Sex and Character/Part 2/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III
MALE AND FEMALE CONSCIOUSNESS
Before proceeding to consider the main difference between the psychical life of the sexes, so far as the latter takes subjective and objective things as its contents, a few psychological soundings must be taken, and conceptions formulated. As the views and principles of prevailing systems of psychology have been formed without consideration of the subject of this book, it is not surprising that they contain little that I am able to use. At present there is no psychology but many psychologists, and it would really be a matter of caprice on my part to choose any particular school and attempt to apply its principles to my subject. I shall rather try to lay down a few useful principles on my own account.
The endeavours to reach a comprehensive and unifying conception of the whole psychical process by referring it to a single principle have been particularly evident in the relations between perceptions and sensations suggested by different psychologists. Herbart, for instance, derived the sensations from elementary ideas, whilst Horwicz supposed them to come from perceptions. Most modern psychologists have insisted that such monistic attempts must be fruitless. None the less there was some truth in the view.
To discover this truth, however, it is necessary to make a distinction that has been overlooked by modern workers. We must distinguish between the perceiving of a perception, feeling of a sensation, thinking a thought from the later repetitions of the process in which recognition plays a part. In many cases this distinction is of fundamental importance.
Every simple, clear, plastic perception and every distinct idea, before it could be put into words, passes through a stage (which may indeed be very short) of indistinctness. So also in the case of association; for a longer or shorter time before the elements about to be grouped have actually come together, there is a sort of vague, generalised expectation or presentiment of association. Leibnitz, in particular, has worked at kindred processes, and I believe them to underlie the attempts of Herbart and Horwicz. The common acceptance of pleasure and pain as the fundamental sensations, even with Wundt's addition of the sensations of tension and relaxation, of rest and stimulation, makes the division of psychical phenomena into sensations and perceptions too narrow for due treatment of the vague preliminary stages to which I have referred. I shall go back therefore to the widest classification of psychical phenomena that I know of, that of Avenanus into "elements" and "characters." The word "character" in this connection, of course, has nothing to do with the subject of characterology.
Avenarius added to the difficulty of applying his theories by his use of a practically new terminology (which is certainly most striking and indispensable for some of the new views he expounded). But what stands most in the way of accepting some of his conclusions is his desire to derive his psychology from the physiology of the brain, a physiology which he evolved himself out of his inner consciousness with only a slight general acquaintance with actual biological facts. The psychological, or second part of his "Critique of Pure Experience," was really the source from which he derived the first or physiological part, with the result that the latter appears to its readers as an account of some discovery in Atlantis. Because of these difficulties I shall give here a short account of the system of Avenarius, as I find it useful for my thesis.
An "Element" in the sense of Avenarius represents what the usual psychology terms a perception, or the content of a perception, what Schopenhauer called a presentation, what in England is called an "impression" or "idea," the "thing," "fact," or "object" of ordinary language; and the word is used independently of the presence or absence of a special sense-organ stimulation—a most important and novel addition. In the sense of Avenarius, and for our purpose, it is a matter of indifference to the terminology how far what is called "analysis" takes place, the whole tree may be taken as the "element," or each single leaf, or each hair, or (where most people would stop), the colours, sizes, weights, temperatures, resistances, and so forth. Still, the analysis may go yet further, and the colour of the leaf may be taken as merely the resultant of its quality, intensity, luminosity, and so forth, these being the elements. Or we may go still further and take modern ultimate conceptions reaching units incapable of sub-division.
In the sense of Avenarius, then, elements are such ideas as "green," "blue," "cold," "warm," "soft," "hard," "sweet," "bitter," and their "character" is the particular kind of quality with which they appear, not merely their pleasantness or unpleasantness, but also such modes of presentation as "surprising," "expected," "novel," "indifferent," "recognised," "known," "actual," "doubtful," categories which Avenarius first recognised as being psychological. For instance, what I guess, believe, or know is an "element"; the fact that I guess it, not believe it or know it, is the "character" in which it presents itself psychologically (not logically).
Now there is a stage in mental activity in which this sub-division of psychical phenomena cannot be made, which is too early for it. All "elements" at their first appearance are merged with the floating background, the whole being vaguely tinged by "character." To follow my meaning, think of what takes place, when for the first time at a distance one sees something in the landscape, such as a shrub or a heap of wood, at the moment when one does not yet know what "it" is.
At this moment "element" and "character" are absolutely indistinguishable (they are always inseparable as Petzoldt ingeniously pointed out), so improving the original statement of Avenarius.
In a dense crowd I perceive, for instance, a face which attracts me across the swaying mass by its expression. I have no idea what the face is like, and should be quite unable to describe it or give an idea of it; but it has appealed to me in the most disturbing manner, and I find myself asking with keen curiosity, "Where have I seen that face before?"
A man may see the head of a woman for a moment, and this may make a very strong impression on him, and yet he may be unable to say exactly what he has seen, or, for instance, be able to remember the colour of her hair. The retina must be exposed to the object sufficiently long, if only a fraction of a second, for a photographic impression to be made.
If one looks at any object from a considerable distance one has at first only the vaguest impression of its outlines; and as one comes nearer and sees the details more clearly, lively sensations, at first lost in the general mass, are received. Think, for instance, of the first general impression of, say, the sphenoid bone disarticulated from a skull, or of many pictures seen a little too closely or a little too far away. I myself have a remembrance of having had strong impressions from sonatas of Beethoven before I knew anything of the musical notes. Avenarius and Petzoldt have overlooked the fact that the coming into consciousness of the elements is accompanied by a kind of secretion of characterisation.
Some of the simple experiments of physiological psychology illustrate the point to which I have been referring. If one stays in a dark room until the eye has adapted itself to the absence of light, and then for a second subjects oneself to a ray of coloured light, a sensation of illumination will be received, although it is impossible to recognise the quality of the illumination; something has been perceived, but what the something is cannot be apprehended unless the stimulation lasts a definite time.
In the same way every scientific discovery, every technical invention, every artistic creation passes through a preliminary phase of indistinctness. The process is similar to the series of impressions that would be got as a statue was gradually unwrapped from a series of swathings. The same kind of sequence occurs, although, perhaps, in a very brief space of time, when one is trying to recall a piece of music. Every thought is preceded by a kind of half-thought, a condition in which vague geometrical figures, shifting masks, a swaying and indistinct background hover in the mind. The beginning and the end of the whole process, which I may term "clarification," are what take place when a short-sighted person proceeds to look through properly adapted lenses.
Just as this process occurs in the life of the individual (and he, indeed, may die long before it is complete), so it occurs in history. Definite scientific conceptions are preceded by anticipations. The process of clarification is spread over many generations. There were ancient and modern vague anticipations of the theory of Darwin and Lamarck, anticipations which we are now apt to overvalue. Mayer and Helmholz had their predecessors, and Goethe and Leonardo da Vinci, perhaps two of the most many-sided intellects known to us, anticipated in a vague way many of the conclusions of modern science. The whole history of thought is a continuous "clarification," a more and more accurate description or realisation of details. The enormous number of stages between light and darkness, the minute gradations of detail that follow each other in the development of thought can be realised best if one follows historically some complicated modern piece of knowledge, such as, for instance, the theory of elliptical functions.
The process of clarification may be reversed, and the act of forgetting is such a reversal. This may take a considerable time, and is usually noticed only by accident at some point or other of its course. The process is similar to the gradual obliteration of well-made roads, for the maintenance of which no provision has been made. The faint anticipations of a thought are very like the faint recollections of it, and the latter gradually become blurred as in the case of a neglected road over the boundaries of which animals stray, slowly obliterating it. In this connection a practical rule for memorising, discovered and applied by a friend of mine, is interesting. It generally happens that if one wants to learn, say, a piece of music, or a section from the history of philosophy, one has to go over parts of it again and again. The problem was, how long should the intervals be between these successive attempts to commit to memory? The answer was that they should not be so long as to make it possible to take a fresh interest in the subject again, to be interested and curious about it. If the interval has produced that state of mind, then the process of clarification must begin from the beginning again. The rather popular physiological theory of Sigismund Exner as to the formation of "paths" in the nervous system may perhaps be taken as a physical parallel of the process of clarification. According to the theory, the nerves, or rather the fibrils, make paths easy for the stimulations to travel along, if these stimulations last sufficiently long or are repeated sufficiently often. So also in the case of forgetting; what happens is that these paths or processes of the nerve-cells atrophy from disuse. Avenarius would have explained the above processes by his theory of the articulation of the fibres of the brain, but his physical doctrine was rather too crude and too simple for application to psycho-physics. None the less his conception of articulation or jointing is both convenient and appropriate in its application to the process of clarification, and I shall employ it in that connection.
The process of clarification must be traced thoroughly in order to realise its importance, but for the moment, it is important to consider only the initial stage. The distinction of Avenarius between "element" and "character," which later on will become evident in a process of clarification, is not applicable to the very earliest moments of the process. It is necessary to coin a name for those minds to which the duality of element and character becomes appreciable at no stage of the process. I propose for psychical data at this earliest stage of their existence the word Henid (from the Greek ἔν, because in them it is impossible to distinguish perception and sensation as two analytically separable factors, and because, therefore, there is no trace of duality in them).
Naturally the "henid" is an abstract conception and may not occur in the absolute form. How often psychical data in human beings actually stand at this absolute extreme of undifferentiation is uncertain and unimportant; but the theory does not need to concern itself with the possibility of such an extreme. A common example from what has happened to all of us may serve to illustrate what a henid is. I may have a definite wish to say something particular, and then something distracts me, and the "it" I wanted to say or think has gone. Later on, by some process of association, the "it" is quite suddenly reproduced, and I know at once that it was what was on my tongue, but, so to speak, in a more perfect stage of development.
I fear lest some one may expect me to describe exactly what I mean by "henid." The wish can come only from a misconception. The very idea of a henid forbids its description; it is merely a something. Later on identification will come with the complete articulation of the contents of the henid; but the henid is not the whole of this detailed content, but is distinguished from it by a lower grade of consciousness, by an absence of, so to speak, relief, by a blending of the die and the impression, by the absence of a central point in the field of vision.
And so one cannot describe particular henids; one can only be conscious of their existence.
None the less henids are things as vital as elements and characters. Each henid is an individual and can be distinguished from other henids. Later on I shall show that probably the mental data of early childhood (certainly of the first fourteen months) are all henids, although perhaps riot in the absolute sense. Throughout childhood these data do not reach far from the henid stage; in adults there is always a certain process of development going on. Probably the perceptions of some plants and animals are henids. In the case of mankind the development from the henid to the completely differentiated perception and idea is always possible, although such an ideal condition may seldom be attained. Whilst expression in words is impossible in the case of the absolute henid, as words imply articulated thoughts, there are also in the highest stages of the intellect possible to man some things still unclarified and, therefore, unspeakable.
The theory of henids will help in the old quarrel between the spheres of perception and sensation, and will replace by a developmental conception the ideas of element and character which Avenarius and Petzoldt deduced from the process of clarification. It is only when the elements become distinct that they can be distinguished from the characters. Man is disposed to humours and sentimentalities only so long as the contours of his ideas are vague; when he sees things in the light instead of the dark his process of thinking will become different.
Now what is the relation between the investigation I have been making and (he psychology of the sexes? What is the distinction between the male and the female (and to reach this has been the object of my digression) in the process of clarification?
Here is my answer:
The male has the same psychical data as the female, but in a more articulated form; where she thinks more or less in henids, he thinks in more or less clear and detailed presentations in which the elements are distinct from the tones of feeling. With the woman, thinking and feeling are identical, for man they are in opposition. The woman has many of her mental experiences as henids, whilst in man these have passed through a process of clarification. Woman is sentimental, and knows emotion but not mental excitement.
The greater articulation of the mental data in man is reflected in the more marked character of his body and face, as compared with the roundness and vagueness of the woman. In the same connection it is to be remembered that, notwithstanding the popular belief, the senses of the male are much more acute than those of the woman. The only exception is the sense of touch, an exception of great interest to which I shall refer later. It has been established, moreover, that the sensibility to pain is much more acute in man, and we have now learned to distinguish between that and the tactile sensations.
A weaker sensibility is likely to retard the passage of mental data through the process of clarification, although we cannot quite take it for granted that it must be so. Perhaps a more trustworthy proof of the less degree of articulation in the mental data of the woman may be drawn from consideration of the greater decision in the judgments made by men, although indeed it may be the case that this distinction rests on a deeper basis. It is certainly the case that whilst we are still near the henid stage we know much more certainly what a thing is not than what it is. What Mach has called instinctive experience depends on henids. While we are near the henid stage we think round about a subject, correct ourselves at each new attempt, and say that that was not yet the right word. Naturally that condition implies uncertainty and indecision in judgment. Judgment comes towards the end of the process of clarification; the act of judgment is in itself a departure from the henid stage.
The most decisive proof for the correctness of the view that attributes henids to woman and differentiated thoughts to man, and that sees in this a fundamental sexual distinction, lies in the fact that wherever a new judgment is to be made, (not merely something already settled to be put into proverbial form) it is always the case that the female expects from man the clarification of her data, the interpretation of her henids. It is almost a tertiary sexual character of the male, and certainly it acts on the female as such, that she expects from him the interpretation and illumination of her thoughts. It is from this reason that so many girls say that they could only marry, or, at least, only love a man who was cleverer than themselves; that they would be repelled by a man who said that all they thought was right, and did not know better than they did. In short, the woman makes it a criterion of manliness that the man should be superior to herself mentally, that she should be influenced and dominated by the man; and this in itself is enough to ridicule all ideas of sexual equality.
The male lives consciously, the female lives unconsciously This is certainly the necessary conclusion for the extreme cases. The woman receives her consciousness from the man; the function to bring into consciousness what was outside it is a sexual function of the typical man with regard to the typical woman, and is a necessary part of his ideal completeness.
And now we are brought up against the problem of talent; the whole modern woman question appears to be resolving itself into a dispute as to whether men or women are more highly gifted. As the question is generally propounded there is no attempt to distinguish between the pure types of sex; ihe conclusions with regard to these that I have been able to set forth have an important bearing on the answer to the question.