SOME ASPECTS OF THE PHENOMENOLOGY OF THE
PERSONALITY
MARY HENLE 1662
First published in: Psychologische Beiträge,
Band VI, Heft 3-4, 1962, S. 395-404)
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Professor KÖHLER (1947, p. 3) has observed:
"There seems to be a single starting
point for psychology, exactly as for all
the other sciences: the world as we find
it, naively and uncritically." It needs
hardly be mentioned that our own personality
is an important part of this world as we
find it. This paper will begin to apply to
the psychology of personality the approach
that Professor KÖHLER recommends as the starting
point for psychology in general.
But as soon as we have formulated our task,
a question arises: Is it not anachronistic
to look for a starting point for a theory
of personality? The widespread interest and
vast accumulation of knowledge in this field
are among the most impressive characteristics
of the current psychological scene. And yet,
personality theorists are not satisfied with
the state of their science. "Not much,
I believe, is known about man." wrote
Gardner MURPHY in 1947 (p. IX). "It
is precisely here" (in relation to the
formation and development of human personality)
"that our ignorance and uncertainty
are greatest," ALLPORT said in 1955
(p. 18). "We are on the boundary of
knowledge," remarks NOTCUTT, "and
the hills are hidden in mist" (1953,
p. 21). McCLELLAND points out that "We
have very little available in the form of
'hard facts' or 'systematic knowledge'"
(1957, p. 356). Most theories of personality
"lack explicitness", state HALL
and LINDSEY (1957, p. 15). BRUNER´s remark
(1956, p. 466) that FREUD´s is a prototheory
rather than a theory of personality might
equally well be applied to other theories
in this area.
There seems, then, to be room for an additional
approach to the psychology of personality.
It will be suggested below that a phenomenological
method (fn2) may throw light on a number
of still obscure problems in this field.
Since the naive experience of the self is
the most obvious source of facts about the
personality, its neglect by personality theorists
is at first astonishing. The omission seems
to be the consequence of the preoccupation
of personality psychologists with unconscious
processes, as well as of the preference of
many theorists for behavioral data. An example
to follow will, however, suggest that an
implicit use of naive phenomenology underlies
some theoretical formulations.
Let it be clear at the outset that the present
approach is not to construct a psychology
of consciousness only. It is merely suggested
that, to start with, phenomenal data may
be fruitful. As KÖHLER has shown in another
connection, experience itself may refer to
some "transphenomenal reality"
(1938, pp. 113 ff.). That experience is incomplete
is, in other words, itself a phenomenal datum.
A psychology of personality must encompass
not only the phenomena, the facts of behavior
and experience, but also the functional relations
which are responsible for their occurrence
and nature. These, to a large extent, transcend
phenomonology.
It must also be understood that the purpose
of this paper is not to make final and definitive
statements about the experience of the self,
but rather to explore an approach. The difficulties
of naive phenomenal description are well
known. The efforts of any one investigator
need to be tested by others; and the statements
about the phenemenology of the personality
to be made below might perhaps best be regarded
as hypotheses. And many problems remain that
cannot be treated here: for example, the
question of how far it is useful to carry
the analysis to be begun here; or that of
the conditions and criteria for checking
such phenomenal descriptions.
The most obvious fact about the self as we
experience it is the multiplicity of aspects
it presents. We do not ordinarily appear
to ourselves as an undifferentiated "I".
The experienced differentation of the self
is implicit in a remark that PLATO, in the
Sophist, puts in the mouth of the Stranger:
"Is not thought the same as speech,
with this exception: thought is the unuttered
conversation of the soul with herself?"
(JOWETT trans., vol. 3, p. 504). MONTAIGNE
likewise observes that "we have a soul
that can turn upon itself, that can keep
company with itself; it has the wherewithal
to attack and defend, to receive and give..."
(TRECHMANN trans., vol. 1, p. 238). A more
recent illustration is attributed to George
Bernard SHAW: "On one occasion, when
in debate a critic had said, "Mr. Shaw,
you seem to talk like two people", Shaw
answered, "Why only two?" (WALLAS,
1926, p. 164). Once more, HESSE remarks:
When Faust ... says: "Two souls, alas,
inhabit in my breast!" he has forgotten
Mephisto and a whole crowd of other souls
that he has in his breast likewise. The Steppenwolf,
too, believes that he bears two souls (wolf
and man) in his breast and even so finds
his breast disagreeably cramped because of
them. The breast and the body are indeed
one, but the souls that dwell in it are not
two, nor five, but countless in number (1957,
p. 81).
It is unnecessary to multiply examples, since
the reader can easily confirm for himself
the experienced multiplicity of the self
(or usually, as will be indicated below,
the experienced duality of the personality
at any given moment). It is more important
to begin to identify the aspects of oneself
that present themselves for observation.
What are the various meanings of the "I"?
A simple method enables us to approach our
problem. We may start with a number of commonplace
sentences in which "I" or "me"
is used:
"I think I dialed the wrong number."
"I blame myself for what happened."
"I don´t know what got into me."
"I didn´t let on how I was really feeling."
"I´ll give myself ten minutes to get
out of bed."
"That´s an idea of mine I don´t take
particularly seriously."
"I wonder if I´m doing the right thing."
"I was lost in thought."
Even a hasty consideration of these sentences
suggest that the repeated "I" does
not refer to the same thing. It seems that
even when we confine ourselves to what is
phenomenally present, the self consists of
a variety of functions. Let us begin to enumerate
them. Although we often tend to personify
them, actually they are functions, not entities.
Let us start with a very simple example:
"I think I dialed the wrong number."
The one "I" is clearly standing
off and observing the other. The observing
I is not entering into the action in this
case, but simply watching it. We distinguish
here between the observer and the actor.
One of the observer of this observer was
THOREAU. He writes:
With thinking we may be beside ourselves
in a sane sense ... I ... am sensible of
a certain doubleness by which I can stand
as remote from myself as from another. However
intense my experience, I am conscious of
the presence and criticism of a part of me,
which, as it were, is not a part of me, but
a spectator, sharing no experience, but taking
note of it, and that is no more I than it
is you. When the play, it may be the tragedy,
of life is over, the spectator goes his way.
It was a kind of fiction, a work of the imagination
only, so far as he was concerned. This doubleness
may easily make us poor neighbors and friends
sometimes (1950 ed., p. 122).
The observer may stand in any relation to
the actor, from relative detachment to considerable
involvement - precisely as we may relate
to a work of fiction. Thus we say: "I
watched myself as if it were a dream,"
or "as if it were somebody else."
Or on the other hand, "I saw with dismay
that I was doing so-and-so." Sometimes
the actor steals the show during the action,
and allows scope for the observer only afterwards,
when we have the illuminating hindsight.
In other cases it is the observer who takes
over, paralyzing action and preventing the
outward turning of interest, as THOREAU hints.
Closely allied to the observing aspect of
the person is a critical one. While our observations
of ourselves may be objective, non-evaluative
and dispassionate, they are more likely to
contain a critical note. T. S. ELIOT, in
'The Elder Statesman' (1959, p. 44), has
Lord Claverton ask:
What is this self inside us, this silent
observer,
Severe and speechless critic, who can terrorize
us
And urge us on to futile activity,
And in the end, judge us still more severely
For the errors into which his own reproaches
drove us?
In the course of observing and criticizing,
we either accept or reject what we find in
ourselves. "We all have flaws,"
said the Duke, "and mine is being wicked"
(THURBER, 1950, p. 114). Being human, he
knows himself to be imperfect, but he can
accept himself with his "flaw".
On the other hand, we may reject, saying:
"That wasn´t like me," "I
can´t understand how I could say such a thing,"
"I´m not myself today."
Do we need to postulate additional functional
variables with their phenomenal counterparts
to account for such experiences? It may be
that the rejection of aspects of the self
is a function of the critic, while in acts
of self-acceptance we get a first glimpse
of the inner friend, who will be discussed
below.
We may pause for a moment and consider that,
without going beyond phenomenal experience,
we have distinguished several functions of
the self in addition to the actor: the observer,
the critic, the friend, and possibly a functionally
distinct rejecting aspect. These functions
have already been brought to our attention
in FREUD´s concept of the super-ego. Our
discussion suggests the considerable extent
to which FREUD must have relied on phenomenal
evidence in arriving at this concept. A quotation
will confirm the impression that the super-ego
is more a phenomenal report than a psychological
theory:
One group of [psychotics] suffer what we
call delusions of observation. They complain
to us that they suffer continually, and in
their most intimate actions, from the observation
of unknown powers or persons, and they have
hallucinations in which they hear these persons
announcing the results of their observations:
'now he is going to say this, now he is dressing
himself to go out,' and so on. Such observation
is not the same thing as persecution, but
it is not far removed from it. It implies
that these persons distrust the patient,
and expect to catch him doing something that
is forbidden and for which he will be punished.
How would it be if these mad people were
right, if we all of us had an observing function
in our egos threatening us with punishment,
which, in their case, had merely become sharply
seperated from the ego and had been mistakenly
projected into external reality? (1933, p.
85).
So far, then, we have not gone much beyond
FREUD´s phenomenal observations. And yet
there are certain advantages to our more
modest procedure. The functions mentioned
above are separate, thought relates functions;
this is clear since they may appear separately
- the observer without the critic, etc. If
we throw them all into a super-ego, it is
more difficult to distinguish them. There
may, indeed, be antagonisms among them, for
example between the observer and the rejecting
function; these are lost if we speak only
of the antagonisms between the super-ego
and other parts of the person. FREUD´s super-ego
neglects the positive accepting function.
And most important, if we deal with the problem
in the manner suggested here, it is much
easier to see these functions for what they
are, namely phenomenally present functions,
not as hypothetical agencies of the mind.
To return to the inner friend, this function
is phenomenally present whenever we find
in ourselves a source of comfort or encouragement.
Coming to a new understanding or reaching
a decision is often preceded by real discussion
within the self - an "inner dialogue",
as JUNG calls it (e. g., 1960, p. 89). The
gift to oneself likewise refers to the inner
friend, since giving implies a duality, a
donor and recipient, "a soul that ...
has the wherewithal ... to receive and give,"
in MONTAIGNE´s word. (Cf. JUNG on the friend,
e. g., 1959, p. 133).
But the most significant of the inner friend
has been mentioned above, that of self-acceptance.
Although it is not possible here to discuss
this problem, its importance may be referred
to by way of a remark of JUNG´s: "Acceptance
of oneself is the essence of the moral problem
and the acid test of one´s whole outlook
on life" (1958, p. 339).
Phenomenally distinct from the aspects of
the personality so far mentioned are various
impulsive functions. We say: "I don´t
know what made me do it," or "I
don´t know what got into me." It is
the observer or critic who raises the question,
while the actor appears as the tool of an
often unknown, but phenomenally important,
impulse. Or else, the impulse may be clearly
recognized, but still experientially distinct
from the doer, for example the "irresistible
impulse." It might be thought that we
are now discussing the Freudian id. But it
must be remembered that the id is unconscious,
while we are dealing here with facts of conscious
experience, facts which may, but need not,
refer to transphenomenal data.
Another aspect of the experienced self is
the facade, the front we present to the world.
We say: "I could see I was making a
bad impression." The critic is here
not criticizing the innermost self, but rather
the impression the self makes. The facade
is what JUNG calls the persona (e. g., 1953,
pp. 154ff.), again a phenomenal fact. We
say somebody that he is a stuffed shirt,
and we mean he is all facade with little
of interest beneath. Facades present as great
a variety as people do. Sometimes there is
a considerable contrast between the real
person and the front he presents, so that
we occasionally have surprises when a person´s
situation changes. On the whole, though,
the persona is an expression of the person
himself; and like other expressions, it is
characteristic of him. Like our clothes,
the persona serves the functions of protection
and adornment.
We see another dimension of the phenomenal
self in the following example: "That´s
an idea of mine I don´t take particularly
seriously." Here we see the realist
in conflict with the dreamer. Some of us
have a more developed dreamer than realist,
while with others the realist carries more
weight. For example MINNIVER, who curses
the commonplace, is letting his dreamer crowd
out the realist. On the other hand, THURBER´s
man who "doesn´t know anything but facts"
might well allow more scope to his dreamer.
The dreamer says: "I think I´ll take
a trip around the world," and the realist
retorts: "Fine. And what will you use
for money?"
Space does not permit a continuation of this
analysis, though we have by no means exhausted
the phenomenally distinguishable aspects
of the personality. I will only add that,
although conflicts are experiences, as in
some of the examples given above, these experientially
distinct aspects of the self work together,
on the whole, in an organized manner, with
reference to each other if not always in
harmony. Furthermore, they are not all experienced
together. Ordinarily, it seems, we divide
ourselves phenomenally into two or possible
three at any given moment. The paradigm is
the dialogue, not the mob scene.
It has been indicated above that an adequate
psychology of personality cannot be limited
to a psychology of consciousness. Of what
use, then, is this kind of phenomenological
study? First of all, this is an important
source of facts about the personality, most
of which have been neglected by current theories.
In addition, several problems will be mentioned,
to whose solution this kind of material might
contribute.
As mentioned above, conscious experience
itself points to a realm of existence that
is not conscious (cf. KÖHLER, 1938). Whatever
their disagreements, most psychologists of
personality are agreed on a role of unconscious
processes in the determination of behavior
and experience. But unconscious processes,
by definition, cannot be known. Whatever
their nature, however, a great deal of evidence
suggests that they can find expression only
in behavior or by way of conscious processes;
and other kinds of cooperation between conscious
and unconscious processes - ways of working
with mutual reference to each other - also
seem indicated. In the light of such considerations,
it is a plausible hypothesis that conscious
functions have their unconscious counterparts.
Thus any useful new categories on the side
of consciousness might yield avenues of approach
to corresponding unconscious processes.
Another possible application of this phenomenological
approach is to the psychology of interpersonal
relations. As a starting hypothesis, it is
suggested that the phenomenally present inner
figures here described may give us a clue
to the kind of person an individual seeks
and the kind of person he is able to relate
to outside himself. Thus we may seek the
outer friend - or many outer friends - in
place of the inner friend who is not sufficiently
developed. Of course outer friends are essential,
but they cannot replace the inner friend.
In fact, without some development of the
inner friend, it seems that we cannot relate
to the outer one. If we do not like ourselves
enough, we will not believe that the other
likes us; if we do not accept ourselves enough,
we will not let the other accept us. To take
another example, the dreamer may seek his
realist outside. Don Quixote had his Sancho
Panza. But unless he has the experience of
an inner realist, he will probably not be
able to put up with the outer realist´s lack
of imagination, his soberness, his concern
for pedestrian realities. And the realist
who has not developed his inner dreamer may
search for an outer one; but when he finds
him he will be distressed by his flights
of fancy, his impracticality, his inability
to keep his feet on the ground or to look
where he is going. Again, our relations with
the outer critic depend to a large extent
on the development of the inner one. If our
inner critic is fair, objective and judicious,
we will be able to accept outer criticism
when it is warranted and objective, and profit
from it. If the inner critic is harsh, unfair
and without humanity, we will experience
outer criticism also as attack, and we will
run from it or counterattack. If our inner
critic is undeveloped, so that we have not
had the experience of good inner criticism,
the chances are that we will be able to use
little of the criticism we are offered so
freely from outside. Then criticism is likely
to be met with exaggerated resentment, and
unwarranted criticism is likely to be attributed
to hostility rather than to error. It is
perhaps unnecessary to add that the nature
and development of our inner critic is importmant
not only for how we take criticism, but also
for how we give it to others. (fn 3) It was
mentioned earlier that we often tend to personify
the phenomenologically distinct functions
of the self. The present discussion illustrates
one sense in which we literally do this:
the tendency so seek in other persons those
functions insufficiently developed in us.
But it has also been suggested that our relations
with the individuals who personify these
functions depend on our own inner development.
To continue with the uses of the present
approach: developmental problems, as well
as new approaches to individual differences,
suggest themselves as a consequence of our
phenomenological approach.
The present approach suggests a partial answer
to the question of how it is possible to
know oneself. When we become acquainted with
any outside object, we stand apart from it
and are thus enabled to examine it. In the
case of knowing ourselves this essential
condition of objectivity - the differentiation
of subject and object, of knower and known
- appears to be absent. (fn4) But if the
self is not only single, but also dual or
even triple at any given time, there is indeed
a differentiation of knower and known, and
we have the possibility of standing apart
and observing. Knowing the self can now be
seen to have something in common with knowing
another person. It is not the actor who knows
himself, but the observer who knows the actor,
the realist who knows the dreamer or the
actor, etc. Corresponding to the various
divisions within the person, we come to have
a number of views of ourselves. For example,
the views of the inner friend and the critic
are likely to be different.
This divergence of opinion provides the possibility
of a more balanced view of ourselves. Or,
if we are less fortunate, one such partial
view may become the dominant one. Or else,
compartmentalization may occur: the dreamer
is allowed his freedom, for example, so long
as he keeps out of the actor´s way.
This paper has dealt in a preliminary way
with only a single problem in the phenomenology
of the personality, namely that of the experienced
multiplicity of the self. Many additional
problems remain to be studied. Some attention
has been given to the matter of ego boundaries,
the question of how much of the phenomenal
world is experienced as "I" and
how much as "not-I". The boundaries
of the "you" or the "he"
present equally interesting problems. Many
aspects of the phenomenology of motivation
and of the emotions likewise suggest themselves
as ripe for study.
Summary
This paper has dealt with a problem in the
phenomenology of the personality, namely
that of the experienced multiplicity of the
self. We do not experience ourselves as a
single undifferentiated "I"; rather,
a number of distinguishable functions are
phenomenally present. Several of these were
discussed briefly; the actor, observer, critic,
friend, impulsive functions, facade, dreamer
and realist. These act with reference to
each other, even if not always in harmony,
and ordinarily no more than two or possible
three such aspects of the self are experienced
at any given moment. In addition to calling
attention to a neglected body of data about
the personality, this approach seems to clarify
a number of problems in the psychology of
personality. back to part 1
Notes
(1) This paper was written when the author
was a Fellow of the John Simon Guggenheim
Memorial Foundation [back to text]
(2) As will be evident from the discussion,
the term "phenomenology" is not
used in the sense of HUSSERL´s theory of
intentionality, but rather to refer to a
description of experience as naive and unprejudiced
as possible.
(3) Of course in all these cases we are dealing
with a circular process. Not only do our
relations with outer friends, outer critics,
etc. depend upon the state of the corresponding
inner functions; the development of the inner
friend depends on significant outer relations,
that of the inner critic depends on our experience
with criticism offered from the outside,
etc. Since developmental problems have not
been discussed here, only the former set
of relations has been considered. [back to
text]
(4) There are other difficulties in knowing
oneself that are not relevant in the present
connection . [back to text]
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