International Congress of Arts and Science, Volume 1 / Philosophy and Metaphysics

by Unknown

We find the simpler relations here in the inner experiences. A certain thought, such as twice two is four, I can bring up in my consciousness as often as I wish, and in addition to the content of the thought I experience the further consciousness that I have already had this thought before, that it is familiar to me.

A similar but somewhat more complex phenomenon appears in the experiences in which the outer world takes part. After I have eaten an apple, I can repeat the experience in two ways. First, as an inner experience, I can remember that I have eaten the apple and by an effort of my will I can re-create in myself, although with diminished strength and intensity, a part of the former experience—the part which belonged to my inner world. Another part, the sense impression which belonged to that experience, I cannot re-create by an effort of my will, but I must again eat an apple in order to have a similar experience of this sort. This is a complete repetition of the experience to which the external world also contributes. Such a repetition does not depend altogether on my own powers, for it is necessary that I have an apple, that is, that certain conditions which are independent of me and belong to the outer world be fulfilled.

Whether the outer world takes part in the repetition of an experience or not has no influence upon the possibility of the content of consciousness which we call memory. From this it follows that this content depends upon the inner experience alone, and that we remember an external event only by means of its inner constituents. The mere repetition of corresponding sense impressions is not sufficient for this, for we can see the same person repeatedly without recognizing him, if the inner accompanying phenomena were so insignificant, as a result of lack of interest, that their repetition does not produce the content of consciousness known as memory. If we see him quite frequently, the frequent repetition of the external impression finally causes the memory of the corresponding inner experience.

From this it results that for the "memory"-reaction a certain intensity of the inner experience is necessary. This threshold can be attained either at once or by continued repetition. The repetitions are the more effective the more rapidly they follow each other. From this we may conclude that the memory-value of an experience, or its capacity for calling forth the "memory"-reaction by repetition, decreases with the lapse of time. Further, we must consider the fact mentioned above, that an experience is never exactly repeated, and that therefore the "memory"-reaction occurs even where there is only resemblance or partial agreement in place of complete agreement. Here, too, there are different degrees; memory takes place more easily the more perfectly the two experiences agree, and vice versa.

If we look at these phenomena from the physiological side, we may say we have two kinds of apparatus or organs, one of which does not depend upon our will, whereas the other does. The former are the sense organs. The latter constitutes the organ of thought. Only the activities of the latter constitute our experiences or the content of our consciousness.

The activities of the former may call forth the corresponding processes of the latter, but this is not always necessary. Our sense organs can be influenced without our "noticing" it, that is, without the thinking apparatus being involved. An especially important reaction of the thinking apparatus is memory, that is, the consciousness that an experience which we have just had possesses more or less agreement with former experiences. With reference to the organ of thought, it is the expression of the general physiological fact that every process influences the organ in such a way that it has a different relation to the repetition of this process, from the first time, and moreover that the repetition is rendered easier. This influence decreases with time.

It is chiefly upon these phenomena that experience rests. Experience results from the fact that all events consist of a complete series of simultaneous and successive components. When a connection between some of those parts has become familiar to us by the repetition of similar occurrences (for instance, the succession of day and night), we do not feel such an occurrence as something completely new, but as something partially familiar, and the single parts or phases of it do not surprise us, but rather we anticipate their coming or expect them. From expectation to prediction is only a short step, and so experience enables us to prophesy the future from the past and present.

Now this is also the road to science: for science is nothing but systematized experience, that is, experience reduced to its simplest and clearest forms. Its purposes to predict from a part of a phenomenon which is known another part which is not yet known. Here it may be a question of spatial as well as of temporal phenomena. Thus the scientific zoölogist knows how to "determine," that is, to tell, from the skull of an animal, the nature of the other parts of the animal to which the skull belongs; likewise the astronomer is able to indicate the future, situation of a planet from a few observations of its present situation; and the more exact the first observations were, the more distant the future for which he can predict. All such scientific predictions are limited, therefore, with reference to their number and their accuracy. If the skull shown to the zoölogist is that of a chicken, then he will probably be able to indicate the general characteristics of chickens, and also perhaps whether the chicken had a top-knot or not; but not its color, and only uncertainly its age and its size. Both facts, the possibility of prediction and its limitation in content and amount, are an expression for the two fundamental facts, that among our experiences there is similarity, but not complete agreement.

The foregoing considerations deserve to be discussed and extended in several directions. First, the objection will be made that a chicken or a planet is not an experience; we call them rather by the most general name of thing. But our knowledge of the chicken begins with the experiencing of certain visual impressions, to which are added, perhaps, certain impressions of hearing and touch. The sight impressions (to discuss these first) by no means completely agree. We see the chicken large or small, according to the distance; and according to its position and movement its outline is very different. As we have seen, however, these differences are continually grading into one other and do not reach beyond certain limits; we neglect to observe them and rest contented with the fact that certain other peculiarities (legs, wings, eyes, bill, comb, etc.) remain and do not change. The constant properties we group together as a thing, and the changing ones we call the states of this thing. Among the changing properties, we distinguish further those which depend upon us (for example, the distance) and those upon which we have no immediate influence (for instance, the position or motion): the first is called the subjective changeable part of our experience, while the second is called the objective mutability of the thing.

This omission of both the subjectively and objectively changeable portion of the experience in connection with the retention of the constant portion and the gathering together of the latter into a unity is one of the most important operations which we perform with our experiences. We call it the process of abstraction, and its product, the permanent unity, we call a concept. Plainly this procedure contains arbitrary as well as necessary factors. Arbitrary or accidental is the circumstance that quite different phases of a given experience come to consciousness according to our attention, the amount of practice we have had, indeed according to our whole intellectual nature. We may overlook constant factors and attend to changeable ones. The objective factors, however, become necessary as soon as we have noticed them; after we have seen that the chicken is black, it is not in our power to see it red. Accordingly, in general, our knowledge of that which agrees must be less than it actually could be, since we have not been able to observe every agreement, and our concept is always poorer in constituents at any given time than it might be. To seek out such elements of concepts as have been overlooked, and to prove that they are necessary factors of the corresponding experiences, is one of the never-ending tasks of science. The other case, namely, that elements have been received in the concept which do not prove to be constant, also happens, and leads to another task. One can then leave that element out of the concept, if further experiences show that the other elements are found in them, or one can form a new concept which contains the former elements, leaving out those that have been recognized as unessential. For a long time the white color belonged to the concept swan. When the Dutch black swans became known, it was possible either to drop the element white from the concept swan (as actually happened), or to make a new concept for the bird which is similar to the swan but black. Which choice is made in a given case is largely arbitrary, and is determined by considerations of expediency.