5. An Indication as to the Content of Experience
Let us now take a look at pure experience. What does it contain, as it
sweeps across our consciousness, without our working upon it in
thinking? It is mere juxtaposition in space and succession in time; an
aggregate of utterly disconnected particulars. None of the objects
that come and go there has anything to do with any other. At this
stage, the facts that we perceive, that we experience inwardly, are of
no consequence to each other. This world is a manifoldness of things
of equal value. No thing or event can claim to play a greater role in
the functioning of the world than any other part of the world of
experience. If it is to become clear to us that this or that fact has
greater significance than another one, we must then not merely observe
the things, but must already bring them into thought-relationships.
The rudimentary organ of an animal, which perhaps does not have the
least importance for its organic functioning, is for experience of
exactly the same value as the most essential organ of the animal's
body. This greater or lesser importance will in fact become clear to
us only when we begin to reflect upon the relationships of the
individual parts of observation, that is, when we work upon
experience.
For experience, the snail, which stands at a low level of
organization, is the equal of the most highly developed animal. The
difference in the perfection of organization appears to us only when
we grasp the given manifoldness conceptually and work it through. The
culture of the Eskimo, in this respect, is also equal to that of the
educated European; Caesar's significance for the historical
development of humanity appears to mere experience as being no greater
than that of one of his soldiers. In the history of literature, Goethe
does not stand out above Gottsched, if it is a matter of merely
experienceable factuality.
At this level of contemplation, the world is a completely smooth
surface for us with respect to thought. No part of this surface rises
above another; none manifests any kind of conceptual difference from
another. It is only when the spark of thought strikes into this
surface that heights and depths appear, that one thing appears to
stand out more or less than another, that everything takes form in a
definite way, that threads weave from one configuration to another,
that everything becomes a harmony complete within itself.
We believe that these examples suffice to show what we mean by the
greater or lesser significance of the objects of perception (here
considered to be synonymous with the things of experience), and what
we mean by that knowing activity which first arises when we
contemplate these objects in their interconnection. At the same time,
we believe that in this we are safe from the objection that our world
of experience in fact shows endless differences in its objects even
before thinking approaches it. After all, a red surface differs from a
green one even if we do not exercise any thinking. This is correct. If
someone wanted to refute us by this, however, he would have
misunderstood our argument totally. This is precisely our argument,
that an endless number of particulars is what experience offers us.
These particulars must of course differ from one another; otherwise
they would not in fact confront us as an endless, disconnected
manifoldness. It is not at all a question of perceived things being
undifferentiated, but rather of their complete unrelatedness,
and of the absolute insignificance of the individual sense-perceptible
facts for the totality of our picture of reality. It is precisely
because we recognize this endless qualitative differentiation that we
are driven to our conclusions.
If we were confronted by a self-contained, harmoniously organized
unity, we could not then say, in fact, that the individual parts of
this unity are of no significance to one another.
If, for this reason, someone does not find the comparison we used
above to be apt, he has not grasped it at the actual point of
comparison. It would be incorrect, of course, for us to want to
compare the world of perception, in all its in finitely diverse
configuration, to the uniform regularity of a plane. But our plane is
definitely not meant to represent the diverse world of phenomena, but
rather the homogeneous total picture we have of this world as long as
thinking has not approached it. After the activation of our thinking,
each particular of this total picture no longer appears in the way our
senses alone communicate it, but al ready with the significance it has
for the whole of reality. It appears then with characteristics totally
lacking to it in the form of experience.
In our estimation, Johannes Volkelt has succeeded admirably in
sketching the clear outlines of what we are justified in calling pure
experience. He already gave a fine characterization of it five years
ago in his book on Kant's Epistemology, and has then carried the
subject further in his most recent work, Experience and Thinking. Now
he did this, to be sure, in support of a view that is utterly
different from our own, and for an essentially different purpose than
ours is at the moment. But this need not prevent us from introducing
here his excellent characterization of pure experience. He presents
us, simply, with the pictures which, in a limited period of time, pass
before our consciousness in a completely unconnected way. Volkelt
says: Now, for example, my consciousness has as its content the
mental picture of having worked hard today; immediately joining itself
to this is the content of a mental picture of being able, with good
conscience, to take a walk; but suddenly there appears the perceptual
picture of the door opening and of the mailman entering; the mailman
appears, now sticking out his hand, now opening his mouth, now doing
the reverse; at the same time, there join in with this content of
perception of the mouth opening, all kinds of auditory impressions,
among which comes the impression that it is starting to rain outside.
The mailman disappears from my consciousness, and the mental pictures
that now arise have as their content the sequence: picking up
scissors, opening the letter, criticism of illegible writing, visible
images of the most diverse written figures, diverse imaginings and
thoughts connected with them; scarcely is this sequence at an end than
again there appears the mental picture of having worked hard and the
perception, accompanied by ill humor, of the rain continuing; but both
disappear from my consciousness, and there arises a mental picture
with the content that a difficulty believed to have been resolved in
the course of today's work was not resolved; entering at the same time
are the mental pictures: freedom of will, empirical necessity,
responsibility, value of virtue, absolute chance, incomprehensibility,
etc.; these all join together with each other in the most varied and
complicated way; and so it continues.
Here we have depicted, within a certain limited period of time, what
we really experience, the form of reality in which thinking plays no
part at all.
Now one definitely should not believe that one would have arrived at a
different result if, instead of this everyday experience, one had
depicted, say, the experience we have of a scientific experiment or of
a particular phenomenon of nature. Here, as there, it is individual
unconnected pictures that pass before our consciousness. Thinking
first establishes the connections.
We must also recognize the service rendered by Dr. Richard Wahle's
little book, Brain and Consciousness (Vienna, 1884), in showing
us in clear contours what is actually given by experience divested of
everything of a thought-nature, with only one reservation: that what
Wahle presents as the characteristics applying absolutely to the
phenomena of the outer and inner world actually applies only to the
first stage of the world contemplation we have characterized.
According to Wahle we know only a juxtaposition in space and a
succession in time. For him there can be absolutely no question of a
relationship between the things that exist in this juxtaposition and
succession. For example, there may after all be an inner connection
somewhere between the warm rays of the sun and the warming up of a
stone; but we know nothing of any causal connection; all that becomes
clear to us is that a second fact follows upon the first. There may
also be somewhere, in a world unaccessible to us, an inner
connection between our brain mechanism and our spiritual activity; we
only know that both are events running their courses parallel to each
other; we are absolutely not justified, for example, in assuming a
causal connection between these two phenomena.
Of course, when Wahle also presents this assertion as an ultimate
truth of science, we must dispute this broader application; his
assertion is completely valid, however, with respect to the first form
in which we become aware of reality.
It is not only the things of the outer world and the processes of the
inner world that stand there, at this stage of our knowing, without
interconnection; our own personality is also an isolated entity with
respect to the rest of the world. We find ourselves as one of
innumerable perceptions without connection to the objects that
surround us.
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