to do and saw the assured manner of
the other? How many professors, actors and singers have
survived their first public appearance without having felt
the audience before them as something much more power-
ful than themselves? When, at the writing desk, we con-
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 87
sider the phenomenal world there is a tendency to choose
as objective partners of our self this desk, our books and
the writing paper, perhaps in imagination some other
quiet things. In this case, it is true, the self is often the
dominating part ot the field. But is it always?
In some philosophical systems, of course, we hear about the
"epistemological subject" who seems to be responsible for the
existence of all objects whatsoever including other persons.
Phenomenally there is no such entity since the phenomenal
self is decidedly not felt to be responsible for the existence of
its objects. That other subject is a construct. When we hear
about its functions we soon begin to wonder how different it
really is from another construct, namely, the physical organ-
ism. In any case, as a construct it must remain outside our
discussion.
But other persons are not only often more important
in the phenomenal field than the self. Quite as often it is
not the self from which vectors reach out towards other
parts of the field, for instance, other people. These per-
sons, on the contrary, reach towards us with their de-
mands in many cases. The police officer makes me stop
at a crossing by a sign of his hand, and I obey. Somewhere
on the street a poor victim of the depression extends his
hand towards the self which finds it hard to resist the de-
mand. During a party, in lively conversation, we suddenly
feel that something is wrong; the others have become
silent, eyes stare at the self somebody is about to sing, and
the force of society around us makes us stop and retire
to a corner in embarrassment. Is there, phenomenally, a
vector in such situations? Is there requiredness? It cannot
well be denied. But does it issue from the self? Phenome-
nally it does not. Instead it arrives at the self which, as
far as the vector is concerned, has for once assumed the
88 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
role of the target. The vector is directed toward, not away
from it. And it is for the time being the policeman, the
beggar, the social group from which the vectors issue. As
to the rest, whatever has been said about contexts in
which the self is interested in an object remains true for
these other cases, if only in the contexts the self takes the
place of the object, and other persons, or a group of them,
take the place of the self. It will not be necessary to com-
pare details. If there is a difference, it consists in the fact
that, being a more flexible and sensitive part of the field
than any mere things, the self in such a context, under
requiredness from without, is apt to develop dependent
properties more strikingly than an objective goal will do
in the other case. Nervousness, shame, embarrassment, ex-
citement or other such qualities besides general goalness
may develop when, for instance, suddenly all other people
in the room concentrate upon the self in expectation of a
speech.
Being occupied with phenomenology we may postpone
explanations for one more moment and add another ex-
ample.
The article which X. has just published about the politi-
cal situation is really fascinating. Coming home I have
again started reading, and I read until gradually there is
a feeling of disagreeable pressure which soon develops into
my obligation to finish a certain piece of work before next
month. How could I read so long! Where in this case does
the vector issue phenomenally, in the self or in some ob-
ject? Not in the self decidedly which, at the moment, feels
hunted, driven, compelled by something else. To this ex-
tent the situation is strictly comparable to the case in
which demands of other persons are directed toward the
self. Only now it is an object of thought-character from
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 89
which the vector issues. People who have to write books,
to prepare lectures, to open letters of probably disagree-
able content, to write other letters in which they have no
interest, who hate to do all these things and still say: Too
bad, I must do it do they feel a vector extending from
their selves to those things and occupations, or do they
feel under the pressure of such tasks? There may be a
vector issuing from the self, for instance, in our examples
a vector of disgust and aversion. If there is, it becomes
only the more apparent that the other vector, the positive
demand, comes from the objective side.
It will not be advisable to describe other instances in
which the vectors in question issue from thing-percepts,
but again exert their demands on the self. Though there
are enough cases of this kind, they would not at this point
be given adequate attention. Even the examples just
described have probably strained the patience of the
reader. What are they, if not instances of the well-known
"pathetic fallacy"? It is the self which from its experience
equips policeman, beggar, social group and expecting
audience with vectors or requiring attitudes. If the subject
had not made it his task at an earlier time to write the
book, to give the lecture and so on, no demanding vector,
no requiredness could now, even apparently, be found on
the objective side of those situations or, correspondingly,
of many others.
On what basis are we so very sure about this point? One
reason may be given which makes us understand, to some
degree at least, why demanding vectors should not be
accepted as issuing from the objective side of the field,
why instead their apparent occurrence should be treated
as a special case of "pathetic fallacy." This reason is once
more the outspoken or unintentional identification of
go THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
phenomenal objects with physical realities. The influence
of natural science has accustomed us to regard physical
things as totally unable to exhibit demands. Consequently,
if percepts are either identical with physical objects or
almost copies of them, there cannot be any demands in
them either. This applies to other persons as percepts as
it applies to things. In the case of my thought-objects
there is another danger. Other people cannot see them.
They say that thoughts are "in me," that they are only
"my thoughts." I can, besides, do much about my thought-
objects whereas other people can do comparatively little
about them. The consequence is again a most unfortunate
vagueness in the use of the term self. It may be as obvious
as possible that often I look upon a thought-object as upon
something distinctly different from myself; it will still be
called "a content of my self" for such reasons. If, therefore,
phenomenally a thought-object should now and then ex-
hibit a demanding vector, could there be a stronger
temptation than that by which we are led to say: This is
still requiredness "inside the self"? Thus it would escape
our notice altogether that, with this formulation, the
strictly phenomenological ground is left, that there may be
phenomenally certain 'objects' which exist only opposite
my 'self/ but not opposite others at the same time and
similarly, and which still are not parts of the phenomenal
'self/ 25 If demands issue from them, the origin of such de-
25 At this point I cannot agree with the terminology which has been
adopted by K Lewm in several publications and by KofTka in his Prin-
ciple* of Gestalt Psychology Objects of thought-character arc certainly
functions of organic processes, but so arc all percepts If, in the second
case, we have reason to distinguish phenomenal 'objectivity' from genetic
subjectivity, the same reason applies to thought-objects, which may be
altogether 'objective' phenomenally Inconsistency hcie might easily lead
to errors in theory
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 91
mands is no less 'objective' than is that of demands which
issue from other persons or any percepts. 26
Decidedly, experience shows that sometimes vectors do
issue from other persons and from objects, such as tasks,
and that the self feels himself the target of many such de-
mands. How explain the reluctance of so many to accept
this observation as correct if not by these ambiguities in
the meanings of such words as self and objects? Why
should the observation appear as so strange or even im-
possible? We hear so often about the "pathetic fallacy."
Why so seldom about reasons why the phenomena in
question should be cases of "pathetic fallacy" and not of
"pathetic percepts"? J7 Who has given the self a monopoly
for demands? I could not even admit that vectors issuing
from the self are always more intense; because those which
arrive there, which are directed towards the self, are often
quite as vividly felt as influencing, attacking, changing it.
One more word may be added for those who would not
believe in any phenomcnological statement, unless they see
that it is compatible with "reality," i.e., physiological or physi-
cal notions. They would still tend to identify the self with
the physical organism which certainly is a most active part
of the world; thus, they would attribute to the self many traits
which they do not ascribe to phenomenal objects since these
are regarded as passive products of stimulation. But in both
20 Functionally my thing-percepts are of course quite as much my
peicepts as my thought-objects are my individual property. Naive Realism
believes, it is true, that a given thing- peiccpt may be the common
pioperty of scvcial people, and New Realism holds a similai view Such
beliefs, howcvci, seem to me untenable (Cf ch 4) Both thing-percepts
and thought-objects aie functionally subjective and may nevertheless
be phenomenal 'objects' for the phenomenal 'self '
271 do not include, of course, those cases in poetry whcie human
thinking and language aic attributed to ticcs, mountains and othei
things. Nobody would maintain that he peiceives such c\ents thcie
But we perceive thunder as threatening and the attitude of the beggai as
demanding.
92 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
assumptions they are wrong. The 'self/ though functionally
depending upon processes in the organism, is a phenomenal
correlate only of a limited part of brain events. And 'objec-
tive' percepts, including other persons, are quite as much the
correlates of intense processes in the same brain. That these
processes, occurring in the same nervous system, should be
passive copies of stimulus-patterns is certainly an idea which
can no longer be seriously held. There is no reason why, in
principle and in all cases, they should be much less dynamic
physically than are the processes underlying the phenomenal
self.
Besides, what is the thesis contained in the term
"pathetic fallacy"? It is an example of those many empiris-
tic theories which everywhere obstruct the path of the
psychologist. Originally occurring in the self only, de-
mands or other such vectors are said to be wrongly
attributed to objects in the phenomenal world. By some
process of association or other learning, the theory says,
they have been transported from the sell to its objects.
Assuming that this be true, where are such vectors now?
Whence do they issue, where do they arrive? Whether the
empiristic theory is right or wrong, they now issue, in such
cases, from objects and are directed toward the self. If I
should discover that soap which I bought in Boston was
made in and imported from France, is this soap therefore
in France or is it in America? There is a tendency of
empiristic theorizing to give us the impression that, once
the theory is applied to a fact, this fact docs not remain
what it was before the explanation. This at least is indeed
a fallacy. If something is found to occur on the objective
side of the phenomenal world, it does not lose this objec-
tivity when we discover that, originally, the trait in ques-
tion had only occurred on the subjective side. If we were
to neglect phenomenal facts after an empiristic explana-
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 93
tion has been given for them, a most interesting problem
would be neglected at the same time, namely: How can a
vector which occurred at first only in the self be trans-
formed by some indirect process into a vector residing in
an object? Because this is what we really find. The vector
is issuing there now phenomenally, it actually belongs to
the object in question, just as before it putatively belonged
to the self. It is not my vector, my interest now which I
find in the attitude of the policeman, in the beggar or in
the disagreeable obligation. All such subjectivity is lost.
At the time I may not in the least experience a correspond-
ing vector issuing from my side. Thus, we can say that
vectors really do occur in the objective realm, and that ob-
jects are capable of being their sources. Why then speak
about a "pathetic fallacy"? Unfortunately the empiristic
theory does not recognize this problem.
May I use still another analogy in order to make this point
clearer? Supposing that two chemical substances A and B do
not form a compound directly. It may be that by first com-
bining one ol them with a third substance C, I can then pro-
duce a compound which contains all three of them, and that,
from this compound, I can afterwards eliminate the auxiliary
material C, so that (AB) as a chemical compound is left. It is
true that, historically, without the indirect procedure there
would not be the substance (AB). But is it therefore not a
real substance, a real compound now? Similarly, in the
phenomenal world demands often issue from objects really,
whatever previous history may be responsible for it, and their
general behavior under these conditions is the same as that of
vectors issuing from the self.
IV
So far we have found two classes of contexts in which
there is rcquiredness. In the first the vector points toward
94 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
the object, in the other the object is the point of origin
of the vector. If, in this manner, both the origin and the
target of such vectors may be objects, it will be a natural
question whether these two conditions cannot occur in
one and the same context, whether there are no cases in
which a demand is found to issue in one object and to
accept or reject another?
We see indeed quite as clearly how a man is striving to-
wards shelter in a heavy rainstorm as we see him approach-
ing the self in a demanding attitude. No less convincing in
its objective character is the avoiding attitude of a chim-
panzee who finds himself near a strange-looking thing.
Even the reference of such vectors to definite objects or
regions of the field as to their (positive or negative) goals
may be perfectly obvious in such cases. Whether the object
in question is a thing in the narrower meaning of the
word or another person makes no essential difference. 28
Awareness of vectors in similar cases has, I believe, caused
Professor Tolman to include purpose among his Behavioristic
categories. 29 Are we warranted, on the basis of our phenome-
nological evidence, in attributing striving as a biological
reality to the organism of a rat? In our earlier discussion of
this point we concluded that as yet there is no biological
datum which would encourage such a step. Probably Pro-
fessor Tolman, as a Behavionst, would "not be interested in
subjective striving as an occurrence in the rat's possible but
doubtful consciousness.
Others, therefore, would adopt a strictly opposite attitude
and decline to accept our description, contending that it does
not conform with physical and physiological facts. Though
such criticism transcends the phenomenological realm, it
should be mentioned in this connection. How can we pos-
sibly perceive that an animal is striving towards or away from
28 Cf. Gestalt Psychology, ch. 7.
20 E. C. Tolman, Purposive Behavior in Animals and Men, 1932.
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 95
an object since our retinae are stimulated by rays reflected
from the physical animal's surface and from the surface of the
object, but certainly not by any stimuli corresponding to a
vector between them? There are no such stimuli.
On such occasions recent developments in the psychology
of perception reveal their general relevance. Quite as little
as for the vectors in our last examples is there "a stimulus"
for any grouping in the visual field; nor is there "a stimulus"
for the figure-character of certain areas as contrasted with
mere ground-character, or for the minor character of a
melody. Nevertheless, all these things appear on the objective
side of our phenomenal field. We have been forced to realize
that certain traits of percepts depend upon stimulus-constella-
tions rather than upon definite single stimuli. One such
"Ehrenf els-quality" of a perceptual situation is the vectorial
attitude in which an animal is seen to strive towards an ob-
ject. About the "pathetic fallacy" seemingly implied in our
description enough has been said above.
Since, however, people and chimpanzees are, in our con-
nection, only more vivid percepts than other objects, we
have to ask one last question. Do we find requiredness in
contexts which contain no people or animals, i.e., in con-
texts which are objective in the sense that they do not
contain any percepts very similar to the self?
We play a simple sequence of chords on the piano. If
these are properly chosen a definite key will develop. Sup-
posing that in this key the "leading note'* is introduced in
an appropriate manner, a final chord following this note
is not an indifferent fact in the auditory field. It may
sound wiong or, if it corresponds to the tonic of the key,
it may sound right. If we stop after the leading note with-
out a further chord, the sequence will be heard as incom-
plete, with a vector towards completion. This vector
usually develops during our approach to the leading note,
and becomes most intense with this note. It points toward
g6 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
the tonic, if no chord beyond is given; it accepts the tonic,
if the tonic is given; and it rejects other notes with varying
intensity according to their place with regard to the key.
In all essential respects this example exhibits the same
characteristic traits which have been discussed in cases of
subjective rcquiredness. A context forms, in it the vector
develops, and definite objects are either accepted or re-
jected as completions. Under the influence of the vector,
in the context, they acquire those dependent part-qualities
which we call right or wrong. If these are "tertiary quali-
ties/' so are all the goal-qualities which we have men-
tioned above. And it can hardly be doubted that, in this
case, these terms refer, phenomenally, to something in the
tones, not in ourselves. The last chord is heard as right or
wrong with reference to the auditory context. By changing
the context we may easily make a note sound riglit which
has sounded wrong before, and vice versa.
Keys, leading notes, the tonic are unfamiliar notions to
many. Though the facts in question ate strictly independ-
ent of any acquaintance with the theory of music, it may
still be advisable to give a second example. I have chosen
it intentionally from the very commonest experiences. No-
body should think that requiredness in objective contexts
is a rare occurrence, a mysterious experience, and there-
fore doubtful.
A man has bought a suit, and now he wants a necktie.
This necktie must, however, fit in with the color of the
suit. In these very words there is acknowledgment of the
fact that some colors of ties would appear as required by
those of the suit, whereas others would not. The case is
perfectly analogous to our last example with one excep-
tion, namely, that in the case of the suit and the tie not
only one, but several nuances of the tie may be all right
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 97
or even good. Requiredness, then, is not always equally
specific, and, incidentally, it is not in all cases equally in-
tense.
Once more some criticisms should be mentioned. There
are persons who do not seem to acknowledge such facts of
rcquiredness, for instance, in the field of music. Does this
invalidate the requiredness? Not at all. There are tone-deaf
individuals, it is true, who in spite of otherwise excellent hear-
ing cannot even understand what we call pitch. Nothing
could be more natural than that, if the auditory material is
different in a person, he cannot find in it the same required-
ness that we find in our auditory world. It might be said
secondly that requiredness seems to change in history. So far
as we can see, no minor chords were acceptable as conclusions
of any music a lew hundred years ago. All music had to finish
with a major chord. This has changed altogether since that
time. The fact cannot be denied. But whatever the historical
circumstances were which produced the change, the change
itself cannot alter our phenomenology. If the historical fact
proves a definite subjectivity of such requiredness, it is not
subjectivity in the phcnomenological sense of the term. More-
over, an interpretation of rcquiredness which would exclude
the possibility of such changes could not be acceptable. These
changes are too obvious. Any system of aesthetics and ethics
should contain a theory of them in connection with the prob-
lem of valid requiredness. But in an interpretation of re-
quiredness as such and in general they constitute no problem.
Why should objective requiredness not be able to vary, if sub-
jective valuation does? With all sympathy for those who feel
a need for valid requiredness and for a theory of it, we must
not confuse two different investigations. 30
In the same way we come upon objective requiredness
in matters of knowledge or thought. The similarities be-
so The problem of valid requiredness has recently been discussed by
Wertheimer; Cf Some Problems in the Theory of Ethics, in Social Re-
search 2, pp. 353 if. (1935)-
98 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
tween red, blue and purple are such that the place of pur-
ple is ... The context asks for completion. If, as a comple-
tion, the words are given "between the red and the blue,"
their meaning fits the context; they are right. Or again:
"Things equal to the same thing are equal to each other."
The last part of this statement is seen to be right in the
context of the beginning. Any other case of correct
thought might be given as an example. All would show
the same main characteristics. Precisely as in the case of
subjective valuation, objective requiredness means that
vectors issuing in parts of certain contexts extend beyond
these parts and refer to other parts with a quality of ac-
ceptance or rejection. These other parts themselves assume
the dependent properties of right or wrong. Whatever
other differences there may be between logic, aesthetics
and ethics and there are important differences this gen-
eral trait seems to characteri/e requiredness everywhere.
Even timeless truth, as our last examples show, involves no
exception. Probably no theory would appear satisfactory
and final in which the basic contrast between mere facts
and requiredness had to be interpreted differently for the
case of logic on the one hand, for aesthetics and ethics on
the other. We are not in a position to deal with these
philosophical disciplines as such. A much more thorough
investigation of particular forms of requiredness would be
needed for this purpose. If our interpretation is adequate,
however, it would appear altogether feasible to develop
those branches of philosophy from one common principle.
But, after all, is it not subjective requiredness which in
our last examples has been wrongly "referred" to objective
data? We are disturbed when a sequence of chords ends
with the wrong note. We do not like to look upon a neck-
tie which does not fit the suit of its wearer. Obviously here
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 99
the self is not a neutral observer of alleged objective re-
quiredness. Why then should these cases not be reduced
to subjective requiredness? The observation is correct to
some degree. We do not remain neutral in such situations.
But why should we? Among the objects which the self may
have before it there are contexts of many different kinds
in some of which parts appear as right or wrong, required
or the contrary. This means that in such situations there
is, first, an objective context with its requiredness and, sec-
ondly, another and larger context which, besides the ob-
jective context, contains the self. That one context should
form part of a larger one is a fact so frequently found even
within the objective field of percepts alone, that its occur-
rence here will not surprise anybody familiar with the
psychology of perception. And just as simpler objects may
affect the self as attractive or repulsive, so contexts in
music or in the visual field may, qua contexts, either issue
vectors extending toward the self or arouse vectors in the
self which are directed toward the contexts. Often they
will do both, as for instance when in a sequence of chords
we hear a wrong note, feel disturbed, and then go to the
piano in order to correct the player. If this explanation
should be taken as a mere auxiliary hypothesis, too com-
plicated to deserve our confidence, it will only be neces-
sary to point to corresponding cases in thought. In a book
we read an argument which is logically altogether wrong.
Certainly it is wrong objectively. But here again we are
not neutral witnesses. We feel almost offended by such an
obvious mistake, and presently a big stroke of our pencil
on the margin, perhaps a note as well, will make it evi-
dent enough that a new vector emerged which was directed
toward the object. In this case nobody can fail to see that
a subjective vector is created in the larger context while
ioo PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
at the same time objective wrongness is and remains ob-
jective in the argument. There are indeed few things in
the world which make us so eager to interfere as wrongness
in objective contexts. Too easily, in cases of aesthetics for
instance, two such facts of requireclness, one objective
and one subjective, are confused, one might almost say,
telescoped into each other in the theorist's mind.
To summarize our discussion of requircdness: It is not
the subjective aspect of requircdness in human striving
and interests which makes requiredness compatible with
facts. Instead it is the observation that certain tacts do not
only happen or exist, but, issuing as vectors in parts of
contexts, extend toward others with a quality of acceptance
or rejection. That in many examples such vectors issue
from the self is a relatively minor point. Its discussion
does not belong to the interpretation of requireclness as
such; it belongs, rather, to the geography of requircdness,
in which the problem is: where do we find the contexts in
question? By the same token subjective requiredness loses
its apparent commonplace character. Its essential feature
is still hidden from our eyes so long as the term striving,
without closer inspection of its meaning, is held to solve
the problem. So much is implied in facts of striving that
they cannot be regarded as trivial in the present phase of
psychology. After this has once been realized we shall be
less inclined to regard the subjective case as particularly
simple, as necessarily basic in the treatment of required-
ness. There is no a priori reason why this should be so or
why, if there are other cases, the subjective variety should
be given an outstanding place. If our phenomenological
attempt has been adequate, no such restriction to subjec-
tive requiredness and no theoretical accentuation of it can
be defended. It seems to be a special case only. In the
AN ANALYSIS OF REQUIREDNESS 101
following chapters, therefore, requiredncss as the vector-
aspect of phenomenal contexts will be taken in its general
meaning. At least, it will not be regarded as a constitutive
trait of requiredness that sometimes or often the vector in
question issues from the self.
With these remarks we conclude our phenomenological
survey of requiredncss. It has been elementary through-
out, and the reader may be assured that I do not regard
these observations as an adequate basis for ethics or tor
other systematic disciplines of value. In our survey many
different cases of requiredness were considered impartially,
and each by itself. In actual life one requiredness is often
the enemy of another, and ethics, for instance, claims that,
in its field, it can settle such disputes. No basis for such a
procedure has been given in this chapter. I hope very
much that here again the same phenomenological method
will be helpful. In fact, if one particular demand objects
to another, this situation itself is one of requiredness.
When studying it the phenomenologist will soon find him-
self in the field of ethics. But for the purpose of the present
investigation we need not solve this task. Requiredness in
general will be considered in the next chapters as it was
in the last.
CHAPTER IV
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY
IT is not our intention to restrict this investigation to
questions of phenomenological description. To find the
place of values in a world of facts is a task which has two
different sides. First, there is the problem of principle:
If experience gives us facts, how, in the same experience,
can we find a place for requiredness? Like all questions of
fundamental principle this problem can only be solved on
phenomenological grounds. In a preliminary way it seems
to be solved by the observation that "fact" is an ambiguous
term, that not all facts arc "indifferent facts," and that
within certain factual contexts the requiredness or wrong-
ness of some facts is no less real than is the existence of
these facts. We have thus given to values a logical place
among the facts. The second side of our task refers to a
question of distribution. Experience in general has many
domains. Where among these do we find requiredness as
a characteristic of definite contexts? Until now our
approach had to be phenomenological, so that the term
"requiredness" could be given a definite meaning. Such a
restriction is no longer necessary. Phenomenology is the
field in which all concepts find their final justification. To
what fields such concepts may be applied, once their mean-
ing has been elucidated, is another question. And it is the
aim of the next chapters to decide whether requiredness
102
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 103
as we have now defined it has any place outside the phe-
nomenal realm.
As a matter of fact, even in our phenomenological
analysis we could not avoid questions of distribution alto-
gether. We were answering a question of this kind when
we came to the conclusion that requiredness occurs on the
objective side of the phenomenal world no less than as a
correlate of subjective striving. The domain of required-
ness was thereby greatly enlarged. In order to avoid mis-
understandings, however, we should add one more remark
at this point about the distribution of requiredness in the
phenomenal realm: We can not possibly maintain that the
phenomenal world is permeated throughout by required-
ness. We should not be able to speak about "mere facts,"
this term would have no meaning for us, if in the phe-
nomenal field nothing ever existed or occurred indiffer-
ently. Indeed, not all sequences, not all constellations of
experience, contain demanding vectors. Any number of
examples could be given where no such vectors are ap-
parent. Mixed on the color wheel in adequate propor-
tions, ted and green yield a grey. Nobody who watches the
disappearance of the red and the green, the appearance of
the grey, could seriously contend that grey is felt to be re-
quired at this point in the sequence. Similarly, no after-
image is felt to be demanded by those experiences which
it follows, however regularly such a sequence may be ob-
served. Besides, and more generally, concrete and circum-
scribed contexts in mental life are not as a rule
experienced as parts of one large superordinated organiza-
tion, which extends all through the individual's life and
in which each particular context appears as required or
as wrong. In actual fact, nobody's life has this much co-
herence. In so far, then, as many contexts are apparently
104 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
indifferent to each other their common occuirence in one
phenomenal life remains a mere fact, whatever the re-
quiredness found within such particular contexts. From the
empirical point of view, therefore, a "monism of required-
ness" in the phenomenal world is not acceptable.
If the concept of "mere facts" appears as well founded
in phenomenal experience, outside the phenomenal realm
it even seems to have an absolute monopoly. Physical na-
ture is generally believed to be of transphenomenal * ex-
istence. If we ask the physicists, they deny that required-
ness belongs to the notions which they would apply to
nature. Chemists need no such concept when they describe
substances and their reactions. Some biologists, it is true,
have begun to waver. It is hard to discuss certain phases of
organic existence without using concepts which imply re-
quiredness. And thus they speculate whether the reason
for it is merely an anthropocentric attitude in our ob-
servation of organic facts or, rather, some genuine aspect
of lite itself. In the second case requiredness would occur
as a real and as an effective side of organic processes.
We are not yet ready for the discussion of such ques-
tions. Before they are handled, preliminary problems will
have to be solved. All of these refer to the relation in
which we find the phenomenal world on the one hand
and physical reality on the other; because on this relation
our answer will depend altogether.
But is there any such relation? According to some in-
fluential philosophers our program is meaningless. To dis-
tinguish between a phenomenal world and a second world
i I have been told th.it such combinations of Latin and Greek as
"transphenomenal" should be carelully avoided But how many in a
million would have the slightest suspicion that heie a Latin and a
Greek vocable aie combined in one woid? May I therefore be allowed to
use this most convenient expression?
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 105
of reality beyond the first is, so they say, sheer epistemo-
logical nonsense, however generally this distinction may
be accepted. In order to make any statement about the
properties of the second world we should have to "tran-
scend/* to leave the first. This, we are assured, is an im-
possible feat, because whatever observations or statements
we make, they all refer to phenomenal material. Conse-
quently there is only one world around us, and we had
better refrain from calling it a "phenomenal" world, since
by this very term we seem to hint at the existence of trans-
phenomenal entities. If this were correct epistemology,
our investigation would necessarily end here. In different
forms such views have been brought forward by several
exponents of modern Positivism. Since, however, similar
opinions have been defended by philosophers, whom
otherwise one would hardly call Positivists, I prefer in
this connection to use the term "Phenomenalism." The
meaning of this term is, of course, to be clearly dis-
tinguished from that of "phenomenology." Phenome-
nalism is a definite view of the universe the monistic view
that it consists exclusively of "phenomena" plus certain
arguments by which this view is supported. Phenome-
nology, on the other hand, is a method which we may use
whether or not we share the Phenomenalisms views. As a
matter of fact, it will soon become apparent that some re-
sults of phenomenological description are even opposed to
the Phenomenalisms monistic belief.
Though ours is not an epistemological investigation, it
seems necessary to discuss the doctrine of Phenomenalism
at least fully enough to make it appear somewhat less con-
vincing. Otherwise, what meaning could be found in the
statement that requiredness occurs outside the phenome-
nal world?
io6 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
No matter what our epistemological convictions are,
we must recognize besides pure phenomenology all the
natural sciences, such as physics, chemistry, geology, bi-
ology. Should we believe that the statements of these
sciences refer to phenomenal facts, that to do research in
physics, for instance, is only another way of dealing with
percepts? This is, in fact, the opinion of not a few philoso-
phers. As an explanation they sometimes add that the
physicist is interested in particular sets of phenomena and
in the relations found to prevail between these, while he
disregards all other phenomena.
In general such verdicts are given too quickly to carry
full conviction. What, more concretely, is the particular
interest that transforms some phenomena into the subject-
matter of physics? Even more essential: What feature of
the phenomenal world has the power to make certain
men, the scientists, altogether indifferent to by far the
greater part of the same phenomenal world? What gives
these men the one-sided interest which seems to be the de-
fining characteristic of natural science? Since according
to this opinion no activity can "transcend" the phenome-
nal world, there must be some dualism in this world it-
self, which leads to the segregation of the "physical" as a
definite part of it. And we cannot simply assume that the
dualism between the 'subjective* and the 'objective' side
of the phenomenal world is fully responsible for the segre-
gation. The physicist is no more interested in many aspects
of phenomenally 'objective' events and things than he is in
the phenomenology of jealousy or other emotions. He does
not study "blue" as a color nor "sweet" as a taste nor
"hard" as a quality of touch. Not even problems of visual
size and visual shape belong, as such, to his field. How,
then, are those phenomena selected with which he is really
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 107
occupied? If the physicist does not "transcend" the phe-
nomenal world, at least he handles it most strangely; he
seems to ignore by far the greater part of all its contents.
The traditional solution of this puzzle is, of course, that
only such percepts serve the physicist's purpose as are trust-
worthy signs of transphenomenal reality. It this explana-
tion be not accepted, the segregation of physics as a par-
ticular science becomes a serious problem.
It is the weak point of Phenomenalism that it does not
give us a phenomenology of the physicist's attitude and
procedure. From this point of view it should be easy to
show how, in concrete examples of research, the physicist
always remains occupied with certain phenomena, namely
percepts and also perhaps mere constructs. But in the
same way it should also be made clear, first, why the
physicist is only interested in a restricted number of per-
cepts, and, secondly, what the distinguishing properties of
these particular phenomena are. Up to the present time
discussion of such epistemological problems has remained
on a level of too much generality. As a general statement
it sounds plausible that no science can deal with any but
phenomenal material. On nearer inspection, however, it
becomes obvious that beyond this general statement the
Phenomenalistic interpretation of natural science has a
definite task to solve. Far from having been solved, this
task does not even seem to be recogni/ed as a serious
desideratum. Meanwhile, other people will have a feeling
that the general statement is plausible only in so far as it is
kept general, and that with increasing concreteness of in-
vestigation it may soon lose its apparent self-evidence.
The Phenomenalisms doctrine is monistic in charactei.
He admits only one world. It cannot be denied that the
defenders of Epistemological Dualism, who speak of two
io8 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
\\orlds, one phenomenal and another transphenomenal,
are also open to criticism. 2 They will more often point to
the shortcomings of their opponents than discuss their
own difficulties. Just as the Phenomenalist hesitates to give
us, in a purely phenomenal world, a concrete interpreta-
tion of the meaning ot physical research, so the Dualist
tends to be slow in showing what the actual meaning ot
"transphenomenal" existence is, and how he or anybody
else is able to "transcend" into this second world.
On the other hand, the Dualist is able to tell us an
impiessive story in which Epistemological Dualism is pre-
sented not as the theory of many philosophers, but as the
direct outcome of research in physics and physiology. In
his story, it is true, he uses as we shall presently see such
terms as "objects," "influence of one object upon another,"
"sense organs," "nerves" and "brain." For this reason rash
thinking might easily tend to the objection that with such
terms the Dualist presupposes the existence of a trans-
phenomenal world, that consequently he puts into his
story at the very beginning what afterwards he represents
as its outcome. This criticism, however, would not be
justified. Phenomenalists have to admit that there are such
sciences as physics and physiology, also that there are
"objects" of many kinds, mutual "influences" between
them, "sense organs," "nerves" and "brains." Their con-
tention is not that such things are unreal; rather it is
that all of them have to be interpreted as phenomenal en-
2 1 need hardly remind the reader that the views of Epistemological
Dualism are compatible with the most different metaphysical theories.
A Dualist in this sense holds, for instance, that percepts have to be
distinguished from (hidden) physical entities which correspond to them.
Whether these physical facts are ultimately of another essence than
percepts Cor phenomena in general) is a question which this stiictly
epistemological doctrine leaves entirely open.
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 109
titles. They cannot, for such reasons, refuse to listen to the
Dualist's report. As a report, then, the following is com-
mon ground for both the Dualist and the Phcnomenalist.
During the 17th century physicists studied a great many
forms of action by which objects influence each other. The
objects in question usually belonged to inanimate nature.
Nevertheless the leaders of natural science were vividly
interested in those other cases in which a physical influence
acts upon the human organism, e.g., upon the sense organs.
They could not fail to see that such action is not essen-
tially different from action upon a second inanimate ob-
ject. When struck by sound waves the eardrum will
oscillate in a manner which is quite similar to the reaction
of any other sensitive membrane. The human eye is doubt-
less a more flexible variety of a well known simple
apparatus, the camera obscura; the principle according
to which images are projected in the eye is only slightly
more complicated. That after physical stimulation of a
sense organ messages are carried through nerves to the
brain was also a widely accepted notion as early as 1650.
Since then it has become a well established fact of physi-
ology. We know, moreover, that a human being normally
has percepts only in so far as those messages arrive in
higher centers of the nervous system.
At the beginning of this development the scientists
tended to conclude merely that certain qualities of phenom-
enal objects depend on functions of the nervous system,
rather than on properties of the physical objects them-
selves. These "sensory qualities," therefore, had to be left
aside whenever statements were made about the physical
objects. It was harder for them to realize that, consistently
applied, the argument leads to more radical consequences.
Let us repeat: An object sends out messages which stimu-
no THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
late sense organs. Thereupon other messages begin to
travel through nerves toward the brain and, if this brain
is functioning normally, a percept emerges. This is a long
chain of processes. It is, besides, the only functional con-
nection between the percept and the object from which
the train of messages first issued. Have we any right, then,
to identify the percept at one end of the chain with the
object at the other end? Whatever degree of similarity
there may be between one and the other, they are nu-
merically two different facts. We cannot possibly say that
what is called the physical object in this story is the same
thing as the percept in question. What, then, from the
Phenomenalist's point of view, is the physical object?
When the scientist tells us the story, the physical object
may, for him, be represented by a percept of his. But could
we say that this percept of the scientist is the object which
causes the other person's percept? With this assumption
we should soon find ourselves in difficulties. To the scien-
tist's percept the same reasoning would apply which he
applied to the other person's percept: the scientist's per-
cept would be found to be only a remote effect of a cor-
responding physical object. (And we should always keep
in mind that this statement would have to be acknowl-
edged by a Phenomenalist as well as by a Dualist.) Con-
sequently we are once more forbidden to identify the
percept with a physical object. Again consequently, the
scientist's percept cannot be the physical object from
which the message causes the other person's percept.
What, then, causes this percept? Or, to illustrate the dif-
ficulty from another side: At a time when the other person
is well aware of his percept, the scientist may turn away
or leave altogether. Supposing that the other person's per-
cept is an apple, would this apple-percept change or dis-
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 111
appear because the scientist is gone? Decidedly not. It
seems to follow that the scientist's percept is irrelevant to
the existence of the other person's apple-percept, and that
therefore it cannot be the physical object which causes
that apple-percept. What, then, causes this person's apple-
percept when he is alone? Or has this percept a cause only
as long as other people are present, whereas it exists with-
out a cause when they are gone?
This situation has meant a difficulty for Phenomenalism
ever since there was such a doctrine: In observation) quite
apart from any theory, there is a dualism between percepts
and their outer causes. And it is hard to interpret these
outer causes as though they again were merely percepts.
The difficulty would disappear at once, if we could say
that the scientist when talking about the physical apple is
using his own apple-percept as the representative of some-
thing else, namely a physical apple existing independently
of perception. The same distinction would then apply
quite generally: There would be, for instance, bodies with
sense-organs, with nerves and brains as percepts, and, be-
sides, physical organisms with physical organs as transphe-
nomenal realities. Space as perceived would be something
different from space as a physical medium, and time-experi-
ence something different from time as an order of trans-
phenomenal eventssimply because in the case of all these
notions the same procedure could be applied which we
have applied here to an apple.
It seems advisable to make it still clearer why the Phe-
nomenalist refuses to accept this explanation. He will
admit that percepts are not the only material of physics.
But what is added? According to him: concepts and con-
structs, as "field of force," "potential," "energy," "entropy,"
and so forth. Such notions are not arbitrarily chosen;
112 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
because in certain phases of the physicist's procedure they
come in contact with percepts, the "observations" of
science, and at these points percepts and constructs have
to agree. But it would be a meaningless assumption that in
this manner we develop more than mental structures. Of
course, it is possible to speak of "physical" objects which
send stimuli as messages to some entity called the physical
organism, and to add the warning that all these things are
meant to be "transphenomenal." Language is patient. But
if the content of such statements is analyzed, it proves to
be the description of certain thought-processes or thought-
constructs which obviously belong to the phenomenal
world. When something is said to be a "transphenomenal
reality" we have before us a mental picture in which, out-
side one vaguely conceived region, which we call the phe-
nomenal world, there lies a second still vaguer region, to
which we give the name "transphenomenal." It is evident
that, here, we only imagine two different phenomenal re-
gions which do not overlap. To do this is easy enough.
However, the possibility of this performance inside the
domain of thought does not mean that some miraculous
escape has been achieved into a transphenomenal world.
Strictly speaking, Dualists are only misusing the tact that
the term "trans" which has a definite meaning inside the
phenomenal world may also be combined with the term
"phenomenal" in general whereupon the appearance is
created as though this new combination still had a mean-
ing. But no word has a meaning unless xve can point to
some case in which this meaning is realized. Certainly our
visual picture of two regions which do not overlap is no
such case for the meaning in question. Here we point to
two phenomenal regions, whatever the names given to
them. To point to a case in which the term "transphenom-
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 113
enal" could actually assume a meaning is impossible, be-
cause we should have to point, first, to phenomenal data
which is easyand, secondly, to something outside this
phenomenal world which nobody could do, even if his
life depended upon it. As a matter of fact, the word "trans-
cendence" should be deleted from our philosophical vo-
cabulary.
II
It will be obvious that in this situation any indirect
arguments about the difficulties of Phenomenalism and the
advantages of the opposite assumption would only seem to
avoid the main issue. If Phenomenalism is to be refuted,
it will have to be refuted directly. Therefore, though it
may appear as an insoluble task, we shall try to give the
term "transcendence" a definite meaning.
This purpose, I admit, does seem paradoxical at first,
because the only procedure at our disposal is that of phe-
nomenology: I low could anything but phenomena be
found on this road? The paradox will disappear, howevei,
if we realize that in speaking of "phenomena" we are
easily misled by the same ambiguity which we previously
discovered in the term "facts." When thinking about the
phenomenal world we are apt to consider one thing here,
another there, and so forth, i.e., a number of static per-
cepts or other phenomena, each of which seems indiffer-
ent to the existence of the others. In such a survey of the
phenomenal world we simply ignore all awareness of
definite contexts and relationships. As a matter of fact, it
is an altogether common experience that one thing is "re-
ferred to" another or that the first "points to" the second;
and such phenomena are no less worthy of our attention
1 1 4 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
than are the "things" in question. It was this remark which
led us to a more adequate understanding of "required-
ness." The same aspect of the phenomenal world will now
help us to realize the meaning of "transcendence."
Experienced contexts, it is true, may be contained wholly
in the phenomenal world. So far as they are, their occur-
rence has little to do with our problem. For this reason
some arguments which have been brought forward in de-
fence of "transcendence" seem hardly likely to impress
the Phenomenalist. If we are told that, in remembering
events of our youth, we "transcend" the present and are
"referred to" the past, nobody would deny the fact as
such. But precisely this fact as such does not seem to imply
transcendence beyond the phenomenal world. Just as this
world has spatial properties, and just as I may be "referred
to" some far distant object, so phenomena appear in dif-
ferent temporal locations, and we are often directed
toward some event the temporal locus of which lies far
back in the past. But, unless more is said about the prop-
erties of this experience, I should not really feel convinced
by the argument. It may be a remarkable trait of the phe-
nomenal world that it contains- a domain which we call the
past. But, so the Phenomenalist would say, this domain re-
mains a part of the phenomenal world quite the same.
At no point, therefore, is transcendence into transphe-
nomenal reality demonstrated by our example. -The same
seems to be true of a second argument: If with all my force
I press against a wall of my room, this wall does not yield
in the least, and I am aware not only of my effort but also
of a resistance which is stronger than I am. Although in
this case I certainly experience a dynamic relationship, I
cannot admit thatso far as the description goes this rela-
tionship extends beyond the phenomenal world. Phenom-
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 115
enalists do not say that all percepts appear as 'subjective/
as dependent upon the self, or as mere phantoms. From
their point of view there is no reason why percepts should
not be hard and heavy. There is no reason either why, in
dynamic contact with them, we should always feel superior.
If it is true, therefore, that in this experience I am once
more "referred to" something outside myself, it is still no
less obvious that the object outside, with all its independ-
ence and resistance, remains in the phenomenal world pre-
cisely as I do.
From these unsatisfactory examples, however, we can
deduce a scheme of what would be a more convincing dem-
onstration of transcendence.
One thing may be referred to another in a great many
different ways. As a simple case I shall choose a relation
of size: one thing is seen to be larger than another some
distance away from the first. It seems obvious here that
in the reference, which extends from the first to the sec-
ond, the existence of this second thing is "implied." In
any concrete case a reference as such has to this extent a
meaning beyond itself. One might add that, when the
first thing is given, the reference contains an indication
of the nature ot the second, in our example, an indication
of its size. It would not be difficult to show that the same
applies to most forms of reference. If the second thing or
"term" itself belongs to the phenomenal world, its pres-
ence and nature as part of the context in question validate
the implication. But what about the reference and its im-
plication, if the second term is not experienced as a con-
crete part of the phenomenal world, if, instead, it belongs
to transphenomenal reality? Both the reference and the
implication could remain the same so long as certain condi-
tions were fulfilled. These are the conditions: First, we
ii6 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
should have to assume that the phenomenal world and
transphenomenal reality belong to one common realm of
existence, in which transition is possible from one domain
to the other. The second condition is that "reference"
generally or at least in some of its forms be a common
functional trait of both phenomenal and transphenomenal
existence, more particularly: that a reference may extend
from a phenomenal term on the one hand to a transphe-
nomenal term on the other.
So far this is mere logical analysis of a possibility.
Whether its outcome has any value depends altogether
on phenomenological observation. Before such observation
is undertaken, however, we should know what we may
expect to find, if the possibility corresponds with facts.
This expectation is easily formulated: There should be
cases in which a thing or, perhaps, the self is felt to be
referred to some definite entity although at the same time
this "second term" is not given inside the phenomenal
world. The reference as such would imply that beyond
there is such an entity; it would be felt directly as extend-
ing to a second term outside. Moreover, the fact that the
reference is of a particular kind might even imply some-
thing about the nature, the status of the entity in question.
In other words, there is at least one way in which phe-
nomenological observation might give a reasonable mean-
ing to the concept of transcendence: We might find that
sometimes concrete reference is a bridge which rests on
phenomenal ground on our side, and is still felt, from
our side, to have a corresponding support elsewhere, al-
though this second support is not visible from where we
are. Such a second support would be a part of transphe-
nomenal reality.
It will be sufficient for our purpose, if we discover one
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 117
single example in which transcendence is, in this way,
an actual experience. We wish to demonstrate simply that,
as a matter of principle, such an experience does occur,
not that it is more or less frequent. One concrete example
would probably show us not only transcendence as a
fact, but also how it is realized despite all arguments to
the contrary. Moreover, the demonstration of any case of
transcendence would be a demonstration of transphenom-
enal reality at the same time. This is all we wish to
achieve at this point.
May I return to questions of memory. One is often re-
ferred to some event of one's past life when this event is
actually given as an image. In this case, as I pointed out
above, the reference extends from one's present self to
something temporally distant. Nevertheless, it does not
seem to transcend phenomenal data. But how about this
other situation? I wish to remember the new painter's
name which I heard yesterday during a conversation.
"Just a moment," I say to myself, "I know that I know it;
I shall get it at once." Everybody has such experiences.
Before a name or another fact is actually remembered
there may be a difficulty, a suspense, a delay in its appear-
ance. Nevertheless we may know at the same time that "it
is there"; we feel referred, and even referred to the right
thing, even though this same thing has not yet emerged
into phenomenal existence. Precisely as expected, the
reference extends into "darkness" beyond; and yet we feel,
from our side, how, over there, it rests on adequate
ground.
This description is not quite complete, however. In how
far is the thing beyond felt to be the right thing? When-
ever we try to remember in spite of temporary difficulties,
some data are given phenomenally which the thing beyond
n8 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
has to fit. It belongs to a phenomenal context in which its
place is still left open. We are directed toward this con-
text and, thus, we feel /low the phenomenal part of the
context bears definite reference to the missing part out-
side. It is not reference in general which in such cases
implies some transphenomenal entity; it is, rather, a par-
ticular reference which extends beyond, and its implication
is that die thing outside fits the concrete phenomenal
context in question.
It would not be a serious objection, of course, if we were
told that the wish to remember is not always accompanied
by the feeling that we can do it. It should be unneces-
sary to repeat that we are not concerned here with ques-
tions of frequency or of regular occurrence, but rather
with occurrence in principle. It would not even matter, if
despite our feeling that "it is there" we should actually
fail to recall the name afterwards. Lack of sufficient inter-
est or any disturbance might easily prevent this achieve-
ment. Would our phenomenological observation of tran-
scendence be thereby refuted? By no means. We are not
maintaining that as a matter of fact certain events will
follow transcendence as an experience, but that there is
transcendence, and that, while it lasts, it implies transphe-
nomenal existence.
On the other hand, just this objection is apt to call our
attention to a further aspect of our example. Our experi-
ence of reference to an entity beyond is so definite that we
are often clearly aware of fluctuations in the status of this
entity. The delay of recall may be prolonged. In this case
the situation does not usually remain stationary. "I almost
got it," we say then, or "too bad, now it has slipped farther
off again," and so on. In the phenomenal field there is the
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 119
incomplete context, beyond there is "it," the right name,
and we experience vividly, sometimes almost painfully,
how it comes nearer for one moment, recedes again, ap-
proaches once more, though still outside, and perhaps
eventually emerges into phenomenal existence. Here the
Phenomenalist might object that, according to this de-
scription, the approach and the receding seem to be phe-
nomenal experiences. He would be right. They are
phenomena. But they are phenomena of reference or,
rather, of change of reference, in which it is directly im-
plied that "beyond there" is some entity, the right thing,
the status of which varies as the changes of reference indi-
cate. Consequently, transcending reference has two different
aspects in our example. On the one hand, it is implied in
the reference that the entity outside fits the given, but
incomplete phenomenal context, that il is the right thing.
On the other hand, the reference varies in a manner
which, for the thing outside, implies changes of func-
tional distance, of approach to or receding from the phe-
nomenal domain.
Many readers will remember the famous passage in
which William James once described the same situation:
"Suppose we try to recall a torgotten name. The state of
our consciousness is peculiar. There is a gap therein; but
no mere gap. It is a gap that is intensely active. A sort of
wraith of the name is in it, beckoning us in a given direc-
tion, making us at moments tingle with the sense of our
closeness, and then letting us sink back without the longed-
for term. If wrong names are proposed to us, this singu-
larly definite gap acts immediately so as to negate them.
They do not fit into its mould." 8
The Principles of Psychology (1896), 1, p. 251.
120 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
As a defence the Phenomenalist will perhaps maintain that
even before actual recall the entity in question is not alto-
gether outside the phenomenal world. At least a vague shadow
or a dim spot might be present as a representative of the sec-
ond term to which the incomplete phenomenal context is felt
to be referred. It would be a fruitless endeavor if we should
try to decide introspectivcly whether this argument has a fac-
tual basis. Fortunately, however, the argument would not be
valid even if there were always such a shadow or a dim spot.
The incomplete phenomenal context is felt to be referred not
to a shadow or a spot as such, but to "the right thing beyond,"
i.e., to a much more particular and definite entity, the par-
ticular properties of which are at the time not yet icalizcd
phenomenally. In the reference to this entity it is implied that
it is precisely the thing we are looking for. A mere shadow
would not be felt to fit the given particular context. Thus, the
presence or absence of such vague phenomena becomes irrele-
vant to our discussion.
In addition to this a second objection will probably be
raised. After all, one might say, instead of demonstrating
transcendence you are merely drawing an mlerence by
analogy. It is a regular experience that in a case of reference
there are two phenomenal terms of which one is referred to
the other. In your example >ou find but one phenomenal
term and, issuing from it, a feeling of reference. From this
you conclude that even this case should follow the general
rule, and that, consequently, there must be a second term
somewhere. As a matter of fact, this interpretation does not
correspond with the actual characteristics of our example. It
is not true that, besides an incomplete phenomenal context, I
have only a feeling of mere reference plus a conviction about a
rule. Whenever I am sure I "have the right thing," the
present and individual reference is directly felt to lead to an
individual second term in the particular case. So much is im-
plied in my concrete awareness of the present reference. More-
over, the argument ignores the fact that during the delay of
recall we often feel distinctly how that definite thing outside
changes its readiness for actual recall from one moment to
the other. I do not see any connection between such facts
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 121
and the proposed interpretation by analogy. We have no right
to deprive the phenomenological nature of a situation of its
more characteristic traits, until a vague residuum is left which
will yield to trivial explanations.
In another connection it will be shown that, beyond
the general problem of transcendence, our example has
some relevance for the main question of this investiga-
tion, i.e., the problem of requiredness. As to transcendence
in general, the present case is by no means the only para-
digm available. In the held ot memory alone we could
easily add a few more which might be used in a systematic
demonstration of transcendence; and I have little doubt
that others could be found in perception. Since, however,
it is not our aim to treat this problem generally, I shall
refrain from describing other such examples. Nor are they
needed. They could teach us little more than we have just
been able to learn. One fact of transcendence ought to suf-
fice to make us acquainted with transcendence as a type
of experience. Knowledge of its occurrence seems to imply
knowledge of its nature. This gives our demonstration
sufficient generality for all our purposes. I do not hesitate
to conclude that "transcendence" is a notion with a definite
meaning, that the same is true of "transphenomenal real-
ity," and that, in principle, we may ascribe existence to
transphenomenal entities no less than to percepts and
other phenomena. Consequently, it is a genuine problem
whether or not requiredness occurs among the properties
of transphenomenal reality.
Practically all research in natural science proceeds, I
believe, on the tacit assumption that its subject-matter
exists outside the phenomenal worlds of all observers. As
we have seen, such a hypothesis is not meaningless in
principle. On the other hand the scientist cares little for
122 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
the phenomenological foundations of this assumption. And
when he tries to find the properties and laws of transphe-
nomenal entities he does not start with such cases as give
direct evidence of transphenomenal existence. Indeed, of
these he usually knows little or nothing. His is a more
naive and a more indirect procedure. It also has a wider
scope. His tendency is to jump over all epistemological
difficulties and to trust his observations and his infer-
ences to provide genuine knowledge of realities beyond
all observation.
We cannot investigate how this is actually done and
how the scientist's method or his results compare with
direct evidence of transphenomenal existence. Knowing,
however, that there is such evidence, we shall from now on
assume that it is evidence of facts which lie within the
general realm of physical nature the same nature with
which the scientist is occupied. As to the scientist's work
we shall suppose that, in spite of the present revolution in
physics, many properties and laws of transphenomenal
nature are definitely known, however such knowledge may
have been obtained. I am willing to trust the methods of
natural science to this extent, and to surmise that those
particular transphenomenal entities of whose existence we
have direct transcending evidence will also sooner or later
become objects of such scientific investigation.
Scientific research is directed toward inanimate objects
and their behavior, but also toward organisms and the
totality of those processes which we call life. (All these
terms, I repeat, are now supposed to refer to transphe-
nomenal reality.) Where in this world of nature is the
locus of transphenomenal existence as we find it implied
in our experience of direct transcendence? So far as our
example goeswhich was a case of imminent recall we
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 123
can have little doubt about the locus in question. The
distinctive trait of transcendence as we observed it, was
direct coherence of function, of reference, between an
incomplete phenomenal context and a transphenomenal
entity. There is only one part of nature which, according
to present knowledge, could in this case be so intimately
in contact with phenomenal data. This part of nature is
the circumscribed world of brain-events. Our conclusion
will therefore be that, in trying to remember something
and knowing that we know it, our reference is from the
point of view of science reference to a definite neuro-
logical, or better: neural entity, an entity which would
commonly and perhaps clumsily be called a memory-trace.
I wonder whether, beyond our special example, any direct
transcendence whatever refers, in this sense, to other
than neural realities, though of course these may not
always have the special form of memory-traces.
In order to avoid a misunderstanding I should perhaps
add that transcendence, as we experience it in our example,
does not indicate of course in what kind of transphenom-
enal world the 'second term beyond' is located. Nor is
there in this experience ot transcendence any awareness
of a nervous system as a nervous system. What I wish to
say is merely this: A demonstration of transcendence as
such tends to justify in principle what the physicists and
other scientists are doing when they ascribe transphenom-
enal existence to those objects with which they are occu-
pied. Without trying here to legitimate all their particular
assumptions we shall from now on treat the main outlines
of their construction as accurate knowledge. Thus we
shall speak of physical systems, of organisms, of nervous
systems, and so forth, as transphenomenal entities. We
shall, however, do more. We shall turn around, look back
124 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
upon our example of transcendence and try to give the
'the term beyond' which phenomenally was no more than
'the right thing, still hidden, sometimes nearer, sometimes
farther off' a location among those constructs of science.
If we find that this place is in the nervous system, and that,
physiologically speaking, it must be a memory-trace, we
are going of course far beyond the content of our phe-
nomenological description of transcendence.
Ill
It would probably betray exaggerated optimism, if we
should believe that after our argument in favor of tran-
scendence the philosophical reader will feel entirely at
ease. One difficulty at least has not yet been discussed
explicitly. It is our next task to state and then to solve
this further problem. For this purpose we shall make our-
selves acquainted with one more school of philosophy.
In its attack on Epistemological Dualism, Phenomen-
alism has found an ally in New Realism. According to New
Realism a dualistic epistemology leads to an unnatural and
suspiciously complicated picture of the world. Any un-
sophisticated person, the New Realist would say, has one
world around him. This colorful world of everyday ex-
perience exhibits all the objectivity and permanency which
the exponents of Epistemological Dualism ascribe to a
hidden physical world. Dualistic views, we are told, de-
grade the world of percepts to a merely temporal and
subjective affair, and thus contradict common sense which
finds itself in immediate contact with objective reality.
New Realism takes sides with common sense. The world
as we have it directly before us is, according to this doc-
trine, the physical world no less than it is the world per-
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 125
ceived. It should be possible, therefore, to find another
explanation for those facts because of which the Dualists
separate percepts from real objects. If we could be Realists
in a more naive way there would be no need for construct-
ing a foreign world beyond.
It is obvious that New Realism, though by no means
identical with Phenomenalism proper, has at least some
points in common with this view. "Can we transcend the
phenomenal world?" "A meaningless question," answers
the Phenomenalist. "Why," asks the New Realist, "should
I attempt anything so unpleasant?"
In a powerful book, 4 Professor Lovejoy has thoroughly
examined the different forms in which, on the basis of
this criticism, positive monistic theories have been devel-
oped. They all try to show how, in our thinking about
physical objects and about percepts, partial or total coin-
cidence of both can be obtained without a contradiction.
Professor Lovejoy, however, is led to the conclusion that,
if we develop such theories consistently, all of them give
a picture of the world which is incomparably more com-
plicated and even more startling than the picture given
by Epistemological Dualism. An unsophisticated witness
would be much more astonished by the results of Epistem-
ological Monism than he could possibly be by the other
view. I find great force in Lovejoy's arguments, and I ac-
cept his statement: "That this goal of New Realism has
not been and cannot be attained is one of the clearest
results of the philosophical discussion of the past twenty-
five years." 5
To a certain extent, a demonstration of transcendence
means an argument against New Realism no less than
The Revolt against Dualism (1930).
p. 61.
126 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
against Phenomenalism. To the same extent our example
ot transcending reference may also have some value in a
critical discussion of New Realism. Yet the case in ques-
tion belongs to the field of remembering; and the main
issue between New Realism and Epistemological Dualism
is the interpretation of percepts. In this field it is the
apparent independence, the objectivity and the external
location ot thing-percepts which makes it difficult for
many to admit that such things are no more than percepts,
not the real and independent physical things at the same
time. A fully satisfactory answer to the New Realist's
claims will only be given if such characteristics ol percepts
are clearly explained by Epistemological Dualism. I am
not convinced that this has been done even by Lovejoy.
Among these characteristics, external location of per-
cepts is by far the most impressive. Epistemological Dual-
ism insists on the genetic or functional subjectivity of
percepts, on the fact that all percepts depend on processes
inside the organism. As the physiologist would put it: "An
object sends out messages which stimulate sense organs.
Thereupon other messages begin to travel through nerves
towards the brain and, if this brain is functioning
normally, a percept emerges." 6 It seems to contradict this
view that, allegedly founded on processes in my interior,
such percepts as tree, house, cloud, moon and thousands of
others are clearly localized outside of me.
When we survey the history of philosophy and scientific
thought during the past century we find that some of the
ablest minds are given to serious speculation about this
paradox. Both E. H. Weber and H. von Helmholtz whose
work contributed so much to the foundation of psychology
as a science tried to find an explanation. Philosophers
o See above, this chapter, p. 109 f.
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 127
from Schopenhauer to Whitehead seem to have been con-
vinced that the genuine, the original, location of percepts
must indeed be somewhere in our interior. That we do
find them not there, but outside, may easily have been the
strongest psychological motive in the origin of New
Realism. Only a very few authors, mostly men of great
phenomenological power, have been able to recognize the
apparent puzzle as what it really is: a most unfortunate
pseudoproblem produced by inconsistent thinking. Such
men were E. Hering, the physiologist, and E. Mach, the
physicist and philosopher. 7 It will help us to explain
Epistemological Dualism, if we show that external loca-
tion of percepts docs not even contain a problem, much
less a paradox. I have tried to do the same before, 8 but
not simply enough and therefore not successfully. Another
attempt seems required for two reasons. Quite apart from
the present investigation it is almost an embarrassing fact
that even great philosophers should still be influenced by
a mere pseudoproblem. Besides, I wish to free this present
investigation from any shadow which so deplorable a mis-
understanding might throw on Epistemological Dualism.
At least since Schopenhauer one explanation has gen-
erally been given which is entirely unacceptable because
it adopts the faulty premises of the pseudoproblem. Ac-
cording to this theory percepts would really be localized
in our interior, if the mind, conscious or unconscious,
were not so much given to causal thinking. All these sen-
sory experiences, the mind seems to say, must come from
somewhere. It will be a most convenient procedure, if I
7 Cf. also W. James, The Principles of Psychology (1896), II, pp 31 ff.
a Cf Gestall Psychology (1929), pp. 224-233 A more thorough treat-
ment of the same question may be found in my article, Em altcs Schem-
problem, in Die Naturwissenschaften, ij (1929).
128 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
can trace them back to their several origins in space, and
if I can then assign to them such outer locations. Other
authors would give a similar explanation in less intellectu-
alistic terms. So fai, however, as they feel that location of
percepts inside ourselves should be expected, and that
therefore external location must be explained, their
theories are practically equivalent to Schopenhauer's
amazing assumption of mental projection.
We shall now give the interpretation which follows
from the point of view of Epistemological Dualism. In do-
ing it we shall make use, of course, of all the notions which
are characteristic of this doctrine. Consequently we shall
speak of phenomena on the one hand, of transphenomenal
realities on the other. And our main task will be to avoid
ambiguities which arise from the fact that even in philo-
sophical language many words are used in two meanings,
one phenomenal and the other transphenomenal. If we
give sufficient attention to this circumstance, the apparent
paradox will evaporate.
i. If we say that percepts depend on processes inside
the organism, what does the word "organism" mean in
this connection? Evidently the physical object the proper-
ties of which are investigated by anatomists, by physiolo-
gists and by neurologists. Is this physical object a percept?
No, according to Epistemological Dualism it is, like all
physical objects, a transphenomenal entity; correspond-
ingly the processes in question are transphenomenal events.
It is not an argument against these statements that, in the
investigation of the organism and its functions, the anato-
mist, the physiologist and neurologist rely on percepts.
Precisely as the physicist investigates transphenomenal en-
tities and still uses certain percepts as his primary material,
so his colleagues in biology study transphenomenal facts
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 129
although the primary material of their observations con-
sists of percepts. Unfortunately we do not usually give dif-
ferent names to the organism as a transphenomenal entity
and to the body as a percept, just as a piece of silver is
called silver, whether we think of the physical object or
of the corresponding percept.
From this paragraph it follows that when thing-percepts
and other phenomena are said to be genetically subjective,
to depend upon processes inside the organism, the term
"inside" refers to a physical, a transphenomenal fact.
2. If I say that t lung-percepts are located outside my-
self, what does the word 'myself mean? Obviously some-
thing of which I am aware in the bright daylight of direct
phenomenal experience. This commonplace 'self is the
thing to which we refer in such statements as "I stumbled/'
"I was sitting on a chair/' "I could not walk any faster/'
When we use such expressions in everyday life we do
not think of transphenomenal entities; nor do we refer
to our own personality, our self in a more refined sense of
the term. Rather, we mean a definite percept. In order
to distinguish between this percept and the organism as
a transphenomenal entity we shall from now on call the
percept 'body' and reserve the term organism for the cor-
responding transphenomenal entity. That in this sense the
'body' is a percept can hardly be denied. Just as I see, hear
and feel other things which I call my percepts, so the
thing which from now on we shall call my 'body' is to
some extent given in my visual field, may be heard and
may also be felt. Among other percepts it occurs as one
more perceptto be sure, one of particular interest. It does
not matter in our present discussion that the sensory data
which constitute 'my body' are of a more varied nature
than those which constitute most other percepts.
i 3 o THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
From this paragraph it follows that, when thing-
percepts are said to be located 'outside myself/ the term
'outside' must refer to a strictly phenomenal fact: In phe-
nomenal space thing-percepts are as a rule localized 'out-
side' one more percept which I call 'my body.'
It follows from both paragraphs taken together that,
if thing-percepts depend upon processes "inside" and still
are localized 'outside,' the term "inside" and the term
'outside' refer here to different entities, the organism and
the 'body.' They also refer to different spaces, the first to
physical space and the second to phenomenal space. Con-
sequently the two statements do not contradict each other.
In case this is not yet obvious I shall repeat the argu-
ment in other words. According to Epistemological Dual-
ism all individual percepts, those which we call things
as well as the percept 'my body,' depend on transphe-
nomenal events in a transphenomenal entity, the organism.
Even the fact of such dependence, however, is in a simple
perceptual situation not a matter of phenomenal aware-
ness; only some indirect procedures and conclusions of
physicists, physiologists and philosophers lead to the con-
viction that there is such a dependence. On the other hand,
all those percepts appear in a general phenomenal medium,
phenomenal space, and as a rule they are there localized
outside each other: 'the tree,' for instance, near the 'house,'
the 'cloud' and the 'moon' above and 'myself rather far
from these things, although 'my feet' are in touch with the
percept 'ground.' It is certainly no more surprising that
the other percepts appear outside the percept 'my body/
than that the 'moon/ the 'cloud' and the 'tree' appear out-
side the percept 'house/ Conversely, instead of expecting
to find the 'tree/ the 'house/ the 'cloud' and the 'moon'
inside 'myself/ I might quite as well expect to see 'myself
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 131
inside one of the thing-percepts 'tree/ 'cloud* or 'moon/
Without exception we are dealing here with percepts
which have a definite phenomenal location relative to each
other, and there is no reason whatsoever why in phenom-
enal space the percept 'myself' ('my body') should not in
principle play the same role as that played by other
percepts.
Thus, astonishing though it may appear, the problem
by which so many have been disturbed is indeed no real
problem at all. This becomes obvious as soon as we dis-
tinguish between the organism as a transphenomenal entity
and the 'body' as a percept. To the first refers the state-
ment that all percepts depend on processes inside the
organism where even the word depend, just as inside
and organism, has a transphenomenal meaning. To the
second, the 'body'-percept, refers the sentence that things
have places 'outside myself where all words point to phe-
nomenal facts and 'outside' is a phenomenal relation in
phenomenal space. Only it we fail to see that one state-
ment is about relations in transphenomenal space (includ-
ing the organism), while the other is about phenomenal
relations in phenomenal space (including the 'bodily
self') only so long can we believe that these statements
contradict each other. Confuse the organism with the
'self-percept, tail to distinguish between physical space
and phenomenal space, and you have the great paradox:
"Inside" predicated there contradicts 'outside' tound here.
I have to add only that the paradox disappears without the
help of any special hypothesis. It simply vanishes before
consistent thinking on the accepted premises of Epistemo-
logical Dualism.
The argument as given does not strictly speaking need
supplementation. For the sake of completeness, however,
ija THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
and in preparation for further discussions we shall take
one more step which will bring us in touch with science,
namely, with neurology. From the last paragraphs one is
naturally led to two questions: Why should percepts be so
nicely distributed in phenomenal space? And, how more
concretely do phenomena depend on processes inside the
organism? It will be obvious that these questions belong
together. They express the need for more insight into the
relation which prevails between percepts in phenomenal
space on the one hand and neural events inside the organ-
ism on the other.
In trying to give a preliminary answer, we had better
simplify the situation. The field of percepts usually con-
tains data of many sense-modalities: visual, auditory,
tactual, olfactory, kinaesthetic and so on. There is but one
phenomenal space in which they all appear; and order in
this space is, as a rule, one common order for all of them,
so that, for instance, I hear a car starting where I also see
it. Why that should be so is still a matter of controversy
with which I do not wish to burden this discussion. For
this reason the following account will be restricted to
data of one sensory modality only, namely, that of visual
percepts. Our problem therefore is: How is the spatial dis-
tribution of visual percepts connected with their de-
pendence on transphenomenal events in the organism?
Without trespassing on hypothetical ground we can
give the following preliminary answer. On the retina of
the eye, images of physical objects are projected in an
orderly manner. The distribution of images is similar to
that of photographic images on the sensitive film in a
camera. In consequence of such stimulation, nerve-
impulses from various points on the retina begin to travel
along the fibers of the optic nerve and then along more
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 133
central neurons. Eventually they arrive in a definite part
of the cerebral cortex, the striate area, and there cause
further processes which seem to be the final phase of
purely visual function. According to present knowledge
visual experience of human beings depends on these proc-
esses. The most important point, however, is that the im-
pulses on their way to the cortex and the final processes
in the cortex are no less well distributed than is stimula-
tion on the retina. At the present time evidence is over-
whelming for this fact both in human pathology and in
experimentation on infrahuman mammals. Whatever the
reason may be, impulses arrive and processes develop in
the striate area of the cortex as an orderly pattern. More-
over, the spatial properties of this pattern are to some
degree akin to those which the pattern of images exhibits
on the retina.
This statement will acquire a more definite meaning if
we add a few anatomical data. The brain, as everybody
knows, has two hemispheres which are to some degree sep-
arated by the median fissure, but are at the same time
connected by several structures, first of all by the fibres
of the corpus callosum. The cortex of each hemisphere
contains a striate area. In the case of the human brain
these areas are located on the dorsal side of the brain where
the cortex of both hemispheres bends and disappears into
the median fissure. Here the two striate areas face each
other across this fissure. Only small portions of the areas
remain- on the outer surface of the hemispheres, covering
their posterior poles.
Anatomically the extension of the visual cortex is well de-
fined by a histological peculiarity. Wherever this part of the
cortex is cut vertically to its own surface a white stripe appears
i 3 4 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
in the otherwise grey tissue. It is this white stripe which has
given the visual cortex the name of "striatc area."
Let us suppose now that only one eye of a person is
functioning. On the retina of this eye images of outer
physical objects will be projected, and presently nerve
impulses will begin to travel along the optic fibers. As I
said before, at their arrival in the cortex their spatial dis-
tribution will correspond to a certain extent with the
pattern ot retinal stimulation. More specifically: those im-
pulses which started from the left half of the retina arrive
in the striate area of the left hemisphere, while those
which come from the right half of the retina take their
course to the right striate area. Under normal circum-
stances botli eyes function. The images of objects are then
projected upon the retinae of both eyes. For the second
eye, however, the same rule holds: impulses from its left
side arrive in the left striate area, impulses from the right
half in the right striate area. For simple reasons of letinal
projection such processes of the two eyes as correspond to
the same objects in physical space outside are conducted
in this manner to approximately the same parts of the
visual cortex. A physical object to one's left will be pro-
jected on the right side of both retinae, and so forth. Since
the impulses which correspond to the two images of the
object arrive at approximately the same region of the
visual cortex they may perhaps arouse one single cortical
process there. Certain facts seem to indicate that often this
is really the case, although here we reach the limits of
actual knowledge. On the other hand, it is definitely
known that between the distribution of processes in the
visual cortex and the distribution of images on the retinae
there is correspondence not only as to halves, but also as
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 135
to smaller parts. In this sense neurologists are doubtless
right when- they say that the visual cortex, i.e., the two
striate areas taken together, represents a "cortical retina."
May I offer a concrete example. (As has been done con-
sistently in the last three paragraphs all terms will be
used in a physical or transphenomenal sense). A man sits
at his desk on which there are a penril and a ruler, several
inches apart. With a given direction of his. eyes an image
of the pencil will be projected on certain parts of both
retinae and an image of the ruler on other parts. Between
these images the surface of the table will be projected as
it will also be around these images. From what we know
about the "cortical retina" and its connection with the eyes
it follows immediately that in the striate- areas there will
be two separate processes in different places, one cor-
responding to the pencil and the other to the ruler. 9 Be-
tween these processes and around them there will be other
processes which correspond to the surface of the table. In
this statement there is, I insist, no speculation whatsoever.
It simply expresses, for a particular example, what is
definitely known as a general rule. And it follows that, to
a certain extent, the spatial relations not only of retinal
images but also of the corresponding physical objects
themselves are, in the visual cortex, represented by analo-
gous spatial relations.
The physical situation, however, will usually contain
more components than those which have as yet been men-
o In oulcr to simplify matters I am hcic omitting the fact that of
each object theie aie in our case two images, one in each eye, which
might, when corresponding impulses arrive in the cortex, produce two
processes for each object Those who feel disturbed by this situation may
either assume that actually these two similar processes in approximately
the same place will become fused: or else, they may consider the case
where only one eye is open. This case is quite sufficient for a demonstra-
tion of what we want to prove
136 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
tioned. Let us assume that in our example the man has
put his hands on the edge of the desk. So far as reflection
of daylight from their surfaces is concerned these hands
are physical objects just as are the pencil and the ruler.
Consequently, if the hands are in a natural position before
the rest of the organism and before the eyes, images of
his own hands will be projected on the retinae of the
man. Supposing that on the desk the positions of the
hands are different from those of the pencil and the
ruler, these retinal images of the hands will have differ-
ent locations from those of the two things. Since all
these images do not differ from each other in principle,
nerve impulses will start where the images of the hands
are projected precisely as other impulses issue from the
retinal images of pencil and ruler. Again, in the visual
cortex of the man there will presently be processes which
represent his hands, and these processes will have locations
of their own, different from those where the pencil and the
ruler are represented by their processes. Now, as a rule,
the hands will not be the only parts of the organism which
in this manner stimulate the eyes of the same organism so
that eventually corresponding processes occur in the visual
cortex. Rather the retinal images of the hands will be
parts of more extended images in which projection of the
forearms and perhaps, more peripherally, even the trunk
and some portion of the legs may be included. Since retinal
projection preserves to some degree the spatial order in
which, outside the eye, the objects are distributed; since,
furthermore, a similar relation holds between the retinal
projection and the distribution of cortical processes, the
neurological situation is simple enough: In their totality
the processes of the visual cortex may be considered as a
picture of the fact that here an organism is confronted
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 137
with a number of objects, that these objects have certain
spatial relations relative to each other and relative to the
organism. At least in so far as the objects and the organism
are outside each other there is agreement between their
distribution in physical space at large and the distribution
of corresponding events in the narrower physical world
of the brain*. For, in some part of the visual cortex the vis-
ible surface of the organism is represented, and in other
parts of the same area we have those processes which rep
resent the objects outside the organism.
Between the cortical representation of the visible organism
and that of other objects there is of course no gap. If the hands,
for instance, lie on the edge of the desk, the retinal image of
the desk will extend between the images of the hands and
those of the pencil and the ruler. The same will apply to the
processes which, in the visual cortex, represent the hands or
other parts of the organism, the surface of the desk and those
objects. Still, all these parts of the situation remain outside
each other, as processes in the "cortical retina" no less than
as objects.
There is no essential change in this respect, if the eyes turn
to a new point of fixation, or if the organism moves as a whole.
In both cases retinal images both of other objects and of the
organism will generally change their locations, some images
will disappear and others will take their places. The same
will be true of corresponding cortical processes. But since all
the physical objects remain outside the physical organism,
their retinal images will always remain outside the image of
the organism; and corresponding cortical processes will re-
main outside the process by which the surface of the organism
itself is represented.
Not all philosophers are well acquainted with this part
of neurology. I repeat, therefore, that my description does
not in any essential point contain mere assumptions, al-
138 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
though it ignores several problems with which at present
we are not yet concerned.
Among the transphenomenal entities which have been
mentioned in these paragraphs the processes in the visual
cortex are, for our purposes, by far the most important.
So far as we know, on these processes visual percepts depend
most directly. If a circumscribed but not too small part of
the striate areas is destroyed, no visual perception is pos-
sible of such things as would otherwise be represented by
processes in that region. Any essential disturbance of the
"cortical retina/' by pathological factors or by wounds,
leads to alteration of the phenomenal visual field. It seems
safe to conclude that normal vision is based on normal
function of the same cortical region, more concretely, that
particular visual percepts as they appear in the visual field
depend directly on particular corresponding processes in
the visual cortex. Such terms as "depend on" and "based
on" should, of course, be used with caution. They are
meant to express the fact that certain things, the visual
percepts, exist, disappear or change in f correlation with
the occurrence, the disappearance or the alteration of cor-
responding brain-events. A relation ot this kind may still
be interpreted in several ways. But in our piesent connec-
tion there is no need to choose between such different
possibilities.
We come back to questions of localization. Part of the
organism itself, we have found, and physical objects before
it are represented in the visual cortex by processes the dis-
tribution of which corresponds roughly with the fact that
those other objects have locations outside the organism.
If, now, on all such processes visual percepts are based, is
there any neurological reason why phenomenally the thing-
percepts should be localized inside the body-percept? In
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 139
the visual cortex the processes on which the thing-percepts
depend are certainly external to those on which the visual
body-percept is based. Whatever else this may mean, the
unfortunate expectation that 'things' should appear in the
interior of the 'body* cannot possibly be derived from the
neurological situation. On the contrary, so far as distribu-
tion of underlying processes is concerned, precisely the
opposite, localization of visual things outside the visual
body, might seem to be more plausible. And it is this
spatial relation which we find realized in visual experience
when we say that a 'house/ a 'tree/ a 'cloud' and the 'moon*
appear at different distances 'outside ourselves/
Sometimes one hears the objection that after all the visual
cortex, as the brain in general, is situated inside the skull;
and that to this extent all the processes of the visual cortex
remain interior. Thus one might expect the visual field as a
whole to have an interior location. In this argument a cer-
tain fact is correctly stated, but the conclusion does not follow.
Granting for a moment that mere geometrical relationships
in the cortex are really essential for spatial relationships in
phenomenal experience, we should at once have to add that
this would apply to neural events on which visual percepts or
other phenomena are based, not to anatomical structures in
which such processes will never occur. So far as brain-events
and visual percepts are concerned, the presence of the skull
has no direct relevance. The fact that the skull surrounds the
brain could show in the visual field only if in bones there
were processes on which percepts would depend. In this case
the visual field might conceivably appear as surrounded by
such percepts. But there are no such processes in the skull.
Why then should the visual field appear as locked up in some-
thing else?
Though our immediate task is hereby solved, a few re-
marks will be needed lest our representation of neurologi-
cal facts be seriously misunderstood.
I 4 o THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
A most important point is this. The distribution of
processes in the visual cortex certainly gives no support to
the idea that thing-percepts should have an interior loca-
tion. So much is true. On the other hand, it would be a
serious mistake if we were to make the positive assump-
tion that the distribution of different processes in differ-
ent parts of the visual cortex yields, as such, a full under-
standing of actual relationships in phenomenal space. This
warning applies generally, not only to the spatial rela-
tions between thing-percepts and the body, but also to
those between two or more thing-percepts. Apart from
the fact that phenomenal space is three-dimensional, while
our discussion has referred to a two-dimensional pattern
of brain-events, phenomenal space has numerous traits
which mere geometrical distributions of cortical events will
never make us understand. To give one simple example
only: visual space has to some degree metrical properties.
In a given case it has a sense to say on mere inspection that
the distance between two things in the visual field ap-
pears equal to the distance between two other things of the
field. If, now, we should suppose that in the visual cortex
the same equality holds for the two distances by which
the pairs of corresponding processes are separated, our
assumption might be often wrong, and it would surely be
wrong in certain cases. Visual distances are not metrically
proportional to geometrical distances in brain-space.
On the other hand, as to topological relations of mere
distance and mutual exclusion in general, there is good
agreement between percepts in the visual field and cor-
responding cortical processes. In our present discussion
this is the only relevant fact.
To summarize: Epistemological Dualism holds that per-
cepts cannot be identified with physical objects, because
BEYOND PHENOMENOLOGY 141
percepts emerge only after many events have happened
between the objects and the organism, in peripheral parts
of the organism and eventually in the brain. This view
seems to lead to a paradox since, as a rule, thing-percepts
appear outside our body. We have first shown that this
argument is due to an ambiguity of terms. Then, in a dis-
cussion of neurological data, we have found that on this
ground localization of thing-percepts 'inside ourselves'
could never be expected. Much discussion between the
New Realists and their opponents would probably have
been avoided if more attention had been given to these
sections of psychology and neurology.
In this chapter it has been explained in what sense we
use such terms as nature and physical world. It will be our
next task to compare nature with the phenomenal world.
CHAPTER V
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD
IF requiredness occurred in nature, the phenomenal
world and transphenomcnal reality would have one essen-
tial trait in common. According to a widely accepted belief
this is impossible since, so we are told, both the material
and the laws of nature are incomparable with the contents
and the laws of immediate experience. As a matter of
principle there cannot be any traits common to the
"mental" and the "physical" sides of the world.
Is this true? No, it is absolutely impossible, provided
that the physical world is transphenomenal, and that we
are nevertheless able to discover some of its secrets. Let us
first consider nature in general and postpone the special
discussion of living systems. Man has no direct access to
the physical world. The phenomenal world contains all
the material which is directly given to him. Thus, our
approach to the physical domain will under all circum-
stances consist of inferences which we draw from the
observation of certain percepts or, perhaps, also from
other experiences; it will always be a procedure of con-
struction. For this construction no building material is
available but what we find in the phenomenal world. In
this sense, then, it does not only become possible that in
some respects nature has traits in common with phenom-
enal material. Rather there can not be a single trait in
142
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 143
nature which has not at least one model somewhere in
the phenomenal world. This refers to nature so far as
we feel we know something about it. How, in fact, could
the process of construction give us any special or general
result which was toto genere different from all experi-
ences that men have ever had? Standing before the physi-
cist's building we could and should always point to this
stone or that principle of structure and should ask: Where
did you get that? Besides, what is it? And the physicist
would always have to point to some phenomenon as his
source; sometimes, though the item might look like one
thing in his building, he would even have to point to sev-
eral phenomenal data in turn as being the various ingredi-
ents of one of his concepts. 1
For a moment it might appear as though in the last
chapter an argument had been given which would invali-
date this conclusion. There I tried to show that "tran-
scendence" is a definite experience, and that to that extent
we are at times in direct contact with transphenomenal
reality. However, such contact remains limited enough,
limited to those implications which are inherent in a ref-
erence as it extends from a phenomenal term to a second
term outside. In the experience of transcendence this
second term as such does not become accessible, may its
existence be ever so forcibly implied in the reference. As
to its properties outside, they are again only given by
implication. And I do not know of any case in which
transcending reference would, for the entity outside, imply
otherwise unknown properties. The implication is always
i A short time ago K. Lewin made the statement that the objects of
physics are experienced "no less directly than those of psychology " (Prin-
ciples of Topological Psychology, 1936. p. 20) I hope that Piofessor Le-
win will find an opportunity to explain by what argument he supports
this opinion.
144 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
such that an understandable relationship extends from the
phenomenal term inside to the hidden term outside; which
means that the entity outside is, in the relevant respect,
comparable in principle with the phenomenon inside. In
this way, therefore, we cannot escape the conclusion that
the building of physics consists of such concepts as have,
without exception, relatives among the phenomena. On
the other hand, transcendence as I know it seems to show
that, besides being the only material available, concepts
shaped after phenomenal models may also be a most ap-
propriate material. This follows from the fact that in
transcending reference transphenomenal entities are im-
plied with such properties as compare intelligibly with
phenomena in each case. I do not expect to find any
examples of which this could not be said. So far as we
know transcendence, it seems to show directly that trans-
phenomenal reality is akin to phenomenal experience.
The physicist's problem would then be what concepts of
phenomenal origin in general he should use in his con-
struction, and what special concepts would fit best in each
particular case. In his choice he is directed by observa-
tional data on the one hand and by the need for systematic
consistency and clearness on the other.
Though all the material which the physicist uses in
his construction is ultimately derived from phenomenal
sources, his procedure may of course result in a building
which, to superficial inspection, has very little in common
with the phenomenal world. After the general model of
phenomenal things he can construct transphenomenal ob-
jects the properties of which differ widely from those of
the model. Thus, many traits of phenomenal things may
be strictly excluded in the construction of transphenom-
enal objects. The same may happen with relations which
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 145
we find between things in the phenomenal world, but do
not admit in the system of physics. It is a truism that elim-
ination of phenomenal characteristics from this system
has really marked the progress of science during the last
300 years. Urges as felt by man were once freely attributed
to physical entities in action; so-called tertiary qualities
played an essential role in early physics; common sensory
qualities still belonged to Aristotelian physics when Galileo
was young. They have all disappeared from the present
system. From this fact alone it follows that nobody who
becomes acquainted with the physicist's building will
find, at first, much resemblance with his familiar phe-
nomenal home. Its foreign appearance is, however, further
enhanced by the high degree of elaboration which ac-
cepted phenomenal data undergo before they are finally
included in the system. Probably most concepts of physics
are complicated products of thinking in which materials
from many places in phenomenal experience are united,
so that at present it is extremely hard to say where in the
phenomenal world their various sources lie. Most of all is
this true of many notions which the physicist tends to
identify with their mathematical expressions. Apparently
nobody knows exactly how many different materials from
how many different parts of the phenomenal world con-
tribute to one such apparently simple concept as, say,
"potential energy/* Clearness and familiarity of the
mathematical symbol determine, for the expert, exactly
how he has to use it. It leads to accurate operations. But
this does not mean that the expert can give us its legiti-
mation in terms of ultimate phenomenal data. Some people
are excellent drivers who cannot fully explain how their
motor has been built. It is not even obvious or likely that
all the ingredients of such concepts are taken from the
146 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
world of percepts. The less so since, if the concept itself
is now preferably given in mathematical form, its creation
may also be mainly due to mathematical reasoning. A phys-
ical world which is described in such terms cannot fail
to look utterly foreign to those who habitually dwell in
the phenomenal world and are little acquainted with
mathematics. Even the expert may easily have the same
impression since, so long as symbols arid operations work
nicely, he is not apt and not obliged to test their ultimate
foundation. Even to him mathematics may sometimes seem
to be a world by itself because its connections with the
phenomenal world are not easily traced. Consequently his
mathematical description of physical systems will often
appear as a procedure the object of which has hardly any
similarity with the phenomenal world. Still and here we
return to our main argument the meaning of all mathe-
matical symbols and operations rests ultimately somewhere
on phenomenal ground, though, I repeat, not necessarily
in the realm of percepts. Not even the modern technique
of axiomatic or implicit definitions has brought an essen-
tial change in this respect. We may reduce the number of
ultimate phenomenal data, relationships and what-not
which give our concepts their meanings, but it is impos-
sible really to eliminate them all.
Often nature and the phenomenal world are said to be,
if not entirely incomparable, at least totally different in
particular respects. Thus, some authors find physical ic-
ality mainly characterized as a realm of quantities, while
all phenomena, they say, are so essentially qualitative that
quantification in psychology, for instance, would neces-
sarily falsify the phenomenal material of this science. It
seems doubtful whether we can really draw a sharp divid-
ing line between quantitative and qualitative properties.
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 147
But even if we were able to do so, it is obvious that no
quantitative traits could be found in the physical world
unless this were also true to some extent of the phenomenal
world. The same reason applies here as before: If there
were no quantitative relations whatever in the phenom-
enal world, if, more particularly, none of our mental oper-
ations implied quantification, the attribution of quanti-
tative traits to physical entities could never have occurred.
The term "quantitative" would have no meaning; English
and other languages would have no words with the conno-
tation that "quantitative" actually has.
It is certainly true that what we call "counting" and
"measuring" today is the outcome of a long historical
development. But without any actual measuring every-
body perceives that certain things are bigger than others,
that it takes more time to walk from one village to another
than through the first; even without counting, the poor
man sees that the rich man has more cattle than he has
himself. Counting and measuring, beyond such primitive
comparison of phenomenal amounts, includes in all cases
more complicated mental operations. These operations,
however, belong to the phenomenal world no less than do
perceptual situations which exhibit quantitative traits in a
simpler form. Once more, if in our intellectual activities
as phenomenal events there were no basis for and no
tendency towards definite quantification, we could never
have proceeded to as much accurate measuring as is now
done every day in physics.
Even the transition from primitive comparison to actual
measurement is sanctioned by direct awareness of their
equivalence in principle. If one stick appears very much
longer than another, this simple comparison implies that
the second can be put side by side with the first, so that
148 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
the first extends beyond both ends or at least one end of the
second. If two sticks seem to have the same length in
primitive comparison, there is a reasonable expectation
that their ends will coincide when they are put together.
Such a coincidence would not be an altogether new, inde-
pendent and surprising event. And this is, in fact, the prin-
ciple according to which we usually measure the length
of an object. Instead of concentrating upon phenomenal
extension as such, we make observations about coincidences
of points, namely, of the ends of a standard object and
of points along the length which we wish to measure. In
primitive comparison of two phenomenal extensions, it is
true, no number could as a rule be found which would
express their accurate quantitative relation. Still it seems
obvious that actual measuring which yields such a num-
ber refers, though indirectly, to the same thing extension
as we attend to in primitive comparison. Without such
phenomenological equivalence in principle our ancestors
would hardly have invented the more indirect and at the
same time more accurate procedure. Certainly we do not
leave the phenomenal world, its relationships and reason-
able operations, when we develop quantitative procedures.
Though apparently equivalent in principle, primitive com-
parison and actual measurement will sometimes yield different
results. Objects which seem to have different sizes in primitive
comparison may have the same size when measured, and vice
versa. In such cases the physicist speaks of "illusions" which
are inherent either in phenomenal size or in primitive com-
parison. He prefers the method of measuring, i.e., of coin-
cidences of points, which gives him more definite results.
When points coincide in phenomenal space, corresponding
points are, as a rule, assumed to coincide in physical space.
That science here decides in favor of the indirect procedure
and against immediate appreciation is one essential step in its
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 149
emancipation from many phenomenal data. Even so, the full
meaning of measuring is not contained in the fact that, in a
given case, the end of a standard object coincides so many
times in succession with certain other points. For the result is
given in terms of length of a measured distance, which means
that coincidences of points and the number of such coin-
cidences are still regarded as symptoms of something else,
namely, spatial extension within which those coincidences
occur. Spatial extension as thus measured is, of course, not
identical with phenomenal size. As so many "illusions" show,
there may be contradiction as to quantity between the two.
They may also differ in other respects. Nevertheless "real
length** and the indirect procedure of measuring it are still
related in the same sensible manner which originally made
measuring a reasonable procedure.
It is impossible to attribute quantitative traits to physi-
cal nature and at the same time to deny their existence in
the phenomenal world. If, instead, we were told that
qualitative differences are to be found only among phe-
nomena while physical nature is a realm of pure quanti-
ties, this statement might conceivably be true. Science has
discarded so many phases of phenomenal experience as
not belonging to transphenomenal reality that complete
exclusion of qualitative differences might seem to be the
natural end of this process.
However, reduction of qualitative differences in science
has never gone so far. When we speak about the "mass"
of a physical object we mean one thing, when- we speak
about its "length" we mean another. Nobody has, so far
as I know, ever tried to show that this is a merely quanti-
tative difference. Still it might appear as though the physi-
cist recognized qualitative differences between a few basic
concepts only. Other properties of the physical world
seem to be "reduced" to these few elementary notions: to
150 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
"mass," "length," "time" and, perhaps, "temperature." A
simple example: In order to know what the velocity of a
moving object is we measure the distance between two
points of its course, we also measure the time which is
spent on this distance, and then we divide the first amount
by the second. For this reason a velocity is said to have the
dimension length: time, more carelessly sometimes: to be
a length divided by a time. It seems to be the belief of
many that in attributing to all velocities the dimension
length: time we reduce the meaning of velocity to those
of length and of time. Since in a similar manner all con-
cepts of physics are given dimensions in terms of those
three or four basic concepts, it would follow that only
these are essentially different, while from them the mean-
ing of all the others could be derived. To this extent the
number of irreducible physical qualia would be extremely
small.
I do not think that this is a correct conclusion. Take
the example of a velocity. It is true, we compute a velocity
by dividing the distance traversed by an object by the
number which indicates how many seconds it has spent on
the way. But, on the other hand, if we divide a distance by
a number which indicates a certain duration, the result
need not be a velocity. I may, for instance, look at a line
for 5 seconds and find by measurement that the length of
the line is 10 inches. Dividing 10 by 5, I get 2. This 2 is,
of course, not a velocity. Though trivial enough, this ex-
ample shows how hasty we should be, if concentrating on
measured quantities and a simple mathematical operation,
we were to forget the background which gives a meaning
to both the measuring and the operation. Many quotients
may be computed which would have the dimension length:
time, but only in particular cases would the quotients
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 151
have the meaning of velocities. It can therefore not be true
that the concept "velocity" is defined by its dimension.
In fact, when we compute the velocity of an object it is
not some distance in general which we measure, but the
distance through which the object moves with the velocity
in question; and it is not some duration in general which
we observe, but the time which it spends moving with this
velocity through the measured distance. Thus, the con-
cepts "movement" and "velocity" are used, presupposed
and needed to point to those special lengths and times
which make the simple quotient a measure ot velocity.
Consequently the quotient as such is not a definition of
velocity; if velocity has the dimension length: time, ve-
locity is not thereby reduced to these simpler qualia;
"movement" and "velocity" remain unreduced basic con-
cepts even in physics.
On the other hand the usual measurement of velocities in
terms of distance and time has a good phenomenological
reason. In the concept of velocity as such it is implied that
the greater the velocity of an object, the shorter the time
which it spends on a given distance. It is this implication
which gives our method of measuring velocities its sensible
phenomenological basis. In this respect the connection be-
tween velocity as such and the measurement of it is strictly
comparable with the relation between extension as such and
its measurement by the method of point-coincidences. And
again, as in the case of extension, the measurement of velocity
will often contradict our more direct and primitive apprecia-
tion of speed. In this situation the physicist trusts his measure-
ment and discards the direct perception as illusory. This
means that, once more, a "real" trait of nature is being dis-
tinguished from a corresponding trait of the phenomenal
world. Nevertheless in the real world the reasonable connec-
tion between velocity as such and its measurement is pre-
served. It gives the measuring its meaning.
1 5 2 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
There is a further argument against the attempt to in-
terpret the dimensions of physical concepts as definitions
of these concepts. In mechanics potential energy has the
same dimension as kinetic energy. At least in this case,
therefore, the dimension fails to give a difference between
two meanings which doubtless have to be distinguished in
physics. It would be easy to add other cases where the same
is true. Conversely, one single concept of physics may
have different dimensions according to the context in
which it is measured. Thus, electric charge has one dimen-
sion when measured electrostatically and another dimen-
sion when measured electromagnetically. Nobody would
contend that electric charge is one thing in the first case
and another in the second. Again we might enumerate
other examples to which the same argument applies. Or
also: Electrostatically measured, electric capacity has the
dimension of a length. Could anyone seriously believe
that the meaning of the term "electric capacity" can be
fully reduced to the meaning of "length" as such? It fol-
lows once more that the dimensions of physical entities,
though they have great value in other respects, are by no
means definitions of these entities. Again, therefore, if the
dimensions of all physical notions contain only a few simple
concepts, the meanings of those notions are not thereby
reduced to these simple concepts.
II
The erroneous interpretation of physical dimensions as
definitions would hardly be defended by any authority in
the field. At least the last argument against it is too obvious.
The misunderstanding occurs more frequently among stu-
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 153
dents and among those who take an interest in physics
from the outside. Still, it is significant; because in a primi-
tive form it represents a general trend of thought by which
even the greatest scientists of our time are strongly in-
fluenced. We may call it the Positivistic trend in physics.
Positivism has various other forms with which the present
discussion is not concerned. The opinion, however, which
we shall next analyze refers directly to our problem.
For a long time physicists have been so busy with the
discovery of relevant facts and laws that they have not
been able to give much attention to their own procedure,
its premises and its final scope. In this respect a radical
change has occurred. One scientist after another occasion-
ally takes a few steps back from the building so that, from
a distance, he may better see what it looks like as a whole.
Fully aware of the fact that in the beginning of the con-
struction much material was being used which later on
had to be discarded, such critics of their own work will
naturally search for more valueless ingredients that should
be eliminated. The more complete the building, the
stronger also the wish to remove all remnants of mere
scaffolding which still disturb the clear outline of the edi-
fice. It is in fact an intense urge for neatness, pure design
and lucidity which marks the present era of physics. This
tendency became particularly strong when Einstein showed
that even our common concepts of space and time cannot
be applied to the physical world without a radical correc-
tion. Since then several other concepts which before had
been regarded as fundamental in science have lost much
of their prestige. As things are now one can sometimes
hardly help feeling that such efforts might be too success-
ful, that with the scaffolding the building itself might dis-
154 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
appear and leave an emptiness behind, which would
certainly satisfy even the highest demands of clearness.
Among the most remarkable achievements of self-criti-
cism in physics is the thesis that all observation in physics
is reduced to coincidences or "pointer-readings." A
pointer-reading is the name which the physicist gives to
the phenomenal fact that the pointer of an instrument is
seen to coincide with a line on the instrument's scale.
"By the dropping of redundant sense data," says Ed-
dington, "we have reduced our observational material
to pointer-readings, or more generally to coincidences."
Nor is this all; for, since such observational material is so
very much the essence of science, all sober statements about
the physical world itself will be given in terms of pointer-
readings; in other words, "our knowledge of the objects
treated in physics consists solely of readings of pointers
and other indicators." In the case of a particular object or
situation "there is always the triple correspondence
a) a mental image, which is in our minds and not in the
external world;
b) some kind of counterpart in the external world,
which is of inscrutable nature;
c) a set of pointer-readings, which exact science can
study and connect with other pointer-readings."
It follows that "none of the images which constitute our
sensory perception are applicable to the physical world"
, with the sole exception, of course, of coincidences them-
selves, which are primarily phenomenal data or "images."
So far as perception is concerned, therefore, the physicists
seem to be giving us a picture of their world in which
scarcely any resemblance is left with phenomenal mate-
rial. I agree with Eddington when he says that his view
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 155
is essentially the current scientific doctrine. 2 He realizes the
radicalism of this doctrine so vividly that he makes several
attempts to console the layman who might find the world
of mere coincidences rather dull and physics as a science
of coincidences fairly disappointing. The main redeeming
feature of a physical world in which only coincidences
are known is the fact that such coincidences can be ar-
ranged in a "scheme of relationship, or a structure" 8
The physicist somehow connects pointer-readings, and the
results of this process are what we call "physical laws."
If we postpone for the moment the questions which
naturally arise from the last statement, we have to admit
that the physicist's building seems now to be extraordi-
narily neat not only because it contains so very little and
such thoroughly homogeneous material, but also because
this simple material as such, the coincidences, will by its
severe precision please even extreme Puritans.
However, something must be wrong with the thesis that
pointer-readings and other coincidences are the only per-
ceptual material which the physicist uses in his research
and in the construction of his building. Here is the story
of some real facts in mere pointer-readings:
4; i; 1887; Go; 5; 52, 7; 19.
The reader will be unable to understand the story. As a
matter ol fact, it is a simple report about the author's
childhood:
"He was born, as the 4th child of his parents, in the
ist month of 1887, under the Goth degree of northern lati-
tude. When 5 years old he went to a town under the 52nd
2 The above quotations arc fiom A. Eddington's New Pathways in
Science. 1931. pp. 16, 18; and from The Nature of the Physical World.
1928. pp 251, 258
*New Pathways in Science f p. 16.
156 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
degree of northern latitude where from his 7th till his
igth year he went to school/'
What I have added now does not refer to colors, feel-
ings and other phenomena which really seem to have no
place in modern reports on physical facts. It refers to those
notions which give each pointer-reading a meaning, and
without which they are nothing but indifferent numbers.
It refers besides to the manner in which the pointer-read-
ings "cohere" or are to be connected so that we get a story
and not a mere aggregate.
Let us apply this to physics proper. It is a minor point
that, in general, coincidences have physical significance
only, if they are observed with reference to a scale, in terms
of which the point in question is found to be "7" or "18.4''
and so on. If on an instrument such numbers should be
found right underneath or above the point in question,
such percepts are, of course, only substitutes for the fact
that others, those who made the instrument, have in their
world of percepts looked upon this point with reference
to the zero-point of the scale. All this, I repeat, is rather
unimportant, though it gives us a first glimpse of phe-
nomenal data which we tend to ignore when we use
the apparently simple terms "coincidences" or "pointer-
readings" and claim that they are the only perceptual ma-
terial used in physics.
It is much more important that in physics the pointer-
readings are numbers which have various names. The name
may be "ohms," if we measure electric resistance; "am*
pres," if we measure the intensity of a current; "degrees,"
if we measure temperature; "miles per hour," if we look
upon the speedometer of our car; "atmospheres," if we
measure air-pressure; "grams," if we measure massand
so on through the whole domain of physics. A mere coin-
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 157
cidence as such does not tell us with which of all these
possibilities we are dealing in a given case not even if
we include the reference to the scale as a whole when
speaking of "the coincidence." Quite apart from such
names as indicate the various units of measurement, we
must evidently have some source of information which
tells us whether a coincidence before us means so much
of "resistance" or "current" or "temperature" or "velocity"
or "pressure" or "mass" and so on. There may be, it is
true, some names on the instruments which indicate what
they all are meant to measure. But such percepts again are
unimportant and obviously once more mere substitutes
for something more essential. Where is this more essential
evidence which in each case gives pointer-readings their
right names? It cannot come from mere thinking which, as
such, would have no reason to give the name of "pressure"
in one definite case rather than in any other. No doubt,
something in percepts however much pervaded by think-
ingmust enable us to apply the right names to all the
various coincidences. And at this point it will begin to
be much clearer that coincidences as such are by no means
the phenomenal material of physics. Obviously two ques-
tions are to be answered, if we wish to make any reason-
able use of pointer-readings: first, such words as "resist-
ance," "current," "temperature," "velocity," "pressure,"
"mass" must have a meaning and, secondly, we must be
able to decide which of these various entities we are, in a
particular experimental situation, about to measure by a
pointer-reading.
The first question brings us back to the problem of
definitions in physics. That these are not given by so-
called "dimensions" has been shown above. In one of his
books Professor Eddington discusses the problem of defini-
158 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
tions, and indicates that the meanings of physical terms
constitute an endless cycle in which one term refers to
others, these again to others and so on, until some step
leads back to the point where we happened to ask for the
meaning of a first term. 4 Familiar conceptions, he says,
have gradually disappeared from the list of physical terms.
Their places are now occupied by mere symbols of en-
tities whose nature we do not claim to know. And it is
these symbols which, in reference to each other, fill the
cycle. One might wish that at this point a more detailed
report had been given as to the relation between such
symbols and definite observational situations. 5 Whatever
the symbols may be when we meet them on pages of the
Philosophical Magazine, or any other journal of physics,
the experimentalist must be able to decide to what con-
crete data of his perceptible experimental set-up the va-
rious symbols refer and vice versa. Otherwise he could
not verify or refute by experimentation what the mathe-
matical physicist predicts in terms ol his symbols. It fol-
lows that so long as the symbols are of any use in physics
their meanings must contain not only phenomenal in-
gredients in general; rather they must refer to specific
aspects of perceptual situations, since it is in these that
all symbolic activities of the theorist are eventually tested.
This means on the one hand that we must have as many
different and characteristic perceptual situations as we
* The Nature of the Physical World, pp. 247 ff
5 In New Pathways in Science (pp. 102 f.) I find the statement. "We
must make suie that the quantities or characters that we speak about
are dnectly or indirectly definable in terms of experience otherwise our
words convey no meaning " This seems to me quite true. But what is the
relation of this statement to those to which 1 refer in the text?
This must be true at least of several symbols. I do not oveilook the
fact that some concepts like "entropy" or "action" refer to perceptual
data via other concepts for which the icferencc is dnect.
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 159
have symbols, the theoretically computed behavior of which
is to be examined in the laboratory. On the other hand, I
repeat, it means that each of these symbols must by its
definition be strictly coordinated with one particular per-
ceptual situation. It can therefore not be a correct thesis
that the physicist's symbols are merely defined in a self-
sufficient cycle of mere symbols.
The reader will not be uncautious enough to propose
that the perceptual data in question are the pointer-read-
ings of experimental physics. This would only lead us
back to our original predicament: Pointer-readings as
such are the same perceptual data whatever we intend to
measure. What we need are different perceptual contexts
inside of which pointer-readings acquire in each case a
particular meaning, "current" now, "pressure" another
time, and so on. Once more, beyond mere coincidences
which are a common feature of all experimental tests,
there must be as many distinguishable phenomenal situa-
tions in laboratories as we have symbols to test. And it
would help us quite as little if one should say that a first
pointer-reading should be interpreted in the light of
another pointer-reading. So long as the second is nothing
but a mere coincidence precisely as the first, so long as no
"qualification" is given to it by a larger perceptual con-
text, it could throw no light on the first coincidence. No
amount of pointer-readings as such could change this state
of affairs. Ten blind persons do not see more than a single
blind man.
It amounts then to this: All the more basic entities
of physics, those which have citizenship both in actual
experimentation and in theory, are ultimately defined with
reference to concrete perceptual situations now as they
always have been. There is a "currents-situation, a "mass"-
i6o THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
situation, a "temperatures-situation, a "pressure* '-sit-
uation in perception. If these situations did not tell us
what we are measuring, no pointer-reading would have any
sense; and if symbols did not refer to such situations, they
would not have the slightest contact with experimental
facts which, of course, are phenomenal facts. A short
time ago I distinguished two tasks: The first was to dis-
cover the source of the meanings of all the essential terms
which we find used by the physicists. The second would be
solved, if in experimental situations we could always de-
cide to which of these entities a particular pointer-reading
actually belongs. We realize now that in both cases the
solution is the same. As in certain perceptual situations
the meaning of the term "electric current" is given, so
additional data in the same perceptual situations will tell
us that the pointer before us indicates by its position "in-
tensity of current." The additional percepts consist in
the structure of an apparatus, the galvanometer, and in its
perceived connection with the main part of the situation,
the circuit.
Not much is changed by the fact that some thinking
will have to accompany our perception of a situation if
it is to be fully understood. Such thinking remains fo-
cussed on the percepts in question and perhaps on ideas
which represent further physical situations. Again, it is
hardly essential that a "currents-situation may vary in many
perceptual details. In the structure of "currents-situations
there must be some invariants which characterize such sit-
uations independently of all unessential perceptual traits
by which they differ. Give a physicist sufficient time, and
he will recognize a "current"-situation, even if all the local
parts of it are of unusual shape. I admit, he will have
to do some thinking. But such thinking can lead to correct
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 161
recognition only so long as the fundamental symptoms
of a "currents-situation are present, and as the thinking
refers to these. It is again to these invariants of certain
perceptual situations that the mathematical vector-symbol
for "current" must be related. Otherwise, as we have seen,
the symbol would be meaningless in empirical science.
The same reasoning applies, of course, to other physical
concepts.
Symbols are therefore ultimately defined in perceptual
contexts, and all the various pointer-readings have their
specific meanings in such contexts. For mathematical pur-
poses we may eliminate Irom these contexts whatever is not
strictly essential, until at last the residuum seems hardly
to have much affinity with perception. This process is de-
sirable in so far as its result is meant to be of general use
apart from all accidental traits in individual cases. Still, for
reasons which now ought to be evident, some remnants of
structure must be left in which the meanings of the "ab-
stract" symbols agree with perceptual situations. There is
almost a humorous touch in the fact that, with all our
aversion to mere percepts, eventually the symbol as a rather
obvious percept should absorb our attention altogether,
and that, by contrast, we should overlook the little deli-
cate spider-web of phenomenal structure which, as its
meaning, still adheres to that percept. But it is this bit of
phenomenal structure which gives each symbol of the
theorist a definite place in the perceptual world of ex-
perimentation. In this world corresponding structures
appear in more concrete phenomenal "materializations,"
and thus the right coordinations of symbols and facts
become possible.
Eddington speaks of the scheme of relationship, the
structure, in which the physicist puts his pointer-readings.
162 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
As he uses these terms they refer to general relationships
which we call "physical laws." We are at present not con-
cerned with these. Apart from general laws, however, con-
crete experimental situations are perceptual contexts
within which the various pointer-readings have definite
places and significance directly. Since the physical mean-
ing of the pointer-readings is defined in these contexts it
follows that, beyond the phenomenal world, we attribute
to the physical world similar structures in which the cor-
responding physical coincidences occur. The structure in
which we actually arrange the physical coincidences is in
its basic scheme given with the pointer-readings in per-
ception. Consequently not only phenomenal coincidences
are used in the construction of the physical world; the
contexts or structures in which they phenomenally appear
are likewise assumed to be common traits of perception
and of physical existence. Physical structures in this sense
are different from perceptual structures in that they may
not "look'* or "feel" like perceptual contexts. For this rea-
son and for the sake of accuracy we prefer to describe
physical structures mathematically. But in all major re-
spects the same procedure might be applied to perceptual
structures. And what I wish to point out is merely that in
such a description the most essential traits of experimental
or perceptual contexts are the same as those of their physi-
cal counterparts. With respect to these traits the per-
ceptual and the physical structures are isomorphic. If they
were not, we could have no physics.
It seems reasonable to assume that an analysis of "physical
laws" as general and abstract structures would lead to about
the same result. The terms which we combine in physical
laws refer to those entities ("current," "resistance," "magnetic
field," etc.) whose meaning is given in definite perceptual situ-
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 163
ations. On what basis should the behavior of particular physi-
cal entities be combined in one particular physical law or
"structure," if there were no experiential, i.e., perceptual, con-
text that would ask for just this combination? In actual fact,
we do not observe a "resist ance"-situation by itself, a "current-
situation by itself, and so on. Rather, one observational con-
text has, in addition to a "current"-aspect, a "resistancc"-
aspect, a "magnetic" and several other aspects. The theorist
will have to admit, I believe, that in the given context these
aspects occur in a definite structural relationship, that the
quantitative side of this relationship is expressed in a physical
law, and that the terms of the law are tacitly conceived to be
in that structural connection which we have before us in the
experimental situation as a perceptual context. In this sense
the structure of the law is not, by pure thought, inexplicably
added to an aggregate of mere pointer-readings. With their
observational structure the pointer-readings are transferred
into the scientist's construction of the physical world; and it
is this structure which also holds the terms of a physical law
together.
To abstract from observational physics the essentials or
invariants of all the different experimental "situations"
and thus the ultimate meanings of corresponding physical
concepts is hard work, which I leave to the epistemologists
of science. Even so we may describe some ol the conse-
quences which, for the nature of the physical world, follow
from our argument about the pointer-readings. A few ex-
amples will make it clearer than general explanations
what is meant by a common structure of perceptual and
physical situations. And such examples need not be tech-
nical.
At first the foreign aspect which Eddington attributes
to the physical world may seem to be little changed by
the discussion of the last paragraphs. As a matter of fact
the change is radical.
164 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
Pointer-readings belong together in concrete situations.
This applies to them as perceptual entities; it also ap-
plies to their counterparts, the physical coincidences.
Thus, the observations which we make on one thing as
a percept are, as a rule, referred to one physical object
in the physical world. This is implied in many statements
of Eddington's. We have, however, to stress the fact ex-
plicitly, since in consequence of it the physical world "of
mere coincidences" acquires a fairly familiar aspect. An
elephant, for instance, whom Eddington takes as an ex-
ample "is a tube in the four-dimensional world demar-
cated from the rest of space-time by a more or less abrupt
boundary." 7 Under normal conditions the Theory of Rela-
tivity may here be neglected, because the elephant is not
apt to move past our eyes or other instruments with any-
thing approaching the velocity of light. We are therefore
allowed to split the four-dimensional world of space-time
into space and time, and to consider the elephant as an
entity in space which has a certain fate in time. He appears
to us as a three-dimensional percept, segregated from his
perceptual background, and, as we learn from Edding-
ton, he is also one segregated object in the physical world.
Appropriate pointer-readings would show that the parts
of just this object tend to remain together, while the object
as a whole may change its spatial relations to other objects
much more freely. Should the elephant lose one of his
huge tusks, perception would show us two separate things
where we had one before. But pointer-readings would re-
veal that the same is true of the physical elephant and
his physical tusk, since from now on these two objects
would move freely in relation to each other. In the lan-
guage of Relativity Theory, the elephant-tube in space-time
7 The Nature of the Physical World, p. 256.
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 165
has split into a tube for a less symmetrical elephant and a
smaller tube for the lost tusk. The normal elephant-
percept has four legs, two tusks, one trunk and one tail as
parts which stand out from the more compact remainder,
their lengths being considerable in comparison with their
diameters. However abstractly we may formulate corre-
sponding data in the physical world, their meaning there
is precisely the same. In other words: As to his main struc-
tural traits the elephant of physics agrees closely with
the elephant of perception. He, too, has four legs, two
tusks, one trunk and one tail, even if you speak of them
in terms of pointer-readings. 8
In an elephant there is nothing in particular which
would forbid us to generalize these statements. I see three
people before me on the street, and three physical people
are there on the physical street. Visually each of them has
two legs and one head; a spider on the wall eight legs and
one head. The structures of pointer-readings which the
physicist would transfer to the physical world will in these
cases again preserve all such traits without any essential
alteration. We need no further examples, of trees, of
houses, pieces of furniture, books, pencils and other fa-
s Eddington, I must remark here, would not commit himself to the
opinion that the tivoncss ot two physical ohjects is "just like" the twoness
of two percepts, or, in other woids, that integers should be "freely dis-
placed" from the woild of experience to that of physical entities (New
Pathway* in Science, 1935, p. 23 f). I cannot say whether the twoness of
two physical objects is just like that of two percepts It seems to me,
however, that integeis of the physical world must be like those of the
phenomenal world to that extent, that fundamental mathematical oper-
ations can be applied to both in the same sense and according to the
same inlcs. Otherwise, what meaning would the term integers have in
physics? And what meaning would the methods of mathematical physics
and many statements of the chemist have? I grant that the use of integers
in physics has its limitations and may mislead us in certain cases; but
every psychologist knows that the same is true of their application to
phenomenal data.
166 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
miliar things. 9 For the most part not only their numbers
as distinct thing-percepts but also the major characteris-
tics ot their structural make-up are the same physically
and in perception. Kven if there is an occasional exception,
as when in dim light we may have one thing-percept
where two objects are present physically, what does it mat-
ter for our question of resemblance in principle so long
as the rule holds in general? 10
It would not be amiss to say that in all these cases it is
really structure in which the world of percepts and the
physical world have so much in common. Resemblance as
to the demarcation of definite objects, and therefore to
their number, means in fact similarity in the gross struc-
ture of the two worlds. And then inside such particular
objects there is again structural resemblance between the
perceptual and the physical world. In this respect, too, the
resemblance may go very far indeed. A ring is in percep-
tion a figure characterized by the peculiarity that, around
something else, it bends back upon itself. If the corre-
sponding physical object is described by the physicist,
will he deny this topological iact? No, it belongs to both
worlds. Or again: Before me I see a river separating its
two banks. Is the physical river not between the two
physical banks? It is. This structure or arrangement of the
* In the Introduction to The Nature of the Physical World Professor
Eddmgton implies most clearly that to the table, the chair and the pen in
his perceptual study there correspond a table, a chair and a pen in the
physical study But this resemblance between the peiceptual and the
physical world is not given much attention when in his chapter on
pomtei -readings the same author represents the physicist's world as a
pattern of meie symbols quite unlike the world of percepts.
i') I should peihaps remaik in passing that our argument often applies
to events as they follow each othci in time I count 10 beats of two
tuning-forks which have approximately the same frequency of vibration.
How many oscillations of intensity would be found in the corresponding
stretch of physical waves? Again 10.
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 167
world of percepts is, as a structure of pointer-readings,
simply preserved in the physical world. Why then should
we frighten people by abstract statements about coinci-
dences as the only material common to the physical and
the perceptual world? If you do not add that, besides, the
concrete structure of the two worlds is nearly the same
in many respects, those statements will be seriously mis-
leading. In the world of percepts the scientist leaves his
home, walks along some streets and passes through the
entrance-door into his observatory. All this can be
described in terms of pointer-readings; but, if these
pointer-readings are to have any physical significance what-
soever, they must be structurally related. When they are
carried over from the phenomenal to the physical world,
essential phases of their structural framework accompany
them from the perceptual to the other domain. And then
we lind that the scientist as a physical object moves physi-
cally from his physical home through physical streets into
his physical observatory, precisely as the scientist-percept
does in relation to corresponding thing-percepts. I think
it is a consolation. 11
In some of our examples the elephant, the people and
the spider, the ring the similarity between physical and
perceptual structure approaches an agreement in form.
Where the thing-percept has a protruding part the same
is true of the physical object. The ring has a hole both
phenomenally and physically. Not infrequently such a re-
semblance approximates the level of quantitative exact-
11 The leader is once more warned against a mistake which seems to
he easily made. It is not possible to leduce the structure of pointer-
readings or other coincidences to moie pointer-readings as such. Even the
fact that, in a particular case, two pointer-leadings give by their differ-
ence a distance in space, not a difference in mass, can only he iccognized
hy icference to something which is not in itself a pointer-reading.
168 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
ness. Before me I have a simple electric condenser which
consists of two metal plates. When looking at the instru-
ment from one side I have right before me a perceptual
circle which is one of the plates. When measuring the
plate I find it to be physically symmetrical around a cen-
tral point. But this is a structural trait which is also im-
plied in the perceptual circle. Or again, when changing
my position appropriately I discover that as percepts the
two plates are plane surfaces parallel to each other. Physi-
cal measurement shows that the same is true of the phys-
ical plates; or at least it gives me data which are
structurally equivalent to such traits of the perceptual sit-
uation. Measurement, it is true, goes farther than direct
inspection of the percepts. It will reveal slight deviations
from those regularities where simple perception reaches its
limits of accuracy. Still, up to this point isomorphism is
almost complete.
Eddington emphasizes the fact that we can never say
what physical things arc ultimately made of. If this be
granted, it does not follow that, apart from coincidences
and abstract laws of their connection, the physical world
is hidden to our understanding. As a rule it contains ob-
jectswhatever their ultimate nature where we perceive
things. Structurally there is much resemblance between
thing-percepts and corresponding physical objects. Such
objects are commonly related in physical space more or less
as thing-percepts are in phenomenal space. If those physi-
cal objects change their locations, the same is generally
true of corresponding percepts. I need hardly repeat that
the phenomenal and the physical worlds differ widely in
other respects. Few qualitative traits of perception, and
perhaps no 'subjective* phenomena, are attributed to
physical nature. Direct perception may also deceive us
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 169
about the quantitative traits of some structures; it will,
in this respect and in general, never reach the accuracy
of indirect measurement. It does not easily reveal most
of the electric and magnetic properties of the physical
world which accounts for the fact of their later discovery.
It completely hides the atomic sub-structure of physical
objects. Nevertheless, in their "macroscopic" structure
phenomenal and physical situations resemble each other
closely enough.
Ill
The "macroscopic" or "molar" aspect of the physical
world, however, is sometimes regarded almost as an il-
lusion. Modern natural science is atomistic. We find at
present most of experimental and mathematical physics
concerned with such entities as molecules, ions, atoms, elec-
trons, protons, neutrons, and so on. Knowledge of these
particles and of their behavior may easily seem to be the
only goal of science. The particles themselves will con-
sequently appear as the only "real" content of nature.
Since under normal circumstances perception does not give
the slightest indication of their existence, in this respect
at least the difference between the phenomenal world and
nature is apt to impress everybody. The physicist likes to
give this impression a disturbing touch. The pavement,
he would say, on which you walk along the street, is for
the most part empty space. In so much emptiness tiny elec-
tric charges rush about here and there, and it is only the
ever-repeated impulses of such charges which keep your
feet and all the rest of you "above the ground." Counted
in cubic centimeters of stone there are a great many of
them and this fact makes you float along the surface
170 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
with a feeling of safety. It remains none the less true
that, compared with the empty part of the pavement, those
bits of charge fill hardly any space whatsoever. To this
extent you are virtually walking on holes. This achieve-
ment, it is true, may appear more plausible if you learn
that exactly the same reasoning applies to your feet and
to your organism in general. As a physical object you are
at least as much empty space as the pavement is. Com-
paratively speaking, it is an enormous distance through
emptiness from one of the tiniest particles of your or-
ganism to the very next. But you are not likely to enjoy
this picture of your own looseness any better than that of
a pavement composed mainly of nothing.
I do not think that this description of physical objects
is quite adequate. Before we criticize it, however, we
should perhaps consider to what extent the atomic na-
ture of the physical world agrees or disagrees with earlier
arguments of this chapter. According to these arguments
the meaning of all concepts which we use in describing
physical entities and events is ultimately derived from
phenomenal data. Does this hold in the case of atomic en-
tities and their behavior?
Atomistic hypotheses were developed long before any
observation could demonstrate the "atomic constitution"
of the physical world. It is obvious that in such early
assumptions an atom and similar concepts were conceived
after the model of larger empirical objects which move
freely as wholes, and are not easily divided into parts. It
was merely the small size of atoms, their more perfect
elasticity and the higher degree of their resistance against
destructive forces which supposedly distinguished them
from ordinary things. In other words, the atoms of earlier
atomistic thinking had no properties the type of which was
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 171
not well known from common phenomenal experience.
The history of the kinetic theory of gases and of the theory
of solutions proves clearly how much could be achieved
even with these primitive concepts.
Since then atomism in physics has undergone a funda-
mental change. However, the decisive characteristic of
this change did not at first consist in the development
of more refined conceptions of the atom and smaller par-
ticles. This development was made possible only by the
more fundamental fact that the atomic constitution of the
physical world, until then a matter of theory only, became
accessible to more direct observation. The paths of tingle
particles were, by Wilson's method, rendered visible on
the photographic plate. The impulses of single atomsor
ions ot helium could be observed and counted as dis-
crete "scintillations" on a surface of appropriately chosen
material. From the realm of hypotheses the atomic con-
stitution of nature, the discreteness of particles, was thereby
transferred to the field of perceptual facts. It is this
progress which immediately affected the knowledge of
particles so much that their velocity, their electric charge,
their mass, soon became accurately determined data, and
that the atom began to reveal its inner structure. Among
these new discoveries there were at first only few in which
the behavior of particles was found to differ considerably
from the previously known behavior of larger objects.
Discreteness of the path of one electron, as shown by Wil-
son's procedure, means essentially the same as discreteness
of the movement of one stone or one cloud; as a common
electric charge, when moved, constitutes an electric cur-
rent, so does the quickly moving electron; and as the mag-
netic field displaces a common current, so does it bend the
path of the electron.
172 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
Not until quantum physics demonstrated a strange dis-
continuity in the behavior of atomic entities and of light
was there any serious suspicion that customary notions
did not apply to the remotest properties of nature. Pre-
cisely what concepts will eventually prove adequate in the
treatment of quantum physics remains to be seen. No
physicists will assume that such concepts can wholly cor-
respond to familiar ideas as directly abstracted from the
behavior of thing-percepts. Nevertheless, even the most
foreign symbolic language in which at present the theorist
makes his statements on quantum physics remains physi-
cally meaningful only to the extent to which this language
points ultimately back to some phenomenal sources and to
possible verification in perceptual situations. If some prop-
erty of the quantum or of photons should prove unintel-
ligible in any phenomenal terms, it would necessarily
remain inaccessible forever. As a matter of fact, however,
quantum physics tends not toward remoteness from per-
ceptual facts but rather toward the elimination of all con-
cepts with which no observable fact could correspond even
under ideal conditions of observation.
The atomic constitution of nature appears in correspond-
ing perception only if the physicist makes use of particular
devices which have been invented for the purpose. Direct
observation of thing-percepts and their behavior will hardly
ever give any evidence of atomic facts. As a rule thing-
percepts seem to us "dense," "continuous" and, in general,
"quiet," while the physical things in question are said to
consist of discrete particles, widely scattered in otherwise
empty space and rapidly moving in all possible directions.
If this be the truth about physical objects we seem forced
to confess that perception is to an amazing degree illusory,
giving us as it does the impression of definite continuous
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 173
large-scale objects which behave as wholes. It may be a
correct statement that all physical entities of which we can
know must be akin to some phenomenal data. But with the
same basic colors obviously altogether different paintings
may be produced; and nature seems patterned after a
scheme which does not agree with the pattern of percep-
tion. Nature, its entities and the laws of their behavior,
seem to have a thoroughly microscopic constitution, while
thing-percepts and their behavior are essentially macro-
scopic.
Since the physicist himself uses these terms in applica-
tion not to the atomic constitution of nature on the one
hand and to the "molar" pattern of perception on the
other, but to two different sides of nature, we should not
too hastily assume that the term "macroscopic" refers to an
illusory subjective impression. Only a few decades ago
atomic events became directly accessible to experimental
research. It is not surprising that the opportunity of inves-
tigating an almost entirely new field should for a time ab-
sorb the physicist's interest altogether. Influenced by this
attitude of the expert the layman is apt to give less import-
ance to that vast body of physical knowledge which had
been built up before the era of atomic research. What was
the characteristic of such knowledge, since it could not yet
be truly atomistic? It was, as a matter of experimental ex-
perience, wholly macroscopic. Atomistic theories existed
and were certainly most influential in chemistry and in
thermodynamics. The only way of testing their validity,
however, consisted in the verification or refutation of such
conclusions as followed from the atomistic assumptions for
the case of macroscopic observation. All matters of fact
were therefore macroscopic facts, and all directly verified
laws were macroscopic laws. This means that the physical
174 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
objects in question corresponded to macroscopic percepts,
and that the laws referred to macroscopic relations be-
tween such entities.
This knowledge has certainly not become obsolete and
useless, because in the meantime modern tools have trans-
formed atomistic speculation into atomic facts. Ohm's law
as applied to stationary currents in metals and electrolytes
a typical macroscopic law is not wrong because now we
know about electrons and ions. In fact, in this particular
field observational physics is still about as macroscopic as
it was forty years ago. On conductors electric charges still
assume a distribution in which electrostatic energy has
the smallest possible amount; this law is not changed by
the fact that such charges consist of electric particles. Sur-
face tension still gives a liquid surface the smallest possible
area whatever the atomic constitution ot the liquid may
be. And independently of their molecular make-up macro-
scopic objects swim in water according to Archimedes*
principle. Even if all these are old stories for the physicist
of our time they are not thereby rendered less true. On
the contrary, he will agree that such parts of physical
knowledge will probably never be profoundly altered by
future research.
Just as these laws are macroscopic laws, the objects to
which they refer are macroscopic objects which have a
macroscopic volume, a macroscopic shape and macroscopic
boundaries. The mercury in a glass tube does not only
consist of particles which are, as particles, different from
those of the glass; but macroscopic physics considers the
behavior of the volume of mercury as physically demar-
cated from the behavior of the glassnotwithstanding
their mutual dynamic relation. The object which swims
in water accoiding to Archimedes' principle is regarded
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 175
as one thing, the water as another, though at the same time
their dynamic relationship is fully realized. In both cases
the implication is not only that throughout one such ob-
ject chemical properties are often approximately the same,
but also that the chemically homogeneous material forms
a natural unit in physical behavior. It is, however, not
necessary that different units or objects should be chem-
ically different in order to remain macroscopically demar-
cated from each other. In elastic or semi-elastic impact two
billiard balls are two definite macroscopic objects with
definite boundaries, although both consist of the same ma-
terial; and in the law of their behavior such demarcation
is tacitly implied. Conversely, often one object may consist
of several substances.
When a physicist tells us that a macroscopic object is
"really" a swarm of particles, do we understand him cor-
rectly if we assume that atomic physics does not recognize
the existence of definite macroscopic objects? Are macro-
scopic objects dissolved into particles? At first it might
appear as though only one aspect, either the microscopic
or the macroscopic, could correspond with physical facts.
And yet there is no such alternative. Both the demarcation
of macroscopic objects and their atomic constitution are
legitimate notions which are well lounded on physical
evidence. Particles do occur as separate entities. They are
also "real" parts of macroscopic objects. But functionally
they are not quite the same entities in the second as in the
first case. In macroscopic objects they mutually influence
each others' behavior in such a manner that their indi-
vidual freedom is very much restricted. Their positions,
their displacements and their velocities are no longer alto-
gether independent data; for each particle moves "in the
field" of surrounding particles, and vice versa. The forces
176 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
which constitute this field are due to the electric charges
of the particles. Their general effect is that, under given
conditions of temperature, the average distances between
the particles tend to remain approximately constant. In
liquids this leads to constancy of volume, in solid objects
to constancy both of shape and of volume. With a change
of temperature the average distance of the particles in-
creases or decreases while the particles themselves move
more quickly or more slowly. So long, however, as the
object does not in any considerable amount emit single
particles in the form of a gas, its volume remains one
definite context of particles which are held together by
their mutual forces. Even if there is some evaporation or,
conversely, absorption and adsorption of gaseous particles,
the object has at a given time a fairly well defined bound-
ary within which particles cohere dynamically in one
macroscopic context of particular intimacy.
Such a context is no less "real" than are the particles.
So tar as we can show that inside definite macroscopic
volumes particles are held together by specific interaction,
and that the boundaries of these volumes are the bounda-
ries of such cohesion, so tar the concept of macroscopic
objects as physical entities is fully justified. One side of
nature would be ignored if our present interest in micro-
scopic physics were to make us overlook the existence of
macroscopic contexts of particles. Such contexts are not
products of illusion, their boundaries are not arbitrarily
selected for subjective reasons; they are given data of the
physical world. Thus we have not to choose between the
microscopic and macroscopic aspect of nature. Both as-
pects of the physical world are founded on objective facts;
they represent different levels of physical organization.
Even in microscopic physics we find several levels of such
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 177
organization. Most atoms, for example, are highly com-
plicated structures. Nobody denies the existence of their
components, electrons and positive nuclei. At the same
time the structure, i.e., the atom, is everywhere recognized
as a definite entity which cannot be described by a simple
enumeration of all its components. In the atom these
components are functionally not independent entities,
and therefore the atom-unit is certainly not an arbitrary
concept. Again in one molecule, sometimes a few, some-
times hundreds of atoms are held together by their fields.
No physicist would say that we have to decide whether we
wish to acknowledge either the atoms or the molecule. Both
are definite entities, both concepts agree with physical
data, two levels of physical organization have clearly to
be distinguished in one microscopic object. Similarly, a
macroscopic object represents merely a product of organi-
zation at a still higher level. It contains particles, mole-
cules, ions and others. Such particles, however, have lost
much of their independence. And as inside a molecule an
atom is doubtless not quite the same thing as it would be
in complete freedom, so at least the behavior of a molecule
is, inside a macroscopic object, strongly determined in
this larger context. We are certainly much better informed
about macroscopic objects, now that we have some definite
knowledge of their atomic or molecular constitution. One
of the main advantages of such knowledge is, however, that
at present the coherence, the demarcation and the macro-
scopic behavior of a definite large-scale object is much
better understood than it was before. Obviously, progress
in this direction can not mean that atomistic theory of
macroscopic objects denies their existence as definite
entities.
Although the existence of macroscopic things is a com-
178 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
mon feature of perception and of nature, at least the
apparent continuity of thing-percepts seems illusory when
compared with the atomic constitution of corresponding
physical objects. I should, however, hesitate to admit even
this much. When we hear that the pavement of the street,
that our table and that our organism are much more empty
space than anything else, the underlying notion is clearly
that particles are tiny bits of "matter," that where we have
such matter there is "really" something, while between
particles in this sense there is not much worth mentioning.
One does not see why in popular presentations of physical
knowledge such descriptions should still be repeated.
Meant to warn the layman against an anthropomorphic
conception of physical objects, they are themselves sur-
prisingly anthropomorphic. Where in present physics do
we find any convincing evidence for the assumption that
"particles" are in fact what the old term seems to indicate,
namely extremely small portions of something called "mat-
ter" with a measurable diameter and a sharp boundary?
Democritus could have such a notion when he thought of
atoms as of tiny editions of macroscopic things. But, quite
apart from quantum physics and its severe criticism of
similar ideas, a physicist can hardly share this view in our
times. Is the "field" of an electron less reliable a physical
entity than "the electron itself"? And what does it really
mean, if, at least by the terms of our language, we still
distinguish between the electron and its field? I do not
know of any empirical evidence which would support the
distinction. It seems to be a remnant of old materialistic
conceptions: these conceptions yielded the "particle of
matter"; then, after Faraday and Maxwell, the particle
became surrounded by a field. And we still trust "the
particles themselves" more than their fields, as though
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 179
in the case of the pavement we could safely tread on
particles but should beware of "mere field." As a matter
of fact, insofar as "particles" are known to be fields and
field-structures they fill the volume of a macroscopic
object completely, and to this extent the object is a con-
tinuum. It is only as a field-continuum that it coheres.
And the support which the pavement gives to our feet is
entirely due to this continuum. It will not yield unless
much stronger forces than our weight are applied.
If a macroscopic object is functionally or dynamically
a continuum it would crumble at once, if it were not
perception fails to reveal only one important aspect of
the thing: This is the irregular vibratory unrest by which
the object is constantly pervaded, and which, from the
standpoint of physics, is its content of heat-energy. The
vibrations as such are microscopic in nature and, being
microscopic, they do in fact not appear in common per-
ception. Only special devices, such as those used in the
demonstration of Brown's movement, permit us even
remotely to approach a direct perception of so much
motion.
On quantum physics. The last paragraphs may seem
to contradict the point of view of modern physics in one
respect. A macroscopic object, I said, is held together by
forces; and the same object is a continuum as a field-
structure. Both the concept of force and that of field in-
volve the idea of causality. But this idea is, according to
some authorities, no longer accepted as valuable in physics;
its place has been taken by the concept of probability. At
first probability was a partner of causality in thermody-
namics for instance; then causality began to be regarded
as a superfluous notion in quantum physics, so that at
present probability reigns alone and supreme.
i8o THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
It is essential, not only for the argument of this chapter,
that such statements be regarded with some suspicion.
The most striking argument against causality in physics
is contained in Heisenberg's Principle of Indeterminacy.
For causality to be strictly applicable to physical events we
should be able to state exactly in what conditions a phys-
ical entity is found at a given moment, so that, with ade-
quate knowledge of a definite causal law, we might predict
in what conditions we shall find the same entity a short
time afterwards. Such conditions cannot be accurately
observed, however, for reasons which seem to belong to
the constitution of the physical world. Observation itself
will alter the physical situation, because observation is not
possible without a physical interrelation between the
entity observed and the observer or his instruments. And
since the amount of such interrelation or interference can-
not be reduced to less than a definite quantity, a limit is
set to the accuracy with which we are allowed to know
about actual states of the entity which we observe. Thus
the "real*' position of an entity and its "real" velocity
or at least one of these two characteristics for a given case-
become within certain limits doubtful notions. If, instead,
we speak about mere probability-distributions, both for
the position and for the velocity, we remain in the realm
of observable facts. But when we have come this far we
discover that causality has been lost on our way. Causality
implies determination and prediction, and in our new
physics of probability-distributions there is apparently no
determination and no prediction. It seems to follow that
there is no causality in such a physics either.
I have intentionally oversimplified this description of
the theoretical situation in order to avoid a difficult tech-
nical discussion. We have to be specific, however, at least
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 181
in so far as the Principle of Indeterminacy has significance
for microscopic events only. Electrons and their behavior
tend to disappear in a cloudor in wavesof uncertainty,
but not events in macroscopic dimensions. Their physics is
not measurably altered by Heisenberg's theorem. Should
we conclude, then, that the concept of causality applies to
macroscopic physics, while the same notion is valueless
in the microscopic world? It seems difficult to hold this
view. If there is no causation in microscopic events, a great
number of microscopic events would probably have to be
described as a "combined" probability-distribution to
which the notion of causality could no more apply than it
does to one microscopic event. I doubt whether under
these circumstances the existence of relatively permanent
macroscopic objects could be made plausible. In fact, such
a dissolution of the physical world has never been pro-
posed in quantum physics.
We speak of causation when the behavior of an entity,
a datum, an "observable" is found to be altered by or to
depend on the presence of other entities, data or observa-
blcs. Special causal laws describe particular cases of such
alteration or dependence. More cautious terms than these
may be used. In a Positivistic mood we might say, for in-
stance, that causal laws refer to a regular correlation of
observable facts. It does not matter for our problem. This
problem is whether or not causation, as physical depend-
ence or as correlation, is attributed to microscopic events
by quantum physics.
It seems fairly obvious that it is. The most popular in-
troduction of Heisenberg's principle starts with the con-
sideration of an electron the position and the momentum
(or velocity) of which are to be measured. In order to
measure we observe; and in order to observe we expose the
i8s THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
particle to light. If the light is capable of giving an ac-
curate measurement of position, it will by its impact
change the momentum of the particle. If, on the other
hand, we try to reduce this disturbance, our measurement
of position will become correspondingly less accurate. The
difficulty is due to the fact that light energy does not occur
in amounts which are smaller than Planck's quanta; it is
a difficulty in principle. Thus we find that for an electron
the concepts of accurate position and of accurate velocity
have only a limited meaning. Consequently statistical con-
cepts have to replace the idea ot causality. It can hardly
be denied that in this argument, when literally inter-
preted, the fact of one special causal relation which is in-
volved in any observation is said to destroy causality. We
may not be expected to know in a given case precisely
what change of momentum impinging light will produce
in the electron. But on the authority ot a famous experi-
ment of Compton's it is assumed that impact of light and
change of momentum in general are "correlated" physical
facts.
To this extent causality is not eliminated by quantum
physics. Quantum physics does not rely on probabilities
exclusively. It recognizes, even in microscopic events, such
connectivity of observables as is implied in the terms "de-
pendence" or "alteration," although it abstains from the
notion of complete determination. The same conclusion
follows if we consider that the concept of "field" is freely
used in the modern theory of microscopic events. As a
matter of fact, one of the first tasks which the new theories
solved refers to the behavior of electrons and other par-
ticles when under the influence of a field of force. The
meaning of such terms implies causality in quantum
physics. Even if forces or the mutual dependence of phys-
THE NATURE OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD 183
ical entities could not be accurately determined, even if,
here again, probabilities would have to replace more
definite data, we should still have to distinguish between
such probabilities of dependence or correlation, i.e., of
causation, and those probabilities which refer to the corre-
lated entities, their positions and their velocities. In any
case quantum theory assumes without hesitation that in
the neighborhood of the positively charged nucleus of an
atom electrons are deflected towards the nucleus and posi-
tive particles away from it. This is causation; and it re-
mains causation, even though the electrons and positive
particles are not in every respect strictly describable en-
tities. Quite apart from probabilities, the positive nucleus
has one influence on the negative electron and the opposite
influence on a positive particle. Since the status of neither
is clearly defined before the causal event, the same will be
true during this event itself. Consequently quantum
physics shows not how individual particles, but how the
probability-distribution of particles is affected by their
passing through the field of the nucleus.
The new development will probably lead to a reformu-
lation of the principle of causality. But even at the present
time it can safely be said that this principle will by no
means be eliminated. In a way determinism seems to have
failed. But determinism in this sense is the assumption
that the description of causal relations can be differenti-
ated ad libitum, down to any arbitrarily chosen degree of
detail. Even if there is something in nature the quantum
which makes this a meaningless proposition, we cannot
for this reason conclude that all ''determination 1 ' of the
behavior of one physical entity by the presence of another
is a myth. Determination or causation in general pervades
the system of physics now as it did before the time of
184 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
quantum physics. And this is true at the microscopic as
well as at the macroscopic level of physical events.
It is time to look back. A short discussion of quantum
physics became necessary in connection with the concept
of macroscopic physical objects. Such objects cannot be
defined and described without reference to causal relations.
We had to show, therefore, that, contrary to superficial
appearance, causality is with certain restrictions still a
valid notion in modern science. Thus the outcome of our
discussion validates the concept of macroscopic objects at
the same time.
To look still farther back: We were interested in macro-
scopic objects for the following reason. Physics, it was
stated, proceeds on the assumption that certain structural
traits of percepts agree with the structure of corresponding
physical situations. It is, however, only macroscopic struc-
tures which can be common characteristics of the percep-
tual and the physical world. And this statement has sense
only if the notion of macroscopic objects is found to refer
to definite physical entities. We have, I believe, been able
to show that it does. It is therefore a meaningful thesis
that perceptual and physical contexts are isomorphic in
essential macroscopic respects, and that to this extent there
is resemblance between the phenomenal and the physical
world. In the next chapter it will be shown why this is
relevant insight for the main purpose of our investigation.
CHAPTER VI
ON ISOMORPHISM
IN many branches of philosophy we have to overcome
extreme intellectual difficulties; but in the following dis-
cussion the obstacles will belong rather to the emotional
sphere. I propose to consider the nature of cortical proc-
esses; and many philosophers dislike to hear much about
the brain when philosophical problems are being discussed.
To some extent this aversion has historical reasons.
Philosophy still remembers the time when, after the fall
of Hegel ianism in Germany, the pendulum began to
swing toward the other side, and Materialistic notions be-
came quite popular for a while. It was the principal
mistake of this movement that it represented mental life
as the product of something altogether different and,
doubtless, functionally inferior. For in those years crude
ideas about matter and its behavior predominated in
science. Still cruder ideas were held by those who in their
Mateiialistic doctrines tried to apply science where, with
its insufficient knowledge, it could not really be applied.
On the other hand, some of the essential characteristics
of mental life were well known to philosophers. For this
purpose no special research is needed. The very simplest
observation will find some structural traits of mental oper-
ations for which there are no analogues in the realm of
"moving matter." The statement, therefore, that mental
185
i86 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
life is a product of matter and its motions, could hardly
have a very clear meaning. Consequently the philosophei
might well have shrugged his shoulders, if it had not been
for one reason: Whoever made such statements must either
be blind to the essential characteristics of mental life, or
else he had to interpret them as mere illusions. Supposing
now that for the philosopher the very essence of human
nature and value is expressed in such traits of mental
activity, we must expect him to regard Materialism as a
serious danger. So, as a matter of fact, he did, and most
philosophers still do so.
But they do more. Concepts and words are in one re-
spect similar to sponges. If for generations an object has
been highly valued, the corresponding concept and even
its verbal symbol will eventually be thoroughly impreg-
nated with dignity precisely as a sponge absorbs a liquid
by which it is surrounded. In a case of aversion both the
concept and its name will soon be charged with negative
qualities. While it is not easy to dry a wet sponge entirely
and quickly, it sometimes seems almost impossible to
remove from a concept those value-qualities which it has
once absorbed.! am not in the least disturbed by the
fact that the term "Materialism" will not easily lose its
unpleasant sound. But it disturbs all serious discussion of
several problems in philosophy that such terms as "organ-
ism," "body" and "brain" should share the same fate. When
Materialism became a concept with dangerous implica-
tions these entities acquired a negative character at the
same time; because it was in terms of them that the hated
doctrine was enunciated, and it was their apparently in-
ferior characteristics to which the Materialist tried to re-
duce the valuable properties of mental life. These sponges
are still wet. It will doubtless take many years before in
ON ISOMORPHISM 187
philosophy we are all able to look upon the organism and
the brain with quiet impartiality, or even with the intense
interest which is due to them. Meanwhile their appear-
ance in a philosophical discussion will be resented by many,
unless we hasten to give assurances that there will be a
happy end; that eventually the merely secondary impor-
tance of biological facts for mental life will be consolingly
demonstrated. But how is one to give such assurance in
the face of overpowering evidence to the contrary?
Long before the middle of the last century there had
been other waves of Materialistic thinking. The intellectual
level of such earlier theories was, in general, not higher
than that of Materialism around 18-50. For the reason
which I have just indicated, however, the reaction of other
philosophers had been no less bitter on those earlier occa-
sions than it was in the igth century. The aversion to a
frank and positive discussion of biological facts in their
connection with psychological data has therefore a long
history which naturally makes such a dislike even more
intense and less rational.
But I do not believe that Materialistic doctrines are
the only cause of this attitude. Up to the present time, we
have seen, most people have tailed to distinguish between
the 'body/ which is a percept, and the organism, which is
a transphcnomenal entity. In the remote past this distinc-
tion could not have been made by anybody; at that time
the body-percept was quite generally identified with the
organism as a physical object. Such a confusion could not
fail to have far-reaching effects; for unfortunately the
'body* will oiten appear as a burden to those who hold
particularly high ideals of ethical conduct or intellectual
achievement.
At this point we have to introduce a new distinction:
i88 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
Although in common life we frequently speak of the
'body* as 'I,' words like T and 'myself have still another
meaning in which they refer to a less tangible center of
human activities. T taken in this sense may, for instance,
concentrate upon 'my left hand' or on some other part of
my 'body/ The very words of this sentence prove that,
here, T and 'my body' are not the same entity. Whether
or not the 'self' in this new sense is phenomenally local-
ized within the body-percept, it seems at an early date to
have been regarded as a different entity and as more really
the 'I.' 1 It plans what should be done, it chooses between
various forms of conduct, it tries to live up to its own
demands, it makes efforts to understand where at first
a situation lacks clearness. When, upon a resolve of the
'I/ overt activity is needed, the 'body' often behaves like
a tactful servant, who anticipates a formal order by appro-
priate activity. It moves at once and with ease. This, how-
ever, is by no means always the case. Much of the resistance
against the 'self's' intentions and commands is definitely
localized in the 'body.' From a phenomenological point of
view there has always been sufficient reason why many
philosophers and religious leaders should attribute tempta-
tion and passion, whatever disturbs superior purposes, not
to the 'self in this sense, but to the 'body.' Reasonable
planning, moral effort and clear thinking as such are
hardly ever felt to concern the 'body'; temptation, however,
is often enough well localized, and passion tends to pene-
trate the 'body's' whole frame. Even if the resistance which
the 'body' offers is sometimes more passive, it may still be
exasperating enough. There are days when even the strong-
i With Professor Claparede I find that, as a rule, it ts localized within
the 'body/ even in a definite part of it. Cf Ed. Claparede, Note sur la
localisation du Moi Arch, de Psychol. 19 (1924).
ON ISOMORPHISM 189
est effort will not lead to any concentrated and successful
thinking. The 'body' feels heavy, and so long as it does
the philosopher seems almost to drag its inert weight along
the path ot meditation.
Trivial though these observations are, it is for an obvi-
ous reason that they aie here repeated. For several thousand
years they have, with all their implications, been referred
to an entity which was body-percept and organism in one.
This was true in Plato's time when that philosopher and
certain religious groups regarded the 'body' as the prison
of the soul; it was equally true of views which were held
by more powerful religious movements some centuries
after Plato; and it still applies to those philosophers for
whom even at the present time the 'body' and the organ-
ism are the same thing. Whenever they discuss the rela-
tions between mental life and organic events, it is really
the body-percept and its behavior which mainly determines
the trend of their arguments. The brain, for example, is
in such discussions a visual thing which looks none too
pleasant; it also is a slippery thing which we do not like
to touch. 'Slippery' is a word which here has a phenom-
enal meaning. It denotes an Ehrenfels-quality in the field
of touch. No less a percept, i.e., a phenomenal entity, is
the 'body' as a whole. When 'heaviness' irritates the thinker
it dwells in this percept; it is its 'heaviness.' And it is
again this percept in which now and then disturbing urges
may be felt. Put in their right places all these experiences
lead to fascinating questions about the constitution of the
body-percept and about its fluctuating states. It should be
obvious, however, that none of these observations is di-
rectly relevant to an investigation which aims at an under-
standing ot mental life in its relation to the lile of the
organism as a transphenomenal, a physical entity. It is,
igo THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
indeed, an essential phenomenological task to examine
how the 'self in the narrower sense and the 'body' are
related. But it is quite another task to investigate how all
phenomena, including the 'self and the 'body/ are cor-
related with processes in the organism. It would probably
mean a real progress in philosophical discussion if, along
with the distinction between 'body' and organism, we
could make it a rule that the organism as well as its func-
tional relations with mental life be impartially considered,
regardless in principle of such shortcomings as we may
find in something else, namely the body-percept.
From percepts, it is true, the physicist draws his con-
clusions about corresponding transphenomenal objects;
and when a patient complains about pain in his 'body,'
something is usually wrong with the organism as a physical
entity. Similarly, the heaviness of the 'body* which dis-
turbs the thinker will generally mean an irregularity in
organic function. Whenever the organism is out of order
the body-percept seems to indicate the trouble readily
enough. We also know certain states of 'bodily' well-feeling
which may be a translation, in phenomenal language, of
optimal physical conditions in the organism. But there
are other things about which we learn little, if anything,
from the body-percept. Successful thinking, energetic re-
solves, will often absorb the 'self so completely that it
almost forgets the existence of the 'body.' Forgotten or not,
the 'body' seems to have no major role in those achieve-
ments. For this reason people will naturally conclude that
higher mental operations succeed independently of the
'body.' The body seems capable of disturbing; but so far
as positive achievements of mental life are concerned it
tends to become an indifferent neighbor of the 'self/
There is a good phenomenological foundation for this
ON ISOMORPHISM 191
view; for the 'body' it may be literally true. Since, how-
ever, the 'body* is not being clearly distinguished from
the organism, correct observation will in this case lead to
wrong conclusions. Between the 'body' and higher mental
functions relations are either experienced as unsatisfactory,
or they appear as neutral with a minimum of phenomenal
reality; seldom are they intense and satisfactory at the
same time. There are, I believe, few phenomenal facts
which have influenced philosophical thinking as strongly
as has this asymmetrical relationship. For so long as the
'body* is identified with the organism, the same asymmetry
will, of course, be ascribed to the relations which prevail
between the oiganism and mental processes. There will
always be a tendency to charge the organism with any
difficulties which we meet during our best mental opera-
tions. When we are successful, however, our achievements
will be attributed to 'ourselves* only.
As soon as we realize that the 'body* and the organism
are two different entities, this simple distribution of merits
can no longer be justified. The fact may not show itself
in corresponding 'bodily' phenomena, but it is neverthe-
less true that normal and successful thinking or planning
presupposes just as much normal functioning of the brain
as certain deviations of thinking are due, for instance, to a
paralytic brain. We have no reason whatsoever to assume
that the same asymmetrical relation obtains between the
various states of the organism and higher mental life as
impresses us so much when we consider the role of the
'body' during those mental operations. In identifying the
'body* with the organism we are necessarily led to a biased
view of all facts which concern the psychophysical prob-
lem. The less we hear of any influence which the organism
may have on higher mental processes, the better we are
1 9 2 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
pleased; because the organism is the 'body,' and the 'body*
is bad. Once, however, the distinction between the 'body'
and the organism is clearly made, no reason is left for this
prejudiced attitude. The organism is precisely as "good"
when its processes support our highest mental efforts as it is
"bad" when in another case its state does not allow of such
activities. The 'body' is here no reliable witness. It tends
to speak only when something can be said against the
defendant.
Our present situation is this: We know very much more
now about the definite connections between mental life
and neural activity than any Materialist around 1850 could
possibly have foreseen. Philosophy has not tended to
take this change into account. It is as though negative argu-
ments, which eighty years ago were good enough to refute
Materialistic speculation, were still sufficient in a discussion
of present neurological knowledge and of its relation to
mental facts. It remains true that "movements of matter"
will never "explain" any phenomenal datum. But is there
nothing implied by the fact that, whether they arc move-
ments of matter or not, neural events show so much inti-
macy with all phases of mental life? This, one should think,
is a challenging, a most alluring situation for philosophy,
which is here confronted by one of the greatest problems
of the world. But the organism is still very much the 'body.'
Thus, while neurologists and physiologists from their
side enlarge our positive knowledge, in philosophy on the
other side we generally find an attitude of somewhat pas-
sive disdain or of mere defence.
In the meantime those ideas about physical nature
which once were dominant among the physicists, and in
still cruder form among the Materialists, have been thor-
oughly and for ever discarded. This is another essential
ON ISOMORPHISM 193
change in the situation. The physical world with which
neurologists find mental life so intimately connected can
no longer be adequately described as "moving matter."
New ideas have gradually replaced such older notions.
If now, from a changed point of view, it should become
plausible that brain-events have much in common with
essential aspects of the phenomenal world, what would
the consequence be? Many are likely to say that now at
last Materialism has become a danger. The more akin
nature is to mental life, the greater the chance for
Materialism.
I could not share this opinion. Intimacy of mental life
and brain-function would disturb me so long as brain-
function must be regarded as foreign to my mental oper-
ations and still as practically determining such activities.
I should fail to understand the relationship and, besides,
I should regard it as oppressive. If, instead, it were found
that in certain major respects the same happens "on the
other side" as happens mentally "on this side," I should
certainly feel a great relief. Whatever else the intimate
relationship between cortical events and phenomena might
mean, it would no longer imply that the course of my
mental processes is secretly determined by the principles
of an altogether different world.
The other \ iew would be the most remarkable example
of what I tried to indicate when I mentioned the outstand-
ing characteristic of sponges. If we could show that cortical
processes share some of the main structural aspects of phe-
nomenal experience, they would to that extent become
equivalent to such phases of the phenomenal realm; they
would therefore be exactly as "good" as are such mental
facts; and thus an attitude of resentment would become
simply unreasonable.
194 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
This may be clear. But I wonder whether it will help.
Such terms as "matter" and "brain" are too well impreg-
nated. In philosophy we seem to dislike their very sound,
whatever may be the actual nature of physical reality in
general and of cortical processes in particular.
II
The main argument of the last chapter applies directly
to biology. If anatomists, physiologists and neurologists
have any knowledge of the oiganism and its functions,
this knowledge can only be formulated in terms the ulti-
mate source of which is phenomenal. It follows that be-
tween biological facts on the one hand and at least some
aspects of the phenomenal world on the other there must
be resemblance. It is not only the argument, to be sure,
which applies to both the physical and the organic realm,
but also its limitations. First of all, the conclusion cannot
be inverted. Some characteristics of the phenomenal world,
for instance the secondary qualities, have no place in
physics; they have no place in biology either. Moreover,
if certain processes in the human brain arc said to be the
cortical correlates of phenomenal colors, it is not implied
that in those processes themselves there is anything like
such colors. According to our present views this holds for
all sensory qualities without exception. They all have cor-
tical correlates; but their own existence seems to be re-
stricted to the phenomenal world.
The cortical correlates of mental life or, as we may
also call them, the psychophysical processes are more inter-
esting for our purposes than any other biological facts. Re-
quiredness is an aspect of many phenomenal contexts. Like
other phenomena such contexts have their cortical cor-
ON ISOMORPHISM 195
relates; requiredness as one of their characteristics ought
to be psychophysically represented just as are the contexts
in which it occurs. What is this psychophysical representa-
tion of requiredness? A priori a psychophysical correlate
and its phenomenal partner might have much or very little
in common. One possibility, the most radical, is that,
where requiredness occurs in an experience, the cor-
responding cortical correlate has the same characteristic.
The present question goes far beyond the problems of
the last chapter. All biological facts which the human mind
can approach may necessarily have some resemblance to
phenomenal data. The same may be true of all psycho-
physical processes. It does not follow that the correlate
of a particular experience has the same specific character-
istics as has the experience itself. Just as the cortical cor-
relate of the color blue is not blue, so requiredness as an
experience may be accompanied by processes which are
"mere" facts, and are to that extent devoid of any re-
quiredness whatsoever. Such "mere" facts may have to be
described in terms the meaning of which is ultimately
phenomenal. Nevertheless requiredness need not belong
to the terms which this description would use.
Quite apart from requiredness, philosophers assume for
the most pait that between individual human experiences
and their cortical correlates there is no more kinship than
is found between the same experiences and, say, the facts
of gravitation. One reason for this belief seems to be a
certain bias in the choice of those experiences which
people compare with brain-events. Our attention is natur-
ally directed toward our 'environment/ and under the in-
fluence of sense-physiology we are inclined to regard the
sensory qualities as the principal material of which this
environment is made. Since the scientist denies expressly
i 9 6 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
that these qualities have any existence in nature, brain-
processes included, there seems to be no further question:
the properties of cortical correlates differ widely from
those of their phenomenal partners. Thus we forget to
consider other attributes of experience. What may be
granted in the case of sensory qualia need not apply to all
aspects of objective phenomena, nor is it necessarily true
of mental activities.
It might be objected that, because of their elementary
nature, the sensory qualities are happily chosen for a first
comparison between experience and psychophysical proc-
esses. If no resemblance can be found even in this case
between phenomena and their cortical partners, what hope
remains of discovering such a resemblance in instances of
more complicated and distinguished experiences? It seems
to me that this objection has no force. It presupposes the
customary notion that physical reality, both inanimate and
organic, represents a lower form of existence. With this
premise the highest achievements of nature might con-
ceivably approximate the most primitive contents of human
experience. If even on this level comparison fails to show
any resemblance between phenomena and their correlates
no further investigation seems to be needed. And yet,
there might be resemblance between central features of
mental life and their psychophysical counterparts even
though phenomena on a lower level show no similarity
with their cortical correlates.
Quite another reason for the same negative attitude is
given in the following well-known argument: Even if we
knew as much about brain-processes as the astronomer
knows about the movements of stars, would such knowl-
edge be of any help in psychology? It would not. Supposing
even that every detail of a person's cortical activity could
ON ISOMORPHISM 197
be observed, should we know what he perceives, feels and
thinks at the time of such observation? We should not. Our
observation would deal with data of a foreign world. No
psychological interpretation could be given to these data
until the man begins to speak and thus to reveal what
familiar mental phenomena are accompanied by those
strange perioi mances ol atoms and molecules in his brain.
The general conviction that human experience and
psychophysical events have little in common could hardly
be more strikingly expressed. For if in any respect the
cortical correlates of mental life were like images of their
phenomenal partners, mere description of the first would
to some degree be a correct report about the second. It is
this possibility which we find emphatically denied in the
argument.
The argument betrays its own weakness, however, show-
ing clearly, as it does, that it rests on a special premise.
If brain-events are said to constitute a "foreign" world in
comparison with human experience, there is invariably an
allusion to particles and their behavior as being responsible
for the foreign character of cortical processes. In other
words, it is tacitly assumed that only microscopic events
in the cortex can be the correlates of mental life. Behind
this assumption there is the other that real truth about
any facts of nature is truth in terms of particles and mi-
croscopic events. Thus it comes to pass that in comparing
phenomena and brain-events we concentrate not only on
the wrong phenomena but also on the wrong phase of
cortical activity.
If all physical reality were actually microscopic reality,
the present argument would probably be conclusive. The
nature of thing-percepts, we had to admit, could not make
anybody suspect that the constitution of physical objects
ig8 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
is atomic. Neither percepts nor any other phenomena, we
may now add, indicate by their properties that the brain-
tissue consists of particles, and that to this extent psycho-
physical processes are atomic events. Even the existence of
discrete neural entities which are incomparably larger than
ions and molecules could not be inferred from the nature
of phenomenal facts. We learn in brain-anatomy that
cortical tissue contains cells, neurons with their axons,
cell-bodies and dendrites; but I do not know of any psy-
chological observation which would hint at the presence
of such histological elements in the brain or at the rele-
vance of their function for experience.
In the last chapter we have, however, seen that the mi-
croscopic consideration of nature is by no means the only
admissible approach to physical reality. Macroscopic
physics is at present less popular than microscopic physics;
but it will not always remain so. Moreover, the terms
"microscopic" and "macroscopic" do not merely refer to
a difference between two points of view, one of which
comes nearer the truth than the other. Rather the objects
of scientific investigation themselves generally have both
macroscopic and microscopic properties. Whoever over-
looks one of them will therefore miss one side of his subject
matter; and this is just as true of macroscopic facts as it is
of microscopic data. In our previous discussion we were
mainly concerned with macroscopic physical objects. These
we found to represent dynamic organization on a higher
level than that of microscopic entities such as, for example,
atoms and molecules. For our present purpose it is more
essential that the same distinction applies to the processes
and states through which physical systems pass. Not only
are there two ways, the microscopic and the macroscopic,
in which such processes may be considered. The processes
ON ISOMORPHISM 199
themselves have frequently both microscopic and macro-
scopic properties, neither of which are less "real" than the
others. We are seldom justified in considering the processes
and states of larger systems as though they were mere ag-
gregates of microscopic events. Macroscopic states, which
represent a higher level of organization, do not permit of
such treatment; they have to be investigated for their own
sake and from a macroscopic point of view, because their
own nature is macroscopic.
A few examples will make it clearer what we mean when
we speak about macroscopically organized physical states.
The facts as such are extremely simple and familiar; it is
only their general significance which many fail to realize.
Suppose that a steady current ot water streams through a
pipe, that at some point the main pipe divides into a
number of branches, and that farther ahead these branches
unite again into one pipe, through which the water is led
to its final destination. To superficial inspection it might
appear as though the behavior of the water in each branch
were merely a local affair, independent of any conditions
outside this particular pipe. That this appearance is de-
ceptive can, however, be easily discovered, if in each branch
there is a device, a key, by which the current in this
branch may be in part or totally blocked from the outside.
As soon as this is done in one or several branches the cur-
rent will flow faster in those which have not been inter-
fered with. Conversely, as everyone knows from his own
experience, if water is given one more outlet from a sys-
tem of pipes, the current in other parts of the system will
stream more slowly. The example is trivial; but even so
it contains the principle of macroscopic dynamics. An ob-
server who considers the current in one branch by itself
assumes a relatively microscopic attitude. Not even the
200 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
local current in this branch, however, can be fully under-
stood as a physical fact unless the observer decides to turn
his eyes upon a larger context. The branch in question
may not exhibit any condition which would produce a
gradient of pressure and a current in one direction rather
than in the other. If, theiefore, the water streams persist-
ently toward one side, it must be conditioned to do so by
circumstances outside the branch, i.e., outside the range
of the microscopic observer. The same applies to the dy-
namic interrelation which obtains among the branch-
currents. Whatever happens to one of them alters the
pressure and its gradient everywhere in the system, so that
the rate of current changes accordingly in all the other
branches. It follows that, even in the absence of such
interference, the water in any of the pipes will flow steadily
and at the observed speed only, if it streams at correspond-
ing rates in the others and vice versa. There is only one
distribution of current in which such dynamic interde-
pendence throughout the system preserves the steady state
of streaming; and from any initial situation this final dis-
tribution develops quickly. It is a self-distribution of cur-
rent adapted to given outer forces and to the properties of
given channels. This distribution is steady only as a macro-
scopic dynamic context.
As the physicist uses the term "microscopic," it refers to
events on a molecular level. In his terminology the current
in one branch of the system is a macroscopic part of the total
macroscopic distribution. The difference in expression is
wholly unimportant for our purpose. We could, instead of a
branch-current, consider the behavior of some molecules
somewhere in the current. In this case the discussion would
have precisely the same result, although we should discover
that irregular thermic vibrations of molecules are superim-
posed on their flow as it is determined in the larger context.
ON ISOMORPHISM 201
Both the molecules and the branch-current behave in a man-
ner which we cannot understand, unless we realize the larger
functional context within which this behavior is determined.
If I have slightly changed the meaning of the term "micro-
scopic," the new meaning is, I believe, more valuable and
significant than the usual connotation. It seems to me less im-
portant that microscopic observation is occupied with atomic
entities than that it concentrates on events which do not as a
rule occur independently.
Similar examples in more interesting parts of physics
are always handled, at least by the scientist, in a manner
which implies full acknowledgement of everything that
has just been said. The characteristics of macroscopic dy-
namic states are, however, seldom formulated in explicit
general statements. If they were, the discussion of macro-
scopic in its relation to microscopic physics would probably
be clearer than it often is. Again, it could not happen that
the same facts, which are simple and almost trivial when
we consider a conuete instance, appear strange and slightly
disturbing when expressed in general terms. We are not
accustomed to these terms. It is the analytical trend of
modern science with which the existence of specific macro-
scopic realities seems to be at odds. And yet there is no
objection to an analysis of macroscopic states, provided
that we reali/e what such an analysis can achieve. It can
tell us how local events behave within a given macroscopic
context, what happens locally as a dependent part of this
context or this seems to be the best expressionhow the
context behaves at its several points. More often, it is true,
analysis is expected to give us independent elementary
facts, the mere synthesis of which would yield the complex
entities found in primary observation. I admit that in this
radical sense analysis is not really applicable to macro-
scopic states; it is incompatible with their nature.
202 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
In this field the difficulty is not to find, but to select
examples, because there are so many. Owing to its tech-
nical importance the distribution of an electric current
has become a familiar instance. From a battery or another
source the current spreads through a network of wires and
then returns to the source, the seat of the electromotive
force which maintains the electric flow. As soon as the
circuit is closed the electrons begin to travel in the wires.
Any of these wires is capable of conducting current in
many different intensities; but after a tiny fraction of a
second each wire conducts that one particular rate of
current which is compatible with a steady and unchanging
flow everywhere in the system. Again we have a macro-
scopic dynamic state the characteristic self-distribution of
which maintains itself only as a whole. If we inteifere at
one point, we disturb this state all over the circuit and its
branches. A long time ago Kirchhoff stated the mathemat-
ical rules which the self-distribution of current follows.
In the form of his equations the same meaning is implicit
which I have here tried to express explicitly in the terms
of common language.
I shall not add examples from such domains of physics
as electrostatics, magnetization, elasticity, heat-conduction
and diffusion. The principle remains essentially the same
as in our two instances, whatever the forces and the ma-
terial which assume a particular macroscopic distribution
in each case. It should be realized, however, that the flow of
water in a system of pipes and the steady state of electric
current in wires agree in one respect which gives both
cases a particularly simple character: The channels
through which either the currents of water or those of
electrons pass are narrow, and they unite only at certain
points. This special circumstance makes it an easy task
ON ISOMORPHISM 203
of elementary mathematics to calculate what the rate of
current must be in each branch when the flow is steady
throughout the system. In the general problem of self-
distribution or of macroscopic states such simplifying
restrictions are absent. Suppose that a hollow vessel be
given with one opening for the entrance and another for
the release of water. The vessel will remain filled if
just as much water as enters leaves through the second
opening. How will the current be distributed in this sta-
tionary state? For each given shape of the interior and for
each position of the openings the "lines of flow" as indi-
vidual lines, of course, mere constructions of mathematical
imagination will assume a different distribution. Here
they will be parallel, there they will converge, there they
will bend; and the speed of flow will vary correspondingly.
In this case the flow at every point depends even more
directly on the current everywhere else, and vice versa,
because the system is no longer divided into a number of
discrete narrow branches which are in touch only at
certain points. A steady state is again established, with
this distinguishing feature, however, that in the continu-
ous volume of current the direction of flow at each point
is as much a problem as is its intensity or rate.
Self-distribution o electric current may occur under
similarly generalized conditions, i.e., in a continuous
volume. Depending on the shape of its sources and the
properties of the medium, such a current will in each case
assume a steady spatial distribution in which again both
the local direction and the local intensity of flow are only
maintained as dependent parts of the complete macro-
scopic process. We shall presently return to this case. 2
2 For our present purpose we need not discuss the genesis of steady
distributions. Such a discussion will, however, be of paramount im-
portance in connection with ceitain other problems of psychophysics.
204 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
Experimental physics is not particularly interested in
the study of such continuous macroscopic states. As the
conditions under which self-distribution develops may be
varied freely, an infinite number of macroscopic states is
possible in each class: the hydrodynamic, the electric, and
so on. The investigation of a number of individual cases
would add little to our knowledge of basic physical facts.
Besides, what could the experimentalist do? In order to
know the distribution of a steady current inside a given
volume he would have to measure the rate and the direc-
tion of flow at as many points as possiblea thoroughly
tedious occupation. At the same time this task would be
awkward enough, since, at least in many cases, the very
attempt to measure local flow will lead to interference
with the distribution itself: The appioach and the inser-
tion of a measuring device would generally mean the in-
troduction of new conditions to which the macroscopic
state can respond only by a change of distribution. Satis-
fied that no essentially new facts are to be discovered in
this field, the physicist will moreover give little time to
macroscopic states in his teaching. This is why one can
learn a good deal about practical physics without ever
hearing very much about this section of science. As a
matter of fact, the investigation of self-distribution in con-
tinuous media has become a task for mathematicians rather
than for physicists. The general rule which macroscopic
states must fulfill is easily formulated in mathematical
terms. A single differential equation, named after Laplace,
will apply to most cases. Unfortunately, however, this
equation does not express much more than that in a steady
state the forces and the flow at each point should not alter
this steady state. Just what distribution would, as a whole,
correspond with this condition in a given case is the ques-
ON ISOMORPHISM 205
tion which the mathematician tries to answer. No direct
and simple mathematical procedure is available for this
purpose. During the ipth century the invention of solu-
tions even for comparatively simple cases occupied some
of the best mathematical minds. The Dirichlet problem
and the Neumann problem, formulations of this mathe-
matical task for two slightly different sets of conditions,
are noted for their tremendous intrinsic difficulty. In his
great treatise on "Electricity and Magnetism" Maxwell has
given a most vivid description of the puzzling intellectual
situation in which the scientist finds himself when he
works in this field. This is not a branch of physics with
which other men of science, philosophers and the public
will become familiar through popular books. If they did,
the belief would not be so general that physics is under all
circumstances an "analytical" science in which the proper-
ties of more complex extended facts are deduced from the
properties of independent local elements. The thesis that
analysis, at least in this sense, does not apply to macroscopic
dynamic states is borne out by the predicament of mathe-
maticians who must find the steady distribution as a whole
if they are to tell us what the steady flow is in a part of the
system.
"There is one ideal of survey which would look into each
minute compartment of space in turn to see what it may con-
tain and so make what it would regard as a complete inven-
tory of the world. But this misses any world-features which
are not located in minute compartments." 3
I do not know of any physical entities to which
these words of Eddington would better apply than they
do to dynamic steady states which originate and maintain
3 A. Eddington, The Nature of the Physical World, p. 103
206 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
themselves in macroscopic self-distribution. As early as
1910 Planck made a similar remark. 4 It seems significant
that both he and Eddington were led to such observations
while discussing the Second Law of Thermodynamics.
This principle always deals with questions of self-distribu-
tion; it is besides indispensable to an understanding of
the origin of any steady state whatsoever. As it happened,
neither the physicist nor the astronomer pointed to those
more strictly "dynamic" examples which we have here dis-
cussed.
Ill
If the study of macroscopic steady states as such had ever
become an outstanding occupation of physics, the scien-
tific world would now be more clearly conscious of their
functional peculiarities. In consequence of it an applica-
tion of such knowledge to problems of biology might at
present be a well established practice. We cannot take it
for granted that the scale of relative significance in which
the physicist ranks his several problems and subjects will
always agree with their evaluation for purposes of biology
and psychology. For biology and psychology macroscopic
dynamic states seem to be of paramount importance. 6
Biologists, it is true, regard it as an obvious fact that,
quite apart from special processes in its interior, the or-
ganism in its totality represents a steady physical state
rather than a macroscopic physical object. Its material is
* M Planck, Acht Vorlesungen uber theoretische Physik (1910), pp. 96 .
3 The reader will find a more general discussion of macroscopic dynamic
states in the author's hook Die physischen Gestalten in Ruhe und im
stationaren 7,wtand 1920. (In details, this investigation no longer cor-
responds to our present knowledge of certain facts in physics and elec-
trophysiology. But its main content is, I believe, still correct.)
ON ISOMORPHISM 207
not permanent. It breaks down and is eliminated con-
tinually, while new material is absorbed from the outside,
is chemically reorganized and distributed approximately
in the same pattern and at the same rate. It would be a
great help if a clear logic or even merely a clear termi-
nology had been worked out for those elementary cases
of self-distribution which physics has to deal with. Gradu-
ally such a logic might now grow and differentiate, until
it became applicable to more and more complex organic
facts. As the situation actually is, we simply feel bewil-
dered by the extreme heterogeneity of this unique macro-
scopic process, the organism. In the treatment of some par-
ticular organic functions we are apparently a trifle better
off. What happens in the circulatory system approaches
so closely inanimate hydrodynamic models that at least
some apposite concepts of physics can, in spite of
a host of complications, simply be transferred to the
behavior of blood and lymph. More recently quite a num-
ber of special steady states have been investigated within
the organism, and Professor W. B. Cannon's fascinating
summary of this work, to which he himself has so emi-
nently contributed, is widely known. 6 As yet, however, the
connection of the biological facts in question with general
dynamic principles of physics has not been clearly stated.
It is perhaps more surprising that in the theory of
nervous functions and, more particularly, of processes in
ganglionic layers the concept of macroscopic dynamic con-
texts is so rarely used. Specific order of function in this
field has over and over again been explained by a
separation of elementary processes from each other rather
than by the behavior of coherent macroscopic states.
McDougall's theory of "drainage" may be mentioned as
6 W. B. Cannon, The Wisdom of the Body. (1932).
208 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
an exception; and occasionally another author ventures a
slightly heretical statement. Even in Sherrington's work, 7
however, a pattern of activity in the spinal cord may mean
either a mosaic of independent local facts or a macro-
scopic context of function: for reasons which I need not
repeat, the alternative does not always seem to be clearly
seen. Because of such unclarities as to the very principles
of function the more conservative view naturally domi-
nates in the practice of actual scientific work.
The properties of brain-tissue as a physical and a chemi-
cal medium are such that in this part of the organism
macroscopic contexts of function are not merely possible;
it is difficult even to imagine how their occurrence could
be prevented. As to the microscopic content of the tissue,
which in the physicist's sense are the ions, electrons, etc.,
such entities move in the brain as near to each other as
they do in extraorganic solutions of moderate density. An
individual particle will therefore hardly ever be outside
the "field" of its neighbors. This makes the tissue as such a
macroscopically coherent entity through which "field" ex-
tends as a continuum, 8 and, if no special devices or un-
known hidden arrangements prevent it, states and proc-
esses in this medium will certainly assume the form of
continuous macroscopic contexts.
Under these circumstances the argument is not conclu-
sive that, because the constitution of brain-matter is
atomic and because brain-processes are microscopic events,
there can be no resemblance between the cortical corre-
lates of experience and experience itself. Even if in com-
parison with phenomena the microscopic phase of psy-
7 C. S. Shernngton, The Integratwe Action of the Nervous System.
(1906).
C/. ch. 5, pp. i 7 8f.
ON ISOMORPHISM 209
chophysical processes appears as "a foreign world," can we
draw any conclusion as long as experience has not been
compared with macroscopic cortical states?
To pass judgments on the possibility of macroscopic
states in ganglionic layers is, one might say, not the task
of physics, but of physiology and neurology. And from this
side many would expect the objection that nerve processes
are conducted in elementary structures, the neurons, that
the functionally essential part of cortical tissue, too, con-
sists of individual neurons, and that thus psychophysical
processes must be composed of independent events. I won-
der whether our thinking in this field is quite adapted to
a new situation which has arisen as a result of more recent
discoveries in nerve-physiology. When we wish a current
to pass along a conductor we choose conditions in such a
manner that the current flows in the interior, in other
words, that it passes wholly through the cross-section of
the conductor. With a natural anthropomorphism earlier
theory held a similar view of nerve-conduction. Accord-
ing to present knowledge, however, the propagation of
nerve impulses follows a different principle. A nerve cur-
rent is a swr/flce-function, more accurately, a function in
which the environment of a nerve fiber plays exactly as
important a role as does the fiber itself. This follows from
the fact that the "nerve impulse" is an electric current
which enters the fiber from the environment in one region
and returns to the environment in another region nearby,
the circuit being completed outside the fiber. Since the
current penetrates into the fiber from all sides, and also
returns in all directions to the surrounding medium, the
fiber is, on the temporary level of the impulse, completely
enveloped by the outer part of the current. Inside and out-
side it flows for a stretch roughly parallel to the fiber,
210 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
though, naturally, in opposite directions. Propagation of
the impulse means that the current gradually changes its
location along the fiber, and correspondingly, of course,
in the surrounding medium. We need not discuss the
causes which produce the current a local alteration of
the surface of the fiber seems to be the essential condition;
nor shall we explain why the current migrates from one
part of the fiber to the next. What interests us mainly is
the fact that, according to a simple rule of physics, there
is invariably just as much of the impulse or current out-
side the nerve fiber as passes through the fiber itself. Now,
distances between the fibers of one nerve, the optic nerve
for example, are small. If, therefore, at a given level and at
a given time, impulses travel along several parallel fibers,
the current in one direction will be distributed over the
various separate fibers through which it passes, while in
the opposite direction the flow will fill the common con-
tinuous medium in which the fibers are embedded. Out-
side the group of fibers the impulses themselves form in
this manner a functional continuum. To this extent it is
obviously incorrect to say that nerve activity is always a
function of separate conducting elements.
We are, however, in the habit of concentrating our
attention on the distinct histological entities, i.e., the
fibers of a nerve. Thus we shall be inclined to say that
after all the surface of the fiber has to be altered, if a local
current, and thereby the impulse, is to be started. Yet
from a purely physical point of view it may be doubted
whether, so far as function is concerned, the surface in
question is more a boundary of the fiber than it is a
boundary of the medium around the fiber. To say that,
in a nerve, fibers are embedded in a medium is doubtless
correct. Yet it is no less correct to say that in a nerve a
ON ISOMORPHISM 211
common continuous medium is perforated by fibers. As
psychologists would say, the difference of formulation
means that in one description the fibers are regarded as
"figures" and the medium between them as mere
"ground," while in the other description this relation is
inverted. Whether or not the distinction between these
two descriptions has any objective significance remains to
be seen. In the meantime it would be an unwarranted
preference, if we were, as is still our tendency, to regard
the current inside the fiber as important and more or less
to ignore the current outside. There is in any case no
justification for the belief that nerve function is a matter
of separate histological elements, and that thus this func-
tion itself is split up into correspondingly separate events.
The function of gangl ionic layers is at present regarded
as similar to that of fibers in one essential respect: it, too,
seems to be first and foremost "surfaces-function. With
one difference, however. While no evidence points as yet
to the assumption that an impulse which travels along one
fiber can actually stimulate other fibers which extend
parallel to its own direction, Adrian and his collaborators
have found that in ganglionic tissue groups of cells will
under certain conditions show clearly interrelated ac-
tivity. This is true of the retina, and also of cortical layers.
For such areas, therefore, the notion can no longer be held
that each individual cell functions independently. It seems
plausible that interdependence of function in active
groups of cells is brought about by the fact that function
of the cells is function of their common environment at
the same time. This assumption is corroborated by more
recent investigations of the manner in which a nerve im-
pulse is transmitted at a synapse from one neuron to
E. D. Adrian and R. Matthews. Journ. Physiol. 65 (1928), pp. 873 ff.
212 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
another. Experimental data point to the explanation that
when the impulse reaches the end of the first neuron a
chemical substance is secreted by the fiber. The second
neuron is stimulated when this substance has passed
through the minute stretch of common medium between
the first and the second. 10 In ganglionic layers, therefore,
where one set of neurons ends and a new set of cells be-
gins, there is, according to this new discovery, a thin sheet
of chemical activity in the common medium. If several
neurons of the first set are activated side by side simul-
taneously, this sheet will extend through the ganglionic
area as a continuum; and if impulses follow each other in
rapid succession, their individual chemical effects will
overlap in time, so that, by summation, a steady chemical
state is attained. The particular nature of this state de-
pends on the number of impulses which through one
neuron arrive in a unit of time, and on the number of
active neurons the mingled end-branches of which feed
a common synaptic region.
There is, indeed, nothing in this situation which would
make it a plausible assumption that cortical processes con-
sist of independent events in individual cells. In the fol-
lowing paragraphs psychophysical correlates will, there-
fore, be considered from a macroscopic point of view.
When light stimulates the retina, impulses travel first
along the optic nerve and then along more central
neurons. As they arrive in the visual cortex some property
of the impulses in question doubtless represents the kind
of retinal process (and therefore of light) by which the
impulses have been caused. When we realize how many
10 G. H. Parker, The Origin, Plan and Operational Mode* of the
Nervous System 1934. W. B. Cannon and A. Rosenblueth, Autonomic
Neuro-ElJector Systems. 1937.
ON ISOMORPHISM 213
different qualities of color occur in normal vision we are
led to believe that among all known classes of physical
events only chemical reactions occur in a corresponding
variety of nuances. Since the correlates of color must be
variable in just as many dimensions as are the colors
themselves, we shall therefore assume that chemical reac-
tions are the psychophysical processes which underlie the
various qualities of color. These reactions, we suppose,
are produced when impulses of optic fibers reach the
striate area. 11
Take the very simple case in which the visual quality in
question is a grey which fills the visual field uniformly.
The cortical correlate of this grey will be a particular
chemical reaction which is in all parts of the visual cortex
maintained as a continuous state. 12 A more interesting
situation arises if peripheral stimulation is inhomogeneous.
Suppose that a simple white figure, a circle or a square, is
projected upon one part of the retina, while around this
figure stimulation corresponds to grey as before. When
nerve impulses arrive in the cortex both from the figure
and from its environment two different chemical processes
will be produced, one as the correlate of white and the
other as that of grey. The first will occupy a circumscribed
region, and the second will extend around the first through
the rest of the cortical field. Between the two there will be
functional contact along their common boundary. The
tissue is an electrolyte; among the components which take
part in the chemical reactions there will be ions. More-
over, a given chemical process will be characterized by a
particular concentration of participating ions which re-
n Cf p. 212, this chapter.
12 The visual cortex contains several layers. We need not decide in
which of these layers the reactions may actually occur.
214 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
mains constant so long as the reaction does not change.
This gives us the following situation: Outside the common
boundary of figure and environment there is one concen-
tration of reacting ions, and inside it a different second
concentration. 13 Any such difference in the ionic consti-
tution of the two regions leads at once to electric events.
The area of the figure assumes as a whole one electrostatic
potential, and the environment another. Along their com-
mon boundary the potential jumps from one value to the
other, and the amount of this abrupt gradient is de-
termined by the difference of ionic concentration inside
and outside the contour. It would lead us too far into
technical discussions if I were to try to explain why dif-
ferences of chemical constitution are, as a rule, associated
with such electric facts. Nernst has given the explanation
in terms of ionic diffusion at the common boundary. His
theory has been generally accepted in physical chemistry.
A difference of potential is an electromotive force. Thus,
if certain further conditions are fulfilled, a current will
flow through both the figure and its environment. 14 Its
distribution, the course which it takes, is of considerable
interest. It will penetrate the circumscribed area of the
figure, it will then spread widely through the homogeneous
environment, and will eventually return to the figure. In
this manner the figure will be surrounded by a "halo'*
of current which by its characteristic distribution repre-
sents the figure outside its own limited area. I am inclined
1; * Instead of a difference in concentration it might also but not very
plausiblybe assumed that on both sides of the boundary ions are quali-
tatively different. The conclusion which we have to draw docs not
depend upon this alternative.
i* The electromotive force at the boundary of two solutions is unable
to produce a current unless the two solutions are in contact with a third
medium so that further electromotive forces are added to the first. In
cortical tissue this condition will practically always be fulfilled.
ON ISOMORPHISM 215
to believe that in any further development of psychophys-
ical theory such currents will play an essential role. At
present many physiologists and psychologists are busy
studying waves of electric activity which the human brain
yields continually. We are not sure to what extent such
waves are phases of psychophysical processes, for instance,
in the striate area. There is a suspicion that at least some
of these waves accompany vegetative processes rather than
mental events. Perhaps more attention ought to be given
to steady currents. For psychophysical function proper
such currents might be just as important as are those in-
teresting waves.
IV
Practically any part of human experience might be taken
as an example of the fact that molecular events in the
brain do not as such show much resemblance with phe-
nomena. The visual field, for instance, is a continuum.
Displacements of particles, on the other hand, may from
a merely microscopic point of view appear as a mass of
incoherent events. The visual field, however, is seldom a
uniform continuum. Although coherent throughout, it
exhibits individual units such as patches, figures, thing-
percepts, which are to some degree detached from each
other or from a general background. For this aspect of
vision again no analogue is found in a strictly microscopic
exploration of cortical events. Such observation would
regard as unitary data the movements of single particles
or perhaps the interaction of a few; but it could not find
any larger entities which, within a widespread field, would
constitute specific units of state or process. The situation is
not changed if instead of molecular events "the processes
3i6 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
inside single cells" are considered as the correlates of visual
experience. So long as we suppose that such processes are
independent single events, any pattern in which they may
occur is a mere mosaic. Nothing in this mosaic corresponds
with the continuity of the visual field, or with the segrega-
tion of such specific entities as figures and things.
Macroscopic physical states, however, are continua. Any
macroscopic physical object, we have seen, coheres because
its particles are "in the field" of their neighbors. Chemical
reactions which occur in a macroscopic volume are co-
herent throughout for the same reason. H, therefore, the
correlate of a uniform grey field of vision is a uniform
chemical reaction extending through the visual cortex,
cohesion or continuity is a characteristic both of the per-
ceptual field and of its psychophysical counterpart. But
now let a white figure be shown, which visually appears as
a segregated part of the field. At once the cortical con-
tinuum is thoroughly altered. The area which corresponds
to the figure becomes one unit of electrostatic behavior
and the environment another. It is not as though func-
tional cohesion throughout the visual cortex were de-
stroyed. On the contrary, it is precisely functional inter-
relation which leads immediately to electric displacements
inside and outside the figure, and thus to the segregation
of two areas which maintain each other at different po-
tentials. Using the terminology of earlier paragraphs we
may therefore say that segregation occurs as a case of self-
distribution of electrostatic potential. 15 This segregation
is Those who regard "potential" as a mere construct of mathematical
physics with no genuine counterpart in physical icality, may dcsciibe the
same facts in teims of surface-chaigcs and their fields which appear when
in one region the chemical state differs from that in another icgion. No
relevant aspect of the situation would be changed by this procedure. In
terms of electric potential the description is, however, much simpler.
ON ISOMORPHISM 217
of one area from the rest of the cortical field corresponds
with the fact that phenomenally the figure is seen as one
thing by itself.
If, instead of a white figure, a solid object of the same
color interrupts the uniform field, the three-dimensional
appearance of the thing-percept offers a new problem in
psychophysics. Apart from this the situation is not essen-
tially altered: Again there is in a circumscribed region of
the cortex one chemical reaction, and around it there is
another. Segregation of one macroscopic unit from its en-
vironment will be the consequence. Whatever the correlate
of visual depth may be, the psychophysical context shows
once more a pattern which in a basic point agrees with
that of associated experience.
No patch, figure or thing seems ever to appear as a
visual unit by itself unless there is at least some boundary
at which the visual quality changes. An abrupt slope of
potential in the cortex, a functional boundary, is thus a
characteristic which accompanies all segregation of visual
objects. Although we fully realize how many complicating
circumstances arise in individual cases, we may therefore
formulate it as a tule that segregation of particular macro-
scopic entities within a larger continuum is a common trait
of visual experience and of its cortical counterpart.
Continuity is a structural trait of the visual field. It is
also a structural fact that in this field circumscribed par-
ticular percepts are segregated as patches, figures and
things. In both characteristics, we have found, the macro-
scopic aspect of cortical processes resembles visual experi-
ence. To this extent, therefore, vision and its cortical
correlate are isomorphic. In the last chapter the same term
has been used. There, however, it applied to the relation
between visual organization on the one hand and the mac-
2i8 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
roscopic structure of situations in physical space on the
other. The fact which mediates between the physical and
the perceptual structure is now found to be cortical organ-
ization, which, as a rule, resembles both. Eddington's ele-
phant, for example, is a macroscopic object, a separate
entity in physical space. If an image of the animal is
projected upon my retina, cortical processes within a cir-
cumscribed region of my brain are immediately segregated
as a particular macroscopic unit, which is my "psychophys-
ical elephant"; and one phenomenal thing, the elephant-
percept, appears in my visual field. Three people walk
before me on the physical street as distinct physical en-
tities; correspondingly there are three psychophysical units
in my cortex and three people-percepts in my visual space.
Physically my own organism is a macroscopic object; I
also see it as something apart, namely the visual self; and
in my visual cortex its correlate occupies a region in which,
as a macroscopic state, it is set apart from the general
psychophysical context. Where perceptual organization
does not agree with facts in physical space, cortical organi-
zation seems to agree with perception rather than
with physics. When two objects, seen at night and at a
distance, occasionally melt into one strange visual bulk,
stimulation has as a rule not been different enough at
their common boundary, and in the visual cortex one large
unit has been established which is the correlate of my
strange percept.
Our present discussion is mainly concerned with the
question of isomorphism between the visual field and its
psychophysical correlate. It is not necessary, however, to
investigate at present just how far such isomorphism actu-
ally extends. Once such structural resemblance is proved
to be possible to any extent whatsoever, we can no longer
ON ISOMORPHISM 219
maintain that knowledge of cortical events will never
reveal data of psychological interest. Supposing that ob-
servation were adequately directed toward the macroscopic
characteristics of psychophysical processes in a visual cor-
tex, the description of these processes in macroscopic terms
would be a correct report, not only of the cortical situa-
tion, but also of some essential traits of the visual field to
which the psychophysical situation corresponds.
Not for a moment should we forget, however, that iso-
morphism, thus considered, is a relation between visual
experience and dynamic realities. The distribution of
processes in the visual cortex has once before been dis-
cussed in these chapters. 16 But the description that was
then given referred to the merely geometrical aspect which
the pattern of cortical events exhibits. I wanted to show
that localization of thing-percepts outside the body-percept
is altogether compatible with neurological knowledge.
Just as in visual space thing-percepts are localized outside
the body-percept, so processes corresponding to things are,
in the visual cortex, localized outside the processes which
correspond to the visible self. So far as it went, this descrip-
tion was correct. And yet it was not quite adequate. From
a merely anatomical and geometrical point of view we were
not really entitled to speak of specific processes which cor-
respond with things or with the visible self. Connection
between the retina and the cortex, as it was then presented,
preserves a merely geometrical order of points; but it does
not provide for any organization. There is nothing in this
scheme which could explain, why things or why the body
are segregated entities in the visual field. Although it gives
an orderly mosaic of local brain-events, it does not lead us
to expect either a continuum of coherent function, which
ioc/ ch 4, pp 131-1 1"-
220 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
extends through the visual cortex as a whole, or the fact
that, within certain areas, there are specific macroscopic
units, the segregated processes which correspond to things
and to the self. In this respect the situation has been greatly
changed by the discussion of the last paragraphs.
In the description to which I have just reteired there
was, however, one more term that needs a certain correc-
tion. Thing-processes, we said, occur outside the body-
process. What does "outside" mean in this sentence? As a
matter of fact, the correlate of a thing-percept and that oi
the body-percept will quite generally have different loca-
tions in the visual cortex. But, if we wish to think con-
sistently, we cannot contend that this geometrical fact has
as such any psychophysical significance. Rather such terms
as "being outside*' have to be given a functional interpre-
tation, just as has been done with the terms "continuous"
and "segregated." In assigning isomorphic correlates to the
various structural properties of visual space we cannot in
one case point to functional realities and in another case to
mere geometrical relations.
Geometrically one thing will be said to be "inside"
another thing, if any line which I draw beyond the bound-
ary of the first enters or passes the second. In a continuum
of function a particular region is functionally "inside"
another, if any functional influence which is exerted by
the first alters the second before it has any more remote
effects. Conversely, one area is functionally altogether
"outside" a second area, if interaction between the first
and the second is mediated by alterations in a third area.
Here I have omitted the special case of direct neighbor-
hood. Obviously two areas are functionally "immediate
neighbors" of each other, if an influence which one exerts
upon the other need not pass through and alter any third
ON ISOMORPHISM 221
region; in other words, if those areas are somewhere in
direct functional contact.
In most or all cases, it is true, in which these functional
definitions are applicable the corresponding geometrical
relationships will also obtain. Such is the connection be-
tween continuity of physical function and the properties
of physical space. And yet the two kinds of definitions
point toward two actually different sets of relations. All
FIG i
functional relations could, for instance, completely dis-
appear irom a medium, while corresponding geometrical
relations would remain entirely unaltered. Besides we
need only take one more step in order to see that discrepan-
cies between the geometrical and the functional definition
of a relation arc by no means impossible. The functional
meaning of the term "between" may serve as an example.
A point X lies functionally between two other points A
and B, if the most direct functional influence which A can
exert on B (or B on A) will alter X fust and only then B
(or A). Suppose now that in some region of the brain one
part of the cortex protrudes into the recess formed by
another part of the cortex (Cf. fig. i) . If A and B are two
points of the cortex in which we are interested, what points
222 THE PJLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
are functionally or psychophysically "between** A and B?
Geometrically the protruding part of the cortex and more
particularly the points x and y are in this position. But an
influence which A has on B may never pass through x and
y, which lie perhaps at an enormous functional distance
both from A and B. On the other hand X and Y arc likely
to be altered by a change in A, before, precisely by this
alteration, the change of A has any influence on B. Thus X
and Y rather than x and y are "between" A and B in the
only sense in which this term should be applied to psycho-
physical processes.
In this manner, not in a geometrical interpretation, are
relationships within the cortical continuum assumed to be
isomorphic with the structural properties of visual space.
More especially thing-percepts are seen completely outside
the body-percept whenever other visual processes inter-
vene between the correlates of those things and the cor-
relate of the visual self. A thing-percept touches the visual
self, when at least at one point functional contact is direct
between the cortical counterpart of the thing a ncl that of
the self. The discussion of relative cortical localization
which I have given in the fourth chapter seems to me ac-
ceptable only if it is thus understood.
Being "inside** or "outside,** "between,** "in contact
with," "at a distance from" are relationships which the
mathematicians call topological. From other spatial rela-
tions they are distinguished by the fact that in a given case
they may remain invariant, while the metrical properties
of the medium in question are radically changed. Visual
space has certain metrical traits, and metrical relations ob-
tain to some extent between its parts. It is not necessary
for our main purpose that the psychophysical counterparts
of these relations be here considered. It needs hardly to be
ON ISOMORPHISM 223
mentioned, however, that a more complete theory of psy-
chophysical space would have to contain definite prescrip-
tions according to which distances and other quantitative
phases of extension are to be measured in terms of cortical
function. I doubt very much whether psychophysical dis-
tances in a functional sense of the word are proportional
to geometrical distances in brain-tissue; nor should I as-
sume that the functional distance between two given
points in cortical tissue has once for all a constant value.
A great difficulty for any psychophysical theory of visual
space is sometimes found in the fact that the striate area
as a whole consists of two parts, one of which belongs to
the right and the other to the left hemisphere. Since be-
tween these parts there is a functional connection through
the corpus callosum, the existence of a theoretical diffi-
culty can neither be maintained nor denied until the
metrical properties of psychophysical space are functionally
defined.
I have sometimes heard it said that the theory of
psychophysical isomorphism is a verbal rather than a sub-
stantial achievement. It is easy, thus some seem to feel, to
abstract from psychological facts their structural character-
istics, and then to describe such psychological structures
twice: first in psychological terms, then once more in a
language which has a more physiological sound. It is ob-
viously the import of this criticism that the theory does
not really contain statements about both physical facts and
psychological data; that actually there is only one single set
of factual statements which by the use of two different sets
of expressions assumes a dual appearance.
224 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
In answering this objection we should be clear about its
meaning. It is not said that the theory makes unconvincing
assumptions about the psychophysical correlates of phe-
nomenal data; rather, it is maintained that actually there
are no such assumptions at all. I cannot accept this criti-
cism. It seems to ignore the fact that the main terms of
physiological and physical science have meanings which
were established long before there was any theory of psy-
chophysical isomorphism. For a long time it was regarded
as an obvious fact that no statement formulated in such
terms could ever be analogous to the statements in which
psychologists describe the structure of phenomena. The
theory ot psychophysical isomorphism produces statements
such as used to be considered impossible. And it is not a
trick of language by which this is achieved. To be sure, ex-
pressions do appear in the theory which have not hitherto
been used in discussions ot cortical events. Instead of
being only a matter of language, however, this emergence
of new terms indicates that certain phases ot physical na-
ture which have been overlooked in earlier discussions are
now believed to participate in psychophysical function.
What in fact could be meant by those statements in which
philosophical Monists maintained that cortical processes
and psychological facts might, somehow, be "the same
thing"? Practically nothing, so long as in concrete the
data of these two realms appeared as utterly different.
Even the thesis of isomorphism, which is a much more
definite proposition, is not yet a theory, but remains a
postulate, until we are enabled to point toward modes of
physical function that have a genuine structure. It is not
merely a new expression: the contention that macroscopic
physical states rather than microscopic events are the cor-
relates of phenomenal contexts is a positive hypothesis.
ON ISOMORPHISM 225
Such macroscopic states do have specific structures. And if
we try to show that such states may plausibly be assumed to
occur in cortical tissue, we are again not dealing with mere
expressions; we are discussing physiological facts which
may or may not agree with our physical assumption.
It will give us a better view of the situation if one more
remark is added. Isomorphism is a postulate. It becomes
a theory by virtue not of one hypothesis, but of a whole
set of definite assumptions. It is by one such assumption
that a cortical correlate of visual continuity is indicated;
a second hypothesis refers to the correlate of visual segre-
gation, a third to the isomorphic representation of topo-
logical relations in visual space; a fourth will be needed in
the case of metrical relations, a fifth for the third dimension
of space, and so on for all discernible structural character-
istics of the phenomenal world.
On the other hand, our freedom in introducing such
hypotheses is greatly restricted. Not only must they agree
with available physical and physiological evidence; they
must also be mutually compatible. The principle by which
isomorphism as to segregation is explained has to be in
harmony with that by which cortical function is made a
continuum. In the case of metrical spatial relations no
hypothesis will be acceptable which is at odds with the
explanation of topological isomorphism. Again, whoever
tries to offer an isomorphic correlate of visual depth may
find that only few possibilities are left for this endeavor;
because the previous assumptions set so many conditions
with which this further move must be consistent. It is
also imaginable that at this point of the procedure not
even one possibility of any further move will be left. In
this case the theory of isomorphism would have reached
the limits of its applicability. I do not believe that this
226 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
will really happen. But that it could happen shows once
more clearly how little a matter of mere expressions the
theory actually is.
One more step in isomorphic theory will lead us back
to our main issue. According to phenomenological analysis
requiredness occurs within contexts as a special form of
reference or relation between their parts. As yet we have
been dealing with only such relationships as are inde-
pendent of any concrete properties which their objects or
terms may possess. In the next paragraphs other relations
will be discussed which obtain between the terms inasmuch
as these objects have definite characteristics. Required-
ness belongs to this class as its probably most interesting
special case. If, therefore, it should be unthinkable in prin-
ciple that any such relations have, as experiences, isomor-
phic correlates in cortical function, the same would be true
of requiredness. We have thus good reasons for investi-
gating this further problem in the theory of isomorphism.
Natural caution makes it advisable to exclude at first the
case of requiredness itself and to investigate more elemen-
tary relations of this class.
A relation, I once read, may be called a "product" of
the items or terms of which it is predicated. This particular
product, however, has properties by which it differs greatly
from other things to which we give the same name. Hydro-
chloric acid is the product of chlorine and hydrogen. When
the product is formed these substances disappear, and we
get instead another chemical substance, i.e., an entity of
the same general class. Or take a slightly different example:
two animals of opposite sex mate. The offspring may be
called their product; it would be more correct, however,
to say that the young are products of male and female
germ-cells. In this case again the producing components
ON ISOMORPHISM 227
disappear in the product, and the product belongs to the
same general class as do the components. If this be taken
as typical of production in the physical world, the produc-
tion of relations in experience has little in common with
physical production: The terms do not disappear when
they "produce" the relation; and the relation, their prod-
uct, is not an entity of the same class. In a way, it is true,
the terms "unite" when their relation is experienced. Still
they remain two distinct data. The relation itself, on the
other hand, may be a "product" of the terms; but it
belongs to another class, as shown most clearly by the fact
that it has no proper life of its own. If we separate the
terms, we do not cut their relation; we simply make it
vanish altogether. Has ever anything like this been found
in nature?
So far the argument. In psychology aspects of expeiience
which have such characteristics are well known as
Ehrenfels-qualities. Von Ehrenfels himself pointed out
that relations satisfy the criteria by which his "Gestalt-
qualitaten" can be recogni/ed. I hesitate to concede that
no situation in nature exhibits such characteristics.
But first let us consider an example which I take from
the field of perception. When looking at two parallel lines
of slightly different length we find that the appearance of
the pair tells us directly: the line to the right is longer
(C/. fig. 2). Where do we see that? In the present case we
see it at the upper and the lower ends of the lines. When
we compare these lines, they are not actually seen as two
altogether separate things, but rather as the left and the
right edges of the area between them. Where the lines end
the area also ends, although it has no distinct edges here.
The area converges to the left and diverges to the right.
In other words, there are slopes from the ends of one line
2*8 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
to the corresponding ends of the other. This, however, is
equivalent to saying that the line to the right is longer.
The first two expressions seem to come nearer the actual
phenomenological foundation of our judgment; the last
formulation, which corresponds better with common par-
lance, refers more directly to those objects in which we are
interested, namely, in the present case, the lines. All three
statements point to the same essential fact, although they
describe it from slightly different points of view.
FIG 2
The slopes between the ends of the lines are Ehrenfels-
qualities of the pair which originates as a perceptual unit
when the lines are brought together. Divergence or con-
vergence does not belong to the same class of perceptual
facts as do lines or lengths of lines. Moreover, in the unit
which they form the lines do of course not disappear.
Lastly, the slopes between their ends have no independent
existence; if the lines are separated no slopes are left, and
no divergence or convergence. Thus our description of a
very simple instance contains all the characteristics which
have been regarded as peculiar to perceived relations.
A slope, however, is a particular case of a "gradient/'
ON ISOMORPHISM 229
and gradients do not occur only as aspects of perceptual 01
other phenomenal situations. Physical situations exhibit
gradients so regularly that the term as such is much more
often used in physics than it is in psychology. Improving
on an earlier theory which I had proposed some time ago
Dr. von Laucnstein has therefore pointed out that gradi-
ents in psychophysical contexts might be the correlates of
such perceptual relations as the one which we have just
discussed. 17
What is meant by a gradient in physics? Examples will
tell us more than formal definitions. Between two objects
of different electrostatic potential a "fields-gradient and,
under certain conditions, a corresponding current develop.
Between two objects of different temperature a tempera-
ture-giadient and a heat-current are established. In both
cases the differences between two physical states are, one
might say, realized or functionalized by specific events
which come into existence between them. In von Lauen-
stein's theory it is plausibly assumed that when two phe-
nomenal data differ in some respect their cortical cor-
relates are also different physical states. In a medium like
brain tissue, however, two simultaneous psychophysical
processes are not functionally separate events. Thus a
gradient may be established between them which owes its
origin to the difference between the two processes. Ac-
cording to the nature of these processes and of their dif-
ference there will be gradients of different kinds, which
in this theory arc held to be the correlates of all those
various relations found in perceptual fields. 18
Comparison between perceptual relations and physical
17 O. Lauenstcm, Amatz zu etner phystnlogischen Theorie de* Vergleichs
und der Zeitfehler, Psychol. Forsch. /; (1932), pp. isoff.
is In the next chaptci it will be explained how by the same hypothesis
successive relations arc mteipreted.
THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
gradients reveals that both have the same structural nature.
A gradient may be said to be a "product" of the different
physical states between which it develops. In this product
the states themselves do not disappear. In a way they are
united by the gradient, they become members of a larger
functional context; but they remain two distinct data.
The gradient on the other hand does not belong to the
same class of entities as the states between which it orig-
inates; a current for instance is not an object nor a po-
tential nor a temperature. Again, gradients have no exist-
ence of their own. If the states or objects are separated
between which a gradient has been established, it vanishes
altogether. It seems safe to conclude that there are situa-
tions in nature which exhibit in the form of gradients the
same structural aspects as do relations in perception.
Gradients are therefore isomorphic with such relations.
If an observer of macroscopic brain-events should mention
in his report that between two different states he found
a gradient depending upon their difference, he would
thereby mention a structural trait of the situation which
a relation in the phenomenal field and the correlate of
this relation have in common.
In applying this notion to psychophysical problems we
need not at once specify just what gradients may be the
correlates of various relations. Without any such assump-
tions we are in a position to derive from our hypothesis
one consequence which may at once be tested. Whatever
other properties a gradient may have, the term has its
accepted meaning only so long as by a gradient we under-
stand a physical observable that "falls off" through space
from one thing to another. If this be true, the slope of any
gradient between two given objects or states must depend
not only upon the actual difference between their proper-
ON ISOMORPHISM 231
ties, but also upon their distance from each other. An
increase of this distance, for instance, would make the
gradient less steep. Take the example of the two parallel
lines. If their length is slightly different the area which
they include is convergent or divergent, i.e., it is a trape-
zoid, only when their distance is short. With increasing
distance the slopes which lead from the ends of one line
to the ends of the other, will gradually become less con-
spicuous, and eventually the observer will be unable to
perceive them. Phenomenally the area will then be a
rectangle, an oblong. Consequently, an objective differ-
ence of the lines which was just noticeable at a shorter
distance will become imperceptible at a certain larger
distance. Only by increasing the objective difference be-
tween the two lengths could noticeable slopes be reestab-
lished under these conditions. The just noticeable differ-
ence is therefore, in this case, a function of the distance
between the lines.
If, however, von Lauenstein's hypothesis is correct the
same conclusion should apply quite generally. Being the
phenomenal counterparts of gradients, all such perceptual
relations should in the range of liminal differences depend
on the distances between their terms. In this manner the
assumption could be tested experimentally. As yet data
are available for only one particular relation, namely, that
of comparative brightness. Under the guidance of Dr.
Metzger, Miss Jacobs measured the just noticeable differ-
ence of brightness between two surfaces which were ex-
posed at varying distances from each other. 19
The experimental procedure was this: The subject fix-
10 M. Jacobs, Ueber den Einfluss des phanomenalen Abbtandes auf die
Untcrschicdischwelle fur Helltgkeiten. Psychol. Forsch. i8 9 (1933), pp.
109 ff
23* THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
ated a given point, and two objects of slightly different
brightness were shown simultaneously, one on the left,
the other symmetrically on the right side of the fixation
mark. The just noticeable difference was determined for
three distances between the objects. About technical de-
tails Miss Jacobs' paper should be consulted. As a main
precaution such positions of the objects were chosen that
their images were projected upon retinal points of equal
sensitivity.
For a group of ten observers the average noticeable dif-
ferences were, for the distances of
10 80 200 cms
11.1 23-5 45-2,
and, in a second experiment with a slightly different
procedure,
io-9 23.5 45-3- 20
This result agrees completely with the conclusion which
we have drawn from the hypothesis, that a gradient is the
psychophysical correlate of brightness-difference as a per-
ceptual datum. With increasing distance between the
terms the just noticeable difference grows considerably.
The experiments have been repeated several times and by
several students. Under the simple conditions just re-
ferred to their outcome has always been the same.
In applying the gradient theory to the present case it has
been assumed that, if other circumstances are constant, the
distance between two cortical processes will be the greater, the
farther apart the retinal images are with which those processes
correspond. Under the experimental conditions which yielded
the data of these experiments, this seems to be a safe assump-
tion.
20 All thresholds were measured in the same arbitrary unit. The statis-
tical reliability of the differences found by Miss Jacobs is discussed in her
paper.
CHAPTER VII
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE
I
COMMON language uses the term memory in a specific
and narrow meaning. To speak of memory seems natural
only when we are occupied with the past. "I am sure I
posted your letter," "I still remember Professor Stumpfs
seminars" in such statements we refer to facts of memory.
It does not seem right to apply the same word to day-
dreaming, to other facts of imagination and to dreaming
during sleep. Parts of our past, it is true, may as such be
revived in these situations, but they are revived more or
less incidentally, and there is no intention to copy what
has actually happened in previous life. Nevertheless
it is obvious that most of the "material'* which appears in
such processes could never be dreamt or imagined, unless
experiences of a similar kind in principle had occurred in
our past. Although the content of dreams and imagina-
tions may not be localized in the past, it is at least obvi-
ously dependent on events which often lie far back in
time. In psychology we have no adequate term for this
influence of the past which is akin to memory, although
it is not memory in the usual sense. The whole field of
this science, however, is pervaded by facts of which the
same may be said. When operating with concepts, as we
do in science, or when thinking about the present eco-
nomic situation in this country, we are not directed
233
234 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
toward the past; and yet practically all the constructs and
notions with which we are occupied during such activities
are at our disposal only as gifts of the past. The meanings
of words which we read have no particular temporal loca-
tion, unless it be that given by their present context; but
if in the past we had not learnt the language in question
the same words would be unintelligible. In the same
manner we speak and we write fluently, for the most part
without any reference to the origin of these achievements
which, as such, is a matter of the past. In this particular
connection many psychologists use the term "habits"; but
this word, too, has too narrow a connotation for our pur-
pose. Who would call it a habit that I can operate with
such concepts as "relation" or "entropy"? Besides, not
only are countless activities automatic now, because they
have been shaped in earlier times; but the same holds for
what one might call a secondary organization of perceptual
fields. I do not usually think of the past when I walk
through New York City, say, from Grand Central Station
to some other well-known building; but it is nevertheless
experiences of the past which make me turn here to the
left, there to the right, because just these streets stand
out as "the right way."
That it is awkwaid to speak of memory in all such cases
has been observed by several authors. On the othci hand,
it cannot be denied that there is one point which these
facts have in common with memory in the usual sense:
the participation of previously established conditions in
the determination of present events. With this point the
following discussion will be mainly concerned.
What has happened in our past lite could hardly co-
determine our present activities unless to some extent the
past were preserved far beyond the time of its occurrence.
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 235
We clearly mean this when we say that events of the past
become conditions of present mental processes. Much
time may pass between an original experience and the
moment in which there is unmistakable evidence of its
delayed effect. Some authors seem to think that we need
not assume any entity which survives during the interval
as a representative of that previous experience, and which
becomes effective when present circumstances are favor-
able. They ought to realize what this view implies: a first
event would influence a second, even though between the
two there is an empty period, no connection and no con-
tinuity, sometimes for hours and days, occasionally for
yeais. I should hesitate to adopt this notion which is so
strikingly at odds with all our fundamental ideas of func-
tional interdependence or causation. Other psychologists
do admit that without some remnant ot its occurrence a
past experience could not influence what happens now.
They add, however, that the remnant which satisfies their
need for continuity is a mental entity, that it belongs to
the same general class as actual experience. I must confess
and here I differ widely from many philosophers and
psychologists that I find it difficult to grasp the meaning
ol this assumption. I know the world of experience, ot
phenomena; I admit the existence of a second world, the
world of nature. But I fail to see what entities there may
be which are said to belong to the former of these worlds,
while at the same time they are never there. The remnants
of past experience never do occur as such in actual experi-
ence; they do not really belong to the phenomenal world,
so much is certain. Under these circumstances, what posi-
tive meaning is implied in the statement that they are
mental entities? It is expressly denied that they are parts
of the physical world. Do we know of a third world, the
236 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
mental, the properties of which we find by some procedure
of construction comparable to that of the physicist when
he infers the properties of nature? As a matter of fact we
do infer, and at the present time we only infer something
when we speak of remnants of past experience. But as a
scientist I refrain from burdening the system of my thought
with the tremendous hypothesis that here my inferences
refer to a third realm of existence, different from nature
and yet not phenomenal. If there are any remnants which
mediate between my previous mental lile and a present
recall (or any "memory" in the wider sense), such remnants
belong to a world outside the phenomenal realm. Outside
this realm I have already assumed nature, more particularly
a nervous system in which the cot relates of previous ex-
perience have occurred. It seems therefore proper to
follow the rule that worlds ought not to be multiplied
beyond strict necessity, and to construct the remnants of
past experience as entities of the physical world, namely
of the nervous system. So long as this attempt has not yet
been shown to be futile it would not be a sound procedure
to assume that these remnants are parts of a third, a never
experienced mental world.
The obvious way of connecting the present problem
with our previous assumptions is this: Neural events tend
to modify slightly the state of the tissue in which they
occur. Such changes will resemble those processes by which
they have been produced both in their pattern and with
respect to other properties. They are to that extent repre-
sentatives of the past. As such they will be able to co-
determine actual processes of the future. It is true that
metabolism and other subsequent influences are apt to
obliterate most of these remnants. Even those which sur-
vive may as a rule be gradually altered. But this is pre-
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 237
cisely what should happen if our assumption is to fit the
facts of memory. So far as observation goes most of our
experiences never have any effects in later life; nor does
it matter, since so many have no importance whatsoever.
And to recall previous events exactly as they were origi-
nally is probably not possible in a single case.
This, like psychophysical isomorphism, is an hypothesis.
It has been critici/ed on the ground that no such traces
of neural events can yet be demonstrated by neurological
methods, and it has almost become a fashion to deride it.
But even if no direct neurological evidence were available
by which the hypothesis could be supported, would that
constitute an argument against its scientific relevance?
May I make a moie general remark. Nations, we hear,
will never learn from their own history: a bad example
for scientists to follow. Here is one precedent which might
serve as a lesson: If we neglect older and more metaphysi-
cal speculations, atomic physics was a matter of "con-
struction" from the middle of the i8th till the end of the
iQth century. Up to this time the atomic constitution ot
the physical world could not be directly demonstrated.
Atomism was an hypothesis the validity of which rested
entirely on indirect though often striking verification. No
such verification satisfied those Purists among the physi-
cists and philosophers who, even toward the end of the
igth century, were still regarding atoms as mere fictions
of their more naive colleagues, because no atomic events
were among the observables of the time. Then, in the
investigation of electric conduction in rarefied gases and
of radioactivity, atomistic theory proved so successful that
the opponents became less outspoken. Their arguments
were quickly forgotten when eventually one direct demon-
stration of atomic events after another was discovered.
238 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
Was it wrong to be an atomist before this time, and did
it suddenly become the right attitude in those eventful
years? Those who had adopted atomism as their working
hypothesis had pushed steadily on accumulating indirect
verifications, until by their very work the time had become
ripe for final direct decisions and for their immediate
understanding. Meanwhile their opponents had had the
full satisfaction and comfort of never having touched
anything that was slightly dubious. It is most unfortunate
that the history of science should afterwards speak of
them mainly as of men whose opposition almost postponed
important discoveries.
Why should this happen again? In the present period
of psychological thinking the nature of hypotheses does
not seem to be fully and generally understood. An hypoth-
esis is not a poisonous substance, nor is it a minor crime
which some scientists commit in hours of carelessness.
Hypotheses belong to the more important tools of re-
search, and few major advances in science have ever been
made without the help of such assumptions about possible
but not yet observable facts. We are asked to give direct
evidence that the hypothesis of neural traces is correct.
I have never met any hypothesis for which this can be
done. When it becomes possible the hypothesis as such
disappears; it is transformed into something else. Until
then it energized the work, it furnished the experimental
questions of those who wanted to verify it, indirectly at
first and then wherever possible directly. To demand that
an hypothesis be at once proved in direct observation lest
it remain irrelevant, is tantamount to saying that all
hypotheses without exception are irrelevant. All hypoth-
eses, it is true, may be wrong. But those scientists who
never take the risk of making mistakes will hardly ever
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 239
make discoveries either. Discoveries are usually made by
those who try to test an hypothesis. To conclude: The as-
sumption that neural remnants mediate between past
events and present experience cannot reasonably be criti-
cized just because it is an hypothesis. Whoever does so
takes implicitly (and anachronistically) sides with those
who before 1900 objected to atomistic ideas in physics for
the same strange reason. It is perfectly admissible, it is
even necessary that those who do research often think far
ahead of actual knowledge. I regret that in psychology this
is not yet a truism.
As a matter of fact, the question is not whether neural
events change the status of the tissue in which they occur.
The only question which may still be debated is: whether
such changes as do undoubtedly occur have the permanence
and those other properties which we must attribute to
memory-traces. According to our present knowledge the
primary effect which nerve impulses produce in ganglionic
layers is chemical activity. 1 Such activity in itself alters,
for the time being, the status of the layers in which it
occurs, and at least for some moments this effect will sur-
vive its causes. If there be any precipitation of chemical
products, any adsorption of such products on microhisto-
logical surfaces, the reestablishment of previous conditions
will be postponed, and complete return to the original
status may never be effected in many cases.
From another point of view we are led to similar con-
clusions. Considered as a conducting medium nervous
tissue is an electrolyte, which means that any current which
passes through the tissue involves the displacement of
ions. It is a peculiarity of electrolytical conduction that
surfaces within the medium through which ions cannot
i Cf. ch, 6, p. 212.
240 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
freely pass are, as a rule, at once polarized: Ions are, in
minute layers, accumulated and adsorbed on such "inter-
faces"; in consequence of it new forces arise which counter-
act those of the current; and owing to the change in
ionic concentration chemical reactions may occur at those
boundaries. 2 The accumulation of ions at each point of
a surface is proportional to the density of current at this
point. Thus the current deposits on interfaces in its path
an adequate pictine of the pattern or distribution with
which it passes through these surfaces. As time goes on
this cut ions process of self-registration is continued. If the
current remains unaltered, the same picture is deposited
continually; as soon as the current changes its pattern,
a correspondingly new design develops on the surfaces.
Thus the current writes its own history. Many years ago,
when interest in macroscopic physics was more vivid and
electrolytical conduction still a comparatively new subject,
physicists would find great pleasure in studying the often
beautiful records which currents sometimes leave where
they pass from an electrolyte into an electrode.
Physiological observation shows that living tissue is
strongly polarized by electric currents. Nothing else can
be expected in a medium in which homogeneity is an ex-
ception and interruption by interfaces the rule. We know,
however, that in the nervous system physiological (unction
itself is for the most part associated with currents. Since
these do not differ from ordinary physical currents, they
have necessarily the same effects. It follows that a current
which develops in the nervous system polarizes the inter-
2 For brevity's sake I apply the teim "polarization" to the comple\ ol
effects which are apt to occur at interfaces In the physicist's term-
inology polarization is, in this connection, mainly the development of
electromotive forces which tend to block the path of the* polarizing
cm lent.
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 241
faces through which it passes, and that the pattern of
such polarization is the pattern of the current itself as it
passes through the region in question. To the extent in
which such self -registration is not deleted by subsequent
events, cortical currents will therefore leave their diary
spread all over the interfaces of the tissue. As a working
hypothesis I assume that by such records of function the
gap is bridged between the past and the present. In other
words, I am supposing that they are permanent in a degree
which equals the comparative permanence of memory.
In all probability remnants of neural function are of course
no more "substantially'' permanent than is any tissue. Just as
the tissue is rather a stationary state, the material of which is
continually, though very slowly, replaced by new material, so
the traces will be stationary patterns rather than permanent
objects. In this respect they differ from common electrolytical
remnants, which are more strictly objects.
One might find a difficulty in the fact that in the last
paragraphs the existence of two different kinds of traces
has been advocated: first, that of remnants which are the
representatives of primary chemical activity in the cortex
and, secondly, that of traces which currents produce by
polari/ation. In answering this objection I should like to
point out that as a matter of fact both assumptions seem
to me unavoidable; to that degree the formation of traces
is not a matter of arbitrary speculation, but a necessary
effect of neural activity. It remains, of course, an open
question whether both kinds of remnants have the same
degree of permanency. The difficulty on the other hand
which such a dualism seems at first to entail will soon
disappear, if we realize how the origin and the distribution
of polarizing currents is related to chemical activity.
242 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
We had better return to a simple example which has
been previously considered: A simple white figure is seen
surrounded by a uniform gray. In the striate area this
visual situation is represented by the fact that one chem-
ical activity takes place in a circumscribed region which
corresponds with the figure, while around this region an-
other reaction is maintained which represents the gray
ground. I have explained how under these conditions a
current will originate which penetrates the figure and en-
velops it like a "halo" as it returns through the environ-
ment. If, now, traces are left both of primary chemical
activity andby polarization of the current, the total
pattern of polarization will, within the figure and outside,
truthfully represent what has just happened. But where
there are remnants of primary chemical activity they will
do exactly the same. Thus there is really no difficulty; the
"dualism" of traces only pictures the dualism of previous
function, and the former becomes necessary inasmuch as
actual function has a dual aspect.
No more than one step remains now to be taken. Not
only the traces of primary chemical activity, but also, as
a rule, the products of polarization will be different within
the region of the figure and outside in its environment.
It seems therefore a natural assumption that in the realm
of traces similar electrostatic effects will subsist as have
been attributed to the pattern of actual function. In the
case of an homogeneous field a uniform macroscopic trace-
continuum will be left by the continuum of function. But
where a special circumscribed region has been detached in
function, the same region will remain segregated in the
trace-continuum. As to the nature of those forces on which
continuity and relative segregation are based no differ-
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 243
ence need be assumed between the processes and their
remnants. 3
It seems superfluous to describe further instances. We
should only have to lepeat in terms of traces what was said
in terms of actual processes in the last chapter, when
slightly more complicated situations were being discussed.
The reason is that, so tar as cortical correlates of experience
are isomorphic with this experience itselt, the same iso-
morphism obtains between those correlates and their
traces. With one essential restriction, however: We can-
not assume that such isomorphism will be strictly pre-
served far beyond the time at which the traces have been
formed.
As retinal stimulation changes and one visual field is
transformed into another the psychophysical processes will
also vaiy correspondingly. At every moment these proc-
esses write records ot their own pattern on top of what
their antecedents have written. This, however, need not
generally lead to a contusion of the records. Just as the
various parts of one "simultaneous" layer will not simply
penetrate each other, so the record of one moment will not
necessarily be confused with that of the next. And there
is another analogy between parts of a simultaneous layer
and traces which follow each other in the dimension of
past time. Suppose that in our simple example the white
figure disappears after a while so that its place is filled
by the uniform gray of the ground. In the realm of traces
the figure is represented by a region which remains de-
tached from its spatial environment, the trace of the gray
ground. When the white figure disappears its trace ac-
; * I pieter to postpone the answci to the question whcthei in the realm
of traces electiomotivc foices between different legions may produce and
maintain feeble currents.
244 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
quires a new neighbor, inasmuch as now traces of uniform
gray are formed everywhere: the first layer which cor-
responds to the gray will be in direct contact with the last
layer which represents the white of the figure. Similarly
on its first appearance in an otherwise homogeneous field
a figure will be detached from the homogeneous trace-
continuum a part of which it now replaces. It follows that
in the dimension of past time the figure will be segregated
from subsequent and from previous traces precisely as it is
detached from its simultaneous environment. More gen-
erally speaking, in the dimension of past time there will be
organization which in many respects resembles that as-
sumed by us in spatial extension.
We come then to this conclusion: Processes write their
history chronologically, so that, as page is laid on page,
each page gives the description of a moment, and the
sequence of pages, from bottom to top, tells us of past time
from far back up to the present. This metaphor is, how-
ever, not altogether adequate: There are no separate pages.
Rather, in the dimension of past time the record is a con-
tinuum just as it is in its representation of space. And
instead of pages, which are indifferent to the content, the
record exhibits words, sentences and chapters which are
set off from each other precisely according to this content.
I shall not deny that much must gradually happen in this
curious book, as times goes on. The traces are by no means
inert objects. Pervaded by forces, and possibly sometimes
by currents, the record will tend to revise its own text
spontaneously. If we consider that it is also under the
permanent dissolving influence of metabolism, we can only
expect the final edition to be a sketchy abstract of a dis-
torted story.
It seems advisable to point to some major differences
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 245
between older theories of memory-traces and the present
hypothesis. Neurology, we remember, was during the last
century dominated by machine-conceptions about the
function of the nervous system. According to these ideas
ganglionic layers consist of many special centers or de-
vices, each with a particular task, which are connected
in such a manner that simultaneously and in succession
the right coordination is achieved. It was an application
of such ideas when memory-traces were said to be preserved
in special centers which evolution must have prepared for
this paiticular purpose. Thus a center for visual memory
images, different from the visual cortex, was postulated by
many. It is obvious that with such a premise a further
assumption becomes necessary: evolution must have pro-
vided special anatomical and physiological arrangements
by which, when something happens in the realm of proc-
esses, a memory-trace of the event is deposited in the more
or less distant storehouse. The present hypothesis, which
does not assume any special devices by which the traces
are formed, knows of no such memory centers either. As I
see it, processes cannot fail to write their history in a
medium which has the general properties of nervous tissue.
Strictly speaking, therefore, our hypothesis refers to the
relative stability of their script rather than to its existence
or occurrence as such, Moreover, such traces of past
events are left in just those locations in which cor-
responding processes have occurred. Thus the remnants
of visual experience are in the case of mammals, and par-
ticularly of man, localized in the visual cortex, those of
auditory perception in the temporal region of the brain,
and so forth. 4 The trace of any organized state that extends
* It seems quite possible, of course, that the currents, which spread
around any segregated unit in a coitical field, penetrate into other aieas,
246 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
as a process beyond either the visual or the auditory
cortex will of course have the same wide extension; it will
be spread through such tissue as connects those particular
areas with others.
A further difference between the older and the present
view is closely related to the first. The theory of special
memory centers knew of macroscopic coherent states
neither in the case of processes nor in that of their rem-
nants; the theory was, quite naturally, just as atomistic as
were the psychological convictions of its authors. No
wonder then that the orderly retention of distinct things
and events was explained by separate localization of their
traces in minor centers. The memory traces of different
objects were even said to reside in different single celh. At
this point the contrast between the present and the older
assumption becomes particularly striking. If a process
writes an isomorphic record of its own occurrence it does
so wherever it happens to take place. True it is that purely
visual processes are apparently confined to a particular part
of the brain. Within this region, however, the same par-
ticular process may at one time spread here and at another
time elsewhere. The figure of our paradigm, for instance,
will change its cortical location whenever the physical ob-
ject and, with it, its retinal image moves. Merc movements
of the eye, while the object remains stationary, will again
lead to corresponding changes in the location of the figure-
process. Generally, therefore, a process of given properties,
i.e., a visual thing, will not be represented by a single
neural remnant only. If it has occurred several times and
in different places, remnants will be left of all such oc-
and that thus their polarizing effects or traces have the same wide ex-
tension If this be so, it would nevertheless be true that tiaces are formed
precisely where the processes in question occur.
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 247
currences. They will have correspondingly different loca-
tions in space, of course at different levels in the dimension
of past time. The question whether experiences have
"localized" memory-traces appears thus as not quite for-
tunately formulated. The less so, since the trace of a cir-
cumscribed entity is likely to be surrounded by a halo of
polarization.
Some years ago Professor Wheeler 5 criticized the as-
sumption of neural memory-traces on general and on ex-
perimental grounds. At that time the present form of the
theory did not yet exist. Meanwhile Professor Koffka has
analyzed and answered those objections so carefully that
I need not discuss them once more. Neurological evidence,
it seems to me, tends to encourage our view. We assume,
for instance, that the remnants ot processes are left where
the processes themselves have occurred. What are the neu-
rological tacts? When in man the visual cortex is seriously
injured, the visual field loses its organization; it becomes
chaotic. But at the same time visual memory is apparently
abolished. 7 Again, if rats have acquired a brightness-
discrimination habit, this habit disappears when their
visual cortex is completely destroyed, although reactions
to differences of brightness are as such still possible, so long
as the lower visual ganglia remain intact. 8
r R II Wheelei and F T. Perkins, Principles of Mental Development
(932), pp s7tt
K. Koflka, Principle* of Gestalt Psychology (1935), pp 452 ff. In
Kollka's book the leader will find the theory of traces concretely applied
to a great many piohlcnis with which the piesent chapter is not con-
cerned. Motcovei. in Koffka's discussion of memory the theory itself is
much farther developed than has been done by any other authoi. I reler
particularly to his chapters 10-13
T A. Gelb and K. Goldstein, Piychologische Analysen htrnpathologischer
Falle (i<)2o), pp in ff.
s K. S. Lashley, The Mechanism of Vision XII Nervous Structures
Concerned in the Acquisition and Retention of Habits Based on Reactions
to Light. Compai. Psychol. Monogr. // No. 2 (1935), pp. 43 ff.
248 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
As early as 1898 von Kries 9 pointed out that recognition of
visual objects is possible even if the traces in question have
one location and the present processes quite another. This
fact can be easily demonstrated even under conditions where
no doubt is left as to that difference of localization. Some
authors are inclined to think that such observations consti-
tute an argument against the assumption of traces as neural
entities which are located where the corresponding processes
have occurred. How does it come to pass, they would say, that
under these circumstances a process interacts with the "right"
trace and not with any others? This argument assumes that
interaction between an entity and just one among many others
can only occur if the two entities have the same location. It
seems to me much more probable that in recognition the selec-
tive factor is resemblance between the process and the trace
rather than identity of location. Here is an analogy: Among
many tuning forks only those will resonate with a given sound
wave which have approximately the same frequency. And this
selective effect will be practically independent of the location
of the resonating forks. 10
The outcome of certain experiments of Lashley's is some-
times said to refute any conceivable theory in which memory
traces are regarded as localized neural facts. When rats have
learned to take the shortest way through a maze, destruction
of minor portions of the cortex does not lead to any apprecia-
ble disturbance of the habit. If considerable parts of the
cortex are removed, a deterioration of performance is ob-
served. This effect, however, is not related to the locus of the
destruction; the degree of deterioration appears correlated
rather with the amount of tissue that has been destroyed
wherever the injury has taken place. 11 It seems to me that, far
from contradicting the theory of neural traces, these results
are in harmony with what the theory would make us expect
in this case. When learning to run a maze the rat uses many
9 J. von Kries, Ueber die materiellen Grundlagen der Bewusshetnser-
scheinungen.
10 W. Kohler and H. von Restorff, Zur Theone der Reproduktion.
Psychol. Forsch. 21 (1935), p. 59.
11 K. S. Lashley, Brain Mechanisms and Intelligence (1929). pp. 86 ff.
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 249
sensory cues of different modalities. Singly taken, most of
these, we know, are not strictly needed in the final perform-
ance, although under normal conditions they are helpful.
(This is particularly true of vision; the rat can do without it.)
Similarly, even during the later phases of learning the animal
does not and need not always make precisely the same move-
ments as one trial follows another. The theory of neural
traces will therefore conclude that, after the learning is com-
pleted, practically all regions of the rat's cortex contain traces;
more accurately parts of contexts of traces, which refer to the
task in question. But for most of these traces there are substi-
tutes in other parts of the cortex, because both the sensory
and the motor constituents of the performance have varied
so widely during previous trials. For this reason minor local
destructions will have no observable eflect. On the other hand,
the more the destruction extends, the more likely will traces
be eliminated for which no fully adequate substitutes are
available. Thus for statistical reasons the habit will degener-
ate in correlation with the size of the lesion, whatever its locus
may be.
I wish to add a few remarks about the problem of bright-
ness-discrimination. -When the visual cortex of a rat has been
completely destroyed, no effect of previous training is left.
In Lashley's investigation, however, new training reestablished
the discrimination. 12 If these experiments are conclusive,
brightness-discrimination is a visual function of which, in the
rat, subcortical centers are no less capable than is the striate
area. Since excellent vision occurs in birds who apparently
have no visual cortex this fact as such is hardly disturbing.
In mammals, too, visual function passes through lower centers
before it reaches the cortex. It would follow, secondly, that in
such centers visual function leaves traces just as it does in the
cortex. How else could learning be possible? This involves no
difficulty for the hypothesis that traces are neural facts, because
from the standpoint of this assumption there is no reason
why traces should not be formed in all ganglionic strata
whatsoever through which a process passes. But, thirdly, it
appears that after destruction of the striate area new learning
12 Cf. The Mechanism of Vision XII., pp. 58 ff.
250 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
is needed. And, if in those lower centers traces can be formed,
why were they not formed before when the rat still had a
visual cortex? It seems that, if they had been formed, no new
learning would be necessary. Professor Lashlcy finds it difficult
to explain this fact. A tentative answer may give us a better
understanding of the way in which our hypothesis ought to
be applied in concrete. The rat has to choose between a dark
and a light alley. This means that a simple visual situation
has to become imbued with a "meaning" and corresponding
motor tendencies. The physiological counterpart of this "asso-
ciation" is probably a context which, in the realm of traces,
extends from the striate area into other parts of the cortex,
first of all into the motor region. Now, in lower visual centers
traces may be formed which represent the merely visual aspect
of the situation. But so long as actual responses are mediated
by the striate area in conjunction with motor centers, those
other traces in the lower visual centers will remain purely
visual facts to which the training adds no further context.
Thus, in spite of the existence of such traces, no "habit" will
be left when the striate area is removed. Only after new trials,
when lower visual centers begin to operate in conjunction
with other and particularly with motor regions, will a trace-
context develop which extends from the former to the latter.
Then, according to our hypothesis, a discrimination-habit will
again emerge. 13
is Lashley believes "that the memory trace is not localized anywhere
within the visual cortex" (p 73) He is led to this conclusion by the ob-
servation that so long as any model ate poition is left ot the striate aica the
brightness-discrimination habit is not seriously disturbed. I am not con-
vinced by this aigument. According to oui assumption mote than one tiace
of the visual situation is formed in the rat's striate aiea; there will be as
many tiaccs in as many different parts ot the visual cortex as during tnals
there have been diffeient directions of the animal's head and eyes in
relation to the stimuli. In other words, the pair of stimuli is represented
practically everywhere in the stnatc area, of course at different levels in
the dimension of past time, and even a small group of cells may be large
enough to contain an adequate representation of this simple situation*
dark versus light. An altogether unexpected discovery by Dr. Krechevsky
has in the meantime made us realize that Lashley's work on biightness-
discnmmation was based on a premise which can perhaps no longer be
held I shall therefore abstain from further discussion of his argument
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 251
II
May I once more return to problems of perception, and
repeat: A visual field contains as a rule circumscribed spe-
cific entities which are to some degree detached from other
such entities, and from a less differentiated environment.
In the formation of these particular units, figures tor in-
stance, certain rules seem to be followed. We seldom ex-
perience much of the actual genesis of visual percepts, but
we can observe what things or figures appear under differ-
ent conditions ot stimulation; and then we can find the
rules which connect the first with the second. These I call
the rules which the formation of thing-percepts obeys.
The first to formulate them with a full realization of their
fundamental importance was Wertheimer. 14 He has also
given a more general principle of which these rules seem
to be more particular expressions. The principle contends
that organization of a field tends to be as simple and clear
as is compatible with the conditions given in each case. 15
It is not always easy to prove that a particular given organ-
ization is actually clearer and simpler than any other
organization that would be possible under the same condi-
tions. But sometimes we have a natural standard of refer-
ence which gives those terms a definite meaning. A circle
is simpler than are other closed figures; a straight line is
simpler than are curves or broken contours which extend
mainly in one direction; a regular pattern is simpler and
against the existence of localized traces in the visual cortex. Cf. I Kre-
chevsky, Brain Mechanisms and Brightness Discrimination Learning The
Journal of Cornp. Psychol. 21 (1936), pp. 405-441.
i* M. Wertheimer, Untcrsuchungen zur Lehre von der Gestalt, II.
Psychol. Foisch. ^ (1923), pp. 301 if. This paper is piobably still the best
introduction to the problems of Gestalt Psychology
15 Bencht uber den 6. Kongress fur e\penmentelle Psychologic (ed. F.
Schumann), 1914, pp. 148 ff.
252 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
clearer than are others in which such regularity does not
altogether prevail. These and similar instances may be
profitably used tor testing the validity of the principle.
If the principle is right, a figure which comes sufficiently
near one of those natural standards should, or at least
might, appear in perception as though it were the standard
itself; organization should, in this sense, be "too good."
Confirming observations have been reported from several
sides. 16 The following example seems to me particularly
instructive.
The faces of other human beings appear to us as a rule
bilaterally symmetrical. Occasionally, it is true, we see at
once that a nose is strikingly askew or that the outline of
one cheek is quite different from that of the other. On the
other hand, few of us are aware of the fact that fairly con-
siderable degrees of objective facial asymmetry are the
rule rather than an exception. There are two ways of
making people realize this asymmetry. The first consists in
"psychological analysis " 17 Normally faces are perceived
as visual units. For the present purpose, however, we
should, for instance, concentrate on the eyes to such a de-
gree that the rest of the face in question becomes almost an
indifferent background. Under these circumstances we
shall often discover that the two eyes have different sizes,
or different shapes, or slightly different heights. A similar
result may be found if the same procedure is applied to
the ears. Again, when concentrating on the contours of
i Professor Gibson's recent discovery (J Gibson, Journal of Exper.
Psychvl 1 6 1933) does not belong to precisely these facts, because in his
observations the standard in question is only gradually appioached dur-
ing prolonged inspection. On the other hand, his experiments corroborate
the view that the tendency which we find in immediate perception is also
piesent in the realm of traces. This is just what I shall try to prove in
the following pages
" C/. W. Kohler, Gestalt Psychology (1929), pp. 183 ff.
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 253
the two cheeks, we may realize with surprise that they do
not actually correspond with each other as they ought to
in the case of perfect symmetry. Thus, when perceived
quite naturally, faces as wholes have for the most part a
symmetrical appearance. And yet a more analytical scrutiny
which interferes of course with natural organization-
will often reveal that details of the same faces deviate con-
siderably from such symmetry. 18
A second method which serves the same purpose uses
front-view photographs of faces. It such a photograph is
copied twice, once correctly and then a second time from
the wrong side ot the film, so that a mirror-image results,
we can cut both copies vertically along the median axis
of the face and then combine the halves of the first pic-
ture with those halves of the second which are their mirror
images. In this manner perfectly symmetrical pictures are
obtained. In the case of most persons these pictures look
surprisingly different from the original or from a normal
photograph of the same person. Generally the objectively
symmetrical pictures have a less "interesting," an "emp-
tier," appearance than have normal photographs of the
same person. 19
Why is the fact that most faces lack perfect objective
symmetry so seldom observed under normal conditions?
is So far as I know the German psychiatrist Hallervorden was the first
to study these facts
i A third method consists m looking at the image of another person
who stands befoie a mirror* In most cases the appearance of this mirror-
image is strikingly diffeicnt fiom the appearance of the same face as we
usually see it. This is due to the fact that in the mirror the light half
of the face, for instance, becomes a left half, and vice versa. Since the two
halves are as a rule objectively different this leads to a icmaikable
change in the phenomenal character of the face. Many people do not
seem to know that what they see in a mirror is by no means the face
which other people see when they look at them.
254 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
Wertheimer's principle applies here: So long as a face is
at least approximately symmetrical and, thus, sufficiently
near a standard condition of clearness and simple regular-
ity, organization of this face as a percept will tend to over-
come such minor irregularities as exist objectively. With
regard to symmetry it will have "too good" an appearance.
It would not be a valid objection, if we were told that
the differences between the two halves of faces are prob-
ably too small for our apprehension; that our difference-
threshold for differences of distances, sizes, and so forth, is
too large. Actually our sensitivity for such differences is
entirely sufficient; otherwise we could not recognize them
so easily as soon as we assume an analytical attitude by
which the eyes, the ears, or the outline of the cheeks are
made more or less independent of the total pattern with
its tendency toward symmetry. Moreover, those differences
do not become altogether ineffective; because, although
we are for the most part not aware of them as of deviations
from strict symmetry, we do realize that the perfectly sym-
metrical photograph is not a true picture ol the person in
question, and that it shows less "expression" than a normal
photograph ot the same individual. A bold theorist might
venture the hypothesis that, when irregularities of a per-
cept are overcome by the tendency toward simple clear-
ness of shape, there remains the stress by which such sym-
metry is maintained; and that it is this factor which gives a
face its lively, interesting appearance.
With this explanation we are once more led into the
domain of natural science. As a matter of fact, macroscopic
physical states show exactly the same tendency. Ernst Mach
not only made the observation that such states tend to
develop in the direction of maximal regularity and sim-
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 255
plicity; he also gave an explanation in which he derived
this tendency from elementary principles of physics.
Macroscopic states tend to become as stable as possible,
and in regular macroscopic distributions forces balance
each other more fully than they do in irregular patterns;
in other words, macroscopic regularity is associated with
macroscopic stability. Macroscopic physical processes will
therefore assume simple and regular forms rather than
complicated, irregular distributions. When Wertheimer
formulated his principle in psychology I happened to be
studying the general characteristics of macioscopic physi-
cal states, and thus I could not fail to see that it is the
psychological equivalent o[ Mach's principle in physics. 20
For this reason the theory of psychophysical function
need not add a new hypothesis in order to explain Wert-
heimer's principle. Since all macroscopic physical states
follow Mach's principle, the same will hold for cortical
processes; and if perception is found to obey Wertheimer's
law, such correspondence is no more than a general case
of isomorphism between experience and its correlates.
There is, however, a special reason why such facts are
mentioned in a chapter on memory. Traces, we have said,
are organized macroscopic states, just as are the psycho-
physical processes to which they owe their origin. It
follows immediately, and I have stressed this point above,
that traces are likely to undergo changes, not only because
external causes will gradually alter their properties, but
also because all macroscopic organi/ed states tend to
change themselves in the direction which Mach's principle
20 W Kohlci. Die Phywchen Gcstalten, etc, pp. 248 ff Just as per-
ceptual otgnni/.ttion, self-clistulmtion in ph\sics may become "too good."
The meaning of this statement and the facts in question are explained on
pp. 251 ff. of the same book.
256 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
indicates. We are thus in a position to test our assumptions
about the nature of traces. Is there any evidence that in
the course of time traces tend to assume a simpler and
more regular organization?
For many years memory has been investigated by a
method which was first invented by Ebbinghaus. The sub-
jects learn series of nonsense syllables, and recall of this
material is afterwards tested. The results are found to vary
according to the conditions which obtain during learning
and during the time between learning and recall. It has
always been a puzzling fact, however, that subjects who
have otherwise a good memory need so much learning and
rehearsing until they master a series of, say, sixteen non-
sense syllables. Now, observation shows quite clearly that
most subjects learn such a series not as an aggregate of
its individual members, but rather as something like a
monotonous phonetic melody. This monotony is due to
the fact that all these members belong to the same class.
We have thus a case in which a given material approaches
a standard condition, namely that of homogeneity. One
might therefore suspect that it is so difficult to learn such
a series because in the realm of traces the tendency toward
increased homogeneity is likely to undo what the subject is
trying to build up, i.e., memory of a scries of individually
characterized data. An increase of homogeneity would
obviously be tantamount to the disappearance of those
characteristics by which the members of the series are
distinguished from each other, and the difficulty of reten-
tion and of precise recall would necessarily follow. This
assumption seems to be verified by a recent investigation
in which Dr. von Restorff was able to show that it is in
fact the monotony of a series which makes it so hard to
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 257
recall its members. 21 Among many experiments which all
had substantially the same result I shall mention only one
which is particularly simple.
In a series of ten members the second (or the third)
item was a two-place number while all the others were
nonsense syllables. The series was read only once, and
after an interval of ten minutes which was filled with an
indifferent activity the subjects were asked to name as
many of these members as they could. A few days later
they learned another series in which the second (or the
third) member was a syllable, while all the others were
now numbers. There were 15 subjects, so that the maxi-
mum achievement which this group could obtain was in
each series 15 correct reproductions of the "single" mem-
ber and 1 35 of the others. Results were
for the first series:
9 reproductions of the "single," and 34 of the other
members;
for the second series:
12 reproductions of the "single," and 24 of the other
members.
Since in a series there are many more items of the second
than of the first kind, we have to compare percentages
rather than absolute results. When we do so we find that
for the two series taken together
70% of the possible maximum for "single," and
22% of the maximum for the other members
were correctly recalled. I repeat that this is one of many
experiments all of which yielded the same result: Mem-
bers that do not belong to the monotonous part of a series
21 H. von Restorff, Ucber die Wtrkung von Beretchsbtldungen im
Spurenfcld. Psychol. Forjch. 18 (1933), pp. 299-312.
258 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
are far better retained and recalled than those which con-
stitute the semi-uniform part of it.
The test was made, both with a number and then with a
syllable as the "single" member, in order to prove that not
one class of material is better retained than the other, but
actually the member which stands out against the monotony
of the rest, irrespective of its class. 22
For a moment one might believe that the explanation of
this experiment is quite trivial* The "single" member of a
series is so different from the others that in memory it will
not easily be confused and distorted by their presence. On
the other hand, such confusion is likely to occur among the
members of the uniform group, so that here more incorrect
reproductions will ensue. In fact, mutual contamination
among members of the same class does occur. It was, however,
shown in a further experiment that this is not the decisive
factor in determining the striking asymmetry of results. The
procedure was this. If AiBAjAj . . . and BjABjBj . . . symboli/e
the two series which have just been mentioned, another series
ABCD . . . was constructed in which all members differed at
least as widely from each other, as A differed from B in the
first two series. "Confusion" between A, B, C, D, and so on,
can not occur, if the member C, for instance, is the sign $,
D a button, and so forth, while A and B are a number and a
syllable. From the point of view of the proposed explanation
A and B ought therefore in this series to be quite as well re-
produced as they were as "single" members of the first two
scries. If, however, it is mainly the organization of such series
on which the retention of their individual items depends, we
come to another conclusion. In the new series A and B, the
syllable and the number, are no longer set apart as "single"
members. On a lower level of similarity the new series is an
approximately even course of events in which no member
plays an outstanding role; and therefore both A and B will
22 Other experiments of von RestorfFs prove that it is not the place
of "single" members in the series on which this effect depends.
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 259
now be under the same stress toward homogeneity as are other
members. From this point of view A and B should be less well
reproduced in the new series than they were as "single"
members of the previous series. Two experiments in which
this question was tested decided in iavor of the second alterna-
tive: A and B yielded less accurate results in the series ABCD
. . . than they had done as "single" members of the series
A 1 BA 2 A 3 and B^ABoBg. . . . Our interpretation in terms of
organization is therefore verified. 28 24
The analogy of these facts to the tendency toward sim-
plified organization in perception seems fairly obvious.
Just as in our example the difference between the two
halves of a face is suppressed, because thereby the face
assumes a more regular and symmetrical appearance, so
traces tend to lose their individual characteristics, if thus
a standard condition of homogeneity is approximated.
Precisely this agreement, however, may lead to an objec-
tion: Why assume that Wertheimer's principle applies both
to the realm of traces and to perception? Not only mem-
ory, but also processes of perception and apprehension are
involved in the experiments which I have described. When
the subjects apprehend a series of the type AJ$A;A 3
they will be more strongly impressed by B as an outstand-
ing member of the scries than they are by the other items,
which will even in perception tend to become a monoto-
nous background. For this reason the trace of B will, from
23 A moie detailed description of these and other experiments of von
RestoifTs i\ill be found in KofFka's Principles of Gestalt Psychology, pp.
48i-493
24 Professor C. Hull has recently given a set of axioms from which he
deduces the inhibitions which occur in a seiies (C L. Hull, The Conflict-
ing Psychologies of Learning a Way Out. Psychol Review 42 0935), PP
491-516) It seerns to me that his axioms will have to be changed if they
are to account for the influence which in buch experiments specific or-
ganization has on retention.
2 6o THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
the very beginning, be a more stable and a more charac-
teristic entity than the other traces can be expected to
be. No wonder, then, that B is more frequently and more
accurately reproduced.
There is a flaw in this argument; the series is a sequence
of events, and in this sequence B as its second or third
item cannot play any particular role until it has become a
trace. Nevertheless it seemed advisable to vary the experi-
ment so as to cause all members of the series to be appre-
hended under the same conditions.
For this purpose the following procedure was chosen.
We showed a group of subjects a short series of five items
only. The second member was a meaningless figure, the
others were two-place numbers. Immediately after the
presentation of this material it was reproduced in writing
and drawing. Then followed a period of ten minutes dur-
ing which the experimenter lectured on some problem of
general psychology. Afterwards a second series of five
items was shown and immediately reproduced, which had
precisely the same structure as the first. Again the experi-
menter lectured for ten minutes, and then a third series
followed the second member of which was a syllable in-
stead of a figure. Altogether eight such short series were
given, between which periods of lecturing were inter-
polated. The second member was a syllable in series no. 3
and 5, a figure in nos. i, 2, 4, 6, 7, 8. A quarter of an hour
after the last series had been shown and tested the sub-
jects were unexpectedly asked to reproduce whatever they
remembered of all the eight series. I have to add that
to a second group of subjects the same procedure was
applied, with this difference, however, that in series no. 3
and 5 the second member was now a figure, while in all
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 261
the other series it was a syllable. It will help the reader to
understand the experiment if I present its course in a
simple symbolic form:
i. 2. 3- 4- 5- ( >- 7- 8 -
AAAAAAAA
BBCBCBBB
AAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAA
All A are numbers, all B are figures, and the C are syllables.
The vertical columns represent the 8 short series which
were given successively, separated by periods of lecturing.
To the second group of subjects the same scheme ap-
plies, except that now 6 C take the places of the B, and 2 B
the places of the C.
The purpose of this experimental scheme is easily ex-
plained. The experimenter is interested merely in the
final reproduction of figures and syllables; the only func-
tion of the numbers is to hide the intention of the experi-
ment, i.e., to make the subjects believe that reproduction
after each short series is a real test, after which they need
not bother about the series. The syllables and figures, how-
ever, may be considered as constituting a sequence of their
own whose members are separated by intervals of about
ten minutes. (C/. the second horizontal of the scheme.)
Each member is in its short series apprehended as standing
out against a background of numbers; there can be no
doubt about its adequate apprehension; its immediate
recall is an easy task. And yet, since in the sequence of
figures and syllables there are six items of one class and
only two of the other, the latter play, at least compara-
tively, the role of "single" members, while the former con-
262 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
stitute a more uniform mass. 25 The fact that for one group
of subjects the "single" items are figures, while for the
other group they are syllables, enables us to compare the
results independently of the material which is given either
"singly" or "uniformly."
The following tables contain (in terms of correct re-
productions) the results which Dr. I. Muller obtained with
this method. 20 In the second experiment (Table II) the
interval between two short series was Jive instead of ten
minutes, and the "single" items were given in series no. 3
and 6; otherwise all essential conditions were the same as
in the first experiment.
Table I.
i. Group (10 subjects) !>. Group (10 subjects)
Syllables
Figures
"Single"
17 out of 20 = 85%
"Uniform"
30 out ot Go = 50^ Q
"Uniform"
38 out oi Go = 63%
"Single"
18 out of 20 = 90%
Table II.
i. Group (20 subjects) 2. Group (20 subjects)
Syllable
Figures
"Single"
31 out of 40 = 78%
"Uniform"
5| out of 120 = 45%
"Uniform"
70 out of 120 = 58%
"Single"
38 out of 40 = 95%
2 r > For several reasons it did not scorn advisable to give only one "single"
mcmhcr among a larger uniform sequence of others
<w I Muller, Znr Analyse der Retenttomstorung (lurch Haufung. Psy-
chol. I-oisch. 22 (1937), PP- 180-210.
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 263
Group experiments like these yield differences of re-
sults between two constellations; they do not give us a
measure of dispersion for the numbers which we com-
pare and, thus, no simple quantitative index for the relia-
bility of their differences. In the present case we are
nevertheless quite safe in concluding that both experi-
ments confirm our expectation. In both tables there are
four possibilities of comparing the constellation "Single"
with the constellation "Uniform": two for a given mate-
rial, either figures or syllables, i.e., between one group of
subjects and the other, and again two within one group
of subjects, i.e., irrespective of material. This gives us
eight comparisons altogether. All of them show that
reproduction of "single" members is superior to reproduc-
tion within a uniform class. It seems at first surprising
that this effect of organization should be demonstrable in
the realm of traces when the sequence in question extends
over more than half an hour (in the second experiment)
or even over more than an hour (in the first), and when so
much time passes between one member of the sequence
and its successor. But the fact is certainly not in contra-
diction with a theory according to which an hour must
be the very tiniest stretch in the "dimension of past
time."
Another proof that the principle of Mach and Wert-
heimcr applies in the realm of traces has been given by Dr.
von Lauenstein, not, however, in experiments on memory
proper but in an investigation of successive comparison,
a topic which we shall presently discuss for another reason.
His results indicate that when an otherwise strictly homo-
geneous experience is interrupted by short stretches of
another character this disturbance of complete uniformity
264 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
is to some extent evened out in the realm of traces. 27
So far then our expectation has been fulfilled. One
might only wish to see the principle clearly verified not
only in cases where its effect lies in the direction of simple
uniformity, but also in the case of more interesting
standards.
It has been reported that figures which a subject has once
inspected are afterwards reproduced with such errors as
Wertheimer's principle would make one expect. 28 But other
experiments on the same problem have been interpreted as
giving no such evidence. Under these circumstances it might
be doubted whether the experimental procedure has been
altogether satisfactory. The subjects are shown not one but
several figures. From this a certain ambiguity arises. In the
subject's experience an individual figure is not strictly sep-
arated from the others: Neither is the group of figures as
such a sum of mutually independent entities, nor is it plausible
to assume that their traces constitute such a sum. 20 We are
therefore not quite justified in interpreting the results of such
investigations as though they told us how the trace of each
figure changes separately. As it happens, some authors find
convincing proof of the fact that under such conditions the
figures influence each other. It seems therefore obvious that
in the analysis of results much more attention should be given
to alterations in the organization of the group as such. Other-
wise the changes of its individual members may not be cor-
rectly understood, and changes in the organization of the
group will easily be altogether overlooked. If, however, such
changes are to be investigated the group should have a
structure that approximates some particular standard, in rela-
tion to which they could be unambiguously interpreted.
A further difficulty is that subjects who are asked to
27 O. Lauenstein, Ansatz zu einer physiologischen Thcorie des Ver-
gleichs und der Zettfehler Psychol. Forch 77 (1932), pp. 130-177.
28 F. Wulf, Ueber die Veranderung von Vorstellungen (Gedachtnis und
Gestalt) Psychol. Forsch. / (1922), pp. 333 ff.
20 c/. the experiments reported on pp. 257 ff., this chapter.
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 265
inspect a number of figures will naturally expect a later
test and thus combine the inspection with various in-
tellectual operations such as subsumption under a class,
analysis, comparison with other figures, and so forth. Of
such operations, too, traces will be left which may be
quite as essential for later recall as the purely visual character
of the figures. To some degree this difficulty could be avoided
if the subjects became acquainted with the figures under
circumstances in which they see them clearly without knowing
about a later test, and thus without having any incentive for
further elaboration.
One more test of the theory of traces should be men-
tioned. In discussing it we shall be led back to the main
issue of our investigation.
At the end of the last chapter I explained von Lauen-
stein's hypothesis according to which the psychophysical
correlates of certain relations are gradients. They extend
from the correlate of one perceptual object to the correlate
of a second object; their direction corresponds with the
direction of the difference which we experience when
attending to the objects, their slope represents the degree
of this difference. We concluded that on this assumption
our awareness of differences must depend on the distance
by which the objects are separated; and we saw that on
this point observation agrees with theoretical expectation.
The two following experiments are variations on the
same theme. In Miss Jacobs' investigation two objects of
slightly different brightness were exposed one on each side
of a fixation-mark. When the distance between these ob-
jects was increased from 10 through 80 to 200 cm., the just
noticeable brightness difference was found to grow regu-
larly, just as Lauenstein's hypothesis would demand (Cf.
ch. 6, pp. 231 f.) Dr. Kleinbub repeated the experiments
266 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
with only this change that the objects were shown succes-
sively, the second being presented a tew seconds atter the
first had disappeared. 30
For a group of observers the average noticeable differ-
ences were now, tor the distances of
10 80 200 cm
8.6 17.4 33.9,
all measured in the same arbitrary unit. The first impres-
sion is that these figures merely corroborate Miss Jacobs' re-
sults. That they have still another significance will become
apparent when we consider a further experiment in which
the subjects, instead of fixating a mark between the objects,
turned the eye from the first to the second object as one
appeared atter the other. Under such circumstances the
subjects are, of course, just as fully aware o( the distances
between the objects as they are when fixating a stationary
mark in the middle. And yet in this case the just noticeable
differences were, for the distances
10 So 2 oo cm
6.6 -,.8 6.2
If these figures are compared with those of the last ex-
periment, or with those given previously (on p. 232),
there can be only one interpretation: When, in comparing
two brightnesses, the subjects fixate first one and then the
other object, the distance between these objects has no
influence upon the just noticeable difference. The thresh-
old remains constant and is very low. (This result has
ao M. Kleinbub, Ueber die Unterschicdvchwdle fur Helligkeitcn bet
verschtedenen Abstanden der Vergleichwbjckte und Fixatwnswechsel.
Diss. Berlin (1933).
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 367
been confirmed in a further experiment under slightly
different conditions.)
I shall now give the explanation which follows from
the theory of traces. There is no fundamental psycho-
logical difference between a relation which is apprehended
when the objects or terms in question are both simultane-
ously present and a relation of which we are aware in a
succession of objects. Von Lauenstein was therefore right
when he assumed that the psychophysical counterpart is
essentially the same in both cases: When the objects are
simultaneously presented, the gradient extends from the
correlate of one object to the correlate of the other; when
they appear successively, it extends from the trace of the
first to the actual correlate ot the second. For this to be
possible we need only assume that the trace is a sufficiently
adequate representative of the process by which it has
been foimed, and that therefore a gradient may develop
between the trace of the first and the process of the second
object, just as it develops between two simultaneous proc-
esses. With this premise the first of Kleinbub's results will
be easily understood if we add our previous assumption,
that traces are immediate products of psychophysical proc-
esses, and that, as such, they have the same cortical loca-
tion as have these processes themselves. In this case, varia-
tion of the distance between the two successively given
objects means ipso facto corresponding variation of the
distance between the trace of the first and the process of
the second object. Thus the same reasoning applies to the
gradient between the trace and the process as had previ-
ously been applied to the gradient between two processes:
With increasing distance between the objects the gradient
will become less steep, because in this experiment the dis-
268 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
tance between the trace of the first and the process of the
second object varies with that objective distance. The
conclusion is verified by the experiment. It seems to be
true, therefore, that traces have the same cortical location
as have the processes by which they are produced.
Although apparently quite different, the outcome of the
second experiment actually confirms these assumptions.
When the two objects are fixated one after the other, the
images of both are successively projected on the fovea.
Pathological evidence shows that a definite circumscribed
region of the striate area corresponds to the fovea of the
eye. In this region therefore the first process lorms its
trace; and after a short interval the second process arrives
in the same region. This is true whatever the distances
over which the eye travels from one object to the other.
Consequently there is no variation of distances between
the trace of the first and the process of the second object
when in the last experiment the distance between the ob-
jects is increased. The trace and the process are always
immediate neighbors, and, if our assumptions are correct,
the noticeable difference must remain constant and very
low. This is exactly what Kleinbub's data prove.
It is to be hoped that, when in the future such experiments
will be repeated, a greater time interval between the presenta-
tion of the first and that of the second object will be chosen.
The trace of the first object would then be older, it would be
more assuredly a trace, when the second object is presented.
Under these conditions all noticeable differences may grow
considerably; nevertheless it is quite possible that variation
of the distance between the objects will still have the same
effect on the just noticeable differences in one case, and the
same lack of any effect in the other case, as it had in Kleinbub's
two experiments.
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 269
III
The existence and the properties of traces have not been
discussed here merely because traces as such are entities of
considerable interest. For our purpose they assume a more
particular importance by the fact that some contexts ex-
tend beyond the realm of phenomena into that of traces,
and that, vice versa, certain experiences are felt to belong
to contexts the main part of which lies "beyond." We
shall soon sec that requiredness is a characteristic of some
such amphibian contexts. Thus the realm of traces ap-
pears in a new light: Most remnants may be "mere facts";
but others participate in the constitution of particular
contexts within which certain things are "right," while
others are "wrong." Now traces are generally referred to
as exceedingly remote and not yet quite serious postulates
of psychological thinking, which for perhaps centuries to
come science will remain unable to investigate. If re-
quiredness were found to be in touch with such nonde-
script entities, the connection could not mean very much
for requiredness itself. That it actually means a great deal
could not become apparent until traces had been shown to
be quite in keeping with other concepts of science and
altogether susceptible of concrete exploration. For this
reason a short description both of trace theory and of
such investigations has been given in this chapter.
I will now explain more clearly how requiredness comes
in touch with the concept of traces. I have just stated that
the extension of some contexts is not restricted to the
phenomenal world. A simple example of this fact is suc-
cessive comparison, the psychological process by which,
for instance, just noticeable differences are found in ex-
periments such as those of Kleinbub. In successive com-
270 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
parison we recognize a relation which obtains between
two objects given at different times. It stands to reason
that there can be no relation, unless there be at least two
terms of which the relation is predicated. At the time of
comparing the subject must therefore have two such terms.
But, since in successive comparison the first impression
itself is a matter of the past, it was once generally believed
that successive comparison must actually be a simultaneous
comparison of the second object with a memory image
of the first impression. In a way psychological observation
has destroyed this conviction. When comparing two ob-
jects or events which are given successively we do not,
as a rule, produce a memory image of the first when the
second appears. It would not even help us very much if
we did, because, when the difference between the impres-
sions is small, the accuracy of actual comparison may still
be great, while under the same conditions an actual mem-
ory image will hardly be a sufficiently adequate copy of
the first impression. For this reason the memoiy image is
rather likely to disturb the process of comparison. 81
On the other hand successive comparison is, of course,
no less compatible with logic than are other psychological
processes. It belongs, in fact, to the meaning of any real
comparison that there are two things to which comparison
refers. In concrete three different things may happen when
we compare pairs of objects which are given in succession.
First, we may make use of memory images; but as a rule
we do not do so. A second situation arises whenever sub-
jects give many judgments about impressions which all
belong to a certain region of a common scale, e.g., of
weights or of brightnesses, of visual sizes, and so forth.
si Cf F Angcll and H. Harwood A mer. Jour, of Psychology i/, pp.
67 ff. 1899. D. Katz, Zeitschr. f. Ptychol 42, pp. 302 if and 414(1. 1906.
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 271
After a while even a single impression which belongs to
the same scale will appear as heavy or light, as dark or
bright, as big or small. Although there is no longer any
conscious reference to a standard, such a standard has
been establishedobviously in the realm ot traces, and
the apparently "absolute" judgment depends on the level
of this standard. If we change the range from which the
objects are taken, the "absolute" judgment will gradually
shift in correspondence with that change. From a phenom-
enological point of view, however, no such "absolute"
judgment involves actual comparison; only functionally
its nature is still "relative."
Besides these two there is a third possibility which, I
believe, is realized under normal conditions of simple suc-
cessive comparison: We lift, for instance, one weight and
soon afterwards a second. The second action has hardly
begun when we are ready to say "the second is heavier"
(or "lighter"). No memory image of any accuracy may be
present; and yet the judgment may be both subjectively
sure and objectively coriect. Moreover, from the phe-
nomenological standpoint it may be a genuine judgment
of comparison even in the absence of a memory image.
For, if the second impression is not referred to such an
image, it is nevertheless clearly referred to something.
This "something" is phenomenally located in the imme-
diate past; from there the reference is felt to emerge and
to give the present object its truly relative character of
being heavier or lighter. I use just this expression accord-
ing to which the reference issues from the first object,
because in such cases the second impression is not at first
an independent item to which then a reference backward
is added; rather it appears with a character of relatedness,
it usually appears as heavier or as lighter.
272 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
To repeat: Although in successive comparison there is
such a reference, the other term remains, as a rule, "out-
side" at least to this extent that its specific properties are
not phenomenally given. We know there is that definite
thing, so much is implied in the reference; and, besides, the
accuracy of our judgment confirms this knowledge; but as
a concrete entity which makes such accuracy possible the
first object is for the most part hidden. We have thus
come back to a previous discussion. Relations which ex-
tend from events in the recent past to other events in the
present are, under the circumstances ot simple successive
comparison, examples of ''transcendence/' It is customary
to discuss this notion as though only from the phenomenal
realm transcendence could perhaps be found to extend
into another realm beyond. In successive comparison it
seems to be rather the other realm from which a rela-
tional trait extends into the world of direct experience. 32
As to the nature of the hidden term to which the present
term is felt to be related there cannot be much vacillation.
Just as a memory trace it must be a more or less adequate
representative of the process with which the first impres-
sion has been associated. Nobody will assume that alter
an experience one trace is left which participates in suc-
cessive comparison, while another trace of the same event
makes facts of memory possible. The obvious view is of
course that the same remnant operates in both cases. In
successive comparison this trace is then the thing "beyond"
with which the present event is felt to be in reference.
In terms of cortical theory this reference has its counter-
part in a gradient which extends from the trace to the
present process.
32 W. Kohler, Zur Theone des Sukzessiwergletchs und dcr Zeitfehler.
Psychol. Foisch. 4 (1923), pp. 121 f.
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 273
In our experience of some phenomenal contexts there
is perhaps no indication of any transcendence whatsoever.
It may be quite easy to prove that the actual properties
of these contexts are codetermined by conditions which
have been established in the past; and yet such determina-
tion need not as such be revealed in immediate awareness.
It is one thing to infer the existence of extraphenomenal
conditions; it is quite another thing to be directly aware
of their presence.
Again, contexts may remain nothing but traces for long
periods. Or, if they contribute to present processes, it is
only the result of their influence of which we are aware,
not the action as such by which this result is attained.
But a third class of contexts lies partly in the realm of
phenomena, partly in that of traces; and their relational
structure is felt to extend from actual experience into a
realm "beyond," or vice versa. As a first example of such
transcendence a case of imminent recall was described in
the fourth chapter. Successive comparison w r ould have
been quite as appropriate for a demonstration of such
amphibian contexts.
If we speak of "amphibian" contexts we do it from a
phenomenological point of view. In the psychophysical
domain there is of course no reason at all why traces
should not participate in contexts of actual cortical func-
tion. Our assumptions allow present processes to extend
freely into the realm of traces. More particularly: To the
immediate past, present processes will almost always be re-
lated, because this past belongs just as much to their func-
tional neighborhood as does their immediate spatial
environment.
It comes then to this: Transcendence means that for
some reason not all members of a given cortical context
274 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
are able to express themselves in phenomenal language;
and that yet the presence of such silent members with
quite specific characteristics is clearly and directly implied
in what the other members of the context have to say.
It is by no means a rare occurrence that contexts extend
in time, and that behind the present phase ot such con-
texts their earlier parts fade out ot phenomenal existence.
Even then the present development often follows a scheme
the general outline of which has been established in the
recent past and is now gradually being completed. Thus
a certain degree of coherence and of consistency becomes
possible in mental lite. In speaking, for instance, we end
a sentence with certain words, with words in one or the
other grammatical form; referring backward we use the
plural or the singular of a pronoun all this according to
the manner in which the sentence has begun. And yet this
beginning may no longer be given in the form of phe-
nomenal contents. In reading we understand the later
parts of a sentence in relation to previous parts, of which,
as a rule, little or nothing remains as an actual distinct
experience. Again, it takes several notes to establish a
musical key. When we sing, however, we proceed from one
note to the next as the key demands, although besides
the present pitch no more than one previous note may be
phenomenally given as an actual "image/ 1
It is at this point that requiredness comes in touch
with the concept of traces. In successive comparison, it is
true, transcending reference is "indifferent," inasmuch as
it does not seem to matter whether the second weight is
heavier or lighter, the second object brighter or darker,
and so on. Apparently such a primitive reference develops
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 275
neutrally between any two phenomenal data. This may not
always be so; but it is true in countless cases. On the other
hand when we think, speak and read, when we sing or
when we hear others singing and playing, then the situa-
tion is for the most part completely changed. One word is
now "wrong," the other "right"; it "has to be" the plural,
not the singular; one intonation is just a trifle "too low,"
but then it shifts to precisely the "right" pitch.
All these are instances of requirediiess; of requiredness,
however, that appears under remarkable conditions. The
first part of the sentence may still be felt to hover in the
background, but ifc> concrete and specific content is no
longer phenomenally there. Mutatis mutandis the same
could be said when, as singers or listeners, we follow the
course of a melody. And yet requiredness may at the same
time be quite definite; it may even be most fastidious
about the further completion of the contexts in question.
Phenomenally, we know, no conditions are given in these
cases Irom which demands of such stiictncss could issue;
they must come trom the recent past which is now hidden.
And this is precisely the source from which they are ac-
tually felt to come. We arc thus led to conclude that in
such instances demanding vectors issue from incomplete
contexts of traces, just as in other cases they issue trom
incomplete contexts within the phenomenal realm. Thus,
among the relational traits which in amphibian contexts
extend from traces into the phenomenal present required-
ness occurs not infrequently.
When we look back upon our previous discussion of
transcendence (ch. 4) we find that the same reasoning ap-
plies to the example which was then analyzed: I know
that I know the name which I heard mentioned yesterday,
although I do not at once succeed in actually recalling it.
276 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
Eager as I am to find it, I try several names in succession.
Now, on phenomenal grounds I cannot decide whether
these names are right or wrong, because here I have not
yet the standard with which to compare. "Outside," how-
ever, the standard is present. And as I try name after name,
the standard replies from beyond: "wrong" "a trifle
better" "not yet quite" "there, perfect." Once more we
have an amphibian context; requiredness is its most strik-
ing trait; and the vector, which in this context objects to
one thing or readily accepts another, owes its character as
a quite specific demand entirely to the properties of a
trace.
I am inclined to regard this example as even more con-
vincing than those others, in which the immediate past
insists on being completed in a certain way; for in this
instance there simply is no phenomenal memory image
from which the demand might issue. If there were such
an image, I should not try so hard to find the name in
question.
It is true that under these circumstances the T or the
'self is interested in finding the right name. But let us not
be deceived by this subjective phase ot the situation which
is quite irrelevant to the essential point of our argument.
It is not the I primarily which says "yes" or "no," as one
name is tried after another. I have no phenomenal basis
for either of these judgments. Acceptance or rejection
comes distinctly from an authority "beyond"; and the
self can only ratify what this other agent really decides to
say. Let us remember how often in the phenomenal realm
demands are felt to issue not from ourselves, but from
'objective* components of our situations; and that, even
when the self is strongly interested, the situation may con-
tain 'objective* demands. To be sure, now we take one
ON MEMORY AND ON TRANSCENDENCE 277
further step, inasmuch as in the present instance the self
has not even an adequate view of the object, from which
acceptance or rejection issues. But once it is realized that
requiredness has no necessary connection with phenomenal
'subjectivity/ this further step will be more easily taken.
As the situation of imminent recall was just now de-
scribed, the nature of the trace determines the nature of
the demanding vector to which I expose various names in
a tentative way. Almost the same situation may, however,
be seen in another light: I know in what context I have
heard the name in question. And I know also that the
thing "beyond," which I am not yet able actually to recall,
is precisely the name that fits the given context. In other
words, I know that the entity "outside" is just the com-
pletion which the given context requires. There is no
image or anything else in the phenomenal field which by
its specific properties fulfills this demand; otherwise I
should not be so eager to remember, i.e., to produce such
a phenomenal datum. The missing part is still "beyond";
its specific properties are hidden. If nevertheless I know
that it fits, that it is the "right" completion, this fact can
only have one interpretation: Requiredness extends from
the incomplete phenomenal context into the hidden past,
and there it accepts one particular entity, the properties of
which make it the fitting completion of the context, before
such properties are lepresentcd in the phenomenal realm.
From the point of view of physiological theory this entity
is a trace.
The concept of traces which has been introduced in this
chapter refers to purely physical entities. We are thus
forced to conclude, in the first place, that specific demands
both of acceptance and of rejection may issue from certain
physical entities; and in the second place, that such physi-
278 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
cal entities may fit into given phenomenal contexts because
they have the properties which these contexts require for
their completion. It is a curious question how anything
like requiredness can emanate from physical entities in
the cortex. But it is no less remarkable a problem how
such cortical entities can be "right" or "wrong" in ceitain
contexts. Are we not all convinced that physical entities
are mere indifferent facts for which nothing else is either
"right" or "wrong," and which can not themselves be
"right" or "wrong"?
CHAPTER VIII
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS
REQUIREDNESS does not, as such, occur among the data
of physiological observation. When the heart contracts
the blood is driven into both the arteries and the lungs.
This is a mere iact, analogous to similar facts which we
study in physics. We speak of causation in such cases, but
not of demands. Again, when peripheral blood vessels like
those of the limbs contract, more blood streams naturally
into the head. This is a simple case of causation, complete
in itself. Nothing like icquiredness is observed to partici-
pate in this sequence ot events; nor is there any place lett
for it, since under the conditions nothing can happen other
than what actually happens.
On the other hand, if the same facts are considered in
a larger context, they assume in our thinking a new aspect
of "fitness." Unless circulation in general is steadily main-
tained all the usual activities of the organism will quickly
disappear; some tissue will begin to disintegrate in a few
minutes, the rest more slowly. Thus circulation appears
to us as required in the context of an individual's life.
In our other example, when do the vessels of the limbs
contract, so that more blood streams into the head? This
happens just when for some other reason the blood pres-
sure has fallen in the arteries of the head. Now the brain
279
28o THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
belongs to those parts of the organism in which irreparable
damage follows insufficient circulation particularly quickly.
What really occurs seems to us therefore required for the
salvation of an important organ and, thus, for normal
life.
It is, of course, by no means remarkable that some physi-
cal events "fit" certain subjective interests. After a few
weeks without rain the farmer welcomes a storm as just
the thing needed. Yet many farmers will hesitate to believe
that their wishes have any influence on the actual course
of the weather; they will also doubt whether anything but
causal physical relations determines what is happening
in the atmosphere. Similarly, if somebody's interest is
directed toward the continuance of life in a given organ-
ism, the mere fact that some events in this organism are
apt to prolong its life cannot constitute a problem. Such a
coincidence between an interest and causally determined
events may occur by mere chance, just as rain will some-
times fall in chance coincidence with the farmer's wishes.
A serious problem is, however, presented by the obser-
vation that not only a few inner activities of the organism,
but almost all such functions seem normally to have the
same property: they occur, and they also vary from one
moment to another, in such a manner that the life of the
organism may be preserved for a long time. Under certain
adverse conditions, it is true, all variations of which those
inner functions are capable seem unable to prevent un-
fortunate developments; and sooner or later all multicellu-
lar organisms die. But certainly so many organic events
do constantly operate in a direction by which the life
of the organism is prolonged that no sane biologist has
ever denied the urgency of this problem: Why does organic
function in all its bewildering complexity take, for the
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 281
most part, just the course by which a standard and stable
condition of the organism is safeguarded or, if necessary,
reestablished? The continuance of life, in the case of most
men clearly a matter of personal value, seems at the same
time to constitute a value for the physical organism itself.
And yet, if there is no generic difference between other
organic events and our two examples the circulation in
general and a simple redistribution of blood pressure,
all particular events in the organism have their particular
sets of causes by which they are strictly determined. They
have to occur precisely as they do, and no choice is left
in which a value or a demand might decide what happens.
Many theorists believe with Descartes that this problem
of "fitness" or of "causal harmony" in the organic realm
will find a satisfactory solution if we assume that the or-
ganism is a machine. In machines, just as in the organism,
mere causation leads to results which satisfy certain human
wishes. But who would, for this reason, attribute any such
wishes to the machines themselves? In some machines
there are even functions by which their own existence is
protected, as when in automobiles the water of the radia-
tor is made to circulate and to be cooled. It seems at first
a plausible idea that with a gradual increase in the number
of such devices machines would become not only more
complicated but also immensely more "fitting." At the
same time this "fitting" nature of their functions would
be due to merely causal factors, just as it is in simpler
machines.
If this notion could be successfully applied to the
organism, the problem of causal harmony would indeed
lose much of its puzzling character. One might object, it
is true, that in this manner the problem is merely shifted
from one field of biology to another: Nobody has ever
THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
constructed an organism. Thus a machine theory of life
involves much confidence in the processes of evolution.
Whenever we explain a case of organic "fitness" by the
assumption of a corresponding device in the organism we
present thereby an additional problem to those who try to
explain phylogenetic development, and who cannot yet
satisfactorily do it in a single instance. Whether or not
organisms are actually machines, however, their amazing
anatomical complexity is a fact which must under all cir-
cumstances be interpreted by the students of phylogenesis.
Thus, if these biologists have a difficult task, they seem to
have the same task under all circumstances; it docs not
seem to be more difficult if "fitness" is explained by a
machine theory of lite than it such fitness is attributed to
unknown causes.
Generations of biologists have been dominated by this
particular conception of the organism. Most physiologists
and zoologists are so now, and in the most valuable work
on "fitting" physiological processes which we have, Can-
non's book, causal haimony is consistently attiibuied to
the existence of special devices which tend automatically
to maintain such harmony after they have once been in-
stalled by evolution. 1 Nor is the influence of these ideas
confined to those who actually use them in their explana-
tion of organic "fitness." Some biologists and philosophers,
the Vitalists, are thoroughly convinced that no complica-
tion of merely physical causes whatsoever can lead to just
that causal harmony which we observe in organisms. 2
But when they consider how the very utmost of such "fit-
iW. B. Cannon, The Wudom of the Body, 1932, p 285 f.
2 The Vitalises to whom I refer here, assume that a special agent is
responsible for the causal harmony of organic events. From this school
we have to distinguish that of "Emergent Vitalism" in which entirely dif-
ferent views are held.
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 383
ness" could possibly be achieved by purely physical means,
they invariably begin to think in terms of machine ar-
rangements, precisely as do most of their opponents, the
"Mechanists."
There are more reasons for regarding organisms as ma-
chines than the tact that machines work "fittingly** while
all their operations are causally determined. A great many
anatomical data seem to show directly that the organs of
the living system are devices which make "fitting" func-
tions physically necessary. Such is the structure of the eye,
that of the heart with its valves, of the lungs, the kidneys,
the nerves, the muscles, and so forth. Apparently these
oigans also operate as though they were devices in a ma-
chine which differs from our engines merely by its amazing
complexity and much more subtle "litness." It seems fair
to generalize and to say: When tor every function a cor-
responding device will be found in the organism, and when
every particular "fitness" of organic events will be shown
to follow causally from those devices and from their ade-
quate connection, then life will be entirely understood. If
any "litness" is left which cannot be thus explained, then,
the Machine Theorists would say, definite limits of natural
science will have to be acknowledged. And the Vitalists
would heartily agree. I am not the first to observe that,
after all, both parties have a great deal in common. We
shall next inspect this common ground more closely.
What exactly is a machine? As a rule neither Ma-
chine Theorists nor Vitalists give us a clear definition of
this important term. What is the principle that can explain
organic "fitness" according to the first school, while it is
incapable of giving this explanation according to the
second?
The more general concept under which that of a ma-
284 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
chine may be subsumed is that of a physical system. In a
given system a great many different processes are generally
possible. According to the circumstances which happen
to obtain, one or another of these possibilities will be
realized. If, for instance, a number of masses can move
freely under the influence of mutual attraction, their actual
movements depend upon their initial positions and veloc-
ities, and will vary with these. Such variability or freedom
can, however, be limited: Suppose that two of these masses
are rigidly connected in a way which the forces of the
system are unable to alter. Whatever initial conditions
may now be given, all those possibilities of movement are
henceforth eliminated by which the distance of these two
masses would be either increased or shortened. Similarly
more such unalterable conditions, or "constraints," may
be introduced. If this happens the freedom of dynamic
action, the range of possible processes, will be still more
reduced.
A simple example will make this clearer. Through a
rigid sphere we bore a hole, and into this hole we insert
an axle that just fits into the circular opening. If the axle
is somehow fixed on two solid supports, how many dif-
ferent movements can the sphere perform? Only two. It
can either move along the axle or turn around it. We need
not count such other movements as consist of locomotion
and of turning at the same time; because, as this very
description implies, they may be considered as combina-
tions of those two elementary forms of movement. Where,
as is here the case, a system has two elementary possibili-
ties of function the physicist speaks of "two degrees of
freedom. " In our present system only one degree of free-
dom would be left, if on the axle there were two pro-
truding parts, one on each side of the sphere and in con-
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 285
tact with it. Because of this further constraint the sphere
could no longer move along the axle; it could only turn
around it.
To a large extent we can choose the constraints of a
system as we wish. Thus we are enabled to build systems
whose function "fits" our purposes. Such systems we call
machines. Typically a machine has only one degree of
freedom. It it operates at all, one function is prescribed
for all its parts by its construction. Such a system need
not be simple. A great many of the machines which are
operating in our factories are enormously complicated ar-
rangements. And yet they have only one way of function-
ing. Whatever be the driving forces which make them
turn and move, the manner in which all their various
parts function is once and for all prescribed. It is not
determined by the nature of those forces, but by the
permanent structural arrangements or constraints which
keep our machine systems on a "fitting" and useful one-
way track. The principle, therefore, that gives machines a
"fitting" mode of operation resides entirely in their
structural make-up. According to this principle arrange-
ments, devices, constraints make for "fitness." The dynam-
ics of a system becomes "fitting" merely because it is
forced to become so by those structural factors. 3
Not all systems which we call machines operate with a
single degree of freedom. Steam-engines, for instance,
which are equipped with a safety-valve have two degrees
of freedom. Up to a certain pressure the pattern of func-
3 By tinning a wheel 01 moving a lever the human operator may alter
the relative position of some structural paits, and thus \ary the way in
which his machine functions. Theoietically speaking, he thereby trans-
foims one machine into a ditteient second machine. If the machine itself
changes its own make-up under certain circumstances, we speak of regu-
lation, a case that will be discussed in the next paragiaph.
286 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
tion remains the same; but at the critical point the lid of
the valve, which was stationary before, begins to move
relative to its environment so that steam escapes. This
means a second degree of freedom since the main operation
of the machine occurs with or without this additional
form of movement. A safety-valve is a regulating device
or a regulator. Such regulators as occur in man-made ma-
chines contribute greatly to the "fitting" function of these
systems. Appaiently, however, this property is again due
to the particular way in which they are built rather than
to any new principle. It would not be difficult to construct
a steam-engine in which at a critical high pressure a valve
is not opened but closed. The change from the "fitting" to
such an altogether suicidal type of function is merely a
matter of the structure \\hich we give to the system, not
of the forces which make it move. To this extent the "fit-
ness" of a regulating device follows from the same principle
which gives machines in general a "fitting" mode of
operation.
We seem now piepared to decide whether organic proc-
esses owe their causal harmony, their "fitness," to the same
principle. At this point, however, some theorists would
probably raise an objection: 'We admit,' they would say,
'that confronted with the "fitness" of organic function we
like to call the organism a machine; because machines
operate "fittingly," and yet according to punciples of
common causation. But it is not fair to take this compar-
ison literally. We do not do so ourselves. It therefore you
should find that organisms are actually not machines in
this narrow sense, your argument will miss the mark. As
we use the term, the word machine has a broader meaning.'
My answer would be: What is this broader meaning?
Whatever else we may call a machine it is only in those
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 287
systems which I have just described as machines that "fit-
ness* ' of operation seems immediately and clearly under-
stood "on principles of common causation." Such "fitness"
is brought about by devices, by the anatomy of the ma-
chine. If this characteristic of machines be eliminated, the
concept either becomes useless in biological theory, or else
we have to indicate by what other principle inanimate sys-
tems are made to operate "fittingly." I say "inanimate sys-
tems" because, when that distinguishing characteristic is
sacrificed, the word machine seems to be no more than a
synonym of this general term.
I insist upon this point partly because higher organisms
ate to some degree quite obviously machines. Organic
function is subject to limiting and relatively permanent
anatomical factors. The valves, for instance, which we
find inserted into the circulatory system are certainly useful
regulating devices. The physicist, it is true, will of course
ascribe a great many, in fact countless, degrees of freedom
to the organism. Our head has 3 degrees of freedom in
its relation to the trunk, each hand 2 in relation to the
forearm, and so forth. But even simple man-made ma-
chines, so we have seen, need not be restricted to a single
mode of function. Any automatic regulation in such sys-
tems means one more degree of freedom. The great variety
of possible functions in the organism may therefore simply
mean that in the living machine there are far more regu-
lating devices than any engineer has ever thought of in his
boldest day-dreams.
This interpretation has the great advantage that it ex-
plains all organic "fitness" by one principle, namely that
of appropriate anatomical devices. On the other hand, it
becomes less plausible by the fact that such an explanation
leads necessarily to a great many auxiliary hypotheses. We
288 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
know of some anatomical structures which, from the point
of view of physics, are undoubtedly regulating devices. But
even the most careful investigation of the organism fails
to reveal that enormous number of particular arrangements
which must be postulated if the machine interpretation is
to be accepted as generally valid. It is entirely beyond our
power to count all the variations of function of which
the human organism is capable. With a given position
of the limbs a host of different visual processes are com-
patible. When reading or writing a man can breathe
through his nose or mainly through his mouth. When sit-
ting in a chair he can assume one position or another
while his heart beats at a practically constant rate. From
the point of view of mere logic it may of course be possible
to maintain the machine principle, and to interpret all
such variations as due to and as controlled by the subtle
play of many regulating devices. Particularly the nervous
system, however, would in this manner become simply
crowded with hypothetical structures of whose existence
we have no evidence whatsoever.
Those, on the other hand, who find this perspective far
from attractive, have only one other path to choose: The
anatomical devices of which we actually know are quite
unable to confine organic function to one track. A number
of anatomical structures, one will readily admit, seem to
operate in a way that resembles the function of regulators
in machines. Thus certain degrees of freedom which the
organism possesses may indeed be due to the play of
regulating devices. However, where variability of function
cannot be correlated with such devices, another assump-
tion may easily appear as much more plausible than the
machine theory. We remember that a system of masses
may -move freely in various ways even though some con-
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 289
straints impose limiting conditions on their displacements.
Thus the existence even of many anatomical structures
and devices in the living system is entirely compatible
with a type of function that varies freely within the limits
prescribed by those constraints. From this point of view it
seems an artificial procedure to add more and more hypo-
thetical regulators until each possible variation of function
is explained by their play. Why not assume that, so far as
no devices are discoverable in the organism, its function
is as freely variable as are the processes in physical systems
which do not belong to the machine type? As a matter of
fact, we can make this assumption; but it involves a new
task. In all its variability organic function remains nor-
mally "fitting." To the extent to which the existence of
particular anatomical devices is admitted, these structures
may contribute to such "fitting" operation. Inasmuch,
however, as organic function is now said to vary freely
within these limits, the problem of causal harmony is
once more raised. With the new assumption one would im-
plicitly refuse to accept a solution of this problem in
terms of the machine principle. At least this principle
would now no longer suffice for a complete explanation.
Is there any factor besides constraining devices that could
give processes a "fitting" direction?
II
As the last paragraphs will have shown, our problem
centers more and more about the concept of regulation.
Indeed, regulation means in biology just the fact that, so
far as circumstances allow, a standard condition of the
organism is preserved by a curious harmony among or-
ganic events; that, furthermore, if once disturbed, this
290 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
standard condition is soon reestablished by an equally as-
tounding fitness of correcting activities. Those who do
not yet know with what obstinacy and precision a great
variety of processes achieve such regulation will find
Cannon's book highly instructive. To add only a few
instances to those already mentioned: The osmotic pres-
sure, the slightly alkaline reaction, the special chemical
composition, the total volume of the blood and, mutatis
mutandis, doubtless ol the lymph, vary in man but little
from certain normal conditions; if once they do assume
abnormal values, correcting influences seem often almost
frantically at work. And we know that greater deviations,
mostly if of some duration, would lead to irreparable de-
struction and finally to death. The mere fact that human
beings recover spontaneously from many a minor and often
from a serious disease bears witness to a surpiising regu-
lating power in organic function.
Is such a reflation actually a matter of as many ana-
tomical (or histological) devices as a consistent machine
theory of life would have to assume? It seems to me that
anyone who intends to defend such a theory will do so
against tremendous odds.
As a matter of fact, in certain cases the situation is not
merely that regulating structures are as yet unknown; on
the contrary, we know that in these instances there are no
such structures. In this connection one example will suf-
fice, since it refers to a particularly important phase of
life. We learn more and more about the chemical com-
plexity of the "internal environment," the blood and its
derivative, the lymph, by which most tissues are sur-
rounded and pervaded. Granting that circulation of the
blood is as such maintained by devices, we find neverthe-
less that in most other respects no special arrangements
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 291
determine the behavior of this substance. Its various com-
ponents mix and can treely react with each other, which
is certainly not in line with the strict machine principle;
they pass, moreover, with few exceptions freely through
the walls of the capillaries into the tissue. Here they fill
as lymph or tissue fluid "all the chinks and crannies of the
body structure." 4 If the blood is at least confined to spe-
cific conductois, no such special arrangements exist for a
fitting distribution of the lymph, excepting the lymphatics
through which, alter a time of complete freedom in the
tissue, pait of the lymph returns to the circulatory system.
The lymph carries both the substances which yield the
energy necessary for all kinds of processes and the mate-
rial by which older material of organic structures is to be
replaced. It also carries the waste products of cellular
activity away to the blood stream. In the walls of cells,
it is true, the existence ot particular devices may be postu-
lated by which a fitting selection is made from the chem-
icals that the lymph contains; but we cannot go very far
in this dhection without meeting a serious difficulty which
we shall next discuss. In any case outside the cells, too, the
lymph seems to distribute itself most fittingly; otherwise
grave consequences would soon follow, when the locus of
increased activity and of subsequent local demand shifts
from one part of the tissue to another, and when there is
any delay in the regulating innervation of the blood vessels.
Some factor which cannot be a device seems to regulate
such fitting distiibution of this part of the "fluid matrix."
In one respect the organism differs essentially from all
man-made machines. When desciibing these systems we
are entirely justified in speaking of permanent structures
which control function, but do not themselves depend
W. B. Cannon, Ibid., p. *8.
29* THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
upon function for their existence. A rigid steel connection,
it is true, may become "old" in the sense that its inner
cohesion will gradually be affected when it moves for
years in a machine; but at least its substance exists and
remains the same independently of those operations which
it controls. Not so, of course, the organs of the living sys-
tem. In the organism the dependence ot structure on
various functions goes in fact so far that here the distinc-
tion between structure and function may sometimes al-
most appear as arbitrary. Whenever the organism is com-
pared with a machine we should at once remember that
no anatomical structure, not even a bone, consists perma-
nently of the same material. Slowly and continually this
material leaves the tissue to which it belonged, while other
new material takes its place. After a while each organ is
the same only inasmuch as its morphological characteristics
are concerned; it is a new organ if we judge in teims ot
its material. This is indeed an essential point. In the
organism two different kinds of function may be distin-
guished. One is function in the usual sense of the word,
i.e., a set of comparatively rapid operations which, accord-
ing to the machine theory of life, are kept fitting by spe-
cific devices, the organs. The second type of function
operates more slowly; it steadily replaces the old material
of the devices by new material. From this point of view
an organ is itself a stationary process rather than a thing.
Since the rate of the latter processes is, as a rule, much
blower than that of the first type, and since the structure
of the devices is kept stationary in spite of the change of
their material, no objection ensues thus far against the
notion that the rapid operations, the functions in the usual
sense, are kept on fitting tracks by those devices or organs.
But what about those other functions by which these
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 293
devices themselves are being permanently dissolved and
yet most fittingly kept stationary at the same time? What
factors are responsible for such fitness? If we assume that
in this case again special devices provide for causal har-
mony, we are at once confronted by the same problem.
These new devices which everywhere regulate the gradual
replacement of the material of other devices will be them-
selves just as subject to metabolism as are those other
organs. Consequently, if the metabolism maintains their
adequate structure, we have again to ask why the metabo-
lism should operate so fittingly in their case. A third set
of devices? Obviously we are now in the well-known
danger of a regressus ad infinitum. Devices must apparently
be superadded to devices; if we wish to remain loyal to
the view that organisms are machines, one fitness after
another will have to be explained by further machine
structures. And yet there will never be a satisfactory end,
as one auxiliary hypothesis after the other makes the total
system more and more complicated. In science this state
of affairs is generally taken as a sign that something is
fundamentally wrong with the basic premises of a theory.
No doubt, the fact that in the living system all organs or
devices are themselves stationary states to which the con-
cept of regulation applies has not been sufficiently con-
sidered by those who regard orgnnisms as machines.
The suspicion that at least some fitting organic func-
tions are not due to machine arrangements has recently
been strengthened by certain observations of A. Bethe and
other physiologists. These authors showed that regulation
may occur in cases for which evolution could not have
prepared coi responding regulators. As an example we
may take locomotion in spiders which have lost one or
several of their eight legs. Normal locomotion, for in-
294 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
stance in a straight line, presupposes in these animals a
complicated distribution of operations among the legs.
From the point of view of a machine theory such a co-
ordination must be effected by particular devices. This
normal coordination becomes, however, unfitting after
the loss of a single leg or a gioup of legs. Of such losses
more than t\\o hundred different variations ate possible in
the spider. It has not yet been observed \\hat happens in
all these cases. But in those which have been investigated
a new and again a fitting coordination among the move-
ments of the remaining legs was found to occur. It seems
particularly important that no "learning" was implied in
this remarkable regulation. When the number of legs had
been reduced the new mode of cooperative function ap-
peared at once. r> By some stretch of the imagination one
might equip the spider with regulating devices which
would come into play after the loss of one leg here or
there, and lead to new local innervations with a luting total
result. But there are too many possibilities il those cases
are included in which more than one leg is lost. Few will
believe that during evolution all these abnormal condi-
tions have ocuried so often that i emulating devices could
develop for each case, and that such devices are now
inherited by the spiders of out time.
It would not be fail to omit at this point those older
experiments by which H. Diiesch, and alter him many
others, demonstrated icgulation in moilj/iogeticus, the
development of an animal from the egg-cell. This again is
a most fitting process. The machine theory of life will
consequently contend that the egg-cell contains devices
which force the morphogenetic process to keep on the
6 /iethf* Hfindhuch dcr normalcn und pathologischen Physiologic, 1$
(1931), p if>77ff.
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 295
fitting track. During its first phases the development con-
sists mainly of cell-divisions. The egg divides into two
cells, these again into two cells each, and so forth. Under
normal circumstances each of the first pair of cells repre-
sents one prospective half of the future organism. It seems
to follow that those devices which the undivided egg is
supposed to contain must be distributed between its two
daughter-cells; because here they would have to control
what happens next in the further process. If the machine
theory is light the same reasoning applies, of course, to
subsequent cell-divisions. Driesch, however, was able to
show that in the case of some species destruction of one
cell of the first pair, again of one or several cells at later
stages, did not prevent the development of typical organ-
isms. From normally developed individuals they differed
merely by their smaller si/e. Up to the time when the
blastular stage of morphogenesis is completed, and fol-
lowed by gastrulation, the experiment may with those
particular species be performed in many different forms.
This means in terms of machine theory that the loss of
the most different devices docs not prevent attainment
oi the no) mal product. When this fact has once been es-
tablished, further aigumentation will proceed along the
same lines as it did in the last paragraph: For a moment
one might assume that, besides those de\ices which govern
normal morphogenesis, the egg contains regulating de-
vices for cases of disturbance. It is, however, little likely
that all the experimental disturbances which germs now
undergo in laboratories have very often occurred in the
history of the species. Thus evolution cannot have pre-
pared the regulating devices whose existence the machine
theory would have to postulate. It follows that there are
no such regulators, although there is fitting regulation.
296 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
These arguments ought to suffice. Fitting organic func-
tion and regulation are doubtless possible under condi-
tions to which the machine theory of lite cannot be ap-
plied. Other factors besides anatomical devices must tend
to make function fitting and, when circumstances require
it, to replace normal processes by new modes of fitting
function.
On Vitalism. We have so far followed a course which is
supposed sooner or later to lead to Vitalism. Professor
Driesch and his followers go indeed much farther than we
have done in the last paragraphs. Since a machine theory
seems to them the only interpretation of organic fitness
which can be given in terms of customary scientific con-
cepts, they feel entitled to conclude that causal harmony
in the organism is beyond any explanation on known sci-
entific grounds. Consequently they introduce a semi-
mental agent that strives toward definite biological goals,
directs organic events accordingly, and cleverly alters
their course when this seems necessary in an emergency.
This entity has several names; but usually it is called the
Entelechy.
I will confess that I cannot move so fast. Granting that
by Driesch 's experiments the limitations ot biological ma-
chine theories have clearly been demonstrated, I do not
yet see why we should for this reason take such desperate
measures. We should always remember: Not all physical
systems are machines. Although every known system oper-
ates under some given conditions, a great variety of dif-
ferent functions are possible in many, and will be reali/ed
when the situation of such systems changes. In fact when
constructing his machines man creates an altogether special
type which has only few analogues among other systems
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 297
of inanimate nature. As a rule, I insist, these other sys-
tems have more than one or a few degrees of freedom;
and those possibilities of function which they possess occur
quite independently of any "regulative devices." Obviously
Driesch is not justified in drawing his very general con-
clusion, until it has been definitely proved that no regu-
lation toward a standard status occurs in such systems.
There might be something in the basic properties of
dynamics which makes for regulation where no devices do
it.
This point did not escape Driesch's notice altogether.
As a matter of fact he sometimes considered physical sys-
tems which are about as devoid of special constraints as
possible. These systems are identical with those in the
example which I used in order to introduce the concepts
"degree of fieedorn" and "machine": A number of masses
move under the influence of mutual forces, for instance of
attraction; there are no constraints. Under these condi-
tions, Driesch says, we observe no regulation, no tendency
to approach a standard status. The fate of the system is
different for each initial constellation, i.e., for all the vari-
ous positions and velocities which the individual masses
may have in the beginning. This is indeed true for the
particular dynamic case which Driesch discusses. The next
question would seem to be whether under no circum-
stances any regulatory tendencies are exhibited by the dy-
namics of a system. Driesch, however, is satisfied that his
example excludes this possibility quite generally. He there-
In a philosophical tieatise I read iccently that all s) stems will ap-
proach a standaid status, that ol cquihbiiunv when no distuibmg con-
ditions arc piesent, and that such behavior simply follows from the
principle of causality. This remark is not altogether correct, it is not
applicable to the systems which Driesch heie consideis In the next sec-
tion of this chapter the condition will be discussed which must be
fulfilled in a s>stcm if the statement is to be true.
* 9 8 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
fore turns once more to the question whether by special
devices that group of masses could be made to "regulate,"
i.e., to move from all possible initial distributions toward
one standard configuration. This, he finds, is possible in
principle; but even with a limited number of masses it
would lead to an enormous complication of devices, since
generally speaking a particular arrangement will be needed
for each initial constellation from which the system is to
reach the same standard status. Application of this argu-
ment to the case of morphogenesis or ol any organic regu-
lation makes him again conclude: Without or with con-
straining devices physical systems never have that power
of regulation by which the organism is characterized.
Let us distinguish between regulation as such, i.e., a
tendency of a system to reach a standard status horn vari-
ous initial constellations, and regulation in a more special
sense in which the standard status has particularly valuable
properties, as tor instance in the organism. From the point
of view of general theory, regulation even of the first type
will deserve all our attention, because under appropriate
conditions it might become regulation of the second type.
Thus it must be emphasized that, notwithstanding
Driesch's negation, regulation of the first type is an ex-
tremely common event in the physical world. I take a
bottle and fill it partly with water. I shake it violently and
then put it on the table. In a few moments the water is
again quiet, its surface is a smooth horizontal plane. What-
ever initial movement and distribution I may choose to
give the liquid, it always returns to this final status. And
yet, apart from the wall of the bottle, the water is not
constrained by any special devices which force each
particle to assume a particular position in relation to the
others, and thus to contribute to such regulation. To this
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 299
extent the common final status toward which the water
moves from countless initial constellations is reached for
purely dynamic reasons. Or consider a reversible chem-
ical reaction in which the atoms A, B, C, D form molecules
according to the formula: (A C) + (B D) = (A D) -f (B C).
If the four atoms be given in certain quantities, this reac-
tion will always proceed until the molecules (A C), (A D),
(B D) and (B C) are present in definite amounts; and these
amounts are wholly independent of the proportion in
which the same molecules are initially represented.
Moreover, if in the beginning there is an overbalance in
favor ot (A D) and (B C), we find what actually happens
by reading the formula from the light to the left; in the
opposite case the reaction proceeds from the left to the
right. And of course there arc no devices which bring
about such regulation.
Once more, it should not be aigucd that these instances
are far too simple and trivial to offer any interest in an
interpretation of biological regulation. Let us not confuse
two different issues. We are now discussing the general
question whether as a matter of principle the opeiations
ot any physical systems approach a definite final status
independently ot the situations in which their operations
begin, and also independently of any constraining devices.
We do not maintain that the very first examples ot such
regulation which occur to us ate in any degree startling
facts. Dricsch himself tried to answer this question of
principle in a simple case, and he was quite satisfied by
the negative result which he found there. Thus any in-
stances to the contrary, however trivial, are quite to the
point in that they show that his survey missed an essential
property ot certain physical systems. Regulation as such is
a characteristic of some systems or processes, in complete
3 oo THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
absence of any such special devices as provide for regula-
tion in certain machines. As to the more particular interest
which our examples may fail to exhibit, there is no reason
why such regulation should be confined to simple and
uninteresting systems. At any rate Driesch's conclusion
that only a semi-mental agent can produce regulation
without devices is now invalidated.
A few years ago an important discovery was made which
seems to militate directly against the Vitalistic doctrine.
May I once more return to the early phases of morpho-
genesis. Even if a species be considered on which Driesch's
experiments can be successfully performed, they do not
succeed beyond a certain age of the germ. At the time
when the blastula begins to be transformed into a gastrula,
i.e., when a certain part of the blastula is invaginated into
the interior of the embryo, this part is from now on found
to have a fixed developmental future. Transplanted into
any parts of a still "flexible" host germ, for instance, this
particular material will develop just as it would have in its
normal position. It is even more remarkable that, as H.
Spemann and H. Mangold first found, the still flexible
parts of the host adapt for the most part their own further
development to that of the transplanted material. 7 Because
of this property that part of the germ which first becomes
developmentally inflexible during gastrulation is called
an organizer. Under normal conditions developmental
fixation spreads from the organi/er over the whole germ.
In other words, when the neighbors of the organizer as-
sume a definite developmental role they do so for ever;
7 H. Spemann and H. Mangold, Rou\' Archtv f Entwirklungimech.
zoo (1924), pp 599 ff. Cf also here and for the following the excellent
report "The so-called organi/er and the problem of organization in
amphibian development" which P. Weiss has given in Physiological Re-
views 15 (1935), pp 639-674.
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 301
the same then happens to their neighbors, and so forth,
until a definite program holds for all areas of the embryo.
On the one hand this means that morphogenesis loses at
this stage most of its astounding regulatory power; on the
other hand all actual differentiation, the formation of all
particular organs, begins in this period of the germ's life.
Quite naturally therefore Vitalists seemed for some time
to find the very essence oi lite located in the organizer
which had proved responsible for such a decisive turn
in the history of the individual.
This curious material, however, has quite recently been
subjected to radical experimental tests by Holtfreter and
other embryologists. 8 It was, for instance, killed by heating
at temperatures in which no living tissue can survive.
It was also boiled in water; or it was kept in alcohol for
half a year, and so forth. When afterwards grafted into a
host embiyo the dead material proved as a rule to be still
a good organizer. Even mere chemical extracts from the
same material had this property. And yet one observation
was still more surprising: Areas of germs which had not
yet spontaneously reached the stage of organizers acquired
the organizing faculty by such treatment as must neces-
sarily transform them into inanimate material. These dis-
coveries have been confirmed by many authors. They
tend to prove that one of the most remarkable phases of
morphogenesis is directly associated with a purely physical
or chemical rather than with a specifically vital transforma-
tion. Some Vitalists seem now to assume that it is not
actually the organizer, but the substratum, the still flexible
new environment of an organizer, in which the very es-
sence of organization is located when the organizer con-
8 Cf J. Holtfreter, Roux' Archw f. Entwtcklungsmech. 128 (1933), pp.
584 ff-
THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
sists of dead material; and that the organizer plays in such
cases merely the role of a more or less indifferent stimulus.
Even so, one would have to remark, it appears to be a
most surprisingly effective stimulus. Moreover, some re-
cent observations prove that the organizer must have more
or less specific chemical properties it it is to be effective.
In this field more discoveries are doubtless to be expected
in the near future.
Whatever the final interpretation of Holtfreter's ex-
periments may be, in its comparison of living systems
with inanimate nature Vitalism has failed to investigate
certain physical systems which actually "regulate" without
any corresponding devices. It will therefore be our next
task to examine such systems.
In discussing Vitalism Professor C. D. Broad distinguishes
between the Theory of a Special Component and the Theory
of Emergence. 9 Dnesch's Vitalism is a special form of the first;
Broad docs not accept it. But he approves of the second, about
which I should therefore like to make the following icmark.
Emergent Vitalism consists in the assumption that specifically
vital states arid events, although causally determined without
any exception, follow unique and irreducible causal laws of
their own. This seems to Broad an entirely satisfactory form
of Vitalism. lie explains it by pointing to chemistry where
often the properties and the behavior of a compound cannot
be predicted from a knowledge of its components or from that
of any other compounds which the same components may
form. That this has been the general situation in chemistry
for many year> did not prevent this science from progressing
and extending quite rapidly. Similarly, Broad says, biology
may study specific laws of still higher forms of organization,
those of life, forever unable to reduce them to the laws of
chemistry and physics, and yet progressing as a strictly causal
discipline. This seems also to be the opinion of J. S. Haldane.
*>C D. Broad, The Mind and its Plarr in Nat me 1925; pp. Go ff.
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 303
In a way this theory gives a description of biological work
as it appears at present, just as it describes what chemistry
was some time ago. To precisely the same extent, however,
chemistry was slower than physics in becoming a science in
the proper sense oi the word. Aggregates of unrelated and irre-
ducible rules arc not quite what we should like the sciences
or science in general to be. To discover how under various
circumstances general laws give rise to one or another par-
ticular class of events, this goal of research is for the scientist
quite as important as is the collection of special rules, how-
ever strictly they may be followed in their narrower fields.
Any sharp dividing line in human experience beyond which
no insight can yet pass from one realm to the next is therefore
a challenge to the scientist. His very best motives are negated
if he is asked prematurely to accept such limits of understand-
ing as Emergent Vitalism proposes. I admit, however, that the
defenders of "Mechanism" have done very much to create
such a Vitalistic resistance as is represented by Emergent
Vitalism. From a general human point of view not a few will
prefer to set life apart in a special reservation rather than to
see it misrepresented as a super-mill.
Ill
In the discussion of Vitalism certain physical systems
were mentioned which, although they are otherwise quite
trivial, seem interesting in that they "regulate" in com-
plete absence of any i emulating devices. The essential char-
acteiistic of regulation is an invariance of direction. What-
ever initial configuration may obtain in those systems
when we begin to observe them, if we observe long
enough their inner displacements or transformations will
always be found to bring them nearer to a standard status.
The word "standard" points here to the fact that the
final status is independent of the initial configuration.
If we ask a physicist whether any of his general prin-
3 o 4 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
ciples refer to the direction of physical transformations,
he will tell us that there is one and merely one such prin-
ciple: The Second Law of Thermodynamics. According to
Boltzmann's theory, which seems to be generally accepted,
this law is to be interpreted in the following w r ay. When
the macroscopic state of a system is given, the actual posi-
tion and the behavior of its microscopic parts molecules,
electrons, and so forth are not strictly determined by those
data which serve to describe the macroscopic situation.
In a gas, for instance, pressure is a macroscopic datum;
and there are a great many combinations of positions and
of \elocities of molecules which yield as their macroscopic
resultant the same amount of piessure. The number of
microscopic constellations by which a given macroscopic
situation may thus be realized is called the "probability"
of this situation. To different macroscopic states of a
system belong tor the most part different degrees of prob-
ability in this sense. It has been shown that any macro-
scopic processes which occur in a system will cither lead
to states of greater probability, i.e., to states for which there
are more chances of microscopic realization, or but this is
a rarer caseto states which have the same probability as
had their predecessors. No processes will ever occur by
which the system attains lower degrees of probability. This
is in an abbreviated form the current interpretation of the
principle that, according to the physicists, governs the
direction of physical events: Systems change in the more
probable direction. For reasons which will soon become
apparent we must add that this principle applies ex-
clusively to systems as closed wholes. It is not directly
applicable to systems that absorb or emit energy in com-
merce with other parts of the world.
In modern physics such processes as diffusion, heat con-
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 305
duction and reversible chemical reactions are thought to
be completely understood in terms of the Second Law.
But to the same class belongs friction, the transformation
of macroscopic displacements into irregular microscopic
movement, or heat.
We can now see why from this point of view regulation
must be a natural characteristic of many physical sys-
tems. Among all the macroscopic states of which such a
system is capable there is one which can be realized by
a maximum number of microscopic constellations. So long
as the system is in a state that does not correspond to this
maximum, further transformations are possible in the
direction of higher probability. These will occur until
eventually the maximum is actually reached. This will
happen in whatever state the system may have been found
in the beginning. For a given system the state of maximum
probability is one; if therefore no special obstacles obstruct
the path from some initial state to this unique status, the
system will attain it under all circumstances. It is in this
sense a standard status. And I need hardly add that this
standard status will be reestablished if by some influence
it should be temporarily disturbed.
An unsophisticated reader may not feel completely satis-
fickl by this interpretation; he may find some mystery in this
tendency of systems to transform themselves, as time goes on,
in the direction of higher probabilities. We need not discuss
such difficulties, however, because our next steps are entirely
independent of the answer which either a physicist or the
author might give the reader.
A standard status which is entirely due to this principle
is called a thermodynamic equilibrium. Of the two exam-
ples which were mentioned in our discussion of Vitalism
the standard status of a chemical system belongs to this
306 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
class. In physics it is customary to say that all equilibria
are attained in the same manner. This would imply that
all regulation in which we are at present interested i.e., all
regulation that is not brought about by regulating de-
vicesfollows from the Second Law of Thermodynamics.
A moment of reflection will show us, however, that this is
an ambiguous statement.
For this purpose let us consider our second example,
the trivial case of water in a bottle. However much we
may shake this fluid it will always gradually return to the
same final condition. Is such regulation merely a matter
of the Second Law? Under the influence of gravitation
the water is pervaded by stresses which have various in-
tensities and directions from one point of its interior to
another, depending upon the distribution which the fluid
happens to have. When in his description of the situation
the physicist refers to the stress at a given point, he may
use such terms as "force" or "pressure." He will then say
that at each point there is a resultant gradient of pressure
that tends to produce accelerations in its own direction.
For the liquid as a whole, however, such a description
would be of slight convenience, since both the direction
and the intensity of these dynamic gradients will as a rule
vary from one point to another. The &ame difficulty is met
in many fields of physics. In order to overcome it the
physicist introduces the concept "potential energy" which
allows him to express by one mathematical function the
totality of stress in a system, while from the same function
he can always return to the local gradients by a very simple
mathematical procedure. 10
concept "potential energy" cannot be applied to all fields of
physics. But those parts of physics in which it is not applicable have no
significance for a comparison between the living system and physical
nature.
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 307
At a given point, we said, acceleration occurs in the
direction of the dynamic gradient which obtains at this
point. When considering the totality of all accelerations
throughout a system we have to speak in terms of potential
energy, and then our rule will be: The totality of all ac-
celerations, the effect of all gradients taken together, is for
the system as a whole invariably in the direction of de-
creasing potential energy. This is a further principle that
refers to the direction of physical events. It is entirely
independent of the Second Law of Thermodynamics,
because it holds even in those cases in which the prob-
ability of successive states of a system remains constant.
On the other hand, this Law of Dynamic Direction does
not as such determine what actually happens in a given
physical situation. The behavior of systems to which this
law applies depends on two factors: First, on the gradients
and thus on this law; secondly, on the velocities with
which the parts of the system move while the gradients
operate. The gradients do not influence these velocities;
they merely add to them new components. Consequently,
if existing velocities are, for instance, opposite to and
greater than these new components, the system may actu-
ally change in a direction which is opposite to that indi-
cated by the Law of Dynamic Direction. And yet the law
remains valid, namely for the totality of all effects which
are produced by the gradients. The fact that the law holds
merely for the accelerations in a system, not necessarily
for its actual displacements has prevented the physicists
from formulating it explicitly. I have no doubt, however,
that it deserves the greatest attention. Without reference
to it precisely the more interesting cases of equilibria
cannot be fully understood.
Velocities, with which the parts of a system move inde-
3 o8 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
pendently of the gradients that obtain at a given moment,
are preserved by inertia. We may therefore call them
"inert velocities." What would happen, if these inert
velocities were somehow eliminated? In this case the direc-
tion of actual displacements would everywhere in the
system coincide with the direction which the Law of Dy-
namic Direction indicates, and all transformations would
for the system as a whole take the course toward lower
amounts of potential energy. Suppose now that there is
one constellation in which the system attains a minimum
value of potential energy, and that no particular obstacles
obstruct the path from any initial condition to this unique
constellation. Under these circumstances the system will
eventually reach this standard status in whatever con-
figuration we may have found it at the outset; in other
words, the system will now "regulate," because its dis-
placements actually follow the Law of Dynamic Direction.
In this case its standard status will of course be a configu-
ration in which no further displacement is possible, because
now all gradients balance each other. Thus it will be an
equilibrium of dynamic factors.
We know of one main influence by which the inert
velocities of a system can be eliminated. This influence is
friction. Friction, we remember, transforms macroscopic
velocities of physical entities into irregular velocities of
microscopic particles, i.e., into heat. In many cases there
is so much friction that any inert velocity is at once de-
stroyed. Whenever this occurs macroscopic displacements
in a system will of course lead directly to the standard
status, the equilibrium. Under such circumstances there
are at a given time only those velocities which the gradients
at this time produce. Now, friction is one of the physical
facts which belong entirely to the domain of the Second
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 309
Law of Thermodynamics. To this extent the Law of
Dynamic Direction becomes a law of actual displacements
merely when combined with the Second Law of Thermo-
dynamics. It will nevertheless be obvious that the direc-
tion with which the former law deals is as such not given
by the latter principle. That direction is implicit in the
operation of forces whether or not actual displacements
follow this direction. And the Second Law of Thermo-
dynamics can do no more in this connection than abolish
the inert macroscopic velocities. The direction which is
then actually taken by the transformations of the system
is a matter not of probabilities, but of the continuous oper-
ation of dynamic vectors. 11 If these gradients balance each
other in one and in only one configuration, the system
will, so I may now repeat, "regulate" toward such an
equilibrium, precisely as other systems regulate toward a
thermodynamic equilibrium. And again, just as the Second
Law of Thermodynamics applies exclusively to systems as
closed wholes, so the Law of Dynamic Direction holds for
sufficiently isolated systems, not directly for any systems
that absorb or emit energy. We shall soon have to discuss
the full bearing of this limiting condition.
Here the reader may once more wonder, and observe that
so much parallelism between two different principles which
both refer to the direction of physical events appears to him
slightly surprising. I will confess that I share his feelings.
Once more, however, our further arguments will not depend
on the attitude which this puzzling situation may evoke in us.
We can now clearly see why a liquid in a container
returns to a standard status from any initial distribution
11 Foi this reason no term that refers to the Second Law of Thermo-
dynamics is mentioned in the expressions which define an equilibrium
of actual forces. C/. the author's article Zum Problem der Regulation in
Roux' Archw f. Entwicklungsmech. 112, pp. 315 ff., 1927.
gio THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
which it may have at the outset. The gradients by which
the liquid is pervaded operate continually in the direction
of the equilibrium. Inert velocities, however, which may
exist in the beginning, or which originate during the fol-
lowing displacements, are gradually eliminated by friction.
They become less and less relevant; more and more the
Law of Dynamic Direction determines what actually
happens, until eventually all movement disappears in the
standard distribution of the fluid. The example shows
that with moderate degrees of friction the equilibrium may
be attained only after some oscillations during which inert
velocities carry the system repeatedly beyond its equili-
brium. As the effects of friction accumulate, however, such
oscillations will lose amplitude, and eventually they will
altogether disappear. Such is the case in this particular
example. May I insist that we know of many instances in
which friction is strong enough to eliminate at once any
inert velocities on the macroscopic level. Since in such
systems the Law of Dynamic Direction holds without any
limitation whatsoever, these systems will occupy us again
in the following discussions.
As a second application of our theoretical analysis we
may now consider Driesch's case of a dynamic system
that does not "regulate": Masses move under the influence
of mutual attraction; there is no regulation, inasmuch as
any variation in the initial constellation leads to a par-
ticular course of events. We see at once why this must be
so. Unfortunately Driesch's only example of a system with-
out any special devices is at the same time a system without
any friction; his masses move in empty space. Conse-
quently the Law of Dynamic Direction does not in this
case determine the actual displacements; it only deter-
mines accelerations. In order to make such a system "regu-
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 311
late" Driesch introduces machine-constraints, and he finds
that regulation may be achieved if these constraints are
sufficiently numerous and appropriately chosen. The same
task, we know now, can be solved much more simply.
Let all the masses move in a common viscous medium
through which they pass with much friction, and the
regulatory tendency will at once become apparent. From
any initial configuration the masses will now converge
toward the centre where they will gather in the densest
possible group.
It is interesting to note that even thus regulation may
not be complete. If the masses are of different sizes their
distiibution within one final cluster is likely to depend on
their initial configuration. Why this deviation from com-
plete regulation? It is caused by the fact that the system
contains some elements of rigidity which cannot be influ-
enced by the forces of the system itself. The volume and
the shape of the individual masses are given as unalter-
able factors. In a similar way perfect regulation could be
prevented by some rigid and fixed arrangement that would
obstruct the path of some masses from their original posi-
tions toward the center. The Law of Dynamic Direction
would still hold; but, in technical terms, the system would
now have various "relative minima of potential energy,"
in each of which it could attain a balance of forces. Which
of these it actually reaches would depend on the initial
configuration.
In biology we observe certain limitations of regulation as
well as positive facts of regulation. In comparing the living
system with physical instances we shall, therefore, be greatly
interested in such conditions as restrict the range of possible
regulation. The most important cases seem to me in this con-
nection such chemical reactions within the system as lead to a
THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
precipitation of substances that cannot be dissolved by any
agents contained in the system. Once such precipitations
have occurred, they will not take part in further chemical
regulation. Moreover, their presence will from now on con-
stitute a self-created permanent constraint on the system; to
this extent the state of equilibrium will never be again what
it was before. One cannot help feeling that some such change
may occur in an "organizer" at the time when it begins to
deserve its name.
In fact, the role of rigid constraints is not generally con-
fined to such disturbances ot legulation. As a iiile systems
are subject to some unalterable conditions on which the
standard status itself altogether depends. In our chemical
example the atoms A, B, C, D are given in definite
amounts; and these determine the chemical equilibrium
of the system. In our other example the walls of the bottle
do not act as regulating devices; but, apart from gravita-
tion as a constant factor, it is principally their existence as
rigid constraints and their shape on which the standard
distribution of the fluid depends.
I need hardly emphasize the fact that instead of these
two examples we might have chosen any number of others
from various fields of science. No more instances will be
needed in which regulation is directed toward a thermody-
namic equilibrium. On the other hand, the Law of Dy-
namic Direction applies, for instance, in the following
cases. Distort the shape of an elastic body as you wish, and,
if the distortion has not gone too far, you will see the
system returning to its "proper" shape from all those
initial configurations. Give a conductor an electric charge,
and, whatever its initial distribution, this charge will
distribute itself at once in one specific pattern that depends
on the (outer) shape of the conductor and on the properties
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 313
of its neighborhood, but not on the initial pattern. 12
When electric currents distribute themselves in a given
medium they follow the same law.
If several kinds of processes, states and materials are
combined in one system, regulation will still follow from
the same principles: the Second Law and the Law of
Dynamic Direction. Thus a system may have hydrostatic
and electrostatic characteristics, diffusion and chemical
reactions may occur in it, and so forth; again, one of its
parts may be conspicuous by a particular form of events, a
second by others. Instead of one form of potential energy,
it is true, we have in this case to consider a more compli-
cated expression which comprises all varieties of available
energy contained in the system. But for this complex indi-
cator the same rules hold as have here been given for the
case of simpler and more homogeneous systems. Since,
however, regulation in heterogeneous systems is generally
associated with the transformation of certain forms of
energy into others; since, furthermore, one part may oper-
ate in one way, while in another processes may belong to
a different field of physics, and so on, such regulation will
now produce a curious impression. The various processes
will seem to have agreed to cooperate toward the standard
state of the system as a whole, as though it were their
common goal.
The reader will long since have noticed that with our
present discussion we have returned to problems which
we considered once before when dealing with instances
of "macroscopic self-distribution" (C/. ch. 6). The last
paragraphs contain indeed an abbreviated and elementary
12 In the case of electric phenomena self-induction plays a similar r61e
as does inertia in mechanics. The effects of self-induction, too, are elim-
inated by friction.
3i 4 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
theory of such self-distribution, an analysis which will be
completed in the last section of this chapter. With the
same theory Mach's principle is of course directly con-
nected. This principle, we remember, implies the exist-
ence of "unique" or "outstanding" patterns of distribution
(C/. ch. 7). Such particular distributions are obviously
those in which given conditions allow the gradients or
vectors of a system to balance each other much more thor-
oughly than thev can do in other cases.
Besides the Second Law and the Law of Dynamic Direc-
tion a third principle is sometimes mentioned which also
refers to the direction of physical events: the Principle of Le
Chatelier. It does not tell us what a physical system will do
when its general conditions, its constraints and so forth, are
given, but rather what its reactions are when these conditions
themselves are changed. We may formulate the principle in
this statement- If one of the conditions be altered under which
a system is in equilibrium, some internal factors will change
in such a manner that the new equilibrium differs as little as
possible from the previous standard. The system seems to de-
fend its own existence. I do not intend to discuss this rule,
since we do not yet know whether it really deserves the name
of a principle. As yet nobody has been able to find a com-
pletely satisfactory enunciation of it, not even Planck, who
recently gave it much attention. 13 For biology it is undoubtedly
a serious desideratum that the principle be soon clearly es-
tablished; or else, if there is no such general law, we ought
at least to learn why and under what circumstances systems
behave as though they followed such a rule.
IV
As it became more and more apparent that the ma-
chine principle is not capable of giving us a satisfactory
13 M. Planck, Annalen der Physik, 5. Folge, /p (1934)*
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 315
explanation of organic regulation, an interpretation in
more functional or dynamic terms began to attract some
theorists. At first it seems indeed a plausible assumption
that in the organism fitting regulation toward a standard
status occurs for the same reasons that make physical sys-
tems attain or reestablish an equilibrium. Unfortunately,
however, the concept of "equilibrium" is in this connec-
tion often used in just as vague a meaning as had previ-
ously been the case with the concept "machine." It ap-
peared therefore advisable to analyze physical regulation
before a comparison was undertaken between the normal
state of an organism and an equilibrium in physics.
On the face of it, these standard states seem to resemble
each other in a most promising manner. There is besides a
special point which gives an equilibrium theory of organic
regulation a particularly inviting appearance. Physical
systems, we have found, tend to transform themselves in
the direction of an equilibrium for two reasons: either
because their processes follow the Second Law of Thermo-
dynamics, or because the Law of Dynamic Direction ap-
plies to them. Now, even the most supeificial considera-
tion of the organism must convince everybody that its
normal state cannot be a mere thermodynamic equilib-
rium. If, therefore, an equilibrium theory of organic
regulation is to be at all proposed, this can be done only
with the premise that both the Law of Dynamic Direction
and the Second Law apply to the organism; in other words,
that the organism regulates toward a balance of directed
vectors no less than it does toward "a most probable situa-
tion." We have seen, however, that the Law of Dynamic
Direction does not determine what actually happens in a
system, unless there is sufficient friction by which inert
macroscopic velocities are eliminated. Is this condition
316 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
fulfilled in an organism? Without any doubt it is. In the
movements of our limbs and in circulation inert velocities
may perhaps play a modest role. In the tissue, however,
friction is as great as it is in the interior of any solution.
Consequently there are no such velocities in the tissue.
What happens here must, from the point of view of physics,
follow either from the Second Law or trom the Law of
Dynamic Direction. In the former case we could say with
the physicists that changes will occur in the direction of
"higher probabilities'*; in the second case, that displace-
ments will be proportional to, and in the direction of, the
vectors which happen to obtain at each point.
The fact that the organism contains many "devices/' i.e.,
relatively permanent conditions of function, implies no
obstacle for an equilibrium theory of organic regulation.
In a physical system there may be many constraints; and
yet, within the limitations which are thus imposed upon
its operations, the tendency toward an equilibrium will
determine what actually happens. We have only to realize
that the equilibrium in question will itself respect those
limiting constraints. In this sense the principal idea of all
machine theories is entirely compatible with the more
dynamic or functional notions to which an equilibrium
theory refers.
On the other hand, it is the existence of relatively rigid
anatomical conditions which restricts the range of possible
organic regulations. Such devices as the organism pos-
sesses are undoubtedly apt to give the tendency toward
standard states a general direction which is particularly
fitting under more or less normal conditions. At the
same time they exclude, precisely among the higher veter-
brates, some regulations which might otherwise occur
even in quite un usual situations. Such anatomical facts
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 317
are, as it were, "not made for these conditions"; and since
they do not yield to the stress of altered function they
prevent, under these circumstances, the actual occurrence
of complete regulation.
So far, then, an equilibrium theory of regulation may
seem to be wholly compatible with what we know about
the organism. Any interpretation of organic fitness that
does not take account of our two functional principles ap-
pears to me indeed as fundamentally unsound. On the
other hand, it is equally true that neither the Second Law
nor the Law of Dynamic Direction can be applied to the
organism in that simplest formulation in which they refer
to equilibria. I have been at some pains to make the
meaning of these principles more explicit than is often
done, because I wish it to be perfectly clear that, unless
a much broader view be taken, an equilibrium theory of
organic regulation would be entirely misleading. To ex-
press the main argument against such a theory quite
briefly: Neither is the standard state of an organism a state
of equilibrium in the common sense of the word, nor do
organic processes in their totality generally tend to ap*
proach such an equilibrium.
In the introductory chapter of his book Cannon remarks
that "the constant conditions which are maintained in the
body might be termed equilibria/' The author does not
say what relation he assumes to obtain between this func-
tional principle and his own view according to which regu-
lation seems always to be due to regulating devices. At any
rate, he prefers to give the name homeostasis to the tact
that certain "steady states" are so obstinately preserved or
reestablished in the organism. Equilibria, he adds, are
found in simple closed systems, "where known forces are
balanced." Again, he says, the word homeostasis "does not
318 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
imply something set and immobile, a stagnation." 14 There
is something in these last words which many biologists
may appreciate when attempts are made to explain organic
regulation by an "equilibrium theory."
Convincing objections may, in fact, be raised against any
such attempts. First, as Cannon says, no organism is de-
tached trom the rest of the world to an extent that would
make our principles directly applicable to living systems.
These systems are not closed. They absorb and they emit
energy. At times they absorb much more than they emit.
From the point of view of physics it is, therefore, simply
impossible to state it as a rule that transformations in
organisms occur in the direction of equilibria.
The same follows from the fact that in a healthy normal
condition many vertebrates are by no means in equilib-
rium With regard to their immediate environment. Mam-
mals, for instance, stand when at rest; for the most part
they lie down only when slightly or seriously fatigued.
Many fishes assume when at rest a position in which their
heavier parts are turned away from the direction of gravi-
tation. And yet in a state ot physical equilibrium the center
of gravity both of mammals and of fishes should be low-
ered as far as possible. Since no outer physical forces keep
the mammals standing and the fishes swimming against
the pull of gravitation, i.e., in an unstable position, such
organisms must, when fresh, healthy, and therefore in their
standard state, contain sets of vectors and processes which
prevent the attainment of an equilibrium. These factors
represent a certain amount of potential energy. But no
physical system that is as such in a state of equilibrium
can at the same time preserve an energy reserve by which
it avoids reaching an equilibrium with regard to the en-
i* Ibid, p. 24
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 319
vironment. In the present example those factors seem even
to keep the organism in a state that departs from an
equilibrium as much as possible.
No conclusion other than this can be drawn from what
happens during the development of individual organisms.
During youth the standard state, for instance of man, varies
slowly with time. There is always regulation toward a
state that may be called temporarily normal. But from
month to month, and from year to year, this state shifts
gradually; and it is obvious that regulation changes its
"goal" correspondingly. Thus, if we know in what direc-
tion the standard state ot the full-grown healthy adult
differs from that of the healthy child, we shall also be
enabled to define in what direction, toward what kind of
state, regulation occurs when the individual is fully de-
veloped. We sec the answer at once. In a state of equilib-
rium, as defined in this chapter, a system contains the
smallest amount of potential energy which is compatible
with given conditions. Potential energy, however, is the
capacity of a system for macroscopic activities. Nobody, I
am sure, will contend that a man of thirty can do less
macroscopic work than can the new-born child. Just the
contrary is true. From the point of view of physics the
adult contains tremendous stores of potential energy
when compared with the child. It follows that, in the
healthy individual, development toward adult life is asso-
ciated with an increase of such energy, that accordingly
during this period regulation occurs in the direction of
ever higher levels, and that, when development is at its
peak, it is a maximum, not a minimum, of available energy
which regulation tends to preserve.
These arguments must, I believe, convince everybody
that an "equilibrium theory" of organic homeostasis is
320 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
not compatible with elementary biological facts. What
is the theorist to do in this situation? In Professor A. V.
Hill's words: "// there be no equilibrium, how far dare
we apply rules and formulae derived from the idea of
equilibrium?'' 15 In several statements the same author
hints at a possible answer. All physiologists, he says, "must
have exercised their minds as to the reason why a living
cell, completely at rest, and doing nothing at all except
maintain its continued existence, requires a continual sup-
ply of energy/' 16 For instance, "apart from any motor
activity at all, a human muscle cell . . . uses, to maintain
itself alone, about 30 calories of energy per gramme per
day." 17 We are, he finds, thus forced to adopt "the concep-
tion of a dynamic steady state maintained by a continual
expenditure of energy." 18
I should like to add that there is nothing hazardous in
this conception. We can easily give it a clear functional
meaning if we consider one more physical example. Life
has sometimes been compared to a flame. 10 This is more
than a poetical metaphor, since, from the point of view
of function and energetics, life and a flame have actually
much in common. The flame, say, of a candle is a steady
state. The continued existence of this state involves a
continual supply of potential energy which the flame re-
ceives as "food" through the wick and as oxygen from the
air. 20 When undisturbed, the flame remains the same in
size and in shape. Thus one might be tempted to believe
that its status is that of an equilibrium. But in the sense
15 A. V Hill, Adventures in Biophysics (1931), p. 60.
ie Ibid , p. 4.
IT ibid . p 60
i*Ibid, p 62.
19 C/., for instance, W. Roux, Die Selbstregulation (1914), p. 17, pp. 79 f.
20 Chemical cneigy is often treated in such cases as a form of potential
energy. In fact, in all respects which concern us here it is potential energy.
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 321
in which this word is commonly used the flame is certainly
not in a state of equilibrium. In order to see this we need
only apply the same test to which we just subjected the
adult organism: What is the genesis of a flame? We light
a candle with a match. On the wick there appears at first
a tiny flame. This flame grows spontaneously until it at-
tains a maximum size and at the same time a certain shape,
which then remain unaltered. If during the initial phase
we hold our hand near the flame we can easily feel that
quickly increasing amounts of heat are emitted at this
time. We also see that during this period the flame throws
more and more light on its environment. Any energy, how-
ever, which the flame emits at a given moment was just
before this moment inner energy of the flame itself; again,
a moment before, it was potential (chemical) energy that
was ready to be transformed into heat and light. From our
simple observation it follows, therefore, that during its
"youth" the flame attains ever higher degrees of potential
energy, and that in its final stationary state it contains a
maximum of such energy. In this sense the steady state of
the flame departs as widely from a condition of equilibrium
as it possibly can.
The factors which determine the maximum energy of the
flame may be indicated in a few words. As soon as the candle
is lighted, "food" which is contained in the wick and oxygen
that is contained in the air are being spent by combustion.
Thus gradients arc set up both for the food and for the
oxygen. The flame begins to grow, and these gradients in-
crease correspondingly. Higher amounts are therefore sup-
plied both of food and of oxygen. But there is a limit to this
process. When a certain size and a certain maximum of
combustion have been reached, any further growth of the
flame would lead to a higher demand than is compatible with
the possible speed of oxygen diffusion from the surrounding
322 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
air and with that of the food -stream which passes through the
wick.
We are now in a position to apply our theoretical con-
cepts to the flame and then to the organism. The flame
is not a closed system. It can, however, be considered as
part of a larger system for which our general principles
are valid. If this be done certain consequences will follow
for the behavior of the flame as such. The air of the en-
vironment and the substance of the candle, taken together,
contain amounts of chemical energy which are to all prac-
tical purposes unlimited. If therefore the material of the
candle and a sufficiently large volume of air are included,
we obtain a "system" which we may regard as closed; be-
cause during the lifetime of the flame the energy on which
its steady state depends will be exclusively supplied by the
candle and this volume of air. An untrained observer's
attention may be completely concentrated on the flame as
an outstanding visual fact. From a functional point ot
view, however, the life of the flame can be understood only
in the context of that larger "system." This system follows
our general laws. The changes which occur in it must as
a whole have a direction which lowers the amount of po-
tential energy contained in the system. So long as the
candle is not lighted this chemical energy cannot be spent
at all. On the other hand, once a sufficiently high tempera-
ture is created at the tip of the wick, energy begins to
be spent by combustion. And the more the flame grows,
the more energy will be expended per unit of time.
It comes then to this: Our system consists of, first, a
practically unlimited store of chemical energy which, how-
ever, cannot be directly spent; and, secondly, of a minor
part, the flame, in which this energy can be spent up to a
certain maximum rate. The "system" as a whole will lose
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 333
its potential energy the more quickly, the more of this
energy streams into the only part of it in which it can be
expended. This is the flame. For this reason a maximum of
such energy migrates steadily into the flame; for the same
reason the flame contains continually a maximum of po-
tential energy. Only thus is it enabled to expend energy at
a maximum rate.
The fact that the stationary state of the minor system in-
volves a maximum of potential energy is entirely com-
patible with our general principles. These refer to closed
systems; and in the closed system of the present example,
taken as a whole, events have precisely the direction which
is prescribed by those principles. On the other hand, it is
obviously an essential obseivation that in the only "work-
ing" part of this closed system the direction of events is
just the opposite of that to which the principles refer.
The activity of the flame as such, it is true, namely com-
bustion, tends to lower the amount of potential energy in
the flame. But this does not really happen because any
spent energy is at once replaced by a corresponding new
supply. The more energy the flame emits, the higher is
the rate at which it is supplied. Thus the flame is contin-
uously fed with the greatest possible amount of energy.
A general view of the organism shows us a situation
which resembles strongly that of the flame. The organism
is not a closed system; it is part of a larger functional con-
text, the external section of which contains as its most
important components oxygen and food, i.e., a store of
chemical energy which may be regarded as practically un-
limited. In one respect there is a difference between the
flame and the organism: Unlike the flame, the organism
itself normally contains great reserves of food in the wid-
est sense of the word; it is stored, for instance, in the liver.
324 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
From these sources rather than from the outside other
tissues receive their food supply directly.
The potential energy of oxygen and food is not spon-
taneously spent outside the organism; nor is the food
reserve consumed where it is stored within the organism.
All "activities," however, of which the organism is capable
do tend to lower the supply of chemical energy that is
contained in the active tissues. This is in line with our
principles. But it is also in line with these principles that
under such circumstances the stores of food deliver new
supplies, and that these tend to maintain or to reestablish
the highest energetic level of the tissues. II we compare
this situation with that obtaining in a flame, we shall ex-
pect the active organism to heighten its content of poten-
tial energy during youth, and to preserve this content
when a maximum is reached. This is exactly the behavior
of the organism to which I pointed when I showed that
the standard state of the organism cannot be a state of
equilibrium.
Suppose now that at a given time there exists in the
organism only one state ot the tissue which corresponds
to a maximum of potential energy. If by considerable
work or by any other influence an organ or some larger
part is changed so that for the organism as a whole the
maximum condition is no longer maintained, such proc-
esses will occur as will bring it back to higher levels of
energy. And since there is only one standard state in which
a further increase is not possible, the organism will from
various initial states "regulate" toward that maximum
condition. In other words, so far as regulation is concerned,
our previous discussion of standard states applies to a
maximum condition, just as it did to an equilibrium.
Of course, it applies quite generally. There will, for in-
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 325
stance, be in this case the same influence of given ana-
tomical constraints as was mentioned in the case of regu-
lation toward an equilibrium. Again, regulation toward
a highest standard state will only be possible within limits
which are given by relatively unalterable anatomical facts.
Actual regulation, however, will now be characterized
by one remarkable trait. On the highest possible level of
potential energy a system is capable of doing more macro-
scopic work than it is on any other level. If, therefore, in
the organism any change by which this level is lowered
tends to be followed by processes which counteract that
change, and thus reestablish the highest level, regulation
will serve to keep the living system in its most powerful
state and, in this sense, to protect it. This, it seems, is the
condition in which the various tissues are maintained by
a constant supply of energy, and which is so often spon-
taneously restored after disturbances. 21
I realize that in the last paragraphs no more than a
general outline has been given, which cannot become a
theory until a great many biological facts have been con-
sidered from this point of view. Since this task does not
belong to our present program I shall only add a few
tentative remarks.
One might ask why with these premises an organism
does not live forever. My answer would be that regula-
tion has its limits for reasons which I mentioned before;
21 1 have sometimes been asked why T refuse to call the standard state
of the organism "an equilibrium " My reason is simply that' this standard
state is not an equihbuum in any sense which has as yet been denned
by science not even an unstable equilibrium It is a stationary process;
and we are just beginning to learn that there are two classes of stationary
processes, one with which a minimum, and another with which a maxi-
mum of energy is associated. Nothing could be more unfortunate than an
attempt to hide such new essential distinctions behind an outworn gen-
eial term.
326 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
and that, therefore, a great many influences are able to
destroy life. It is quite as obvious that without a sufficient
supply of food and of oxygen the level of life will soon
sink. For the same reason organisms can die from exhaus-
tion. But they seem also to deteriorate spontaneously when
a critical age has been passed. It appears to me quite likely
that practically all our activities tend slightly to alter the
tissue in a way which does not at once disturb further
function, but which cannot be fully compensated for by
the metabolism and its icgulatory tendency. If such
changes accumulate lor years they may gradually make
the tissue or certain organs less fit to respire and to absorb
food. What this would mean is fairly obvious.
A further question refers to the manner in which the
organism obtains its food. So long as within the organism
there are reserves of carbo-hydrates, fats, and so forth, the
situation seems simple enough. But these reserves arc lim-
ited, and I want to make it quite clear that the way in
which the organism replenishes its stores is something alto-
gether different from the simple processes that feed a
flame with chemical energy. Delivery of both iood and
oxygen is in the case of the flame entirely automatic and
direct. The existence of the flame sets up gradients in
both respects, and those materials move in the direction
of the gradients. Not much oxygen penetrates in this
simple manner into the interior of a bird or a mammal;
nor does food migrate into our interior simply because
we are spending energy there. In the case of food, for in-
stance, what happens is more complicated: Among our
activities there is one group, that of finding and of eating
food, in which we expend certain amounts of energy,
just as we do in all the others. As a result of these activ-
ities, however, we absorb under favorable conditions much
A DISCUSSION OF ORGANIC FITNESS 327
more potential energy than is spent in order to obtain it.
Thus the organism stores new supplies which enable it
to maintain its raised normal level and, besides, to be
active in other directions. In this there is nothing that
could unbalance the energy budget; there is no contra-
diction between such operations and our general principles.
None the less it must be noted that this particular be-
havior cannot be predicted from such principles, and
that, from a general functional standpoint, it is a remark-
able trait of living systems, about as remarkable as their
reproductive activities. An actual theory of the organism
will, if I am not mistaken, meet its most fascinating prob-
lems here.
There is no apparent reason, however, why science
should hesitate to deal with the problem of regulation.
Nor is there any essential difficulty in the fact that or-
ganic regulation is generally directed toward an "opti-
mum" state. The physicists, it is true, have not given
much attention to this functional possibility, although it
follows from their general laws. Also, a thorough investi-
gation of heterogeneous physical systems and of their
regulatory behavior would contribute greatly to a further
understanding of organic fitness. But even now we can
predict from known principles that some such systems
will show an impressive causal harmony by which they
keep themselves in a "healthy" condition, as though this
were their goal.
It is perhaps too early for final statements in this field,
particularly since we know so little about the way in
which evolution has created the living world. As this
world now is, however, the following seems to me a con-
servative description of the situation: No procedure of
science reveals any actual participation of demands and
328 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
values in the determination of organic events. At the same
time, science can clearly demonstrate that in certain sys-
tems function will, for dynamic reasons, take a most "fit-
ting" course. We do not discover requiredness as such
among the data of science. But a general trend of nature
is sometimes found to yield the same results as might be
expected if the events in question were actually happen-
ing in order to fulfill a demand.
CHAPTER IX
FACTS AND FORCES
OUR analysis of regulation has given no support to the
idea that requiredness plays a part in the determination
of organic events. It seems possible to regard the continu-
ance of life as a value that resides merely in the psycho-
logical realm. It might be said that we are interested in
the prolongation of our own lives and in that of the lives
of certain other people, but that actual regulation which
"protects" these lives occurs for other reasons. In fact,
the principles on which such regulation depends do not
appear to be different from those by which the fate of
inanimate systems is determined. Thus, if requiredness
does not belong to the characteristics of the physical
world, we need not attribute it to the organic realm.
It might be argued that an assumption which we are
not forced to make may nevertheless have a high degree
of plausibility. But what would follow from this particu-
lar assumption? If no essential problems have been over-
looked in our analysis of regulation, the general theories
of physics seem to suffice for an explanation of fitting
organic function. With this premise no place of its own
is left for requiredness as a determinant of organic proc-
esses. The assumption that requiredness plays a role in the
operations of living systems would thus lead to a curious
3*9
330 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
inference: Requiredness would have to be identified with
some phase of physical dynamics. Few will be inclined
to accept this conclusion unless it be supported by very
strong arguments.
Perhaps no positive results could be expected from an
analysis of purely biological facts, since requiredness does
not occur among the actual observables of this field. It
seems therefore advisable to return to those instances in
which requiredness is directly felt to extend beyond the
phenomenal field and in this sense to be "amphibian." I
do not hesitate at this point to summarize once more our
previous discussion of transcending requiredness, since
this concept will prove to be essential for the argument
that follows.
At the end of the seventh chapter we found, for instance,
that we are not quite free to complete a temporally ex-
tended context arbitrarily. When such a context is near
completion its earlier parts often ask for a certain closure,
and they object to others. The former appear as right,
while the latter are felt to be wrong. This observation in-
volves more than a confirmation of the fact that required-
ness is a characteristic of contexts or structures. Not in-
frequently the earlier parts of the context in question have
disappeared from actual experience at the time when
one completion is accepted or another rejected. And yet
both acceptance and rejection may altogether depend on
those earlier parts. Often it is principally their properties
which determine what at the present moment appears as
right or as wrong. Moreover, the demanding vector that
accepts one completion and rejects another is directly felt
to issue from those parts and to owe its specific nature to
their characteristics. These characteristics as such are no
FACTS AND FORCES 331
longer phenomenally given. But in its reference to the
immediate past the vector implies both that there are
those hidden parts, and that its present demand is due to
their equally hidden properties. To this extent it is pos-
sible for requiredness to emerge from beyond the phe-
nomenal world and to exert its selecting influence within
this world. On merely phenomenological grounds, of
course, we cannot decide what kind of entity the be-
ginning of a context is when it has ceased to exist as an
experience. In terms of biological theory, however, an
answer may be given. From this point of view the entity
beyond can only be the trace of those processes which
accompanied the earlier parts of the context when they
were experienced.
For various reasons a second example appeared as even
more conclusive. When trying to recall some previous
experience we cannot always achieve its actual reproduc-
tion at once. At the same time we may find ourselves
referred to an entity beyond the phenomenal field which,
even in its hidden location, is felt to be "the right thing."
This means of course that the entity beyond already ful-
fills certain demands which issue from a given context; in
other words, that its transphenomenal location docs not
prevent it from satisfying a particular requiredness. On
the other hand, a demanding vector may also issue from
the entity beyond. Since we know that this entity is "the
right thing" we often confront it in a tentative way with
such phenomenal data as may possibly approximate its
actual nature, and from beyond come the answers: "quite
wrong," "better," and so forth. Thus those data may be
accepted or rejected with reference to an entity the specific
properties of which are not phenomenally given. Again,
33* THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
a merely phenomenological analysis can go no further.
Once more, however, from the standpoint of biological
theory this transphenomenal entity must be a memory
trace.
It requires a certain amount of courage to conclude that
parts of the past whose existence is now in the realm of
traces may fulfill an experienced demand; that in this sense
they may be nght. It is at first an equally disturbing
thought that a demand may issue irom a trace, emerge into
the phenomenal held and there decide what is wrong and
what is right with reference to that trace. And yet I can-
not see how these conclusions can be avoided.
I admit of course that in our second example, that of
imminent recall, an experienced interest plays a certain
role. We do want to recall and to recall correctly.
But the presence of this wish docs not as such explain
our phenomenological observations. Before actual recall
there is no phenomenal datum which could appear as
right or as wrong, however much we may wish to re-
member. On the other hand, the entity beyond does so
appear because of properties which are as yet completely
hidden. Their fitting nature makes this entity "the right
thing" with regard to our particular demand, independ-
ently of any phenomenal representation. Again, when in
a case of delayed recall we apply the tentative procedure
and consider one possibility after another, there is of
course a subjective interest at work. But whatever other
influences this interest may have it cannot possibly de-
cide whether one proposal is better than another. What
should be the standard of comparison? A decision can
be made and is actually felt to be made only by the
standard beyond, with reference to which one proposal
fits and another does not. In those other examples,
FACTS AND FORCES 333
moreover, in which the completion of a temporally ex-
tended context occurs under the influence of its begin-
ning, the role of subjective interest may become alto-
gether negligible. I hear somebody playing the piano
in another room. He seems to give up in the middle of
the melody. But when I have just turned to other matters
he unexpectedly strikes the next note. This may at once
be heard as wrong or right; and the protest or the ac-
ceptance comes from the recent past, the incomplete mel-
ody, quite independently of any subjective interest. If I
become interested it is because the note is right or wrong
in its relation to this hidden past.
C. D. Broad has given an analysis of memory-situations with
many parts of which 1 find myself in full agreement. In sev-
eral of his statements it is clearly implied that we may have
commerce with a past object even though this object is not
actually recalled. He also remarks that a certain given or
proposed datum may be felt (o fit or not to fit such a past
object. At the same time, he adds, this object "is presented
only to thought as the subject of such and such propositions/' 1
This statement, I believe, is a trifle too non-committal. After
all, the hidden object is felt to be such that it can decide
about the fitting or the non-fitting character of proposed data.
To this extent it has obviously quite specific properties. And
since such specific characteristics arc not expeiienced as phe-
nomenally given, but as hidden somewhere beyond the phe-
nomenal field, we are led to our statements about transcend-
ence and about transcending requiredness.
May I now return to the example of imminent recall
and see what else we may conclude from it. In this in-
stance, we found, it is possible to examine a trace by con-
fronting it with test-objects. For this purpose we choose
1C. D. Broad, The Mind and its Place in Nature (1925), p. 248.
334 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
such objects as are supposed to be more or less like "the
right thing beyond." Our procedure is equivalent to so
many questions; and the trace beyond gives as a rule quite
definite answers which refer to each test-object in turn.
A trace is one thing, and a test-object, i.e., a proposed
datum with its cortical correlate, is another. When accept-
ing or rejecting this datum the trace obviously "does some-
thing" about it. How can a thing be represented "beyond
itself" and thus do something about a second thing? Since
the influence in question issues from the trace and is de-
termined by its properties, we seem justified in assuming
that at its point of origin this influence is a physical fact.
I know of only one class of physical facts that represents
the properties of a given entity beyond this entity and thus
can "do something" about a second thing with reference
to the first. This is the class of "forces" or "fields."
We found, however, that imminent recall may be con-
sidered from still another point of view. The entity be-
yond is felt to fit a given context and thus to be "the right
thing." This entity we take to be a trace. It fits the given
context by its specific properties. But these properties as
such are not experienced; they belong to the physical
realm. In the present case, then, an influence extends
from the given phenomenal context to the trace in ques-
tion and accepts it as right. Thus the context "docs some-
thing" about the trace in reference to the characteristics
of this trace, which are physical characteristics. It is diffi-
cult to imagine how this could happen, if at the locus
of its object and effect the influence itself were not a
physical fact. And again, I know of only one class of physi-
cal facts that issue somewhere and then exert elsewhere
specific influences on physical objects according to the
FACTS AND FORCES 335
properties of these objects. It is the class of "forces" or
"fields." 2
Although we have twice come to the same conclusion,
this conclusion may not appeal to many because it does
not lie in a direction in which they would like to proceed.
On the one hand, it might be said that Positivistic criti-
cism has long since demolished the concept of force; and
that, if the term is still used in physics, it is used merely in
a mathematical sense, as a convenient auxiliary construct
without any immediate physical significance. In the last
paragraphs, however, the words "force" and "field" seem
to be given such a significance. On the other hand, one
might argue that I have been diluting the meaning of
requiredness in an altogether inadmissible way. From the
phenomenological point of view requiredness involves
acceptance and rejection of one thing by another or by a
context of others. The thing which is accepted or rejected
fits or fails to fit given conditions. This description holds
whether requiredness is fully surveyable within the phe-
nomenal field, or whether it transcends this field. In view
of these essential characteristics, one might say, we are
hardly justified in interpreting requiredness as though
it merely meant that one thing "does something" about
another thing.
I am not convinced that the first argument is very
strong; but I admit the force of the second. It is true that
in all cases of requiredness "something does something
2 The term "field" has two different meanings. In one sense it refers
to such entities as "aieas " Thus we speak, for instance, of the field of
vision or of the phenomenal field In a second sense the same woid was
first used by the physicists. It then refeis to dynamic vectors that extend
from an ohjcct into its environment. In a similar meaning it also refers
to the specific distribution of such vectois in given cases It is obvious
that in the present connection the term has this second, the dynamical,
meaning.
336 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
about something else/' But this statement does not seem
to give a sufficiently specific expression of what required-
ness means; it might also hold of other forms of reference
besides requiredness. What we need at this point is obvi-
ously a more adequate analysis of this concept. Such an anal-
ysis has been attempted in the third chapter (pp. 72 ff.),
but in terms which still relerrcd to subjective valuation
rather than to requiredness in general. It may therefore
be advisable to emphasize once more the essential char-
acteristics of situations in which this factor is involved.
First: A datum, an entity or an act is required within a
context of other data, entities or acts. This holds both for
negative and for positive requiredness.
Since the structural nature of all requiredness is implied in
this word, but not in the term "value," I have generally
avoided the second term although it sounds better as a word.
I have, moreover, gi\en little attention to the fact that such
value-predicates as "right" or "good" or "wrong" are often
used with reference not to parts of contexts, but to the con-
texts themselves. I regard this as a minor issue provided that
the structural nature of requiredness be rccogni/cd not only
in the first but also in the second case. A context as such is
acceptable inasmuch as its parts fit each other; it is wrong
if one of its parts is not a fitting member of just this context.
Of course, contexts as such may also be objects oi positive or
negative 'subjective* valuation and thus become members of
a larger context (C/. ch. 3, pp. 98 fT.).
Secondly: Within the context in question requiredness
is a dependent characteristic that has no existence of its
own, apart from the entities that fit or do not fit each
other in these contexts.
Thirdly: All requiredness transcend* from certain parts
of a context to others of the same context. Like all other
kinds of reference, it is in this sense a directed translocal
FACTS AND FORCES 337
trait, a vector, that cannot be split into bits which have a
merely local existence.
The term "transcendence" does not at this point refer to a
transition from the phenomenal realm into another, or vice
versa. Where such a transition actually occurs we have to
deal (a) with transcendence in the general present sense, and
(b) with transcendence in that more particular meaning
which is exemplified by our instances in the field of memory.
All references "transcend" in our present sense, i.e., they are
essentially not "things," but rather "steps" from one thing to
another. To this extent they "transcend" even when both the
things in question and the references themselves are clearly
given in the phenomenal field. 3
Fourthly: Requiredness differs strikingly from other
forms of reference by its demanding character. It involves
acceptance or rejection ol the present status of the context
in question, oitcn more particularly, acceptance or i ejec-
tion of some part by the remainder of the context. This
demanding character has degrees of intensity. The lower
this intensity, the more will a condition of merely factual
relation, juxtaposition or sequence be realized.
The adequate phenomenological analysis of required-
ness appears to me as an extraordinaiily difficult task. As
soon as we try to go beyond the simple facts which have
here been enumerated the complete lack of sufficient
preparatory work in this field becomes most disturbingly
apparent. I shall, however, mention two further properties
which requiredncss often exhibits.
Merc acceptance or rejection do not always exhaust its
possibilities. A part is often not simply either wrong or
right in its context. If, for instance, a context is completed
It is perhaps advisable to add that the woids "translocal" and "local"
need not have a strictly spatial meaning. In many cases they would, for
instance, have to be understood in a tcmpoial sense.
338 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
in a way that approximates, but does not actually reach,
a perfectly right condition, requiredness tends to assume
a perfectionist or correctionist character, inasmuch as the
direction in which the given situation differs from a per-
fect condition may be directly indicated in the given situa-
tion. Thus, if I am hungry, food is welcomed in my en-
vironment even when distant; it is to this extent accepted.
But there is this additional trait in the situation that the
food "ought to be nearer." Similarly, if a visual configura-
tion is not entirely balanced a certain part may appear not
simply as "out of place/' but as "a trifle too high," "too
much to the left," "too heavy," and so on. In this sense
requiredness often tends to improve given situations
by pointing to changes which would result in such
improvement.
It seems to me that such a positively correctionist behavior
of requiredness will be found merely in cases in which a con-
tinuous transition is possible from the original situation to
the more perfect condition. On the other hand, even negative
requiredness may be considered from the same point of view.
Rejection as such points to removal of a wrong part as a way
of achieving a better condition. Thus negative requiredness,
too, has as a rule a perfectionist character.
I should like to mention another common, but not quite
general trait of requiredness. Acceptance or rejection may
be clearly based on definite characteristics of those facts
which are found to fit or not to fit each other in given
contexts. In logic and also in aesthetics we have many-
cases in which there is to this extent insight into the
actual foundations of requiredness. We cannot contend,
however, that all requiredness follows the same rule. Re-
quiredness as such may be most intense, and yet our in-
sight into its foundation may not go very far. Certain
FACTS AND FORCES 339
colors, for instance, do not fit each other. Sensitive persons
avoid these combinations. But if we were asked by what
properties precisely these colors become incompatible we
should probably not know an answer. The same is true
in many cases of 'subjective* valuation. Here one part of
the context in question is the self, and something in the
environment is the other part to which our positive or
negative attitude refers. We may often find it easy to
indicate approximately on what properties of an object
our liking or disliking is founded. But we do not realize
with the same clearness on what characteristics of our own
self these attitudes depend. For this reason it is, and often
remains, so difficult to understand certain valuations of
others, for example in the field of art or in that of sex.
May I remind the reader that here, just as in the third
chapter, phenomenological description does not merely
refer to such particular values as have places of honor in
books on ethics, aesthetics and logic. Our topic is required-
ness in the generic sense, i.e., all facts without exception
in which beyond mere existence and occurrence there is
an "ought" or an "ought not." Thus the urge toward
revenge after an offence may become very strong in cer-
tain individuals. To hurt the offender cruelly may become
for them a dominating "ought." We do not approve of
this. Ethics subjects requiredness in general to some prin-
ciple of selection according to which certain things must
secondarily be rejected that were primarily objects of posi-
tive requiredness. Again, ethics may ask us to do certain
things which have primarily and as such a negative
"valence." Our analysis remains on the primary level.
I even have the feeling that it might be a good exercise
to examine things on this primary level before we ap-
proach the tremendous task of systematic ethics.
340 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
On the other hand, such a descriptive procedure will be
termed by many "mere speculation/' mainly because it leads
to unfamiliar results. Posuivistically inclined scientists, for in-
stance, will not like to hear about "dependent characteristics"
which belong exclusively to structures or contexts. Moreover,
they may admit it as a fact that the subject accepts some parts
of his environment, and that he objects to others. If I say,
however, that this fact implies transcendence often over a
great phenomenal distance from the self to the object in
question, and that acceptance or rejection is tantamount to
such curious transcending reference, the same critics might
be greatly disturbed by so much "mysticism." I dare not
imagine what they might think of such transcendence as was
here said to pass even bejond the phenomenal realm. For
two centuries now Positivistic thinking has made us lay all
stress on static self-contained contents of experience plus
relations taken in an abstract and indifferent sense, while
little attention is given to our awareness of specific "belonging"
and of specific "references." The result is that we became
unable to settle even such an elementary dispute as that
between Phenomenalism and Realism (C/. ch. 4). And for
the same reason it appears to our time as a paradox that in
a world of facts there are everywhere values. All science and
philosophy is occupied with finding a system of concepts that
make our experiences understandable. How can this attempt
be successful, if Positivistic thought refuses to rccogm/e some
of the most essential and general characteristics of experience?
It may be that Positivism once meant a laudable tendency to
admit only concepts whose meaning could be traced to definite
experiences. Long since, however, Positivism has become a
doctrine in which only such experiences are freely admitted
as belong in a particular class, the class of "mere facts." In
other words, Positivism knows now what the constitution of
the world must be; it represents in this sense a dogmatic
attitude.
It will facilitate the following discussions if we now
apply the same procedure to the concept of force as has
just been used in the 'case of requiredness.
FACTS AND FORCES 341
It may be repeated over and over again that from an
epistemological point of view a force is merely an auxiliary
concept which we find it convenient to use in the mathe-
matical treatment of physical problems; when we think
about concrete physical situations we shall none the
less think oi forces as vectors which actually accelerate
or retard displacements. I do not believe that it will be
possible really to eliminate this dynamic view of physical
events. And, as a matter of fact, I am not convinced that
we have any good reason for trying to do so.
At any rate, for our present purpose it seems to me
advisable to think about physical facts in dynamic terms
just as the physicists usually do it. In this sense I shall now
attempt to indicate the meaning of the concept "force."
Properly speaking this term cannot be defined. To be sure,
it is easy to say how the intensity of a particular force is
to be measured. But in measuring a force we take the
meaning of this term for granted. 4 Ultimately a phenom-
enological source of the concept "force" must be given.
And it must then be shown to what extent we are entitled
to ascribe anything like this phenomenal datum to the
physical world. For the moment it will suffice if we point
out in what manner the physicists officially or unofficially
use the term "force." This limits the possibilities of our
analysis. Just as in the case of requiredness we can only
enumerate characteristics of such situations as contain
the factor of which we are speaking. It is in the nature
of this task that the outcome of our description will at
first appear as trivial. After all, we have no desire to make
new discoveries about forces; we wish merely to see dy-
namic situations in such a light that a comparison between
the concept of force and that of requiredness becomes
* Cf. ch. 5, pp. 147 ff.
342 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
possible. The following propositions may assist us in this
task.
First: An entity is subjected to a force within a context
of other entities.
Secondly: Within a context a force is a dependent char-
acteristic in the sense that it has no existence of its own
apart from the entities between which it operates.
Thirdly: Forces transcend from certain parts ot a con-
text to others of the same context. They arc tianslocal
directed traits of contexts that cannot be split into bits
which have a merely local existence.
Fourthly: In the \ery meaning of the term it is implied
that a force points beyond its present existence to a
change which it is about to bring lorth Whether or not
such a change will actually occur, the "tendency" toward
it cannot be eliminated from the concept force without
destroying its sense. Forces either futtlier the formation
of a context or they resist it. In the first case they also re-
sist the dissolution of the context; in the second they
further its dissolution. Therefore they also finthcr or
resist the approach of new parts which are bi ought into a
given context. When contexts are in a state of equilibrium,
forces tend to maintain this state. Both the positive and
the negative operation of forces may occur in all degrees
of intensity. Thus, as regards forces, there may be besides
positive and negative cases also indifferent situations.
The direction in which forces tend to change given
contexts has been discussed in the last chapter. It seems
advisable once more to remember what was then said.
If only two objects constitute the system in question this
direction can generally be described in the very simplest
terms. In this case forces tend to shorten the distance
between the objects, i.e., to make their functional relation
FACTS AND FORCES 343
more intimate, or they tend to increase this distance, i.e.,
to weaken their functional relation. In more complicated
cases, we found, science has no such direct way of indi
eating in what direction the forces of a system tend to
change the system. This is due to the fact that under such
circumstances there is not merely one force that operates
between two objects, but a pattern of forces that act in
different directions of space. In each of the possible con-
figurations, the physicist would have to say, a system con-
tains as a whole a certain amount of stress or, to use a
more technical and correct expression, of potential energy. 5
The pattern of forces in a system tends to lessen the amount
of this energy. The same rule the Law of Dynamic Direc-
tionholds of course also in the simpler cases in which
forces tend to produce either an increase or a decrease of
the distance between two objects; because such effects, too,
are invariably associated with a reduction of available
potential energy. The very generality of this principle
involves, however, a great weakness in that it gives the
principle a high degree of abstractness. What changes of
actual configurations are brought about when the poten-
tial energy of a more complicated system decreases? We
have no well-established theorem that expresses the direc-
tion ol such changes in terms of configuration rather than
of potential energy. As a single exception Mach's prin-
ciple may be cited, which states that, when a condition of
equilibrium is approximated, forces tend to give the sys-
tem the most regular configuration of which it is capable.
s May I icpeat that here as elsewhere in this investigation I am not
referring to electiomagnetic and elect rodynatnic e\ents to which the
concept of potential eneigy cannot he simply applied These events are of
no intciest in our picsent discussion I am also ignoring all physical
situations in which, besides forces, meie inert velocities determine actual
displacements. These situations are again irrelevant to the following
argument.
344 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
In Mach's formulation, however, the term "regularity"
is not clearly defined; it is, therefore, difficult to apply the
principle to configurations which are not "regular" in an
immediately obvious sense. It remains nevertheless true
that whether or not we can describe it in clear configura-
tional terms there is a general direction in all transforma-
tions which the forces of given systems tend to realize.
Thus, if a system is not yet balanced, its actual con-
figuration, including the pattern of its forces, indicates
the particular direction of those imminent changes by
which the forces tend to make it better balanced.
To what extent do we "understand" the behavior of forces?
If we know the parts of a context between which forces are
active, and if we also know what properties these parts possess,
the nature of the forces in question is thereby given. It is
strictly determined by the nature of those parts; so that we
can, for instance, predict in what direction the forces will
operate, whether they will tend to make the given context
more intimate or to dissolve it, and so forth.
To be sure, the elementary laws which thus connect given
materials with certain forces are at the present time entirely
empirical, i.e., they cannot be deduced from any other knowl-
edge. Most physicists will even be inclined to think that in
this respect no further progress of science is to be expected.
We do not know why an electron resists the approach of a
second electron, or why an electron and a proton will attract
each other. It is at least possible that we shall never know.
On the other hand, once the association between elementary
materials and elementary forces is given, the more particular
configurations which the forces will tend to rcali/e can gen-
erally be deduced from such knowledge and from the cir-
The medium through which the forces act may, it is true, exert an
influence on the intensity of the forces between two objects However,
this fact means merely that there is a primary interaction between those
objects and the medium Cf. the "polari/ation" of a non-conductor by
which the electrostatic force between two charged objects is akcied. Here
the "medium" itself belongs to the "parts of the given context."
FACTS AND FORCES 345
cumstances which obtain in concrete cases. If, for example* the
molecules of a liquid attract each other more strongly than
do these molecules and those of a second surrounding fluid,
it follows immediately that such forces will tend to give the
common surface of the liquids the smallest possible area.
Again, the Law of Dynamic Direction is valid whatever spe-
cial material and, therefore, whatever forces a system may
contain. Indeed, the Law of Dynamic Direction may simply
follow from the very concept of forces, as this concept is used
in physics. In this case the law would of course be independent
of those particular empirical rules which indicate what special
forces operate between particular materials.
II
We are now acquainted with the way in which re-
quiredncss appears as a characteristic of certain phenom-
enal situations; and we also know about the manner in
which forces play a part in the make-up of physical situa-
tions. These formal descriptions enable us to compare one
case with the other, the concept of requircdness with that
of force.
First: Just as something is phenomenally required with-
in a context of other things, so a physical object is sub-
jected to a force in a context of other physical objects.
Secondly: Just as requiredness is a dependent charac-
teristic that has no existence apart from the data which
fit or do not fit each other, so no force exists apart from
those entities between which it operates.
Thirdly: All requiredness transcends from certain parts
of a context to others of the same context; and this is also
true of forces. Both requiredness and forces are directed
translocal traitsof their situations that cannot be split
into bits which have a merely local existence.
There is little in these three points that does not hold
346 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
for all kinds of reference in general. It is the fourth point
by which both requiredness and forces are more specifically
characterized: Requiredness means that a given context
either accepts its own constitution and the nature of its
own parts, or that it rejects some phase of this given status.
Requiredness is either final and complete, or it demands
such changes as would lead to a more completely accept-
able state. It may also assume the form of objection to
such changes as make requiredness less complete. The
forces of a physical context maintain the status of this
context, the configuration and the nature of its parts, if
its constitution is that of an equilibrium. If a context is
not balanced its forces constitute a pressure in the direc-
tion of balance. On the other hand, forces resist such
changes as lead away from balance.
Thus, requiredness and forces resemble each other in
one further respect. Both are "positive" or "negative"
with regard to the status of those given contexts in which
they occur. To this extent there is in the nature of both
something that "mere" facts do not exhibit. More particu-
larly, there is correspondence between final acceptance in
the case of requiredness and maintenance of a balanced
state in the case of forces. There is also correspondence
between the positively demanding nature of required-
ness, that points toward more completely acceptable states
of phenomenal contexts, and the positive tendency of
forces that point toward more completely balanced physi-
cal configurations. Lastly, there is correspondence between
the objection involved in negative requiredness and the
resistance which forces oppose to the formation of certain
physical contexts.
A moment ago it became apparent that, quite apart from
their thoroughly dynamic nature, requiredness and forces
FACTS AND FORCES 347
occupy structurally identical positions in their respective
contexts. So much followed from an examination of
their first three characteristics. This structural resemblance
extends, however, to the dynamic characteristics of de-
mands and forces. To repeat: We find that "dynamic
maintenance within a balanced state" is the homologue of
"acceptance within a phenomenal context"; that the "posi-
tive pressure" of forces which point toward increased
balance is the homologue of a "positively correcting de-
mand" in the phenomenal world; and that the "resistance
of forces" against the formation of certain configurations
is the homologue of "negative requiredness" or "rejection"
in experience.
When enumerating the characteristics of requiredness I
mentioned that from one instance to another the degree of
insight which we have into the foundations of demands may
vary considerably. In the case of forces a somewhat similar
situation seemed to obtain, inasmuch as sometimes forces
clearly represent the very nature of those materials between
which they act, while in other cases forces do not seem quite
as sensibly connected with the properties of the materials.
It is probably too early to compare requiredness and forces in
this respect. A more thorough phenomcnological study of
value-situations and a more complete analysis of macroscopic
physical states appear to me as strongly needed for this
purpose.
The challenge which our present situation contains will
become more urgent if we compare requiredness and
forces not merely in general and in abstracto, but in cases
in which they appear as directly and concretely associated.
For this purpose we shall now consider phenomenal situa-
tions that contain the factor of requiredness, and we shall
try to construct the cortical correlates of such situations.
348 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
Since we wish to discuss a matter of principle, any simple
example will serve our purposes.
Fir. 3
The reader will probably not find that the curve in
figure 3 is entirely "right." The curve in figure 4 is
"better." In the first curve it is the region indicated by a
question-mark which appears objectionable in the visual
context as a whole. So far we have merely confirmed what
FIG
we knew beforehand about requiredness as a dependent
characteristic of certain contexts and about its transcend-
ing character: The objection issues from the main parts
of the curve and is directed toward that particular region.
For many observers there will be a correctionist tendency
in this objection. Not only is that particular region
"wrong"; it "ought to be changed" in a definite fashion.
FACTS AND FORCES 349
So far as the author's visual field is concerned, all parts
accept each other in the second curve.
A curve in the visual field is a segregated figure. If we
adopt the theory that was given in the sixth chapter, the
cortical correlate of the curve is a macroscopic process.
This process is segregated from the environment by the
difference between its own chemical properties and those
of the environment. In consequence of this the same cir-
cumscribed process assumes at once a particular electric
role. 7 Phenomenally, the gross structure of the curve
makes one particular part of it appear as wrong. Whatever
one may think of isomorphism in other respects, one will
naturally assume that there is at least one correspondence
between this rejection in the visual field and its correlate
in the striate area: What I called the gross structure of
the curve as a percept is neurally represented by certain
parts of the "cortical curve*'; similarly the wrong part of
the percept-curve has its counterpart in a particular part
of the neural curve. Where, then, shall we locate the cor-
relate of an objection that the former parts raise to the
shape of the latter? Somewhere else in the striate area?
Between cortical processes the phenomenal counterparts of
which do not object to each other? Certainly not; for once
isomorphism becomes almost a necessity. Everybody will
postulate that, if the rejection of one part of a percept
by other parts is at all cortically represented, this correlate
of rejection must be a neural fact which extends between
the homologous parts of the percept-process. One will also
grant that this correlate of phenomenal objection "does
something" about the correlate of the wrong part with
reference to the correlate of the gross outline. There is,
however, only one kind of physical fact that represents the
fCf. ch. 6, pp. 2isf.
350 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
characteristics of physical states in their environment and
can thus "do something" about other physical states. These
facts are fields of force. It follows for our present instance
that only forces could occupy the same structural position
in the neural field as requiredness occupies in the corre-
sponding phenomenal configuration.
The example which we are now considering is one of
negative requiredness, of rejection. According to our gen-
eral analysis, "resistance" and "pressure against" parts of
a given physical context correspond structurally to rejec-
tion in experience. This would apply to the present psy-
chophysical problem, to the relation between rejection
and its neural correlate, if we had reason to expect that in
this instance forces really act as a pressure against the
wrong part of the curve or, rather, against the neural cor-
relate of this part. There is, indeed, one obvious reason
for making just this assumption. In the main outline of
the curve a simple regularity, an even flow, is indicated.
This regularity is disturbed by the part to which, phe-
nomenally, the other parts object. The present example
belongs, therefore, to those cases to which Mnch's prin-
ciple refers: Forces act in the direction of more regular
and more even configurations. Any forces that the cortical
situation may here contain should thus assume the form
of a pressure against the disturbing part. Actually we find
not only that such a pressure within the neural substratum
is to be expected as the counterpart of objection in experi-
ence. Requiredness has in our example a correctionist tend-
ency. On inspecting the curve we see that the disturbing
part ought to be rounder, that it ought to bend farther
downward. Precisely this is the direction which pressure
must have in the neural correlate of our figure if, in ac-
FACTS AND FORCES 351
cordance with Mach's principle, this correlate is to tend
toward a more even shape.
I do not wish to burden this discussion with technical
matters. But a few words may be needed about the nature
of those forces which we assume to operate between the parts
of the "cortical curve." This curve is pervaded and sur-
rounded by an electric current, and the distribution of this
current depends on the shape of the curve (C/. ch. 6, p. 214).
Such a current, however, represents not merely an electric
displacement. At each point of the current there is an electro-
static field that maintains the electric flow. As a matter of
fact, the current and the field have everywhere the same direc-
tion, and the intensity of the former is at each point propor-
tional to that of the latter. We are thus entitled to speak of a
self-distribution of electric forces as well as of a distribution
of current. One does not occur without the other. Now, it is
well known that a pattern of electric force represents a store
of potential energy. This energy tends to decrease. It would
do so if the distribution of both the current and the forces
were to become more regular. The only way in which this
could be achieved is a change in the shape of the curve.
Consequently the forces will exert a pressure on the curve,
more particularly on those of its parts which prevent a higher
degree of regularity and of balance. 8
We need not at this point repeat our general compari-
son of requiredness and of forces in detail. It would now
be a comparison between a particular form of requiredness
as observed in a concrete perceptual situation and the role
which forces play in the neural correlate of the same situ-
ation. Just as requiredness transcends as a form of refer-
ence from the main outline of the curve to a particular
part of it, so the pressure in the underlying substratum
represents the relation that obtains among the correlates
of those same parts. Just as requiredness is a dependent
s C/. Die physischen Geitalten, etc., pp. 251 ff.
352 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
characteristic in the perceptual situation, so the pressure
is a dependent trait of the corresponding neural sub-
stratum. Requiredness appears in this case as objection
to a part that does not fit the other parts of the percept;
accordingly the pressure is exerted upon the correlate of
the same part, because in its relation to the other parts it
makes a more balanced distribution of forces impossible.
In the visual field it is indicated in what direction the
curve must be changed if it is to become entirely accept-
able; in the neural substratum the pressure points to a
more balanced configuration. And the direction which
is indicated in visual experience coincides with the direc-
tion toward which the pressure points in the underlying
substratum. In every structural respect the forces occupy
in the neural situation the same position as that which
requiredness occupies in the phenomenal situation. We
may draw the conclusion that in the present perceptual
situation requiredness has a neural correlate, and that
this correlate is the tension which the neural substratum
of the situation contains. It appears that in our example
requiredness and its neural counterpart are isomorphic.
With our present neurological knowledge we can think
much more clearly about the correlates of visual experi-
ence than about those of any other psychological facts.
We could for this reason discuss many more examples in
which requiredness belongs to the data of the visual field.
In all these cases, however, the construction of neural
counterparts of requiredness would lead to the same con-
clusion: We should find that forces play the same role
within the macroscopic cortical processes as that which
various forms of experienced demands assume in the cor-
responding perceptual situations. As these demands vary
from one situation to another, so the behavior of those
FACTS AND FORCES 353
forces would be found to vary in the neural substratum.
I refrain from considering such instances, because they
would teach us little that is not contained in our first
example. It seems preferable to choose as a second para-
digm a case of subjective requiredness. I do it at the risk
of making somewhat less definite statements about the
neural correlate of the situation to which it refers.
Among my favorite colors is a very dark green. Some
coniferous trees in America exhibit this color; occasionally
I have seen it in a woman's dress. I cannot explain why
just this hue should look so delightful, but it does; it
attracts me strongly. This, I suppose, is an example of
'subjective' requiredness. We may take it for granted
that the neural coi relate of the green is a chemical reac-
tion in circumscribed parts of my visual cortex. If I fixate
the object in question these parts would be the occipital
poles of the biain, because these correspond to the foveae.
We are less \vell informed about the neural correlate of
the self. To be sure, the self is to some extent represented
in the visual field; but in several respects this visual self
has a merely secondary importance, and it is certainly not
this component of the self that feels attracted by the
green. Another component belongs to the tactual and
kinaesthctic sphere. It has a more central position in the
constitution of the self; but I doubt very much whether it
is this part on which the color primarily exerts its influence.
I doubt it because I believe that the James-Lange theory
of emotional states contains only a modicum of truth. It
seems quite possible that our 'affective states are not spe-
cifically related to any sense modalities. My predilection
for that color, on the other hand, certainly has something
fl The term 'subjective* has here the purely phenomenological mean-
ing that was indicated in ch. 3.
354 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
to do with my emotional life. We know that the visual
representation of the self must be located in the striate
area. The neural correlate of the self in so far as it is
tactually and kinaesthetically perceived will be ascribed
to the posterior central gyrus. No attempts to localize the
neural substratum of a person's emotional states seem as
yet to have passed beyond the stage of guess-work. To
whatever parts of the brain further research may actually
attribute these affections, experience points to the most in-
timate functional connection between the various cortical
components of the self. Although many sources contribute
to its make-up, the 'subjective' part of the phenomenal
field, including the emotional life, the kinaesthetic and the
visual components of the self, represents under normal con-
ditions a unit which as such has commerce with the Ob-
jective' world. We are thus forced to postulate a similarly
intimate organization and centralization of all the neural
events which underlie the phenomenal self. And as the
phenomenal self generally represents one entity in its com-
merce with the 'objective' world, so its complex neural
correlate will behave as a unit in its functional relations
with the correlates of 'objective' percepts. Any ideas about
the neural substratum of 'subjective' requireclncss which
we may develop will, therefore, refer to the fact that the
complex neural correlate of the self forms at different
times the most varied functional contexts with equally
varied correlates of 'objective' percepts. 10
It seems unlikely that requiredness has one neural sub-
stratum in one case and an entirely different correlate,
or none at all, in another case. In fact, once the self and a
10 Besides the correlates of 'objective' percepts, those of images and
concepts may of course become partners of the neural self in such
contexts. We need not assume that our problem is in this case entirely
different from that which a perceptual situation offers.
FACTS AND FORCES 355
color in the visual field are considered as parts of a con-
text in which the color appears as a good or delightful
object, and in this sense as required, all further reasoning
will necessarily follow the course which we pursued in
our discussion of the first example. It does not matter
whether we say that the color "does something" to the
self, or that the self "does something" to the color; in
either case we shall have to assume that the neural cor-
relate of one "does something" to the correlate of the
other. This can happen only if forces act between the
neural self and the neural color. These forces, I suggest,
owe their origin to the relation which obtains between the
neural self, as it is constituted at the time, and the nature
of the neural color. In the present instance the action of
these forces would tend to make the functional relation
between the substrata of the self and of the color more in-
timate, just as in phenomenal terms the "acceptance" of
the color shows a slightly correctionist tendency, in that I
"feel attracted" by this visual object and may tend to ap-
proach it. I cannot say why between my neural self and this
neural color precisely such a dynamic relationship should
obtain; or why a grey, for instance, should be a "neutral"
color when compared with most hues. And for the time
being my ambition does not reach so far. I wish to point
out merely that as a matter of principle a correlate of
'subjective* rcquiredness can be constructed, and that this
role could be assumed by one single class of physical facts,
which is the class of forces. If forces are the neural coun-
terparts of 'subjective* requiredness, they occupy the same
position in the correlate of the given situation as that
which "acceptance" and "attractedness" occupy in this
phenomenal situation itself. In other words, such forces
represent 'subjective' requiredness isomorphically.
356 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
In a previous analysis I called attention to the fact that
objects may acquire particular characteristics when they be-
come the goals of demanding vectors (Cf. ch. 3, pp. 79 f.). It
might be asked whether forces in the neural substratum
could also change the characteristics of those correlates on
which they act. There is no question about this; they can.
We could sohe this part of our problem with little difficulty.
Its discussion would, however, lead us into so many techni-
calities that I prefer not to undertake it here.
The color of our last example could be replaced by
many other percepts which, of course, need not appear just
in the visual field, and which may exhibit all degrees of
complexity. That we remain entirely indifferent to per-
cepts to which we attend at all is probably an exception;
that requiredness of some lorm or another accompanies
their appearance seems almost the rule, although our posi-
tive or negative attitudes have tor the most part little in-
tensity. Many percepts, it is true, would not be strongly
valued if it were not for acquired meanings with which
they have been imbued by previous experiences, by learn-
ing in the widest sense. Neural ly such meanings may have
locations which differ from those of the percepts to which
they phenomenally adhere. It is none the less obvious that
in many cases the functional connection between the cor-
relates of the percepts and those of their acquired mean-
ings must have a degree of intimacy that makes them
units for most practical purposes. In this sense, through
previous experience, percepts may secondarily become
value-objects in their relation to the self, and percept-
correlates may become more than /?rr/>/-correlates. Once
this is granted, the neural theory of subjective required-
ness will apply to such hybrid-percepts in their relation to
the self, just as it applies to percepts which are as such
attractive or repulsive. At least, if any new questions arise
FACTS AND FORCES 357
in this connection, it is the theory of "associations" rather
than that of requiredness which will have to deal with
these problems.
Not only percepts as such and percepts with acquired
meanings, but also concepts, other ideational contents and
symbols with their meanings areor become positively
or negatively required. A psychophysical theory of de-
mands will have to be applicable to all these cases or to
none. It is the very basis of human motivation with which
we are now concerned. Food and drink, flowers and
money, books and music, landscapes and persons, a nation
or a principle, determine our behavior inasmuch as their
presence, or our thought of them, involves that of corre-
sponding demands which may issue from their side or
from that of our selves. Obviously there are no drives,
urges or "instincts" that do not belong to our present
topic. In this situation it will simplify the presentation of
my point of view a good deal if I may give it once more
a somewhat blunt expression: In a metaphorical fashion
the springs of human action have often been called
"forces." It appears that, if these springs have any counter-
parts, these counterparts can only be forces in the strict
sense of the term. On the other hand, if they are actually
forces, their behavior within contexts of neural events will
resemble human motivation to such an extent that I doubt
whether structurally and functionally any difference will
be left. 11
HI have not been able to sec quite clcaily to what extent this view
differs fioin Piofessoi K Lcwm's ideas (K. Lcwin, Pnnctpln of Topological
Psychology, 1936, p 79 ff). When Lewin speaks of psychological dynamics
he refrains fiom refeinng to the hi am and from using the language
of physiology or physics. I feel sine, however, that in the fmther devel-
opment of the picsent thcoiy Lcwin's impoitant discovenes will play an
essential role.
358 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
I should perhaps add a short remark that will serve to
prevent a misunderstanding. According to this view, forces
within neural contexts determine our activities, but they cer-
tainly do not do it directly. Cortical tensions will often be
unable essentially to change the neural configurations within
which they exert their pressure. Neurally the self and a pleas-
ant visual percept remain distant from each other even though
forces may tend to make their functional relation more inti-
mate. There is, however, one way in which these forces can
achieve indirectly what they do not achieve immediately. In
overt action the innervations of our musculature seem to de-
pend on those patterns of macroscopic cortical processes
which represent our situation at the time. If our assumption
is correct they represent our situation in this sense, too, that
both the presence and the direction of a demand have an
isomorphic counterpart, a tension whose direction corresponds
to that of the demand. It seems plausible to assume that the
energy of such tensions is normally spent in stimulating motor
areas of the cortex and in thus bringing about overt action.
What would follow? With overt action the situation of the
organism in its relation to its objects will change. As this
situation changes, the pattern of cortical processes must
change, because it pictures that situation. If, therefore, in-
nervation follows those directions which are indicated in the
cortical tensions, these tensions will now, via overt action,
be released. In other words: Neurally the self and its goal
will approach each other if the organism moves toward the
object in question. But the organism actually moves and, I as-
sume, it moves in this particular direction, because neurally
there is a tension which has the corresponding direction be-
tween the self and the goal. This tension is spent in "steering"
overt action; in doing this it produces just the effect which
was implied in its own direction.
I need not mention especially that this short story contains
about as many unsolved physiological problems as it con-
tains sentences. In fact, it is meant to emphasize these prob-
lems as problems.
FACTS AND FORCES 359
I have yet to show how the present psychophysical in-
terpretation of requiredness applies to those instances in
which demands were found to transcend in the more
specific sense of the term either from beyond the phe-
nomenal field into this field, or conversely, from this field
to hidden entities beyond. It was such observations that
first called our attention to the fact that the behavior of
forces resembles that of demands. If demands can both
issue fiom and be fulfilled by entities which belong to the
physical world, they must at the point of their origin as
well as at their object or goal be adequately represented
by physical vectors. These vectors, it appeared, must be
forces. We then undertook a search for the neural counter-
part of requiredness in general. This led to the conclusion
that the correlates of experienced demands are forces, and
that between these correlates and the demands themselves
the relation of isomorphism obtains. It is not a difficult
task to unite these two lines of thought: When required-
ness transcends from or into the phenomenal field, into or
from the realm of traces, it is as such a matter of direct
experience. In the first case we are also aware of the fact
that the demand which transcends beyond the phe-
nomenal field is fulfilled by a hidden entity; we merely do
not see yet by what specific properties of this entity it is
fulfilled. In the second case the demand is clearly felt to
issue from a hidden entity, although for the time being
this entity remains inaccessible. If we are right in assum-
ing that the neural correlates of demands are forces which
act within neural contexts, transcendence in this specific
sense must obviously mean that such functional contexts
need not be fully represented in phenomenal experience. 12
The forces which they contain are so represented as de-
i- Cf. W. Kohlci, Die physiuhen Gestalten, etc. p. 202.
360 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
mands. The fact that there is balance is represented as
our awareness of "fitting." Again, the fact that those forces
depend on the particular characteristics of a trace is
represented; the hidden "right thing" from which or to-
ward which the demand tianscencls is pointed at by direct
implication. Lastly, some "materials" of the neural con-
text aie phenomenally represented; in one case we ex-
perience the phenomenal datum (the "test-object") that
does or does not fulfil a demand from beyond; in the
other case there is the incomplete phenomenal context
from which the demand transcends to the hidden entity
and accepts it. The only aspect ot the neural context that
has no phenomenal counterpart in these instances is the
specific nature of its hidden member, the memory tiace.
Nobody knows under what circumstances a neural fact re-
veals itself in what we call a person's phenomenal field,
and under what other conditions it is moit 1 reticent Any
speculation on this topic would lie entirely outside the
scope of this investigation.
Ill
The concept of forces has gradually become the center
of our discussion. The way in which I speak of it is, how-
ever, not altogether in harmony with the connotation that
the same term has for many people. The moic popular
view seems to be that when an object is subjected to a force
it plays an altogether passive role. Unawares if this
anthropomorphic expression be admitted the poor thing
is pulled or pushed from one place to another. Similarly,
other objects are driven through space by forces to which
they have to submit as to foreign agents, and all these
events taken together are "the facts of nature." This is not
FACTS AND FORCES 361
an attractive picture; nor do we see how requiredness
could have any place in it. Psychologists who are inter-
ested in the genesis of human ideas will probably find
the history of this particular notion extremely interesting.
But for our present purpose its only importance is that
of an obstacle, of a misleading idea. When we speak of
passive objects which submit to forces we ignore the fact
that forces are characteristics of contexts, and that, if they
operate on some objects, they also issue from others. These,
the agents, would then appear to be just as active as the
former objects are passive. As a matter of fact, no such dis-
tinction between an active and an entirely passive part
is admissible in the description of dynamic situations.
Whether any force operates between two objects depends
on the characteristics of both; it is again the nature of
both which determines whether siuh a force will tend to
weaken their functional relation by repulsion or to make
it more intimate by attraction. After all, the content of
concrete observations is what happens to a context, not
how an object is displaced under the impact of ''a force"
in abstiacto.
Abstrac tncss and vagueness of thought may in more than
one way prevent us from realizing the actual import of the
theoiy which has been outlined in this chapter. It will
help us to sec the theoretical situation more clearly if we
examine the following question: Are we or are we not
proposing one more kind of natuialistic thinking, if struc-
turally and functionally we identify requiredness with
what we call forces in physics? One might be greatly
tempted to answer in the affirmative because of some such
reasoning as this: Causation decides what happens in na-
ture. But in each particular case causation is represented
by the forces which operate in this case. It follows that
362 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
whatever happens in nature is due to the operation of
forces. Conversely, since forces have no business except
that of determining the events of nature, the concept "op-
eration of forces" is coextensive with that of "facts of
nature." On the other hand, requiredness was said to be
in each case structurally and functionally isomorphic with
forces that operate in the underlying neural correlate. It
seems to follow that requiredness is practically identified
with such "facts of nature" as constitute those correlates.
And this proposition would surely amount to a particular
form of naturalism. All facts which occur in a person's
brain are causally determined; i.e., according to this reason-
ing they are due to forces. If requiredness as a phenomenal
datum exhibits no structural and functional chaiacteris-
tics beyond those which are contained in accompanying
neural forces, then it has apparently no characteristics be-
yond those ot any neural events or, more particularly, of
any neural correlates. Many such correlates, however, ap-
pear to be associated with mere psychological facts. Thus,
there is no difference between the correlates of such psycho-
logical facts and the correlates of demands or values. From
the point of view of isomorphism, therefore, no difference
would obtain between mere phenomenal facts and re-
quiredness. Indeed, how can the meaning of "ought
to" be distinguished from that of "is" or of "happens," if
"ought to," "is" and "happens" arc all swallowed by one
such general concept as causation? Actually, the swallowing
might become a bit hard in the case of negative required-
ness, of an "ought not" that opposes a fact. But this, it
seems, serves only to show that the theory is not only
naturalistic but also untenable inasmuch as it fails to do
justice to an obvious observation. We do experience a dif-
ference between facts as such and demands which may or
FACTS AND FORCES 363
may not be fulfilled by these facts. So long as this difference
is not explained something must be wrong with the theory.
We cannot answer this criticism unless we know what
we mean by naturalism. A theory of requiredness might
be called naturalistic merely because it establishes a strict
correlation between requiredness and some phase of na-
ture. In this sense the present theory would rightly be called
naturalistic. However, what we commonly understand by a
naturalistic interpretation of value is something different.
In this second sense of the term a certain assumption
about nature is involved, namely, that it is a realm of
mere existence and of mere facts; in other words, that na-
ture exhibits no dualism that would correspond to the
dualism of "mere facts" and "oughts" in experience. It is
a naturalism with this premise to which objections are
lightly being raised in logic, aesthetics and ethics. If we
were to adopt this premise, and were then to establish a
direct relation between values and something in nature,
our theory would undoubtedly commit the very error that
is attributed to naturalism; such a theory would be an
attempt to reduce values to indifferent facts, and would
thus contradict the very simplest phenomenological ob-
servations.
But is it under all circumstances wrong to search in
nature for a counterpart of requiredness? Is it wrong, what-
ever view of nature we may have? It cannot be, unless we
know a priori that nature must be a realm of mere facts,
and that, therefore, it cannot contain any dualism which
would compare with that of "facts" and "oughts."
When I tried to show that requiredness and the forces
of corresponding neural contexts are isomorphic, I avoided
the term "causation" altogether. My reason tor doing this
was that the general concept of causally determined events
364 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
covers many facts for which the forces of given contexts
are not responsible. It is incorrect to say that "causally
determined facts in nature" and "the operation of forces
within contexts" are two expressions for the same thing.
There is a dualism in nature no less than in human ex-
perience. And the constitution of nature itself beats little
resemblance to that view ot the physical world which both
the naturalistic theories of requircdness and their oppo-
nents take for granted. In an abbreviated expression: The
physical world itself is not "naturalistic"; because it con-
tains, on the one hand, facts as such and, on the other hand,
dynamic factors which either oppose or facilitate the oc-
currence of these facts.
This dualism will be apparent from a consideration of
the Law of Dynamic Direction. Why do the physicists give
so little weight to this law that they rarely formulate it
expressly as a general theorem? Because they have decided
to describe nature from the point of view of actual events.
The Law of Dynamic Direction, however, may or may not
indicate what really happens in a given system. It is pri-
marily a law about the behavior of forces, not a law about
the course of actual events. The direction which the pioc-
esses of a system really take may differ widely from the
direction which the law prescribes for the operation ot
forces. The reason for this difference is that incit velocities
for which the forces are not responsible may be quite as
much causal determinants of actual events as are the forces
of the system (Cf. ch. 8, pp. 307 f.). Thus, real displace-
ments may occur against these forces as well as in their
direction. It is merely when sufficient friction eliminates all
inert velocities that the Law of Dynamic Direction, the law
of forces, becomes at the same time a law of actual displace-
ments. Consequently we are not allowed to identify "the
FACTS AND FORCES 365
operation of forces" with "everything that happens in
nature/'
There are no inert velocities in cortical processes. To
this extent the present argument does not apply to psycho-
physical problems. But we have other reasons to distin-
guish between the operation of forces and causally deter-
mined facts in general. May I once more make use of
a distinction which plays an important part in mathe-
matical physics. Any particular dynamic problem in this
science will be formulated in terms, first, of general laws
that apply to this problem and, secondly, of "given con-
ditions," i.e., of those concrete and established circum-
stances which happen to obtain at the time when the
processes in question occur. Within certain limits these
conditions may be arbitrarily given. More particularly,
they may be determined by circumstances which have
nothing to do with the forces of the system under con-
sideration. 1 -*
This distinction can be directly applied to the central
nervous system. The distiibution of processes within the
visual cortex, for instance, will be dctci mined in part by
forces which are inherent in these piocesscs themselves.
But their distribution depends quite as much on a given
pattern of retinal stimuli. To be sure, this retinal pattern
is not the only given condition on which the distribution
of processes in the striate area depends. Strictly speaking
we should mention as further conditions the given state
of the nervous tissue in the visual coitex, traces that might
exert an influence on present events, and even some fur-
ther factors which are not located in the visual zone. For
brevity's sake I shall not explicitly refer to these additional
u'lhe icacJci will rcmcmhci that the same concept of "given condi-
tions" has been discussed in the eighth chapter (C/. p 312).
3 66 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
circumstances. If I were to do so my argument could
thereby merely become stronger. At any rate it will suf-
fice if we restrict our consideration to these two factors:
conditions which are by retinal stimulation and by nerve
impulses imposed on the visual cortex, and torces which
operate under these circumstances. The retinal conditions
are established by the projection on the retina of points in
the physical environment. In principle these mutually in-
dependent local stimuli may constitute any imaginable
mosaic. Processes will now originate, and forces within
these processes will lead to one organization or another,
to this or that particular context. But there remains under
all circumstances that pattern of imposed conditions, the
nature and the composition of which were given from the
outside. Thus, if neurally a visual situation consists of
processes which are maintained by corresponding forces,
these processes and these forces are not free to select the
circumstances under which they operate. In other words,
what actually happens in the visual cortex is one fact it
depends on both external conditions and operating
forces; the distribution and the direction of forces as such
is a second fact. It is only this second tact to which our
comparison of requiredness and neural forces refers; and
this second fact is not a "mere" fact. Processes have to as-
sume a distribution which corresponds to those given con-
ditions. But such a distribution may be well balanced in
one case, much less so in a second case. Therefore, the
forces which are inherent in these processes will either tend
to maintain the present distiibution, or they will point to
changes by which a better balance would be achieved.
Obviously, then, we are justified in distinguishing be-
tween the actual distribution of neural visual facts as such
and dynamic tendencies by which these processes react
FACTS AND FORCES 367
upon their own configuration. In the example of the curve
which we considered a while ago this point must be per-
fectly evident. Conditions of retinal stimulation are re-
sponsible for the fact that one part of the curve is incom-
patible with a better balanced state. Consequently there
will be in the visual cortex a pressure against this part of
the actual situation. In our theory the correlate of re-
quiredncss is this pressure, not the neural fact thai owing
to peripheral conditions the shape of the curve is not
quite "even." Nobody, I believe, can fail to see that in this
instance there is a dualism of neural facts as such and of
forces which tend either to preserve or to alter these facts.
A few words will suffice to show that the same argument
is applicable to the case of 'subjective' requiredness. We
find ourselves in a friendly environment at one time, in a
disturbing predicament at another. Unpleasant as well as
attractive objects appear before us. Thus our selves often
become members of contexts the other parts of which are
given by external conditions. Such objects and environ-
ments will be valued, they will appear as satisfactory, as
objectionable, and so forth. But we shall have to distin-
guish between their givenness, which may as such be a
mere fact, and the positive or negative value-predicates,
which they acquire in the relation to the self. The neural
substratum of such situations exhibits the same dualism.
In every case there will be a context which consists of the
neural self and of the counterpart of an object or, more
generally, of an environment. The presence of a particular
neural object (or environment) in the neighborhood of
the neural self is a matter of mere fact. But in response
to this neural situation forces or tensions are likely to
develop, and it is only these which our theory regards as
368 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
correlates of any 'subjective* valuation in the phenomenal
field.
I shall of course not deny that the dynamic counterpart of
a 'subjective' demand may become responsible for subsequent
changes of the situation. If, for instance, a given environment
does not appeal to the self, this negative valuation will be
represented by forces that tend to change the neural environ-
ment or to remove the neural self from this neural neighbor-
hood. Either in one way or the other relief may often be
achieved, if the tension leads to corresponding action of the
organism as a whole (C/. p. 358). It is also true that we
often avoid situations before they arc real i /ed, and that we
are in search of others which at the time arc objects of mere
thought. I should not hesitate to apply the hypothesis to
these cases if more were known about the neural counterparts
of ideational processes.
To summarize: It is not my contention that "causation"
is the correlate of requiredness. Such a view would be open
to all the criticism which has been raised against naturalis-
tic interpretations of requiredness. If demands have any
counterpart in the physical world, this counterpart must
be something specific in nature which reacts, positively or
negatively, to actual events or situations. And just as an
"ought" may remain what it is, even though facts do not
submit to it, so its counterpart in nature must point in an
invariant direction, whether or not physical events take
this course. Forces are isomorphic with demands in other
respects. But they also fulfill this most essential condition.
Eddington occasionally hints at the possibility that the
cortical counterpart of "purpose" might be processes which
belong to the domain of entropy, the Second Law of Thermo-
dynamics (The Nature of the Physical World, p. 105). The
following argument may have led to this assumption: Physi-
cists say that the Second Law is the only principle which in-
FACTS AND FORCES 369
dicates in what direction physical events will occur. Purpose
is conspicuous by its directedness. Thus the processes for
which the law holds may appear as natural correlates of pur-
pose. Eddington is one of the few physicists who clearly see
how amazingly interesting the problems of psychophysics will
sooner or later become for their science. In this case, however,
I hesitate to accept his hypothesis. There is more "direction"
in physics than that to which the Second Law refers. Forces are
directed, and in the Law of Dynamic Direction of which the
physicists make little use the general sense of this directedness
is formulated. Under these circumstances it appears to be a
more natural assumption that forces are the correlates of
mental tendencies and purposes, than that d illusion, friction,
or heat conduction play this part. These are the three pro-
cesses which according to the present theory of entropy occur
for reasons of mere probability, and which at the same time
can occur in brain tissue. None of them actually has charac-
teristics which would make it a plausible counterpart of pur-
pose. It may be that Eddington himself would have assigned
this role to forces in macroscopic dimensions, if it were cus-
tomary to give as much attention to macroscopic dynamic
distributions as is commonly given to distributions by chance.
CHAPTER X
MAN AND NATURE
IT is a philosophical task to indicate the place of value
in a world of facts. The way, however, in which we have
tried to accomplish this task has led through the domains
of several sciences. We have been forced to propose solu-
tions of certain problems with which these disciplines deal,
and our final conclusions have a direct bearing on views
which are commonly held by experts in the same fields.
The sciences in question are psychology, neurology, other
branches of biology, and physics.
I do not believe that in our present situation much could
be gained by a further discussion of those assumptions
which we introduced in connection with psychological and
biological questions. Experimental research seems to me
the only procedure that can decide whether these assump-
tions are fruitful in a pragmatic sense, and whether they
are verifiable. This holds first of all for the hypothesis
about the cortical correlates of percepts, which has been
outlined in the sixth chapter. The view that any particular
event in a sensory field will bring forth electric displace-
ments by which its presence and its characteristics are in-
dicated beyond its own locus must lead to consequences
that can be tested. The same is true of the assumption that
neural events register their own occurrence in the manner
370
MAN AND NATURE 371
that has been described in the seventh chapter. The more
general import of both hypotheses is that histological micro-
structures have somewhat less relevance for the correlates
of experience than is usually assumed at the present time.
From a functional point of view, it seems to me, the cortex
should be regarded as a quasi-continuum rather than as a
special arrangement of linear conductors. In this case the
principles ot macroscopic field-physics will apply to the
neural counterparts of phenomenal situations; brain proc-
esses will have to be considered in terms not of machine
structures, but of general dynamics; and it will become a
sensible procedure to compare directly the constitution of
phenomenal fields with that of their counterparts, the fields
of cortical processes. Taken in this sense, our hypothesis
will be tested not merely by some particular experiments
but by the course which psychology and neurology in gen-
eral will take during the coming years.
With regard to physics I find myself in an entirely dif-
ferent predicament. There has been, I hope, no statement
about physical facts and principles which a physicist could
regard as wrong. On the other hand, I doubt whether any
new factual consequences can be derived from those re-
marks in which I referred to this science. Thus it might
appear as though there could be no dissension. And yet the
physicist will be more likely to raise objections than any
other scientist. Besides its knowledge of facts and prin-
ciples, a science has its particular "spirit," its "set" or, as
the psychologists in England would perhaps call it, its
"sentiment." It is this curious psychological factor that
more or less prescribes in what light the subject matter
of a discipline ought to be seen at a given time, in what
directions further developments are to be expected, and
372 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
what new points of view will be regarded with suspicion.
I am unhappily aware of the fact that the attitude toward
the physical world which I have taken in these chapters
does not entirely correspond to the sentiment with which
the physicists of our time look upon their field. This must
have been obvious in the discussions of the fifth chapter;
but there are further indications of heresy in chapters eight
and nine. The main objection which a physicist might raise
would refer to what may appear as the author's anthropo-
morphic tendency. I have been unable to find that the
physical world is quite as different from the phenomenal
world as it is now said to be by our greatest experts.
A strongly anti-anthropomorphic attitude began to de-
velop in science as physics was transformed into a modern
discipline. Aristotelian physics was at that time the great
obstacle in the path of modern thought and of modern
procedures. It is obvious that anthropomorphic notions
contributed greatly to the stock of misconceptions which
Galileo and others had to demolish before there could be
any science in our present sense of the word. Nor were
the physicists of the seventeenth century able to recognize
to what extent even their own improved views were still
imbued with anthropomorphic ingredients. Only genera-
tions of physicists could gradually discard or correct the
more persistent influences which human subjectivity tends
to exert on human science. The trouble is that for psycho-
logical reasons such a process cannot go on for generations
without taking a turn that is not warranted by the actual
situation. At first the task was clearly defined: Those par-
ticular ideas had to be eliminated which belong to the
world of man but not to that of physics. Moreover, since
man observes nature from a special position, such struc-
MAN AND NATURE 373
tural characteristics had to disappear from the system of
physics as owe their origin to that special and from
the point of view of physics accidental position. I have
not the slightest objection to a program that declares war
against narrowness. Unfortunately, however, even the best
war, if it be prolonged, is likely to become a matter of
"sentiment" rather than of circumspect measures by which
certain evils are to be removed. When this happens our
feelings tend to spread beyond their original and appro-
priate location. At first we are opposed to certain factors
in an object which arc clearly recognized as wrong. Grad-
ually, however, we begin to feel an aversion toward this
object as a whole whatever its other characteristics may be.
In precisely this manner the physicists were at first right
in their attempt to eliminate such influences of human sub-
jectivity as were found to distort their views of the physical
world. But in the course of time their suspicions lost this
circumscribed localization and became directed toward
man in general, as though any human ingredient in
science must necessarily mean a subjectivistic falsification
of objective truth.
It would be difficult, I believe, to justify this attitude.
Whenever a characteristic of human perception or ot hu-
man thought is proved to disturb the objectivity of science,
its influence will, of course, have to be checked. But does
it follow that all qualities of the human, i.e., the phenome-
nal, world must be disregarded when the physicists con-
struct their system of objective reality? Such a postulate
could only be seriously considered if it were an established
fact that between the phenomenal world and physical
reality there can be no resemblance whatsoever. In the
fifth chapter I have pointed out that, if this premise were
granted, the task of physics would become insoluble.
374 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
There is no ultimate source for the physicist's concepts
other than the phenomenal world. Moreover, the mere
fact that a concept is derived from phenomenal data does
not make it an anthropomorphic concept. To use an
analogy: Astronomical theory should be independent of
that particular astronomical object, the earth, from which
we are compelled to make all our observations. But who
would conclude that other planets, the sun, and other stars,
must not be credited with any characteristics which the
earth exhibits? Is it "geoccntrism" to hold that chemically,
for instance, all other objects of astronomy resemble the
earth to a considerable degree? Similarly, there is no reason
a pi ion why certain aspects of the phenomenal world
should have no counterparts in the physical world. Any
dogmatic or naive procedure which indiscriminately
ascribes phenomenal traits to physical objects and events
can obviously not be defended. On the other hand, it
would be quite as dogmatic a procedure if we were to
assume that between the fonner and the hitter there can
under no circumstances be any similarity. The sentiment,
however, to which I have just alluded tends to make us
believe that for a concept to be human or phenomenal is
tantamount to its being "merely subjective" and unac-
ceptable in physics.
To repeat: If this sentiment were definitely adopted,
science would seem to be doomed to failure. At the pres-
ent time we hear a great deal about the fact that any ob-
servation in physics involves some physical interaction
between the observed objects and the observer, and that
to this extent such interaction becomes a necessary factor
in what we call "objective data/' The observer, however,
is quite as much a necessary factor in observational situa-
tions as is that interaction; without his presence there
MAN AND NATURE 375
would be no such necessary interaction. 1 Moreover, no
observation is of mucli value in physics unless it be con-
nected with other observations, and be thus interpreted.
This connection and interpretation is a matter of thought.
Even if the physicist's thinking assumes the form of mathe-
matical processes, it remains thought, and is to this extent
ultimately based on phenomenal material. 2 If we were to
declare that this material is "merely human," and that
therefore the physicist should not use it, we should declare
at the same time that the physicist must give up his work
altogether. On the other hand, any work that the physicist
is actually doing will remain for us an entirely subjectivis-
tic game so long as we submit to the influence of that
sentiment against man in physics. It is of no use to demand
that man be removed from the process which leads to
physical knowledge. He cannot be removed. But if he is
admitted, physics will be a form ot knowledge whose ulti-
mate concepts are of human, of phenomenal descent. With
the now prevailing sentiment most physicists will deplore
this lact; and yet tor those who have such a sentiment there
is no way out.
It will now be clear that, quite apart from the particu-
lar purpose of this investigation, I have had good reasons
tor pointing to certain resemblances between the phenom-
enal and the physical world. Inasmuch as some funda-
mental chaiacteiistics of both perception and thought may
be assumed to have similar counterparts in nature, the
unavoidable participation oi man in the construction of
physical reality loses all its threatening appearance. From
1 It makes, ot coutsc. no essential difference whether the observer him-
self or a icgistcrmg appaiatus is in immediate contact with the events
which ate being "obseived" In the lattei case the observei himself will
have to obsei\e what happens to the appaiatus as a physical object.
2 Cf ch. 5, pp. 145 *
376 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
this point of view it becomes the task of man as a physicist
to construct the physical world in terms of those concepts
which the physical and the phenomenal worlds seem to
have in common. I cannot here discuss by what criteria
such objectively valid concepts may be distinguished from
others that would rightly be called "merely human." I
wish to emphasize, however, that by our present discus-
sion the situation from which we started has been com-
pletely changed. At first I had to defend myself against
the charge of an anthropomorphic tendency. This charge
was based on the fact that in our investigation physical
and phenomenal facts were said to resemble each other
in some essential respects. From the present argument it
follows that physics would be hopelessly anthropomorphic
if such a resemblance in essential traits did not exist. The
constitution of the physical world must be described in
terms that have ultimately phenomenal, and in this sense
"human/' meanings. If all such meanings belong exclu-
sively to human experience, if none apply to physical facts
at the same time, then physics will forever remain an
anthropomorphic delusion. On the other hand, if human
experience and physical facts have some basic traits in com-
mon, then physics can use experiential or human terms,
and still be an objective science.
I may, however, seem to be guilty of anthropomorphic
tendencies in a more particular sense. Precisely what, the
physicists might ask, are those traits of phenomenal ex-
perience which should in one form or another be used in
the construction of the physical world? Granting that there
be some such characteristics, we are not for this reason
compelled to accept what appears to us as unwarranted
MAN AND NATURE 377
speculation about an alleged affinity between a great many
data of experience and the facts of nature. One of the
principal points, for instance, which Galileo raised in his
attack against Aristotelian anthropomorphism, was the
wholly subjective character of "purpose" and other such
teleological concepts. In Aristotelian physics objects were
said to move "toward their proper places," just as human
beings move toward shelter or toward any other goal. "To
move toward" is an expression which seems to have some
meaning when it refers to human activities. But there is no
evidence that physical objects ever prefer one place to
another, or that they have any goals. So long as physical
facts were given such teleological interpretations, the need
for explanations was much too easily satisfied. A scientific
investigation of nature remained almost entirely impos-
sible until physics learned to heed only those matter-of-
fact dependences which are now commonly subsumed
under the title of causation. Obviously, then, teleology
was once the great obstacle in the path of science; and it
would be about the worst thing that could happen to
physics if anything like purpose were once again intro-
duced among its concepts. Nothing short of this seems,
however, to be attempted when requiredness is directly
correlated with forces that operate in cortical processes.
Requiredness as such is a notion which would disturb
the sober neutrality of physics if it were ever admitted
in this science. But in the ninth chapter even 'subjective*
requiredness, "the springs of human action," i.e., human
motives, were practically identified with physical tensions
which develop between the cortical correlate of the self
and that of an object. This, the physicist might say, means
a more intimate relation between his concepts and those
of psychology than his concepts can bear without an alter-
378 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
ation of their strict meanings. If there is any stronghold
of such ideas as purpose, it is human motivation. We can-
not speak of motivation without speaking of goals, and if
we speak of goals our thinking will necessarily imply a
teleological determination of facts. On the other hand, we
did assume that structurally and functionally the behavior
of certain cortical tensions is isomorphic with the play of
human motives. Must one not conclude that, as a next step,
it will be proposed that teleology be reintroduced into the
system of physics? Undoubtedly, any attempt in this direc-
tion would meet with energetic resistance from all physi-
cists who have not yet succumbed to certain metaphysical
tendencies of the present time.
This criticism, I believe, can be answered quite simply.
The principal objection against teleological notions refers
to the tact that, for actually teleological thought, events
which will happen in the future are capable oi determin-
ing what happens now. It seems to rnc that it this be taken
literally we have no evidence ot any teleological deter-
mination whatsoever. And I wish to cmpha&i/e particu-
larly that I see no more evidence of it in psychology than
I do in physics. What, indeed, are the facts which have led
to the thesis that in motivation the futuie takes part in
the determination of the present? May I consider a very
simple example. I expect visitors tomorrow, and in view
of their coming I make certain preparations today. It can-
not possibly be maintained that in this instance the future
as such determines my present activities. This is impossi-
ble for the obvious reason that the future events in ques-
tion may never actually happen. When all my preparatory
measures are taken I may receive a telegram by which
my friends' visit is cancelled. Nobody will be able to con-
vince me that in this example a future event that will not
MAN AND NATURE 379
actually occur has none the less been capable of determin-
ing my present actions. I admit that in some sense the
future had something to do with the preparations which
I made today, just as it has in all cases ot human planning.
But what kind of future is it that plays this part in present
planning? Those mental processes to which I refer when
I say that my friends will arrive tomorrow are present
processes. They occur now, not tomorrow. They are also
determined by present or by past events, not by future
events which have not yet occurred, and may never occur.
Among the contents of my present phenomenal field there
are, on the other hand, certain thoughts or images which I
locate in what we may call the now experienced phe-
nomenal 'future.' The now experienced phenomenal time
has in this sense a wide extension. I may now think of an
event that occurred three years ago. When doing so I re-
main in the present; and so does my thinking as an event.
The fact that I feel referred to that 'past* event does not
mean that I am now in connection with the fact which
actually happened three years ago. It can only mean that
some parts ot the actual present have phenomenally the
'pastncss'-index, just as others appear not in my spatial
neighborhood, but at a great distance. Again, some mental
contents to which I am now referred may have the index
of 'futurity'; contents which belong to this class may also
influence my present conduct, and, as a matter of fact,
they do so continually. But we should not identify con-
tents which have now a location in the phenomenal
'future* with anything that will or may actually happen
at a later time. We do see many goals before us at a tem-
poral distance; but this phenomenal distance ot which we
are now aware does not as a dimension coincide with those
stretches in time during which our goals may or may not
380 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
actually be attained. To express the same distinction still
more succinctly, although perhaps a trifle paradoxically:
It is not the actual future, the future as such, toward
which we are directed in our planning, and in which we
perceive our goals, it is that part of an actually present
phenomenal field which we call the 'future.' From the
point of view of function and of causal determination this
part of the field, and any goals within it, are no less present
facts than is an ordinary percept before me. As such
present facts they constitute the situation to which our
planning and our preparations functionally refer. And al-
though the actual future which we experience later may
more or less resemble what we now think and plan about
the now given 'future/ it is only this now experienced
and not the actual future with which our purposes and
our plans have any causal connection.
We may conclude that the actual future is at a given
time just as non-existent and ineffective in psychology as
it is in physics. The constitution ol purposes, on the other
hand, is merely that of vectors which extend from the now
given 'self to objects that are located in the now experi-
enced 'future.' Thus, if human motivation was said to
have an isomorphic counterpart in cortical tensions be-
tween the correlate of the self and that of an object, this
statement can not legitimately be interpreted as though it
meant the introduction of teleology into the realm of na-
ture. Taken in the sense in which this concept would be
objectionable in physics, it seems to me just as unaccepta-
ble in psychology. Surely, I do not wish to propose that
forces are determined by what will or may occur at a later
time; with the physicists I would contend that all forces
operate in contexts which are fully given at the time of
their operation.
MAN AND NATURE 381
One might here raise the question how given phenomenal
fields can sometimes contain a phenomenal 'past' and some-
times a phenomenal 'future* as well as a 'present/ It seems to
me that this is not a problem which we may hope to solve on
purely phenomenological grounds. The phenomenologist, it is
true, may do much valuable work in describing the properties
of both the now given 'past' and the now experienced 'future/
But he will be unable to say why and how a phenomenal field
can have such regions at all. As a matter of fact, if there is any
such problem, it will have to be formulated in psychophysical
terms. What, we should then have to ask, are the functional
characteristics of those processes which underlie the now given
'past' and the now experienced 'future'? What is their mutual
relation? And what is their relation to processes which under-
lie phenomenally 'present' data? I cannot answer these ques-
tions, and for the time being I shall refrain from adding fur-
ther hypotheses to those which were proposed in previous
chapters. In no case should I assume that the 'past/ the
'present* and the 'future' in this phenomenal sense are directly
and simply related to the temporal properties of cortical events
in the physical sense of the word temporal. However that may
be, these problems are intensely interesting but they have no
immediate connection with the question of teleology in men-
tal life.
If in their fear of anthropomorphism many physicists
will object to the view that certain physical forces within
macroscopic cortical processes are the correlates of mental
tendencies, valuations, and so forth, others will criticize
the same assumption because the concept of force itself
seems to them a thoroughly anthropomorphic notion. The
neural counterparts of phenomenal experience, they
would say, must be genuine physical facts; they cannot be
merely further subjective phenomena which the layman
wrongly projects into the purely mathematical concept of
force.
382 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
In dealing with few other concepts are we as likely to
lose our epistemological bearings as we are in the case of
force. There is a habitual but, I believe, misleading line
of thought that refers to forces, and seems to deprive this
concept of all objective value. It has often been said that
the word "force" derives its meaning exclusively from our
experience of muscular contractions. I am by no means
sure that this opinion is well founded; but tor the sake
of the present argument we may as well accept it. As many
physicists think about such matters they will be inclined
to add some such proposition as this: Being a muscular
sensation, force is a human, a subjective phenomenon.
And by their sentiment against man in physics they will
then be carried to the conclusion that a force in this sense
is nothing but a subjective phenomenon, that it can have
no place in physics. Hence the tendency to reduce the
status of forces in physics to that of a merely mathematical
concept which has nothing to do with experienced forces.
This argument, I must confess, does not seem to me
compelling. First of all, let us remember that, if we con-
tract certain muscles, say, of an arm or a leg, we do not
actually feel what happens in these muscles. Just as in the
case of vision we do not experience what happens in our
retina, just as in this case retinal processes bring forth
cortical processes on which visual experience is based,
so the contraction of muscles leads to certain changes in
those cortical states by which at the time the position
and the condition of our limbs are represented. It is these
cortical changes with which our experience of force is
correlated. The physicist might conclude that in this man-
ner we merely emphasize the subjectivity of forces; be-
cause cortical processes are even farther removed from
physical reality than are our muscles and their contractions.
MAN AND NATURE 383
We shall examine this proposition later. For the moment it
will suffice to point out that in this respect there is no dif-
ference between our awareness of torce and any other
perceptual data; for they are all correlated not with events
which happen between our organism and its physical en-
vironment, but with cortical situations. It, therefore, the
proposition were valid in the case of forces, it would be
equally valid in the case of all percepts without exception;
they would all be too subjective for the physicist, none
could be used for his purposes, and physics as an empirical
science would become impossible.
The physicists, however, do not reason in this manner
when they think oi certain other percepts. Vision is the
sense modality upon which they principally rely in their
experimental observations. And vision, one might be in-
clined to believe, gives them a direct access to those ex-
ternal facts in which they are interested, while our aware-
ness of forces refers even peripherally to mere affections of
our organism. Here the psychologist will raise an objec-
tion. The eye, it is true, is often called a distance-receptor.
This, however, is a most confusing expression. I admit
that in visual experience 'objects' appear at various
'distances' trom the visible 'self/ But both the 'objects' and
their 'distances' belong to the phenomenal world. From a
functional point of view, vision begins with the projection
of retinal images upon the retina. It is a pattern of
physiological stimulation on a sensory surface, not actual
objects and actual distances in the physical world, from
which our awareness of 'objects' and 'distances' evolves.
These 'objects' and these 'distances' are quite as much the
outcome of intra-orgamc events as are 'forces.' If we
attribute a higher degree of objectivity to visual percepts
than we do to our awareness of forces, the reason for it is
384 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
once again an ambiguity of our terms. Phenomenally
visual things do appear 'outside/ phenomenally they do
for the most part look 'objective'; but in this connection
the word 'outside' does not point to a distance in physical
space; the word 'objective' does not refer to objective
existence in the physicist's sense; and against the strongest
temptation we should never identify a visual thing with
the corresponding physical object. Since this point has
been so thoroughly discussed in the fourth chapter, I need
not here enlarge upon the same topic. So far as their func-
tional genesis is concerned visual objects are, in principle,
no more objective than is a 'force' \vlrich I localize in my
'arm.' It is merely the phenomenally 'objective' appearance
of visual 'things,' the phenomenally 'subjective' character
of 'forces' that make us prefer the former, as though they
were more objective in a functional and an epistemologi-
cal sense.
There is, however, another argument that might cause
the physicist to trust vision more than he trusts "the sense
of force." Vision seems as a rule to be much more articulate
than are our kinaesthetic experiences. And, although the
functional relation between visual data and corresponding
physical situations is not at all as simple as we arc some-
times inclined to presuppose, it remains none the less
true that in several respects a visual field can often be re-
garded as a picture of the physical situation. I cannot deny
that this is true; because in the fifth chapter I have myself
made much of this mascroscopic resemblance between the
visual field and physical situations. To be sure, in kinaes-
thetic experiences, too, there occur certain data which
may in the same sense be called veridical. But the mere
fact that we tend to test such experiences by a good look
at the objects in question, clearly indicates that we ascribe
MAN AND NATURE 385
a higher degree of accuracy to vision. Vision, however, is
commonly believed to convey to us no data from which
the concept of force could be derived.
I do not wish to deny that vision exhibits certain traits
which make it a particularly valuable witness to some ex-
ternal facts. On the other hand, a sense modality that is for
certain purposes superior to others need not be so in all
respects. I doubt whether visual situations never contain
anything like 'forces' or 'tensions'; since, however, intense
manifestations of 'force' do seem to occur more rarely in
visual fields than they do elsewhere, we shall continue to
disregard visual 'forces' altogether. But what follows?
Would it not be a careless procedure if in physics we were
to rely on one sense modality exclusively? The danger
that quite particular traits of human organization become
predominant in our view of the physical world, and that
this view be thus anthropomorphically distorted, this
danger will be greatest if we ask only one witness among
our sense organs what it has to say about physical facts.
And there is danger in several directions: A given sense
modality may, for instance, add subjective ingredients to
the story about physical situations which it tells us; or it
may omit certain traits of these situations, because it is
not able to represent them adequately in its language. In
both cases it would seem to be an altogether necessary
measure of caution that we compare the account which is
given, for instance, by vision with the report of other
senses.
In spite of its merits in other respects, it is quite pos-
sible that vision cannot give us a complete report of the
dynamic phase of physical nature; or, at least, that in this
respect kinaesthesis is far superior to vision. Of course,
those cortical processes with which our percepts are asso-
386 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
ciated have never any direct contact with forces in outside
nature, whatever the ultimate meaning of this word may
be. On the other hand, peripheral stimulation of one sense
organ may be immediately related to such forces, while
stimulation of another is not so related. Actually the sec-
ond case is realized in vision. Suppose that a macroscopic
physical situation contains intense forces. Even if these
forces were the most essential parts of the situation, and
as "real" as anything with which physics has to deal, how
would such forces be represented in the pattern of stimuli
by which that macroscopic situation is projected upon an
observer's retina? The answer is that the forces would
have no retinal representation whatsoever. Forces do not
emit light waves; nor do they reflect light. Since light
which is emitted or reflected constitutes the sole message
which reaches the eye from a physical situation, it carries
no report about the presence of forces within or between
physical objects, however intense these forces may be. In
this respect the stimulation of our muscles in action dif-
fers widely from that of our eyes. Often either the resist-
ance of physical forces which we try to overcome is directly
involved in muscular action as when we try to break a
board or bend a steel rod, or it is the pull of physical
forces against which our muscles operate as when we lift
a weight, or try to remove a glass from a wet surface. The
nature of those processes which are in such cases the neural
counterparts of kinaesthetic experience is not known. But
it would not be unreasonable to assume that these proc-
esses bear some structural and dynamical resemblance to
the facts by which they are peripherally caused; e.g., an
object which stimulates the touch-receptors, a pull exerted
on this object by a physical vector, and a muscular ten-
sion, which balances or overcomes that pull. If visual fields
MAN AND NATURE 387
exhibit any forces, their functional origin must under all
circumstances be quite secondary; in kinaesthesis, on the
other hand, the behavior of physical forces takes often di-
rectly part in peripheral stimulation. The more 'subjec-
tive 1 sense modality may therefore, at least in this respect,
give us a more complete and thus a more objective report
about physical facts than does vision.
To repeat: I admit that even in the case of kinaesthesis
the neural correlates of forces are not external physical
forces which have somehow migrated from the peripheral
situation into the cortex. But if an altogether immediate
representation of external physical forces does not take
place, what of other concepts which are freely used in
physics although the phenomenal data in question must
have neural correlates of quite as indirect an origin? What
about the third dimension of space? What about filled and
empty space? What about boundaries of segregated objects,
and these objects themselves? And, last but not least, what
about mo\cments? If we disregard touch and kinaesthesis,
because the physicists tend to ignore them, all these no-
tions must be due to visual experience. And yet none of
them is represented in peripheral stimulation of the eye.
Movement, for instance, is not so represented, because the
changing pattern of retinal stimulation that corresponds
to the movement ot a physical object before us might
quite as well be caused by a number of appropriately
chosen local changes in color and brightness, in which no
physical locomotions are involved. Between these two
cases there would be, retinally, no difference. Similar con-
siderations lead to the same conclusion in the case of all
the concepts which I have just mentioned. They are all
due to an organization of visual processes which is a wholly
intra-organic affair. If these parts of psychology were more
THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
widely known, Formalists might become less critical of
the dynamic interpretation of forces, which has a phe-
nomenal basis; because the phenomenal data from which
many entirely indispensable concepts of physics are de-
rived have functionally just as subjective an origin as has
our feeling of forces.
It may not be relevant in this discussion, but it should
none the less be mentioned, that from the phenomenological
point of view experienced forces are by no means always
'subjective/ When I bend a steel rod I may feel an 'effort* in
my 'arm'; but I also feel a 'resisting force' which is localized
in the 'rod.' Again, if I try to keep a piece of iron at a short
distance from the poles of a strong magnet I may feel a
'force' which I have to exert; but at the same time this 'force'
is felt to balance a 'pull' that is not my pull, but 'objective'
and localized 'outside.' The reader will not maintain that
such experiences can only be the product of previously ac-
quired knowledge, and that in this sense they do not belong
to "kinaesthesis" proper. Why should all percepts whose
peripheral origin is muscular be localized in the 'muscles'?
Visual percepts are not localized where our 'eyes' are. It is,
then, not quite correct to say that vision gives us at least
'objects,' while kmaesthetic experience contains exclusively
'subjective' phenomena. If this point is here of any relevance
we ought to realize that so-called kinaesthetic experience has
its 'objective' side just as vison has, and that among its data
there are 'objective forces' no less than 'subjective efforts.'
II
It may appear as though the last arguments were more
likely to cast suspicion on all concepts of physics than to
legitimate the particular concept of force. For this reason
I shall now consider our problem from quite another angle.
The physicists say that they want to know about the
physical world, not about man. This attitude is under-
MAN AND NATURE 389
standable only so long as we assume that man himself is
an entity which has no place in the realm of physical na-
ture. When reading certain statements of physicists one is,
indeed, almost forced to conclude that these scientists re-
gard man as a strange being, which an accident must have
thrown from an entirely different world into its present
physical environment. His characteristic traits correspond
to his foreign descent; and anything may happen when
this creature tries to study physics with such an equip-
ment.
In a treatise on the theory of probability I recently read
the following argument: The theory of probability has
either an empirical basis, i.e., it is ultimately based on
statistical experience; or it is a mathematical discipline
a pnon. The author rejects the second alternative; be-
cause the physical world is found to obey certain major
rules with which the theory of probability deals. Why, he
adds, should this be the case, if the human mind is capable
of deducing the same rules by a priori reasoning? We can-
not possibly assume that a preestablished harmony exists
between the demands of such human reasoning and the
behavior of physical systems. Thus he concludes that the
science of probability develops from statistical experiences.
The alleged a pnoii reasoning actually evolves from what-
ever random behavior occurs in our environment.
I do not wish to discuss this particular conclusion. For
our present problem the form of the argument and its
premises are more important than is its special content.
The scientists are now so much in the habit of divorcing
man from the world of physical facts that any affinity be-
tween his mental functions and the operations of this
world appears to them as a strange coincidence, in which
no sane person can seriously believe. The argument which
THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
I have just cited could with slight variations be applied to
the whole mental equipment of man which he has appar-
ently not ' 'learned" during his commerce with nature. If
any of these autochthonous properties were to resemble
or to correspond with any properties of nature, such a fact
would be most astounding; it would constitute a case of
preestablishecl haimony.
In criticizing this point of view we approach the crucial
part of our discussion of anthropomorphism in physics.
Man does not come from another world; he is himself a
child of nature, of that very nature which the physicists
investigate. When we compare his characteristics with
those of nature we must, therefore, expect to find re-
semblances. It is not these resemblances which should sur-
prise us; on the contrary, any traits of man which have
apparently no counterparts in nature will by their very
existence constitute serious theoretical problems.
In the biological sciences we do regard man as a part
of nature. If no miracles have occurred during his own
development and during that of his animal ancestors, the
human organism represents a physical system all the char-
acteristics of which will sooner or later be traced to the
constituents and to the fundamental laws ol nature in gen-
eral. It is a tiuism that no inanimate system shows anything
like that tremendous concentration and organization of
heterogeneous physical agents and physical processes which
the organisms exhibit. No object or process which the
physicists study combines in any comparable degree the
fluidity and plasticity on the one hand, the stability on
the other hand, which are so strikingly united in animals
and man. And yet, if our adherence to the idea of evolu-
tion means more than lip-service, it must be our postu-
late that no factors, which take part in the constitution and
MAN AND NATURE 391
in the operations of man as a living system, are funda-
mentally of another essence than are the factors with which
physics and chemistry deal. Much is obviously new in or-
ganisms in the sense that just such configurations and such
particular functions as they exhibit do not occur in the
physical world. As Evolutionists we shall, however, main-
tain that in the living systems general principles of physics
operate under particular circumstances; we shall admit
that the first occurrence of these special circumstances in
the history of the earth is not yet explained; but we shall
deny that life is governed by any principles which are as
such essentially different from those of the inorganic
world. This holds for the particular functions which are
investigated in physiology; but, as we found in the eighth
chapter, it seems also to hold for the "causal harmony"
which characterizes the interaction of these functions in
the organism as a whole.
Evolutionary thinking would, however, not be consistent
if the same point of view were not applied to the structural
and functional properties ot mental life. Human action
depends on these properties. The fact, for instance, that
we often perceive relationships between objects leads to
certain forms of behavior in which such a relational per-
ception is implied. Again, parts of contexts may not only
appear as right or wrong with reference to these contexts;
human beings act over and over again in a way which is
directly determined by such requireclness. According to
evolutionary principles there can be no physical activity
which may not be understood in terms of the general laws
of nature. Inasmuch, therefore, as human activities reflect
the structure of corresponding mental functions which
thereby influence physical facts these mental functions
themselves must be capable of interpretation in the same
392 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
terms. Otherwise the idea of evolution would not be ap-
plicable to all physical facts.
I do not propose that phenomena qua phenomena can
be physically "explained." At the present time even the
most radical Evolutionist will not be able to tell us how
red and green and the other qualitative traits of the phe-
nomenal world have originated. But the phenomenal world
has two aspects: a first, in which it appears as full of qualia
of one kind or another, and a second, in which it exhibits
structures and functional relationships of various kinds. It
is the second aspect of mental lite which we see continually
materialized or realized in overt actions of human beings.
Whatever the final interpretation of mere qnaha may be,
the various types of mental function which lead to cor-
responding activities, and thus to changes in nature, must
be subject to the principle of evolution. This means con-
cretely that even the most important structural and func-
tional traits of the phenomenal world must have a basis in
nature. Such characteristics of mental life might be new
in the sense in which, for instance, certain vegetative func-
tions of the organism are new. But just as these new organic
functions follow under certain conditions from general
principles of physics and chemistry, so these important
functional traits of mental life must be deducible from the
same principleseven though in inanimate nature no di-
rectly comparable characteristics may be discovered.
It will be obvious that from this point of view the
physicists' sentiment against man appears as a dislike of
problems that belong to their own field. As a matter of fact,
the physicists should welcome the decisive test of their
concepts and principles to which the interpretation of
mental functions and structures must gradually lead. They
might of course refuse to accept the principle of evolution.
MAN AND NATURE 393
But if they adopt it, they can no longer regard man as an
entity from another world that unfortunately plays a r61e
in the development of physics, but whose participation
should be reduced to a minimum. The very being that
observes physical facts in the narrower sense of the word,
that thinks about these facts, and that thus builds up the
science of physics, constitutes at the same time the most
challenging subject-matter of that discipline. It does so
whether or not its mental operations happen to refer to
the study of inanimate systems; because any trait of its
mental life that is functional and functionally effective will
have to be derived from facts and principles with which the
science of general dynamics is concerned.
In this sense the physicist's hostile attitude toward man
will sooner or later have to give way to a wider conception
of his own task. His principal preoccupation with regard
to man will then no longer be that of immunizing physics
against the virus of human subjectivity; rather he will
recognize that the functional and structural characteristics
even of such subjectivity represent facts of nature which
he must include in his system. This will happen when he
begins to ask himself: What is the origin of those * 'sub-
jective characteristics in a world in which, so far as func-
tion is concerned, my data and my principles have a strictly
universal significance?
In two ways this question will bring forth a revolutionary
change in the physicist's outlook. From the point of view
that is now predominant in science the mental constitution
of man is vaguely suspect. It is the "other/ 1 the "different,"
the "non-physical" in contradistinction to the physical in
the usual sense, whose disturbing influence on science the
physicist dreads. He wishes to obtain an adequate picture
of inanimate nature; but he doubts whether man, the "non-
394 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
physical" author of physics, will ever be able to furnish
such a picture. If we assume, however, that in evolution
no functional and no structural characteristics could de-
velop which may not be derived from principles of general
dynamics, then any characteristics of man that are involved
in the creation of physics will fall under the same rule.
Suppose the rule is right. In this case the physicist will not
only consider from what data and principles of his own
field the structure of human perception and human think-
ing may be deducible; as questions lead to answers he will
eventually succeed in this enterprise. He will know pre-
cisely what dynamic events in man take part in physical
research, and, instead of dreading an unknown "foreign"
influence, he will now be able to pass well-founded judg-
ments on both the merits and the shortcomings of the
human "instrument." Thcoiy and knowledge of this in-
strument will replace what is as yet no more than a dim
and slightly sterile suspicion.
We may expect that still a further change will at the
same time occur in the physicist's point of view. Physics
has never simply conquered a new field. Whenever science
seemed to absorb new facts, its own system underwent a
certain alteration, because the inclusion of such lacts gave
a new appearance even to the store of familiar knowledge
that had previously been gathered. When Maxwell showed
that the facts of optics can be derived from the laws of
electromagnetism, something happened of course to optics.
But neither did electric and magnetic fields remain quite
the same concepts when it became apparent that in a state
of oscillation they constitute light waves. In the same
manner, I believe, the inclusion of man in the system of
general dynamics will give this system a novel appearance.
This may happen, first, when principles of dynamics are
MAN AND NATURE 395
applied merely to such mental operations as participate in
physical research. Secondly, however, a similar, and per-
haps a stronger, reaction on the system of physics may take
place when mental structures and functions in general be-
come a subject of dynamic interpretation. After all, from
the point of view of evolution there is no reason why only
those particular mental operations should interest the
physicist. Any mental function, including those which play
at present no perceptible role in the physicist's work, will
have to be considered in the same light. Some such func-
tions are likely to differ considerably from all dynamic
events which are known to occur in inanimate systems.
They will, therefore, represent a new material whose ab-
sorption into the system of physics may not be possible
unless this system itself be slightly readapted. Every major
expansion of physical theory, I repeat, has had the same
effect. It would be astounding it this greatest annexation
of new territory were to happen without such a repercus-
sion.
At this point it seems advisable to indicate more clearly
in what sense an interpretation of mental facts in terms
of general dynamics is to be understood. To the extent in
which mental structures and functions are as such phe-
iiomenologically observable they will surely never be "re-
duced" to anything else. The principle of evolution, on the
other hand, demands that a dynamic theory of the organism
be given in which we advance step by step from ordinary
physics to such events as have the structural characteristics
of mental operations in all their various forms. This is
partly a task ot physical theory as applied to the conditions
which obtain in the nervous system of man, partly a task
of physiological research which enlarges our knowledge of
those conditions, and which at the same time examines the
396 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
theorist's constructions. These constructions will reveal to
what extent that postulate of evolution can, as a matter
of principle, be fulfilled in terms of general dynamic
theory. Physiological and neurological research will have
to show whether the same postulate is actually fulfilled,
and if so, whether it is fulfilled in the way which the theo-
rist predicts. The reader will realize that with this program,
which follows from the principle of evolution, we return
once more to a concept that played an important role in
previous chapters. The principle of evolution postulates
that certain processes of which the organism is capable
have the structural characteristics of mental operations.
If there are any such processes, they must obviously be the
neural correlates of these operations. Thus mental opera-
tions and their neural counterparts must structurally
resemble each other. In other words, the principle of
psychophysual isomorphism follows from the principle of
evolution. Isomorphism represents, indeed, the only way
in which mental life can be dynamically interpreted, in
which it can become a subject-matter of physics. In this
sense we attempted a dynamic theory of mental facts
when we pointed to certain properties of macioscopic
dynamic states which appear as isomorphic with character-
istics of mental facts, and which seem likely to be the
neural correlates of these mental characteristics: the con-
tinuity of the visual field, the segregation of circumscribed
entities in this field, the topological relations in phe-
nomenal space, the more "material" relationships between
phenomenal objects, and eventually, requiredness.
Up to this point psychophysical isomorphism appears as
a fruitful principle. If it should prove to remain so in
further work we may hope to use it in a way which would
constitute a new approach to the general problems of
MAN AND NATURE 397
dynamics. Physical theory and physiological research, I
said, will try to subject mental operations to the prin-
ciples of physics. Suppose, however, that psychophysical
isomorphism should gradually become a reliable axiom,
as it must be if evolution is a sound axiom. In this case
isomorphism could tentatively be taken for granted. So
far as structure is concerned, the neural correlates of phe-
nomenal experience would have to be strictly isomorphic
with such experience, and consequently experience would
give us a more direct knowledge of certain aspects of
macroscopic dynamics than any physical or physiological
approach could ever be expected to yield; because such an
approach is indirect under all circumstances.
A moment ago I pointed out that a dynamic interpreta-
tion of mental facts might lead to certain alterations in the
system of physics. It will now be fairly evident that such
alterations are to be anticipated for a particular reason. In
the selection of their concepts the scientists proceed with
extreme parsimony. Their basic concepts are few in num-
ber, and any connotations of these concepts which are not
strictly needed for the business of physics in the usual sense
are weeded out with great care. From this point of view it
seems merely human weakness if, for instance, the dynamic
content of the concept "force" is, by the same scientist,
treated with contempt during an epistemological discus-
sion at 10:30, and freely used in thinking about concrete
physical situations at 10:45. As a matter of fact, so long as
the physicist remains a physicist in the narrower sense of
the word, this may not be a serious issue, since physical
evidence as such does not decide one way or the other, and
since all physicists share the pragmatic advantage of the
dynamic, the more than mathematic, conception of forces,
inasmuch as they all sin at 10:45.
398 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
The parsimonious epistemology of physics will, how-
ever, have to pass an examination when the concepts of
science are applied to physical contexts in the human brain,
and when they are thus confronted with experience which,
according to the principle of isomorphism, represents the
most direct information about the same contexts. It may
then be discovered that at one point or another the par-
simoniously selected and defined concepts of physics are
just a trifle too meagre, that isomorphism can be approxi-
mately, but never quite fully, attained if the strictly
Puritan editions of these concepts are used in brain-theory,
and that a complete congruence of mental with cortical
structures will not be reached until the same concepts gain
some weight and a slightly richer content. Evolution is a
postulate which no scientist will easily sacrifice. On the
other hand, evolution implies isomorphism. I feel inclined
to predict, therefore, that in such a situation the concepts
of physics will actually be enriched in a way that makes
strict isomorphism possible. This, I believe, will happen
to the concept of force, but it may happen to other physical
concepts, too. The direction in which such changes will
occur is by no means unpredictable. It will be strictly
prescribed by the structural traits ot experience, including
its dynamic characteristics. It was in anticipation of such
considerations that in the ninth chapter I gave the concept
"force" a frankly dynamic meaning. There is no objective
evidence whatsoever on the basis of which the physicists
could object to this procedure. They do prefer to have
their concepts pale and slender. Such a predilection may,
however, have to yield to the demands of scientific situa-
tions which open a fuller view of dynamics than can be
treated by mathematical functions without a dynamic
meaning. From the customary point of view the mere fact
MAN AND NATURE 399
that such situations will arise in the investigation of man
and of mental life may appear suspicious. And yet no
anthropomorphism is involved in a procedure that makes
man the subject-matter of positive investigation, and that
adapts our fundamental functional concepts to what is
found in this new field, just as it makes them fit the data
of ordinary physics. G. E. Midler once remarked that no
system of physics can be regarded as final that has not yet
been exposed to contact with psychophysical problems.
This statement seems to me entirely correct. It points, I
believe, to one of the greatest tasks of science.
In the theory of isomorphism one point deserves special
attention. One might be inclined to believe that essential
traits of mental life, such as relationship in general and
requiredness in particular, have neural counterparts which
are enormously complicated, and owe their origin to a long
evolutionary histoiy. As a matter of fact, however, it would
be difficult to apply the concept of isomorphism to those
instances if this assumption weie correct. Evolution brings
forth new histological structures which impose on function
new and particular conditions. I do not see how such a
development could ever lead to neural pioccsses which
would be isomorphic with relationships or with required-
ness. If, lor example, between two different processes a
gradient develops in an approximately homogeneous
medium, this gradient as such will adequately represent
or functionalize their difference. Any special morphological
arrangement in the medium, on the other hand, would be
likely to distort rather than to further such a representa-
tion. Gradients occur in nature quite apart from any
evolution in the biological sense. Evolution could not make
them any more isomorphic with relations than they are
per se. It might be that, during evolution, brain-fields
400 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
became gradually more "homogeneous" than they were
previously. Even in this case evolution did not create the
correlates of relations, i.e., gradients. It merely led to a
condition in which such gradients are no longer distorted
by additional circumstances
Similar remarks might be made in the case of required-
ness and its neural correlate. Some fundamental properties
of natine rather than any special arrangements in the
organism are, I believe, the counterparts of essential mental
facts. I admit that this is not a familiar notion; but it has
ceitain advantages. It excludes the possibility that such
mental facts constitute quite particular and to this extent
merely "subjective" traits of our organization. For several
leasons, it is true, the highest achievements of human men-
tal life presuppose the existence of many special anatomi-
cal structures. The basic functions themselves, however,
which are involved in those achievements seem to me en-
tirely independent of any such machine-arrangements. As
I see it, this fact adds to their dignity and to the objective
significance of mental activities.
Ill
If the physicists tend to divorce man from nature, be-
cause they suspect him of adding subjective ingredients to
their system, those who are more interested in man than
in nature like to do the same, because they are disturbed
by the fact that physical, or more particularly organic,
events seem to "influence" mental activities. Since we dis-
cussed this last point once before in the beginning of the
sixth chapter I shall here add merely a few remarks.
At the time when I gave these lectures at Harvard I was
once visited by a gentleman who was seriously afraid of
MAN AND NATURE 401
what he called my Materialistic tendencies. I will confess
that when people begin to discuss philosophical problems
in terms of concepts which belong to a past period in the
history of human thought, I invariably feel a certain
heaviness, and my mental processes become extremely slow.
The same happened this time. It was only with a great
effort that I could patiently explain why I regard such
questions as not particularly important. And no sooner
had my visitor left me than I sank into a comfortable chair,
in which I must almost at once have fallen asleep. I began
to dream. In my dream I was in court, as a matter of fact
on trial, and everywhere around there were people whom
I seemed to recognize as members of my audience at Har-
vard. They were obviously there as witnesses, and their
faces were distinctly hostile. "Well, Mr. Kohlei," said the
presiding judge, "do you admit that you have been propa-
gating Materialistic ideas?" "I don't know, your honor/*
I answered; "just what does Materialistic mean?" "Do not
try to dodge my question," said the judge severely; "of
course you know what matter is." "Unfortunately," I re-
plied, "so far as matter is concerned my training was ob-
viously not what it should have been; thev never told me."
"You are trying to play the role of the innocent," insisted
the judge; "everybody knows what matter is." "That may
be so," I answered; "but everybody knows so many things
with which I am entirely unacquainted." Thereupon they
all became very angry with me, and presently they called
in a physicist as an expert. He delivered a long and learned
address about wave-packets and indeterminacy, about
Schrodinger, Heisenberg and Dirac, until they became
angry with the physicist, too. Eventually an old man in the
audience raised his hand, and when he was allowed to
speak he said that far up in Maine, behind a half-forgotten
402 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
village there was a huge forest, and behind this forest
something like a dark and narrow tunnel in the ground,
no less than three miles long. Beyond this tunnel, on the
other side, he said modestly, there were people who could
probably tell us what matter is. So we were sent to Maine,
the expert and I, with some court-officials and not a few
guards. We tound, indeed, first the village, then the big
forest, and, after some exploration, the dark tunnel.
Through this we went with some discomfort, because it
was narrow, and on the other side we came upon some
large white buildings that looked exactly like new Federal
Post Offices. One of them had the inscription "Department
of Physics/' We entered at once, thinking that this must
be the right place for our inquiry. At any rate it was a
remarkable place. We were not a little surprised when, on
being questioned, they told us that here new electrons,
protons, fields, and so forth, were manufactured as sub-
stitutes for those which were simply worn out by their
strenuous occupations. Of course, we wanted to know im-
mediately whether they had some good specimen of new
matter ready. "Matter?" the employee thought hard "I
seem to have heard this word before. Let me look at my
catalogue." He produced an impressive volume and looked
up under M. There it was indeed, but it had been de-
leted. "I remember now," said our friendly informant;
"years ago we had it in this department. But then they
found out that it was here by mistake; that it should never
have been here at all. At present, my list says, it is handled
in the "Department of Objective Phenomena" and no-
where else." "Well, 111 be . . .," the physicist interrupted
himself in time; "let us go to that Department, and see
what this means." All agreed, and so we went to another
building which bore that inscription. Now, here we felt
MAN AND NATURE 403
entirely at home. In the "Department of Physics" they had
not shown us a thing; here shelf upon shelf along the walls
was simply crowded with lumps of nice, good, inert new
matter, tiny and big, heavy and light, of all shapes, and
ready for all possible purposes. The next thing which I
remember it is too bad that afterwards there are always
gaps in our dreams well, I remember that the physicist
and I found ourselves sitting on the ground near the half-
forgotten village under a fir-tree; none of our guards was
in sight, and we felt a bit dizzy. After a while I began to
ask the physicist questions in order to see whether he could
offer any explanation. "What is an electron?" was my first
question. He made it convincingly clear that an electron
is a volume of space that resists the approach of more
electrons, and attracts protons. "What are protons?" I
asked him. He was quite definite about this, too: "A
proton is a volume of space which resists the approach of
more protons, and attracts electrons." "But what is in these
volumes?" I wanted to know. "You speak only about
dynamics within certain volumes of space; you do not say a
word about those things themselves." "I could not tell
you," said the physicist; "nobody knows. Once Schrodinger
believed that those particles were wave-packets. At present,
however, we think that this was not quite the right inter-
pretation. Moreover, if you were to ask me 'packets of
what?' I could once again only fall back upon dynamic
effects which do not seem to satisfy you. Perhaps I should
add that we know some more properties of electrons and
protons. But they are without exception dynamic qualities.
The electric charges which we attribute to both electrons
and protons are quantities which we compute from their
behavior. I cannot tell you what a charge as such is. And,
as to the mass of electrons and protons, of course you know
404 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
that mass is merely a coefficient of resistance against ac-
celeration, that it has nothing to do with the concept
matter/*
My questions were caused by the fact that matter is often
said to be composed of electrons and protons. But, if matter
is a substance, the physicist was obviously unable to clarify
my ideas about this substance. So far as he was concerned
there might be no such substance at all. And yet, if people
are so very much afraid of Materialistic doctrines, there
must apparently be something horrid that is called "mat-
ter," and that Materialists declare to be the essential prin-
ciple of the world. A long silence followed during which
we were both hunting for this principle of badness. The
more we tried, the more hopeless seemed our enterprise,
until we were genuinely depressed. But then I had a reve-
lation. In the "Department of Objective Phenomena*' we
had seen an abundant supply of matter. And had it not
been deleted in the "Department of Physics"? Suddenly the
meaning of these facts became quite clear to me, and I
tried at once to convince the physicist that I was light.
"Years ago," I told him, "people did not know that we
have carefully to distinguish between thing-percepts and
physical objects. At that time a thing-percept was a phys-
ical object at the same time; if from the former a tew
subjective additions were eliminated, the remainder wo*
the physical thing. Again, when a Materialist spoke of mat-
ter he referred naively to peculiar properties of thing-
percepts. Thing-percepts, we know, are segregated units in
perceptual fields. Now take, for instance, visual things and
compare them with a mere background, or with the empty
parts of visual space. Those things look as a rule 'dense'
and 'substantial'; where they are, there is visually 'some-
thing/ there is a 'material/ A mere background exhibits
MAN AND NATURE 405
such properties in a lesser degree; mere visual space does
not show them at all, and is therefore called 'empty/ In
kinaesthcsis and in touch we find the same dualism be-
tween 'material' contents on the one hand and mere 'empti-
ness' on the other. Great philosophers have tiied to analyze
the meaning of such words as substance and matter. But at
the time the fundamental concept of organization was not
yet clearly developed; nor were those philosophers ac-
quainted with the fact that in perceptual organization
many new properties are created which cannot be ac-
counted tor in terms of sense-impressions. It suddenly
occurred to me that concepts like 'substance' and 'matter'
refer to those properties which segregated things exhibit in
perceptual fields, and that in this sense both 'substance'
and 'matter' are terms which owe their meaning to facts of
perceptual organization. That this is the origin and the
nature of matter could, however, not be recognized until
psychology and phenomenology had reached a more ad-
vanced stage of their development. For the same reason it
could not occur to the philosophers that a direct applica-
tion of this concept to the physical \vorld might not be a
safe procedure. On the contrary, in this respect Naive
Realism, the identification of peicepts with physical things,
remained for a long time practically undisturbed, precisely
because the perceptual nature of matter had not been
realized. Over there, on the other side ot the tunnel, how-
ever, the administiation is no longer deceived. Thus matter
has been transferred from the "Department of Physics" to
that of "Objective Phenomena." As it seems to me now,
this has been a sound measure."
The physicist made some remarks about the psycho-
logical part of my explanation which merely showed that
he had difficulties in following a phenomenological argu-
4 o6 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
ment. He raised, moreover, the objection that, with or
without matter as a physical substance, the interpretation
of mental facts in physical terms might be called a Ma-
terialistic doctrine, and that the usual aversion toward
such an interpretation might be wholly defensible.
If I remember correctly my answer was more or less along
the following lines: "You forget," I said, "that in common
human experience 'matter' shows for the most part a highly
characteristic behavior. It is passive in that it needs a sup-
port; it 'falls' unless it be supported. Naive experience is
of course entirely unacquainted with any attraction be-
tween a piece of matter and the ground as the representa-
tive of the physical earth. Thus heaviness' appears as a
passive property of matter as such. Again, apart from fall-
ing, when does matter move? When it is pulled or pushed
by something else that comes in contact with it. Here again
matter is characterized by its passivity and its inert nature.
According to ordinary experience it is more natural for a
thing to be at rest than to move. Such experience reveals
as a rule no interaction in the sense that fields extend be-
tween objects; it regards forces as agents which operate
only in one direction; it therefore distinguishes between
active and passive constituents of given situations, and it
considers matter as essentially the principle of passivity,
which is merely temporarily made active by impulses from
without.
"Common experience does not know how very limited
and, therefore, how misleading its knowledge is. Hence the
deep impression which magnetism and electricity make on
those who first become acquainted with them. But it was
that limited and misleading experience on which the more
primitive philosophical opinions about the physical realm
were based in the Western world. When Materialistic sys-
MAN AND NATURE 407
terns developed, the same ideas about matter and its essen-
tially passive nature became predominant in these systems.
From the Materialist's point of view mental life is identical
with or at least a product of certain physical events. If these
events consist in forced displacements of passive matter, it
follows that our experience of mental life is altogether
illusory. Actually mental operations must be just as crude
and primitive as all physical facts are supposed to be.
"It is not surprising that this interpretation of mental
life met with energetic resistance. Throughout the cen-
tuiies the opposition was strong, precisely because other
philosophers shared for the most part the Materialist's view
ot physical nature. At the present time we know perfectly
well that this view represents a caricature rather than a
real knowledge of nature. And yet there remains a strong
after-effect of those unfortunate misconceptions, of those
earlier disputes, and of the sentiments which then origi-
nated.
"What does the term Materialism mean in our time?
Let us be quite clear about one point. It is not some par-
ticular doctrine or -ism; it is a fundamental postulate of
modern science in general that both as an organism and as
a mental agent man has developed from lower forms of
organization. Ultimately, we are convinced, he descends
from inorganic nature. It is again no Materialistic hypoth-
esis, but a well-established fact that between our mental
processes and biological facts there exists the most intimate
relationship. In this situation I do not see what we can
possibly gain by turning our eyes in other directions, by
ignoring what may be the most urgent problem of philos-
ophy, and by accusing those of Materialism who face this
problem frankly. What seems to be needed in this field
is a completely new start. How are we to understand that
408 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
intimacy between mental life and neural events? How are
we to interpret the fact that mental life originated in the
midst of so-called physical nature? If we wish to answer
these questions we should first of all try to get rid of an
emotional attitude which historically arose from previous,
and undoubtedly unacceptable, answers. We should next
study nature with impartial zeal, although with special
attention to such functional tiaits as seem to give us
some understanding of the pbychophysical problem. In
this enterprise it might help us if we could altogether avoid
certain terms. The term matter, for instance, for which
there is no place in physics should not be used in connec-
tion with our investigation. But if we could also avoid the
words physics and physical, so much the better. They, too,
are utterly charged with unfortunate meanings and with
corresponding quasi-emotional connotations. What we in-
tend to investigate might be called 'the world of those
functional structures which are not directly accessible.'
Can anybody object to an investigation which aims at an
understanding of such functional structures in their rela-
tion to mental life? Few people will object, so long as we
do not speak of the relation between physics and mental
life. So strong is the power of old words and of their his-
torical connotations. What we mean by physics is of course
merely those functional structures. They are known to be
quite different from the picture of nature which Material-
istic philosophers had in mind. It seems possible that with
our present Fragestellung we shall learn to see them in a
light that is to some extent new even to you, the
physicists."
I may have dreamt what the physicist replied at this
point. What I recall is, however, no more than that, before
I awoke, there was some unpleasantness between us.
MAN AND NATURE 409
On looking back upon my dream I feel inclined to be-
lieve that I was essentially right in my remarks about the
nature of matter. I realize that, from the point of view of
isomorphism, the perceptual entity 'matter* involves fur-
ther problems. But, since it seems obvious that its neural
correlate must be some form of cortical function, I feel
quite satisfied that these problems cannot lead us back to
anything like Materialistic conceptions. I am also con-
vinced that in a threatening philosophical predicament it
is not only more courageous but also actually preferable to
face the dangerous situation squarely rather than to avoid
the issue with one excuse or another. As I said once be-
fore, the philosophical theories of the last hundred years
have tried to escape where no escape is feasible. Vitalists
have attempted to separate the organic realm from inani-
mate nature, and to defend the former against the prin-
ciples which govern the latter. Other philosophers soon
began to realize how useless any resistance must be in this
outlying territory. They retreated into the realm of the
mind and of human culture. But Naturalism penetrated
into this stronghold, too. Thus Husserl sacrificed the whole
world of facts, including those of actual mental life, and
took refuge in a world of pure timeless essences. It has all
been in vain. The psychophysical problem, the intimacy
between mental life and biological facts, gives the enemy
such a strong position that any attempt to escape is a hope-
less endeavor. Even timeless truth is known only in actual
mental events which as such are subject to the same threat.
I do not see a single position to which we can now re-
treat. Under these circumstances I propose that we dismiss
our fears, turn around, and take the offensive. It is true,
the association of mental life with biological facts is inti-
mate. But is this intimacy as threatening as it is generally
410 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
believed to be? As I see it, we should quietly accept it as a
fact and then examine the alleged danger. May I repeat:
No connection with anything else can change the character-
istics of mental operations. With this premise the intimate
relation between mental life and certain facts of nature
can mean only one thing. These facts of nature have to be
interpreted in a way that makes them compatible with our
experience of psychological facts. It is a bad habit to be-
lieve that in the nature of the psychophysical problem
there is contained a threat to the characteristics of our
mental processes. What we ought to say is that from the
intimacy between mental operations and their cortical
counterparts there follow certain conditions which these
neural correlates and, with them, other parts of nature
have to satisfy. If we find that with the piesent views of
natural science these conditions can be fulfilled we shall be
contented, and we shall then surely have no reason to fear
the contact with nature. On the other hand, if at certain
points the present system of science seems incompatible
with those conditions, we shall insist upon the urgency of
the psychophysical problem, we shall emphasize the in-
timacy between mental life and nature, and we shall calmly
ask for such changes in the conceptions of science as will
make them fit our conditions. In this case again, why
should we be afraid of nature and of science?
In these ten chapters I have tried to take a few steps in
the new direction. So far no serious difficulty has arisen.
Natural science does seem able to satisfy our conditions,
provided that we occasionally give its views a slightly modi-
fied formulation, and provided that we lay some stress on
principles and on concepts to which the scientists pay less
attention. Requiredness was the most important notion
within the realm of mental facts that appeared threatened
MAN AND NATURE 411
by "Naturalism." When we turned around and used the
principle of isomorphism as our most effective tool or
weapon, it soon became evident that to careful inspection
nature reveals the same dualism between mere facts and
selective tendencies as that which characterizes mental life.
I admit that in this essay we have not achieved much.
Mere requiredness as such occurs within the mental
processes of insane and of feeble-minded people. On the
other hand, mental life at its best exhibits a consistency, a
coherence, and a hierarchy of values which we have left
entirely undiscussed, among other reasons because the
strictly psychological and philosophical investigation of this
field has not yet reached the stage in which it would be
fruitful to consider the corresponding psychophysical
problems.
In the meantime our first tentative steps seem encourag-
ing. Even the editor with whom I conversed in the first
chapter might now see some possibilities of which he did
not think at all when he complained about the inability of
science to deal with man and with questions of value. I
should expect him to express impatience at the fact that
our analysis does not give him much help in his essential
human affairs. I share his impatience; but I do believe that
we have now overcome some difficulties ot principle, and
that our further advance will be accordingly facilitated.
People like to subsume under some familiar category
what they read. It makes the intellectual situation simpler.
In this sense the reader might ask whether our investiga-
tion does not lead to a Monistic interpretation of the world.
If structurally and functionally the neural counterparts of
mental processes are isomorphic with these processes, why
4 i2 THE PLACE OF VALUE IN A WORLD OF FACTS
should we speak of two different things? Why not identify
the former with the latter, or vice versa?
My answer would be another question. What advantage,
I should say, could we derive from this simplified formula-
tion? It may be that some such Monism will sooner or later
appear as the natural view in this field. I am sometimes in-
clined to think so myself. But at the present time the theo-
retical situation does not seem ripe for such a step. On the
contrary, we ought to be wary of any over-simplification.
Accepting Monism as a philosophical doctiine, we should
at once be compelled to discuss its import in the realm of
inanimate nature. I do not feel in the least prepared for
such a bold adventure. As to the psychophysical problem,
moreover, phenornenological observation is one procedure,
and the construction of isomorpliic correlates, plus their
hoped-for demonstration in physiological work, is an en-
tirely different procedure. So long as isomorphism remains
an hypothesis which will have to undergo one empirical
test after another, it would merely confuse our own think-
ing if we were to anticipate a positive outcome of all these
tests, and to undertake further speculations on such an in-
secure basis. I pointed out once before that, as the term is
commonly used, I cannot regard Monism as a clear doc-
trine. It may become sensible precisely to the extent in
which isomorphism can be shown to constitute scientific
truth. Why not wait until this factual problem is at least
partly solved?
As a further argument in favor of reserve and caution I
should like to mention the fact that, after all, the cortical
correlates of mental facts have a microscopic, an atomic,
phase no less than they have macroscopic properties. In the
relation between those microscopic facts and certain phe-
nomenal data the most serious problems are involved. For
MAN AND NATURE 413
the moment I see no possibility of applying the concept of
isomorphism to, say, phenomenal color on the one hand
and microscopic chemical events in the brain on the other
hand. Monism in the historical sense is not disturbed by
such difficulties; it postulates an identity even though in
experience there is a striking dualism. I have no interest in
any Monism of this kind. Colors and many other phe-
nomenal qualities appear to me as different from all the
microscopic and macroscopic processes with which the
physicists deal. Why, then, should we conceal this fact be-
hind the name of a metaphysical doctrine that expressly
denies the fact as such? If we did adopt this name it would
merely make us ignore a particularly intriguing problem of
natural philosophy. To be tnmquilized by the familiarity
of a term is not a commendable attitude. The present
writer would prefer to have as full a view of the psycho-
physical and of related problems as he can possibly obtain.
For this reason he also feels justified in ending this investi-
gation at a stage in which there are few answers and count-
less questions.
INDEX
Adrian, E. D., 211.
Aesthetics, 37, 42, 97, 98, 100, 338,
339, 363.
Angel I, F , 270 n.
Anthiopomorphism and physics,
i2ff , 372 ff. 376 f, 39 ff -
Archimedes, punciple, 174
Aristotelian physics, 145, 372, 377
Associations and value, 58 f.
Asymmetiy, 252 ff.
Atomic physics, 237 f.
Atomism, 175 ff.; -in physics, i7off.
Behaviorism and Positivism, 67 f
Bcthe, A., 293, 294 n.
Biology and macroscopic states,
206 ff.; -and value, 63 ff.
Body and organism, 128 ff, 187,
189-192, -and self, 188 f.
Boltzmann, L , 304.
Blight ness-clisciimination in rats,
249 f
Broad, C. D., 302, 333.
Brown's movement, 179.
Cannon, W. B., 207, 212 n., 282,
290, 291 n., 317, 318.
Causation, 42, 179-184, -and forces,
363-368; -and requiredness, 363-
368
Claparede, E , 188 n.
Colois, 194, 213, 390, 413.
Compton, A. H., 182.
Conation, 64 ff.; -and requiredness,
61 f.
Consciousness as unitaiy, and re-
quiredness, 43 f.
Continuity, physical and phenome-
nal, 172 ff.
Copernicus, 14, 22.
Correct vs. true statements, 17 ff.
Darwinists, 24 f., 30, 36.
Democritus, 178.
Descartes, 44, 281.
Determinism, 183 f.
Dilthey, W., 49
Dirac, P A. M , 401.
Dnection, Law of Dynamic, 306-
34> 3i5. 3i6, 317, 343, 345> 364 *
369
Dmchlet, problem, 205
Dnesch, H, 2911., 296 ff., 310 f.
Dualism, Epistemological, 107 ff.,
130, 131; -us. New Realism, 124-
128, 140 f.
JLbbinghaus, H., 256.
Eddmgton, A., 154 f, 157 f., 161 f.,
163 ff, 16511, 166 n., 168, 205 f.,
218, 368 f'
\on Ehrcnfels, C , 62, 79, 227.
Einstein, A., 153
Emergence, 302 f
Energy, Potential, 145, 152, 306,
3 1 9 313" -maximum and mini-
mum of, 308 ff, 311, 319, 321 ff.
Entclechy, 296 ff.
Epistemological Dualism, 107 ff ,
130, 131, -vs. New Realism, 124-
128, i4of
Epistemological subject, 87.
Equilibrium theory of regulation,
3i5-39.
Ethics, 37, 42, 84, 97, 98, 339, 363.
Evident truth, 51 f.
Evolution, 390 ft , 395 f ; -and iso-
moiphism, 396, 399 f.; -and ma-
chine-theory, 282, -and thought,
24 ff., 45 f.
Expediency and value, 59.
Facts and requiredness, 49 ff., 53 f.,
72, 102 f
Faiaday, 178.
Fields, 334 ff .
Fitness, Ch. 8
Flame and life, 320 ff.
416
INDEX
Forces, 334 If-, 34o-345 360 f., 3 81 '
388; -and causation, 363-368; -and
requiredness', 345-360, 362 f.
Friction, 308 f.
Function and stiucture, 291-296,
399 f
Functional vs. geometrical relations,
219-223
Futine, Phenomenal, 381.
Galileo, 7, 13, 145, 372, 377-
Gelb, A , 247 n
Genetic explanations, 46, 70 ff , 92 f
Geometrical vs functional relations,
219-223.
Gestalt, Traits of, and lequiredness,
84 ff.
Gibson, F , 252 n.
Goldstein, K , 247 n.
Gradients, 228, 265 ff , 309 f , -and
perceptual relations, 228 ff.
Habit, 234, -and liking, 56 f , -and
value, 55-59
Haldane, J. S, 302.
Hallervorden, 253 n.
Ha r wood, H , 270 n.
Hegehanism, 185.
Heisenberg, W , 401; -principle,
iSoff
von Helmholtz, H., 126.
Henng, E , 127.
Hill, A. V , 320.
Holtfreter, J., 301, 302.
Homeostasis, 317 ff.
Hull, C L, 259 n.
Humanists, 45
Hume, 42, 74 f., 81
Husserl, E., 45-54, 409.
Hypotheses in science, 225, 237 fT.
Indifferent facts, 102, 103 f.
Induction, Principle of, 51.
Insight, 28 ff, 30 f, 31; -and re-
quiredness, 338 f, 317
Interest and lequiredness, 72 f ,
332 *
Introspection and value, 66 f.
Introspection ism, 47, 66 f., 80 f.
Isomorphism, 162, 166 ff, 184, Ch
6, 243, 255 f, 396 f., 412; -and
evolution, 396, 399 f , -and mat-
ter, 409, -and requiredness,
J94ff. f 226 ff., 347"36o, 362 f.
acobs, M., 231 f., 265, 266.
ames, W., 34, 119, 127 n.
amcs-Langc theory, 353.
Kant and requiredness, 41-45, 48 f.
Katz, D., 270 n.
Kinacsthesis, 384 ff.
Knchhoff, 202.
Klein bub, M., 265 ff., 267, 268, 269.
KofFka, K , 22, 73 n., 90 n., 247,
Krechevsky, I., 2500.
von Kiies, J , 248.
Knse der Wissenschaft, Die, i ff.
Land, J., 43 n.
Laplace, 204.
Lashley, K S , 247 n., 248 ff.
von Lauenstem, O., 228 f., 229, 231,
263 f , 265, 267.
Law ot Dynamic Direction, 306-
3'4> 3i5. 36, 317. 313 345> 364 f.
369-
Learning and requiredness, 55 ff.
LeChateher, Principle ot, 314.
Levels ot oigamzation, 173 ff.
Lewin, K , 73 n , 90 n , 143 n , 357 n.
Liking and habit, 56 f , -and value,
57 f-
Logic, 37, 45, 98, 270, 338, 339,
363; -and evolutionism, 2\ ff.,
45 f.; -and psychology, Husserl
on, 48.
Lovejoy, A. O., 125, 126.
Luther, 8.
Mach, E., 127, 254 ff., 263, 314,
35 *
Machines, 283-286.
Machine-theory in biology, 281-289.
Macroscopic and microscopic facts,
197-206, -aspect of physical world,
169-181; -states and biology,
206 ff , -states, perception, and
memory, 254-256.
Mangold, H., 300.
Materialism, 185-187, 192 f., 400-
410.
Matthews, R , 211 n.
INDEX
Matter, 402 ff.; -and isomorphism,
409.
Maximum and minimum of poten-
tial energy, 308 ff , 311, 319, 321 fl.
Maxwell, 178, 205, 394.
Maze, 248 f .
McDougall, W, 62, 62 n., 207 f.
Measurement and phenomenal
woild, 1^7-149.
Memoiy, Ch 7; -and perception,
251-266; -and requircdness, 269 if ,
-and transcendence, 114, 117-121
Memory-centers, Theory o special,
245 .
Memory-images, 270, 271.
Memory-tiaccs, 236-250, 267-268,
269, 333 ff., -and tequiiedncss,
269(1., 274-278, 332, -and tian-
scendencc, i23f., 269, 271-274.
Mental entities, 235 f
Mctzger, W., 231.
Micioscopic and macroscopic facts,
197-206.
Molar aspect of physical world,
il>9-i8{
Monism, Philosophical, 224, 411 ff
Mullcr, Ci L , 399.
Muller, 1 , 262.
Naive Realism, 405.
Natural laws and requiredness, 51 f ,
363-368
Naturalism, 30, 45 f., 361 ff., 4090"
Neinst, \V , 21 j.
Neive cm tents, 209 ff.; -and polar-
ization, 2^9-2 \\
Neumann problem, 205.
New Realism, 124-128, 140 f.
Nothing But, i2ff.
Objectivity and self, 69 ff.; -and
value, 76 ft
Ohm's law, 174.
Organism and body, 128 ff., 187,
189-192.
Organizer, 300 ff., 312.
Parker, G. H., 212 n.
Pai tides, 175 ft.
Past, Phenomenal, 381.
Pathetic fallacy, 60, 89 f., 91, 92.
Perception and memory, 251-256.
Percepts, External localization of,
127-141.
Pei kins, F. T., 247 n.
Perry, R. B., 35, 41 n., 61, 62;
Ch. 3.
Phenomenal and Physical woild,
106 ff , 373 ff.; -and transphe-
nomenal charactenstics, 142 ft
Phenomenalism, 104-124, 124, 125,
126, 340.
Phenomenology, 46 f., 67 ff., 105.
Physical and phenomenal woild,
io6ff , 373 if.
Physical laws, 155, 162 f.
Physics and anthropomorphism,
i2ff, 372 ff, 376 1., 390 ft, -and
psychophvsics, 369, 394 f., 397 If
Pilatus, Pontius, 33.
Planck, M , 182, 206, 314.
Plato, 7, 189, -and requiredness, 37-
4'
Pleasantness and requiredness, 59 ft.
Pointer-readings, 15^-169
Potential energy, i\r } , 152, 306, 319,
34311; -maximum and minimum
of, 308 ff., 311, 319, 321 ft.
Polamation and neivc cunents,
239-244.
Positivism, 36 f., 67 f, 8j, 105, 153,
335. 3l-
Piagmatic theory of tiuth, 59.
Pmnitixc peoples, 12 f.
Probability, 389
Psychoph)sics and physics, 369,
391 1 , 397 ft
Puipose, 55, 64, 91, 377-3 8 -
Qualities and science, 15, 149-152.
Quantitative nature of phenomenal
woild, 146-149.
Quantum physics, 172, 179-184.
Realism, 3^0.
Reference, 115 ft, 336 f., 345 f.
Regulation, 285 n , 289-328
Regulators, 286, 288 f.
Relations, 226 f., -Perceptual, and
gradients, 228 ff
Relativism, 30, -historical and socio-
logical, 32.
Requnedncss, 31, 37, 279, 327 f,
3 2 9-3 1; 400, -and causation, 363-
368, -and facts, 49 ff., 53 f , 72,
418
INDEX
Requiredness (Cont'd)
102 f.; -and forces, 345-360, 362 f.;
-and gestalt-traits, 84 ff ; -and
habit, 55-59; -and insight, 338!,
347, -and interest, 72 f., -and iso-
morphism, 191 ff., 226 ff., 347-360.
362 f ; -and laws, 51 f., -and learn-
ing, 55 ff ; -and pleasantness,
59 ff ; -and science, 35; -and striv-
ing, 61 f; -and traces, 269 ff , 274-
278, 332; -and transcendence, 269,
330 ff, 333, 359 ^ - and vectors,
73 ff, 83, 86 ff., 93-101; -in Kant,
41-45; -in Plato, 37-41; -charac-
teristics of, 336-340.
von Restorff, H., 218 n., 256 ff.
Rosenblueth, A , 212 n.
Roux, W., 320 n.
Saint Francis, 8.
Scepticism, 30.
Schopenhauer, 127.
Schiodmger, E , 401, 403.
Schumann, F, 251 n
Science and phenomenal world
142 ff ; -and phenomenalism,
loGff ; -and qualities, 15, 119-152,
-and requi redness, 35, -and trans
phenomenal woild, 106 IT , 121 if
Second Law of Thermodynamics,
206, 304 ff, 307, 308 f, 309, 313,
314, 315, 316, 317, 368 f
Secondary qualities, 19^, 392, 413.
Segregation, Visual, 213 f, 215 ft
Self, 69, 86, 91 f , 353 ff ; -and body,
188 f ; -and requiredness, 276 f
Sensory qualities, 15, 70 f., 109, 115,
161. 196, 392, 413
Shcnmgton, C. S , 208.
Socrates, 21
Spatial perception and cortical ac-
tivity, 133-141
Spemann, H., 300.
Spmo/a, 62.
Standard of living, 8.
Striate area, 249 f.
Stuving and requiredness, 61 f.
Stuicture and function, 291-296,
390 f
Stiuctuie in physical and phe-
nomenal world, 166 ff ; -and
pointer-readings, 155, 161 ff.
Stumpf, C., 49.
Subjectivity and self, 69 ff ; -and
value, 76 ff.
Successive comparison, 269 ff., 274.
Symbolism of language, i8f.
Symbols, Mathematical, 145 f., 150 f.,
158 f., 161.
Symmetry, 252 ff.
Teleology, 377-380.
Tertiaiy qualities, 16, 78 f., 81, 82,
85, 145-
Thought and evolution, 24 ff , 45 f
Thought-objects, 90.
Tolman, E. C., 94 f.
Topological relations, 140, 166.
Transcendence, 7in, 113-124, 125! ,
MS f 337 34 ' an< ^ requiredness,
269, 330 ff, 333, 359 f.; -and
traces, i23f., 269, 271-271.
Tiansphenomenal characteristics
and phenomenal world, 104,
142 ff.
True t's conect statements, 17 ff.
Truth, Pragmatic theory of, 59.
Urban, W. M , 83.
Usefulness and value, 59.
Value, 31, 336, -and associations,
58 f , -and biology, 63 ff , -and
habit, 55-59, -and liking, 57 f ;
-and phcnomenological method,
67-71, 81 n.; and usefulness, 59.
Veclois, 73, 3^1, -and requiredness,
73 ff, 83, 86 ff, 93-101.
Velocity, i5of
Vision, 383 ff.
Visual peiccpts, Spatial distribution
of, 132-111; -segregation, 2i3f.,
2151!
Vitalism, 45, 282 f, 296-303, 305,
409; -Emergent, 282 n., 302 f.
Waves, Electrical, of brain, 215.
Weber, E. H., 126.
Weiss, P., 330 n.
Wertheirner, M., 22, 73 n., 97 n.,
251, 254, 255, 259, 263, 264.
Wheeler, R. H., 247.
W'hitehead, A. N., 150., 127.
Wilson's method, 171.
Wulf, F., 264 n.
