We may make acknowledgment when, as I have done, a scholar continually turns toward new questions and when he inspires efforts here and there and works on a great variety of problems.� This type of activity can undoubtedly also be criticized, however.
A professor on the staff of one of the three high schools in which I was working once criticized a habilitation essay before us because it gave the impression of being a piece of occasional writing rather than a study resulting from systematic work.� In a certain sense, I can say that all my writing has been occasional writing (Gelegenheitsschriften). �Almost always I have been guided by certain notions or ideas which I obtained in the course of my reading, conversation with scholars or men of practical life, or other experiences, [p. 205] and I have never been able to decide to study a field for the sake of writing an essay or a book about it.� If some few of my writings have resulted from stimulation by a third person, I have responded to this stimulus only when I believed that these writings offered me the opportunity of expressing in action, or at least of publishing, ideas that were in my mind.
It is clear that I cannot treat a subject successfully unless it interests me strongly, and I have no talent for what Herbart calls an even distribution of interest over everything such as is involved in large systematic studies.� Today I have even reached the point of basing my study of scientific literature almost solely upon my own ideas and investigations and, of course, also upon the requirements of my teaching.� Clearly, the urge to investigation, the wish to have an effective influence upon science and life, and the aim of being able to offer my students the material they need have become the exclusive, or almost the exclusive, deciding factors in my work.
I mentioned above that, as a student, I regarded universality and achievement in special fields as the principal earmarks of the great philosopher.� Undoubtedly, I have achieved a certain modest universality in that I have extended my studies, more than it is customary to do, over the most varied fields.� To deepen and broaden this universality, however, as Herbert Spencer and Wilhelm Wundt did, for example, and on the basis of this to progress to systematic works on a grand scale was not granted me, because I lacked this even distribution of interest.� The wish, too, to bury myself in subjects which held my interest, even when they were not of general interest, hindered my development into a universal philosophical author.� When I had once set myself a problem, my desire was to exhaust it to the extent of my ability, and to touch upon a thousand questions, gaining only a literary mastery over them, has never appealed to me.� And, lastly, I have also recognized that the authors of large systematic works have hardly ever been able to avoid superficialities in detail which I have always personally strenuously repelled, although I do not on this account reject work of a more encyclopedic trend.
When K�lpe saw, in Leipzig, that I kept on working again and again on the construction of the apparatus for shifting sectors (Sektorenverschiebungsapparat) and the outlines of my theory of Talbot's law, he remarked, without meaning to reprove me, shaking his head, that that type of activity was impossible to him.� And indeed he and I were quite different scientific personalities.
[p. 206] I ultimately noticed that I was much too critically minded by nature to make a universal writer on philosophical subjects.� In the early period of my activity I wrote a large number of reviews and also some very sharp critical essays.� As I have already stated above, my critical attitude brought me into opposition with Martius, Wundt, and also K�lpe.� Other oppositions, too, have arisen through my critical attitude.� Although today I avoid polemics and no longer enjoy the writing of criticisms, I undoubtedly still have, even now, a very critical attitude toward others, and also, if I am not very much mistaken, toward myself.� This critical attitude, too, was a hindrance to the writing of large systematic philosophical works.
And, in conclusion, writing itself, even to this day, has never come as easily to me as it does, and must, come to the productive writer on philosophical subjects.� Rather, I am still inclined, even now, to reflect on almost every word which I write down or dictate.
In speaking of my critical manner, I am far from regarding it as a pure asset.� "You always emphasize only what separates us and never what unites us," the philosopher, Heinrich Rickert, once said to me when I had personal association with him for a time and had explicitly criticized his book, Die Grenzen der Naturwissenschaftlichen Begriffsbildung (Part I), in the Zeitschrift f�r Philosophie und philosophische Kritik, and had taken a critical attitude toward his views in other places also.� He was not far wrong in his observation, and in it he showed, perhaps unintentionally, that critical endowment also constitutes a weakness to a certain extent.
Just as I could not manage to write large systematic philosophical works, I could not manage to write philosophical textbooks or other kinds of textbooks, although I consider the writing of good texts, which, in the subjects I have taught, are decidedly lacking, in my opinion, as exceedingly meritorious work.� To begin with, in view of my personality, I would find the writing of a textbook much too tedious.� Historical problems, too, and also historical researches, have never fascinated me, although I have done much teaching of the history of philosophy and of pedagogy.
My desire was always to do concrete research, and, after attaining my practical attitude, to influence not only science but also practical life.� When I had once made a subject the object of my research, however, I never ceased my investigation when my research led me beyond the borders of the subjects I officially taught in the [p. 207] high school.� Thus I took particular pleasure in making my soot method (Russmethode) useful in as many ways as possible.� And thus also my studies in uniformity have led me far beyond psychology and philosophy proper and have made it possible for me to be influential in many varied fields, as for example in sociology.� And it is solely because of my urge to keep on investigating when I was possessed by ideas on uniformity that my two-volume work, Die Gleichformigkeit in der Welt, which is, of course, neither a systematic philosophical structure nor a textbook, became so enormous.� In this I was also led into the field of mathematics.� That I influenced several great mathematicians through this work could easily be proven.� But that here, precisely in connection with mathematics, I was frequently guilty of errors should not be concealed but rather emphasized.� In my latest essay, Der Strafprozess gegen Philipp Halsmann (Leipzig, 1932), I did not hesitate to use legal questions also, particularly in connection with Austrian jurisprudence, as subjects of my discussions.
�
It is possible to advance the cause of philosophy by large systematic works and by textbooks, but also, of course, by criticisms and by attacking special problems, as I tried to do particularly in my book on uniformity in the world and in my essays in logic and kindred sciences.� If, however, I compare my philosophical writing with everything else that I have written, it occupies only a modest space, especially in comparison with psychology.� That I have applied myself so extensively to psychology is not due, any more than was my transition from the history of literature to philosophy, previously discussed, to very definite resolutions.� Psychological questions simply gradually came to interest me more than the actual philosophical ones. And the more I worked myself into the field of psychology the stronger my interest in this subject became.
Naturally, however, the form of my activity was determined not only by my innate personality but also by the stimulation that I received from all sorts of directions and which I obtained particularly from scholars with psychological interests.� In addition to those cited above, I must mention here Alfred Binet, in whose Institute I worked immediately after my doctorate examination during a long vacation in Paris, and with whom I came into friendly relation.� Incidentally, even today I regard myself as a psychologist only in that I have worked primarily in the field of psychology. Just at present, [p. 208] as I have already stated, I am again engaged in philosophical studies.� That I may ultimately adopt quite different subjects as the object of my interest, however, is by no means out of question on principle so far as I am concerned.� I have long recognized, however, not only through scientific psychology but also on the basis of ordinary common sense, that my capacities are not as many sided as, in the frenzy of youth and in my first enthusiasm for science, I had foolishly taken quite for granted that they were.� When I began to study, I did not even consider the question of capacity at all, and at that time I overvalued the importance of the will in relation to achievement to an almost unbelievable extent.
There are many other things, too, done or not done in the past, which I am compelled to criticize today.� Although I certainly made my studies cover many fields, I nevertheless omitted important matters.� Thus, for instance, I regret today that I did not study psychiatry more thoroughly from the start.� While I was a student in Bonn, the well-known psychiatrist, C. Pelmann, was giving well-liked lectures on borderline states, which he also discussed in his book �ber die Grenzen zwischen psychischer Gesundheit und Geistesst�rung. �It did not occur to me, however, to attend either these or other lectures on psychiatry.� It was not until later that I made myself familiar with psychiatric topics, utilizing for this familiarization (not until a few years ago, either) a rather long period of study in an asylum for the insane.� Undoubtedly, it would have been much better for my development if I had earlier occupied myself more with psychiatry.� It is true, however, that in my time other young psychologists were not thinking either of the importance of psychiatry for our field.� I have also regretted very much that during my entire student period I did not come closer to jurisprudence, with which I did not come into more intimate touch until the time of my expert testimony in the M�llheim railroad accident case and in which, since then, mainly under the guidance of my highly esteemed W�rzburg colleague, the criminologist, Friedrich Oetker, I have done considerable work.� While I was studying, my opinion of jurisprudence, Heaven knows why, was much too low.� Today I do not doubt that this important field would have held me spellbound if I had turned to it in the beginning, and that I might very well have found fulfillment in the study of jurisprudence too.
So far, I have spoken only of my studies and my scientific work [p. 209] and never of not studying and not working.� The reader would receive an entirely false picture of my personality, however, if I did not also bring out that I have not been, and am not, oriented toward science as exclusively as might appear from the discussion thus far.� Just as, when a student, I chose the University of Bonn not for scientific reasons but because I wished to live by the beautiful Rhine, so during my student period and later I also had a great many other extra-scientific interests.� For decades I was particularly absorbed in hunting.� Even as a schoolboy I was sometimes taken along by hunters and later I spent a large part of my life in hunting.� Apart from the fact that I followed hunts and accepted invitations here and there, I rented, sometimes alone and sometimes with other hunters, lovely hunting grounds (especially on the upper Rhine), in which I felt extremely happy, since unhindered wandering in the midst of beautiful nature, but above all the passion for hunting, had a strong hold upon me.� For months I lived on the hunting grounds, where I thought almost exclusively about game and dogs.� Here I often used practically to forget that I was also a scholar and a professor, and it was a great annoyance to me to receive letters and packages here which reminded me of my profession.� Temporarily, to shoot well seemed much more important to me than to do good scientific work.� And often, when in the Fall I returned with my guide from the hunt and we were both so laden with partridges, pheasants, and wild ducks that our upper bodies had become almost invisible, or when I had shot a fine buck or a rare piece of game, I was prouder than I could have felt if I had invented perpetual motion.� But a strange thing happened.� About ten years ago I had so many professional duties for a time that I did not have a chance to hunt, and all at once I had lost all of my great interest in hunting.� And yet formerly I would never have thought it possible that I would be doing scientific work and even giving lectures longer than I would be hunting.
I had the same experience with many other interests.� As a schoolboy I did a good deal with music.� I learned to play the piano and at the age of 16 began to play the violin too.� Toward the end of my school period I also took courses in the theory of music, in harmony, and in counterpoint.� Then and later I hardly missed a concert which seemed to me at all important.� But these music interests too, although they have certainly not been completely [p. 210] lost, have given place, in the main, to others.� For a few years I was very enthusiastic about difficult mountain and glacier climbing, which I later regarded as superfluous.� Toward the end of my schooltime I felt very sympathetic toward the drinking customs, the societies, and other practices of German students, and my school work at that time was much less important to me than the imitation of these things, which at that time were current among the pupils of the upper high school classes in university towns.� But by the time I had finished my military service I was no longer enthusiastic about these student activities.� In Bonn, it is true, I joined the so-called Bonner Kreis, in which I established many relations of personal value, but this club was not a student society in the usual sense.� It was rather a club with many decades of existence, officially quite unknown and externally quite inconspicuous, made up of young people with serious scientific interests, particularly classical philologists, who were held together solely by a certain tradition and not by any sort of statutes or regulations of that kind, and who, within the widest limits, permitted each individual to pursue happiness in his own way.� The very advantageous scientific stimulation which I received here and the friendly relationships which I established, and which, as I indicated above, partly were influential in directing my studies into the field of ancient philosophy, have led me back to Bonn again and again.
I cannot, of course, name here all the places and persons to whom I owe scientific inspiration.� I have already mentioned my colleagues in N�rnberg and Frankfort.� Other sources have also been cited.� By far the largest debt, however, is the one I owe to the University of W�rzburg, in which to this day, in all the faculties, I have found men who were interested in my problems and from whom I have learned much.� Many advantageous relationships have been established by correspondence and in national and international congresses.� My students and assistants, too, have encouraged me again and again.� Among the latter may be cited Mr. F. E. Schultze, now regular professor in K�nigsberg, Mr. W. Peters, who migrated with me from Frankfort to W�rzburg and who is now regular professor in Jena, Kurt Koffka, well known in America too, who was my assistant in W�rzburg while I was teaching simultaneously in Frankfort and in W�rzburg, O. Sterzinger, now professor in Gratz, my N�rnberg assistant, Ludwig Sell, and my present excellent assistant in W�rzburg, [p. 211] the instructress (Privatdozentin), Maria Schorn.� I must not forget, either, my technician, Joos, who has been with me for many years, who helped me particularly with the apparatus for the soot method, and who also migrated with me from Frankfort to W�rzburg.
When I was speaking of hunting and other matters, just now, I mentioned that my interests have often changed.� This is not a striking fact in and for itself.� I do believe, however, that this tendency to shift is stronger in me than in most other scholars.� Clearly, I do not come as close to being all of one piece as do some of my colleagues, and I am ruled more strongly than they are by a certain restlessness, as is shown in my manifold activity, always attacking new problems, and in my disinclination to write large systematic treatises covering entire fields.� It cannot be said, however, that I easily abandon views or experimental findings which I regard as correct, or that in general I am particularly inclined to vacillation in judgment.� Clearly the changes in question relate particularly to personal values, which I assign sometimes to one and and [sic] sometimes to another scientific or extra-scientific activity.� That the frequent change in my interests was and is accompanied by a change in my knowledge is obvious.� While during the first part of my academic career I took great pleasure in often conducting practice classes in the translation of Greek authors, I have now, because of the regression in my knowledge of the Greek language, long felt myself incapable of this, and while as a student in Bonn, as the only pupil of the well-known Sanskritist, Jakobi, I had to translate a text from German into Sanskrit once a week, I have now forgotten even the letters of the Sanskrit alphabet.� I do not see any special disadvantage in these and similar instances of forgetting.� We do not learn and work in order to retain everything.� But the personality which is ours at a given time is essentially dependent upon those earlier experiences which have long sunk into the subconscious, as I have stated again and again in my writings on personality.
Although, of course, the history of populations runs a strictly logical (kausal) course, yet nevertheless historical development is also dependent upon what we call chance occurrences.� Who would deny that the World War and misfortune that it has brought to Germany was caused to a large extent by the politicians and other persons who then happened to be at the helm in Germany and elsewhere?� Who [p. 212] would deny that, in all the great decisions in history, accidents, that is, factors which in themselves seemed to be unimportant, have played a r�le?� The same thing happens in the life of the small individual human being.� And thus it has been with me, too.� For, although my development was surely determined essentially by my innate personality, yet other factors, such as are called accidents, have also been decisive.
I was born in Paris on August 31, 1869, as the only child of my parents.� My father, like my mother, was of German descent and was conducting in France a business which consisted primarily of the exportation of French merchandise into Germany and other countries.� A few years after my birth, however, my father became ill.� A few years later he found himself compelled to give up his Paris business activity and to move to his home city of Freiburg i. Br. to rest.� And a few years after that, when he was only 37 years old and I was only eight, my father died in Freiburg.� If he had stayed well as long as I, we would not have moved to Germany for decades, if at all, and my whole development would thus have been different.� My father said to my mother before he died that he thought I ought not to become a merchant, but that I ought to study.� Well-educated people, he said, had a much lovelier life than business people, who were compelled to struggle day and night.� Thus it came about that, after I had spent a few years in the Freiburg elementary public school, I was sent to the Bertholdsgymnasium there, which, except for the public continuation school (h�here B�rgerschule) was the only upper school in Freiburg.� I was well pleased with this arrangement, since other people, though not my mother, had suggested to me that the high school student, the university student, and the member of a learned profession was a much higher being than a business man.� When I had entered the "Gymnasium," however, I was told that I must work hard, or I would be sent to the continuation school.� I am not able to judge today whether it was so especially fortunate for me that my father expressed that wish and that during my upper-school life I was not so careless or lazy that I was not immediately taken out of the "Gymnasium" and transferred to the continuation school.� But I am definitely convinced that my entire development hinged essentially upon the type of education which I was given.� This type, that is, the humanistic, undoubtedly tended to turn me away from practical life and to develop [p. 213] the theoretical attitude of which I spoke above and which was balanced only to a certain extent later on.� A more detailed discussion of the course of my school life and adolescence is not likely to be of interest here.� The only thing I would still like to emphasize here is the idea that my tendency to go my own way in science and not to attach any special value, in general, to the treatment of topics of the day has probably also been favored by the fact that I never had any brothers or sisters and that hence an essential basis has been lacking for adapting myself to others.
I have also failed in such adaptation in that I have failed to read the autobiographies of other psychologists that are already available before starting to write my own.� It did occur to me, however, that in his valuable work, for which he deserves many thanks, Professor Murchison was not only collecting biographies but also seeking to further the psychology of personality, a thing which can certainly be done most successfully if each author proceeds quite independently.� I shall study the remaining sections of the book with all the more pleasure on this account after my lines have been printed.
Note
[1] Submitted in German and translated for the Clark University Press by E. Marion Pilpel.