The recognition that the patient tunes into what the analyst feels, whether the analyst is open about this or not, and therefore is sensitive to any kind of inauthenticity, and has been emphasized by analysts as diverse as Rank, 1929; Fromm, 1941; Rioch, 1943; Winnicott, 1949; Fromm-Reichmann, 1950, 1952; Gitelson, 1952, 1962; Fairbairn, 1958; Tauber, 1954, 1979; Nacht, 1957, 1962; Wolstein, 1959; Loewald, 1960; Searles, 1965, 1979; Guntrip, 1969; Feiner, 1970; Singer, 1971, 1977; Levenson, 1972, 1983; Ehrenberg, 1974, 1982, 1984, 1985a, 1990. From such a perspective the position of Alexander (1956), as well as of some contemporary analysts, that there is benefit in assuming a deliberately predetermined attitude toward the patient would be considered untenable and to undermine the treatment process. It would preclude an opportunity to use the immediate experience as analytic data, and as a means to clarify very subtle interactive patterns that would otherwise elude awareness.
Nevertheless, the issue is not simply as one for being 'authentic', there are ways of being authentic that can burden the patients unnecessarily and that can derail rather than advance the analytic process.
If we accept the idea that denial or resistances to awareness of countertransference reactions can be detrimental to the process, and that awareness presents us with options we do not otherwise have, we are still faced with the question of how best to users this awareness. Use of countertransference data in any direct way with the patient is clearly a delicate matter, unless handled judiciously, it can be counterproductive, even traumatizing. Any use of countertransference requires sensitivity, tact, and skill. This applies to active use and to decisions to remain silent, since there are times when silence can be as destructive, insensitive, or inappropriate as verbal intervention (Tauber, 1954, 1979).
It is critical, therefore, that we recognize that believing in the theoretical value-even necessarily-of using countertransference is different from having the ability to do so constructively. In this vein, knowing one’s own limits can be the better part of wisdom. Nonetheless, the alternative of suppressing our feelings out of fear of mishandling a situation or of being seduced out of an analytic role may prevent analytic engagement. This kind of countertransference resistance may be a countertransference enactment reflecting our fears. Often countertransference resistance reflects the analyst’s sensitivity to the dangers of misuse of countertransference with a particular patient. What is required is learning how to refine our ability to use this resistance itself as valuable data.
An example of how our theoretical assumptions influence our relation to our own countertransference experience involves identification. The analyst who believes identification contributes to an ability to be empathic may not see identification as a possible countertransference issue, since it might be viewed as in keeping with an alleged desirable analytic attitude. Nonetheless, just as identification of the patient can be defensive, the same may be true of the analyst. Identification by either may be an expression of unconscious fantasies of fusion, merger, or wishes for sexual union. It may reflect desires to control, dominate, appropriate for oneself, devour, cannibalize, destroy, rape, violate, or desires to protect oneself of others from these dangers (Widlocher, 1985). Identification can be a means to flatter, idealize, seduce, or impress, as it can be a way to avoid the analysis or experiences or fantasies of love, tenderness, hate, anger or any other emotion that night be aroused. In some instances’ identification may actually serve to avoid a real engagement, or to avoid provoking the anger of the other, or to avoid awareness of other aspects of reactions of oneself or of others that might be different, even traumatic, to acknowledge. It can also serve to avoid exposing the full extent and depth of the patient’s actual pathology. What becomes apparent is that we can fail its patient though our 'empathic' identification, the very response often equated with the caring analyst (Levenson, 1972, Beres and Arlow, 1974).
Still, and all, being alert to the possibility that any effort to attend to one set of transference-countertransference issues is important, however valid, can be an extremely subtle form of countertransference resistance regarding other issues, and a form of enactment of other aspects of countertransference. Similarly, any decision about how countertransference is to be used can be motivated by genuine analytic concerns or by countertransference impulses, such as impulses to retaliate, gratify, withhold, impress, protect or to avoid other issues.
Yet, there are aspects of our reaction that can be quite elusive, such as feelings of great satisfaction or of defensiveness, or intruding thoughts or fantasies, or experiences of destructibility or inattentiveness. In such instances it is not only the countertransference that is at issue, but also the countertransference resistance itself.
In those instances in which the patient evokes the very reactions that are being attributed to the analyst, countertransference resistance precludes the possibility of clarifying these interactive subtleties and their symbolic meaning, and does relate in this way on the part of the patient reveal wishes to control and dominate the other? Is there an erotic aspect to this kind of interaction? Is it a kind of symbolic rape and violation? What fears might the patient is defending against by relating in this way? To what extent might it be in the service of an effort on the patient’s part to cure himself or herself, or even the analyst?
Since countertransference resistance precludes understanding, we must gradually turn our attention to ways of becoming aware of it whatever its form. One way is to increase our sensitivity to shifts in our own sense of identity as we work (Grinberg, 1962, 1979 and Searle, 1965, 1979). Another is to attend to the patient’s experience and interpretations of the countertransference (Little, 1951, 1957, Langs, 1976 and Hoffman, 1983). In that if we were to consider that the development of the transference is always to some extent shaped by the participation of the analyst, then it follows that the transference itself can also be a clue to aspects of our own countertransference of which we ourselves might be unaware.
One could ask, would awareness of these possibilities to accelerate the analytic work, or to what extent is it possibilities that a mutual effort to address all the complexities of what was to go on between patient and analyst have happened if any proceeding difficulties were to be involved as could prove critical to the work. So, is my belief that reason-sensitivities to the dangers of countertransference resistance can help in the use of countertransference to greater analytic advance.
Despite increasing agreement about the importance of countertransference as a vital source of analytic data, there is much controversy about whether countertransference should be used in direct ways with the patient, and if so what constitutes optimal use. There are no questions that there are real dangers of misuse, Heimann’s (1950) warning against the analyst’s undisciplined discharge of feelings to avoid the evident dangers of acting out, wild analysis, manipulation, and the intrusive imposition of the analyst’s residual pathology are as valid now as it was then. She emphasized that the analyst must be able to “sustain the feelings stirred in him, as opposed to discharging them (as does the patient) to subordinate them to the analytic task.” Now, we also know that remaining silent about our experience can be as much a countertransference enactment as any other kind of analytic response. There is no way to avoid countertransference, and attempting to deny its power can be dangerous. The question at this point is not whether to use countertransference but how.
In considering how best to use countertransference, distinguishing it between the reactive dimension of countertransference is useful, which relates to what we find ourselves feeling in response to the patient that is often a surprise rather than a choice, and the kind of active response that takes into account this reactive response as data to be used toward informing a considered and deliberate clinical intervention. Silence, or any other reaction, can fall into either category.
The point is that active use of countertransference requires a thoughtful decision process about how to use awareness of one’s “reactive” countertransference response to inform that will then become a considered response.
Sometimes the analyst might actively decide to express the countertransference impulse in some direct way. In other instances an active decision may be made to remain silent. At times acknowledgement and discussion of a countertransference impulse, or of one’s own difficulties managing or understanding one’s reaction, or of the thought process involved in one’s deliberations about how to use countertransference data, are potentially constructive options.
The point here, is that the amount of overt activity that takes place is not indicative of whether the analyst is actively or passively responding to his or her impulse. In fact, the same overt response can reflect either kind of internal process.
That is, not to imply that every response must be a considered one. There are times when our inability to stay on top of our reactions-even our losing it with a patient-may be useful. As Winnicott (1949, 1969) notes. The unflappable analyst may be useless when knowing that he can make an impact is essential for the patient. He cautions that there are times when an implacable analyst may actually provoke destructive forms of acting out, including suicide.
Nor is it to imply that the analyst must “understand” his countertransference reactions to use them constructively. In some instances’ willingness to let the patient know what the analyst is experiencing, even if the analyst may not at the time understand his own reaction, can facilitate the analytic work, simply because of the kind of collaborative possibilities it structures. Even when the analyst feels at a loss, and when caution is appropriate, acknowledging that one feels at a loss can be an active use of countertransference. It emphasizes the necessity for a collaborative relationship and establishes a level of honesty and openness that can be significant in and of it. It also leaves the door open for a creative gesture from the patient and allows the patient to help clarify what the issues may be when the analyst may not have a clue. In some instances this is the only way to reach certain dimensions of experience and to realize the unique possibilities of the analytic moment.
This kind of process provides an opportunity to realize that expressing it is possible and experience feelings one may not understand and to get “close” without fear of losing control. As it adds a new dimension to the analytic interaction, it can lead to new levels of intimacy and to unexpected kinds of interactive developments. In addition, it establishes that understanding the significance of the experience of each may at times require the collaboration of the other.
The question here, is how to decide at any given moment what use of countertransference will best advance the work. At times the question also may be how to remain analytically effective and alive when we are in the grip of the kind of countertransference that seems to threaten our ability to do so, such as when the patient may have deadening impact on us, or when we may find ourselves involved in enactments without understanding how or why.
The analyst’s ability to use countertransference constructively, particularly in the face of more severe kinds of pathology, is often the factor that determines whether an analysis will have a chance of succeeding.
Using countertransference is in many ways as having inevitable structures as more than a personal kind of engagement than might occur otherwise. The impact of this cannot be overlooked. The patient is confronted with the analyst as a human being, with sensitivities, vulnerabilities and limitations. This allows the patient to recognize the necessity for his own active collaboration. The unique kind of intimacy that is so structured has effects beyond the content of what is exchanged, as these effects must be explored in what becomes an endless progression that continues to open on itself, often in very exciting and lively ways.
The emphasis is on process and experience, not on contentual representation, as instead of feeling limited by our subjectivity and trying to defend against it we begin to use it as a powerful source of data and as a basis for opening a unique analytic exploration that can lead to places neither patient nor analyst could have predicted beforehand which neither could possibly have reached alone.
Freud described transference as both the greatest danger and the best tool for analytic work. He refers to the work of making the repressed past conscious. Besides, these two implied meanings of transference, Freud gives it a third meaning: It is in the transference that the analysand may relive the past under better conditions and in this way rectify pathological decisions and destinies. Likewise three meanings of countertransference may be differentiated. It too may be the greatest danger and precisely when an important tool for understanding, an assistance to the analyst in his functions as interpreter. Moreover, it affects the analyst’s behaviour, it interferes with his action as object of the patient’s re-experience in that new fragment of life that is the analytic situation, in which the patient should meet with greater understanding and objectivity than he found in the reality or fantasy of his childhood. What have present-day writers to say about the problem of countertransference? Lorand writes mainly about the dangers of countertransference for analytic work. He also points out the importance of allowing for countertransference reactions, for they may indicate some important subject to be worked through with the patient. He emphasizes the necessity to the analyst’s being always aware of his countertransference, and discusses specific problems such as the conscious desire to heal, the relief analysis may afford the analyst from his own problems, and narcissism and the interference of personal motives in clinical purposes. He also emphasizes that fact that these problems of countertransference concern not only the candidate but also the experienced analyst.
Winnicott is specifically concerned with “objective and justified hatred” in countertransference, particularly in the treatment of psychotics. He considers how the analyst should manage this emotion: Should he, for example, bear his hatred in silence or communicate it to the analysand? Thus, Winnicott is concerned with a particular countertransference reaction insofar as it affects the behaviour of the analyst, who is the analysand’s object in his re-experience of childhood.
Little discusses countertransference as a disturbance to understanding and interpretation and as it influences the analyst’s behaviour with decisive effect upon the patient’s re-experience of his childhood. She stresses the analyst’s tendency to repeat the behaviour of the patient’s parents and to satisfy certain needs of his own, not those of the analysand. Once, again, Little emphasizes that one must admit one’s countertransference to the analysand and interpret it, and must do so not only in regarding to “objective” countertransference reaction (Winnicott) but also to “subjective” ones.
Annie Reich is chiefly interested in countertransference as a source of disturbances in analysis. She clarifies the concept of countertransference and differentiates ‘two types’ of “countertransference in the proper sense” and “the analyst’s using the analysis for acting-out purposes.” She investigates the cause of these phenomena, and seeks to understand the conditions’ that lead to good, excellent, or poor results in analytic activity.
Gitelson distinguishes between the analyst’s ‘reaction to the patient as a whole’ (the analyst’s ‘transference’) and the analyst’s ‘reaction to partial aspects of the patient’ (the analyst’s ‘countertransference’). He is concerned also with the problems of intrusion, when such intrusion occurs the countertransference should be dealt with by analyst and patient working together, thus agreeing with Little.
Weigert favours analysis of countertransference as far as it intrudes into the analytic situation, and she advises, in advanced stages of treatment, less reserve I the analyst’s behaviour and more spontaneous display of countertransference.
Noticeable proceeding will have their intent be to amplify specific remarks on countertransference as a tool for understanding the mental processes of the patient (including especially his transference reaction)-their content, their mechanisms, and their intensities. Awareness of countertransference helps one to understand what should be interpreted and when. Also, we are to consider the influence of countertransference upon the analyst’s behaviour toward the analysand-behaviour that affects decisively the position of the analyst as object of the re-experience of childhood, and affecting its process of a cure. First, the consideration based briefly countertransference in the history of psychoanalysis. We meet with a strange fact and a striking contrast. The discovery by Freud to countertransference and its great importance in therapeutic work produces the institution of didactic analysis that became the basis and centre of psychoanalytic training. The, countertransference received little scientific consideration over the next forty years. Only during the last few years has the situation changed, rather suddenly, and countertransference becomes a subject examined frequently and with thoroughness. How is one to explain this initial recognition, this neglect, and this recent change? Is there not reason to question the success of didactic analysis in fulfilling its function if this very problem, the discovery of which led to the creation of didactic analysis, has had so little scientific elaboration?
These questions are clearly important, and those who have personally witnessed a great part of the development of psychoanalysis in the last forty years have the best right to answer them. One suggestion would be to explain the lack of scientific investigation of countertransference must be due to rejections by analyst of their own countertransference-a rejection that represents unresolved struggles with their own primitive anxiety and quilt. These struggles are closely connected with those infantile ideals that survive because of deficiencies in the didactic analysis of just those transference problems that latter effect the analyst’s countertransference. These deficiencies in the didactic analysis are reciprocally in part due to countertransference problems insufficiently solved in the didactic analyst. Thus, we are in a vicious circle, but we can see where a breach must be made. In that, we must begin by revision of our feelings about our own countertransference and try to overcome our own infantile ideals more thoroughly, accepting more fully the fact that we are still children and neurotics even when we are adults and analysts. Only in this way by better overcoming our rejection of countertransference-can we achieve the same result in candidates.
The insufficient dissolution of these idealization and underlying anxieties and quilt feelings’ leads to special difficulties when the child becomes an adult and the analysand and analyst, for the analyst unconsciously requires of himself that he be fully identified with these ideals. Thus, and so that is at least partly so that the oedipus complex of the child toward its parents, and of the patient toward his analyst, has been so much more fully considered than that of the parents toward their children and of the analyst toward the analysand. For the same basic reason transference has been dealt with much more than countertransference.
The fact that countertransference conflicts determine the deficiencies in the analysis of transference becomes clear if we recall that transference is the expression of the internal object relations; for understanding of transference will depend on the analyst’s capacity to identify himself both with the analysand’s impulses and defences, and with his internal objects, and to be conscious of these identifications. This ability in the analyst will in turn depend upon the degree to which he accepts his countertransference, for his countertransference is also based on identification with the patient’s id and ego and his internal object. One might also say that transference is the expression of the patient’s relations with the fantasied and real countertransference of the analyst. For just as Countertransference is the psychological response to the analysand’s real and imaginary transferences, and in addition the transference response to the analyst’s imaginary and real countertransference. Analysis of the patient’s fantasies about countertransference, which in the widest sense constitute the cause and consequence of the transference, is an essential part of the analysis of the transference. Perception on the patient’s fantasies regarding countertransference will depend in turn upon the degree to which the analyst himself perceives his countertransference processes-on the continuity and depth of his conscious contact with himself.
Before any illumination is drawn upon these, statements, a brief's mention will appreciatively be to consider one of those ideals in its specifically psychoanalytic expression: The ideal of the analyst’s objectivity. No one, of course, denies the existence of subjective factors in the analyst and of countertransference, however, there seems to exist of an important difference between what is generally acknowledged in practice and the real state of affairs. The first distortion of truth in ‘the myth of the analytic situation; is that analysis, is an interaction between a sick person and an apparently healthy one? The truth is that it is an interaction between two personalities, in both of which the ego is under pressure from the id, the superego and the external world, each personality has its internal and external dependancies, anxieties, and pantological defences, each is also a child with its internal parents and each of these whole personalities-that of the analysand and that of the analyst-responds to every event of the analytic situation. Besides these similarities between the personalities of analyst and analysand, there also exist differences, and one of these are in “objectivity.” The analyst’s objectivity consists mainly in a certain attitude toward his own subjectivity and countertransference. The neurotic (obsessive) ideal of objectivity leads to repression and blocking of subjectivity and so the apparent fulfilment leads the myth of the ‘analyst without anxiety or anger’. The other neurotic extreme is that of ‘drowning’ in the countertransference. True objectivity is based upon a form of internal division that enables the analyst to make himself (his own countertransference and subjectivity) the object of his continuous observation and analysis. This position also enables him to be ‘objective’ toward the analysand.
The term countransference has been given various meanings. They may be summarized by the statement that for some authors’ countertransference includes everything that arises in the analyst as psychological response to the analysand, whereas for others not all this should be called countertransference. Some, for example, prefer to reserve the term for what is infantile in the relationship of the analyst with his analysand, while others make different limitations (Annie Reich and Gitelson). Therefore efforts to differentiate away from each other certain of the complex phenomena of Countertransference lead to confusion or to unproductive discussions of terminology. Freud invented the term countertransference in evident analogy to transference, which he defined as reimprisons or re-editions of childhood experiences, including greater or lesser modifications of the original experience. Therefore, one frequently uses the term transference for the entirety of the psychological attitude of the analysand toward the analyst. We know, to be sure, that really external qualities of the analytic situation in general and of the analyst in particular have important influence on the relationship of the analysand with the analyst, but we also know that all these present factors are experienced according to the past and fantasy,-according, that is to say, to a transference predisposition. As determinants of the transference neurosis and, overall, of the psychological situation of the analysand toward the analyst, we have both the transference predisposition and the present real and especially analytic experiences, the transference in its diverse expressions being the resultant of these two factors.
Analogously, in the analyst there is the countertransference predisposition and the present real, and especially analytic, experiences. The countertransference is the resultant. It is precisely this fusion of present and past, the continuo as an initiate connection of reality and fantasy, of external and internal, conscious and unconscious, that demands a concept embracing all the analysts' psychological responses, and renders it advisable, also, to keep for this totality of response the accustomed term countertransference. Where it is necessary for greater clarity one, might speak of ‘totality countertransference. Then differentiate the separate within it one aspect or another. One of its aspects consists precisely of what is transferred in countertransference; this is the part that originates in an earlier time and that is especially the infantile and primitive part within total countertransference. Another of these aspects-closely connected with the previous one-is what is neurotic in countertransference; its main characteristics are the unreal anxiety and the pathological defences. Under certain circumstances’ one may also speak of a countertransference neurosis.
To clarify better the concept of countertransference, one might start from the question of what happen, in general terms, in the analyst in his relationship with the patient. The first answer might be; Everything happens that can happen in one personality faced with another, but this says so much that it says hardly anything. We take a step forward by bearing in mind that in the analyst there is a tendency that normally predominates in his relationship with the patient; it is the tendency on his function to being an analyst that of understanding what is happening in the patient. With this tendency there exist toward the patient nearly all the other possible tendencies, fears, and other feelings that one person may have toward another. The intention to understand creates a certain predisposition, a predisposition to identify with the analysand, which is the basis of comprehension. The analyst may achieve this aim by identifying his ego with the patient’s ego or, to put it more clearly, although with a certain terminological inexactitude, by identifying each part of his personality with the corresponding psychological part in the patient-his id with the patient’s id, his ego with the ego, his superego with the superego, accepting these identifications in his consciousness. However, this does not always happen, nor is it all that happens. Apart from these identifications, which might be called concordant (or homologous) identifications, there exist also highly important identifications of the analyst’s ego with the patient’s internal objects, for example, with the superego. Adapting an expression from Helene Deutsch, they might be called complementary identifications. Here, in addition we may add the following notes.
1. The concordant identification is based on introjection and projection, or, in other words, on the resonance of the exterior in the interior, on recognition of what belongs to another as one’s own (‘this part of you is me’) and on the equation of what is one’s own with what belongs to another (‘this part of me is you’). The processes inherent in the complementary identifications are the same, but they refer to the patient’s objects. The greater the conflicts between the parts of the analyst’s personality, the greater are his difficulties in carrying out the concordant identifications in their entirety.
2. The complementary identifications are produced by the fact that the patient treats the analysts as an internal (projected) object, and in consequence the analyst feels treated as such; that is, he identifies himself with the destiny of the concordant identification; it seems that to the degree to which the analyst fails in the concordant identification and rejects them, certain complementary identifications become intensified. Clearly, rejection of a part or tendency in the analyst himself,-his aggressiveness, for instance,-may lead to a rejection of the patent’s aggressiveness (by which this concordant identification fails) and that such a situation leads to a greater complementary identification with the patient’s rejecting object, toward which this aggressive impulse is directed.
3. Current usage applies the term ‘countertransference’ to the complementary identifications only; that is to say, to those psychological processes in the analysis by which, because he feels treated as and partially identifies himself with an internal object of the patient, the patient becomes an internal (projected) object of the analyst. Usually excluded from the concept countertransference are the concordant identifications,-those psychological contents that arise in the analysts because of the empathy achieved with the patient and that really reflects and reproduce the latter’s psychological contents. Perhaps following this usage would be best, but there are some circumstances that make it unwise to do so. In the first place, some authors include the concordant identifications in the concept of countertransference. One is thus faced with the choice of entering upon a terminological discussion or of accepting the term in this wider sense. That these various reasons, the wider sense is to be referred. If one considers that their analyst’s concordant identifications (his ‘understanding’) are a sort of reproduction of his own oast processes, especially of his own infancy, and that this reproduction or re-experience is carried out as response to stimuli from the patient, one will be more ready to include the concordant identifications in the concept of countertransference. Moreover, the concordant identifications are closely connected with the complementary ones (and thus with ‘countertransference’ in the popular sense), and this fact renders advisably a differentiation but not a total separation of the terms. Finally, it should be borne in mind that the disposition of empathy,-that is, to concordant identification-springs largely from the sublimated positive countertransference, which love-wise relates empathy with countertransference in the wider sense. All this suggests, then, the acceptance of countertransference as the totality of the analyst’s psychological response to the patient. If we accept this broad definition of countertransference, the difference between its two aspects mentioned that it must still be defined. On the one hand we have the analyst as subject and the patient as object of knowledge, which in a certain sense annuls the 'object relationship'. Properly speaking, and that arises in its stead the approximate union or identity between the subject’s and the object’s parts (experiences, impulses, defences). The aggregate of the processes concerning that union might be designated, where necessary, ‘concordant Countertransference’. On the other hand we have an object relationship much like many others, a real ‘transference’; in which the analyst ‘repeats’ experiences, the patient representing internal objects of the analyst. The aggregate of these experiences, which also exist always ad continually, might be termed Complementary Countertransference.
A brief example may be opportune here. Consider a patient who threatens the analyst with suicide. In such situations there sometimes occurs rejection on the concordant identifications by the analyst and an intensification of his identification with the threatened object. The anxiety that such a threat can cause the analyst may lead to various reactions or defence mechanisms within him-for instance, annoyance with the patient. This-his anxiety and annoyance-would be content of the ‘complementary countertransference’. The perception of his annoyance may, in turn, originate quilt feelings in the analyst. These lead to desires for reparation and to intensifications of the ‘concordant’ identifications and ‘concordant countertransference.
Moreover, these two aspects of ‘total countertransference’ have their analogy in transference. Sublimated positive transference is the main and indispensable motive force for the patient’s work; it does not a technical problem. Transference becomes a ‘subject’, according to Freud’s words, mainly when “it becomes resistance,” when, because of resistance, it has become sexual or negative. Analogously, sublimated positive countertransference is the main and indispensable motive force in the analyst’s work (disposing him to the continued concordant identification), and countertransference becomes a technical problem or ‘subject’ mainly when it becomes sexual or negative. This occurs (to an intense degree) principally as a resistance-here, the analyst that is to say, as countertransference.
This leads to the problem of the dynamics of countertransference. We may already discern that the tree factors designated by Freud and determinant in the dynamics of transference (the impulse to repeat infantile clichés of experience, the libidinal needs, and resistance) are also decisive for the dynamics of Countertransference, however.
Every transference situation provokes a countertransference situation, which arises out of the analyst’s identification of himself with the analysand’s (internal) objects (this is the ‘complementary countertransference’). These countertransference situations may be repressed or emotionally blocked but probably they cannot be avoided; certainly they should not be avoided if full understanding is to be achieved. These countertransference reactions are governed by the laws of the general and individual unconscious. Among these the laws of talion is especially important. Thus, for example, every positive transference situation is answered by a positive countertransference; to every negative transference there responds, in one part of the analyst, a negative countertransference. It is important that the analyst is conscious of this law, for awareness of it is fundamental to avoid ‘drowning’ in the countertransference. If he is not aware of it he can avoid entering the vicious circle of the analysand’s neurosis, which will hinder or even prevent the work of therapy.
A simplified example: If the patient’s neurosis centres round a conflict with his introjected father, he will project the latter upon the analyst and treat him as his father; the analyst will feel treated as such-he will feel badly treated-and he will react internally, in a part of his personality, according to the treatment he receives. If he fails to be aware of this reaction, his behaviour will inevitably be affected by it, and he will renew the situation that, to a greater or lesser degree, helped to establish the analysand’s neurosis. Therefore, it is very important that the analyst develops within himself an ego observer of his countertransference reactions, which is, naturally, continuous. Perception of these countertransference reactions will help to become conscious of the continuous transference situations of the patient and interpret them rather than be unconsciously ruled by these reactions, as not as seldom to happen. A well-known example is the ‘revengeful silence’ of the analyst. If the analyst is unaware of these reactions there is danger that the patient will repeat, in his transference experience, the vicious circle brought about by the projection and introjection of ‘bad objects’ (in reality neurotic ones) and the consequent pathological anxieties and defences, but transference interpretation made possibly by the analyst’s awareness of his countertransference experience make it possible to open important breaches in this vicious circle.
To return to the previous example: If the analyst is conscious of what the projection of the father-imago upon him provokes in his own countertransference, he can more easily make the patient conscious of this projection and the consequent mechanisms. Interpretation of these mechanisms will show the patient that the present reality is not identical with his inner perceptions (for, it was, the analyst would not interpret and otherwise act as an analyst); the patient then introjects a reality better than his inner world. This sort of rectification does not take place when the analyst is under the sway of his unconscious countertransference.
Let us, least of mention, consider some application to these principles. To return to the question of what the analyst does during the session and what happens within him, one might reply, at first thought, that the analyst listens. Still, this is not completely true: He listens most of the time, or wishes to listen, but is variably doing so, Ferenczi refers to this fact and expresses the opinion that the analyst’s distractibility is unimportant, for the patient at such moments must intuitively be certainly in resistance. Ferenczi’s remark (which dates from the year 1918) sounds like an echo from the era wheen the analyst was mainly interested in the repressed impulses. Because now that we attempt to analyse resistance, the patient’s manifestations of resistance are as significant as any other of his productions. At any rate, Ferenczi here refers to a countertransference response and deduces from it the analysand’s psychological situation. He says “. . . we have unconsciously reacted to the emptiness and futility of the associations given now the withdrawal of the conscious charge.” The situation might be described as one of mutual withdrawal. The analyst’s withdrawal is a response to the analysand’s withdrawal-which, however, is a response to an imagined or really psychological position of the analyst. If we have withdrawn-if we are not listening but are thinking of something else-we may use this event in the service of the analysis like any other information we find. The quilt we may feel over such a withdrawal is just as utilizable analytically as any other countertransference reaction. Ferenczi’s next words, “the danger of the doctor’s falling asleep, . . . need not be regarded as grave because we awake at the first occurrence important for the treatment,” are clearly intended to appease this quilt. Nevertheless, to better than an allay than the analyst’s quilt would be to use it to promote the analysis-and so as to use the quilt would be the best way of alleviating it. In fact, we encounter here a cardinal problem of the relation between transference and countertransference, and of the therapeutic process in general. For the analyst’s withdrawal is only an example of how the unconscious of one person responds to the unconscious of another. This response seems in part to be governed, as far as we identify ourselves with unconscious objects of the analysand, siding the law of talion; and, as far as this; law unconsciously influences the analyst, there is danger of a vicious circle of actions between them, for the analysand as responds 'talionically' in his turn, and so on without end.
Looking more closely, we see that the 'talionic response' or 'identification with the aggressor' (the frustrating patient) is a complex process. Such a psychological process in the analyst usually starts with a feeling of displeasure or of some anxiety as a response to this aggression (frustration) and, because of this feeling, the analyst identifies himself with the 'aggressor'. By the term 'aggressor' we must designate not only the patient but also some internal object of the analyst (especially his own superego or the internal persecutor) now projected on the patient. This identification with the aggressor, or persecutor, causes a feeling of quilt; probably it always does so, although awareness of the quilt may be repressed. For what happens is, on a small scale, a process of melancholia, just as Freud described it: The object has partially abandoned us; we identify ourselves with the lost object, and then we accuse the introjected 'bad objects-in other words, we have quilt feedings. This may be sensed in Ferenczi’s remark quoted above, in which mechanisms are at work designed to protect the analyst against these quilt feelings: Denial of quilt (‘the danger is not grave’) and a certain accusation against the analysand for the 'emptiness' and 'futility' of his associations. Onto which this way becomes a vicious circle-a kind of paranoid ping-pong, has entered. The analytic situation.
Two situations will illustrate the frequent occurrence in both the complementary and the concordant identifications and the vicious circle that these simulations may cause.
(1). One transference situation of regular occurrences consists in the patient’s seeing in the analyst his own superego. The analyst identifies himself with the id and ego of the patient and with the patient’s dependence upon his superego. He also identifies himself with the same superego situation in which the patient places him-and experiences in this way the domination of the superego over the patient’s ego. The relation of the ego to the superego is, at bottom, as depressive and paranoid situations, the relation of the superego to the ego is, on the same plane, a manic one as far as this term may be used to designate the dominating, controlling, and accusing attitude of the superego toward the ego. In this sense we may broadly speak, that to a “depressive-paranoid” transference in the analysand there corresponds-as for the complementary identification-a “manic” countertransference in the analyst. This, in turn, may entail various fears and quilt feelings.
(2). When the patient, in defence against this situation, identifies himself with the superego, he may place the analyst in the situation of the dependent and incriminated ego. The analyst will not only identify himself with this position of the patient; he will experience the situation with the content the patient gives it; he will feel subjugated and accused, and may react to some degree with anxiety and quilt. To a “manic” transference situation (of the type called mania for reproaching) there corresponds, then-regarding the complementary identification-a “depressive-paranoid” countertransference situation.
The analyst will normally experience these situations with only a part of his being. Leaving another part free to take note of them in a way suitable for the treatment. Perception of such a countertransference situation by the analyst and his understanding of it as a psychological response to a certain transference situation will enable him the better to grasp the transference when it is active. It is precisely these situations and the analyst’s behaviour regarding them, and in particular his interpretations of them, that are important for the process of therapy, for they are the moments when the vicious circle within which the necrotic habitually move-by projecting his inner world outside and reintrojecting this world-is or is not interrupted. Moreover, at these decisive points the vicious circle may be re-enforced by the analyst, if he is unaware of having entered it.
A brief example: an analysand repeats with the analyst his “neurosis of failure,” closing himself up to every interpretation or repressing it at once, reproaching the analyst for the uselessness of the analysis, foreseeing nothing better in the future, continually declaring his complete indifference to everything. The analyst interprets the patient’s position toward him, and its origin, in its various aspects. He shows the patient his defence against the danger of becoming overly dependent, of being abandoned, or being tricked, or of suffering counter-aggression by the analyst, if he abandons his armour and indifference toward the analyst. He interprets to the patient his projection of bad internal objects and his subsequent sado-masochistic behaviour ion the transference; his need of punishment; his triumph and 'masochistic revenge' against the transferred patients; his defence against the 'depressive position' by means of schizoid, paranoid, and manic defences (Melanie Klein): And he interprets the patient’s rejection of a bond that in the unconscious has homosexual significance. Nevertheless, it may happen that all these interpretations, in spite of being directed to the central resistances and connected with the transference situation, suffer the same fate for the same reasons; they fall into the 'whirl in a void' of the 'neurosis of failure'. Now the decisive moments arrive. The analyst, subdued by the patient’s resistance, may begin to feel anxious over the possibility of failure and feel angry with the patient. When this occurs in the analyst, the patient feels it coming, for his own 'aggressiveness' and other reactions have provoked it; consequently he fears the analyst’s anger. If the analyst, threatened by failure, or to put in more precisively threatened by his own super-ego or by his owe archaic objects that have found an agent provocateur in the patient, acts under the influence of these internal objects and of his paranoid and depressive anxieties, the patient again finds himself confronting a reality like that of his real or fantasized childhood experiences and like that of his inner world. So the vicious circle continues and may even be re-enforced. Yet if the analyst grasps the importance of this situation, if, through his own anxiety or anger, he comprehends what is happening in the analysand, and if he overcomes, thanks to the new insight, his negative feelings and interprets what has happened in the analysand, being now in this new positive counter-transference situation, then he may have made a breach-be it large or small-in the vicious circle.
All the same, it continues to be considered that the phenomena of countertransference experiences are divided into two classes. One might be designed 'countertransference thought', the other 'transference positions' for example just cited may serve as illustration of this latter class: The essence of these example lies in the fact that the analyst feels anxiety and is angry with the analysand-that is to say, he is in a certain countertransference 'position'.
Further to explicate upon countertransference relations is that a potential patient is started of a session and wishes to pay his fees upfront. He gives the analyst a thousand-peso note and asks for change. The analyst happens to have his money in another room and goes out to fetch it, leaving the thousand pesos upon his desk. While between leaving and returning, the fantasy occurs to him that the analysand will take back the money and say that the analyst took it away with him. On his return he finds the thousand pesos where he left it. When the account has been settled, the analysand lies down and tells the analyst that when he was left alone he had fantasies of keeping the money, of kissing the note goodbye, and so on. The analyst’s fantasy was based upon what he already knew of the patient, who in previous sessions had expressed a strong distinction to pay up front. The identity of the analyst’s fantasy and the patient’s fantasy of keeping the money may be explained as springing from a connection between the two unconsciousness, a connection that might be regarded as a “psychological symbiosis” between the two personalities. To the analysand’s wish to take money from him (already expressed often), the analyst reacts by identifying himself both with this desire and with the object toward which the desire is directed. Hence appears his fantasy of being robbed. For these identifications to come about there must evidently exist a potential identity. One may presume that every possible psychological constellation in the patient also exists in the analyst, and the constellation that correspond to the patient’s is brought into play in the analyst. A symbiosis result, and now in the analyst spontaneously occur thoughts corresponding to the psychological constellation in the patient.
In fantasies of this type just described and in the example of the analyst angry with his patient, we are dealing with identifications with the id, with the ego, and with the object of the analysand: In both cases, then, it is a matter of Countertransference reactions. However, there is an important difference between one situation and the other, and this difference does not seem to lie only in the emotional intensity. Before elucidating this difference, it should be marked and noted that the Countertransference reaction that appears in the last example (the fantasy about the thousand pesos) should also be used as a means to further the analysis. It is, moreover, a typical example of those “spontaneous thoughts” to which Freud and others refer in advising the analyst to keep his attention “floating” and in stressing the importance of these thoughts for understanding the patient. The countertransference reactions exemplified by the story of the thousand pesos are characterized by the fact that they threaten no danger to the analyst’s objective attitude of an observer. That, the danger is rather than the analyst will not pay sufficient attention to these thoughts or will fail to use them for understanding and interpretation. The patient’s corresponding ideas are not always conscious, from his own Countertransference “thoughts” and feelings the analyst may guess what is repressed or rejected. Recalling again our usage of the term is important 'Countertransference', for many writers, perhaps the majority, means by not these thoughts of the analyst but rather than other class of reactions, the “Countertransference positions.” This is one reason that differentiating these two kinds of reaction is useful.
The outstanding difference between the two lies in the degree to which the ego is involved in the experience. In one case, the reactions are experienced as thoughts, free association, or fantasies, with no great emotional intensity and frequently as if they were moderately foreign to the ego. In the other case, the analyst’s ego is involved in the Countertransference experience. The experience is felt by him with greater intensity and as reality, and here danger of his “drowning” in this experience. In the former example of the analyst who gets angry because of the analysand’s resistances, the analysand is felt as really based by one part of the analyst (‘countertransference position’), although the latter does not express his anger. Now these two kinds of Countertransference reactions differ, because they have different origins. The reaction experienced by the analyst as thought or fantasy arises from the existence of an analogous situation in the analysand-that is, from his readiness in perceiving and communicating his inner situation (as happens with the thousand pesos)-whereas, the reaction experienced with great intensity, even as reality, by the analyst arises from acting out by the analysand (as with the ‘neurosis of failure’). Undoubtedly there are also the same analysts, he is a factor that helps to decide this difference. The analyst has, it seems, two ways of responding. He may respond to some situation by perceiving his reaction, while to others he responds by acting out (alloplastically or autoplastically). Which type of response occurs in the analyst depends partly on his own neurosis, on his inclination to anxiety, on his defence mechanisms, and especially on his tendencies to repeat (act out) instead of making conscious. It is here that we encounter a factor that determines the dynamics of countertransference. It is the one Freud emphasized as determining the special intensity of transference in analysis, and it is also responsible for the special intensity of countertransference.
The great intensity of certain countertransference reactions is to be explained by the existence in the analyst of pathological defences against the increase of archaic anxieties and unresolved inner conflicts. Transference, becomes intense not only because it serves as a resistance to remembering, as Freud says, but also because it serves as a defence against a danger within the transference experience itself. In other words, the “transference resistance” is frequently a repetition of defences that must be intensified lest a catastrophe is repeated in transference. The same is true of countertransference. Clearly, these catastrophes are related to becoming aware of certain aspects of one’s own instincts. Take, for instance, the analyst who becomes anxious and inwardly angry over the intense masochism of the analysand within the analytic situation. Such masochism frequently rouses old paranoid and depressive anxieties and guilt feelings in the analyst, who, faced with the aggression directed by the patient against his own ego, and faced with the effects of this aggression, finds himself in his unconscious confronted anew with his early crimes. It is often just this childhood conflict of the analyst, with their aggression, that led him into this profession in which he tries to repair the objects of the aggression and to overcome or deny his guilt. Because of the patient’s strong masochism, this defence, which consists of the analyst’s therapeutic action, fails and the analyst is threatened with the return of the catastrophe, the encounter with the destroyed object. In this way the intensity of the “negative countertransference” (the anger with the patient) usually increases because of the failure of the countertransference defence (the therapeutic action) and the analyst’s subsequent increase of anxiety over a catastrophe in the countertransference experience (the destruction of the object).
The 'abolition of rejection' in analysis determines the dynamics of transference and, in particular, the intensity of the transference of the 'rejecting' internal objects (in the first place, of the superego). The 'abolition of rejection' begins with the communication to the analysand, and here we have an important difference between his situation and that of the analysand and between the dynamics of transference and those of countertransference. However, this difference is not so great as might be at first supposed, for two reasons: First, because it is not necessary that the free associations be expressed for projections and transferences to take place, and secondly, because the analyst expresses of certain associations of a personal nature even when he does not seem to do so. These communications begin, one might say, with the plate on the front door that says Psychoanalysis or Doctor. What motive (about the unconscious) would the analyst have for wanting to cure if it were not he that made the patient ill? In this way the patient is already, simply by being a patient, the creditor, the accuser, the
'Superego' of the analyst, and the analyst is his debtor.
To what transference situation does the analyst usually react with a particular countertransference? Study of this question would enable one, in practice, to deduce the transference situations from the countertransference reactions. Next we might ask, to what imago or conduct of the object-to what imagined or real countertransference situation-does the patient respond with a particular transference? Many aspects of these problems have been amply studied by psychoanalysis, but the specific problem of the relation of transference and countertransference in analysis has received little attention.
The subject is so broad that we can discuss only a few situations and those incompletely, restricting ourselves to certain aspects. Therefore, we must choose for discussion only the most important countertransference situations, those that most disturb the analyst’s task and that clarify important points in the double neurosis, that arise in the analytic situation-a neurosis usually of very different intensity in the two participants.
1. What is the significance of countertransference anxiety?
Countertransference anxiety may be described in general and simplified terms as of depressive or paranoid character. In depressive anxiety the inherent danger consisted in having destroyed the analysand or made him ill. This anxiety may arise to a greater degree when the analyst faces the danger that the patient may commit suicide, and to a lesser degree when there is deterioration or danger of deterioration in the patient’s state of health. Yet the patient’s simple failure to improve and his suffering and depression may also provoke depressive anxieties in the analyst. These anxieties usually increase the desire to heal the patient.
In referring to paranoid anxieties differentiating it between is important “direct” and 'indirect' countertransference. In direct countertransference the anxieties are caused by danger of an intensification of aggression from the patient himself. Indirect Countertransference the anxieties are caused by danger of aggression from third parties onto whom the analyst has made his chief transference-for instance, the members of the analytic society, for the future of the analyst’s object relationship with the society is part determined by his professional performance. The feared aggression may take several forms, such as criticism, reproach, hatred, mockery, contempt, or bodily assault. In the unconscious it may be the danger of being killed or castrated or otherwise menaced in an archaic way.
The transference situations of the patient to whom the depressive anxieties of the analyst are a response are, above all, those in which the patient, through an increase in frustration (or danger of frustration) and in the aggression that it evokes, turns the aggression against himself. We are dealing, on one plane, with situations in which the patient defends himself against a paranoid fear of retaliation by anticipating this danger, by carrying out himself and against himself part of the aggression feared from the object transferred onto the analyst, and threatening to carry it out still further. In this psychological sense it is really the analyst who attacks and destroys the patient, and the analyst’s depressive anxiety corresponds to this psychological reality. In other words, the countertransference depressive anxiety arises, above all, as a response to the patient’s 'masochistic defence'-which also represents a revenge (‘masochistic revenge’)-and as a response to the danger of its continuing. On another plane this turning of the aggression against himself is carried out by the patient because of his own depressive anxieties; he turns it against himself to protect himself against re-experiencing the destruction of the objects and to protect these from his own aggression.
The paranoid anxiety in 'direct' countertransference is a reaction to the danger arising from various aggressive attitudes of the patient himself. The analysis of these attitudes shows that they are themselves defences against, or reactions to, certain aggressive imagos. These reactions and defences are governed by the law of talion or else, analogously to this, by identification with the persecutor. The reproach, contempt, abandonment, bodily assaults-all these attitudes of menace or aggression in the patient that causes countertransference paranoid anxieties-are responses to (or anticipation of) equivalent attitudes of the transferred object.
The paranoid anxieties in 'indirect' countertransference are of a more complex nature since the danger for the analyst originates in a third party. The patient’s transference situations that provoke the aggression of this “third party” against the analyst may be of various sorts. Commonly, we are dealing with transference situations (masochistic or aggressive) similar to those that provoke the 'direct' countertransference anxieties previously mentioned.
The common denominator of all the various attitudes of patients that provoke anxiety in the analyst is to be found, in the mechanism of 'identification with the persecutor', the experience of being liberated from the persecutor and of triumphing over him, implied in this identification, suggested our designating this mechanism as a manic one. This mechanism may also exist where the manifest picture in the patient is the opposite, namely in certain depressive states; for the manic conduct may be directed either toward a projected object or toward an introjected object, it may be carried out alloplastically or autoplastically. The 'identification with the persecutor' may even exist' in suicide, since this is a ‘mockery’ of the fantasized or real persecutors, by anticipating the intentions of the persecutors and by one’s own in what they wanted to do, as this ‘mockery’ is the manic aspect of suicide. The 'identification with the persecutor' in the patient is, then, a defence against an object felt as sadistic that tends to make the patient the victim of a manic feast. This defence is carried out either through the introjection of the persecutor in the ego, turning the analyst into the object of the 'manic tendencies', or through the introjection of the persecutor in the superego, taking the ego as the object of its manic trend. Still, what does this mean?
An analysand decides to take a pleasure trip to Europe. He experiences this as a victory over the analyst both because he will free himself from the analyst for two months and because he can afford this trip whereas the analyst cannot. He then begins to be anxious lest the analyst seeks revenge for the patient’s triumph. The patient anticipates this aggression by becoming unwill, developing fever and the first symptoms of influenza. The analyst feels slight anxiety because of this illness and fears, recalling certain experiences, a deterioration in the state of health of the patient, who still however continues to come to the sessions. Up to this point, the situation in the transference and countertransference is as follows. The patient is in a manic relation to the analyst, and his anxieties of preponderantly paranoid type. The analyst senses some irritation over the abandonment and some envy of the patient’s great wealth (feeling ascribed by the patient in his paranoid anxieties to the analyst), but while, the analyst feels satisfaction at the analysand’s real progress, which finds expression in the very fact that the trip is possible and that the patient has decided to make it. The analyst perceives a wish in part of his personality to bind the patient to himself and use the patient for his own needs. In having this wish he resembles the patient’s mother, and he is aware that he is in reality identified with the domineering and vindictive object with which the patient identifies him. Therefore, the patient’s illness seems, to the analyst’s unconscious, a result of the analyst’s own wish, and the analyst therefore experiences depressive (and paranoid) anxieties.
What object imago leads the patient to this manic situation? It is precisely this imago of a tyrannical and sadistic mother, to whom the patient’s frustrations constitute a manic feast. It is against these 'manic tendencies' in the object that the patient defends himself, first by identification (introjection of the persecutor in the ego, which manifests itself in the manic experience in his decision to take a trip) and then by using a masochistic defence to escape vengeance.
In brief, the analyst’s depressive (and paranoid) anxiety is his emotional response to the patient’s illness, and the patient’s illness is itself a masochistic defence against the object’s vindictive persecution. This masochistic defence also contains a manic mechanism in that it derides, controls, and dominates the analyst’s aggression. In the stratum underlying this, we find the patient in a paranoid situation in face of the vindictive persecution by the analyst-a fantasy that coincides with the analyst’s secret irritation. Beneath this paranoid situation, and causing it, is an inverse situation: The patient is enjoying a manic triumph (his liberation from the analyst by going on a trip), but the analyst is in a paranoid situation (he is in danger of being defeated and abandoned). Finally, beneath this we find a situation in which the patient is subjected to an object imago that wants to make of him the victim of its aggressive tendencies, but this time not to take revenge for intentions or attitudes in the patient, but merely to satisfy its own sadism of an imago that originates directly from the original suffering of the subject.
In this way, the analyst can deduce from each of his Countertransference sensations a certain transference situation, the analyst’s fear to deterioration in the patient’s health enabled him to perceive the patient’s need to satisfy the avenger and to control and restrain him, partially inverting (through the illness) the roles of victimizer and victim, thus alleviating his guilt feeling and causing the analyst to feel some of the guilt. The analyst’s irritation over the patient’s trip enabled him to see the patient’s need to free himself from a dominating and sadistic object, to see the patient’s guilt feelings caused by these tendencies, and to see his fear of the analyst’s revenge. By his feeling of triumph the analyst could detect the anxiety and depression caused in the patient by his dependence upon this frustrating, yet indispensable, object. Each of these transference situations suggested to the analyst the patient’s object imagoes-the fantasized or real Countertransference situation that determined the transference situations.
2. What is the meaning of countertransference aggression?
To what was previous, we have seen that the analyst may experience, besides countertransference anxiety, annoyances, recollection, desire for vengeance, hatred, and other emotions. What are the origin and meaning of these emotions?
Countertransference aggression usually arises in the face of frustration (or danger of frustration) of desires that may superficially be differentiated into “direct” and “indirect.” Both direct and indirect desires are principally wishes to get libido or affection. The patient is the chief object of direct desires in the analyst, who wishes to be accepted and loved by him. The object of the indirect desires of the analyst may be, for example, other analysts from whom he wishes to get recognition or admiration through his successful work with his patients, using the latter as means to this end. This aim to get love has, in general terms, two origins: An instinctual origin (the primitive needs of union with the object) and an origin of a defensive nature (the need of neutralizing, overcoming, or denying the rejections and other dangers originating from the internal objects, in particular from the superego). The frustrations may be differentiated, descriptively, into those of active type and those of passive type. Among the active frustrations is direct aggression by the patient, his mockery, deceit, and active rejection. To the analyst, active frustration means exposure to a predominantly “bad” object, the patient may become, for example, the analyst’s superego, which says to him “you are bad.” Examples of flustration of passive type are passive rejection, withdrawal, partial abandonment, and other defences against the bond with and dependence on the analyst. These signify flustrations of the analyst’s need of union with the object.
We may say then, that Countertransference aggression usually arises when there is frustration of the analyst’s desire that springs from Eros, both that arising from his “original” instinctive and affective drives and that arising from his need of neutralizing or annulling his own Thanatos (or the action in his internal ‘bad objects’) directed against the ego or against the external world. Owing partly to the analyst’s own neurosis (and to certain characteristics of analysis itself) these desires of Eros sometimes change the unconscious aim of bringing the patient to a state of dependence. Therefore countertransference aggression may be provoked by the rejection of this dependence by the patient who rejects any bond with the analyst and refuses to surrender to him, showing this refusal by silence, denial, secretiveness, repression, blocking, or mockery.
Taken to place next, we must establish what it is that induces the patient to behave in this way, to frustrate the analyst, to withdraw from him, to attack him. If we know this we might as perhaps know what we have to interpret when countertransference aggression arises in us, being able to deduce from the countertransference the transition of the transference situation and its cause. This cause is a fantasized countertransference situation or, more precisely, some actual or feared bad conduct from the projected object. Experience shows that, in meaningly general terms, this bad or threatening conduct of the object is usually an equivalent of the conduct of the patient (to which the analyst has reacted internally with aggression). We also understand why this is so: The patient’s conduct springs from that most primitive of reactions, the talion reaction, or from the defect by means of identification with the persecutor or aggressor. Sometimes, it is quite simple: The analysand withdraws from us, rejects us, abandons us, or derides us when he fears or suffers the same or an equivalent treatment from us. In other cases, it is more complex, the immediate identification with the aggression being replaced by another identification that is less direct. To exemplify: Some woman patients, upon learning that the analyst is going on holiday, remain silent a long while, she withdraws, through her silence, as a talion response to the analyst’s withdrawal. Deeper analysis shows that the analyst’s holiday is, to the patient, equivalent to the primal scene, and this is equivalent to destruction of her as a woman, and her immediate response must be a similar attack against the analyst. This aggressive (castrating) impulse is rejected and the result, her silence, is a compromise between her hostility and its rejection, it is a transformed identification with the persecutor.
The composite distribution accounted by ours, is the vertical mosaic: (a) The countertransference reactions of aggression (or, of its equivalent) occur in response to transference situations in which the patient frustrates certain desires of the analyst’s. These frustrations are equivalent to abandonment or aggression, which the patient carries out or with which he threatens the analyst, and they place the analyst, at first, in a depressive or paranoid situation. The patient’s defence is in one aspect equivalent to a manic situation, for he is freeing himself from a persecutor. (b) This transference situation is the defence against certain object imagoes. Existent associative objects persecute the subject sadistically, vindictively, or morally, or an object that the patient defends from his destructiveness by an attack against his own ego: In these, the patient attacks-as Freud and Abraham have shown in the analysis of melancholia and suicide-just when, the internal object and the external object (the analyst). The analyst who is placed by the alloplastic or autoplastic attacks of the patient in a paranoid or a depressive situation sometimes defends himself against these attacks by using the same identification with the aggressor or persecutor as the patient used. Then the analyst virtually becomes the persecutor, and to this the patient (insofar as he presupposes such a reaction from his internal and projected object) responds with anxiety. This anxiety and its origin are nearest to consciousness, and are therefore the first thing to interpret.
3. Countertransference guilt feelings are an important source of countertransference anxiety: The analyst fears his “moral conscience.” Thus, for instance, a serious deterioration in the condition of the patient may cause the analyst to suffer reproach by his own superego, and cause him to fear punishment. When such guilt feelings occur, but the superego of the analyst is usually projected upon the patient or upon a third person, the analyst being the guilty ego. The accuser is the one who is attacked, the victim of the analyst. The analyst is the accused, he is charged with being the victimizer. It is therefore the analyst who must suffer anxiety over his object, and dependence upon it.
As in other countertransference situations, the analyst’s guilt feeling may have either real causes or fantasized causes, or a mixture of the two. A real cause exists in the analyst who has neurotic negative feelings that exercise some influence over his behaviour, leading him, for example, to interpret with aggressiveness or to behave in a submissive, seductive, or unnecessarily frustrating way. Yet guilt feelings may also arise in the analyst over, for instance, intense submissiveness in the patient though the analyst had not driven the patient into such conduct by his procedure. Or he may feel guilty when the analysand becomes depressed or ill, although his therapeutic procedure was right and proper according to his own conscience. In such cases, the countertransference guilt feelings are evoked not by what procedure he actualizes by its use but by his awareness of what he might have done in view of his latent disposition. In other words, the analyst identifies himself in fantasy with a bad internal object of the patient’s and he feels guilty for what he has provoked in this role-illness, depression, masochism, suffering, failure. The imago of the patient then becomes fused with the analyst’s internal objects, which the analyst had, in the past, wanted (and perhaps managed) to frustrate, makes suffer, dominate, or destroy. Now he wishes to repair them. When this reparation fails, he reacts as if he had hurt them. The true cause of the guilt feelings is the neurotic, predominantly sado-masochistic tendencies that may reappear in countertransference: The analyst therefore quite rightly entertains certain doubts and uncertainties about his ability to control them completely and to keep them entirely removed from his procedure.
The transference situation to which the analyst is likely to react with guilt feelings is then, in the first place, a masochistic trend in the patient, which may be either of some 'defensives' (secondary) or of a 'basic' (primary) nature. If it is defensive, we know it to be a rejection of sadism by means of its 'turning against the ego', the principal object imago that imposes this masochistic defence is a retaliatory imago. If it is basic (‘primary masochism’) the object imago is ‘simply’ sadistic, a reflex of the pains (‘frustration’) originally suffered by the patient. The analyst’s guilt feelings refer to his own sadistic tendencies. He may feel as if he himself had provoked the patient’s masochism. The patient is subjugated by a ‘bad’ object so that it seems as if the analyst had satisfied his aggressiveness; now the analyst is exposed in his turn to the accusations of his superego. In short, the superficial situation is that the patient is now the superego, and the analyst the ego who must suffer the accusation, the analyst is in a depressive-paranoid situation, whereas the patient is, from one point of view, in a ‘manic’ situation (showing, for example, ‘mania for reproaching’). Nevertheless, on a deeper plane the situation is the reverse: The analyst is in a ‘manic’ situation (acting as vindictive, dominating, or ‘simply’ a sadistic imago), and the patient is in a depressive-paranoid situation.
4. Besides the anxiety, hatred, and quilt feelings in countertransference, most other countertransference situations may also be decisive points during analytic treatment, both because they may influence the analyst’s work and because the analysis of the transference situations that provoke such countertransference situations may represent the central problem of treatment, clarification of which may be indispensable if the analyst is to exert any therapeutic influence upon the patient.
Before closing, let us consider briefly two doubtful points. How much confidence should we place in countertransference as a guide to understanding the patient? As to the first question, I intuitively think by means of its existing certainty, by which is founded the mistake initiated of the countertransference reactions as an oracle, with blind faith to expect of them the pure truth about the psychological situations of the analysand. It is plain that our unconscious is a very personal ‘receiver’ and ‘transmitter’ and we must reckon with frequent distortions of objective reality. Still, it is also true that our unconscious is nevertheless “the best we have of its kind.” His own analysis and some analytic experience enable the analyst, as a rule, to be conscious of this personal factor and know his ‘personal equation.’ According to experience, the danger of exaggerated faith in the message of one’s own unconscious is, even when they refer to very ‘personal’ reactions. Less than the danger of repressing them and denying them any objective value.
It seems necessary that one must critically examine the deductions one makes from perception of one’s own countertransference. For example, the fact that the analyst feels angry does not simply mean (as is sometimes said) that the patient wishes to make him angry. It may mean rather than the patient has a transference feeling of guilt. What has been said concerning Countertransference aggression is relevant here.
The second question-whether the analyst should or should not ‘communicate’ or ‘interpret’ aspects of his countertransference to the analysand-cannot be considered fully at present. Much depends, of course, upon what, when, how, to whom, for what purpose, and in what conditions the analyst speaks about his countertransference. Probably, the purposes sought by communicating the countertransference might often (but not always) be better attained by other means. The principal other means is analysis of the patient’s fantasies about the analyst’s countertransference (and of the related transference) sufficient to show the patient the truth (the reality of the countertransference of his inner and outer objects): and with this must also be analysed the doubts, negations, and other defences against the truth, intuitively perceived, until they have been overcome. Nevertheless, the situations in which communication of the countertransference is of value for the subsequent course of the treatment. Without doubt, this aspect of the use of countertransference is of great interest: We need an extensive and detailed study of the inherent problems of communication of countertransference. Much more experience and study of countertransference need to be recorded.
Some discussion of a working definition of the term countertransference is necessary, since it is by no means agreed upon by analysts that it can be correctly considered the converse of transference. D. W. Winnicott, for instance, has recently written about the importance of attitudes of hate from an analyst too patient, particularly in dealing with psychotic and antisocial patients. He speaks mainly of ‘objective countertransference’. Meaning ‘the analyst’s love and hate in reaction to the actual personality and behaviour of the patient based on objective observation. However, he also mentions countertransference feelings that are under repression in the analyst and need countertransference feelings that are under repression in the analyst and need more analysis. His concept of ‘objective Countertransference’ will not be included under the term Countertransference if the latter are used as the converse of transference. Frieda Fromm-Reichmann has separated the reconverse of the psychoanalyst to the patient into those of a private and those responses of the psychoanalyst to the patient into those of a private and those of a professional person and recognizes the possibility of countertransference distortions occurring in both aspects. Franz Alexander has used the term to mean all of the attitudes of the doctor toward the patient, while Sandor Ferenczi has used it to cover the positive, affectionate, loving, or sexual attitudes of the doctor toward the patient. Michael Balint, looking at a different aspect, calls attention ti the fact that every human relation is libidinous, not only the patient’s relation to his analyst, but also the analyst’s relation to the patient. He says that no human being can in the end tolerate any relation that brings only frustration and that it is as true for the one as for the other. “The question is, therefore, . . . how much. What kind of satisfaction is needed by the patient on the one hand and by the analyst on the other, to keep the tension in the psycho-analytical situation as or near the optimal level.”
In developing his theory of interpersonal relations, Harry Stack Sullivan has defined the psychotherapeutic effort of the analyst as carried on by the method of participant observation. He says, “The expertness of the psychiatrist refers to his skill in participant observation of the unfortunate patterns of his own and the patient’s living, in contrast too merely participating in such unfortunate patterns with the patient.” In the use of the term unfortunate patterns Sullivan includes the concept of countertransference, or in his words 'parataxic distortions'.
In several important recent papers, Leo Berman, Paula Heimann, Annie Reich, Margaret Little, and Maxwell Gitelson have made a beginning in the attempt to clarify the concept and to formulate some dynamic principles regarding the phenomena included in this category. Berman is mainly concerned with defining the optimal attitude of the analyst to the patient, an attitude that he characterizes as “dedicated.” This description is based on the assumption that the analyst’s emotional responses to the patient will be quantitatively less than those of the average person and of shorter duration, as the result of being quickly worked through by self-analysis. This, then, would represent an ideal goal of minimizing and an easily handled countertransference response.
Heimann takes a step forward when she states that the analyst’s emotional response to his patient within the analytic situation represents one of the most important tools for his work, and that the analyst’s countertransference is an instrument of research into the patient’s unconscious. This important formulation is the basis upon which the study of the analyst’s part of the interaction with the patient should be built. Previously, the statement has frequently been made that the analyst’s unconscious understands the patient’s unconscious. However, it is presumed that much is already unconscious material as becoming available to awareness after a successful analysis, so that the understanding should theoretically not be only on an unconscious level but should be errorless in words.
Reich has classified most of countertransference attitudes of the analyst’s. She separates them into two main types: Those where the analyst acts out some unconscious need with the patient, and those where the analyst defends against some unconscious need. On the whole, countertransference responses are reflections of permanent neurotic difficulties of the analyst, in which the patient is often not a real object but is rather used as a tool by means of which some need of the analyst is gratified. In some instances, there may be sudden, acute countertransference responses that do not necessarily arises from neurotic character difficulties of the analyst. However, Reich points out that the interest in becoming an analyst is itself partially determined by unconscious motivation, such as curiosity about other people’s secrets, which is evidence that countertransference attitudes are some prerequisites for an analyst. The contrast between the healthy and neurotic analyst is that in the one the curiosity is desexualized and sublimated in character, while in the other it remains a method of acting out unconscious fantasies.
Margaret Little continues the search for an adequate definition of countertransference, concluding that it should be used primarily to refer to 'repressed elements', inasmuch as far as the unanalysed well-situated analyst, he attaches himself to the patient in the same way as the patient ‘transfers’ to the analyst effects, etc., belonging to his parents or to the object of his childhood: i.e., the analyst regards the patient (temporarily and varyingly) as he regarded his own parents. Even so, it is, Little who thinks that other aspects of the analyst’s attitudes toward the patient, such as some specific attitude or mechanism with which he meets the patient’s transference, or some of his conscious attitudes, should be considered Countertransference responses. She confirms Heimann’s statement that the use of countertransference may become an extremely valuable tool in psychoanalysis, comparing it in importance with the advances made when transference interpretations began to be used therapeutically. She sees transference and Countertransference as inseparable phenomena; both should become increasingly clear to both doctor and patient as the analysis progresses. To that end, she advocates judicious use of Countertransference interpretation by the analyst. “Both are essential to Psychoanalysis, and countertransference is no more to be feared or avoided than is transference: In fact it cannot be avoided it can only be looked out for, controlled to some extent, and perhaps ill-used.
Gitelson, in a comprehensive paper, continues to clarify the phenomena, he goes back to the original definition of countertransference used by Freud-the analyst’s reaction to the patient’s transference-and separates this set of responses from another set that he calls the transference attitudes of the analyst. These transference attitudes, which are the result of ‘’surviving neurotic transference potential’ in the analyst. Involve ‘total’ reactions to the patient -that is, overall feelings about and toward the patient-while the countertransference attitudes are ‘partial’ reactions to the patient-that is, emergency defence reactions elicited when the analysis touches upon unresolved problems in the analyst.
This classification, while valid enough, does not seem to forward investigation to any great extent. For example, Gitelson feels in general that the existence of ‘total’ or transference attitudes toward a patient is a contradiction for the analyst to work with that patient, whereas the partial responses are more amendable to working through the continuity of inertial momentum whereby the processes of a self-analysis. Yet, it seems extremely sceptical whether avoiding is possible for one ‘total’ reaction to a patient-that is, general feelings of liking for, dislike of, and responsiveness toward the patient, and so on, is present from the time of the first interview. These do vary in intensity; when extreme, they may indicate that a non-therapeutic relationship would result should be the two persons attempt working together. On the other hand, their presence in awareness may permit the successful scrutiny and resolution of whatever problem is involved, whereas their presence outside awareness would render this impossibly. In other words, it is not so much a question whether ‘total’ responses are present or not, but rather a question as to their amenability to recognition and resolution. Therefore, another type of classification would, in any case, be more useful for investigative purposes.
Least of mention, this by no mean a harbouring dispute over the validity of Gitelson’s criticism of the rationalization of much Countertransference acting-out under the heading of ‘corrective emotional experience’. He emphasizes that motherly or fatherly attitudes in the analyst are often character defences unrecognized as such by him. Although the analyst, according to Gitelson, to facilitate . . . can deny neither his personality nor its operation in the analytic situation as a significant factor, this does, however, mean that his personality is the chief instrument of the therapy. He also reports the observation that when the analyst appears as himself in the patient’s dreams, it is often the herald of the development of an unmanageably intenser transference neurosis, the unmanageability being the difficulty of the analyst’s situation. Similarly, when the patient appears as himself in the analyst’s dream, but it is often a signal of unconscious countertransference processes going on.
So then, we have seen that in recent studies on countertransference have included in their concepts attitudes of the therapist that are both conscious and unconscious; attitudes that are responses both too real and to fantasied attitudes of the patient; attitudes stimulated by unconscious needs of the analyst and attitudes stimulated by sudden outbursts of effect for the patient; attitudes that arise from responding to the patient as though he were some previously important person in the analyst’s life; and attitudes that do not use the patient as a real object but as a tool for the gratification of some unconscious requisite. This group of responses covers a tremendously wide territory, yet it does not include, of course, all of the analyst’s responses to the patient. On what common ground is the above attitudes singled out to be called countertransference?
It seems, nonetheless, that the common factor in the above responses is the presence of anxiety in the therapist-whether recognized in awareness or defended against and kept of our awareness. The contrast between the dedicated attitude described as the ideal attitude of the analyst-or the analyst as an expert on problems of living, as Sullivan puts it-and the so-called countertransference responses, is the presence of anxiety, arising from the variety of sources in the whole field of patient-therapist interrelationships.
If countertransference attitudes and behaviour were to be thought of as determined by the presence of anxiety in the therapist, we might have an operational definition that would be more useful than the more descriptive one based on identifying patterns in the analyst derived from importantly past relationships. The definition would, of course, have to include situations both or felt discomfort and those where the anxiety was out of awareness and replaced by a defensive operation? Such a viewpoint of countertransference would be useful in that it would include all situations where the analyst was unable to be useful to the patient because of difficulties with his own responses.
The definition might be precisely stated as follows: When, in the patient-analyst relationship, anxiety is aroused in the analyst with the effect that communication between him and is interfered with by some alternation in the analyst’s behaviour (verbal or otherwise), then Countertransference is present.
The question might be asked, if countertransference were defined in this way, would the definition hold well for transference responses also? It seems that on a very generalized level this might be so, but on the level of practical therapeutic understanding such a statement would not be enlightening. While it could safely be said of every patient that he appearance of his anxiety or defensive behaviour in the treatment situation was due to an impairment of communication with the analysts that in turn was due to his attributing to the analyst some critical or otherwise disturbing attitude that in its turn was originally derived from his experience with his parents-still this would disregard the fact that the patient’s whole life pattern and his relation to all of the important authority figures in it would show a similar stereotyped defensive response. So that the early stages of treatment and to a lesser extent in later stages, the anxiety responses of the patient are for the most part generalized and stereotyped than explained with special reference to his relationship with the analyst.
This, however, is not true of the analyst. Having been analysed himself, most of such anxiety-laden responses as he has experienced with others have entered awareness and many of them have been worked through and abandoned in favour of more mature and integrated responses. What remains, then, not automatically represent sibling rivals? While it is possible that a particular, unusually competitive patient may still represent a younger sibling to an analyst who had some difficulties in his own life with being the elder child.
To speak of the same thing from another point of view, the analyst is not working on his problems in the analysis; he is working on the patient’s. Therefore, while the patient brings his anxiety responses to the analysis as his primary concern, the fact that the analyst’s problems are not under scrutiny permits him a greater degree of detachments and objectivity. This is, to be sure, only a relative truth, since the analyst at times and under certain circumstances is bringing his problems into the relationship, and at times, at least in some analyses, the attention of both the patient and the analyst are directed to the analysts' problems. However, it is on the whole valid to describe the analytic situation as one designed to focus attention on the anxieties of the patient and to leave in the background the anxieties of the therapist, so that when these do appear they are of particular significance as for the relationship itself.
The associative set classifications of countertransference responses are to classify the situation in analysis when anxiety-tinged processes are operating in the analyst. This is to the set classification as not as clear-cut separation of situational anxieties, nor are any of the responses to be thought of as entirely free of necrotic attitudes of the therapist. Even in the most extremer examples of situational stress (where ordinarily the analyst’s response is thought of as an objective response to th stress rather than a neurotic response), personal, characterological factors will colour his response, as will also the nature of his relationship with the patient. Take, for instances, the situation where the analyst comes to his office in a state of acute tension as the result of a quarrel with his wife. With one patient he may remain preoccupied with his personal troubles throughout the hour, while with another he may be able shortly to bring hid attention to the analytic situation. Something in each patient’s personality and method of production, and in the analyst’s response to each, has affected the analyst’s behaviour.
Anxiety-arousing situations in the patient-analyst interaction have been classified as follows: (1) situational factors-that is, reality factors such as intercurrent events in the analyst’s life, and, social factors such as need for success and recognition as a competent therapist (2) unresolved neurotic problems of the therapist, and (3) communication of the patient’s anxiety to the therapist.
The response to situational factors is, of course, very much influenced by the character make-up of the doctor. How much has the quality of being necessitated for conformity to convention he retains will influence his response to the patient who shouts loudly during an analytic session? Nevertheless, the response will always be affected by the degree of which his office is soundproof, whether there is another patient in the waiting room, whether a colleague in an adjoining office can overhear, and so on. So that, even leaving out the private characterological aspect of the situation for the therapist, there remains a sizable set of reality needs that, if threatened, will lead to unanalytic behaviour on his part.
The greatest number of these relates to the physician’s role in our culture. There is a high value attached to the role of a successful physician. This is not, of course, confined to the vague group of people known as the public, it is also actively present in the professional colleagues. There is a reality need for recognition of his competence by his colleagues, which has a dollars and cents value and an emotional one. While it is true that his reputation will not be made or broken by one success or failure, it does not follow that a suicide or psychotic breakdown in the patient does not represent a reality threat to him. Consequently, he cannot be expected to handle such threatening crises with complete equanimity. Besides, some realities need to be known as competent by his colleagues and the public, there is potent and valid need on the doctor’s part for creative accomplishment. This appears in the therapeutic situation as an expectation of and a need to see favourable change in the patient. It is entirely impossible for a therapist to participate in a treatment situation where the goal is improvement or cure without suffering frustration, disappointment, and at times anxiety when his efforts result in no apparent progress. Such situations are at times handled by therapists with the attitude: “Let him stew in his own juices until he sees that he should change,” or by the belief that he, the doctor, must be making an error that he dies not understand and should redouble his efforts. Frequently, the resolution of such a difficulty can be achieved by the realization by the therapist that his reality fear of failure is keeping him from recognizing an important aspect of the patient’s neurosis having done with making the responsibility for his welfare on another’s shoulders. The reality fear of failure can . . . neither be ignored nor put up with, so to speak, since an attempt by the therapist to remove it by ‘making’ the patient gets well is bound to increase the chances of failure.
Further difficulties are introduced by the traditional cultural definition of the healer’s role-that is, according to the Hippocratic oath. The physician-healer is expected to play a fatherly or even god-like role with his patient, in which he both sees through him-knows mysteriously what is wrong with his insides-and takes responsibility for him. This magic-healer role has heavy reinforcement from many personal motivations of the analyst for becoming a physician and a psychotherapist. These range from need to know other people’s secrets, as mentioned by Reich, to needs to cure oneself vicariously by curing others, needs for magical power to cover up one’s own feedings of weakness and inadequacy, needs to do better than one’s own analyst. Unfortunately, some aspects of psychoanalytical educating have a tendency to reinforce the interpretation of the therapist as a magically powerful person. The admonition, for instance, to become a ‘mature character’, while excellent advice, still carries with it a connotation of perfect adjustment and perhaps bring pressure to bear on the trainee not to recognize his immaturites or deficiencies. Even such precepts as ti is a ‘mirror’ or a ‘surgeon’ or ‘dedicated’ emphasize the analyst’s moral power in relation to the patient and, still worse, makes it as good technique. Since the analyst’s power, it is regrettably easy for both persons to participate in a mutually gratifying relationship that satisfies the patient’s dependency and the doctor’s need for power.
The main situation in the patient-doctor relationship that undermines the therapeutic role and therefore may result in anxiety in the therapist can be listed as follows: (1) when the doctor is helpless to affect the patient’s neurosis, (2) when the doctor is treated consistently as an object of fear, hatred, criticism, or contempt, (3) when the patient calls on the doctor for advice or reassurance as evidence of his professional competence or interest in the patient, (4) when the patient attempts to establish a relationship of romantic love with the doctor, and (5) when the patient calls on the doctor for other intimacy.
Unresolved neurotic problems of the therapist are a subject on which it is very difficult to generalize since such problems will be different in every therapist. To be sure, there are large general categories into which most therapists can be classified, and so certain overall attitudes may be held in common, as for instance the categories of the obsessional therapists who retain remnants of a compulsive need to be in control, or the masochistically overcompensated therapist who compulsively makes reparation to the patient, as described by Little.
One may scrutinize all analysts, from the top of the ladder to the bottom, and, as is obvious, will find characteristic types of patients chosen and characteristic courses of analytic treatment in each case. Gitelson seems to undervalue this factor when he says that the analyst “can no longer . . . grow to worsen of neither his personality nor its operation in the analytic situation as a significant factor . . . This is far from saying, however, that his personality is the chief instrument of the therapy that we call psychoanalysis. There is a great difference between the selection and playing of a role and the awareness of the fact that ones' own person has found himself cast for a part. Conducting himself is important for the analyst so that the analytic process proceeds by what the patient brings to it.”
It is not the selection. Playing of a role that creates the Countertransference problem of the average, and healthy analyst, but the fact that one habitually and incessantly plays a role determined by one’s character structure, so that one is at times hindered from seeing and dealing with the role in which one is cast by the patient.
It does, however, seem apparent that, to deal with the distortions introduced by the patient, the doctor needs to be aware of the following things: (1) that he has an unambiguous expression on his face when the patient arrives five minutes late for the first hour of therapy, and (2) that he annoyed (made anxious) by the patient’s imputation of malice to him. If he were aware of (1), he would. Perhaps, can interpret the fearful apologies of the patient with a question about why the patent thinks he is angry. If he were unaware of (1) or did not think it wise to interpret, still if he were aware of his anxiety reaction (2), he can probably recognize that his annoyance at being apologized to was leading to a sulky silence on his part. Once this was within awareness, the annoyance could be expected to lift and the therapeutic needs of the situation could be handled on their own merits.
Communication of the patient’s anxiety to the therapist proves most interesting and some mysterious phenomenons exhibited on occasion-and perhaps more frequently than we realize-by both analyst and patient. It seems to have some relationship to the process described as empathy. It is a well-known fact that certain types of persons are literally barometers for the tension level of other persons with whom they are in contact. Apparently cues are picked up from small shifts in muscular tension plus changes in voice tone. Tonal changes are more widely recognized to provide such cues, as evidenced by the common expression, “It wasn’t what he said but the way he said it.” Yet there are numbers of instances where the posture of a patient while walking into the consulting room gave the cue to the analyst that anxiety was present, although there was no gross abnormality but merely a slight stiffness or jerkiness to be observed. A similar observation can be made in supervised analyses, where the supervised communicate to the supervisor that he is in an anxiety-arousing situation with the patient, not by the material he related, but by some appearance of increased tension in his manner of reporting.
It is a mood point whether anxiety responses of therapists in situations where the anxiety is ‘caught’ from the patient can be considered entirely free of personal conflict by the analyst. Probably, habitual alertness to the tension level of others, however desirable a trait in the analyst, must have had its origins in tension-laden atmospheres of the past, and therefore must have specific personal meaning to the analyst.
The contagious aspects of the patient’s anxiety have been most often mentioned concerning the treatment of psychotics. In dealing with a patient whose defences are those of violent counter-aggression, not of an analyst experience of both fear and/or anxiety. The fear is on a relatively rational basis-the danger of suffering physically hurt. The anxiety derives from (1) retaliatory impulses toward the attacker,
(2) wounded self-esteem that one’s helpful intent is so misinterpreted by the patient, and (3) a sort of primitive envy of or identification with the uncontrolled venting of violent feelings. It has been found by experience in attempting to treat such patients that the therapist can function at a more effective level if he is encouraged to be aware of and handle consciously his irrational responses to the patient’s violence.
A milder variant of this response can frequently be found in office practice. It can be marked and noted that when the affect of more than usual intensity enters a treatment situation the analyst tends to interpret the patient. This interpretation may take any one of a variety of forms, such as a relevant question, an interpretative remark, a reassuring remark, a change of subject. Whatever its content, it dilutes the intensity of feeling being expressed and/or shifting the trend of the associations. This, of course, is technically desirable in some instances, but when it occurs automatically, without awareness and therefore without consideration of whether it is desirable or not, its occurrence must be attributed to uneasiness in the analyst. Ruesch and Prestwood have studied the phenomenon of communication of patients’ anxiety to the therapist, in which they proved that the communication is much more positively correlated with the tonal and expressive qualities of speech than with the verbal content. Such factors as rate of speech, frequently of use of personal pronouns, frequently of expressions of feeling. So on, showed significant variations in the anxious parent as contrasted with either the relaxed or the angry patient. In this study, the subjective responses of most psychiatrists while listening to sections of recorded interviews varied significantly according to the emotional tone of the material. A relaxed interview elicited a relaxed response in the listening psychiatrist; the anxious interviews were responded to with a variety of subjective feelings, from being ill-at-ease to being disturbed or angry.
These uncomfortable responses, coupled with many types of avoidance behaviours by the analyst, such as those mentioned in another place, appear to occur much more frequently than has been previously realized. Detecting it is difficult then by an ‘ear witness’, since the therapist himself will usually be unable to report them following through its intermittence of time. They were noticed to occur frequently in a study of intensive psychotherapy by experienced analysts carried out by means of recorded interviews.
If one accepts the hypothesis that even successfully analysed therapists are still continually involved in countertransference attitudes toward their patients, the question arises: What can be done with such reactions in the therapeutic situation? Experience suggests that the less intense anxiety responses, where the discomfort is within awareness, can be quickly handled by an experienced but not to of a neurotic analyst. These are probably chiefly the situational or reality stimuli to anxiety. Nevertheless, where awareness is interfered with by the occurrence of a variety of defensive operations, is there anything to be done? Is the analyst capable of identifying such anxiety-laden attitudes in himself and proceeding to work them out? Certainly there are such extreme situations that the unaided analyst cannot handle them and must seek discussion with a colleague or further analytic help for himself. However, there is a wide intermediate ground where alertness to clues or signals that all is not well may be sufficient to start the analyst on a process of self-resolution of the difficulty.
The following is a tentative and necessarily incomplete list of situations that may provide a clue to the analyst that he is involved anxiously or defensively with the patient. It includes signals that have been found useful in a basic supervision that it probably could be added to by others according to their particular experience, as (1) The analyst has a reasoning dislike for the patient, (2) The analyst cannot identify with the patient, who seems unreal or mechanical. When the patient reports that he is upset, the analyst feels no emotional response. (3) The analyst becomes overemotional as for the patient’s troubles. (4) The analyst likes the patient excessively, feels that he is his best patient. (5) The analyst dreads the hours with a particular patient or is uncomfortable during them. (6) The analyst is preoccupied with the patient to an unusual degree in intervals between hours and may find himself fantasying questions or remarks to be made to the patient. (7) The analyst finds it difficult to pay attention to the patient. He goes to sleep during hours, becomes very drowsy, or is preoccupied with personal affairs. (8) The analyst is habitually late with a particular patient or shows other disturbance in the time arrangement, such as always running over the end of the hour. (9) The analyst gets into arguments with the patient. (10) The analyst becomes defensive with the patient or exhibits unusual vulnerability to the patient’s criticism. (11) The patient seems to misunderstand the analyst’s interpretations consistently or never agrees with them. This is, of course, quite correctly interpreted as resistance of the patient, but it may also be the result of a countertransference distortion by the analyst such that his interpretations are wrong. (12) The analyst tries to elicit effect from the patient-for instance, by provocative or dramatic statements. (14) The analyst is angrily sympathetic with the patient regarding his mistreatment by some authority figure. (15) The analyst feels impelled to do something active, and (16) The analyst appears in the patient’s dreams as himself, or the patient appears in the analyst’s dreams. No sooner that apparently to broaden the scope of psychoanalytic therapy, to expedite and make more efficiently the analytic process, and to increase our knowledge of the dynamics of interaction, methods of studying the transference-countertransference aspects of treatment need to be developed. In that this can best be accomplished by setting up the hypothesis that countertransference phenomena are present in every analysis. This agrees with the position of Heimann and Little. These phenomena are probably frequently either ignored or repressed, partly because of a lack of knowledge of what to do with them, partly because analysts are accustomed to dealing with them in various nonverbal ways, and partly because they are sufficiently provocative of anxiety in the therapist to produce one or another kind of defence reaction. However, since the successfully analysed psychotherapists have tools at his command for recognizing and resolving defensive behaviour via the development of greater insight. The necessity for suppressing or repressing countertransference responses is not urgent. Where the analyst deliberately searches for recognition and understanding of his own difficulties in the interrelationship, his first observation is likely to be that he has an attitude similar to one of those aforementioned. With this as a signal, he may then, by further noticing in the analytic situation what particular aspects of the patient’s behaviour stimulate such responses in him, eventually find a way of bringing such behaviour out into the open for scrutiny, communication, and eventual resolution. For instance, sleepiness in the analyst is very frequently an unconscious expression of resentment at the emotional bareness of the patient’s communication, perhaps springing from a feeling of helplessness by the analyst. When the analyst recognizes that he is sleepy as a retaliation for his patient’s uncommunicativeness, and that he is making this response because, up too now, he has been unable to find a more effective way of handling it, the precipitating factor-the uncommunicativeness-can be investigated as a problem.
Beyond this use of his responses as a clue to the meaning of the behaviour of the patient, the analyst is also constantly in need of using his observations of himself as a means to further resolution of his own difficulties. For instance, an analyst who had doubts of his intellectual ability habitually overvalued and competed with his more intelligent patients. This would become particularly accentuated when he was trying to treat patients whom they used intellectual achievement as protection against fears of being overpowered. Thus the analyst, as the result of these overestimations of such a patient’s capacity, would fail to make ordinary, garden-variety interpretations, believing that there must be obvious to such a bright person. Instead, he would exert himself to point out the subtle manifestations of the patient’s neurosis, so that there would be much interesting talk but little change in the patients.
This type of error can go unnoticed while the analyst learns eventually that he is unable to treat successfully certain types of patients. However, it can also be slowly and gradually rectified as the result of further experience. In such a case, the analyst is learning on a nonverbal level. Even so, some such signal as finding himself fantasying questions or remarks to put to the patient in the next session is noted by the analyst, he then has the means of expediting and bringing into full awareness the self-scrutiny that can lead to resolution.
It will be noted that the focus of attention of these remarks is on the analyst’s own self-scrutiny, both of his responses to the patient’s behaviour and of his defensive attitudes and actions. Much has been said by others (Heimann, Little, and Gitelson) regarding the pros and cons of introducing discussion of countertransference material into the analytic situation itself. That, however, is a question that is not possible to answer in the present state of our knowledge. Its intentional means are to improving the analyst’s awareness of his own participation in the patient-analyst interaction and of improving his ability to formulate this to himself (or to an observer) clearly. Devising techniques for using such material in the therapeutic situation seems more feasible after the area has been more precisely explored and studied-or, concurrently with further study and explanation.
One further point might be added regarding the contrast between the subjective experience of the analyst when anxiety is not present and when it is. When anxiety is not present, he may experience a feeling of being at ease, of accomplishing something, of grasping what the patient is trying to communicate. Certainly in periods when progress is being made, something of the same feeling is shared by the patient, although he may at the same time be working through troubled areas. Perhaps the loss of the feeling that communication is going in the most commonly used signal that starts the analyst on a search for what is going wrong.
In daily life and the early phases of the analysis, the transference is usually integrated with the actual total personality relationship. However, in the sense of something complex, thinking of it separately is better, unless specifically qualified, whether as a latent potentiality, or as an actual emergent ego-dystonic, or objectively inappropriate phenomena (Anna Freud, 1954). For, as far as the phenomenon is true transference, it retains unmistakeably its infantile character. However, much of the given early relationship may have contributed to the genuine adult pattern of relationship (via identification, imitation, acceptance of teaching for example), its transference derivative differs from the latter, approximately in the sense that Breuer and Freud (1895) assigned to the sequella of the pathogenic traumatic experience, which was abreacted neither as such nor associatively absorbed in the personality. Given an object who has a special transference valence, in a situation that provides a unique mixture of deprivation, intimacy and deprivation, with (obligatory!) unilateral communicative freedom, minimization of actual observation, and with certain elements of form and mechanics reminisce of the infantile state, the tendency to pristine re-emergence of talent transference drives, until now incorporated in everyday strivings, in symptoms, or in character structure, is enormously heightening. That the transference is treated in a unique way in the analytic process are assuredly true, and remains of prime significance. However, at one time, this ment of the analytic situation on the transference, as if its emergent integrated form in relation to any other physician would be essentially the same phenomenon. Considered as an actual functional phenomenon, as different from a latent potentiality (in a sense, Metapsychological concept), this is rarely the case. The unique emotional vicissitudes of the psychoanalytic situation plus the de-integrated effect of free association and the interpretative method restore an infantile quality and intensity to the psychoanalytic transference, which lead to the development of the transference neurosis. Thus, to turn Freud’s original reservations and admonitions in an affirmative direction: The question of what is the optimum transference neurosis, or whether and how nearly is much more as the optimal type of transference neurosis can be caused, has always been, and remains, an important and general problem of psychoanalytic technique. This is, to be sure, no simple matter. The modest hope implicit of our topic, in that it may offer a rationale and some suggestions toward the avoidance of spurious and unduly tenacious intensities. The transference neurosis, like other (simpler) elements in the psychoanalytic situation, has an intrinsically dialectical character and position (Free association, for example, facilitates both exposure and concealment, can occasion either gratification or suffering.) This dialectical quality can (in part) be explained by the concept of two separate, although potentially confluent streams of transference origin. In relation to the equivocal factor of intensity in the transference neurosis, in that there is a certain deductibility to reasonableness in the conception that the elements of abstinence augmenting transference intensity should derive preponderantly from the formal, i.e., explicitly technical factors (which include non-response to primitive transference wishes) rather than from excessively rigorous deficits in human response, which the patient may reasonably except or require, and where the technical valence of such deprivation may be minimal or altogether dubious as to demonstrability.
It is now all but axiomatic that the transference is the indispensable power of the analytic process, and the phenomenon on whose evolution the potentiality for ultimate therapeutic change rests in analysis. As distinguished from other psychotherapies, and resolution of the transference neurosis, and the dissolution or minimization of the transference(s) as such, is one of the distinctive final goals of the interpretative method, it's of the essence because it might be said that insights into dynamic and genetic elements in the unconscious, or the functional extension of the ego’s hegemony in relationship to the id and superego, or other germane concepts, are ultimately more important. Still, these are all, certainly in an operational sense, largely if not exclusively, contingent on the thorough analysis of the transference neurosis.
The term ‘minimization of the transference(s) is used here because of the amounting scepticism regarding the likelihood of complete dissolution or extinction of the transference. The specific personal misidentifications and the specific personally directed wishes and attitudes that usually occupy us in the analytic process (i.e., ‘the transference’) can, in a practical clinical sense, usually be brought to adequate resolution. However, at this point, it should be made to emphasize that pathogenic component of the transference complex that underlies and is anterior to these clinical phenomena. The ‘adequate resolution’ of the clinically significant aspect or fraction of the transference frees the basic practically universal element, if it is not itself severely distorted, for integration in socially acceptable enthusiasms held in common with most other human beings and thus, in a sense, a part of the individual’s environmental reality. The particularity of mind is the general latent craving for an omnipotent parent, renewed and specifically coloured with, indeed given form, by, the conflicts and vicissitudes of each phase of development and developmental separation, a craving of such primitive power that it can produce the profound physiologic alterations of hypnosis, or bring into abeyance an individual’s own perceptual capacities or capacities for rational inference, even based on fewer spectacular vehicles for suggestion. For clarity of a statement, as in the ‘primary transference’ presupposes the accomplished shift to an object, as opposed to Freud’s other [germane] use of the term, frequently elaborated by Loewald ([1960]). This phenomenon is already dramatically evident in the young (three to six-month) infants' reaction to any moving bearer of a face as mother
(‘ . . . the representative of that infant’s security’ [Spitz. 1956]). It permeates our whole social organization, is obvious in religious attitudes, in charismatic ideologists of any type. In its narrowest stronghold, in the intellectual avant-garde, it invests questions of scientific validity and rational or empirical demonstration, facilitating irrational and inappropriate attitudes of loyalty or antagonism toward scientific leaders. Human infallibility is attributed to others than the Popes, and the Anti-Christ have parallels in the world of science. Our own field has often been a conspicuous example of this tendency. In the end, scientific perceptual striving, whose autonomy is always relative at best, becomes secondarily burdened, and inevitably suffers, because of this type of ambivalent group euphoria.
If it is the entanglement with early objects that elicits the infantile neurosis and lays the ground for its later representation in the transference neurosis, it is the clinical neurosis, the usual motivation for treatment, that lies between them, and is related to both, in a sense a ‘resistance’ both to genetic reconstruction of the former, or to current involvement on the latter. This is, a variation of Freud’s statement regarding the transference neurosis as an accessible ‘artificial illness’. Perhaps suggesting that unconscious recognition of the unique transference potentiality of the psychoanalytic situation is intimately connected both with the violent irrational struggle against is not extravagant, and the sometimes fanatical acceptance of, analysis as therapy (i.e., the general and intrinsic fascination of a relationship to ‘the doctor who gives no medicine’) by the patient to whom it is recommended (and by many, before the fact). What is always fundamentally wanted, in the sense of a primal transferee, with rare (relative) exceptions, is the original physician, who most closely resembles the parent of earliest infancy. The ‘doctor who gives no medicine’ is in unconscious deductibility may be that the parent of the repetitive phases of separation. To what extent this unconscious constellation participated in the discovery or creation of psychoanalysis as such would be pure speculation. However, Freud’s capacity for transference in the attachments of daily life was abundantly evident (Freud 1887-1902, Jones 1953-1957), and the importance of the relationship with Fliess in his self-analysis was explicitly stated (Freud, 1887-1902) That it plays an important part in the emotional life of many contemporary working analysts is very likely, since all (at this time) have experienced the role of analysand (or analytic patient): The vast majority are physicians, all have been physicians’ patients in a traditional sense, and, certainly, all have been dependent and helpless children. Ferenczi (1919) described the evolution of the general psychoanalytic countertransference as for initial excessive sympathy, through reactive coldness (‘the phase of resistance against the counter-transference’), to mature balance. Lewin (1946) in referring to this formulation (to contrast it with the sequence of traditional medical training) attributes the first phase to the first of the analyst’s having only recently been a patient himself. While Lewin carefully separates the cadaver (the student’s first ‘patient’) as an ‘object’ (psychoanalytic sense) from its qualities, we may speculate that a species of retaliatory mastery of the parental object (perhaps in contrast with the role of a helpless child) is sometimes involved in this gratification, and that something of this quality was carried into the dialectic genesis of the psychoanalytic situation. When referring to the ‘dialectic genesis’ of the psychoanalytic situation, it is to infer to its genesis largely in the genius of a physician who experienced the training to which Lewin refers. The dialectic is epitomized exquisitely in the role of speech, the bridge for personal separation, rejected or distorted by children in their desperate clinging to more gratifying or more violent object drives, or, on the other hand, sought eagerly as the indispensable vehicle for alterative ego-syntonic development aspirations (Nunberg [1951], regarding the ‘Janus’ quality of transference.)
The transference neurosis, as distinguished from the initial transference, usually supervenes after the treatment has lasted for a varying length of time. Its emergence depends on the combined stress of the situational dynamics, and the pressure of the interpretative method. The latter tend to close off habitual repetitive avenues of expression, such as new symptom formation, acting out, flight from treatment, etc. the neurosis differs from the initial transference, in the sense that it tends to reproduce in the analytic and germane extra-analytic setting an infantile dramatis personae, a complex of transference, with the various conflicts and anxieties attendant on the restoration of attitudes and wishes parallelling their infantile prototypes. The initial transference (akin to the ‘floating’ transference of Glover [1955]?) is a relatively integrated phenomenon, allied to character traits, an amalgam or compromise of conflicting forces, that has become established as a habitual attitude, the best resultant of ‘multiple function’ of which the personality is capable, in the general type of relationship that now confronts it? It differs from its everyday counterpart only in its relative separation from its usual or substantiation, and-eventually-in the failure of elicitation of the gratifications or adaptive goals to which it is devoted. As time goes on, varying as to intervals before, and character of, emergence, with the nuances of the patient’s personality organization and the analyst’s technical and personal approach, the unconscious specific transference attitude will press free expression against the defences with which they have been previously integrated, in varying mixtures of associational derivatives, symptomatic acts, dreams, often ‘acting out’, and manifest feelings. At this point (or better, in this zone of a continuum), conflict involving the psychoanalytic situation becomes quasi-manifest, and the transference neurosis as this is incipient. If there be but a brief and over simply outline illustration it is only because there are various interpretations of these terms.
A male patient may adopt a characteristically obsequious although subtly sarcastic attitude toward his older male analyst, quite inappropriate to the situation, but thoroughly habitual in all relations with older men. As time goes on, his wife and business partner becomes connected in his dreams with the analytic situation, his wife in the role of mother, the analyst as father, his business partner as older brother, with corresponding and related anxieties and frustrations of functionally dynamic contributions, in his business and sexual life. Violently hostile or sexually submissive or guilty attitudes may appear in direct or indirect relation to the analyst, in the patient’s manifest activities, or in the analytic material, in dynamic and economic connection with changes in the patient’s other relationships. The entire development is not equally particular to be announced in diffuse resistance phenomena in the analytic situation and processes (Glover, 1955). The transference neurosis as such can, of course, is endlessly elaborated; when extended beyond the point of effectively demonstrable relevance to the central transference, its resistance function may be in the foreground. It must be remembered that the whole array of strongly cathected persons in the individual’s development, and the related variety of attitudes, is all distributed, so to speak, from a single original relationship, the relationship with a mother in earliest infancy. In all of them, there are elements of ‘transference’ from this relationship, most conspicuously and decisively, of course, the shifting of hostile or erotic drives from the mother to the father. In a sense, then, the entire complex of the transference neurosis is a direct, although paradoxically opposed derivative of the basic attachment and unrenounced craving, which arises in relation to the primal object, the more complicated drama having a relation to the original object attachment like that which Lewin (1946) assigns to the elements of the manifest drama in relation to the dream screen. (This is, of course, related to Lewin’s interpretation [1955] of the analytic situation in terms of dream psychology.) Because in the analytic situation, the patient is again confronted with a unique relationship, on which, via the instrumentality of communication by speech, all other relationships and experiences tend to converge, emotionally and intellectually. In this convergence, however, there is a conspicuous differential, due to the intellectual or cognitive lag. In the latter sphere, the analyst’s autonomous ego functions play a decisive operational role, via his interpretations. In the genesis of this lag, an important role must be assigned to the original (reverse) differentially. Which may establish itself between the centrifugal distribution of primal object libido and aggression and the relatively autonomous energies of perception (the ego’s ‘activity?’). The detachment of libido and aggression from the primal object will have the course be contingent not only on their original intensities but on the special vicissitudes of early gratifications. If we consider the limitless panpsychic scope and potentiality of free association, we must assume that some shaping tendency gives the associations a form or pattern reasonably accessible to our perceptive and interpretative skill. It seems likely that this is the latent inner preoccupation with the elements of the transference neurosis, the original transference of which it is self composed, and finally the derivative vicissitudes of the primal object relationship itself, the primal transference.
Insofar as an individual has achieved more than a physical-perceptual linguistic separation from the primal object, the latter elements (i.e., the actual manifestations of primal transference) may play little or no important role in the empirical realities of a given analysis. Except in certain ‘borderline’ (and allied) problems, they are of Metapsychological importance. The problems of the derivative phase and structural conflicts largely occupy us in the analysis of the neurosis. In an individual of unusually fortunate neurosis (!), the transference neurosis (thus the analysis) may not require deeper penetration than the relatively integrated conflict phenomena of the Oedipus complex. In speech, of course, there is at one time a powerful and versatile vehicle of direct object relationship, and at the same time the marvellously elaborated communicative-referential instrumentality that can convey from one individual to another the subjectively experienced parts or whole of an inner and outer world of endlessly multiplied things, persons, qualities, and relationships, in intelligible code. This code, furthermore, is one whose mastery was originally of profound importance (in conjunction with other crucial maturational phenomena, such as an independent locomotion) in enabling the physical separation from the first object (in continuing relationship), and the gradual physical and mental mastery of the rest of the environment.
With regard to the countertransference, is that it has the same important and narrowing distinction from the other aspects of the current relationship and should be made as in the case of the patient’s transference: For here, too, an individual is involved in a complicated relationship with another human being in which a triplet of separate but constantly interacting and sometimes integrated modalities can be discerned. In a sense, since the patient has at least a considerable freedom of verbal and emotional expression, the analyst’s emotional burden is a heavier one. This, however, is like saying that the patient’s responsibility is greater than the child’s, or (to turn back to an earlier page!) That the surgeon carries a greater burden than his comfortably anaesthetized patiently. The analyst is, or should be, better prepared for this burden than his patient. Still, if we remove this entire question from the realm of professional moralism, self-debasement, or self-pity, we can all the more genuinely appreciate the essential message of the frequently contributions on the countertransference in recent years, i.e., the reminder that no one is ‘completely; (or, as Freud [1937] preferred, ‘perfectly’) analysed, that even those who may have approximately this as closely as may reasonably be expected, have specific vulnerabilities to certain individuals or situations, that these may appear in milder form or ephemerally, but nonetheless importantly with others; that, in fact, a self-analysis for the specific ‘counter-transference neurosis’ (Tower, 1956) with each case is, to varying degrees, as silent counterpoint, an integral part of all good analytic work. This would be true whether the counter-transference played its traditional impeding role or its more subtle favourable (i.e., ‘catalytic’) role (Tower, 1956) in a given analysis. One never knows where the usefulness of an unanalyzed reaction may end, and difficulties begin. Another important contribution, not separate, except in terms of emphasis, is the growing appreciation of the countertransference as an affirmative instrument facilitating perception, whereby a sensitive awareness of one’s incipient reactions to the patient, fully controlled and appropriately analysed in an immediate sense, leads to a richer and more subtle understanding of the patient’s transference strivings (Racker 1957, Weigert 1954). This would be opposite yet cognate to the understanding by transitory empathic identification (Reich, 1960). There is also the important attention (Money-Kyrle, 1956) to the specific vicissitudes of the analyst’s peculiarly constricted and emotionally inhibited therapeutic effort, and the mutual projective and introjective identification that may occur between analyst and patient in crises of technical frustration, i.e., frustration of the analyst’s understanding. The operational primacy of the latter function must be stressed. That is, that this function and the germane emotional attitude constitute central and essential ‘gratification’ for the patient’s ‘mature transference’ strivings, enabling his toleration, even positive unitization of the principle of abstinence, in relation to primitive transference demands. Loewald’s views (1960) are importantly related to these, perhaps, in a sense, complementary to them. An important connotation of these countertransference studies is the diminution of the rigid status barrier between analyst and analysand. They point to the patient in the physician, the child in the parent (a sort of latent or potential ‘seesaw’, to modify Phyllis Greenacre’s [1854] ‘titled relationship’!). This intellectual tendency can be, and is often, overdone, just as the magical power of the countertransference to determine the course of treatment has become an almost euphoric overwrought mystical belief among certain younger therapists, and, as a concept, a formidable source of resistance in the technically informed patient. Such exaggerated views, when not of specific and immediate emotional geneses, or due to ignorance, may be connected with a general lack of conviction regarding the efficacy of the therapist’s own analysis, or os the effectiveness of the interpretative method. There may be of a general lack of awareness or acceptance of the power that the original ‘tilt’ lens to the patient’s transference. Finally it is this ‘tilt’ in the situation, and (very importantly) the actuality of its representation in the respective emotional and intellectual states of the participants, on which we must rely. If temperately considered, a view of the relationship that gives great weight to the countertransference, is productively important. It places the operational attitude and technique of the analysis in better perspective, as an integration of several important factors that always include the Countertransference, and it permits an examination of nuances of technical decision on a much more illuminating and genuinely dependable basis than pure precedent, or rule-of-thumb, or pseudo-mathematical certainty. Thus, too foreign a patient in pain some aspirin or not, to inspect his eye for a foreign body or not, to tell him promptly where one ids going on vacation or not, may be right or wrong in either alterative, depending on the analyst’s own specific motivation or anxiety, compared with the patient’s actual need, or their objective clinical indications of the moment, weighted against the continuing and rationally interpreted convenience of technique. It is less likely that any manoeuver, assuming the adherence to basic broad technical principles, will create significant analytic distortion, if executed with genuine and exclusively therapeutic intentions’ appropriate to the need, than a manoeuver or default of manoeuver, based entirely or largely on exhibitionistic or seductive or anxious or compulsive reasons, however respectable the latter may seem. These principles, of course, assume the general analytic framework, and the maintenance of the principle of abstinence, insofar as it does not conflict with overriding human requirements, or does not reach beyond the subtle limits that have been sought to earlier discussion (Scheunert’s, 1961). The issue of the increment of unanswered innocuous questions, of injudiciously withheld expressions of reasonable human interest, where the human relationship requires them. Still it is related to the emotional opposition of the analyst, for a ‘rule’ obviously has a different meaning to an anxious or sadistic or compulsive person than to an individual not thus burdened. The general problem is germane to the perennial interest in why (beyond the usual verities or clichés) an individual becomes a physician, and specifically why he then chooses this physically and emotionally inhibited specialty, which depends do largely on benignly purposive frustration of the patient, on occasional informed talking, and possibly even more on extended and perceptive listening. Assuming that is reasonable, with the myriad individual factors, some general or common countertransference element enters the over determination both of choice of the medical profession and of the specialty that holds a unique position in the minds of medical men and patients alike. The uniqueness of this position is perhaps best suggested by the remarkably frequent query of the naive patient: “Are you really an MD.?” or “Are you a medical doctor too?” This is in a different intellectual realm, but surely related to the more informed discussion as to whether analysis is a brach of medicine, or a special development in psychology, or an entirely independent discipline. It is to suggest that, apart from more usual considerations the fascination and strain of analytics works are related to the same phenomenon that evokes the deductibility of which the patient reaction to it. Having to a mindful purpose in that the state of separation and of infantile deprivations that are integral in the situation, and the effort to utilize these toward solutions more favourable than those originally evolved. Setting aside the specific phase problems and other quantitative aspects of individual Countertransference, there will still be quantitative individual variations, tending toward excessive deprivation or overindulgence (for example), revolving about the central and necessary principle of abstinence in the psychoanalytic situation, whose skilful administration is a part of the basic occupational commitment. Insofar as ‘weaning’ is the great focal prototype of abstinence or deprivation, bringing to our attention to the historical vicissitudes of the word wean (Oxford English Dictionary, Vol. 12 [1933]) in which even a secondary (non-etymologic) developments of the alternative meaning ‘deprivingly of one's sanctity' has become obsolete. This is no doubt intertwined with cultural consideration far beyond out present scope of interest. However, it is also symbolically related to the (obsolescent?) Technical moods, which are felt to be restored to analytic work, with advantage.
In addition, on the interface of the analyst-patient interaction is not yet as to have become as focussing on the patient or the analyst. It is the nature of the integration, the quality of contact, what goes on between, including what is enacted. What is communicated effectively and/or unconsciously, that is addressed.
The apparent edge-horizon that is to form a resolution about that which ideally becomes the point of maximum and acknowledged contact at any given moment in a relationship without fusion, without violation of the separateness and integrity of each participant. Attempting to relate at this point requires ceaseless sensitivity to inner changes in oneself and in the other, as well as to changes at the interface of the interaction as these occur in the context of the spiral of reciprocal impact. This kind of effort has a reflexive impact on both participants, and this in turn influences what goes on between them in a dialectical way.
The interchanging edge thus is never static but becomes the trace of a constantly moving locus. Each time this is identified it is also changed, and as it is re-identified it changes again. The analytic expanse is enlarged significantly as aspects of the relationship that are generally not explicitly acknowledged or addressed, as well as their vicissitudes over time, are identified and explored in an analytic way. The emphasis is on process, on engaging live experience, and on generating a new kind of live experience by so doing, in an ever expanding way.
In some ways the focus is on what Winnicott (1971) refers to as the “continuity-contiguity moment” in relatedness. What distinguishes the conceptualized necessity for acknowledgement and explicitness seems the process of acknowledgement for increases the moment’s dimensional change to natures experiential obtainability. What is? , However, achieved is not simply greater insight into what or was, but what should be, as but a new kind of evidential experience.
Working at the circumferential horizon soon creates a unique contest of safety and allows for maximum closeness precisely because it protects against the threat of intrusion or violation. Attending to the most elusive interactive subtleties and ‘opening the moment’ and thus actualizes upon a natural way to detoxify and subjectively field, every bit as dangers of mystification, seduction. Coercion, manipulation, or collusion is minimized (Levenson 1972, 1983; Ehrenberg 1974, 1982; Feiner 1979, 1983; Gill 1982, 1983; Hoffman 1983). In some instances this makes it possible for both participants to engage aspects of experience and pathology that otherwise might be threatening, even dangerous.
The protection of the kind of analytic rigour that attending to interactive subtleties provides allows for more intense levels of effective engagement without the kind of risk this might otherwise entail.
In its gross effect, the apparent circumferential horizon is not simply art the boundary between self and other, but the given directions developing interpersonal closeness in the relationship, it is also at the boundary of self-awareness. It is a particular point as occupying a positional state in space and time of self-discovery, at which one can become more ‘intimate’ with one’s own experience through the evolving relationship with the other, and then more intimates with the other as one becomes more attuned to self. Because of this kind of dialectical interplay, the apparent favourable boundary becomes the undergoing maturation of the relationship.
As moment-by-moment change over in quality, that the relatedness and experience between analyst and patient are studied, individual patterns of reaction and reason-sensitivities can be identified and explored. This allows for the sparking awareness of choice, as existential decisions to become increasingly involved, or to withdraw, as well as the persuasive influences may be responsively ado, in that they can be studied in process, and the feelings surrounding these can be closely scrutinized. The patient’s spontaneous associations to the immediate experience often not only become an avenue to effectively charged memories of past experiential encounters that might not have been previously accessible but also allow for the metaphoric articulation of unconscious hopes, fears, and expectations, least of mention, few than there are less, have to no expectation whatsoever, or as even not to expect from expectation itself.
Even when the circumferential edge horizon is missed and there is some kind of intrusion or some failure to meet due to overcautiousness, the process of aiming for it, the marginal but mutual focuses on the difficulties involved, can facilitate its obtainable achievement. The effort to study the qualities of mutually spatial experiences in a relationship, the interlocking of both participants, including an interchangeable focus on the failure to connect or inauthenticate, or perhaps into a collusion, can thus become the bridge to a more approximative encounter.
The circumferential edge horizon is, therefore. Not a given, but an interactive creation. It is always unique to the moment and for reason-sensitivities to posit of themselves the specific participants in relation to each other and reflects the participant’s subjective sense of what is most crucial or compelling about their interaction at that present of moments.
Focussing on the interactive nuances in this way often requires a shift in perspective as to what is a figure and what is ground. For example, where a patient drifts into a fantasy that figuratively takes him or her out of the room, perhaps the affirmation to what is in Latin projectio, yet the interactive meaning is as important as the actual content (if not more so). Exploring what triggered the fantasy, and what its immediate interactive function might be, may help the patient grasp some of the subtler patterns of his or her own experiential flame, inasmuch as to grasp to its thought. While the content of the fantasy can provide useful clues to its distributive contribution of its dynamical function, staying with content may be a way for both patient and analyst to collude in avoiding engaging the anxieties of the moment.
Where some form of collusion does occur, as at times it inevitably will, demystifying the collusion has internal repercussions as well. The clarification of patterns of self-mystification (Laing 1965) that this makes it a possibly that being often liberating. It can facilitate a shift on the part of the patient from feeling victimized or helpless, stuck without any options, too freshly experiencing his or her own power and responsibility in relation to multiple choices.
For example, one patient who had difficulty defining where she ended and the other began was invariable in a constant state of anger with others for what she perceived as their not allowing her feelings, as how this operated between us, she realized that no one could control her feelings and that it was her inordinate need for the approval of others that were controlling her. It was her need to control the other, to control the other’s reaction to her, that was defining her experience. The result was that she began to feel less threatened and paranoid. She also was able to begin to deal analytically with the unconscious dynamics of her needs for approval and for control, and to focus on her anxieties in a way not possibly earlier.
We must then, ask of ourselves, are the afforded efforts to control the given as the ‘chance’ to ‘change’, or the given ‘change’ to ‘chance’? As a neutral type of the therapist participation proves to be essential to the resolution of the schizophrenic patient’s basic ambivalence concerning individuation-his intense conflict, that is, between clinging and a hallucinatory, symbiotic mode of existence, in which he is his whole perceived world, or on the other hand relinquishing this mode of experience and committing himself to object-relatedness and individuality-too becoming, that is, a separate person in a world of other persons. Will (1961) points out that just as ‘In the moves toward closeness the person finds the needed relatedness and identification with another, in the withdrawal (often marked by negativism) he finds the separateness that favours his feelings of being distinct and self-identified, and Burton (1961) says that “In the treatment, the patient’s desire for privacy is respected and no encroachment is made. The two conflicting needs war with each other and it is a serious mistake for the therapist to take sides too early.” The schizophrenic patient has not as to the experience that commitment too object-relatedness still allows for separateness and privacy, and where Séchehaye (1956) recommends that one “make oneself a substitute for the autistic universe that helped to offer as of a given choice that must rest in the patient’s hands.” This regarded primeval area of applicability of a general comment by Burton (1961) that ”In the psychotherapy of every schizophrenic a point is reached where the patient must be confronted with his choice. . . .” Of Shlien’s (1961) comment that “Freedom means the widest scope of choice and openness to experience . . . .”
Only in a therapeutic setting where he finds the freedom to experience both these modes of relatedness with one and the same person can the patient become able to choose between psychosis and emotional maturity. He can settle for this later only in proportion as he realizes that both object-relatedness and symbiosis are essential ingredients of healthy human relatedness-that the choice between these modes amounts not to a once-for-all commitment, but that, to enjoy the gratification of human relatedness he must commit himself to either object-relatedness or symbiotic relatedness, as the chancing needs and possibilities that the basic therapeutics requires and permit.
Such, as to say, the problem is to reconcile our everyday consciousness of us as agents, with the best view of what science tells us that we are. Determinism is one part of the problem. It may be defined as the doctrine that every event has a cause. More precisely, for any event as ‘e’, there will be some antecedent state of nature ‘N’, and a law of nature. ‘L’, such that given to ‘L’, ‘N’, will be followed by 'e'. Yet if this is true of every event, it is true of events such as my doing something or choosing to do something. So my choosing or doing something is fixed by some antecedent state ‘N’ and the laws. Since determinism is universal these in turn are fixed, and so backwards to events, for which I am clearly not responsible (events before my birth, for example). So no events can be voluntary or free, where that means that they come about purely because of free willing them, as when I could have done otherwise. If determinism is true, then there will be antecedent states and laws already determining such events? : How then can I truly be said to be their author, or be responsible for them? Reactions to this problem are commonly classified as: (1) hard determinism. This accepts the conflict and denies that you have real freedom or responsibility. (2) Soft determinism or compatibility. Reactions in this family assert that everything you should want from a notion of freedom is quite compatible with determinism. In particular, even if your action is caused, it can often be true of you that you could have done otherwise if you had chosen, and this may be enough to render you liable to be held responsible or to be blamed if what you did was unacceptable (the fact that previous events will have caused you to choose as doing so and deemed irrelevant on this option). (3) Libertarianism. This is the view that, while compatibilism is inly an evasion, there is a more substantive, real notion of freedom that can yet be preserved in the face of determinism (or of in determinism). While the empirical or phenomenal self is determined and not free, the noumenal or rational self is capable of rational, free action. Nevertheless, since the noumenal self exists outside the categories of space and time, this freedom seems to be of doubtful value. Other libertarian avenues include suggesting that the problem is badly framed, for instance because the definition of determinism breaks down, or postulating a special category of uncaused acts of volition, or suggesting that there are two independent but consistent ways of looking at an agent, the scientific and humanistic. It is only through confusing them that the problem seems urgent. None of these avenues accede to exist by a greater than is less to quantities that seem as not regainfully to employ to any inclusion nontechnical ties. It is an error to confuse determinism and fatalism. Such that, the crux is whether choice, is a process in which different desires, pressures, and attitudes fight it out and eventually result in one decision and action, or whether in attitudinal assertions that there is a ‘self’ controlling the conflict, in the name of higher desires, reasons, or mortality? The attempt to add such a extra to the more passive picture (often attributed to Hume), and is a particular target not only of Humean, but also of much feminist and postmodernist writing.
Thus and so, the doctrine that every event has a cause infers to determinism. The usual explanation of this is that for every event, there is some antecedent state, related in such a way that it would break a law of nature for this antecedent state to exist, and as yet the event not to happen. This is a purely metaphysical claim, and carries no implications for whether we can in a principal product the event. The main interest in determinism has been in asserting its implications for ‘free will’. However, quantum physics is essentially indeterministic, yet the view that our actions are subject to quantum indeterminacies hardly encourages a sense of our own responsibility for them.
As such, these reflections are simulated by what might be regarded as naive surprise at the impact of the renewed emphasis on the ‘here-and-now’ in our technical work during the last few years, including the early interpretations of the transference. This emphasis has been argued most vigorously by Gill and Muslin (1976) and Gill (1979). It has at times been reacting to, as if it were a technical innovation, and, of course, making it clear, all the same, from the persistence and reiteration that characterize Gill’s contributions, that he believes the “resistance to the awareness of transference” to be a critically important and neglected area in psychoanalytic work, this may deserve further emphasis. In Gill’s reconstruction of the past remains useful but that the working out of conflict in the current transference is the more important, i.e., should have priority of attention. In view of the centrality of issues and its interesting place in the development of psychoanalysis, the contributory works of Gill and Muslin (1976). Gill (1979) presents a subtle and searching review and analysis of Freud’s evolving views on the interrelationship between the conjoint problems of transference and resistance and the indications for interpretation. Repeating this painstaking work would therefore be superfluous. Our’s is for a final purpose to state for reason to posit of itself upon the transference and non-transference interpretation and beyond this, to sketch a tentative certainty to the implications and potentialities of the ‘here-and-now’.
In a sense, the current emphasis may be the historical ‘peaking’ of a long and gradual, if fluctuating, development in the history of psychoanalysis. We know that Freud’s first re-counted with the transference, the ‘false connection’, was its role as a resistance (Breuer and Freud 1893-1895). While Freud’s view of this complex phenomenon soon came to include its powerfully affirmative role in the psychoanalytic process, the basis importance of the ‘transference resistance’ remained. In the Dynamics of Transference (1912) stated in dramatic figurative terms the indispensable current functions of the transference: “For when all is said and done, destroying anyone in absentia or in effigies is impossible.” In fact, to some of us, the two manifestly opposing forces are two sides of the same coin. As, perhaps, the relationship is eve n more intimate, in the sense that the resistance is mobilized in the first place b the existence of (manifest or-often-latent) transference. It is spontaneous protective reaction against loss of love, or punishment, or narcissistic suffering in the unconscious infantile context of the process.
Historically, the effective reinstatement of his personal past into the patient’s mental life was thought to be the essential therapeutic vehicle of analysis and thus its operational goal. This was, of course, modified with time, explicitly or in widespread general understanding. The recollection or reconstruction of an experience, however critical its importance, evidently did not (except in relatively few instances) immediately dissolve the imposing edifice of structuralized reaction patterns to which it may have importantly y contributed, this (dissolution) might indeed occur-dramatically-in the case of relatively isolated, encapsulated, and traumatic experiences, but only rarely y in the chronic psychoneuroses whose genesis was usually different and far more complex. Freud’s (1914) discovery of the process of ‘working through’, along with the emphasis on its importance, was one manifestation of a major process of recognition of the complexity, persuasiveness, and tenacity of the current dynamics of personality, in relation to both genetic and dynamic factors of early or origin. Perhaps Freud’s (1937) most vivid figurative recognition of the pseudoparadoxical role of early genetic factors, If not understood as part of a complex continuum, was in his “lamp-fire” critique of the technical implications of Rank’s (1924) Trauma of Birth. The term pseudoparadoxical is used because the recovery of the past by recollection or reconstruction-if no longer the sole operational vehicle and goal of psychoanalysis-retains a unique intimate and individual explanatory value, essential to genuine insight into the fundamental issues of personality development and distortion.
When Ferenczi and Rank wrote The Development of Psychoanalysis in 1924, they proposed an enormous emphasis on emotional experience in the analytic process, as opposed to what was thought to be the effectively sterile intellectual investigation the n in vogue. Instead of the speedy reduction of disturbing transference experience by interpretation, these authors, in a sense, advised the elucidation and cultivation of emotional intensities. (As Alexander pointed out in 1925, however, the method was not clear.) These alone could lend a vivid sense of reality and meaningfulness to the basic dynamism of personality incorporated in the transference. Now it is to be masted and marked that in this work, too, there is no ‘repudiation’ of the past. Ultimately genetic interpretations were to be made. The intense transference experience, as mentioned, was intended to give body, reality, to the living past. Yet, the ultimate significance of construction was invoked, in the sense of ‘supplying’ those memories that might not be spontaneously available. It was felt that the crucial experiences of childhood had usually been promptly repressed and thus not experiences in consciousness in any significant degree. Therapeutic effectiveness of the process was attributed largely to the intensity of emotional experience, than to the depth and ramifications of detained cognitive insight. The fostering in of transference intensity, as, we can infer, was rather by withholding or scantiness of interpretations (as opposed to making facilitating interpretations) and, at times (as specifically stared), by mild confirming responses or attitudes in the affective sphere: These would tend to support the patient’s transference affects in interpersonal reality (Ferenczi and Rank 1024).
This is, of course, different from the recent emphasis on ‘early interpretation of the transference (Gill and Muslin 1976), which in a process in the cognitive sphere designed to overcome resistance to awareness of transference and thuds to mobilize the latter as an active participant in the analysis as soon as possible. What they have in common is an undeniable emphasis on current experience, explicitly in the transference. Also, in both tendencies there is an implicit minimization of the vast and rich territories of mind and feeling, which may become available and at times uniquely informative if fewer tendentious attitudes govern the analyst’s initial approach. Correspondingly, in both there is the hazard of stimulating resistance of a stubborn, well-rationalized maturity by the sheer tendentious of approachment, and similarly transference tendency pursued assiduously by the analyst.
The question of the moments entering a sense of conviction in the patient (a dynamically indispensable state) is, of course, a complex matter. However, if one is to think that few would doubt that immediate or closely proximal experience (‘today’ or ‘yesterday’) occasions grater vividness and sense of certainty than isolated recollection or reconstruction of the remote past. Thus the “here-and-now” in analytic work, the immediate cognitive exchange and the important current emotional experiences, and, under favourable conditions, contributes to other elements in the process, i.e., recovery or reconstruction of the past, a quality of vividness deriving from their own immediacy, which can infuse the past with life. Obviously, it is the experience of transference affect that largely engages our attention in this reference. However, we must not ignore the contrapuntal role of the actual adult relationship between patient and analyst. Corresponding is indeed the actual biological constellation that bings the transference itself into being. At the very least, a minimal element of ‘resemblance’ to primary figures of the past is a sine quo non for its emergence (Stone 1954).
Nonetheless, this contribution up to and including Gill’s, Muslin’s (1976) and Gill’s (1979) are highly-developed. However, did not introduce alternations in the fundamental conceptions of psychopathology and its essential responses to analytic techniques and process. Yet, there are, of course, varying emphases-namely quantitative-and corresponding positions as to their respective effectiveness. As Strachey states, "there is an approach to actual substantive modification in the keystone position assigned to introjective super-ego change as the essential phenomenons of analytic process-and possibly in the exclusive role assigned to transference interpretations as ‘mutative’.
A related or complementary tendency may be discerned in Gill’s (1979) proposal that “analytic situation residues” from the patient’s ongoing personal life, insofar as they are judged transferentially significant in free association, is brought into relation with the transference as soon as possible, even if the patient feels no prior awareness of such a relationship. It is as if all significant emotional experience, including extra-analytic experiences, could be viewed as displacement or mechanisms of concealed expression of his transference. That this is very frequently true of even the most trivial-seeming actual allusions to the analytic would, in that, the thoroughly extra-analytic references constitute a more subtle and different problems, ranging from dubiously interpretably minor issues to massive forms of destructive acting out connected with extreme narcissistic resistances and utterly without discernible 'analytic situation residues'. The massive forms are, of course, analytic emergencies, requiring interpretation. Still, such interpretation would usually depend on the awareness of the larger ‘strategic situations (Stone 1973), rather than on a detail of the free association communication (granting the latter’s usefulness, if present-and recognizable). However, the fact of the past or the historical as never entirely abandoned or nullified, becoming more even, the role assigned to it may be pale or secondary. That the preponderant emphasis on concealed transference may ultimately, constitute an “actually existing” change in technique and process, with its own intrinsic momentum.
The Ferenczi and Rank technique included, in effect, a deliberate exploitation of the transference resistance, especially in the sense of intense emotional display and discharged. While the polemical emphases of these authors are on (affective) experiences as the sine non of true analytic process-the living through of what was never fully experienced in consciousness in the past (with ultimate translation into ‘memories’, i.e., constructions)-the actual techniques (with a few exceptions) are not clearly specified in their book. For a detailed exposition of the techniques learned from Ferenczi, with wholehearted acceptance, as in the paper of De Forest (1942), which includes the deliberate building up of dramatic transference intensities by interpretative withholding and the active participation of the analyst as a reactive individual. Also included is the active directing of all extra-therapeutic experience into the immediate experiential stream if the analysis. The extreme emphasis on affective transference experience became at one time a sort of vogue, appearing almost as an end and measured by the vehemence of the patient’s emotional displays. In Gill’s own revival of and emphasis on a sound precept of classical techniques (preceded by the 1976 paper of Gill and Muslin), fundamentally different from that of Ferenczi and Rank in its emphasis, one discerns an increment of enthusiasm between the studied, temperate, and well-argued paper of (1979) and the later paper of the same year (1979), which includes similar ideas greatly broadened and extended ti a degree that is, in it's difficultly to accept.
Now, what is it that may actually be worked out in the present-(1) as a prelude to genetic clarification and reduction of the transference neurosis or (2) as a theoretical possibility in its own right without reliance on the explanatory power or specific reductive impact of insight into the past? First some general considerations of whether or not one is an enthusiastic proponent of ‘object relations theory’ in any of its elaborate forms, seems self-evident that all major developmental vicissitudes and conflicts have occurred in the context of important relations with important objects and that they or their effects continue to be reflected in current relationships with persons of similar or parallel importance. That we assume that the psychoanalytic situation (and its adjacent ‘ extended family’) provides a setting in which such problems may be reproduced in their essentials, both effectively and cognitively.
There is something deductively engaging in the idea that an individual must confront and solve his basic conflicts in their immediate setting in which they arise, regardless of their historical background. Certainly this is true in the patient’s (or anyone else’s) actual life situation. Some possible and sometimes state corollaries of this view would be that the preponderant resort to the past, whether by recollection or reconstruction, would be largely in the service of resistance, in the sense of a devaluation of the present and a diversion from its ineluctable requirements. It would be as if the United Kingdom and Ireland would undertake to solve the current problems in Ulster essentially by detailed discussion of Cromwell’s behaviour a few centuries ago. Granted that the latter might indeed illuminate the historical contribution of some aspects of the current sociopolitical dilemma, there are immediate problems of great complexity and intensity from which the Cromwell discussion might indeed by a diversion, if it were magnified beyond it's clear but very limited contribution, displacing in importance the problematical social-political-economic altercation of the present and the recent clearly accessible and still relevant past. As with so many other issues, Freud himself was the first to note that resort to the past may be involved by the patient to evade pressing and immediate current problems. In conservative technique, it has long been noted that some judicious alternations of focus between past and present, according to the confronting resistances trend, may be necessary (for example, Fenichel 1945). However, it was Horney (1939) who placed the greatest stress on the conflict and the greatest emphasis on the recollection trend as supporting resistance.
Now, from the classical point of view, the emphasis is quite different. The original conflict situation is intrapsychic, within the patient, though obviously engaging his environment and ultimately-most poignantly and productively-his analyst. This culminates in a transference neurosis that reproduces the essential problems of the object relationships and conflicts of his development. Thus, in principle, the vicissitudes of love or hate or fear, etc., do not require, or even admit of, ultimate solution in the immediate reality, perceived and construed as such. The problem is to make the patient aware of the distortions that he has carried into the present and of the defensive modes and mechanisms that have supported them. Obviously, the process (‘tactical’) resistances present themselves first for understanding; later there are the ‘strategic’ resistances (i.e., those not expressed in manifest disturbances of free association) (Stoner 1973). Insofar as the mobilization of the transference and the transference neurosis is accorded a uniquely central holistic role in all analyses, the ‘resistance to the awareness of transference’, becomes a crucial issue, the problem of interpretive timing on which a controversial matter from early. Ultimately the bedrock resistance, the true ‘transference resistance’, must be confronted and dissolved or reduced to the greatest possible degree. Such a reduction is construed as largely dependent on the effective reinstatement of the psychological prototype of current transference illusions, with an ensuing sense of the inappropriateness of emotional attitudes in the present and the resultant tendency toward their relinquishment. In a sense, the neurosis is viewed as an anachronistic but compelling investitures of the current scene within unresolved conflict of the past. When successfully reduced, this does appear to have been the accessibly demonstrable phenomenology.
What then may be carried into the analytic situation from the ‘hard-nosed’ paradigm of the struggle with every day, current reality, with advantage to the process? We have already made mention, in that the sense of conviction, or ‘sense of reality’-affective and cognitive-which originates in th immediacy of process experience. It is our purpose and expectation that, with appropriate skill and timing, this quality of conviction may become linked too other, fewer immediate phenomena, at least in the sense of more securely felt perceptions, including first the fact of transference and ultimately its accessible genetic origins. What furthers? Insofar as the transference neurosis tends toward organic wholeness, a sort of conflict ‘summary’ by condensation, under observation in the immediate present, one may seek and find access in it, not only to the basic conflict mentioned, but to uniquely personal mode of defence and resistance, revealed in dreams, habits of free association, symptomatic acts, parapraxes, and the more direct modes of personal address and interaction that are evident in every analysis. Further, in this view, although not always as transparent as one would wish, this remarkable condensation of effect, impulse, defence, and temporary conflict solution adumbrates more dependably than any other analytic element (or grouping of elements) the essential outlines of the field of obligatory analytic work of a given period of the patient’s life. In it is the tightly knotted tangle deprived from the patient’s early or prehistoric life enmeshed in him actualities of the analytic situation and his germane and contiguous ongoing life situations.
Also, in the sphere of the “here-and-now,” and of extensive importance, is the role of actualities in the analytic situation. Whether in the patent’s everyday life or in the analytic relationship, the even-handed, open-minded attention to the patient’s emotional experience (especially his suffering or resentment) as to what may be actual, as opposed too ‘neurotic’ (i.e., illusory or unwittingly provoked) or specifically transferential, is not only epistemologically deductive for reason that is also a contribution to the affective soundness of the basic analytic relationship and thus of inestimable importance. At the risk of slight-very slight-exaggeration, in that with excepting instances of pathological neurotic submissiveness, as a patient who wholeheartedly accepted the significance his neurotic or transference-motivated attitudes or behaviour if he felt that ‘his reality’ was not given just due. Furthermore, even the exploration and evaluation of complicated neurotic behaviour must be exhaustive to the point where a spontaneous urge to look for irrational motivations is practically on the threshold of the patient ‘s awareness. Once, again, one must stress the impact of such a tendency on the total analytic relationship. For, not only are the quality and mood of utilization of interpretations, but ultimately the subtleties of transition from a transference relationship to their realities of the actual relationship depend, on a greater degree than has been made explicit, on the cognitive and emotional aspects of the ongoing experience in the actual sphere. Greenson (1971, 1972. Wexler 1969) devoted several of his last papers to this important subject. The subject, of course, includes the vast spheres of the analyst’s character structure and his countertransference. However, more than may be at first apparency, can reside in the sphere of conscious consideration of technique e and attitude in relation to a basic rationale.
However, apart from the immediate function of painstaking discrimination of realities and the impact of this attitude on the total situation, there remains the important question of whether important elements of true analytic process may not be immanent in such trends of inquiry. The vigorous exploration and exposure of distortions in object relations, via the transference or in the affective and behavioural patterns of everyday life, including defence functions, can conceivably catalyse important spontaneous changes in their own right. To further this end, the traditional techniques of psychoanalysis will, of course, be utilized. As an interim phenomenon, however, the patient struggle to deal with distortions, as one might with other error subject to conscious control or pedagogical correction. It is to reasons of conviction that such a tendency may be productive (both as such, and in its intrinsic c capacity to highlight neurotic or conflictive fractions) and has been insufficiently exploited. Nonetheless, there is no reason that the specific dynamic impact of th past is lost or neglected in its ultimate importance, in giving attention to a territory that is, in itself, of a great technical potentiality.
Practitioners and theorists such as Horney (1939) or Sullivan (1953) did not reject the significance of the past, even though its role and proportionate position, both in process and theoretical psychodynamics, was viewed differently. The persisting common features in these views would be a large emphasis on sociological and cultural forces and the focussing of technical emphasis on immediate interpretation transactions.
Granted that various technical recommendations of both dissident and ‘classical’ origin, including those on the nature and reduction of the transference, sometimes appear to devaluate the operational importance of the genetic factor, this devaluation is not supported by the clinical experience of most of those that were indeed of closely scrutinizing it as part of the confessio fidei of major deviationists. Certainly, both in theoretical principle and in empirical observation, this essential direction of traditional analytic process remains of fundamental importance. Conceding the power and challenge of cumulative developmental and experiential personality change and the undeniable impact of current factors, it remains true that the uniquely personal, decisive elements in neurosis, apart from constitution, originate in early individual experience. How to mobilize elements into an effectively mutual function is largely a technical problem and-in seeming paradox-relies to a considerable degree on the skilful handling of the “here-and-now.” The purposive technical pursuit of the past has not been clinically rewarding. That the ultimate effort to recover an integrated early material in dynamic understanding may not always be successful, especially in severe cases of early pathogenesis is, of course, evident (for example, Jacobson 1971). In such instances, while our preference would be otherwise, we may have to remain largely content with painstaking work in the “here-and-now,” illuminated to whatever degree possible by reasonable and sound, if necessarily broad, constructions dealing largely with ego mechanisms than primitive anatomical fantasies. In other events, sometimes after years of painstaking work, even large and challenging characterological behavioural trends that have been viewed, clarified, and interpreted in a variety of current transference, situational (even cultural) references will show striking rottenness in earl y experience, conflict, and conflict solution whose explanatory value then achieves a mutative force that remains uniquely among interpretative manoeuvres or spontaneous insights. To this end, the broader aspects of ‘strategic’ resistance (Stone 1973) must be kept in mind, a much subtle element of countertransference and counterresistance.
It would seem proper that at this point of giving to a summation of the current ferment regarding the “here-and-now” of which any number of valuable critique and theoretical and technical suggestions that may help us to improve the analytic effectiveness, it would seem that the emphasis on the “here-and-now” interpreting not only consistently with but also ultimately indispensable for genuine access to the critical dynamism deriving from the individual’s early development. Nor is this reflexive, assuming the technical sophistication-inconsistent with the understanding and analysis of continuing developmental problems, character crystallization and the influence of current stresses as such. Adequate attention to the character as a complex interpretational group permits the clear and useful emergence in or the analytic field of significant early material, as defined by the transference neurosis between the technical approaches and that of Gill (1979, 1979), apart from certain larger issues. Whereas Gill would apparently recommend searching out ‘day residues’ of probable transference in the patient’s responses to the analysis or analyst and in his account of his daily life and offer possible alternative explanations to the patient’s direct and simple responses to them as self-evident realities, first relying on the acceptance and exploration of the patient’s ‘reality’, with the possibility that this will incidently favour the relatively spontaneous precipitation of more readily available transference materials, this general Principle does not, of course, obviate or exclude the other alternatives as something preferable?
Consideration of the interaction between the two adult personalties in the analytic situation requires a mixture of common sense and interest in self-evident (although often ignored) elements, on the one hand, and abstrusely psychological and Metapsychological considerations, on the other.
Thus, if we set aside from immediate consideration questions regarding the ‘real relationship’ and accept as a given self-evident fact that the entire psychoanalytic drama occurs (without our question or permission) between two adults in the “here-and-now” the residual is due becomes the management of the transference, which has been a challenging problem since the phenomenon was first described. Let us assume, for purposes of brevity, that few would now adhere to the principle that the transference is to be interpreted only when it becomes a manifest resistance (Freud 1912). It is in fact always a resistance and at the same time a propulsive force (Stone 1962, 1967, 1073). It has long since been recognized that an undue delay of well-founded transference interpretations (regardless of the state of the patient’s free association) can seriously hinder progress in analysis, and further, it cas augment the dangers of acting out or neurotic flight from the analysis by the patient. The awareness of such danger has been clearly etched in psychoanalytic consciousness since e Freud’s (1905) insight into the end of the Dora case.
Apart from the hazzards inherent in technical default, nonetheless, there has developed over the years with increasing momentum, perhaps in some relations of the increasing stress on the transference neurosis as a nuclear phenomenon of process. The affirmative active address to the transference, i.e., to the analysis-or some by time is the active interpretative bypassing-of the ‘resistances to the awareness of transference
. . . operational emphasis on the countertransference, the tendency-in rational for a proportion-must be regarded as an important integral component of a progressively evolving psychoanalytic method. That individuals vary in their acceptance of technical devotion to this tendency is to be note (as indicated earlier), but its widespread practice by thoughtful analysts cannot be ignored, by the importance of its disregarded note of countransference among analysts, which would tend to restore n earlier emphasis digestedly approach to historical material and avoidance of early or excessive; transference historical material and the avoidance of earlier excessive’ transference interpretation.
A few words about our view on th relatively a circumscribed problem of transference interpretation. It is of the belief of longstanding conviction that the economic aspects of transference distribution are critically important, although largely ignored the seeking utilization of this consideration, a broad directional sense, by distinguishing between the potential transference of the analytic situation and those of the typical psychotherapeutic situation (as beyond that, the transference of everyday life. These varying their degree of emergence and their special investment of transference objects with the intensiveness of contact, with the structural emends of deprivation, and with the degree of regressive attention the operation of the rule of abstinence, which is, of course, most highly developed and consistently maintained in the traditional psychoanalytic situation (Stone 1961). Thus although subject to constant infirmed monitoring, the transference can be as medical, at least latently directed ultimately toward the analyst (compared with the cooperated persons in their environment).
Now, under what conditions and with what provisions should the awareness of such transference potentialities be actively mobilized? Obviously, the original precept regarding its emergence as resistance still trued in its implied affirmative aspect but is no longer exclusive. Further, there are, without question, early transference ‘emergences’ that must be dealt with by an active interpretive approach: For example, the early rapid and severe transference regression of borderline patients or the less common some timely seriously impeding erotic transference fulminations in neuronic patients. These are special instances in which the indications seem clear and obligatory.
The central situation, nonetheless, is the ‘average’ analysis (with apologies!), where the latent transferences tend to remain ego-dystopia, warded off, deploring slowly over periods, and manifesting themselves by a variety of derivative phenomena of variable intensity. Surely, dreams, parapraxes, and trends of free association will reveal basic transference directions very early. However, when should these be interrelated to the patient if he is effectively unaware of them? Again, ‘all things' being equal’, an old principle of Freud’s suggested for all interpretative interventions (as opposed, for example, to clarification), is applicable: That unconscious elements are interpreted only when the patient evidences a secure positive attachment the analyst. Yet, this would not obtain in the fact of the ‘emergencies’ of growing erotic or aggressive intensities, certainly of ‘acting out’ is incipient. The disturbing compilations (even in the ‘erotic’ sphere) occur most often when basic transferences are ambivalent (largely hostile) or coloured by intense narcissism. Therefore, in relation to Freud’s valuable precept, it may be understood that in certain cases, the interpretation of ambivalent hostile transferences may be obligatory prerequisite to the establishment o f the genuinely positive climate that required. In such instances of obligatory intervention, the manifestations that require them are usually quite explicit,
Again, then, what about the relatively uncomplicated case, the chronic neurotic, potentially capable of relatively mature relations to objects? Still, the coping with complications do not seem as in question. There are, a few essential conditions and one cardinal rule. First the patient’s sense of reality and his common sense must not be abruptly or excessively tax, lest, in untoward reaction, his constructive imaginative capacities become unavailable. Preliminary explanations and tentative preparatory ‘trail’ interventions should be freely employed to accustom him to a new view of the world. The traditional optimum for interpretation (when the patient is on the verge of perceiving its content himself [Freud 1940] is indeed best, although it must sometimes be neglected in favour of an active interpretative approach. Second, the patient’s sense that the vicissitudes and exigencies of his actual situation are understood and respected must be maintained
Beyond these considerations, the essential principle is quite simple. If it is assumed that-in the intensive, abstinent, traditional psychoanalytic situation (as differentiated from most psychotherapeutic situations)-the transference (ultimately the transference neurosis) is ‘pointing’ toward the unconscious trend is heavily weighted in this direction, there is still a manifest element of movement toward other currently significant objects. Thus, a latent economic problem assumes clinical form: Essentially, the growing magnitude of transference cathexes of the analyst’s person, as withdrawn to varying degree from important persons in the environment with whom most of the patient’s associations usually deal. There is a point, or a phase, in the evolution of transference in which analytic material (often priori to significant subjective awareness) indicates the rapidly evolving shift from extraanalytic objects to the analyst. In this interval (early in some, later in others) the analyst’s interventions, whether in direct substantive form or aimed at resistances to awareness of transference, often become obligatory and certainly most often successful in mobilizing affective emphasis into the “here-and-now” of the analytic situation. The vigorous anticipatory interpretations suggested by some may be helpful in many instances (at least as preparatory manoeuvres) if (1) the analyst is certain of his views, in terms of not only the substance but the quantitative (i.e., economic) situation (2) the patient’s state soundly receptive (according to well-established criteria) (3) neither the patient’s realities nor his sense of their realities are put to unjustified questions or implicit neglect (4)a sense of proportion regarding the centrality of issues, largely as indicated by the outline of the transference neurosis (of their adumbration), are maintained in a real consideration. This will avoid the superfluous multiplication of transference references that like the massing of scatted genetic interpretations (familiar in the past), can lead to a ‘chaotic situation’ resembling that against which Wilhelm Reich (1933) inveighed. This will be more striking with a compliant patient who can as readily become bemused with his transference as with his ‘Oedipus’ or his ‘anality.’
Once the affective importance of the transference is established in the analysis, a further (hardly new) question arises, with which some of us have sought to deal in a therapist. Even if some agrees that transference interpretations have a uniquely mutative impact, how exclusively must we concentrate on them? Moreover, to what degree and when are extraanalytic occurrences and relationships of everyday life to be brought into the scope of transference interpretation? With regard to the concentration of transference interpretation alone: a large, complex, and richly informative worlds of psychological experience are obviously attention if the patient ‘s extra therapeutic life is ignored. Further, if the transference situation is unique in an affirmative sense, it is also unique by deficit. To revile at the analyst, for example, is a different experience from reviling at an employer who might ‘fire’ the patient or from being snide to a co-worker who might punch him (Stone 1067 and Rangell 1979). Such experiences are also components if the “here-and-now” (granted that the “here”aspect is significantly vitiated), and they do merit attention and understanding in their own right, specially in the sphere of characterology. Certain complex reaction pasterns cannot become accessible in the transference context alone.
At the time of speaking it is true that many spectacular extraanalytic behaviours can, and should be seen as displacements (or ‘acting out’) of the analytic transference or in juxtaposed ‘extended family’ relation to it, especially where they involve consistent members of an intimate dramatis personae? While such ‘extra-therapeutic’ transference interpretations (often clearly Germaine to the conflicts of the transference neurosis) can be indispensable, the confronting vigour and definiteness with which they are advanced (as opposed to tentativeness) must always depend on the security of knowledge of preceding and current unconscious elements that invest the persons involved.
Finally, there are incidents, attitudes, and relationships to persons in the patient’s life experience who are not demonstrably involved in the transference neurosis, yet evoke importantly and characteristic responses whose clarification and interpretation may contribute importantly to the patient’s self-knowledge of defences, character structure, and allied matters. Nonetheless, such data may occasionally show a vitalizing direct relationship to historical materials. It would not seem necessary or desirable that such material be forced into the analytic transference if the patient does not respond to a tactful tentative trail in this connection, for example, the ‘alternative’ suggestion proposed by Gill (1979). For the economic considerations that often obtain, and it may be that certain concurrent transference cluster, not readily related to the mainstream of transference neurosis, retain their own original extra-therapeutic transference investment. In some instances, a closer, more available e relationship to the transference mainstream may appear later and lend itself to such interpretative integration. In so doing, happening is likely if obstinate resistances have not been simulated by unnecessary assault on the patients' sense of immediate reality, or his sense of his actual problems. As for metapsychology, one may recall also that all relationships, following varying degrees of development and conflict vicissitudes, are derived greatly from the original relationship to the primal object (Stone 1967), even if their representations are relatively free of the unique ‘unneutralized’ cathexes that characterize active transference (‘transfer’ verus ‘transference’: Stern 1957).
Caring for a better understanding, to what the concerning change, as seen in the psychotherapy of schizophrenic patient, and particularly in reference to the sense of personal identity, may to this place be clearly vitiated in material that relates to extra-therapeutic experience, whether this is seen ‘in its own right’ or as displaced transference. The direct transference experience occurs in relations an individual who knows his own position, i.e., knows ‘both sides’ as in no other situation. (Even where there are interposing countertransference. There are at least susceptible to a self-analysis). This can never be true in the analysis of an extra-therapeutic situation, as there is no inevitable cognitive deficit. For this we must try to compensate by exercising maximal judgement, by exploiting what is revealed about the patient himself in sometimes unique situations, and by being sensitive to the growing accuracy of his reporting as the analyst progresses. Epistemologic deficits' are intrinsic in the very nature of analytic work. This is but one important example.
We need to be alert to the respects in which the concepts and technique of our particular science may lend themselves to the repression, in us and our patients, of anxiety concerning change.
Our necessary delineation of the repetitive patterns between the transference and countertransference tends to become so preoccupying as to obscure the circumstance that, as Janet M. Rioch phrases it, “What is curative in the [analytic] process is that in tending to reconstruct in which the analyst that an atmospheric state that obtained in childhood, the patient effectively achieves something new” (Rioch 1943).
Our necessarily high degree of reliance upon verbal communication requires us to be aware of the extent to which grammatical patterns having a tendency to segment and otherwise render static our ever-flowing experience; this has been pointed out by Benjamin (1944); Bertrand Russell (1900), Whorf (1956) and others. The tendency among us to regard prolonged silence for being given to disruptiveness in the analytic process, or evidence per se of the patient’s resistance to it, may be due in part to our unconscious realization that profound personalty-change is often best simplified by silent interaction with the patient; therefore, we have an inclination to press forward toward the crystallization of change-inhibiting words.
What is more, our topographical views of the personality a being divisible into the area’s id, ego, and superego, are so inclined to shield us from the anxiety-fostering realization that, in a psychoanalytic cure, change is not merely quantitative and partial
as of “Where id was, there shall Ego be,” in Freud’s dictum, but qualitative and all-pervasive. Apparently such data system in a passage is to provide accompaniment for Freud, as he gives a picture of personality-structure, and of maturation, which leaves the inaccurate but comforting impression that at least a part of us-namely, a part of the id-is free from change. In his paper entitled Thought for the Times on War and Death. In 1915, he said, "the evolution of the mind shows a peculiarity that is present in no other process of development." When a village grows into a town, a child into a man, the village, and the child become submerged in the town and the man. . . . It is in other considerable levels that the accompaniment with the development of the mind . . . the primitive stage [of mental development] can always be re-established; the primitive mind is, in the fullest meaning of the word, imperishable (Freud 1915).
In Introductory Lectures on Psycho-Analysis, he says that “in psychoanalytic treatment. . . . By means of the work of interpretation, which transform what is unconscious into what is conscious, the ego is enlarged at the expense of this unconscious.” In the Ego and the Id, he said that, " . . . the ego is that part of the id modified by the direct influence of the external world . . . the pleasure-principle . . . reigns unrestricted by the id. . . . The ego represents what may be called reason and common sense, in contrast to the id, which contains the passions” (Freud 1923).
Glover, in his book on Technique published in 1955, states similarly that, . . .” A successful analysis may have uncovered a good deal of the repressed . . . [and] have mitigated the archaic censoring functions of the superego, but it can scarcely be expected to abolish the id” (Glover 1955).
Favorably to have done something to provide by some measure, conviction, feeling, mind, persuasion, sentiment used to form or be expressed of some modesty about the state of development of our science, and about our own individual therapeutic skills, should not cause us to undertake the all-embracing extent of human personality growth in normal maturation and in a successful psychoanalysis. Presumably we have all encountered a few fortunate instances that have made us wonder whether maturation really leaves any area of the untouched personality, leaves any steel-bound core within which the pleasure principle reigns immutably, or whether, instead, we have a genuine metamorphosis, from a former hateful and self-seeking orientation to a loving and giving orientation, quite as wonderful and thoroughgoing as the metamorphosis of the tadpole into the frog or that of the caterpillar into the butterfly.
Freud himself, in his emphasis upon the ‘negative therapeutic reaction’ (1923), the repetition compulsion, and the resistance to analytic insight that he discovered in his work with neurotic patients, has shown the importance, in the neurotic individual, of anxiety concerning change, and he agrees with Jung’s statement that ‘a peculiar psychic inertia, hostile to change and progress, is the fundamental condition of neurosis’ (Freud 1915). This is, even more true of the psychosis-so much so that only in very recent decades have psychotic patients achieved full recovery through modified psychoanalytic therapy. Also, it has instructively to explore and deal the psychodynamics of schizophrenia as for the anxiety concerning change which one encounters, in a particular intense degree, at work in these patients, and of ones own, inasmuch as for treating them. What the therapy of schizophrenia can teach us of the human being’s anxiety concerning change, can broaden and deepen our understanding of the non-psychotic individual also.
Further, we see that during his development years he lacks adequate models, in his parents or other parent-figures, with whom to identify about the acceptance of outer changes and the integration of inner change as personality-maturation throughout adulthood. Alternatively, these are relatively rigid persons who, over the years, either/or tenaciously resist change, if anything becomes progressively constricted, fostering him in the conviction that the change from a child into adult is more loss than gain-that, as one matures, fewer feelings and thoughts are acceptable, until finally one is to attain, or be confined to, the thoroughgoing sterility of adulthood. The sudden, unpredictable changes that puncture his parent’s rigidity, due to the eruption of masses of customarily-repressed material in themselves, make them appear to him, for the time being, like totally different persons from their usual selves, and this adds to his experience that personality-change is something that is not to be striving for, but avoided as frighteningly destructive and overwhelming.
We find evidence that he is reacting to, by his parents during his upbringing, predominantly concerning transference and projection, for being the reincarnation of some figure or figures from their own childhood, and the personification of repressed and projected personality-traits in themselves. Thus he is called upon by them, in an often unpredictably changing fashion, to fill various rigid roles in the family, leaving him little opportunity to experience change as something that can occur within himself, as a unique human individual, in a manner beneficial to himself.
When the parents are not relating to him in such a transference fashion they are, it appears, all too often narcissistically absorbed in them. In either instance, the child is left largely in a psychological vacuum, in that he has to cope essentially alone with his own maturing individuality, including the intensely negative emotions produced by the struggle for individuality in such a setting. Because his parents are afraid of the developing individual in him, he too fears this inner self, and his fear of what is heightening parenthetical parents within investing him with powers, based upon the mechanisms of transference and projection that by it's very nature does not understand, powers that he experiences as somehow flowing from himself and yet not an integral part of himself nor within his power to control. As the years bring tragedies to his family, he develops the conviction that he somehow possesses all ill-understood malevolence that is totally responsible for these destructive changes.
In as far as he does discover healthy maturational changes at work in his body and personality, changes that he realizes to be wonderful and priceless, he experiences the poignant accompanying realization that there is no one there to welcome these changes and to share his joy. The parents, if sufficiently free from anxiety to recognize such changes at all, have a tendency to accept them as evidence that their child is rejecting then by growing functionally. Also to be noted, in this connexion, is their lack of trust in him, their lack of assurance that he is elementally good and can be trusted to maturational bases of a good healthy adult. Instead they are alert to find, and warn him against, manifestations in him that can be construed as evidence that he is on a predestined, downward path into an adulthood of criminality, insanity, more at best ineptitude for living.
Moreover, he emergences change not as something within his own power to wield, for the benefit of himself and others but as something imposed from without. This is due not only to structures that the parents place upon his autonomy, but also to the process of increasing repression of his emotions and life as, such that when this latter manifest themselves, they do so in a projected expressive style, for being uncontrollable changed, inflicted upon him from the surrounding world? We see extreme examples of this mechanism later on. In the full-blown schizophrenic person who experiences sexual feelings not as such but as electric shocks sent into him from the outside world, and who experiences anger not as an emerging emotion directorially fittingly as in a way up from within, but a massive and sudden blow coming somehow from the outer world. In fewer extreme instances, in the life of the yet-to-become-schizophrenic youth, he finds repeatedly that when he reaches out to another person, the other suddenly undergoes a change in demeanour, from friendliness to antagonism, in reaction to an unwitting manifestation of the youths’ unconscious hostility. The youth himself, if unable to recognize his own hostility, can only be left feeling increased helplessness in face of an unpredictably changeable world of people.
The final incident that occurs before his admission to the hospital, giving him still further reason for anxiety as for change, is his experience of the psychotic symptoms as an overwhelming anxiety-laden and mysterious change. His own anxiety about this frightened away by the seismic disturbance and horror of the members of his family who finds hi ‘changed’ by what they see as an unmitigated catastrophe, a nervous or mental ‘breakdown’. Although the therapist can come to see, in retrospect, a potential positive element via this occurrence-namely, the emergence of onetime-repressed insights concerning the true state of affairs involving the patient and his family, none of those participants can integrate so radically changed a picture at that time. Over the preceding years the family members could not tolerate their child’s seeing himself and them with the eyes of a normally maturing offspring, and when repressed percepts emerge from repression in him, neither they nor he possesses the requisite ego-strength to accept them as badly needed changes in his picture of himself and of them. Instead, the tumult of depressed percepts foes into the formation of such psychotic phenomena as misidentifications, hallucinations, and delusions in which neither he nor the member of his family can discern the links to reality that we, upon investigation in individual psychotherapy with him, can find in these psychotic phenomena-links, that is, to the state of affairs that has really held sway in the family. Paretically, it should be marked and noted that the psychotic episode often occurs in such ac way as to leave the patient especially fearful of sudden change, for in many instances the de-repressed material emerges suddenly and leads him to damage, in the short space of a few hours or even moments, his life situation so grievously that repair can be affected only very slowly and painfully, over many subsequent months of treatment in the confines of a hospital.
It should be conveyed, in that the regression of the thought-processes, which occurs as one of the features of the developing schizophrenia, results in an experience of the world so kaleidoscopic as to make up still another reason for the individual’s anxiety concerning change. That is, as much as he has lost thee capacity to grasp the essentials of a given whole-to the extent that he has regressed to what Goldstein (1946) terms the ‘concrete attitude’-he experiences any change, even if it is only in an insignificant (by mature standards) detail of that which he perceives, as a metamorphosis that leaves him with no sense of continuity between the present perception and that immediately preceding. This thought disorder, various aspects of which have been described also by Angyal (1946), Kasanin (1946), Zucker (1958), and others, is compared by Werner with the modes of thought that are found in members of so-called primitive cultures (and in healthy children of our own culture): . . . in the primitive mentality, particulars often as self-subsisting things that do not necessarily become synthized into larger entities. . . . The natives of the Kilimanjaro region do not have a word for the whole mountain range that they inhabit, only words for its peaks. . . . The same is reported of the aborigines of East Australia. From each twist and turn of a river has a name, but the language does not permit of a single all-embracing differentiation for the whole river. . . . [He] quotes Radin (1927) as saying that for the primitive man: “A mountain is not thought of as a unified whole. It is a continually changing entity’ . . . [and, Radin continues, such a man lives in a world that is] ‘dynamic and ever-changing . . . Since he sees the same objects changing in their appearance from day to day, the primitive man regards this phenomenon as definitely depriving them of immutability and self-subsistence’ (Werner 1957).
Langer (1942) has called the symbolic-making function ‘one of man’s primary activities, like eating, looking, or moving about. It is the fundamental process of his mind’, she says, as she terms the need of symbolization ‘a primary need in man, which other creatures probably do not have’. Kubie (1953) terms the symbolizing capacity ‘the unique hallmark of man . . . capacities’, and he states that it is in impairment of this capacity to symbolize that all adult psychopathology essentially consists.
As for schizophrenia, we find that since 1911 this disease was described by Bleuler (1911) as involving an impairment of the thinking capacities, and in the thirty years many psychologists and psychiatrists, including Vigotsky (1934) Hanfmann and Kasanin (1942) Goldstein (1946) Norman Cameron (1946) Benjamin (1946) Beck (1946) von Domarus (1946) and Angtal (1946)-to mention but a few-has described various aspects of this thinking disorder. These writers, agreeing that one aspect of the disorder consists in over -concreteness or literalness of thought, have variously described the schizophrenic as unable to think in figurative (including metaphorical) terms, or in abstractions, or in consensually validated concepts and symbols, mor in categorical generalizations. Bateson (1956) described the schizophrenic as using metaphor, but unlabelled metaphor.
Werner (1940) has understood this most accurately matter of regression to a primitive level of thinking, comparable with the found in children and in members of so-called primitive cultures, a level of thinking in which there is a lack of differentiation between the concrete and the metaphorical. Thus we might say that just as the schizophrenic is unable to think in effective, consensually validated metaphor, as too as he is unable to think in terms that are genuinely concrete, free from an animistic forbear of a so-called metaphorical overlay.
The defensive function of the dedifferentiation that in so characterized of schizophrenic experience, and one find that this fragmentation o experience, justly lends itself to the repression of various motions that are too intense, and in particular too complex, for the weak ego to endure, which must be faced as one becomes aware of change as involving continuity rather than total discontinuity.
That is, the deeply schizophrenic patient who, when her beloved therapist makes a unkind or stupid remark, experiences him now for being a different person from the one who was there a moment ago-who experiences that a Bad Therapist has replaced the Good Therapist-is by that spared the complex feeling of disillusionment and hurt, the complex mixture of love and anger and contempt that a healthier patient would feel then. Similarly, if she experiences it in tomorrow’s session-or even later in the same session-that another good therapist has now come on the scene. The bad therapist is now totally gone, she will feel none of the guilt and self-reproach that a healthier patient would feel at finding that this therapist, whom she has just now been hated or despising, is after all a person capable of genuine kindness. Likewise, when she experiences a therapist’s departure on vacation for being a total deletion of him from her awareness, this bit of discontinuity, or fragmentation, in her subjective experience spars her from feeling the complex mixture of longing, grief, separation-anxiety, rejection, rage and so on, which a less ill patient feels toward a therapist who is absent but of whose existence he continues to be only too keenly aware.
Finally, such repressed emotions as hostility and lust may readily be seen, as these feelings not easy to hear expressed, as, for instance, the woman, who, at the beginning of her therapy, had been encased for years I flint lock paranoid defenses, become able to express her despair by saying that “If I had something to get well for, it would make a difference,” her grief, by saying, “The reason I am afraid to be close to people is because I feel so much like crying”: Her loneliness, by expressing a wish that she would turn an insect into a person, so then she would have a friend. Her helplessness in face of her ambivalence by saying, to her efforts to communicate with other persons, “I feel just like a little child, at the edge of the Atlantic or Pacific Ocean, trying to build a castle-right next to the water. Something just starts to be gasped [by the other person], and then bang! It has gone-another wave. As joining the mainstream of fellow human beings.
In the compliant charge of bringing forward three hypotheses are to be shown, they're errelated or portray in words as their interconnectivity, are as (1) in the course of a successful psychoanalysis, the analyst goes through a phase of reacting to, and eventually relinquishing, the patient as his oedipal love-object, (2) in normal personality development, the parent reciprocates the child's oedipal love with greater intensity than we have recognized before, and (3) in such normal developments, the passing of the Oedipus complex is at least important a phase in ego-development as in superego-development.
While doing psycho-analysis, time and again patients who have progressed to, or very far toward, a thorough going analysis to cure, become aware of experiential romantic and erotic desires and fantasies. Such fantasizing and emotions have appeared in a usual but of late in the course of treatment, have been preset not briefly but usually for several months, and have subsided only after having experienced a variety of feelings-frustration, separation anxiety, grief and so forth-entirely akin to those that attended as the resolution of an Oedipus complex late in the personal analysis.
Psycho-analysis literature is, in the main. Such as to make one feel more, rather than less, troubled at finding in oneself such feelings toward one's patient. As Lucia Tower (1956) has recently noted, . . . Virtually every writer on the subject of countertransference . . . states unequivocally that no form of erotic reaction to a patient is to be tolerated . . .
Still, in recent years, many writers, such as P. Heimann (1950), M. B. Cohen (1952) and E. Weigert (1952, 1954), have emphasized how much the analyst can learn about the patient from noticing his own feelings, of whatever sort, in the analytic relationship. Weigert (1952), defining countertransference as emphatic identification with the analysand, has stated that . . . "In terminal phases of analyses the resolution of countertransference goes hand in hand with the resolution of transference."
Respectfully, these additional passages are shown in view of countertransference, in the special sense in which defines the analyst for being innate, inevitable ingredients in the psycho-analytic relationship, in particular, the feelings of loss that the analyst experiences with the termination of the analysis. However, case in point, that the particular variety of countertransference with which are under approach is concerned that of the analyst's reacting as a loving and protective parent to the analysand, reacted too as an infant: There are plausible reasons why in the last phase it is especially difficult to achieve and maintain analytic frankness. The end of analysis is an experience of loss that mobilizes all the resistances in the transference (and in the counter-transference too), for a final struggle. . . . Recently, Adelaide Johnson (1951) described the terminal conflict of analysis as fully reliving the Oedipus conflict in which the quest for the genitally gratifying parent is poignantly expressed and the intense grief, anxiety and wrath of its definitive loss are fully reactivated. . . . Unless the patient dares to be exposed to such an ultimate frustration he may cling to the tacit permission that his relation to the analyst will remain his refuge from the hardships of his libidinal cravings to an aim-inhibited, tender attachment to the analyst as an idealized parent, he can get past the conflicts of genital temptation and frustration.
. . . . The resolution of the counter-transference permits the analyst to be emotionally freer and spontaneous with the patient, and this is an additional indication of the approaching end of an analysis.
. . . . When the analyst observes that he can be unrestrained with the patient, when he no longer weighs his words to maintain as cautious objectivity, this empathic countertransference and the transference of the patient are in a process of resolution. The analyst can treat the analysand on terms of equality; he is no longer needed as an auxiliary superego, an unrealistic deity in the clouds of detached neutrality. These are signs that the patient's labour of mourning for infantile attachments nears completion.
In stressing the point, which before an analysis can properly bring to an end, the analyst must have experienced a resolution of his countertransference to the patient for being a deep beloved, and desired, figure not only on this infantile level that Weigert has emphasized valuably, but also on an oedipal-genital level. Weigeret's paper, which helped to formulate the views that are set down, that is, as expressing the total point that a successful psycho-analysis involves the analyst's deeply felt relinquishment of the patient both as a cherished infant, and for being a fellow adult who is responded to at the level of genital love?
The paper by L. E. Tower (1956) comes similarly close to the view that, unlike Weigert, limits the term counter-transference to those phenomena that are transferences of the analyst to the patient. It is much more striking, therefore, that she finds even this classification defined countertransference to be innate to the analytic process: . . . . That there is inevitably, naturally, and often desirable, many countertransference developments in every analysis (some evanescent-some sustained), which is a counterpart of the transference phenomena. Interactions (or transactions) between the transference of the patient and the countertransference of the analyst, going on at unconscious levels, may be-or perhaps are always-of vital significance for the outcome of the treatment. . . .
. . . . Virtually every writer on the subject of countertransference. States unequivocally that no form of erotic reaction to a patient is to be tolerated. This would suggest that temptations in this area are great, and perhaps ubiquitous. This is the one subject about which almost every author is very certain to state his position. Other 'counter-transference' manifestations are not routinely condemned. Therefore, it must be to assume that erotic responses to some extent trouble nearly every analyst. This is an interesting phenomenon and one that call for investigation; nearly all physicians, when they gain enough confidence in their analysts, report erotic feelings and imply toward their patients, but usually do so with a good deal of fear and conflict. . . .
Of our tending purposes, we are to pay close attention to the libidinal resources that are of our applicative theory, in that large amounts of resulting available libido are necessary to tolerate the heavy task of many intensive analyses. While, we deride almost every detectable libidinal investment made by an analyst in a patient . . . various forms of erotic fantasy and erotic countertransference phenomena of a fantasy and of an affective character are in some experiential ubiquitous and presumably normal. Which lead to suspect that in many-perhaps every-intensive analytic treatment there develops something like countertransference structures (perhaps even a 'neurosis') which are essential and inevitable counterparts of the transference neurosis. These countertransference structures may be large or small in their quantitative aspects, but in the total picture they may be of considerable significance for the outcome of the treatment. They function in the manner of a catalytic agent in the treatment process. Their understanding by the analyst may be as important to the final working through of the transference neurosis as is the analyst's intellectual understanding of the transference neurosis itself, perhaps because they are, so to speak, the vehicle for the analyst's emotional understanding of the transference neurosis. Both transference neurosis and countertransference structure seem intimately bound together in a living process and both must be considered continually in the work that is the psychoanalysis. . . .
. . . . Seemingly questionable, is any thorough working through a deep transference neurosis, in the strictest sense, which does not involve some form of emotional upheaval in which both patient and analysts are involved. In other words, there are both a transference neurosis and a corresponding Countertransference 'neurosis' (no matter how small and temporary) which are both analyzed in the treatment situation, with eventual feelings of a new orientation by both one another toward any other but themselves.
Freud, in his description of the Oedipus complex (1900, 1921, 1923), tended largely to give us a picture of the child as having an innate, self-determined tendency to experience, under the conditions of a normal home, feelings of passionate love toward the parent of the opposite sex; we get little hints, from his writings, that in this regard the child enters a mutual relatedness of passionate love with that parent, a relatedness in which the parent's feelings may be of much the same quality and intensity as those in the child (although this relatedness must be very important in the life of the developing child than it is in the life of the mature adult, with his much stronger, more highly differentiated ego and with his having behind him the experience of a successfully resolved oedipal experience during his own maturation).
Nevertheless, in the earliest of his publications concerning the Oedipus complex, namely The Interpretation of Dreams (1900), Freud makes a fuller acknowledgements of the parent's participation in the oedipal phase of the child's life than does in any of his later writings on the subject". . . a child's sexual wishes-if in their embryonic stage they deserve to be so described-awaken very early. . . . A girl's first affection is for her father and boy's first childish desires are for his mother. Accordingly, the father becomes a disturbing rival to the boy and the mother to the girl. The parents too give evidence as a rule of sexual partiality: A natural predilection usually sees to it that a man tends to spoil his little daughters, while his wife takes her sons' part; though both of them, where their judgement is not disturbed by the magic of sex, keep a strict eye upon their children's education. The child is very well aware of this patriality and turns against that one of his parents who is opposed to showing it. Being loved by an adult does not merely bring a child the satisfaction of a special need; it also means that he will get what he wants in every other respect as well. Thus, he will be following his own sexual instinct and while giving fresh strength to the inclination shown by his parents if his choice between them falls in with theirs (1900).
Theodor Reik, in his accounts of his coming to sense something of the depths of possessiveness, jealousy, fury at rivals, and anxiety in the face of impending loss, in himself regarding his two daughters, conveys a much more adequate picture of the emotions that genuinely grip the parent in the oedipal relationship than is conveyed by Freud's sketchy account, as Reik's deeply moving descriptions occupy a chapter in his Listening with the Third Ear (1949), written at the time when his daughters were twelve and six years of age; and a chapter in his The Secret Self (1952), when the oldest daughter was now seventeen.
Returning to a further consideration of the therapist's oedipal-love responses to the patient, it seems that these response flows from four different sources. In actual practice the responses from these four tributaries are probably so commingled in the therapists that it is difficult of impossible fully to distinguish one kind from another; the important thing is that he is maximally open to the recognition of these feelings in himself, no matter what their origin, for he can probably discern, in as far as is possible, from where they flow they signify, therefore, concerning the patient's analysis.
First among these four sources may be mentioned the analyst's feeling-responses to the patient's transference. This, when, as the analysis progresses and the patient enter an experiencing of oedipal love, ongoing, jealousy y, frustration and loss as for the analyst as a parent in the transference, the analyst will experience to at least some degree, response's reciprocally th those of the patient-responses, that is, such for being present within the parent in questions, during the patient's childhood and adolescence, which the parent presumably was not ably to recognize freely and accept within himself. Some writers apply the term 'counter-transference' to such analyst-responese to the patient's transference, unlike others some do not do so.
The second source consists in the countertransference in the classical sense in which this term is most often used: The analyst's responding to the patient about transference-feelings carried over from a figure out of the analyst 's own earlier years, without awareness that his response springs predominantly from this early-life, rather than being based mainly upon the reality of the patient analyst-patient relationship. It is this source, of course, which we wish to reduce to a minimum, by means of thoroughgoing personal analysis and ever-continuing subsequent alertness for indications that our work with a patient has come up against, in us, unanalyzed emotional residues from our past. This source is so very important, in fact, as to make the writing of such a paper as a somewhat precarious venture. Must expect that some readers will charge him with trying to portray, as natural and necessary to the annalistic process generally, certain analyst-responese that in actuality is purely the result of an unworked-through? Oedipus' complex in himself, which are dangerously out of place in his own work with patients that have no place in the well-analysed analyst's experience with his patient.
It can only be surmised that although this source may play an insignificant role in the responses of a well-analysed analyst who has conducted many analyses through to completion-to an intensified inclusion as a thoroughgoing resolution of the patient's Oedipus complex-it is probably to be found, in some measure, in every analyst. This is, it seems that the nature and conflictual feeling-experience in this regard-a fostering of his deepest love toward the fellow human being with whom she participates in such prolonged and deeply personal work, and a simultaneous, unceasing, and rigorous taboo against his behavioural expression of any of the romantic or erotic components of his love-as to require almost any analyst's tending to relegate the deepest intensities of these conflictual feelings to his own unconscious mind, much as were the deepest intensities of his oedipal strivings toward a similar beloved, and similarly unobtainable and rigorously tabooed, parent in particular, and in the hope of the remaining in the analyst's unconscious. That is hoping that this will help analysts-in particular, to a lesser extent-experienced analyst-whereas to some readers awareness, and by that diminution, of this countertransference feeling, as justly dealing with other kinds of countertransference feelings, by such as those wrote by P. Heumann (1950, M. B., Cohen (19520 and E. Weigert (1952?)
A third source is to be found in the appeal that the gratifyingly improving patient makes to the narcissistic residue in the analyst's personality, the Pygmalion in him. He tends to fall in love with this beautifully developing patient, regarded at this narcissistic level as his own creation, just as Pygmalion fell in love with the beautiful statu e of Galatea that he had sculptured. This source, like the second one that we can expect to holds little sways in the well-analysed practitioner of long experience, but it, too, is probably never absent of great experience and professional standing, than we may like to think. Particularly in articles and books that describe the author's new technique or theoretical concept as an outgrowth of the work with a particular patient, or a very few patients, do we see this source very prominently present in many instances.
The fourth source, based on the genuine reality of the analyst-patient situation, consists in the circumstance that nearly becomes, per se, a likeable, admirable and insightfully speaking lovable, human being from whom the analyst will soon become separated. If he is not himself a psychiatrist, the analyst may very likely never see him again. Even if he is a professional colleague, the relationship with him will become in many respects far more superficial, far less intimate, than it has been. This real and unavoidable circumstance of the closing analytic work tends powerfully to arouse within the analyst feelings of painfully frustrated love that deserve to be compared with the feelings of ungratifiable love that both child and parent experience in the oedipal phase of the child's development. Feelings from this source cannot properly be called countertransference. They may flow from the reality of the present circumstances but they may be difficult or impossible e to distinguish fully from countertransference.
There are, then four essentially powerful sources having to promote of the tendency toward the feelings of deep love with romantic and erotic overtones, and with accompanying feelings of jealousy, anxiety, frustration-rage, separation-anxiety, and grief, in the analyst about the patient. These feelings come to him, like all feelings, without tags showing from where they have come, and only if he is open and accepting to their emergence into his awareness does he have a chance to set about finding out their origin and thus their significance in his work with the patient.
Finally, with which the considerations have been presented so far, a few remarks concerning the passing of the Oedipus complex in normal development and in a successful psycho-analysis.
In the Ego and the Id (1923) we find italicized a passage in which Freud stresses that the oedipus phase results in the formation of the superego; we find that he stresses the patient's opposition to ther child's oedipal swosh, and lastly, we see this resultant suprerego to be predominantly a severe and forbidding one: The broad general outcome of the sexual phase dominated by the Oedipus complex may, therefore, be taken to be the forming of a precipitating in the ego . . . This modification of the ego
. . . comforts the other contents of the ego as an ego ideal or super-ego.
. . . . The child's parents, and especially his father, were perceived as the obstacle to verbalizations of his Oedipus wishes, so his infantile ego fortified itself for the carrying out of the repression by building this obstacle within itself. It borrowed the strength to do this, so to seek, from the father, and this loan was an extraordinarily nonentous act. The super-ego retains the character of the father, while the more powerful the Oedipus complex was and the more rapid succumbed to repression (under the influence of authority, religious teachings, schooling and reading), this strictly will be the domination of the super-ego over the ego later on-as conscience or perhaps of an unconscious sense of guilt. . . .
The subject dealt within the subjective matter through which generative pre-oedipal origins are to be found of the superego, on which has been dealt by M. Klein (1955). E. Jacobson (1954) and others, also apart from that subject, a regard for Freud's above-quoted description as more applicable to the child who later becomes neurotic or psychotic, than to the 'normal'; child. Since we can assume that there is virtually a wholly complimentary neurotic difficulty, we may then have in assuming that Freud's formation holds true to some degree in every instance. Still, to the extent that a child's relationships with his parents are healthy, he finds the strength to accept the unrealizibilityy of his oedipal strivings, not mainly through the identification with the forbidding rival-parent, but mainly, as an alternative, the ego-strengthening experiences of finding the beloved parent reciprocate his love-responds to him, that is, for being a worthwhile and loveable individual, for being, a conceivably desirable love-partner-and renounces him only with an accompanying sense of loss on the parent's own part. The renunciation, again, something that is mutual experience for the chid and parent, and is made in deference to a recognizedly greater limiting realty, a reality that includes not only the taboo maintained by the rival-parent, but also the love of the oedipal desired parent toward his or her spouse-a love that undeterred the child's birth and a love to which, in a sense, he owes his very existence?
Out of such an oedipal situation the child emerges, with no matter how deep and painful sense of loss at the recognition that he can never displace the rival-parent and posses the beloved on e in a romantic-and-erotic relationship, in a state differently from the ego-diminished, superego-domination state that Freud described. This child that his love, however unrealized, is reciprocated. Strengthened, too, out of the realization, which his relationship with the beloved parent has helped him to achieve, that he lives in a wold in which any individual's strivings are encompassed by a reality much larger than he: Freud, when he stressed that the oedipal phase normally results mainly in the formations of a forbidding superego, and if it is resulting mainly in enchantments of the ego's ability to test both inner and outer reality.
All experiences with both neurotic and psychotic patients had shown that, in every individual instance, in as far as the oedipal phase was entered the course of their past elements, it led to ego impairment rather than ego functioning as primarily because the beloved parent had to repress his or her reciprocal desire for the child, chiefly through the mechanism of unconscious denial of the child's importance to the parent. More often than not, in these instancies, that suggested that the parent would unwittingly act out his or her repressed desires in the unduly seductive behaviour toward the child; yet whenever the parents come close to the recognition of such desires within him, he would unpredictably start reacting to the child as unlovable-undesirable.
With many of these parents, appears that, primarily because of the parent's own unresolved Oedipus complex, his marriage proved too unsatisfying, and his emotional relationship to his own culture too tenuous, for him to dare to recognize the strength of his reciprocal feelings toward his child during the latter's oedipal phase of development. The child is reacting too as a little mother or father transference-figure to the parent, a transference-figure toward whom the parent's repressed oedipal love feelings are directed. If the parent had achieved the inner reassurance of a deep and enduring love toward his wife, and a deeply felt relatedness with his culture including the incest taboos to which his culture adheres, he would have been able to participate in as deeply felt, but minimally acted out, relationship with the chid in a way that fostered the healthy resolutions of the child's Oedipus complex. Instead, what usually happens in such instances, in that the child's Oedipus complex remains unresolved because the child stubbornly-and naturally-refuses to accept defeat within these particular family circumstances, whereas the acceptance of oedipal defeat is tantamount to the acceptance of irrevocable personal worthlessness and unlovability.
It seems much clearer, then this former child, now neurotic or psychotic adult, requires from us for the successful resolution to his unresolved Oedipus complex: Not such a repression of desire, acted-out seductiveness, and denial of his own worth as he met in the relationship with his parent, but a maximal awareness on our part of the reciprocal feelings while we develop in response to his oedipal strivings. Our main job remains always, of course, to further the analysis of his transference, but what might be described seems to be the optimal feeling background in the analyst for such analytic work.
Formidably, when applied not to a moderate degree found in the background of the neurotic person but invested with all the weight of actual biological attributes, have much ado with the person's unconscious refusal to relinquish, in adolescence and young adulthood, his or her fantasied infantile omnipotence in exchange for a sexual identity of-in these-described terms-a 'man' or a 'woman'. It would be like having to accept only certain dispensations as well as salvageable sights, if ony to see the whole fabric ruined into the bargin. A person cannot deeply accept an adult sexual identity until he has been able to find that this identity can express all the feeling-potentialities of his comparatively boundless infancy. This implies that he has become able to blend, for example, his infantile-dependent needs into his more adult erotic strivings, than regard these as mutually exclusive in the way that the mother of the future patient or the persons infant frighteningly feels that her lust has been placed in her mothering. Another difficult facet of this situation resides in a patient's youngful conviction, based on his intrafamiliar experiences, which he can win parental love only if he can become or, perhaps, at an unconscious level remain-a girl; accepting her sexuality as a woman is equated with the abandonment of the hope of being loved.
Concerning the warped experiences their persons have and with the oedipal phase of development, calls to our attention of two features. First, the child whose parents are more narcissistic than truly object-related in faced with the basically hopeless challenge of trying to compete with the mother's own narcissistic love for herself, and with the father's similar love for himself, than being presented with a competitive challenge involving separate, flesh-and-blood human beings. Secondly, concerning warped oedipal experiences, in, as far as the parents succeeded in achieving object-relatedness, this has often become only weakly established as a genital level, so that it remains much more prominently at the mother-infant level of ego-development. Thus, the mother, for example, is much more able to love her infant son than her adult husband, and the oedipal competition between husband and son are in terms of who can better become, or remain, the infant whom the mother is capable of loving. When the infant becomes chronologically a young man, having learned that one wins a woman not through genial assertiveness but through regression, he is apt to shy away from entering into true adult geniality, and is tempted to settle for what amounts to 'regressive victory' in the oedipal struggle
We write much about the analyst’s or therapist’s being able to identify or empathize with the patient for helping in the resolution of the neurotic or psychotic difficulties. Such writings always portray a merely transitory identification, an empathic sensing of the patient’s conflicts, an identification that is of essentially communicative value only. However, it should be seen that we inevitably identify with the patient another fashion also, we identify with the healthy elements in him, in a way that entails enduing, constructive additions to our own personality. Patients-above all schizophrenic patients-need and welcome our acknowledgement, simply and undemonstratively, that they have contributed, and are contributing, in some such significant way, to our existence.
Increasing maturity involves increasing ability not merely to embrace change in the world around one, but to realize that one is oneself in a constant state of change. By contrast, the recovering, maturing patiently becomes less and less dependent upon any such sharply delineated, static self-image or even a constellation of such images, the answer to the question, “Who are you?” is almost as small, solid, and well defined as a stone, but is a larger, fluid, richly-laden, and sniffingly outlined as an ocean? As the individual becomes well, he comes to realize that, as Henri Bergson (1944) outs it, “reality is a perpetual growth, a creation pursued without end. . . . A perpetual becoming,” and to the extent that he can actively welcome change and let it become part of him, he comes to know that-again in Bergson’s phrase-“to exist is to change, to change is too mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.”
GRASPABLE THOUGHTS
UNTIMEOUS DIVINATION
The title presented, has a dramatic quality that does not rest exclusively on the theory of relativity or quantum mechanics. Perhaps, the most startling and potentially revolutionary of implications in human terms is a new perspective on the relationship between mind and the world that is utterly different from that sanctioned by classical physics. René Descartes, for reasons of which was among the first to realize that mind or consciousness in the mechanistic world-view of classical physics appeared to exist in a realm separate and distinct from nature. The prospect was that the realm of the mental is a self-contained and self-referential island universe with no real or necessary connection with the universe itself.
It also tends the belief . . . that all men dance to the tune of an invisible piper. Yet, this may not be so, as whenever a system is really complicated, indeterminacy comes in, not necessarily because of ‘h’, the Planck constant, but because to make a prediction so we must know many things that the stray consequences of studying them will disturb the status quo, due to which formidable comminations can never therefore answer-history is not and cannot be determined. The supposed causes may only produce the consequences we expect. This has rarely been more true of those whose thought and action in science and life became interrelated in a way no dramatist would dare to conceive, this itself has some extraordinary qualities if determinacy, which in physics is so reluctant to accept.
A presence awaiting to the future has framed its proposed new understanding of the relationship between mind and world within the larger context of the history of mathematical physics, the origin and extensions of the classical view of the fundamentals of scientific knowledge, and the various ways that physicists have attempted to prevent previous challenges to the efficacy of classical epistemology. There is no basis in contemporary physics or biology for believing in the stark Cartesian division between mind and world that some have moderately described as ‘the disease of the Western mind’. The dialectic orchestrations will serve as background for understanding a new relationship between parts and wholes in physics, with a similar view of that relationship that has emerged in the co-called ‘new biology’ and in recent studies of the evolution of a scientific understanding to a more conceptualized representation of ideas, and includes its allied ‘content’.
Descartes, the founder of modern philosophy quickly realized that there appears of nothing in viewing nature that shows possibilities of reconciliation between a full-fledged comparison, as between Plotinus and Whitehead view for which posits of itself outside the scope of concerns, in that the comparability is with the existent idea of ‘God’, especially. However, that ‘the primordial nature of God’, whom in which is eternal, a consequent of nature, which is in flux, as far as, this difference of thought remains but comprises no bearing on the relationship or either with the quantum theory, as it addresses the actual notion that authenticates the representation of actual entities as processes of self-creation.
Nonetheless, it seems a strong possibility that Plotonic and Whitehead connect upon the issue of the creation of the sensible world may by looking at actual entities as aspects of nature’s contemplation. The contemplation of nature is obviously an immensely intricate affair, involving a myriad of possibilities, therefore one can look at actual entities as, in some sense, the basic elements of a vast and expansive process.
We could derive a scientific understanding of these ideas with the aid of precise deduction, as Descartes continued his claim that we could lay the contours of physical reality out in three-dimensional co-ordinates. Following the publication of Isaac Newton’s “Principia Mathematica” in 1687, reductionism and mathematical modeling became the most powerful tools of modern science. The dream that we could know and master the entire physical world through the extension and refinement of mathematical theory became the central feature and principals of scientific knowledge.
The radical separation between mind and nature formalized by Descartes served over time to allow scientists to concentrate on developing mathematical descriptions of matter as pure mechanism without any concern about its spiritual dimensions or ontological foundations. Meanwhile, attempts to rationalize, reconcile or eliminate Descartes’s merging division between mind and matter became the most central feature of Western intellectual life.
Philosophers like John Locke, Thomas Hobbes, and David Hume tried to articulate some basis for linking the mathematical describable motions of matter with linguistic representations of external reality in the subjective space of mind. Descartes’ compatriot Jean-Jacques Rousseau reified nature as the ground of human consciousness in a state of innocence and proclaimed that “Liberty, Equality, Fraternities” are the guiding principles of this consciousness. Rousseau also fabricated the idea of the ‘general will’ of the people to achieve these goals and declared that those who do not conform to this will were social deviants.
The Enlightenment idea of ‘deism’, which imaged the universe as a clockwork and God as the clockmaker, provided grounds for believing in a divine agency, from which the time of moment the formidable creations also imply, in of which, the exhaustion of all the creative forces of the universe at origins ends, and that the physical substrates of mind were subject to the same natural laws as matter. In that the only means of mediating the gap between mind and matter was pure reason, causally by the traditional Judeo-Christian theism, which had previously been based on both reason and revelation, responded to the challenge of deism by debasing tradionality as a test of faith and embracing the idea that we can know the truths of spiritual reality only through divine revelation. This engendered a conflict between reason and revelation that persists to this day. And laid the foundation for the fierce completion between the mega-narratives of science and religion as frame tales for mediating the relation between mind and matter and the manner in which they should ultimately define the special character of each.
The nineteenth-century Romantics in Germany, England and the United States revived Rousseau’s attempt to posit a ground for human consciousness by reifying nature in a different form. Goethe and Friedrich Schelling proposed a natural philosophy premised on ontological Monism ( the idea that adhering manifestations that govern toward evolutionary principles have grounded inside an inseparable spiritual Oneness ) and argued God, man, and nature for the reconciliation of mind and matter with an appeal to sentiment, mystical awareness, and quasi-scientific attempts, as he afforded the efforts of mind and matter, nature became a mindful agency that ‘loves illusion’, as it shrouds man in mist, presses him or her heart and punishes those who fail to see the light. Schelling, in his version of cosmic unity, argued that scientific facts were at best partial truths and that the mindful creative spirit that unities mind and matter is progressively moving toward self-realization and ‘undivided wholeness’.
The British version of Romanticism, articulated by figures like William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, placed more emphasis on the primary of the imagination and the importance of rebellion and heroic vision as the grounds for freedom. As Wordsworth put it, communion with the “incommunicable powers” of the “immortal sea” empowers the mind to release itself from all the material constraints of the laws of nature. The founders of American transcendentalism, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Theoreau, articulated a version of Romanticism that commensurate with the ideals of American democracy.
The American envisioned a unified spiritual reality that manifested itself as a personal ethos that sanctioned radical individualism and bred aversion to the emergent materialism of the Jacksonian era. They were also more inclined than their European counterpart, as the examples of Thoreau and Whitman attest, to embrace scientific descriptions of nature. However, the Americans also dissolved the distinction between mind and natter with an appeal to ontological monism and alleged that mind could free itself from all the constraint of assuming that by some sorted limitation of matter, in which such states have of them, some mystical awareness.
Since scientists, during the nineteenth century were engrossed with uncovering the workings of external reality and seemingly knew of themselves that these virtually overflowing burdens of nothing, in that were about the physical substrates of human consciousness, the business of examining the distributive contribution in dynamic functionality and structural foundation of mind became the province of social scientists and humanists. Adolphe Quételet proposed a ‘social physics’ that could serve as the basis for a new discipline called sociology, and his contemporary Auguste Comte concluded that a true scientific understanding of the social reality was quite inevitable. Mind, in the view of these figures, was a separate and distinct mechanism subject to the lawful workings of a mechanical social reality.
More formal European philosophers, such as Immanuel Kant, sought to reconcile representations of external reality in mind with the motions of matter-based on the dictates of pure reason. This impulse was also apparent in the utilitarian ethics of Jerry Bentham and John Stuart Mill, in the historical materialism of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, and in the pragmatism of Charles Smith, William James and John Dewey. These thinkers were painfully aware, however, of the inability of reason to posit a self-consistent basis for bridging the gap between mind and matter, and each remains obliged to conclude that the realm of the mental exists only in the subjective reality of the individual.
The fatal flaw of pure reason is, of course, the absence of emotion, and purely explanations of the division between subjective reality and external reality, of which had limited appeal outside the community of intellectuals. The figure most responsible for infusing our understanding of the Cartesian dualism with contextual representation of our understanding with emotional content was the death of God theologian Friedrich Nietzsche 1844-1900. After declaring that God and ‘divine will’, did not exist, Nietzsche reified the ‘existence’ of consciousness in the domain of subjectivity as the ground for individual ‘will’ and summarily reducing all previous philosophical attempts to articulate the ‘will to truth’. The dilemma, forth in, had seemed to mean, by the validation, . . . as accredited for doing of science, in that the claim that Nietzsche’s earlier versions to the ‘will to truth’, disguises the fact that all alleged truths were arbitrarily created in the subjective reality of the individual and are expressed or manifesting the individualism of ‘will’.
In Nietzsche’s view, the separation between mind and matter is more absolute and total than previously been imagined. Based on the assumption that there is no really necessary correspondence between linguistic constructions of reality in human subjectivity and external reality, he deuced that we are all locked in ‘a prison house of language’. The prison as he concluded it, was also a ‘space’ where the philosopher can examine the ‘innermost desires of his nature’ and articulate a new message of individual existence founded on ‘will’.
Those who fail to enact their existence in this space, Nietzsche says, are enticed into sacrificing their individuality on the nonexistent altars of religious beliefs and democratic or socialists’ ideals and become, therefore, members of the anonymous and docile crowd. Nietzsche also invalidated the knowledge claims of science in the examination of human subjectivity. Science, he said. Is not exclusive to natural phenomenons and favors reductionistic examination of phenomena at the expense of mind? It also seeks to reduce the separateness and uniqueness of mind with mechanistic descriptions that disallow and basis for the free exercise of individual will.
Nietzsche’s emotionally charged defense of intellectual freedom and radial empowerment of mind as the maker and transformer of the collective fictions that shape human reality in a soulless mechanistic universe proved terribly influential on twentieth-century thought. Furthermore, Nietzsche sought to reinforce his view of the subjective character of scientific knowledge by appealing to an epistemological crisis over the foundations of logic and arithmetic that arose during the last three decades of the nineteenth century. Through a curious course of events, attempted by Edmund Husserl 1859-1938, a German mathematician and a principal founder of phenomenology, wherefor to resolve this crisis resulted in a view of the character of consciousness that closely resembled that of Nietzsche.
The best-known disciple of Husserl was Martin Heidegger, and the work of both figures greatly influenced that of the French atheistic existentialist Jean-Paul Sartre. The work of Husserl, Heidegger, and Sartre became foundational to that of the principal architects of philosophical postmodernism, and deconstructionist Jacques Lacan, Roland Barthes, Michel Foucault and Jacques Derrida. It obvious attribution of a direct linkage between the nineteenth-century crisis about the epistemological foundations of mathematical physics and the origin of philosophical postmodernism served to perpetuate the Cartesian two-world dilemma in an even more oppressive form. It also allows us better to understand the origins of cultural ambience and the ways in which they could resolve that conflict.
The mechanistic paradigm of the late n nineteenth century was the one Einstein came to know when he studied physics. Most physicists believed that it represented an eternal truth, but Einstein was open to fresh ideas. Inspired by Mach’s critical mind, he demolished the Newtonian ideas of space and time and replaced them with new, “relativistic” notions.
Two theories unveiled and unfolding as their phenomenal yield held by Albert Einstein, attributively appreciated that the special theory of relativity ( 1905 ) and, also the tangling and calculably arranging affordance, as drawn upon the gratifying nature whom by encouraging the finding resolutions upon which the realms of its secreted reservoir in continuous phenomenons, in additional the continuatives as afforded by the efforts by the imagination were made discretely available to any the unsurmountable achievements, as remain obtainably afforded through the excavations underlying the artifactual circumstances that govern all principle ‘forms’ or ‘types’ in the involving evolutionary principles of the general theory of relativity ( 1915 ). Where the special theory gives a unified account of the laws of mechanics and of electromagnetism, including optics. Before 1905 the purely relative nature of uniform motion had in part been recognized in mechanics, although Newton had considered time to be absolute and postulated absolute space. In electromagnetism the ether was supposed to give an absolute bases respect to which motion could be determined. The Galilean transformation equations represent the set of equations:
χʹ = χ ‒ vt
yʹ = y
zʹ = z
tʹ = tThey are used for transforming the parameters of position and motion from an observer at the point ‘O’ with co-ordinates ( z, y, z ) to an observer at Oʹ with co-ordinates ( χʹ, yʹ zʹ ). The axis is chosen to pass through O and Oʹ. The times of an event at ‘t’ and tʹ in the frames of reference of observers at O and Oʹ coincided. ‘V’ is the relative velocity of separation of O and Oʹ. The equation conforms to Newtonian mechanics as compared with Lorentz transformation equations, it represents a set of equations for transforming the position-motion parameters from an observer at a point O ( χ, y, z) to an observer at Oʹ
( χʹ, yʹ, zʹ ), moving compared with one another. The equation replaces the Galilean transformation equation of Newtonian mechanics in reactivity problems. If the x-axes are chosen to pass through Oʹ and the time of an event are t and tʹ in the frame of reference of the observers at O and Oʹ respectively, where the zeros of their time scales were the instants that O and Oʹ supported the equations are:
χʹ = β( χ ‒ vt )
yʹ = y
zʹ =z
tʹ = β( t ‒ vχ / c2 ),
Where ‘v’ is the relative velocity of separation of O, Oʹ, c is the speed of light, and β is the function
(1 ‒ v2 / c2 )-½.
Newton’s laws of motion in his “Principia,” Newton ( 1687 ) stated the three fundamental laws of motion, which are the basis of Newtonian mechanics.
The First Law of acknowledgement concerns that all bodies persevere in its state of rest, or uniform motion in a straight line, but in as far as it is compelled, to change that state by forces impressed on it. This may be regarded as a definition of force.
The Second Law to acknowledge is, that the rate of change of linear momentum is propositional to the force applied, and takes place in the straight line in which that force acts. This definition can be regarded as formulating a suitable way by which forces may be measured, that is, by the acceleration they produce,
F = d( mv ) / dt
i.e., F = ma = v( dm / dt ),
Where F = force, m = masses, v = velocity, t = time, and ‘a’ = acceleration, from which case, the proceeding majority of quality values were of non-relativistic cases of, dm / dt = 0, i.e., the mass remains constant, and then
F = ma.
The Third Law acknowledges, that forces are caused by the interaction of pairs of bodies. The forces exerted by ‘A’ upon ‘B’ and the force exerted by ‘B’ upon ‘A’ are simultaneous, equal in magnitude, opposite in direction and in the same straight line, caused by the same mechanism.
Appreciating the popular statement of this law in terms of significant “action and reaction” leads too much misunderstanding. In particular, any two forces that happen to be equal and opposite if they act on the same body, one force, arbitrarily called “reaction,” are supposed to be a consequence of the other and to happen subsequently, as two forces are supposed to oppose each other, causing equilibrium, certain forces such as forces exerted by support or propellants are conventionally called “reaction,” causing considerable confusion.
The third law may be illustrated by the following examples. He gravitational force exerted by a body on the earth is equal and opposite to the gravitational force exerted by the earth on the body. The intermolecular repulsive force exerted on the ground by a body resting on it, or hitting it, is equal and opposite to the intermolecular repulsive force exerted on the body by the ground. More general system of mechanics has been given by Einstein in his theory of relativity. This reduces to Newtonian mechanics when all velocities relative to the observer are small compared with those of light.
Einstein rejected the concept of absolute space and time, and made two postulates (i) he laws of nature are the same for all observers n uniform relative motion, and (ii) The speed of light in the same for all such observers, independently of the relative motions of sources and detectors. He showed that these postulates were equivalent to the requirement that co-ordinates of space and time used by different observers should be related by Lorentz transformation equations. The theory has several important consequences.
The transformation of time implies that two events that are simultaneous according to one observer will not necessarily be so according to another in uniform relative motion. This does not affect the construct of its sequence of related events so does not violate any conceptual causation. It will appear to two observers in uniform relative motion that each other’s clock runs slowly. This is the phenomenon of ‘time dilation’, for example, an observer moving with respect to a radioactive source finds a longer decay time than found by an observer at rest with respect to it, according to:
Tv = T0 / ( 1 ‒ v2 / c2 ) ½
Where Tv is the mean life measurement by an observer at relative speed ‘v’, and T0 is the mean life maturement by an observer at rest, and ‘c’ is the speed of light.
This formula has been verified in innumerable experiments. One consequence is that no body can be accelerated from a speed below ‘c’ with respect to any observer to one above ‘c’, since this would require infinite energy. Einstein educed that the transfer of energy δE by any process entailed the transfer of mass δm where δE = δmc2, hence he concluded that the total energy ‘E’ of any system of mass ‘m’ would be given by:
E = mc2
The principle of conservation of mass states that in any system is constant. Although conservation of mass was verified in many experiments, the evidence for this was limited. In contrast the great success of theories assuming the conservation of energy established this principle, and Einstein assumed it as an axiom in his theory of relativity. According to this theory the transfer of energy ‘E’ by any process entails the transfer of mass m = E/c2./ hence the conservation of energy ensures the conservation of mass.
In Einstein’s theory inertial and gravitational masses are assumed to be identical and energy is the total energy of a system. Some confusion often arises because of idiosyncratic terminologies in which the words mass and energies are given different meanings. For example, some particle physicists use “mass” to mean the rest-energy of a particle and “energy” to mean ‘energy other than rest-energy’. This leads to alternate statements of the principle, in which terminology is not generally consistent. Whereas, the law of equivalence of mass and energy such that mass ‘m’ and energy ‘E’ are related by the equation E = mc2, where ‘c’ is the speed of light in a vacuum. Thus, a quantity of energy ‘E’ has a mass ‘m’ and a mass ‘m’ has intrinsic energy ‘E’. The kinetic energy of a particle as determined by an observer with relative speed ‘v’ is thus ( m ‒ m0 )c2, which tends to the classical value ½mv2 if ≪ C.
Attempts to express quantum theory in terms consistent with the requirements of relativity were begun by Sommerfeld ( 1915 ), eventually. Dirac ( 1928 ) gave a relativistic formulation of the wave mechanics of conserved particles ( fermions ). This explained the concept of spin and the associated magnetic moment, which had been postulated to account for certain details of spectra. The theory led to results of extremely great importance for the theory of standard or elementary particles. The Klein-Gordon equation is the relativistic wave equation for ‘bosons’. It is applicable to bosons of zero spin, such as the ‘pion’. In which case, for example the Klein-Gordon Lagrangian describes a single spin-0, scalar field:
L = ½[∂t∂t‒ ∂y∂y‒ ∂z∂z] ‒ ½(2πmc / h)22
In this case:
∂L/∂(∂) = ∂μ
leading to the equation:
∂L/∂ = (2πmc/h)22+
and hence the Lagrange equation requires that:
∂μ∂μ + (2πmc / h)2 2 = 0.
Which is the Klein-Gordon equation describing the evolution in space and time of field ‘’? Individual ‘’ excitation of the normal modes of represents particles of spin -0, and mass ‘m’.
A mathematical formulation of the special theory of relativity was given by Minkowski. It is based on the idea that an event is specified by there being a four-dimensional co-ordinates, three of which are spatial co-ordinates and one in a dimensional frame in a time co-ordinates. These continuously of dimensional co-ordinate give to define a four-dimensional space and the motion of a particle can be described by a curve in this space, which is called “Minkowski space-time.” In certain formulations of the theory, use is made of a four-dimensional do-ordinate system in which three dimensions represent the spatial co-ordinates χ, y, z and the fourth dimension are ‘ict’, where ‘t’ is time, ‘c’ is the speed of light and ‘I’ is √-1, points in this space are called events. The equivalent to the distance between two points is the interval ( δs ) between two events given by Pythagoras law in a space-time as:
δs )2 = ij ηij δ χi χj.
Where'
χ = χ1, y = χ2, z = χ3 . . . , t = χ4 and η11 ( χ ) η33 ( χ ) = 1? η44 ( χ ) = 1:
is compounded by the Minkowski metric tensor. The distances between two points are variant under the ‘Lorentz transformation’, because the measurements of the positions of the points that are simultaneous according to one observer in uniform motion with respect to the first. By contrast, the interval between two events is invariant.
The equivalents to a vector in the four-dimensional space are consumed by a ‘four vector’, in which has three space components and one of time component. For example, the four-vector momentum has a time component proportional to the energy of a particle, the four-vector potential has the space co-ordinates of the magnetic vector potential, while the time co-ordinates corresponds to the electric potential.
The special theory of relativity is concerned with relative motion between non-accelerated frames of reference. The general theory reals with general relative motion between accelerated frames of reference. In accelerated systems of reference, certain fictitious forces are observed, such as the centrifugal and Coriolis forces found in rotating systems. These are known as fictitious forces because they disappear when the observer transforms to a nonaccelerated system. For example, to an observer in a car rounding a bend at constant velocity, objects in the car appear to suffer a force acting outward. To an observer outside the car, this is simply their tendency to continue moving in a straight line. The inertia of the objects is seen to cause a fictitious force and the observer can distinguish between non-inertial ( accelerated ) and inertial
(Nonaccelerated) frames of reference.
A further point is that, to the observer in the car, all the objects are given the same acceleration irrespective of their mass. This implies a connection between the fictitious forces arising from accelerated systems and forces due to gravity, where the acceleration produced is independent of the mass. Near the surface of the earth the acceleration of free fall, ‘g’, is measured with respect to a nearby point on the surface. Because of the axial rotation the reference point is accelerated to the centre of the circle of its latitude, hence ‘g’ is not quite in magnitude or direction to the acceleration toward the centre of the earth given by the theory of ‘gravitation’ in 1687 Newton presented his law of universal gravitation, according to which every particle evokes every other particle with the force, ‘F’ given by:
F = Gm1 m2 / χ2,
Where m1, m2 is the masses of two particles a distance ‘χ’ apart, and ‘G’ is the gravitational constant, which, according to modern measurements, has a value
6.672 59 x 10-11 m3 kg -1 s -2.
For extended bodies the forces are found by integrations. Newton showed that the external effect of a spherical symmetric body is the same as if the whole mass were concentrated at the centre. Astronomical bodies are roughly spherically symmetrical so can be treated as point particles to a very good approximation. On this assumption Newton showed that his law was consistent with Kepler’s Laws. Until recently, all experiments have confirmed the accuracy of the inverse square law and the independence of the law upon the nature of the substances, but in the past few years evidence has been found against both.
The size of a gravitational field at any point is given by the force exerted on unit mass at that point. The field intensity at a distance ‘χ’ from a point mass ‘m’ is therefore Gm/χ2, and acts toward ‘m’ Gravitational field strength is measured in the newton per kilogram. The gravitational potential ‘V’ at that point is the work done in moving a unit mass from infinity to the point against the field, due to a point mass. Importantly, ( a ) Potential at a point distance ‘χ’ from the centre of a hollow homogeneous spherical shell of mass ‘m’ and outside the shell:
V = ‒ Gm/χ
The potential is the same as if the mass of the shell is assumed concentrated at the centre, ( b ) At any point inside the spherical shell the potential is equal to its value at the surface:
V = ‒ Gm/r
Where ‘r’ is the radius of the shell, thus there is no resultant force acting at any point inside the shell and since no potential difference acts between any two points. ( c ) potential at a point distance ‘χ’ from the centre of a homogeneous solid sphere and outside the sphere is the same as that for a shell;
V = ‒ Gm/χ
(d) At a point inside the sphere, of radius ‘r’:
V = ‒ Gm( 3r2 ‒ χ2 ) /2r3
The essential property of gravitation is that it causes a change vin motion, in particular the acceleration of free fall ( g ) in the earth’s gravitational field. According to the general theory of relativity, gravitational fields change the geometry of spacetime, causing it to become curved. It is this curvature of spacetime, produced by the presence of matter, that controls the natural motions of matter, that controls the natural motions of bodies. General relativity may thus be considered as a theory of gravitation, differences between it and Newtonian gravitation only appearing when the gravitational fields become very strong, as with ‘black holes’ and ‘neutron stars’, or when very accurate measurements can be made.
Accelerated systems and forces due to gravity, where the acceleration produced are independent of the mass, for example, a person in a sealed container could not easily determine whether he was being driven toward the floor by gravity or if the container were in space and being accelerated upward by a rocket. Observations extended in space and time could distinguish between these alternates, but otherwise they are indistinguishable. His leads to the ‘principle of equivalence’, from which it follows that the inertial mass is the same as the gravitational mass. A further principle used in the general theory is that the laws of mechanics are the same in inertial and non-inertial frames of reference.
Still, the equivalence between a gravitational field and the fictitious forces in non-inertial systems can be expressed by using Riemannian space-time, which differs from Minkowski Space-time of the special theory. In special relativity the motion of a particle that is not acted on by any force is represented by a straight line in Minkowski Space-time. In general relativity, using Riemannian Space-time, the motion is represented by a line that is no longer straight, in the Euclidean sense but is the line giving the shortest distance. Such a line is called geodesic. Thus, a space-time is said to be curved. The extent of this curvature is given by the ‘metric tensor’ for space-time, the components of which are solutions to Einstein’s ‘field equations’. The fact that gravitational effects occur near masses is introduced by the postulate that the presence of matter produces this curvature of the space-time. This curvature of space-time controls the natural motions of bodies.
The predictions of general relativity only differ from Newton’s theory by small amounts and most tests of the theory have been carried out through observations in astronomy. For example, it explains the shift in the perihelion of Mercury, the bending of light or other electromagnetic radiations in the presence of large bodies, and the Einstein Shift. Very close agreements between the predications of general relativity and their accurately measured values have now been obtained.
Restoratively, assumptions upon which Einstein’s special theory of relativity (1905) stretches toward its central position are (i) inertial frameworks are equivalent for the description of all physical phenomena, and (ii) the speed of light in empty space is constant for every observer, regardless of the motion of the observer or the light source, although the second assumption may seem plausible in the light of the Michelson-Morley experiment of 1887, which failed to find any difference in the speed of light in the direction of the earth’s rotation or when measured perpendicular ti it, it seems likely that Einstein was not influenced by the experiment, and may not even have known the results. As a consequence of the second postulate, no matter how fast she travels, an observer can never overtake a ray of light, and see it as stationary beside her. However, near her speed approaches to that of light, light still retreats at its classical speed. The consequences are that space, time and mass turn relative to the observer. Measurements composed of quantities in an inertial system moving relative to one’s own reveal slow clocks, with the effect increasing as the relative speed of the systems approaches the speed of light. Events deemed simultaneously as measured within one such system will not be simultaneous as measured from the other, forthrightly time and space thus lose their separate identity, and become parts of a single space-time. The special theory also has the famous consequence ( E = mc2 ) of the equivalences of energy and mass.
Einstein’s general theory of relativity ( 1916 ) treats of non-inertial systems, i.e., those accelerating relative to each pother. The leading idea is that the laws of motion in an accelerating frame are equivalent to those in a gravitational field. The theory treats gravity not as a Newtonian force acting in an unknown way across distance, but a metrical property of a space-time continuum that is curved in the vicinity of matter. Gravity can be thought of as a field described by the metric tensor at every point. The classic analogy is with a rock sitting on a bed. If a heavy objects where to be thrown across the bed, it is deflected toward the rock not by a mysterious force, but by the deformation of the space, i.e., the depression of the sheet around the object, a called curvilinear trajectory. Interestingly, the general theory lends some credit to a vision of the Newtonian absolute theory of space, in the sense that space itself is regarded as a thing with metrical properties of it’s. The search for a unified field theory is the attempt to show that just as gravity is explicable as a consequence of the nature of a space-time, are the other fundamental physical forces: The strong and weak nuclear forces, and the electromagnetic force. The theory of relativity is the most radical challenge to the ‘common sense’ view of space and time as fundamentally distinct from each other, with time as an absolute linear flow in which events are fixed in objective relationships.
After adaptive changes in the brains and bodies of hominids made it possible for modern humans to construct a symbolic universe using complex language system, something as quite dramatic and wholly unprecedented occurred. We began to perceive the world through the lenses of symbolic categories, to construct similarities and differences in terms of categorical priorities, and to organize our lives according to themes and narratives. Living in this new symbolic universe, modern humans had a large compulsion to code and recode experiences, to translate everything into representation, and to seek out the deeper hidden and underlying logic that eliminates inconsistencies and ambiguities.
The mega-narrative or frame tale served to legitimate and rationalize the categorical oppositions and terms of relations between the myriad number of constructs in the symbolic universe of modern humans were religion. The use of religious thought for these purposes is quite apparent in the artifacts found in the fossil remains of people living in France and Spain forty thousand years ago. And these artifacts provided the first concrete evidence that a fully developed language system had given birth to an intricate and complex social order.
Both religious and scientific thought seeks to frame or construct reality in terms of origins, primary oppositions, and underlying causes, and this partially explains why fundamental assumptions in the Western metaphysical tradition were eventually incorporated into a view of reality that would later be called scientific. The history of scientific thought reveals that the dialogue between assumptions about the character of spiritual reality in ordinary language and the character of physical reality in mathematical language was intimate and ongoing from the early Greek philosophers to the first scientific revolution in the seventeenth century. But this dialogue did not conclude, as many have argued, with the emergence of positivism in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. It was perpetuated in a disguise form in the hidden ontology of classical epistemology -the central issue in the Bohr-Einstein debate.
The assumption that a one-to-one correspondence exists between every element of physical reality and physical theory may serve to bridge the gap between mind and world for those who use physical theories. But it also suggests that the Cartesian division be real and insurmountable in constructions of physical reality based on ordinary language. This explains in no small part why the radical separation between mind and world sanctioned by classical physics and formalized by Descartes ( 1596-1650 ) remains, as philosophical postmodernism attests, one of the most pervasive features of Western intellectual life.
Nietzsche, in an effort to subvert the epistemological authority of scientific knowledge, sought of a legitimate division between mind and world much starker than that originally envisioned by Descartes. What is not widely known, however, is that Nietzsche and other seminal figures in the history of philosophical postmodernism were very much aware of an epistemological crisis in scientific thought than arose much earlier, that occasioned by wave-particle dualism in quantum physics. This crisis resulted from attempts during the last three decades of the nineteenth century to develop a logically self-consistent definition of number and arithmetic that would serve to reinforce the classical view of correspondence between mathematical theory and physical reality. As it turned out, these efforts resulted in paradoxes of recursion and self-reference that threatened to undermine both the efficacy of this correspondence and the privileged character of scientific knowledge.
Nietzsche appealed to this crisis in an effort to reinforce his assumption that, without ontology, all knowledge ( including scientific knowledge ) was grounded only in human consciousness. As the crisis continued, a philosopher trained in higher mathematics and physics, Edmund Husserl 1859-1938, attempted to preserve the classical view of correspondences between mathematical theory and physical reality by deriving the foundation of logic and number from consciousness in ways that would preserve self-consistency and rigour. This afforded effort to ground mathematical physics in human consciousness, or in human subjective reality, was no trivial matter, representing a direct link between these early challenges and the efficacy of classical epistemology and the tradition in philosophical thought that culminated in philosophical postmodernism.
Since Husserl’s epistemology, like that of Descartes and Nietzsche, was grounded in human subjectivity, a better understanding of his attempt to preserve the classical view of correspondence not only reveals more about the legacy of Cartesian dualism. It also suggests that the hidden and underlying ontology of classical epistemology was more responsible for the deep division and conflict between the two cultures of humanists-social scientists and scientists-engineers than was previously thought. The central question in this late-nineteenth-century debate over the status of the mathematical description of nature was the following: Is the foundation of number and logic grounded in classical epistemology, or must we assume, in the absence of any ontology, that the rules of number and logic are grounded only in human consciousness? In order to frame this question in the proper context, we should first examine in more detail the intimate and ongoing dialogue between physics and metaphysics in Western thought.
The history of science reveals that scientific knowledge and method did not emerge as full-blown from the minds of the ancient Greek any more than language and culture emerged fully formed in the minds of “Homo sapient’s sapient. ” Scientific knowledge is an extension of ordinary language into grater levels of abstraction and precision through reliance upon geometric and numerical relationships. We speculate that the seeds of the scientific imagination were planted in ancient Greece, as opposed to Chinese or Babylonian culture, partly because the social, political and an economic climate in Greece was more open to the pursuit of knowledge with marginal cultural utility. Another important factor was that the special character of Homeric religion allowed the Greeks to invent a conceptual framework that would prove useful in future scientific investigation. But it was only after this inheritance from Greek philosophy was wedded to some essential features of Judeo-Christian beliefs about the origin of the cosmos that the paradigm for classical physics emerged.
The philosophical debate that led to conclusions useful to the architects of classical physics can be briefly summarized, such when Thale’s fellow Milesian Anaximander claimed that the first substance, although indeterminate, manifested itself in a conflict of oppositions between hot and cold, moist and dry. The idea of nature as a self-regulating balance of forces was subsequently elaborated upon by Heraclitus ( d. after 480 BC ), who asserted that the fundamental substance is strife between opposites, which is itself the unity of the whole. It is, said Heraclitus, the tension between opposites that keeps the whole from simply “passing away.”
Parmenides of Elea ( b. c. 515 BC ) argued in turn that the unifying substance is unique and static being. This led to a conclusion about the relationship between ordinary language and external reality that was later incorporated into the view of the relationship between mathematical language and physical reality. Since thinking or naming involves the presence of something, said Parmenides, thought and language must be dependent upon the existence of objects outside the human intellect. Presuming a one-to-one correspondence between word and idea and actual existing things, Parmenides concluded that our ability to think or speak of a thing at various times implies that it exists at all times. Hence the indivisible One does not change, and all perceived change is an illusion.
These assumptions emerged in roughly the form in which they would be used by the creators of classical physics in the thought of the atomists. Leucippus : l. 450-420 BC and Democritus ( c. 460-c. 370 BC ). They reconciled the two dominant and seemingly antithetical concepts of the fundamental character of being-Becoming ( Heraclitus ) and unchanging Being ( Parmenides )-in a remarkable simple and direct way. Being, they said, is present in the invariable substance of the atoms that, through blending and separation, make up the thing of changing or becoming worlds.
The last remaining feature of what would become the paradigm for the first scientific revolution in the seventeenth century is attributed to Pythagoras ( b c. 570 BC ). Like Parmenides, Pythagoras also held that the perceived world is illusory and that there is an exact correspondence between ideas and aspects of external reality. Pythagoras, however, had a different conception of the character of the idea that showed this correspondence. The truth about the fundamental character of the unified and unifying substance, which could be uncovered through reason and contemplation, is, he claimed, mathematical in form.
Pythagoras established and was the cental figure in a school of philosophy, religion and mathematics; He was apparently viewed by his followers as semi-divine. For his followers the regular solids ( symmetrical three-dimensional forms in which all sides are the same regular polygons ) and whole numbers became revered essences of sacred ideas. In contrast with ordinary language, the language of mathematics and geometric forms seemed closed, precise and pure. Providing one understood the axioms and notations, and the meaning conveyed was invariant from one mind to another. The Pythagoreans felt that the language empowered the mind to leap beyond the confusion of sense experience into the realm of immutable and eternal essences. This mystical insight made Pythagoras the figure from antiquity most revered by the creators of classical physics, and it continues to have great appeal for contemporary physicists as they struggle with the epistemological implications of the quantum mechanical description of nature.
Yet, least of mention, progress was made in mathematics, and to a lesser extent in physics, from the time of classical Greek philosophy to the seventeenth century in Europe. In Baghdad, for example, from about A.D. 750 to A.D. 1000, substantial advancement was made in medicine and chemistry, and the relics of Greek science were translated into Arabic, digested, and preserved. Eventually these relics reentered Europe via the Arabic kingdom of Spain and Sicily, and the work of figures like Aristotle universities of France, Italy, and England during the Middle Ages.
For much of this period the Church provided the institutions, like the reaching orders, needed for the rehabilitation of philosophy. But the social, political and an intellectual climate in Europe was not ripe for a revolution in scientific thought until the seventeenth century. Until later in time, lest as far into the nineteenth century, the works of the new class of intellectuals we called scientists, whom of which were more avocations than vocation, and the word scientist do not appear in English until around 1840.
Copernicus (1473-1543 ) would have been described by his contemporaries as an administrator, a diplomat, an avid student of economics and classical literature, and most notable, a highly honoured and placed church dignitaries. Although we named a revolution after him, his devoutly conservative man did not set out to create one. The placement of the Sun at the centre of the universe, which seemed right and necessary to Copernicus, was not a result of making careful astronomical observations. In fact, he made very few observations in the course of developing his theory, and then only to ascertain if his prior conclusions seemed correct. The Copernican system was also not any more useful in making astrological calculations than the accepted model and was, in some ways, much more difficult to implement. What, then, was his motivation for creating the model and his reasons for presuming that the model was correct?
Copernicus felt that the placement of the Sun at the centre of the universe made sense because he viewed the Sun as the symbol of the presence of a supremely intelligent and intelligible God in a man-centred world. He was apparently led to this conclusion in part because the Pythagoreans believed that fire exists at the centre of the cosmos, and Copernicus identified this fire with the fireball of the Sun. the only support that Copernicus could offer for the greater efficacy of his model was that it represented a simpler and more mathematical harmonious model of the sort that the Creator would obviously prefer. The language used by Copernicus in “The Revolution of Heavenly Orbs,” illustrates the religious dimension of his scientific thought: “In the midst of all the sun reposes, unmoving. Who, indeed, in this most beautiful temple would place the light-giver in any other part than from where it can illumine all other parts?”
The belief that the mind of God as Divine Architect permeates the working of nature was the guiding principle of the scientific thought of Johannes Kepler ( or Keppler, 1571-1630 ). For this reason, most modern physicists would probably feel some discomfort in reading Kepler’s original manuscripts. Physics and metaphysics, astronomy and astrology, geometry and theology commingle with an intensity that might offend those who practice science in the modern sense of that word. Physical laws, wrote Kepler, “lie within the power of understanding of the human mind; God wanted us to perceive them when he created us of His own image, in order . . . that we may take part in His own thoughts. Our knowledge of numbers and quantities is the same as that of God’s, at least insofar as we can understand something of it in this mortal life.”
Believing, like Newton after him, in the literal truth of the words of the Bible, Kepler concluded that the word of God is also transcribed in the immediacy of observable nature. Kepler’s discovery that the motions of the planets around the Sun were elliptical, as opposed perfecting circles, may have made the universe seem a less perfect creation of God on ordinary language. For Kepler, however, the new model placed the Sun, which he also viewed as the emblem of a divine agency, more at the centre of mathematically harmonious universes than the Copernican system allowed. Communing with the perfect mind of God requires as Kepler put it “knowledge of numbers and quantity.”
Since Galileo did not use, or even refer to, the planetary laws of Kepler when those laws would have made his defence of the heliocentric universe more credible, his attachment to the god-like circle was probably a more deeply rooted aesthetic and religious ideal. But it was Galileo, even more than Newton, who was responsible for formulating the scientific idealism that quantum mechanics now force us to abandon. In “Dialogue Concerning the Two Great Systems of the World,” Galileo said about the following about the followers of Pythagoras: “I know perfectly well that the Pythagoreans had the highest esteem for the science of number and that Plato himself admired the human intellect and believed that it participates in divinity solely because it is able to understand the nature of numbers. And I myself am inclined to make the same judgement.”
This article of faith-mathematical and geometrical ideas mirror precisely the essences of physical reality was the basis for the first scientific law of this new science, a constant describing the acceleration of bodies in free fall, could not be confirmed by experiment. The experiments conducted by Galileo in which balls of different sizes and weights were rolled simultaneously down an inclined plane did not, as he frankly admitted, their precise results. And since a vacuum pumps had not yet been invented, there was simply no way that Galileo could subject his law to rigorous experimental proof in the seventeenth century. Galileo believed in the absolute validity of this law in the absence of experimental proof because he also believed that movement could be subjected absolutely to the law of number. What Galileo asserted, as the French historian of science Alexander Koyré put it, was “that the real are in its essence, geometrical and, consequently, subject to rigorous determination and measurement.”
The popular image of Isaac Newton ( 1642-1727 ) is that of a supremely rational and dispassionate empirical thinker. Newton, like Einstein, had the ability to concentrate unswervingly on complex theoretical problems until they yielded a solution. But what most consumed his restless intellect were not the laws of physics. In addition to believing, like Galileo that the essences of physical reality could be read in the language of mathematics, Newton also believed, with perhaps even greater intensity than Kepler, in the literal truths of the Bible.
For Newton the mathematical languages of physics and the language of biblical literature were equally valid sources of communion with the eternal writings in the extant documents alone consist of more than a million words in his own hand, and some of his speculations seem quite bizarre by contemporary standards. The Earth, said Newton, will still be inhabited after the day of judgement, and heaven, or the New Jerusalem, must be large enough to accommodate both the quick and the dead. Newton then put his mathematical genius to work and determined the dimensions required to house the population, his rather precise estimate was “the cube root of 12,000 furlongs.”
The pint is, that during the first scientific revolution the marriage between mathematical idea and physical reality, or between mind and nature via mathematical theory, was viewed as a sacred union. In our more secular age, the correspondence takes on the appearance of an unexamined article of faith or, to borrow a phrase from William James ( 1842-1910 ), “an altar to an unknown god.” Heinrich Hertz, the famous nineteenth-century German physicist, nicely described what there is about the practice of physics that tends to inculcate this belief: “One cannot escape the feeling that these mathematical formulae have an independent existence and intelligence of their own that they are wiser than we, wiser than their discoveries. That we get more out of them than was originally put into them.”
While Hertz made this statement without having to contend with the implications of quantum mechanics, the feeling, the described remains the most enticing and exciting aspects of physics. That elegant mathematical formulae provide a framework for understanding the origins and transformations of a cosmos of enormous age and dimensions are a staggering discovery for bidding physicists. Professors of physics do not, of course, tell their students that the study of physical laws in an act of communion with thee perfect mind of God or that these laws have an independent existence outside the minds that discover them. The business of becoming a physicist typically begins, however, with the study of classical or Newtonian dynamics, and this training provides considerable covert reinforcement of the feeling that Hertz described.
Perhaps, the best way to examine the legacy of the dialogue between science and religion in the debate over the implications of quantum non-locality is to examine the source of Einstein’s objections tp quantum epistemology in more personal terms. Einstein apparently lost faith in the God portrayed in biblical literature in early adolescence. But, as appropriated, . . . the “Autobiographical Notes” give to suggest that there were aspects that carry over into his understanding of the foundation for scientific knowledge, . . . “Thus I came -despite the fact that I was the son of an entirely irreligious [ Jewish ] Breeden heritage, which is deeply held of its religiosity, which, however, found an abrupt end at the age of 12. Though the reading of popular scientific books I soon reached the conviction that much in the stories of the Bible could not be true. The consequence waw a positively frantic [ orgy ] of freethinking coupled with the impression that youth is intentionally being deceived by the stat through lies that it was a crushing impression. Suspicion against every kind of authority grew out of this experience. . . . It was clear to me that the religious paradise of youth, which was thus lost, was a first attempt ti free myself from the chains of the ‘merely personal’. . . . The mental grasp of this extra-personal world within the frame of the given possibilities swam as highest aim half consciously and half unconsciously before the mind’s eye.”
What is more, was, suggested Einstein, belief in the word of God as it is revealed in biblical literature that allowed him to dwell in a ‘religious paradise of youth’ and to shield himself from the harsh realities of social and political life. In an effort to recover that inner sense of security that was lost after exposure to scientific knowledge, or to become free once again of the ‘merely personal’, he committed himself to understanding the ‘extra-personal world within the frame of given possibilities’, or as seems obvious, to the study of physics. Although the existence of God as described in the Bible may have been in doubt, the qualities of mind that the architects of classical physics associated with this God were not. This is clear in the comments from which Einstein uses of mathematics, . . . “Nature is the realization of the simplest conceivable mathematical ideas. I am convinced that we can discover, by means of purely mathematical construction, those concepts and those lawful connections between them that furnish the key to the understanding of natural phenomena. Experience remains, of course, the sole criteria of physical utility of a mathematical construction. But the creative principle resides in mathematics. In a certain sense, therefore, I hold it true that pure thought can grasp reality, as the ancients dreamed.”
This article of faith, first articulated by Kepler, that ‘nature is the realization of the simplest conceivable mathematical ideas’ allowed for Einstein to posit the first major law of modern physics much as it allows Galileo to posit the first major law of classical physics. During which time, when the special and then the general theories of relativity had not been confirmed by experiment and many established physicists viewed them as at least minor heresies, Einstein remained entirely confident of their predictions. Ilse Rosenthal-Schneider, who visited Einstein shortly after Eddington’s eclipse expedition confirmed a prediction of the general theory ( 1919 ), described Einstein’s response to this news: When I was giving expression to my joy that the results coincided with his calculations, he said quite unmoved, “But I knew the theory was correct,” and when I asked, what if there had been no confirmation of his prediction, he countered: “Then I would have been sorry for the dear Lord -the theory is correct.”
Einstein was not given to making sarcastic or sardonic comments, particularly on matters of religion. These unguarded responses testify to his profound conviction that the language of mathematics allows the human mind access to immaterial and immutable truths existing outside of the mind that conceived them. Although Einstein’s belief was far more secular than Galileo’s, it retained the same essential ingredients.
What continued in the twenty-three-year-long debate between Einstein and Bohr, least of mention? The primary article drawing upon its faith that contends with those opposing to the merits or limits of a physical theory, at the heart of this debate was the fundamental question, “What is the relationship between the mathematical forms in the human mind called physical theory and physical reality?” Einstein did not believe in a God who spoke in tongues of flame from the mountaintop in ordinary language, and he could not sustain belief in the anthropomorphic God of the West. There is also no suggestion that he embraced ontological monism, or the conception of Being featured in Eastern religious systems, like Taoism, Hinduism, and Buddhism. The closest that Einstein apparently came to affirming the existence of the ‘extra-personal’ in the universe was a ‘cosmic religious feeling’, which he closely associated with the classical view of scientific epistemology.
The doctrine that Einstein fought to preserve seemed the natural inheritance of physics until the advent of quantum mechanics. Although the mind that constructs reality might be evolving fictions that are not necessarily true or necessary in social and political life, there was, Einstein felt, a way of knowing, purged of deceptions and lies. He was convinced that knowledge of physical reality in physical theory mirrors the preexistent and immutable realm of physical laws. And as Einstein consistently made clear, this knowledge mitigates loneliness and inculcates a sense of order and reason in a cosmos that might appear otherwise bereft of meaning and purpose.
What most disturbed Einstein about quantum mechanics was the fact that this physical theory might not, in experiment or even in principle, mirrors precisely the structure of physical reality. There is, for all the reasons we seem attested of, in that an inherent uncertainty in measurement made, . . . a quantum mechanical process reflects of a pursuit that quantum theory in itself and its contributive dynamic functionalities that there lay the attribution of a completeness of a quantum mechanical theory. Einstein’s fearing that it would force us to recognize that this inherent uncertainty applied to all of physics, and, therefore, the ontological bridge between mathematical theory and physical reality -does not exist. And this would mean, as Bohr was among the first to realize, that we must profoundly revive the epistemological foundations of modern science.
The world view of classical physics allowed the physicist to assume that communion with the essences of physical reality via mathematical laws and associated theories was possible, but it made no other provisions for the knowing mind. In our new situation, the status of the knowing mind seems quite different. Modern physics distributively contributed its view toward the universe as an unbroken, undissectable and undivided dynamic whole. “There can hardly be a sharper contrast,” said Melic Capek, “than that between the everlasting atoms of classical physics and the vanishing ‘particles’ of modern physics as Stapp put it: “Each atom turns out to be nothing but the potentialities in the behaviour pattern of others. What we find, therefore, are not elementary space-time realities, but rather a web of relationships in which no part can stand alone, every part derives its meaning and existence only from its place within the whole”’
The characteristics of particles and quanta are not isolatable, given particle-wave dualism and the incessant exchange of quanta within matter-energy fields. Matter cannot be dissected from the omnipresent sea of energy, nor can we in theory or in fact observe matter from the outside. As Heisenberg put it decades ago, ”the cosmos appears to be a complicated tissue of events, in which connection of different kinds alternate or overlay or combine and thereby determine the texture of the whole. This means that a pure reductionist approach to understanding physical reality, which was the goal of classical physics, is no longer appropriate.
While the formalism of quantum physics predicts that correlations between particles over space-like separated regions are possible, it can say nothing about what this strange new relationship between parts ( quanta ) and whole ( cosmos ) was by means an outside formalism. This does not, however, prevent us from considering the implications in philosophical terms, as the philosopher of science Errol Harris noted in thinking about the special character of wholeness in modern physics, a unity without internal content is a blank or empty set and is not recognizable as a whole. A collection of merely externally related parts does not constitute a whole in that the parts will not be “mutually adaptive and complementary to one and another.”
Wholeness requires a complementary relationship between unity and differences and is governed by a principle of organization determining the interrelationship between parts. This organizing principle must be universal to a genuine whole and implicit in all parts that constitute the whole, even though the whole is exemplified only in its parts. This principle of order, Harris continued, “is nothing really in and of itself. It is the way parts are organized and not another constituent addition to those that constitute the totality.”
In a genuine whole, the relationship between the constituent parts must be ‘internal or immanent’ in the parts, as opposed to a mere spurious whole in which parts appear to disclose wholeness due to relationships that are external to the parts. The collection of parts that would allegedly constitute the whole in classical physics is an example of a spurious whole. Parts constitute a genuine whole when the universal principle of order is inside the parts and thereby adjusts each to all that they interlock and become mutually complementary. This not only describes the character of the whole revealed in both relativity theory and quantum mechanics. It is also consistent with the manner in which we have begun to understand the relation between parts and whole in modern biology.
Modern physics also reveals, claims Harris, a complementary relationship between the differences between parts that constituted contentual representations that the universal ordering principle that is immanent in each of the parts. While the whole cannot be finally disclosed in the analysis of the parts, the study of the differences between parts provides insights into the dynamic structure of the whole present in each of the parts. The part can never, nonetheless, be finally isolated from the web of relationships that disclose the interconnections with the whole, and any attempt to do so results in ambiguity.
Much of the ambiguity in attempted to explain the character of wholes in both physics and biology derives from the assumption that order exists between or outside parts. But order in complementary relationships between differences and sameness in any physical event is never external to that event -the connections are immanent in the event. From this perspective, the addition of non-locality to this picture of the dynamic whole is not surprising. The relationship between part, as quantum event apparent in observation or measurement, and the undissectable whole, revealed but not described by the instantaneous, and the undissectable whole, revealed but described by the instantaneous correlations between measurements in space-like separated regions, is another extension of the part-whole complementarity to modern physics.
If the universe is a seamlessly interactive system that evolves to a higher level of complexity, and if the lawful regularities of this universe are emergent properties of this system, we can assume that the cosmos is a singular point of significance as a whole that evinces of the ‘progressive principal order’ of complementary relations its parts. Given that this whole exists in some sense within all parts ( quanta ), one can then argue that it operates in self-reflective fashion and is the ground for all emergent complexities. Since human consciousness evinces self-reflective awareness in the human brain and since this brain, like all physical phenomena can be viewed as an emergent property of the whole, it is reasonable to conclude, in philosophical terms at least, that the universe is conscious.
But since the actual character of this seamless whole cannot be represented or reduced to its parts, it lies, quite literally beyond all human representations or descriptions. If one chooses to believe that the universe be a self-reflective and self-organizing whole, this lends no support whatsoever to conceptions of design, meaning, purpose, intent, or plan associated with any mytho-religious or cultural heritage. However, If one does not accept this view of the universe, there is nothing in the scientific descriptions of nature that can be used to refute this position. On the other hand, it is no longer possible to argue that a profound sense of unity with the whole, which has long been understood as the foundation of religious experience, which can be dismissed, undermined or invalidated with appeals to scientific knowledge.
While we have consistently tried to distinguish between scientific knowledge and philosophical speculation based on this knowledge -there is no empirically valid causal linkage between the former and the latter. Those who wish to dismiss the speculative assumptions as its basis to be drawn the obvious freedom of which id firmly grounded in scientific theory and experiments there is, however, in the scientific description of nature, the belief in radical Cartesian division between mind and world sanctioned by classical physics. Seemingly clear, that this separation between mind and world was a macro-level illusion fostered by limited awarenesses of the actual character of physical reality and by mathematical idealization that were extended beyond the realm of their applicability.
Thus, the grounds for objecting to quantum theory, the lack of a one-to-one correspondence between every element of the physical theory and the physical reality it describes, may seem justifiable and reasonable in strictly scientific terms. After all, the completeness of all previous physical theories was measured against the criterion with enormous success. Since it was this success that gave physics the reputation of being able to disclose physical reality with magnificent exactitude, perhaps a more comprehensive quantum theory will emerge to insist on these requirements.
All indications are, however, that no future theory can circumvent quantum indeterminancy, and the success of quantum theory in co-ordinating our experience with nature is eloquent testimony to this conclusion. As Bohr realized, the fact that we live in a quantum universe in which the quantum of action is a given or an unavoidable reality requires a very different criterion for determining the completeness or physical theory. The new measure for a complete physical theory is that it unambiguously confirms our ability to co-ordinate more experience with physical reality.
If a theory does so and continues to do so, which is certainly the case with quantum physics, then the theory must be deemed complete. Quantum physics not only works exceedingly well, it is, in these terms, the most accurate physical theory that has ever existed. When we consider that this physics allows us to predict and measure quantities like the magnetic moment of electrons to the fifteenth decimal place, we realize that accuracy per se is not the real issue. The real issue, as Bohr rightly intuited, is that this complete physical theory effectively undermines the privileged relationship in classical physics between ‘theory’ and ‘physical reality’.
In quantum physics, one calculates the probability of an event that can happen in alternative ways by adding the wave function, and then taking the square of the amplitude. In the two-slit experiment, for example, the electron is described by one wave function if it goes through one slit and by another wave function it goes through the other slit. In order to compute the probability of where the electron is going to end on the screen, we add the two wave functions, compute the absolute value of their sum, and square it. Although the recipe in classical probability theory seems similar, it is quite different. In classical physics, we would simply add the probabilities of the two alternate ways and let it go at that. The classical procedure does not work here, because we are not dealing with classical atoms. In quantum physics additional terms arise when the wave functions are added, and the probability is computed in a process known as the ‘superposition principle’.
The superposition principle can be illustrated with an analogy from simple mathematics. Add two numbers and then take the square of their sum. As opposed to just adding the squares of the two numbers. Obviously, ( 2 + 3 )2 is not equal to 22 + 32. The former is 25, and the latter are 13. In the language of quantum probability theory
ψ2
2 ≠
ψ1
2 +
ψ2
2
Where ψ1 and ψ2 are the individual wave functions. On the left-hand side, the superposition principle results in extra terms that cannot be found on the right-hand side. The left-hand side of the above relations is the way a quantum physicist would compute probabilities, and the right0-hand side is the classical analogue. In quantum theory, the right-hand side is realized when we know, for example, which slit through which the electron went. Heisenberg was among the first to compute what would happen in an instance like this. The extra superposition terms contained in the left-hand side of the above relations would not be there, and the peculiar wave-like interference pattern would disappear. The observed pattern on the final screen would, therefore, be what one would expect if electrons were behaving like a bullet, and the final probability would be the sum of the individual probabilities. But when we know which slit the electron went through, this interaction with the system causes the interference pattern to disappear.
In order to give a full account of quantum recipes for computing probabilities, one has to examine what would happen in events that are compound. Compound events are “events that can be broken down into a series of steps, or events that consists of a number of things happening independently.” The recipe here calls for multiplying the individual wave functions, and then following the usual quantum recipe of taking the square of the amplitude.
The quantum recipe is
ψ1 • ψ2
2, and, in this case, it would be the same if we multiplied the individual probabilities, as one would in classical theory. Thus, the recipes of computing results in quantum theory and classical physics can be totally different. The quantum superposition effects are completely non-classical, and there is no mathematical justification per se why the quantum recipes work. What justifies the use of quantum probability theory is the coming thing that justifies the use of quantum physics -it has allowed us in countless experiments to extend our ability to co-ordinate experience with the expansive nature of unity.
A departure from the classical mechanics of Newton involving the principle that certain physical quantities can only assume discrete values. In quantum theory, introduced by Planck (1900), certain conditions are imposed on these quantities to restrict their value; the quantities are then said to be ‘quantized’.
Up to1900, physics was based on Newtonian mechanics. Large-scale systems are usually adequately described, however, several problems could not be solved, in particular, the explanation of the curves of energy against wavelengths for ‘black-body radiation’, with their characteristic maximum, as these attemptive efforts were afforded to endeavour upon the base-cases, on which the idea that the enclosure producing the radiation contained a number of ‘standing waves’ and that the energy of an oscillator if ‘kT’, where ‘k’ in the “Boltzmann Constant” and ‘T’ the thermodynamic temperature. It is a consequence of classical theory that the energy does not depend on the frequency of the oscillator. This inability to explain the phenomenons has been called the ‘ultraviolet catastrophe’.
Planck tackled the problem by discarding the idea that an oscillator can attain or decrease energy continuously, suggesting that it could only change by some discrete amount, which he called a “quantum.” This unit of energy is given by ‘hv’ where ‘v’ is the frequency and ‘h’ is the “Planck Constant,” ‘h’ has dimensions of energy ‘x’ times of action, and was called the “quantum of action.’ According to Planck an oscillator could only change its energy by an integral number of quanta, i.e., by hv, 2hv, 3hv, etc. This meant that the radiation in an enclosure has certain discrete energies and by considering the statistical distribution of oscillators with respect to their energies, he was able to derive the “Planck Radiation Formulas.” The formulae contrived by Planck, to express the distribution of dynamic energy in the normal spectrum of ‘black-body’ radiation. It is usual form is:
8πchdλ/λ 5 ( exp[ch / kλT] ‒ 1,
Which represents the amount of energy per unit volume in the range of wavelengths between λ and λ + dλ? ‘c’ = the speed of light and ‘h’ = the Planck constant, as ‘k’ = the Boltzmann constant with ‘T’ = thermodynamic temperatures.
The idea of quanta of energy was applied to other problems in physics, when in 1905 Einstein explained features of the “Photoelectric Effect” by assuming that light was absorbed in quanta ( photons ). A further advance was made by Bohr ( 1913 ) in his theory of atomic spectra, in which he assumed that the atom can only exist in certain energy states and that light is emitted or absorbed as a result of a change from one state to another. He used the idea that the angular momentum of an orbiting electron could only assume discrete values, ie. , Was quantized? A refinement of Bohr’s theory was introduced by Sommerfeld in an attempt to account for fine structure in spectra. Other successes of quantum theory were its explanations of the “Compton Effect” and “Stark Effect.” Later developments involved the formulation of a new system of mechanics known as “Quantum Mechanics.”
What is more, in furthering to Compton’s scattering was to an interaction between a photon of electromagnetic radiation and a free electron, or other charged particles, in which some of the energy of the photon is transferred to the particle. As a result, the wavelength of the photon is increased by amount Δλ. Where:
Δλ = ( 2h / m0 c ) sin 2 ½.
This is the Compton equation, ‘h’ is the Planck constant, m0 the rest mass of the particle, ‘c’ the speed of light, and the photon angle between the directions of the incident and scattered photons. The quantity ‘h/m0c’ and is known as the “Compton Wavelength,” symbol λC, which for an electron is equal to 0.002 43 nm.
The outer electrons in all elements and the inner ones in those of low atomic number have ‘binding energies’ negligible compared with the quantum energies of all except very soft X- and gamma rays. Thus most electrons in matter are effectively free and at rest and so cause Compton scattering. In the range of quantum energies 105 to 107 electro volts, this effect is commonly the most important process of attenuation of radiation. The scattering electron is ejected from the atom with large kinetic energy and the ionization that it causes plays an important part in the operation of detectors of radiation.
In the “Inverse Compton Effect” there is a gain in energy by low-energy photons as a result of being scattered by free electrons of much higher energy. As a consequence, the electrons lose energy. Whereas, the wavelength of light emitted by atoms is altered by the application of a strong transverse electric field to the source, the spectrum lines being split up into a number of sharply defined components. The displacements are symmetrical about the position of the undisplaced lines, and are prepositional of the undisplaced line, and are propositional to the field strength up to about 100 000 volts per cm ( The Stark Effect).
Adjoined along-side with quantum mechanics, is an unstretching constitution taken advantage of forwarded mathematical physical theories -growing from Planck’s “Quantum Theory” and deals with the mechanics of atomic and related systems in terms of quantities that can be measured. The subject development in several mathematical forms, including “Wave Mechanics” ( Schrödinger ) and “Matrix Mechanics” ( Born and Heisenberg ), all of which are equivalent.
In quantum mechanics, it is often found that the properties of a physical system, such as its angular moment and energy, can only take discrete values. Where this occurs the property is said to be ‘quantized’ and its various possible values are labelled by a set of numbers called quantum numbers. For example, according to Bohr’s theory of the atom, an electron moving in a circular orbit could occupy any orbit at any distance from the nucleus but only an orbit for which its angular momentum ( mvr ) was equal to nh/2π, where ‘n’ is an integer ( 0, 1, 2, 3, etc. ) and ‘h’ is the Planck’s constant. Thus the property of angular momentum is quantized and ‘n’ is a quantum number that gives its possible values. The Bohr theory has now been superseded by a more sophisticated theory in which the idea of orbits is replaced by regions in which the electron may move, characterized by quantum numbers ‘n’, ‘I’, and ‘m’.
Properties of [Standard] elementary particles are also described by quantum numbers. For example, an electron has the property known a ‘spin’, and can exist in two possible energy states depending on whether this spin set parallel or antiparallel to a certain direction. The two states are conveniently characterized by quantum numbers + ½ and ‒ ½. Similarly properties such as charge, isospin, strangeness, parity and hyper-charge are characterized by quantum numbers. In interactions between particles, a particular quantum number may be conserved, I, e., the sum of the quantum numbers of the particles before and after the interaction remains the same. It is the type of interaction -strong, electromagnetic, weak that determines whether the quantum number is conserved.
The energy associated with a quantum state of an atom or other system that is fixed, or determined, by given set quantum numbers. It is one of the various quantum states that can be assumed by an atom under defined conditions. The term is often used to mean the state itself, which is incorrect accorded to: (i) the energy of a given state may be changed by externally applied fields (ii) there may be a number of states of equal energy in the system.
The electrons in an atom can occupy any of an infinite number of bound states with discrete energies. For an isolated atom the energy for a given state is exactly determinate except for the effected of the ‘uncertainty principle’. The ground state with lowest energy has an infinite lifetime hence, the energy, in principle is exactly determinate, the energies of these states are most accurately measured by finding the wavelength of the radiation emitted or absorbed in transitions between them, i.e., from their line spectra. Theories of the atom have been developed to predict these energies by calculation. Due to de Broglie and extended by Schrödinger, Dirac and many others, it ( wave mechanics ) originated in the suggestion that light consists of corpuscles as well as of waves and the consequent suggestion that all [ standard ] elementary particles are associated with waves. Wave mechanics are based on the Schrödinger wave equation describing the wave properties of matter. It relates the energy of a system to wave function, in general, it is found that a system, such as an atom or molecule can only have certain allowed wave functions ( eigenfunction ) and certain allowed energies
(Eigenvalues), in wave mechanics the quantum conditions arise in a natural way from the basic postulates as solutions of the wave equation. The energies of unbound states of positive energy form a continuum. This gives rise to the continuum background to an atomic spectrum as electrons are captured from unbound states. The energy of an atom state can be changed by the “Stark Effect” or the “Zeeman Effect.”
The vibrational energies of the molecule also have discrete values, for example, in a diatomic molecule the atom oscillates in the line joining them. There is an equilibrium distance at which the force is zero. The atoms repulse when closer and attract when further apart. The restraining force is nearly prepositional to the displacement hence, the oscillations are simple harmonic. Solution of the Schrödinger wave equation gives the energies of a harmonic oscillation as:
En = ( n + ½ ) h.
Where ‘h’ is the Planck constant, is the frequency, and ‘n’ is the vibrational quantum number, which can be zero or any positive integer. The lowest possible vibrational energy of an oscillator is not zero but ½ h. This is the cause of zero-point energy. The potential energy of interaction of atoms is described more exactly by the “Morse Equation,” which shows that the oscillations are slightly anharmonic. The vibrations of molecules are investigated by the study of ‘band spectra’.
The rotational energy of a molecule is quantized also, according to the Schrödinger equation, a body with the moment of inertial I about the axis of rotation have energies given by:
EJ = h2J ( J + 1 ) / 8π 2I.
Where J is the rotational quantum number, which can be zero or a positive integer. Rotational energies originate from band spectra.
The energies of the state of the nucleus are determined from the gamma ray spectrum and from various nuclear reactions. Theory has been less successful in predicting these energies than those of electrons because the interactions of nucleons are very complicated. The energies are very little affected by external influence but the “Mössbauer Effect” has permitted the observations of some minute changes.
In quantum theory, introduced by Max Planck 1858-1947 in 1900, was the first serious scientific departure from Newtonian mechanics. It involved supposing that certain physical quantities can only assume discrete values. In the following two decades it was applied successfully by Einstein and the Danish physicist Neils Bohr (1885-1962). It was superseded by quantum mechanics in the tears following 1924, when the French physicist Louis de Broglie (1892-1987) introduced the idea that a particle may also be regarded as a wave. The Schrödinger wave equation relates the energy of a system to a wave function, the energy of a system to a wave function, the square of the amplitude of the wave is proportional to the probability of a particle being found in a specific position. The wave function expresses the lack of possibly of defining both the position and momentum of a particle, this expression of discrete representation is called as the “uncertainty principle,” the allowed wave functions that have described stationary states of a system
Part of the difficulty with the notions involved is that a system may be in an indeterminate state at a time, characterized only by the probability of some result for an observation, but then ‘become’ determinate ( the collapse of the wave packet ) when an observation is made such as the position and momentum of a particle if that is to apply to reality itself, than to mere indetermincies of measurement. It is as if there is nothing but a potential for observation or a probability wave before observation is made, but when an observation is made the wave becomes a particle. The ave-particle duality seems to block any way of conceiving of physical reality-in quantum terms. In the famous two-slit experiment, an electron is fired at a screen with two slits, like a tennis ball thrown at a wall with two doors in it. If one puts detectors at each slit, every electron passing the screen is observed to go through exactly one slit. But when the detectors are taken away, the electron acts like a wave process going through both slits and interfering with itself. A particle such an electron is usually thought of as always having an exact position, but its wave is not absolutely zero anywhere, there is therefore a finite probability of it ‘tunnelling through’ from one position to emerge at another.
The unquestionable success of quantum mechanics has generated a large philosophical debate about its ultimate intelligibility and it’s metaphysical implications. The wave-particle duality is already a departure from ordinary ways of conceiving of tings in space, and its difficulty is compounded by the probabilistic nature of the fundamental states of a system as they are conceived in quantum mechanics. Philosophical options for interpreting quantum mechanics have included variations of the belief that it is at best an incomplete description of a better-behaved classical underlying reality (Einstein), the Copenhagen interpretation according to which there are no objective unobserved events in the micro-world : Bohr and W. K. Heisenberg, 1901-76, an ‘acausal’ view of the collapse of the wave packet, J. von Neumann, 1903-57, and a ‘many worlds’ interpretation in which time forks perpetually toward innumerable futures, so that different states of the same system exist in different parallel universes ( H. Everett ).
In recent tars the proliferation of subatomic particles, such as there are 36 kinds of quarks alone, in six flavours to look in various directions for unification. One avenue of approach is superstring theory, in which the four-dimensional world is thought of as the upshot of the collapse of a ten-dimensional world, with the four primary physical forces, one of gravity another is electromagnetism and the strong and weak nuclear forces, becoming seen as the result of the fracture of one primary force. While the scientific acceptability of such theories is a matter for physics, their ultimate intelligibility plainly requires some philosophical reflection.
A theory of gravitation that is consistent with quantum mechanics whose subject, still in its infancy, has no completely satisfactory theory. In controventional quantum gravity, the gravitational force is mediated by a massless spin-2 particle, called the ‘graviton’. The internal degrees of freedom of the graviton require hij ( χ ) represent the deviations from the metric tensor for a flat space. This formulation of general relativity reduces it to a quantum field theory, which has a regrettable tendency to produce infinite for measurable qualitites. However, unlike other quantum field theories, quantum gravity cannot appeal to re-normalization procedures to make sense of these infinites. It has been shown that re-normalization procedures fail for theories, such as quantum gravity, in which the coupling constants have the dimensions of a positive power of length. The coupling constant g= for general relativity is the Planck length,
Lp = ( Gh / c3 )½ ≡ 10 ‒35 m.
Super-symmetry has been suggested as a structure that could be free from these pathological infinities. Many theorists believe that an effective superstring field theory may emerge, in which the Einstein field equations are no longer valid and general relativity is required to appar only as low energy limit. The resulting theory may be structurally different from anything that has been considered so far. Super-symmetric string theory ( or superstring ) is an extension of the ideas of Super-symmetry to one-dimensional string-like entities that can interact with each other and scatter according to a precise set of laws. The normal modes of super-strings represent an infinite set of ‘normal’ elementary particles whose masses and spins are related in a special way. Thus, the graviton is only one of the string modes-when the string-scattering processes are analysed in terms of their particle content, the low-energy graviton scattering is found to be the same as that computed from Super-symmetric gravity. The graviton mode may still be related to the geometry of the space0time in which the string vibrates, but it remains to be seen whether the other, massive, members of the set of ‘normal’ particles also have a geometrical interpretation. The intricacy of this theory stems from the requirement of a space-time of at least ten dimensions to ensure internal consistency. It has been suggested that there are the normal four dimensions, with the extra dimensions being tightly ‘curled up’ in a small circle presumably of Planck length size.
In the quantum theory or quantum mechanics of an atom or other system fixed, or determined by a given set of quantum numbers. It is one of the various quantum states that an atom can assume. The conceptual representation of an atom was first introduced by the ancient Greeks, as a tiny indivisible component of matter, developed by Dalton, as the smallest part of an element that can take part in a chemical reaction, and made very much more precisely by theory and excrement in the late-19th and 20th centuries.
Following the discovery of the electron (1897), it was recognized that atoms had structure, since electrons are negatively charged, a neutral atom must have a positive component. The experiments of Geiger and Marsden on the scattering of alpha particles by thin metal foils led Rutherford to propose a model (1912) in which nearly, but all the mass of an atom is concentrated at its centre in a region of positive charge, the nucleus, the radius of the order 10 -15 metre. The electrons occupy the surrounding space to a radius of 10-11 to 10-10 m. Rutherford also proposed that the nucleus have a charge of ‘Ze’ and is surrounded by ‘Z’ electrons ( Z is the atomic number ). According to classical physics such a system must emit electromagnetic radiation continuously and consequently no permanent atom would be possible. This problem was solved by the development of the quantum theory.
The “Bohr Theory of the Atom,” 1913, introduced the concept that an electron in an atom is normally in a state of lower energy, or ground state, in which it remains indefinitely unless disturbed. By absorption of electromagnetic radiation or collision with another particle the atom may be excited -that is an electron is moved into a state of higher energy. Such excited states usually have short lifetimes, typically nanoseconds and the electron returns to the ground state, commonly by emitting one or more quanta of electromagnetic radiation. The original theory was only partially successful in predicting the energies and other properties of the electronic states. Attempts were made to improve the theory by postulating elliptic orbits ( Sommerfeld 1915 ) and electron spin ( Pauli 1925 ) but a satisfactory theory only became possible upon the development of “Wave Mechanics,” after 1925.
According to modern theories, an electron does not follow a determinate orbit as envisaged by Bohr, but is in a state described by the solution of a wave equation. This determines the probability that the electron may be located in a given element of volume. Each state is characterized by a set of four quantum numbers, and, according to the Pauli exclusion principle, not more than one electron can be in a given state.
The Pauli exclusion principle states that no two identical ‘fermions’ in any system can be in the same quantum state that is have the same set of quantum numbers. The principle was first proposed ( 1925 ) in the form that not more than two electrons in an atom could have the same set of quantum numbers. This hypothesis accounted for the main features of the structure of the atom and for the periodic table. An electron in an atom is characterized by four quantum numbers, n, I, m, and s. A particular atomic orbital, which has fixed values of n, I, and m, can thus contain a maximum of two electrons, since the spin quantum number ‘s’ can only be +
or ‒
. In 1928 Sommerfeld applied the principle to the free electrons in solids and his theory has been greatly developed by later associates.
Additionally, an effect occurring when atoms emit or absorb radiation in the presence of a moderately strong magnetic field. Each spectral; Line is split into closely spaced polarized components, when the source is viewed at right angles to the field there are three components, the middle one having the same frequency as the unmodified line, and when the source is viewed parallel to the field there are two components, the undisplaced line being preoccupied. This is the ‘normal’ Zeeman Effect. With most spectral lines, however, the anomalous Zeeman effect occurs, where there are a greater number of symmetrically arranged polarized components. In both effects the displacement of the components is a measure of the magnetic field strength. In some cases the components cannot be resolved and the spectral line appears broadened.
The Zeeman effect occurs because the energies of individual electron states depend on their inclination to the direction of the magnetic field, and because quantum energy requirements impose conditions such that the plane of an electron orbit can only set itself at certain definite angles to the applied field. These angles are such that the projection of the total angular momentum on the field direction in an integral multiple of h/2π ( h is the Planck constant ). The Zeeman effect is observed with moderately strong fields where the precession of the orbital angular momentum and the spin angular momentum of the electrons about each other is much faster than the total precession around the field direction. The normal Zeeman effect is observed when the conditions are such that the Landé factor is unity, otherwise the anomalous effect is found. This anomaly was one of the factors contributing to the discovery of electron spin.
Statistics that are concerned with the equilibrium distribution of elementary particles of a particular type among the various quantized energy states. It is assumed that these elementary particles are indistinguishable. The “Pauli Exclusion Principle” is obeyed so that no two identical ‘fermions’ can be in the same quantum mechanical state. The exchange of two identical fermions, i.e., two electrons, does not affect the probability of distribution but it does involve a change in the sign of the wave function. The “Fermi-Dirac Distribution Law” gives E the average number of identical fermions in a state of energy E:
E = 1/[eα + E/kT + 1],
Where ‘k’ is the Boltzmann constant, ‘T’ is the thermodynamic temperature and α is a quantity depending on temperature and the concentration of particles. For the valences electrons in a solid, ‘α’ takes the form -E1/kT, where E1 is the Fermi level. Whereby, the Fermi level ( or Fermi energy ) E F the value of E is exactly one half. Thus, for a system in equilibrium one half of the states with energy very nearly equal to ‘E’ ( if any ) will be occupied. The value of EF varies very slowly with temperatures, tending to E0 as ‘T’ tends to absolute zero.
In Bose-Einstein statistics, the Pauli exclusion principle is not obeyed so that any number of identical ‘bosons’ can be in the same state. The exchanger of two bosons of the same type affects neither the probability of distribution nor the sign of the wave function. The “Bose-Einstein Distribution Law” gives E the average number of identical bosons in a state of energy E:
E = 1/[eα + E/kT-1].
The formula can be applied to photons, considered as quasi-particles, provided that the quantity α, which conserves the number of particles, is zero. Planck’s formula for the energy distribution of “Black-Body Radiation” was derived from this law by Bose. At high temperatures and low concentrations both the quantum distribution laws tend to the classical distribution:
E = Ae-E/kT.
Additionally, the property of substances that have a positive magnetic ‘susceptibility’, whereby its quantity μr ‒ 1, and where μr is “Relative Permeability,” again, that the electric-quantity presented as Єr ‒ 1, where Єr is the “Relative Permittivity,” all of which has positivity. All of which are caused by the “spins” of electrons, paramagnetic substances having molecules or atoms, in which there are paired electrons and thus, resulting of a “Magnetic Moment.” There is also a contribution of the magnetic properties from the orbital motion of the electron, as the relative ‘permeability’ of a paramagnetic substance is thus greater than that of a vacuum, i.e., it is slightly greater than unity.
A ‘paramagnetic substance’ is regarded as an assembly of magnetic dipoles that have random orientation. In the presence of a field the magnetization is determined by competition between the effect of the field, in tending to align the magnetic dipoles, and the random thermal agitation. In small fields and high temperatures, the magnetization produced is proportional to the field strength, wherefore at low temperatures or high field strengths, a state of saturation is approached. As the temperature rises, the susceptibility falls according to Curie’s Law or the Curie-Weiss Law.
Furthering by Curie’s Law, the susceptibility ( χ ) of a paramagnetic substance is unversedly proportional to the ‘thermodynamic temperature’ ( T ): χ = C/T. The constant ’C is called the ‘Curie constant’ and is characteristic of the material. This law is explained by assuming that each molecule has an independent magnetic ‘dipole’ moment and the tendency of the applied field to align these molecules is opposed by the random moment due to the temperature. A modification of Curie’s Law, followed by many paramagnetic substances, where the Curie-Weiss law modifies its applicability in the form
χ = C/(T ‒ θ ).
The law shows that the susceptibility is proportional to the excess of temperature over a fixed temperature θ: ‘θ’ is known as the Weiss constant and is a temperature characteristic of the material, such as sodium and potassium, also exhibit type of paramagnetic resulting from the magnetic moments of free, or nearly free electrons, in their conduction bands? This is characterized by a very small positive susceptibility and a very slight temperature dependence, and is known as ‘free-electron paramagnetism’ or ‘Pauli paramagnetism’.
A property of certain solid substances that having a large positive magnetic susceptibility having capabilities of being magnetized by weak magnetic fields. The chief elements are iron, cobalt, and nickel and many ferromagnetic alloys based on these metals also exist. Justifiably, ferromagnetic materials exhibit magnetic ‘hysteresis’, of which formidable combination of decaying within the change of an observed effect in response to a change in the mechanism producing the effect.
(Magnetic) a phenomenon shown by ferromagnetic substances, whereby the magnetic flux through the medium depends not only on the existing magnetizing field, but also on the previous state or states of the substances, the existence of a phenomenon necessitates a dissipation of energy when the substance is subjected to a cycle of magnetic changes, this is known as the magnetic hysteresis loss. The magnetic hysteresis loops were acceding by a curved obtainability from ways of which, in themselves were of plotting the magnetic flux density ‘B’, of a ferromagnetic material against the responding value of the magnetizing field ’H’, the area to the ‘hysteresis loss’ per unit volume in taking the specimen through the prescribed magnetizing cycle. The general forms of the hysteresis loop fore a symmetrical cycle between ‘H’ and ‘~ H’ and ‘H ~ h, having inclinations that rise to hysteresis.
The magnetic hysteresis loss commands the dissipation of energy as due to magnetic hysteresis, when the magnetic material is subjected to changes, particularly, the cycle changes of magnetization, as having the larger positive magnetic susceptibility, and are capable of being magnetized by weak magnetic fields. Ferro magnetics are able to retain a certain domain of magnetization when the magnetizing field is removed. Those materials that retain a high percentage of their magnetization are said to be hard, and those that lose most of their magnetization are said to be soft, typical examples of hard ferromagnetic are cobalt steel and various alloys of nickel, aluminium and cobalt. Typical soft magnetic materials are silicon steel and soft iron, the coercive force as acknowledged to the reversed magnetic field’ that is required to reduce the magnetic ‘flux density’ in a substance from its remnant value to zero in characteristic of ferromagnetisms and explains by its presence of domains. A ferromagnetic domain is a region of crystalline matter, whose volume may be 10-12 to 10-8 m3, which contains atoms whose magnetic moments are aligned in the same direction. The domain is thus magnetically saturated and behaves like a magnet with its own magnetic axis and moment. The magnetic moment of the ferrometic atom results from the spin of the electron in an unfilled inner shell of the atom. The formation of a domain depends upon the strong interactions forces (Exchange forces) that are effective in a crystal lattice containing ferrometic atoms.
In an unmagnetized volume of a specimen, the domains are arranged in a random fashion with their magnetic axes pointing in all directions so that the specimen has no resultant magnetic moment. Under the influence of a weak magnetic field, those domains whose magnetic saxes have directions near to that of the field flux at the expense of their neighbours. In this process the atoms of neighbouring domains tend to align in the direction of the field but the strong influence of the growing domain causes their axes to align parallel to its magnetic axis. The growth of these domains leads to a resultant magnetic moment and hence, magnetization of the specimen in the direction of the field, with increasing field strength, the growth of domains proceeds until there is, effectively, only one domain whose magnetic axis appropriates to the field direction. The specimen now exhibits tron magnetization. Further, increasing in field strength cause the final alignment and magnetic saturation in the field direction. This explains the characteristic variation of magnetization with applied strength. The presence of domains in ferromagnetic materials can be demonstrated by use of “Bitter Patterns” or by “Barkhausen Effect.”
For ferromagnetic solids there are a change from ferromagnetic to paramagnetic behaviour above a particular temperature and the paramagnetic material then obeyed the Curie-Weiss Law above this temperature, this is the ‘Curie temperature’ for the material. Below this temperature the law is not obeyed. Some paramagnetic substances, obey the temperature ‘θ C’ and do not obey it below, but are not ferromagnetic below this temperature. The value ‘θ’ in the Curie-Weiss law can be thought of as a correction to Curie’s law reelecting the extent to which the magnetic dipoles interact with each other. In materials exhibiting ‘antiferromagnetism’ of which the temperature ‘θ’ corresponds to the ‘Néel temperature’.
Without discredited inquisitions, the property of certain materials that have a low positive magnetic susceptibility, as in paramagnetism, and exhibit a temperature dependence similar to that encountered in ferromagnetism. The susceptibility increased with temperatures up to a certain point, called the “Néel Temperature,” and then falls with increasing temperatures in accordance with the Curie-Weiss law. The material thus becomes paramagnetic above the Néel temperature, which is analogous to the Curie temperature in the transition from ferromagnetism to paramagnetism. Antiferromagnetism is a property of certain inorganic compounds such as MnO, FeO, FeF2 and MnS. It results from interactions between neighbouring atoms leading and an antiparallel arrangement of adjacent magnetic dipole moments, least of mention. A system of two equal and opposite charges placed at a very short distance apart. The product of either of the charges and the distance between them is known as the ‘electric dipole moments. A small loop carrying a current I behave as a magnetic dipole and is equal to IA, where A being the area of the loop.
The energy associated with a quantum state of an atom or other system that is fixed, or determined by a given set of quantum numbers. It is one of the various quantum states that can be assumed by an atom under defined conditions. The term is often used to mean the state itself, which is incorrect by ways of: (1) the energy of a given state may be changed by externally applied fields, and (2) there may be a number of states of equal energy in the system.
The electrons in an atom can occupy any of an infinite number of bound states with discrete energies. For an isolated atom the energy for a given state is exactly determinate except for the effects of the ‘uncertainty principle’. The ground state with lowest energy has an infinite lifetime, hence the energy is if, in at all as a principle that is exactly determinate. The energies of these states are most accurately measured by finding the wavelength of the radiation emitted or absorbed in transitions between them, i.e., from their line spectra. Theories of the atom have been developed to predict these energies by calculating such a system that emit electromagnetic radiation continuously and consequently no permanent atom would be possible, hence this problem was solved by the developments of quantum theory. An exact calculation of the energies and other particles of the quantum state is only possible for the simplest atom but there are various approximate methods that give useful results as an approximate method of solving a difficult problem, if the equations to be solved, and depart only slightly from those of some problems already solved. For example, the orbit of a single planet round the sun is an ellipse, that the perturbing effect of other planets modifies the orbit slightly in a way calculable by this method. The technique finds considerable application in ‘wave mechanics’ and in ‘quantum electrodynamics’. Phenomena that are not amendable to solution by perturbation theory are said to be non-perturbative.
The energies of unbound states of positive total energy form a continuum. This gives rise to the continuos background to an atomic spectrum, as electrons are captured from unbound state, the energy of an atomic state can be changed by the “Stark Effect” or the “Zeeman Effect.”
The vibrational energies of molecules also have discrete values, for example, in a diatomic molecule the atoms oscillate in the line joining them. There is an equilibrium distance at which the force is zero, and the atoms deflect when closer and attract when further apart. The restraining force is very nearly proportional to the displacement, hence the oscillations are simple harmonic. Solution of the ‘Schrödinger wave equation’ gives the energies of a harmonic oscillation as:
En = ( n + ½ ) hƒ
Where ‘h’ is the Planck constant, ƒ is the frequency, and ‘n’ is the vibrational quantum number, which can be zero or any positive integer. The lowest possible vibrational energy of an oscillator is thus not zero but ½hƒ. This is the cause of zero-point energy. The potential energy of interaction of atoms is described more exactly by the Morse equation, which shows that the oscillations are slightly anharmonic. The vibrations of molecules are investigated by the study of ‘band spectra’.
The rotational energy of a molecule is quantized also, according to the Schrödinger equation a body with moments of inertia I about the axis of rotation have energies given by:
Ej = h2J(J + 1 )/8π2 I,
Where ‘J’ is the rotational quantum number, which can be zero or a positive integer. Rotational energies are found from ‘band spectra’.
The energies of the states of the ‘nucleus’ can be determined from the gamma ray spectrum and from various nuclear reactions. Theory has been less successful in predicting these energies than those of electrons in atoms because the interactions of nucleons are very complicated. The energies are very little affected by external influences, but the “Mössbauer Effect” has permitted the observation of some minute changes.
When X-rays are scattered by atomic centres arranged at regular intervals, interference phenomena occur, crystals providing grating of a suitable small interval. The interference effects may be used to provide a spectrum of the beam of X-rays, since, according to “Bragg’s Law,” the angle of reflection of X-rays from a crystal depends on the wavelength of the rays. For lower-energy X-rays mechanically ruled grating can be used. Each chemical element emits characteristic X-rays in sharply defined groups in more widely separated regions. They are known as the K, L’s, M, N. etc., promote lines of any series toward shorter wavelengths as the atomic number of the elements concerned increases. If a parallel beam of X-rays, wavelength λ, strikes a set of crystal planes it is reflected from the different planes, interferences occurring between X-rays reflect from adjacent planes. Bragg’s Law states that constructive interference takes place when the difference in path-lengths, BAC, is equal to an integral number of wavelengths
2d sin θ = nλ
where ‘n’ is an integer, ‘d’ is the interplanar distance, and ‘θ’ is the angle between the incident X-ray and the crystal plane. This angle is called the “Bragg’s Angle,” and a bright spot will be obtained on an interference pattern at this angle. A dark spot will be obtained, however. If be, 2d sin θ = mλ. Where ‘m’ is half-integral. The structure of a crystal can be determined from a set of interference patterns found at various angles from the different crystal faces.
A concept originally introduced by the ancient Greeks, as a tiny indivisible component of matter, developed by Dalton, as the smallest part of an element that can take part in a chemical reaction, and made experiment in the late-19th and early 20th century. Following the discovery of the electron ( 1897 ), they recognized that atoms had structure, since electrons are negatively charged, a neutral atom must have a positive component. The experiments of Geiger and Marsden on the scattering of alpha particles by thin metal foils led Rutherford to propose a model ( 1912 ) in which nearly all mass of the atom is concentrated at its centre in a region of positive charge, the nucleus is a region of positive charge, the nucleus, radiuses of the order 10-15 metre. The electrons occupy the surrounding space to a radius of 10-11 to 10-10 m. Rutherford also proposed that the nucleus have a charge of Ze is surrounded by ‘Z’ electrons ( Z is the atomic number ). According to classical physics such a system must emit electromagnetic radiation continuously and consequently no permanent atom would be possible. This problem was solved by the developments of the “Quantum Theory.”
The “Bohr Theory of the Atom” ( 1913 ) introduced the notion that an electron in an atom is normally in a state of lowest energy ( ground state ) in which it remains indefinitely unless disturbed by absorption of electromagnetic radiation or collision with other particle the atom may be excited -that is, electrons moved into a state of higher energy. Such excited states usually have short life spans ( typically nanoseconds ) and the electron returns to the ground state, commonly by emitting one or more ‘quanta’ of electromagnetic radiation. The original theory was only partially successful in predicting the energies and other properties of the electronic states. Postulating elliptic orbits made attempts to improve the theory ( Sommerfeld 1915 ) and electron spin ( Pauli 1925 ) but a satisfactory theory only became possible upon the development of “Wave Mechanics” 1925.
According to modern theories, an electron does not follow a determinate orbit as envisaged by Bohr, but is in a state described by the solution of the wave equation. This determines the ‘probability’ that the electron may be found in a given element of volume. A set of four quantum numbers has characterized each state, and according to the “Pauli Exclusion Principle,” not more than one electron can be in a given state.
An exact calculation of the energies and other properties of the quantum states is possible for the simplest atoms, but various approximate methods give useful results, i.e., as an approximate method of solving a difficult problem if the equations to be solved and depart only slightly from those of some problems already solved. The properties of the innermost electron states of complex atoms are found experimentally by the study of X-ray spectra. The outer electrons are investigated using spectra in the infrared, visible, and ultraviolet. Certain details have been studied using microwaves. As administered by a small difference in energy between the energy levels of the 2 P½ states of hydrogen. In accord with Lamb Shift, these levels would have the same energy according to the wave mechanics of Dirac. The actual shift can be explained by a correction to the energies based on the theory of the interaction of electromagnetic fields with matter, in of which the fields themselves are quantized. Yet, other information may be obtained form magnetism and other chemical properties.
Its appearance potential concludes as, ( 1 )the potential differences through which an electron must be accelerated from rest to produce a given ion from its parent atom or molecule. ( 2 ) This potential difference multiplied bu the electron charge giving the least energy required to produce the ion. A simple ionizing process gives the ‘ionization potential’ of the substance, for example:
Ar + e ➝ Ar + + 2e.
Higher appearance potentials may be found for multiplying charged ions:
Ar + e ➝ Ar + + + 3r.
The number of protons in a nucleus of an atom or the number of electrons resolving around the nucleus is among some concerns of atomic numbers. The atomic number determines the chemical properties of an element and the element’s position in the periodic table, because of which the clarification of chemical elements, in tabular form, in the order of their atomic number. The elements show a periodicity of properties, chemically similar recurring in a definite order. The sequence of elements is thus broken into horizontal ‘periods’ and vertical ‘groups’ the elements in each group showing close chemical analogies, i.e., in valency, chemical properties, etc. all the isotopes of an element have the same atomic number although different isotopes gave mass numbers.
An allowed ‘wave function’ of an electron in an atom obtained by a solution of the Schrödinger wave equation. In a hydrogen atom, for example, the electron moves in the electrostatic field of the nucleus and its potential energy is ‒e2, where ‘e’ is the electron charge. ‘r’ its distance from the nucleus, as a precise orbit cannot be considered as in Bohr’s theory of the atom, but the behaviour of the electron is described by its wave function, Ψ, which is a mathematical function of its position with respect to the nucleus. The significance of the wave function is that
Ψ
2dt, is the probability of finding the electron in the element of volume ‘dt’.
Solution of Schrödinger’s equation for hydrogen atom shows that the electron can only have certain allowed wave functions ( eigenfunction ). Each of these corresponds to a probability distribution in space given by the manner in which
Ψ
2 varies with position. They also have an associated value of energy ‘E’. These allowed wave functions, or orbitals, are characterized by three quantum numbers similar to those characterizing the allowed orbits in the quantum theory of the atom:
‘n’, the ‘principle quantum number’, can have values of 1, 2, 3, etc. the orbital with n=1 has the lowest energy. The states of the electron with n=1, 2, 3, etc., are called ‘shells’ and designated the K, L, M shells, etc.
‘I’ the ‘azimuthal quanta number’ which for a given value of ‘n’ can have values of 0, 1, 2, . . . ( n ‒1 ). Similarly, the ’M’ shell ( n = 3 ) has three sub-shells with I = 0, I = 1, and I = 2. Orbitals with I = 0, 1, 2, and 3 are called s, p, d, and orbitals respectively. The significance of the I quantum number is that it gives the angular momentum of the electron. The orbital annular momentum of an electron is given by
√[1(I + 1)(h2π)]
‘m’ the ‘magnetic quanta number’, which for a given value of ‘I’ can have values of; ‒I, ‒(I ‒ 1), . . . , 0, . . . (I‒ 1). Thus for ‘p’ orbital for which I = 1, there is in fact three different orbitals with m = ‒ 1, 0, and 1. These orbitals with the same values of ‘n’ and ‘I ‘ but different ‘m’ values, have the same energy. The significance of this quantum number is that it shows the number of different levels that would be produced if the atom were subjected to an external magnetic field
According to wave theory the electron may be at any distance from the nucleus, but in fact there is only a reasonable chance of it being within a distance of ‒ 5 x 1011 metre. Indeed the maximum probability occurs when r = a0 where a0 is the radius of the first Bohr orbit. It is customary to represent an orbit that there is no arbitrarily decided probability ( say 95% ) of finding them an electron. Notably taken, is that although ‘s’ orbitals are spherical ( I = 0 ), orbitals with I > 0, have an angular dependence. Finally. The electron in an atom can have a fourth quantum number, ‘M’ characterizing its spin direction. This can be + ½ or ‒ ½ and according to the Pauli Exclusion principle, each orbital can hold only two electrons. The fourth quantum numbers lead to an explanation of the periodic table of the elements.
The least distance in a progressive wave between two surfaces with the same phase arises to a wavelength. If ‘v’ is the phase speed and ‘v’ the frequency, the wavelength is given by v = vλ. For electromagnetic radiation the phase speed and wavelength in a material medium are equal to their values in a free space divided by the ‘refractive index’. The wavelengths of spectral lines are normally specified for free space.
Optical wavelengths are measure absolutely using interferometers or diffraction gratings, or comparatively using a prism spectrometer. The wavelength can only have an exact value for an infinite waver train if an atomic body emits a quantum in the form of a train of waves of duration τ the fractional uncertainty of the wavelength, Δλ/λ, is approximately λ/2cτ, where ‘c’ is the speed in free space. This is associated with the indeterminacy of the energy given by the uncertainty principle
Whereas, a mathematical quantity analogous to the amplitude of a wave that appears in the equation of wave mechanics, particularly the Schrödinger waves equation. The most generally accepted interpretation is that
Ψ
2dV represents the probability that a particle is within the volume element dV. The wavelengths, as a set of waves that represent the behaviour, under appropriate conditions, of a particle, e.g., its diffraction by a particle. The wavelength is given by the “de Broglie Equation.” They are sometimes regarded as waves of probability, times the square of their amplitude at a given point represents the probability of finding the particle in unit volume at that point. These waves were predicted by de Broglie in 1924 and observed in 1927 in the Davisson-Germer Experiment. Still, ‘Ψ’ is often a might complex quality.
The analogy between ‘Ψ’ and the amplitude of a wave is purely formal. There is no macroscopic physical quantity with which ‘Ψ’ can be identified, in contrast with, for example, the amplitude of an electromagnetic wave, which is expressed in terms of electric and magnetic field intensities
In general, there are an infinite number of functions satisfying a wave equation but only some of these will satisfy the boundary conditions. ‘Ψ’ must be finite and single-valued at every point, and the spatial derivative must be continuous at an interface? For a particle subject to a law of conservation of numbers, the integral of
Ψ
2dV over all space must remain equal to 1, since this is the probability that it exists somewhere to satisfy this condition the wave equation must be of the first order in (dΨ/dt). Wave functions obtained when these conditions are applied from a set of characteristic functions of the Schrödinger wave equation. These are often called eigenfunctions and correspond to a set of fixed energy values in which the system may exist describe stationary states on the system.
For certain bound states of a system the eigenfunctions do not charge the sign or reversing the co-ordinated axes. These states are said to have even parity. For other states the sign changes on space reversal and the parity is said to be odd.
It’s issuing case of eigenvalue problems in physics that take the form:
ΩΨ = λΨ,
Where Ω is come mathematical operation ( multiplication by a number, differentiation, etc.) on a function Ψ, which is called the ‘eigenfunction’. λ is called the ‘eigenvalue’, which in a physical system will be identified with an observable quantity, as, too, an atom to other systems that are fixed, or determined, by a given set of quantum numbers? It is one of the various quantum states that can be assumed by an atom
Eigenvalue problems are ubiquitous in classical physics and occur whenever the mathematical description of a physical system yields a series of coupled differential equations. For example, the collective motion of a large number of interacting oscillators may be described by a set of coupled differential equations. Each differential equation describes the motion of one of the oscillators in terms of the positions of all the others. A ‘harmonic’ solution may be sought, in which each displacement is assumed as a simple harmonic motion in time. The differential equations then reduce to ‘3N’ linear equations with 3N unknowns. Where ‘N’ is the number of individual oscillators, each problem is from each one of three degrees of freedom. The whole problem I now easily recast as a ‘matrix’ equation of the form:
Mχ = ῳ2χ.
Where ‘M’ is an N x N matrix called the ‘a dynamic matrix, χ is an N x 1 column matrix, and ῳ2 of the harmonic solution. The problem is now an eigenvalue problem with eigenfunctions’ χ, where are the normal modes of the system, with corresponding eigenvalues ῳ2. As χ can be expressed as a column vector, χ is a vector in some –dimensional vector space. For this reason, χ is also often called an eigenvector.
When the collection of oscillators is a complicated three-dimensional molecule, the casting of the problem into normal modes s and effective simplification of the system. The symmetry principles of group theory, the symmetry operations in any physical system must be posses the properties of the mathematical group. As the group of rotation, both finite and infinite, are important in the analysis of the symmetry of atoms and molecules, which underlie the quantum theory of angular momentum. Eigenvalue problems arise in the quantum mechanics of atomic arising in the quantum mechanics of atomic or molecular systems yield stationary states corresponding to the normal mode oscillations of either electrons in-an atom or atoms within a molecule. Angular momentum quantum numbers correspond to a labelling system used to classify these normal modes, analysing the transitions between them can lead and theoretically predict of atomic or a molecular spectrum. Whereas, the symmetrical principle of group theory can then be applied, from which allow their classification accordingly. In which, this kind of analysis requires an appreciation of the symmetry properties of the molecules ( rotations, inversions, etc. ) that leave the molecule invariant make up the point group of that molecule. Normal modes sharing the same ῳ eigenvalues are said to correspond to the irreducible representations of these molecules’ point group. It is among these irreducible representations that one will find the infrared absorption spectrum for the vibrational normal modes of the molecule.
Eigenvalue problems play a particularly important role in quantum mechanics. In quantum mechanics, physically observable as location momentum energy etc., are represented by operations ( differentiations with respect to a variable, multiplication by a variable ), which act on wave functions. Wave functioning differs from classical waves in that they carry no energy. For classical waves, the square modulus of its amplitude measures its energy. For a wave function, the square modulus of its amplitude, at a location χ represents not energy bu probability, i.e., the probability that a particle -a localized packet of energy will be observed in a detector is placed at that location. The wave function therefore describes the distribution of possible locations of the particle and is perceptible only after many location detectors events have occurred. A measurement of position of a quantum particle may be written symbolically as:
X Ψ(χ) = χΨ(χ),
Where Ψ( χ ) is said to be an eigenvector of the location operator and ‘χ’ is the eigenvalue, which represents the location. Each Ψ(χ) represents amplitude at the location ‘χ’,
Ψ(χ)
2 is the probability that the particle will be found in an infinitesimal volume at that location. The wave function describing the distribution of all possible locations for the particle is the linear superposition of all Ψ(χ) for zero ≤χ ≥ ∞. These principles that hold generally in physics wherever linear phenomena occur. In elasticity, the principle stares that the same strains whether it acts alone accompany each stress or in conjunction with others, it is true so long as the total stress does not exceed the limit of proportionality. In vibrations and wave motion the principle asserts that one set is unaffected by the presence of another set. For example, two sets of ripples on water will pass through one anther without mutual interaction so that, at a particular instant, the resultant distribution at any point traverse by both sets of waves is the sum of the two component disturbances.’
The superposition of two vibrations, y1 and y2, both of frequency , produces a resultant vibration of the same frequency, its amplitude and phase functions of the component amplitudes and phases, that:
y1 = a1 sin(2πt + δ1)
y2 = a2 sin(sin(2πt + δ2)
Then the resultant vibration, y, is given by:
y1 + y2 = A sin(2πt + Δ),
Where amplitude A and phase Δ is both functions of a1, a2, δ1, and δ2.
However, the eigenvalue problems in quantum mechanics therefore represent observable representations as made by possible states ( position, in the case of χ ) that the quantum system can have to stationary states, of which states that the product of the uncertainty of the resulting value of a component of momentum ( pχ) and the uncertainties in the corresponding co-ordinate position ( χ ) is of the same order of magnitude as the Planck Constant. It produces an accurate measurement of position is possible, as a resultant of the uncertainty principle. Subsequently, measurements of the position acquire a spread themselves, which makes the continuos monitoring of the position impossibly.
As in, classical mechanics may take differential or matrix forms. Both forms have been shown to be equivalent. The differential form of quantum mechanics is called wave mechanics ( Schrödinger ), where the operators are differential operators or multiplications by variables. Eigenfunctions in wave mechanics are wave functions corresponding to stationary wave states that responding to stationary conditions. The matrix forms of quantum mechanics are often matrix mechanics: Born and Heisenberg. Matrices acting of eigenvectors represent the operators.
The relationship between matrix and wave mechanics is similar to the relationship between matrix and differential forms of eigenvalue problems in classical mechanics. The wave functions representing stationary states are really normal modes of the quantum wave. These normal modes may be thought of as vectors that span on a vector space, which have a matrix representation.
Pauli, in 1925, suggested that each electron could exist in two states with the same orbital motion. Uhlenbeck and Goudsmit interpreted these states as due to the spin of the electron about an axis. The electron is assumed to have an intrinsic angular momentum on addition, to any angular momentum due to its orbital motion. This intrinsic angular momentum is called ‘spin’ It is quantized in values of
s(s + 1)h/2π,
Where ‘s’ is the ‘spin quantum number’ and ‘h’ the Planck constant. For an electron the component of spin in a given direction can have values of + ½ and – ½, leading to the two possible states. An electron with spin that is behaviourally likens too small magnetic moments, in which came alongside an intrinsic magnetic moment. A ‘magneton gives of a fundamental constant, whereby the intrinsic magnetic moment of an electron acquires the circulatory current created by the angular momentum ‘p’ of an electron moving in its orbital produces a magnetic moment μ = ep/2m, where ‘e and ‘m’ are the charge and mass of the electron, by substituting the quantized relation p = jh/2π(h) = the Planck constant: j = magnetic quantum number ), μ-jh/4πm. When j is taken as unity the quantity eh/4πm is called the Bohr magneton, its value is:
9.274 0780 x 10-24 Am2
According to the wave mechanics of Dirac, the magnetic moment associated with the spin of the electron would be exactly one Bohr magnetron, although quantum electrodynamics show that a small difference can v=be expected.
The nuclear magnetron, ‘μN’ is equal to (me/mp)μB. Where mp is the mass of the proton. The value of μN is:
5.050 8240 x 10-27 A m2
The magnetic moment of a proton is, in fact, 2.792 85 nuclear magnetos. The two states of different energy result from interactions between the magnetic field due to the electron’s spin and that caused by its orbital motion. These are two closely spaced states resulting from the two possible spin directions and these lead to the two limes in the doublet.
In an external magnetic field the angular momentum vector of the electron precesses. For an explicative example, if a body is of a spin, it holds about its axis of symmetry OC ( where O is a fixed point ) and C is rotating round an axis OZ fixed outside the body, the body is said to be precessing round OZ. OZ is the precession axis. A gyroscope precesses due to an applied torque called the precessional torque. If the moment of inertia a body about OC is I and its angular momentum velocity is ω, a torque ‘K’, whose axis is perpendicular to the axis of rotation will produce an angular velocity of precession Ω about an axis perpendicular to both ῳ and the torque axis where: Ω = K/Iω.
It is . . . , wholly orientated of the vector to the field direction are allowed, there is a quantization so that the component of the angular momentum along the direction I restricted of certain values of h/2π. The angular momentum vector has allowed directions such that the component is mS(h2π), where mS is the magnetic so in quantum number. For a given value of s, mS has the value’s, ( s-1), . . . –s. For example, when s = 1, mS is I, O, and – 1. The electron has a spin of ½ and thus mS is + ½ and – ½. Thus the components of its spin of angular momentum along the field direction are,
± ½(h/2π). These phenomena are called ‘a space quantization’.
The resultant spin of a number of particles is the vector sum of the spins ( s ) of the individual particles and is given by symbol S. for example, in an atom two electrons with spin of ½ could combine to give a resultant spin of S = ½ + ½ = 1 or a resultant of
S = ½ – ½ =1 or a resultant of S = ½ – ½ =0.
Alternative symbols used for spin is J ( for elementary particles or standard theory ) and I ( for a nucleus ). Most elementary particles have a non-zero spin, which either be integral of half integral. The spin of a nucleus is the resultant of the spin of its constituent’s nucleons.
For most generally accepted interpretations is that
ψ
2dV represents the probability that particle is located within the volume element dV, as well, ‘Ψ’ is often a complex quantity. The analogy between ‘Ψ’ and the amplitude of a wave is purely formal. There is no macroscopic physical quantity with which ‘Ψ’ can be identified, in contrast with, for example, the amplitude of an electromagnetic wave, which are expressed in terms of electric and magnetic field intensities. There are an infinite number of functions satisfying a wave equation, but only some of these will satisfy the boundary condition. ‘Ψ’ must be finite and single-valued at each point, and the spatial derivatives must be continuous at an interface? For a particle subject to a law of conservation of numbers; The integral of
Ψ
2dV over all space must remain equal to 1, since this is the probability that it exists somewhere. To satisfy this condition the wave equation must be of the first order in (dΨdt). Wave functions obtained when these conditions are applied form of set of ‘characteristic functions’ of the Schrödinger wave equation. These are often called ‘eigenfunctions’ and correspond to a set of fixed energy values in which the system may exist, called ‘eigenvalues’. Energy eigenfunctions describe stationary states of a system. For example, bound states of a system the eigenfunctions do not change signs on reversing the co-ordinated axes. These states are said to have ‘even parity’. For other states the sign changes on space reversal and the parity is said to be ‘odd’.
The least distance in a progressive wave between two surfaces with the same phase. If ‘v’ is the ‘phase speed’ and ‘v’ the frequency, the wavelength is given by v = vλ. For ‘electromagnetic radiation’ the phase speed and wavelength in a material medium are equal to their values I free space divided by the ‘refractive index’. The wavelengths are spectral lines are normally specified for free space. Optical wavelengths are measured absolutely using interferometers or diffraction grating, or comparatively using a prism spectrometer.
The wavelength can only have an exact value for an infinite wave train. If an atomic body emits a quantum in the form of a train of waves of duration ‘τ’ the fractional uncertainty of the wavelength, Δλ/λ, is approximately λ/2πcτ, where ‘c’ is the speed of free space. This is associated with the indeterminacy of the energy given by the ‘uncertainty principle’.
A moment of momentum about an axis, represented as Symbol: L, the product of the moment of inertia and angular velocity ( Iѡ ) angular momentum is a ‘pseudo vector quality’. It is conserved in an isolated system, as the moment of inertia contains itself of a body about an axis. The sum of the products of the mass of each particle of a body and square of its perpendicular distance from the axis: This addition is replaced by an integration in the case of continuous body. For a rigid body moving about a fixed axis, the laws of motion have the same form as those of rectilinear motion, with moments of inertia replacing mass, angular velocity replacing linear momentum, etc. hence the ‘energy’ of a body rotating about a fixed axis with angular velocity ѡ is ½Iѡ2, which corresponds to ½mv2 for the kinetic energy of a body mass ‘m’ translated with velocity ‘v’.
The linear momentum of a particle ‘p’ bears the product of the mass and the velocity of the particle. It is a ‘vector’ quality directed through the particle of a body or a system of particles is the vector sum of the linear momentums of the individual particles. If a body of mass ‘M’ is translated ( the movement of a body or system in which a way that all points are moved in parallel directions through equal distances ), with a velocity ‘V’, it has its mentum as ‘MV’, which is the momentum of a particle of mass ‘M’ at the centre of gravity of the body. The product of ‘moment of inertia and angular velocity’. Angular momentum is a ‘pseudo vector quality and is conserved in an isolated system, and equal to the linear velocity divided by the radial axes per sec.
If the moment of inertia of a body of mass ‘M’ about an axis through the centre of mass is I, the moment of inertia about a parallel axis distance ‘h’ from the first axis is I + Mh2. If the radius of gyration is ‘k’ about the first axis, it is (k2 + h2 ) about the second. The moment of inertia of a uniform solid body about an axis of symmetry is given by the product of the mass and the sum of squares of the other semi-axes, divided by 3, 4, 5 according to whether the body is rectangular, elliptical or ellipsoidal.
The circle is a special case of the ellipse. The Routh’s rule works for a circular or elliptical cylinder or elliptical discs it works for all three axes of symmetry. For example, for a circular disk of the radius ‘an’ and mass ‘M’, the moment of inertia about an axis through the centre of the disc and lying ( a ) perpendicular to the disc, ( b ) in the plane of the disc is
( a ) ¼M( a2 + a2 ) = ½Ma2
( b ) ¼Ma2.
A formula for calculating moments of inertia I:
I = mass x (a2 /3 + n) + b2 /(3 + nʹ ),
Where n and nʹ are the numbers of principal curvatures of the surface that terminates the semiaxes in question and ‘a’ and ‘b’s’ are the lengths of the semiaxes. Thus, if the body is a rectangular parallelepiped, n = nʹ = 0, and
I =-mass x (a2 / 3 + b2 /3).
If the body is a cylinder then, for an axis through its centre, perpendicular to the cylinder axis, n = 0 and nʹ = 1, it substantiates that if,
I = mass x (a2 / 3 + b2 /4).
If ‘I’ is desired about the axis of the cylinder, then n= nʹ = 1 and a = b = r ( the cylinder radius) and; I = mass x ( r2 /2 ).
An array of mathematical concepts, which is similar to a determinant but differ from it in not having a numerical value in the ordinary sense of the term is called a matrix. It obeys the same rules of multiplication, addition. Etc. an array of ‘mn’ numbers set out in ‘m’ rows and ‘n’ columns are a matrix of the order of m x n. the separate numbers are usually called elements, such arrays of numbers, tarted as single entities and manipulated by the rules of matrix algebra, are of use whenever simultaneous equations are found, e.g., changing from one set of Cartesian axes to another set inclined the first: Quantum theory, electrical networks. Matrixes are very prominent in the mathematical expression of quantum mechanics.
A mathematical form of quantum mechanics that was developed by Born and Heisenberg and originally simultaneously with but independently of wave mechanics. It is equivalent to wave mechanics, but in it the wave function of wave mechanics is replaced by ‘vectors’ in a seemly space ( Hilbert space ) and observable things of the physical world, such as energy, momentum, co-ordinates, etc., is represented by ‘matrices’.
The theory involves the idea that a maturement on a system disturbs, to some extent, the system itself. With large systems this is of no consequence, and the system this is of no classical mechanics. On the atomic scale, however, the results of the order in which the observations are made. T0atd if ‘p’ denotes an observation of a component of momentum and ‘q. An observer of the corresponding co-ordinates pq ≠ qp. Here ‘p’ and ‘q’ are not physical quantities but operators. In matrix mechanics and obey te relationship
pq ‒ qp = ih/2π
where ‘h’ is the Planck constant that equals to 6.626 076 x 10-34 j s. The matrix elements are connected with the transition probability between various states of the system.
A quantity with magnitude and direction. It can be represented by a line whose length is propositional to the magnitude and whose direction is that of the vector, or by three components in rectangular co-ordinate system. Their angle between vectors is 90%, that the product and vector product base a similarity to unit vectors such, are to either be equated to being zero or one.
A true vector, or polar vector, involves the displacement or virtual displacement. Polar vectors include velocity, acceleration, force, electric and magnetic strength. Th deigns of their components are reversed on reversing the co-ordinated axes. Their dimensions include length to an odd power.
A Pseudo vector, or axial vector, involves the orientation of an axis in space. The direction is conventionally obtained in a right-handed system by sighting along the axis so that the rotation appears clockwise, Pseudo-vectors includes angular velocity, vector area and magnetic flux density. The signs of their components are unchanged on reversing the co-ordinated axes. Their dimensions include length to an even power.
Polar vectors and axial vectors obey the same laws of the vector analysis
( a ) Vector addition: If two vectors ‘A’ and ‘B’ are represented in magnitude and direction by the adjacent sides of a parallelogram, the diagonal represents the vector sun ( A + B ) in magnitude and direction, forces, velocity, etc., combine in this way.
( b ) Vector multiplying: There are two ways of multiplying vectors ( I ) the ‘scalar product’ of two vectors equals the product of their magnitudes and the co-sine of the angle between them, and is scalar quantity. It is usually written
A • B ( reads as A dot B )
(ii ) The vector product of two vectors: A and B are defined as a pseudo vector of magnitude AB sin θ, having a direction perpendicular to the plane containing them. The sense of the product along this perpendicular is defined by the rule: If ‘A’ is turned toward ‘B’ through the smaller angle, this rotation appears of the vector product. A vector product is usually written
A x B ( reads as A cross B ).
Vectors should be distinguished from scalars by printing the symbols in bold italic letters.
A theo1y that seeks to unite the properties of gravitational, electromagnetic, weak, and strong interactions to predict all their characteristics. At present it is not known whether such a theory can be developed, or whether the physical universe is amenable to a single analysis about the current concepts of physics. There are unsolved problems in using the framework of a relativistic quantum field theory to encompass the four elementary particles. It may be that using extended objects, as superstring and super-symmetric theories, but, still, this will enable a future synthesis for achieving obtainability.
A unified quantum field theory of the electromagnetic, weak and strong interactions, in most models, the known interactions are viewed as a low-energy manifestation of a single unified interaction, the unification taking place at energies (Typically 1015 GeV) very much higher than those currently accessible in particle accelerations. One feature of the Grand Unified Theory is that ‘baryon’ number and ‘lepton’ number would no-longer be absolutely conserved quantum numbers, with the consequences that such processes as ‘proton decay’, for example, the decay of a proton into a positron and a π0, p → e+π0 would be expected to be observed. Predicted lifetimes for proton decay are very long, typically 1035 years. Searchers for proton decay are being undertaken by many groups, using large underground detectors, so far without success.
One of the mutual attractions binding the universe of its owing totality, but independent of electromagnetism, strong and weak nuclear forces of interactive bondages is one of gravitation. Newton showed that the external effect of a spherical symmetric body is the same as if the whole mass were concentrated at the centre. Astronomical bodies are roughly spherically symmetric so can be treated as point particles to a very good approximation. On this assumption Newton showed that his law consistent with Kepler’s laws? Until recently, all experiments have confirmed the accuracy of the inverse square law and the independence of the law upon the nature of the substances, but in the past few years evidence has been found against both.
The size of a gravitational field at any point is given by the force exerted on unit mass at that point. The field intensity at a distance ‘χ’ from a point mass ‘m’ is therefore Gm/χ2, and acts toward ‘m’. Gravitational field strength is measured in ‘newtons’ per kilogram. The gravitational potential ‘V’ at that point is the work done in moving a unit mass from infinity to the point against the field, due to a point mass.
x
V = Gm ∞ dχ / χ2 = ‒ Gm / χ.
V is a scalar measurement in joules per kilogram. The following special cases are also important ( a ) Potential at a point distance χ from the centre of a hollow homogeneous spherical shell of mass ‘m’ and outside the shell:
V = ‒Gm / χ.
The potential is the same as if the mass of the shell is assumed concentrated at the centre ( b ) At any point inside the spherical shell the potential is equal to its value at the surface:
V = ‒Gm / r
Where ‘r’ is the radius of the shell. Thus, there is no resultant force acting at any point inside the shell, since no potential difference acts between any two points, then ( c ) Potential at a point distance ‘χ’ from the centre of a homogeneous solid sphere and outside the spheres the same as that for a shell:
V = ‒Gm / χ
( d ) At a point inside the sphere, of radius ‘r’.
V = ‒Gm( 3r2 ‒ χ2 ) /2r3.
The essential property of gravitation is that it causes a change in motion, in particular the acceleration of free fall ( g ) in the earth’s gravitational field. According to the general theory of relativity, gravitational fields change the geometry of space-timer, causing it to become curved. It is this curvature that is geometrically responsible for an inseparability of the continuum of ‘space-time’ and its forbearing product is to a vicinities mass, entrapped by the universality of space-time, that in ways described by the pressures of their matter, that controls the natural motions of fording bodies. General relativity may thus be considered as a theory of gravitation, differences between it and Newtonian gravitation only appearing when the gravitational fields become very strong, as with ‘black-holes’ and ‘neutron stars’, or when very accurate measurements can be made.
Another binding characteristic embodied universally is the interaction between elementary particle arising as a consequence of their associated electric and magnetic fields. The electrostatic force between charged particles is an example. This force may be described in terms of the exchange of virtual photons, because of the uncertainty principle it is possible for the law of conservation of mass and energy to be broken by an amount ΔE providing this only occurring for a time such that:
ΔEΔt ≤ h/4π.
This makes it possible for particles to be created for short periods of time where their creation would normally violate conservation laws of energy. These particles are called ‘virtual particles’. For example, in a complete vacuum -which no “real” particle’s exist, as pairs of virtual electrons and positron are continuously forming and rapidly disappearing ( in less than 10-23 seconds ). Other conservation laws such as those applying to angular momentum, isospin, etc., cannot be violated even for short periods of time.
Because its strength lies between strong and weak nuclear interactions, the exchanging electromagnetic interaction of particles decaying by electromagnetic interaction, do so with a lifetime shorter than those decaying by weak interaction, but longer than those decaying under the influence of strong interaction. For example, of electromagnetic decay is:
π0 → γ + γ.
This decay process, with a mean lifetime covering 8.4 x 10-17, may be understood as the annihilation of the quark and the antiquark, making up the π0, into a pair of photons. The quantum numbers having to be conserved in electromagnetic interactions are, angular momentum, charge, baryon number, Isospin quantum number I3, strangeness, charm, parity and charge conjugation parity are unduly influenced.
Quanta’s electrodynamic descriptions of the photon-mediated electromagnetic interactions have been verified over a great range of distances and have led to highly accurate predictions. Quantum electrodynamics are a ‘gauge theory; as in quantum electrodynamics, the electromagnetic force can be derived by requiring that the equation describing the motion of a charged particle remain unchanged in the course of local symmetry operations. Specifically, if the phase of the wave function, by which charged particle is described is alterable independently, at which point in space, quantum electrodynamics require that the electromagnetic interaction and its mediating photon exist in order to maintain symmetry.
A kind of interaction between elementary particles that is weaker than the strong interaction force by a factor of about 1012. When strong interactions can occur in reactions involving elementary particles, the weak interactions are usually unobserved. However, sometimes strong and electromagnetic interactions are prevented because they would violate the conservation of some quantum number, e.g., strangeness, that has to be conserved in such reactions. When this happens, weak interactions may still occur.
The weak interaction operates over an extremely short range ( about 2 x 10-18 m ) it is mediated by the exchange of a very heavy particle ( a gauge boson ) that may be the charged W+ or W‒ particle ( mass about 80 GeV / c2 ) or the neutral Z0 particles ( mass about 91 GeV / c2 ). The gauge bosons that mediate the weak interactions are analogous to the photon that mediates the electromagnetic interaction. Weak interactions mediated by W particles involve a change in the charge and hence the identity of the reacting particle. The neutral Z0 does not lead to such a change in identity. Both sorts of weak interaction can violate parity.
Most of the long-lived elementary particles decay as a result of weak interactions. For example, the kaon decay K+ ➝ μ+ vμ may be thought of for being due to the annihilation of the u quark and antiquark in the K+ to produce a virtual W+ boson, which then converts into a positive muon and a neutrino. This decay action or and electromagnetic interaction because strangeness is not conserved, Beta decay is the most common example of weak interaction decay. Because it is so weak, particles that can only decay by weak interactions do so relatively slowly, i.e., they have relatively long lifetimes. Other examples of weak interactions include the scattering of the neutrino by other particles and certain very small effects on electrons within the atom.
Understanding of weak interactions is based on the electroweak theory, in which it is proposed that the weak and electromagnetic interactions are different manifestations of a single underlying force, known as the electroweak force. Many of the predictions of the theory have been confirmed experimentally.
A gauge theory, also called quantum flavour dynamics, that provides a unified description of both the electromagnetic and weak interactions. In the Glashow-Weinberg-Salam theory, also known as the standard model, electroweak interactions arise from the exchange of photons and of massive charged W+ and neutral Z0 bosons of spin 1 between quarks and leptons. The extremely massive charged particle, symbol W+ or W‒, that mediates certain types of weak interaction. The neutral Z-particle, or Z boson, symbol Z0, mediates the other types. Both are gauge bosons. The W- and Z-particles were first detected at CERN ( 1983 ) by studying collisions between protons and antiprotons with total energy 540 GeV in centre-of-mass co-ordinates. The rest masses were determined as about 80 GeV / c2 and 91 GeV / c2 for the W- and Z-particles, respectively, as had been predicted by the electroweak theory.
The interaction strengths of the gauge bosons to quarks and leptons and the masses of the W and Z bosons themselves are predicted by the theory, the Weinberg Angle θW, which must be determined by experiment. The Glashow-Weinberg-Salam theory successfully describes all existing data from a wide variety of electroweak processes, such as neutrino-nucleon, neutrino-electron and electron-nucleon scattering. A major success of the model was the direct observation in 1983-84 of the W± and Z0 bosons with the predicted masses of 80 and 91 GeV / c2 in high energy proton-antiproton interactions. The decay modes of the W± and Z0 bosons have been studied in very high pp and e+ e‒ interactions and found to be in good agreement with the Standard model.
The six known types ( or flavours ) of quarks and the six known leptons are grouped into three separate generations of particles as follows:
1st generation: e‒ ve u d
2nd generation: μ‒ vμ c s
3rd generation: τ‒ vτ t b
The second and third generations are essentially copies of the first generation, which contains the electron and the ‘up’ and ‘down’ quarks making up the proton and neutron, but involve particles of higher mass. Communication between the different generations occurs only in the quark sector and only for interactions involving W± bosons. Studies of Z0 bosons production in very high energy electron-positron interactions has shown that no further generations of quarks and leptons can exist in nature ( an arbitrary number of generations is a priori possible within the standard model ) provided only that any new neutrinos are approximately massless.
The Glashow-Weinberg-Salam model also predicts the existence of a heavy spin 0 particle, not yet observed experimentally, known as the Higgs boson. The spontaneous symmetry-breaking mechanism used to generate non-zero masses for W± and Z bosons in the electroweak theory, whereby the mechanism postulates the existence of two new complex fields, φ(χμ) = φ1 + I φ2 and Ψ(χμ) = Ψ1 + I Ψ2, which are functional distributors to χμ = χ, y, z and t, and form a doublet ( φ, Ψ ) this doublet of complex fields transforms in the same way as leptons and quarks under electroweak gauge transformations. Such gauge transformations rotate φ1, φ2, Ψ1, Ψ2 into each other without changing the nature of the physical science.
The vacuum does not share the symmetry of the fields ( φ, Ψ ) and a spontaneous breaking of the vacuum symmetry occurs via the Higgs mechanism. Consequently, the fields φ and Ψ have non-zero values in the vacuum. A particular orientation of φ1, φ2, Ψ1, Ψ2 may be chosen so that all the components of φ ( φ1 ). This component responds to electroweak fields in a way that is analogous to the response of a plasma to electromagnetic fields. Plasmas oscillate in the presence of electromagnetic waves, however, electromagnetic waves can only propagate at a frequency above the plasma frequency ωp2 given by the expression:
ωp2 = ne2 / mε
Where ‘n’ is the charge number density, ‘e’ the electrons charge. ‘m’ the electrons mass and ‘ε’ is the Permittivity of the plasma. In quantum field theory, this minimum frequency for electromagnetic waves may be thought of as a minimum energy for the existence of a quantum of the electromagnetic field ( a photon ) within the plasma. This minimum energy or mass for the photon, which becomes a field quantum of a finite ranged force. Thus, in its plasma, photons acquire a mass and the electromagnetic interaction has a finite range.
The vacuum field φ1 responds to weak fields by giving a mass and finite range to the W± and Z bosons, however, the electromagnetic field is unaffected by the presence of φ1 so the photon remains massless. The mass acquired by the weak interaction bosons is proportional to the vacuum of φ1 and to the weak charge strength. A quantum of the field φ1 is an electrically neutral particle called the Higgs boson. It interacts with all massive particles with a coupling that is proportional to their mass. The standard model does not predict the mass of the Higgs boson, but it is known that it cannot be too heavy ( not much more than about 1000 proton masses ). Since this would lead to complicated self-interaction, such self-interaction is not believed to be present, because the theory does not account for them, but nevertheless successfully predicts the masses of the W± and Z bosons. These of the particle results from the so-called spontaneous symmetry breaking mechanisms, and used to generate non-zero masses for the W± and Z0 bosons and is presumably too massive to have been produced in existing particle accelerators.
We now turn our attentions belonging to the third binding force of unity, in, and of itself, its name implicates a physicality in the belonging nature that holds itself the binding of strong interactions that portray of its owing universality, simply because its universal. Interactions between elementary particles involving the strong interaction force. This force is about one hundred times greater than the electromagnetic force between charged elementary particles. However, it is a short range force -it is only important for particles separated by a distance of less than abut 10-15- and is the force that holds protons and neutrons together in atomic nuclei for ‘soft’ interactions between hadrons, where relatively small transfers of momentum are involved, the strong interactions may be described in terms of the exchange of virtual hadrons, just as electromagnetic interactions between charged particles may be described in terms of the exchange of virtual photons. At a more fundamental level, the strong interaction arises as the result of the exchange of gluons between quarks and/and antiquarks as described by quantum chromodynamics.
In the hadron exchange picture, any hadron can act as the exchanged particle provided certain quantum numbers are conserved. These quantum numbers are the total angular momentum, charge, baryon number, Isospin ( both I and I3 ), strangeness, parity, charge conjugation parity, and G-parity. Strong interactions are investigated experimentally by observing how beams of high-energy hadrons are scattered when they collide with other hadrons. Two hadrons colliding at high energy will only remain near to each other for a very short time. However, during the collision they may come sufficiently close to each other for a strong interaction to occur by the exchanger of a virtual particle. As a result of this interaction, the two colliding particles will be deflected ( scattered ) from their original paths. I the virtual hadron exchanged during the interaction carries some quantum numbers from one particle to the other, the particles found after the collision may differ from those before it. Sometimes the number of particles is increased in a collision.
In hadron-hadron interactions, the number of hadrons produced increases approximately logarithmically with the total centre of mass energy, reaching about 50 particles for proton-antiproton collisions at 900 GeV, for example in some of these collisions, two oppositely-directed collimated ‘jets’ of hadrons are produced, which are interpreted as due to an underlying interaction involving the exchange of an energetic gluon between, for example, a quark from the proton and an antiquark from the antiproton. The scattered quark and antiquark cannot exist as free particles, but instead ‘fragments’ into a large number of hadrons ( mostly pions and kaon ) travelling approximately along the original quark or antiquark direction. This results in collimated jets of hadrons that can be detected experimentally. Studies of this and other similar processes are in good agreement with quantum chromodynamics predictions.
The interaction between elementary particles arising as a consequence of their associated electric and magnetic fields. The electrostatic force between charged particles is an example. This force may be described in terms of the exchange of virtual photons, because its strength lies between strong and weak interactions, particles decaying by electromagnetic interaction do so with a lifetime shorter than those decaying by weak interaction, but longer than those decaying by strong interaction. An example of electromagnetic decay is:
π0 ➝ ϒ + ϒ.
This decay process ( mean lifetime 8.4 x 10-17 seconds ) may be understood as the ‘annihilation’ of the quark and the antiquark making up the π0, into a pair of photons. The following quantum numbers have to be conserved in electromagnetic interactions: Angular momentum, charm, baryon number, Isospin quantum number I3, strangeness, charm, parity, and charge conjugation parity.
A particle that, as far as is known, is not composed of other simpler particles. Elementary particles represent the most basic constituents of matter and are also the carriers of the fundamental forces between particles, namely the electromagnetic, weak, strong, and gravitational forces. The known elementary particles can be grouped into three classes, leptons, quarks, and gauge bosons, hadrons, such strongly interacting particles as the proton and neutron, which are bound states of quarks and/or antiquarks, are also sometimes called elementary particles.
Leptons undergo electromagnetic and weak interactions, but not strong interactions. Six leptons are known, the negatively charged electron, muon, and tauons plus three associates neutrinos: Ve, vμ and vτ. The electron is a stable particle but the muon and tau leptons decay through the weak interactions with lifetimes of about 10-8 and 10-13 seconds. Neutrinos are stable neutral leptons, which interact only through the weak interaction.
Corresponding to the leptons are six quarks, namely the up ( u ), charm ( c ) and top ( t ) quarks with electric charge equal to +⅔ that of the proton and the down ( d ), strange ( s ), and bottom ( b ) quarks of charge -⅓ the proton charge. Quarks have not been observed experimentally as free particles, but reveal their existence only indirectly in high-energy scattering experiments and through patterns observed in the properties of hadrons. They are believed to be permanently confined within hadrons, either in baryons, half integer spin hadrons containing three quarks, or in mesons, integer spin hadrons containing a quark and an antiquark. The proton, for example, is a baryon containing two ‘up’ quarks and an ‘anti-down ( d ) quark, while the π+ is a positively charged meson containing an up quark and an anti-down ( d ) antiquark. The only hadron that is stable as a free particle is the proton. The neutron is unstable when free. Within a nucleus, proton and neutrons are generally both stable but either particle may bear into a transformation into the other, by ‘Beta Decay or Capture’.
Interactions between quarks and leptons are mediated by the exchange of particles known as ‘gauge bosons’, specifically the photon for electromagnetic interactions, W± and Z0 bosons for the weak interaction, and eight massless gluons, in the case of the strong integrations.
A class of eigenvalue problems in physics that take the form
ΩΨ = λΨ,
Where ‘Ω’ is some mathematical operation ( multiplication by a number, differentiation, etc. ) on a function ‘Ψ’, which is called the ‘eigenfunction’. ‘λ’ is called the eigenvalue, which in a physical system will be identified with an observable quantity analogous to the amplitude of a wave that appears in the equations of wave mechanics, particularly the Schrödinger wave equation, the most generally accepted interpretation is that
Ψ
2dV, representing the probability that a particle is located within the volume element dV, mass in which case a particle of mass ‘m’ moving with a velocity ‘v’ will, under suitable experimental conditions exhibit the characteristics of a wave of wave length λ, given by the equation λ = h/mv, where ‘h’ is the Planck constant that equals to 6.626 076 x 10-34 J s.? This equation is the basis of wave mechanics. However, a set of weaves that represent the behaviour, under appropriate conditions, of a particle, e.g., its diffraction by a crystal lattice. The wave length is given by the “de Broglie equation.” They are sometimes regarded as waves of probability, since the square of their amplitude at a given point represents the probability of finding the particle in unit volume at that point. These waves were predicted by Broglie in 1924 and in 1927 in the Davisson-Germer experiment.
Eigenvalue problems are ubiquitous in classical physics and occur whenever the mathematical description of a physical system yields a series of coupled differential equations. For example, the collective motion of a large number of interacting oscillators may be described by a set of coupled differential educations. Each differential equation describes the motion of one of the oscillators in terms of the position of all the others. A ‘harmonic’ solution may be sought, in which each displacement is assumed to have a ‘simple harmonic motion’ in time. The differential equations then reduce to 3N linear equations with 3N unknowns, where ‘N’ is the number of individual oscillators, each with three degrees of freedom. The whole problem is now easily recast as a ‘matrix education’ of the form:
Mχ = ω2χ
Where ‘M’ is an N x N matrix called the ‘dynamical matrix’, and χ is an N x 1 ‘a column matrix, and ω2 is the square of an angular frequency of the harmonic solution. The problem is now an eigenvalue problem with eigenfunctions ‘χ’ which is the normal mode of the system, with corresponding eigenvalues ω2. As ‘χ’ can be expressed as a column vector, χ is a vector in some N-dimensional vector space. For this reason, χ is often called an eigenvector.
When the collection of oscillators is a complicated three-dimensional molecule, the casting of the problem into normal modes is an effective simplification of the system. The symmetry principles of ‘group theory’ can then be applied, which classify normal modes according to their ‘ω’ eigenvalues ( frequencies ). This kind of analysis requires an appreciation of the symmetry properties of the molecule. The sets of operations ( rotations, inversions, etc. ) that leave the molecule invariant make up the ‘point group’ of that molecule. Normal modes sharing the same ‘ω’ eigenvalues are said to correspond to the ‘irreducible representations’ of the molecule’s point group. It is among these irreducible representations that one will find the infrared absorption spectrum for the vibrational normal modes of the molecule.
Eigenvalue problems play a particularly important role in quantum mechanics. In quantum mechanics, physically observable ( location, momentum, energy, etc. ) are represented by operations ( differentiation with respect to a variable, multiplication by a variable ), which act on wave functions. Wave functions differ from classical waves in that they carry no energy. For classical waves, the square modulus of its amplitude measure its energy. For a wave function, the square modulus of its amplitude ( at a location χ ) represent not energy but probability, i.e., the probability that a particle -a localized packet of energy will be observed if a detector is placed at that location. The wave function therefore describes the distribution of possible locations of the particle and is perceptible only after many location detection events have occurred. A measurement of position on a quantum particle may be written symbolically as:
X Ψ( χ ) = χΨ( χ )
Where Ψ( χ ) is said to be an eigenvector of the location operator and ‘χ’ is the eigenvalue, which represents the location. Each Ψ( χ ) represents amplitude at the location χ,
Ψ( χ )
2 is the probability that the particle will be located in an infinitesimal volume at that location. The wave function describing the distribution of all possible locations for the particle is the linear super-position of all Ψ( χ ) for 0 ≤ χ ≤ ∞ that occur, its principle states that each stress is accompanied by the same strains whether it acts alone or in conjunction with others, it is true so long as the total stress does not exceed the limit of proportionality. Also, in vibrations and wave motion the principle asserts that one set of vibrations or waves are unaffected by the presence of another set. For example, two sets of ripples on water will pass through one another without mutual interactions so that, at a particular instant, the resultant disturbance at any point traversed by both sets of waves is the sum of the two component disturbances.
The eigenvalue problem in quantum mechanics therefore represents the act of measurement. Eigenvectors of an observable presentation were the possible states ( Position, in the case of χ ) that the quantum system can have. Stationary states of a quantum non-demolition attribute of a quantum system, such as position and momentum, are related by the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, which states that the product of the uncertainty of the measured value of a component of momentum ( pχ ) and the uncertainty in the corresponding co-ordinates of position ( χ ) is of the same order of magnitude as the Planck constant. Attributes related in this way are called ‘conjugate’ attributes. Thus, while an accurate measurement of position is possible, as a result of the uncertainty principle it produces a large momentum spread. Subsequent measurements of the position acquire a spread themselves, which makes the continuous monitoring of the position impossible.
The eigenvalues are the values that observables take on within these quantum states. As in classical mechanics, eigenvalue problems in quantum mechanics may take differential or matrix forms. Both forms have been shown to be equivalent. The differential form of quantum mechanics is called ‘wave mechanics’ ( Schrödinger ), where the operators are differential operators or multiplications by variables. Eigenfunctions in wave mechanics are wave functions corresponding to stationary wave states that satisfy some set of boundary conditions. The matrix form of quantum mechanics is often called matrix mechanics ( Born and Heisenberg ). Matrix acting on eigenvectors represents the operators.
The relationship between matrix and wave mechanics is very similar to the relationship between matrix and differential forms of eigenvalue problems in classical mechanics. The wave functions representing stationary states are really normal modes of the quantum wave. These normal modes may be thought of as vectors that span a vector space, which have a matrix representation.
Once, again, the Heisenberg uncertainty relation, or indeterminacy principle of ‘quantum mechanics’ that associate the physical properties of particles into pairs such that both together cannot be measured to within more than a certain degree of accuracy. If ‘A’ and ‘V’ form such a pair is called a conjugate pair, then: ΔAΔV > k, where ‘k’ is a constant and ΔA and ΔV are a variance in the experimental values for the attributes ‘A’ and ‘V’. The best-known instance of the equation relates the position and momentum of an electron: ΔpΔχ > h, where ‘h’ is the Planck constant. This is the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. Still, the usual value given for Planck’s constant is 6.6 x 10-27 ergs sec. Since Planck’s constant is not zero, mathematical analysis reveals the following: The ‘spread’, or uncertainty, in position times the ‘spread’, or uncertainty of momentum is greater than, or possibly equal to, the value of the constant or, or accurately, Planck’s constant divided by 2π, if we choose to know momentum exactly, then us knowing nothing about position, and vice versa.
The presence of Plank’s constant calls that we approach quantum physics a situation in which the mathematical theory does not allow precise prediction of, or exist in exact correspondences with, the physical reality. If nature did not insist on making changes or transitions in precise chunks of Planck’s quantum of action, or in multiples of these chunks, there would be no crisis. But whether it is of our own determinacy, such that a cancerous growth in the body of an otherwise perfect knowledge of the physical world or the grounds for believing, in principle at least, in human freedom, one thing appears certain -it is an indelible feature of our understanding of nature.
In order too further explain how fundamental the quantum of action is to our present understanding of the life of nature, let us attempt to do what quantum physics says we cannot do and visualize its role in the simplest of all atoms -the hydrogen atom. It can be thought that standing at the centre of the Sky Dome at roughly where the pitcher’s mound is. Place a grain of salt on the mound, and picture a speck of dust moving furiously around the orbital’s outskirts of the Sky Dome’s fulfilling circle, around which the grain of salt remains referential of the topic. This represents, roughly, the relative size of the nucleus and the distance between electron and nucleus inside the hydrogen atom when imaged in its particle aspect.
In quantum physics, however, the hydrogen atom cannot be visualized with such macro-level analogies. The orbit of the electron is not a circle, in which a planet-like object moves, and each orbit is described in terms of a probability distribution for finding the electron in an average position corresponding to each orbit as opposed to an actual position. Without observation or measurement, the electron could be in some sense anywhere or everywhere within the probability distribution, also, the space between probability distributions is not empty, it is infused with energetic vibrations capable of manifesting itself as the befitting quanta.
The energy levels manifest at certain distances because the transition between orbits occurs in terms of precise units of Planck’s constant. If any attentive effects to comply with or measure where the particle-like aspect of the electron is, in that the existence of Planck’s constant will always prevent us from knowing precisely all the properties of that electron that we might presume to be they’re in the absence of measurement. Also, the two-split experiment, as our presence as observers and what we choose to measure or observe are inextricably linked to the results obtained. Since all complex molecules are built from simpler atoms, what is to be done, is that liken to the hydrogen atom, of which case applies generally to all material substances.
The grounds for objecting to quantum theory, the lack of a one-to-one correspondence between every element of the physical theory and the physical reality it describes, may seem justifiable and reasonable in strict scientific terms. After all, the completeness of all previous physical theories was measured against that criterion with enormous success. Since it was this success that gave physicists the reputation of being able to disclose physical reality with magnificent exactitude, perhaps a more complex quantum theory will emerge by continuing to insist on this requirement.
All indications are, however, that no future theory can circumvent quantum indeterminacy, and the success of quantum theory in co-ordinating our experience with nature is eloquent testimony to this conclusion. As Bohr realized, the fact that we live in a quantum universe in which the quantum of action is a given or an unavoidable reality requires a very different criterion for determining the completeness of physical theory. The new measure for a complete physical theory is that it unambiguously confirms our ability to co-ordinate more experience with physical reality.
If a theory does so and continues to do so, which is certainly the case with quantum physics, then the theory must be deemed complete. Quantum physics not only works exceedingly well, it is, in these terms, the most accurate physical theory that has ever existed. When we consider that this physics allows us to predict and measure quantities like the magnetic moment of electrons to the fifteenth decimal place, we realize that accuracy perse is not the real issue. The real issue, as Bohr rightly intuited, is that this complete physical theory effectively undermines the privileged relationships in classical physics between physical theory and physical reality. Another measure of success in physical theory is also met by quantum physics -eloquence and simplicity. The quantum recipe for computing probabilities given by the wave function is straightforward and can be successfully employed by any undergraduate physics student. Take the square of the wave amplitude and compute the probability of what can be measured or observed with a certain value. Yet there is a profound difference between the recipe for calculating quantum probabilities and the recipe for calculating probabilities in classical physics.
In quantum physics, one calculates the probability of an event that can happen in alternative ways by adding the wave functions, and then taking the square of the amplitude. In the two-split experiment, for example, the electron is described by one wave function if it goes through one slit and by another wave function if it goes through the other slit. In order to compute the probability of where the electron is going to end on the screen, we add the two wave functions, compute the obsolete value of their sum, and square it. Although the recipe in classical probability theory seems similar, it is quite different. In classical physics, one would simply add the probabilities of the two alternative ways and let it go at that. That classical procedure does not work here because we are not dealing with classical atoms in quantum physics additional terms arise when the wave functions are added, and the probability is computed in a process known as the ‘superposition principle’. That the superposition principle can be illustrated with an analogy from simple mathematics. Add two numbers and then take the square of their sum, as opposed to just adding the squares of the two numbers. Obviously, ( 2 + 3 )2 is not equal to 22 + 32. The former is 25, and the latter are 13. In the language of quantum probability theory:
Ψ1 + Ψ2
2 ≠
Ψ1
2 +
Ψ2
2
Where Ψ1 and Ψ2 are the individual wave functions on the left-hand side, the superposition principle results in extra terms that cannot be found on the right-handed side the left-hand faction of the above relation is the way a quantum physicists would compute probabilities and the right-hand side is the classical analogue. In quantum theory, the right-hand side is realized when we know, for example, which slit through which the electron went. Heisenberg was among the first to compute what would happen in an instance like this. The extra superposition terms contained in the left-hand side of the above relation would not be there, and the peculiar wave-like interference pattern would disappear. The observed pattern on the final screen would, therefore, be what one would expect if electrons were behaving like bullets, and the final probability would be the sum of the individual probabilities. But when we know which slit the electron went through, this interaction with the system causes the interference pattern to disappear.
In order to give a full account of quantum recipes for computing probabilities, one g=has to examine what would happen in events that are compounded. Compound events are events that can be broken down into a series of steps, or events that consist of a number of things happening independently the recipe here calls for multiplying the individual wave functions, and then following the usual quantum recipe of taking the square of the amplitude.
The quantum recipe is
Ψ1 • Ψ2
2, and, in this case, it would be the same if we multiplied the individual probabilities, as one would in classical theory. Thus the recipes of computing results in quantum theory and classical physics can be totally different from quantum superposition effects are completely non-classical, and there is no mathematical justification to why the quantum recipes work. What justifies the use of quantum probability theory is the same thing that justifies the use of quantum physics -it has allowed us in countless experiments to vastly extend our ability to co-ordinate experience with nature.
The view of probability in the nineteenth century was greatly conditioned and reinforced by classical assumptions about the relationships between physical theory and physical reality. In this century, physicists developed sophisticated statistics to deal with large ensembles of particles before the actual character of these particles was understood. Classical statistics, developed primarily by James C. Maxwell and Ludwig Boltzmann, was used to account for the behaviour of a molecule in a gas and to predict the average speed of a gas molecule in terms of the temperature of the gas.
The presumption was that the statistical average were workable approximations those subsequent physical theories, or better experimental techniques, would disclose with precision and certainty. Since nothing was known about quantum systems, and since quantum indeterminacy is small when dealing with macro-level effects, this presumption was quite reasonable. We know, however, that quantum mechanical effects are present in the behaviour of gasses and that the choice to ignore them is merely a matter of convincing in getting workable or practical resulted. It is, therefore, no longer possible to assume that the statistical averages are merely higher-level approximations for a more exact description.
Perhaps the best-known defence of the classical conception of the relationship between physical theory ands physical reality is the celebrated animal introduced by the Austrian physicist Erin Schrödinger ( 1887-1961 ) in 1935, in a ‘thought experiment’ showing the strange nature of the world of quantum mechanics. The cat is thought of as locked in a box with a capsule of cyanide, which will break if a Geiger counter triggers. This will happen if an atom in a radioactive substance in the box decays, and there is a chance of 50% of such an event within an hour. Otherwise, the cat is alive. The problem is that the system is in an indeterminate state. The wave function of the entire system is a ‘superposition’ of states, fully described by the probabilities of events occurring when it is eventually measured, and therefore ‘contains equal parts of the living and dead cat’. When we look and see we will find either a breathing cat or a dead cat, but if it is only as we look that the wave packet collapses, quantum mechanic forces us to say that before we looked it was not true that the cat was dead and not true that it was alive, the thought experiment makes vivid the difficulty of conceiving of quantum indetermincies when these are translated to the familiar world of everyday objects.
The “electron,” is a stable elementary particle having a negative charge, e, equal to:
1.602 189 25 x 10-19 C
and a rest mass, m0 equal to;
9.109 389 7 x 10-31 kg
equivalent to 0.511 0034 MeV / c2
It has a spin of ½ and obeys Fermi-Dirac Statistics. As it does not have strong interactions, it is classified as a ‘lepton’.
The discovery of the electron was reported in 1897 by Sir J. J. Thomson, following his work on the rays from the cold cathode of a gas-discharge tube, it was soon established that particles with the same charge and mass were obtained from numerous substances by the ‘photoelectric effect’, ‘thermionic emission’ and ‘beta decay’. Thus, the electron was found to be part of all atoms, molecules, and crystals.
Free electrons are studied in a vacuum or a gas at low pressure, whereby beams are emitted from hot filaments or cold cathodes and are subject to ‘focussing’, so that the particles in which an electron beam in, for example, a cathode-ray tube, where in principal methods as ( I ) Electrostatic focussing, the beam is made to converge by the action of electrostatic fields between two or more electrodes at different potentials. The electrodes are commonly cylinders coaxial with the electron tube, and the whole assembly forms an electrostatic electron lens. The focussing effect is usually controlled by varying the potential of one of the electrodes, called the focussing electrode. ( ii ) Electromagnetic focussing, by way that the beam is made to converge by the action of a magnetic field that is produced by the passage of direct current, through a focussing coil. The latter are commonly a coil of short axial length mounted so as to surround the electron tube and to be coaxial with it.
The force FE on an electron or magnetic field of strength E is given by FE = Ee and is in the direction of the field. On moving through a potential difference V, the electron acquires a kinetic energy eV, hence it is possible to obtain beams of electrons of accurately known kinetic energy. In a magnetic field of magnetic flux density ‘B’, an electron with speed ‘v’ is subject to a force, FB = Bev sin θ, where θ is the angle between ‘B’ and ‘v’. This force acts at right angles to the plane containing ‘B’ and ‘v’.
The mass of any particle increases with speed according to the theory of relativity. If an electron is accelerated from rest through 5kV, the mass is 1% greater than it is at rest. Thus, accountably, must be taken of relativity for calculations on electrons with quite moderate energies.
According to ‘wave mechanics’ a particle with momentum ‘mv’ exhibits’ diffraction and interference phenomena, similar to a wave with wavelength λ = h/mv, where ‘h’ is the Planck constant. For electrons accelerated through a few hundred volts, this gives wavelengths rather less than typical interatomic spacing in crystals. Hence, a crystal can act as a diffraction grating for electron beams.
Owing to the fact that electrons are associated with a wavelength λ given by λ = h/mv, where ‘h’ is the Planck constant and ( mv ) the momentum of the electron, a beam of electrons suffers diffraction in its passage through crystalline material, similar to that experienced by a beam of X-rays. The diffraction pattern depends on the spacing of the crystal planes, and the phenomenon can be employed to investigate the structure of surface and other films, and under suitable conditions exhibit the characteristics of a wave of the wavelength given by the equation λ = h/mv, which is the basis of wave mechanics. A set of waves that represent the behaviour, under appropriate conditions, of a particle, e.g., its diffraction by a crystal lattice, that is given the “de Broglie equation.” They are sometimes regarded as waves of probability, since the square of their amplitude at a given point represents the probability of finding the particle in unit volume at that point.
The first experiment to demonstrate ‘electron diffraction’, and hence the wavelike nature of particles. A narrow pencil of electrons from a hot filament cathode was projected ‘in vacua’ onto a nickel crystal. The experiment showed the existence of a definite diffracted beam at one particular angle, which depended on the velocity of the electrons, assuming this to be the Bragg angle, stating that the structure of a crystal can be determined from a set of interference patterns found at various angles from the different crystal faces, least of mention, the wavelength of the electrons was calculated and found to be in agreement with the “de Broglie equation.”
At kinetic energies less than a few electro-volts, electrons undergo elastic collision with atoms and molecules, simply because of the large ratio of the masses and the conservation of momentum, only an extremely small transfer of kinetic energy occurs. Thus, the electrons are deflected but not slowed down appreciatively. At slightly higher energies collisions are inelastic. Molecules may be dissociated, and atoms and molecules may be excited or ionized. Thus it is the least energy that causes an ionization
A ➝ A+ + e‒
Where the ION and the electron are far enough apart for their electrostatic interaction to be negligible and no extra kinetic energy removed is that in the outermost orbit, i.e., the level strongly bound electrons. It is also possible to consider removal of electrons from inner orbits, in which their binding energy is greater. As an excited particle or recombining, ions emit electromagnetic radiation mostly in the visible or ultraviolet.
For electron energies of the order of several GeV upwards, X-rays are generated. Electrons of high kinetic energy travel considerable distances through matter, leaving a trail of positive ions and free electrons. The energy is mostly lost in small increments ( about 30 eV ) with only an occasional major interaction causing X-ray emissions. The range increases at higher energies.
The positron -the antiparticle of the electron, I e., an elementary particle with electron mass and positive charge equal to that of the electron. According to the relativistic wave mechanics of Dirac, space contains a continuum of electrons in states of negative energy. These states are normally unobservable, but if sufficient energy can be given, an electron may be raised into a state of positive energy and suggested itself observably. The vacant state of negativity behaves as a positive particle of positive energy, which is observed as a positron.
The simultaneous formation of a positron and an electron from a photon is called ‘pair production’, and occurs when the annihilation of gamma-ray photons with an energy of 1.02 MeV passes close to an atomic nucleus, whereby the interaction between the particle and its antiparticle disappear and photons or other elementary particles or antiparticles are so created, as accorded to energy and momentum conservation.
At low energies, an electron and a positron annihilate to produce electromagnetic radiation. Usually the particles have little kinetic energy or momentum in the laboratory system before interaction, hence the total energy of the radiation is nearly 2m0c2, where m0 is the rest mass of an electron. In nearly all cases two photons are generated. Each of 0.511 MeV, in almost exactly opposite directions to conserve momentum. Occasionally, three photons are emitted all in the same plane. Electron-positron annihilation at high energies has been extensively studied in particle accelerators. Generally the annihilation results in the production of a quark, and an antiquark, fort example, e+ e‒ ➝ μ+ μ‒ or a charged lepton plus an antilepton ( e+e‒ ➝ μ+μ‒ ). The quarks and antiquarks do not appear as free particles but convert into several hadrons, which can be detected experimentally. As the energy available in the electron-positron interaction increases, quarks and leptons of progressively larger rest mass can be produced. In addition, striking resonances are present, which appear as large increases in the rate at which annihilations occur at particular energies. The I / PSI particle and similar resonances containing an antiquark are produced at an energy of about 3 GeV, for example, giving rise to abundant production of charmed hadrons. Bottom ( b ) quark production occurs at greater energies than about 10 GeV. A resonance at an energy of about 90 GeV, due to the production of the Z0 gauge boson involved in weak interaction is currently under intensive study at the LEP and SLC e+ e‒ colliders. Colliders are the machines for increasing the kinetic energy of charged particles or ions, such as protons or electrons, by accelerating them in an electric field. A magnetic field is used to maintain the particles in the desired direction. The particle can travel in a straight, spiral, or circular paths. At present, the highest energies are obtained in the proton synchrotron.
The Super Proton Synchrotron at CERN ( Geneva ) accelerates protons to 450 GeV. It can also cause proton-antiproton collisions with total kinetic energy, in centre-of-mass co-ordinates of 620 GeV. In the USA the Fermi National Acceleration Laboratory proton synchrotron gives protons and antiprotons of 800 GeV, permitting collisions with total kinetic energy of 1600 GeV. The Large Electron Positron ( LEP ) system at CERN accelerates particles to 60 GeV.
All the aforementioned devices are designed to produce collisions between particles travelling in opposite directions. This gives effectively very much higher energies available for interaction than our possible targets. High-energy nuclear reaction occurs when the particles, either moving in a stationary target collide. The particles created in these reactions are detected by sensitive equipment close to the collision site. New particles, including the tauon, W, and Z particles and requiring enormous energies for their creation, have been detected and their properties determined.
While, still, a ‘nucleon’ and ‘anti-nucleon’ annihilating at low energy, produce about half a dozen pions, which may be neutral or charged. By definition, mesons are both hadrons and bosons, justly as the pion and kaon are mesons. Mesons have a substructure composed of a quark and an antiquark bound together by the exchange of particles known as gluons.
The conjugate particle or antiparticle that corresponds with another particle of identical mass and spin, but has such quantum numbers as charge ( Q ), baryon number ( B ), strangeness ( S ), charms ( C ), and Isospin ( I3 ) of equal magnitude but opposite sign. Examples of a particle and its antiparticle include the electron and positron, proton and antiproton, the positive and negatively charged pions, and the ‘up’ quark and ‘up’ antiquark. The antiparticle corresponding to a particle with the symbol ‘a’ is usually denoted ‘ā’. When a particle and its antiparticle are identical, as with the photon and neutral pion, this is called a ‘self-conjugate particle’.
The critical potential to excitation energy required to change am atom or molecule from one quantum state to another of higher energy, is equal to the difference in energy of the states and is usually the difference in energy between the ground state of the atom and a specified excited state. Which the state of a system, such as an atom or molecule, when it has a higher energy than its ground state.
The ground state contributes the state of a system with the lowest energy. An isolated body will remain indefinitely in it, such that it is possible for a system to have possession of two or more ground states, of equal energy but with different sets of quantum numbers. In the case of atomic hydrogen there are two states for which the quantum numbers n, I, and m are 1, 0, and 0 respectively, while the spin may be + ½ with respect to a defined direction. An allowed wave function of an electron in an atom obtained by a solution of the “Schrödinger wave equation” in which a hydrogen atom, for example, the electron moves in the electrostatic field of the nucleus and its potential energy is ‒e2 / r, where ‘e’ is the electron charge and ‘r’ its distance from the nucleus. A precise orbit cannot be considered as in Bohr’s theory of the atom, but the behaviour of the electron is described by its wave function, Ψ, which is a mathematical function of its position with respect to the nucleus. The significance of the wave function is that
Ψ
2 dt is the probability of locating the electron in the element of volume dt.
Solution of Schrödinger’s equation for the hydrogen atom shows that the electron can only have certain allowed wave functions ( eigenfunctions ). Each of these corresponds to a probability distribution in space given by the manner in which
Ψ
2 varies with position. They also have an associated value of the energy ‘E’. These allowed wave functions, or orbitals, are characterized by three quantum numbers similar to those characterized the allowed orbits in the earlier quantum theory of the atom:
‘n’, the ‘principal quantum number, can have values of 1, 2, 3, etc. the orbital with n =1 has the lowest energy. The states of the electron with n = 1, 2, 3, etc., are called ‘shells’ and designate the K, L, M shells, etc. ‘I’, the ‘azimuthal quantum numbers’, which for a given value of ‘n’ can have values of 0, 1, 2, . . . ( n‒1 ). An electron in the ‘L’ shell of an atom with n = 2 can occupy two sub-shells of different energy corresponding to
I = 0, I = 1, and I = 2. Orbitals with I = 0, 1, 2 and 3 are called s, p, d, and ƒ orbitals respectively. The significance of I quantum number is that it gives the angular momentum of the electron. The orbital angular momentum of an electron is given by:
[I( I + 1 )( h/2π).
‘m’, the ‘magnetic quantum number, which for a given value of I can have values,
‒ I, ‒( I-1 ), . . . , 0, . . . ( I-1 ), I. Thus, for a ‘p’ orbital for orbits with m = 1, 0, and 1. These orbitals, with the same values of ‘n’ and ‘I’ but different ‘m’ values, have the same energy. The significance of this quantum number is that it indicates the number of different levels that would be produced if the atom were subjected to an external magnetic field.
According to wave theory the electron may be at any distance from the nucleus, but in fact, there is only a reasonable chance of it being within a distance of ~ 5 x 10-11 metre. Indeed the maximum probability occurs when r-a0 where a0 is the radius of the first Bohr orbit. It is customary to represent an orbital by a surface enclosing a volume within which there is an arbitrarily decided probability ( say 95% ) of finding the electron.
Finally, the electron in an atom can have a fourth quantum number MS, characterizing its spin direction. This can be + ½ or ‒ ½, and according to the “Pauli Exclusion Principle,” each orbital can hold only two electrons. The four quantum numbers lead to an explanation of the periodic table of the elements.
In earlier mention, the concerns referring to the ‘moment’ had been to our exchanges to issue as, i.e., the moment of inertia, moment of momentum. The moment of a force about an axis is the product of the perpendicular distance of the axis from the line of action of the force, and the component of the force in the plane perpendicular to the axis. The moment of a system of coplanar forces about an axis perpendicular to the plane containing them is the algebraic sum of the moments of the separate forces about that axis of a anticlockwise moment appear taken controventionally to be positive and clockwise of ones Uncomplementarity. The moment of momentum about an axis, symbol L is the product to the moment of inertia and angular velocity ( Iω ). Angular momentum is a pseudo-vector quality, as it is connected in an isolated system. It is a scalar and is given a positive or negative sign as in the moment of force. When contending to systems, in which forces and motions do not all lie in one plane, the concept of the moment about a point is needed. The moment of a vector P, e.g., force or momentous pulsivity, from which a point ‘A’ is a pseudo-vector M equal to the vector product of r and P, where r is any line joining ‘A’ to any point ‘B’ on the line of action of P. The vector product M = r x p is independent of the position of ‘B’ and the relation between the scalar moment about an axis and the vector moment about which a point on the axis is that the scalar is the component of the vector in the direction of the axis.
The linear momentum of a particle ‘p’ is the product of the mass and the velocity of the particle. It is a vector quality directed through the particle in the direction of motion. The linear momentum of a body or of a system of particles is the vector sum of the linear momenta of the individual particle. If a body of mass ‘M’ is translated with a velocity ‘V’, its momentum is MV, which is the momentum of a particle of mass ‘M’ at the centre of gravity of the body. ( 1 ) In any system of mutually interacting or impinging particles, the linear momentum in any fixed direction remains unaltered unless there is an external force acting in that direction. ( 2 ) Similarly, the angular momentum is constant in the case of a system rotating about a fixed axis provided that no external torque is applied.
Subatomic particles fall into two major groups: The elementary particles and the hadrons. An elementary particle is not composed of any smaller particles and therefore represents the most fundamental form of matter. A hadron is composed of panicles, including the major particles called quarks, the most common of the subatomic particles, includes the major constituents of the atom -the electron is an elementary particle, and the proton and the neutron ( hadrons ). An elementary particle with zero charge and a rest mass equal to
1.674 9542 x 10-27 kg,
i.e., 939.5729 MeV / c2.
It is a constituent of every atomic nucleus except that of ordinary hydrogen, free neutrons decay by ‘beta decay’ with a mean life of 914 s. the neutron has spin ½, Isospin ½, and positive parity. It is a ‘fermion’ and is classified as a ‘hadron’ because it has strong interaction.
Neutrons can be ejected from nuclei by high-energy particles or photons, the energy required is usually about 8 MeV, although sometimes it is less. The fission is the most productive source. They are detected using all normal detectors of ionizing radiation because of the production of secondary particles in nuclear reactions. The discovery of the neutron ( Chadwick, 1932 ) involved the detection of the tracks of protons ejected by neutrons by elastic collisions in hydrogenous materials.
Unlike other nuclear particles, neutrons are not repelled by the electric charge of a nucleus so they are very effective in causing nuclear reactions. When there is no ‘threshold energy’, the interaction ‘cross sections’ become very large at low neutron energies, and the thermal neutrons produced in great numbers by nuclear reactions cause nuclear reactions on a large scale. The capture of neutrons by the ( n, ϒ ) process produces large quantities of radioactive materials, both useful nuclides such as 66Co for cancer therapy and undesirable by-products. The least energy required to cause a certain process, in particular a reaction in nuclear or particle physics. It is often important to distinguish between the energies required in the laboratory and in centre-of-mass co-ordinates. In “fission” the splitting of a heavy nucleus of an atom into two or more fragments of comparable size usually as the result of the impact of a neutron on the nucleus. It is normally accompanied by the emission of neutrons or gamma rays. Plutonium, uranium, and thorium are the principle fissionable elements
In nuclear reaction, a reaction between an atonic nucleus and a bombarding particle or photon leading to the creation of a new nucleus and the possible ejection of one or more particles. Nuclear reactions are often represented by enclosing brackets and symbols for the incoming and final nuclides being shown outside the brackets. For example: 14N ( α, p )17O.
Energy from nuclear fissions, on the whole, the nucleuses of atoms of moderate size are more tightly held together than the largest nucleus, so that if the nucleus of a heavy atom can be induced to split into two nuclei and moderate mass, there should be considerable release of energy. By Einstein’ s law of the conservation of mass and energy, this mass and energy difference is equivalent to the energy released when the nucleons binding differences are equivalent to the energy released when the nucleons bind together. Y=this energy is the binding energy, the graph of binding per nucleon, EB / A increases rapidly up to a mass number of 50-69 ( iron, nickel, etc. ) and then decreases slowly. There are therefore two ways in which energy can be released from a nucleus, both of which can be released from the nucleus, both of which entail a rearrangement of nuclei occurring in the lower as having to curve into form its nuclei, in the upper, higher-energy part of the curve. The fission is the splitting of heavy atoms, such as uranium, into lighter atoms, accompanied by an enormous release of energy. Fusion of light nuclei, such as deuterium and tritium, releases an even greater quantity of energy.
The work that must be done to detach a single particle from a structure of free electrons of an atom or molecule to form a negative ion. The process is sometimes called ‘electron capture, but the term is more usually applied to nuclear processes. As many atoms, molecules and free radicals from stable negative ions by capturing electrons to atoms or molecules to form a negative ion. The electron affinity is the least amount of work that must be done to separate from the ion. It is usually expressed in electro-volts
The uranium isotope 235U will readily accept a neutron but one-seventh of the nuclei stabilized by gamma emissions while six-sevenths split into two parts. Most of the energy released amounts to about 170 MeV, in the form of the kinetic energy of these fission fragments. In addition an averaged of 2.5 neutrons of average energy 2 MeV and some gamma radiation is produced. Further energy is released later by radioactivity of the fission fragments. The total energy released is about 3 x 10-11 joule per atom fissioned, i.e., 6.5 x 1013 joule per kg conserved.
To extract energy in a controlled manner from fissionable nuclei, arrangements must be made for a sufficient proportion of the neutrons released in the fissions to cause further fissions in their turn, so that the process is continuous, the minium mass of a fissile material that will sustain a chain reaction seems confined to nuclear weaponry. Although, a reactor with a large proportion of 235U or plutonium 239Pu in the fuel uses the fast neutrons as they are liberated from the fission, such a rector is called a ‘fast reactor’. Natural uranium contains 0.7% of 235U and if the liberated neutrons can be slowed before they have much chance of meeting the more common 238U atom and then cause another fission. To slow the neutron, a moderator is used containing light atoms to which the neutrons will give kinetic energy by collision. As the neutrons eventually acquire energies appropriate to gas molecules at the temperatures of the moderator, they are then said to be thermal neutrons and the reactor is a thermal reactor.
Then, of course, the Thermal reactors, in typical thermal reactors, the fuel elements are rods embedded as a regular array in which the bulk of the moderator that the typical neutron from a fission process has a good chance of escaping from the relatively thin fuel rod and making many collisions with nuclei in the moderator before again entering a fuel element. Suitable moderators are pure graphite, heavy water ( D2O ), are sometimes used as a coolant, and ordinary water ( H2O ). Very pure materials are essential as some unwanted nuclei capture neutrons readily. The reactor core is surrounded by a reflector made of suitable material to reduce the escape of neutrons from the surface. Each fuel element is encased e. g., in magnesium alloy or stainless steel, to prevent escape of radioactive fission products. The coolant, which may be gaseous or liquid, flows along the channels over the canned fuel elements. There is an emission of gamma rays inherent in the fission process and, many of the fission products are intensely radioactive. To protect personnel, the assembly is surrounded by a massive biological shield, of concrete, with an inner iron thermal shield to protect the concrete from high temperatures caused by absorption of radiation.
To keep the power production steady, control rods are moved in or out of the assembly. These contain material that captures neutrons readily, e.g., cadmium or boron. The power production can be held steady by allowing the currents in suitably placed ionization chambers automatically to modify the settings of the rods. Further absorbent rods, the shut-down rods, are driven into the core to stop the reaction, as in an emergence if the control mechanism fails. To attain high thermodynamic efficiency so that a large proportion of the liberated energy can be used, the heat should be extracted from the reactor core at a high temperature.
In fast reactors no mediator is used, the frequency of collisions between neutrons and fissile atoms being creased by enriching the natural uranium fuel with 239Pu or additional 235U atoms that are fissioned by fast neutrons. The fast neutrons are thus built up a self-sustaining chain reaction. In these reactions the core is usually surrounded by a blanket of natural uranium into which some of the neutrons are allowed to escape. Under suitable conditions some of these neutrons will be captured by 238U atoms forming 239U atoms, which are converted to 239Pu. As more plutonium can be produced than required to enrich the fuel in the core, these are called ‘fast breeder reactors’.
Thus and so, a neutral elementary particle with spin½, that only takes part in weak interactions. The neutrino is a lepton and exists in three types corresponding to the three types of charged leptons, that is, there are the electron neutrinos ( ve ) tauon neutrinos ( vμ ) and tauon neutrinos ( vτ ). The antiparticle of the neutrino is the antineutrino.
Neutrinos were originally thought to have a zero mass, but recently there have been some advances to an indirect experiment that evince to the contrary. In 1985 a Soviet team reported a measurement for the first time, of a non-zero neutrino mass. The mass measured was extremely small, some 10 000 times smaller than the mass of the electron. However, subsequent attempts to reproduce the Soviet measurement were unsuccessful. More recent ( 1998-99 ), the Super-Kamiokande experiment in Japan has provided indirect evidence for massive neutrinos. The new evidence is based upon studies of neutrinos, which are created when highly energetic cosmic rays bombard the earth’s upper atmosphere. By classifying the interaction of these neutrinos according to the type of neutrino involved ( an electron neutrino or muon neutrino ), and counting their relative numbers as a function: An oscillatory behaviour may be shown to occur. Oscillation in this sense is the charging back and forth of the neutrino’s type as it travels through space or matter. The Super-Kamiokande result indicates that muon neutrinos are changing into another type of neutrino, e.g., sterile neutrinos. The experiment does not, however, determine directly the masses, though the oscillations suggest very small differences in mass between the oscillating types.
The neutrino was first postulated ( Pauli 1930 )to explain the continuous spectrum of beta rays. It is assumed that there is the same amount of energy available for each beta decay of a particle nuclide and that energy is shared according to a statistical law between the electron and a light neutral particle, now classified as the anti-neutrino, ύe Later it was shown that the postulated particle would also conserve angular momentum and linear momentum in the beta decays.
In addition to beta decay, the electron neutrino is also associated with, for example, positron decay and electron capture:
22Na → 22Ne + e+ + ve
55Fe + e‒ → 55Mn + ve
The absorption of anti-neutrinos in matter by the process
2H + ΰe ➝ n + e+
was first demonstrated by Reines and Cowan? The muon neutrino is generated in such processes as:
π+ → μ+ + vμ
Although the interactions of neutrinos are extremely weak the cross sections increase with energy and reaction can be studied at the enormous energies available with modern accelerators in some forms of ‘grand unification theories’, neutrinos are predicted to have a non-zero mass. Nonetheless, no evidences have been found to support this prediction.
The antiparticle of an electron, i.e., an elementary particle with electron mass and positive charge and equal to that of the electron. According to the relativistic wave mechanics of Dirac, space contains a continuum of electrons in states of negative energy. These states are normally unobservable, but if sufficient energy can be given, an electron may be raised into a state of positivity and become observable. The vacant state of negativity seems to behave as a positive particle of positive energy, which is observed as a positron.
A theory of elementary particles based on the idea that the fundamental entities are not point-like particles, but finite lines ( strings ) or closed loops formed by stings. The original idea was that an elementary particle was the result of a standing wave in a string. A considerable amount of theoretical effort has been put into development string theories. In particular, combining the idea of strings with that of super-symmetry, which has led to the idea with which correlation holds strongly with super-strings. This theory may be a more useful route to a unified theory of fundamental interactions than quantum field theory, simply because it’s probably by some unvioded infinites that arise when gravitational interactions are introduced into field theories. Thus, superstring theory inevitably leads to particles of spin 2, identified as gravitons. String theory also shows why particles violate parity conservation in weak interactions.
Superstring theories involve the idea of higher dimensional spaces: 10 dimensions for fermions and 26 dimensions for bosons. It has been suggested that there are the normal 4 space-time dimensions, with the extra dimension being tightly ‘curved’. Still, there are no direct experimental evidences for super-strings. They are thought to have a length of about 10-35 m and energies of 1014 GeV, which is well above the energy of any accelerator. An extension of the theory postulates that the fundamental entities are not one-dimensional but two-dimensional, i.e., they are super-membranes.
Allocations often other than what are previous than in time, awaiting the formidable combinations of what precedes the presence to the future, because of which the set of invariance of a system, a symmetry operation on a system is an operation that does not change the system. It is studied mathematically using “Group Theory.” Some symmetries are directly physical, for instance the reelections and rotations for molecules and translations in crystal lattices. More abstractively the implicating inclinations toward abstract symmetries involve changing properties, as in the CPT Theorem and the symmetries associated with “Gauge Theory.” Gauge theories are now thought to provide the basis for a description in all elementary particle interactions. The electromagnetic particle interactions are described by quantum electrodynamics, which is called Abelian gauge theory
Quantum field theory for which measurable quantities remain unchanged under a ‘group transformation’. All these theories consecutive field transformations do not commute. All non-Abelian gauge theories are based on work proposed by Yang and Mills in 1954, describe the interaction between two quantum fields of fermions. In which particles represented by fields whose normal modes of oscillation are quantized. Elementary particle interactions are described by relativistically invariant theories of quantized fields, ie. , By relativistic quantum field theories. Gauge transformations can take the form of a simple multiplication by a constant phase. Such transformations are called ‘global gauge transformations’. In local gauge transformations, the phase of the fields is alterable by amounts that vary with space and time; i.e.,
Ψ ➝ eiθ ( χ ) Ψ,
Where θ ( χ ) is a function of space-time. As, in Abelian gauge theories, consecutive field transformations commute, i.e.,
Ψ ➝ ei θ ( χ ) ei φ Ψ = ei φ ( χ ) ei φ ( χ ) Ψ,
Where φ (χ ) is another function of space and time. Quantum chromodynamics ( the theory of the strong interaction ) and electroweak and grand unified theories are all non-Abelian. In these theories consecutive field transformations do not commute. All non-Abelian gauge theories are based on work proposed by Yang and Mils, as Einstein’s theory of general relativity can also be formulated as a local gauge theory.
A symmetry including both boson and fermions, in theories based on super-symmetry every boson has a corresponding boson. Th boson partners of existing fermions have names formed by prefacing the names of the fermion with an “s” ( e.g., selection, squark, lepton ). The names of the fermion partners of existing bosons are obtained by changing the terminal -on of the boson to -into ( e.g., photons, gluons, and zino ). Although, super-symmetries have not been observed experimentally, they may prove important in the search for a Unified Field Theory of the fundamental interactions.
The quark is a fundamental constituent of hadrons, i.e., of particles that take part in strong interactions. Quarks are never seen as free particles, which is substantiated by lack of experimental evidence for isolated quarks. The explanation given for this phenomenon in gauge theory is known a quantum chromodynamics, by which quarks are described, is that quark interaction become weaker as they come closer together and fall to zero when the distance between them is zero. The converse of this proposition is that the attractive forces between quarks become stronger s they move, as this process has no limited, quarks can never separate from each other. In some theories, it is postulated that at very high-energy temperatures, as might have prevailed in the early universe, quarks can separate, te temperature at which this occurs is called the ‘deconfinement temperatures’. Nevertheless, their existence has been demonstrated in high-energy scattering experiments and by symmetries in the properties of observed hadrons. They are regarded s elementary fermions, with spin ½, baryon number ⅓, strangeness 0 or = 1, and charm 0 or + 1. They are classified I six flavours[ up ( u ), charm ( c ) and top ( t ), each with charge ⅔ the proton charge, down ( d ), strange ( s ) and bottom ( b ), each with ‒ ⅓ the proton charge ]. Each type has an antiquark with reversed signs of charge, baryon number, strangeness, nd charm. The top quark has not been observed experimentally, but there are strong theoretical arguments for its existence.
The fractional charges of quarks are never observed in hadrons, since the quarks form combinations in which the sum of their charges is zero or integral. Hadrons can be either baryons or mesons, essentially, baryons are composed of three quarks while mesons are composed of a quark-antiquark pair. These components are bound together within the hadron by the exchange of particles known as gluons. Gluons are neutral massless gauge bosons, the quantum field theory of electromagnetic interactions discriminate themselves against the gluon as the analogue of the photon and with a quantum number known as ‘colour’ replacing that of electric charge. Each quark type ( or flavour ) comes in three colours ( red, blue and green, say ), where colour is simply a convenient label and has no connection with ordinary colour. Unlike the photon in quantum chromodynamics, which is electrically neutral, gluons in quantum chromodynamics carry colour and can therefore interact with themselves. Particles that carry colour are believed not to be able to exist in free particles. Instead, quarks and gluons are permanently confined inside hadrons ( strongly interacting particles, such as the proton and the neutron ).
The gluon self-interaction leads to the property known as ‘asymptotic freedom’, in which the interaction strength for th strong interaction decreases as the momentum transfer involved in an interaction increase. This allows perturbation theory to be used and quantitative comparisons to be made with experiment, similar to, but less precise than those possibilities of quantum chromodynamics. Quantum chromodynamics the being tested successfully in high energy muon-nucleon scattering experiments and in proton-antiproton and electron-positron collisions at high energies. Strong evidence for the existence of colour comes from measurements of the interaction rates for e+e‒ ➝ hadrons and e+e‒ ➝ μ+ μ‒. The relative rate for these two processes is a factor of three larger than would be expected without colour, this factor measures directly the number of colours, i.e., for each quark flavour.
The quarks and antiquarks with zero strangeness and zero charm are the u, d, û and . They form the combinations:
proton ( uud ), antiproton ( ūū )
neutron ( uud ), antineutron ( ū )
pion: π+ (u ), π‒ ( ūd ), π0 ( d, uū ).
The charge and spin of these particles are the sums of the charge and spin of the component quarks and/or antiquarks.
In the strange baryon, e.g., the Λ and Σ meons, either the quark or antiquark is strange. Similarly, the presence of one or more ‘c’ quarks leads to charmed baryons’ ‘a’ ‘c’ or č to the charmed mesons. It has been found useful to introduce a further subdivision of quarks, each flavour coming in three colours ( red, green, blue ). Colour as used here serves simply as a convenient label and is unconnected with ordinary colour. A baryon comprises a red, a green, and a blue quark and a meson comprised a red and ant-red, a blue and ant-blue, or a green and
Antigreen quark and antiquark. In analogy with combinations of the three primary colours of light, hadrons carry no net colour, i.e., they are ‘colourless’ or ‘white’. Only colourless objects can exist as free particles. The characteristics of the six quark flavours are shown in the table.
The cental feature of quantum field theory, is that the essential reality is a set of fields subject to the rules of special relativity and quantum mechanics, all else is derived as a consequence of the quantum dynamics of those fields. The quantization of fields is essentially an exercise in which we use complex mathematical models to analyse the field in terms of its associated quanta. And material reality as we know it in quantum field theory is constituted by the transformation and organization of fields and their associated quanta. Hence, this reality
Reveals a fundamental complementarity, in which particles are localized in space/time, and fields, which are not. In modern quantum field theory, all matter is composed of six strongly interacting quarks and six weakly interacting leptons. The six quarks are called up, down, charmed, strange, top, and bottom and have different rest masses and functional changes. The up and own quarks combine through the exchange of gluons to form protons and neutrons.
The ‘lepton’ belongs to the class of elementary particles, and does not take part in strong interactions. They have no substructure of quarks and are considered indivisible. They are all; fermions, and are categorized into six distinct types, the electron, muon, and tauon, which are all identically charged, but differ in mass, and the three neutrinos, which are all neutral and thought to be massless or nearly so. In their interactions the leptons appear to observe boundaries that define three families, each composed of a charged lepton and its neutrino. The families are distinguished mathematically by three quantum numbers, Ie, Iμ, and Iv lepton numbers called ‘lepton numbers. In weak interactions their IeTOT, IμTOT and Iτ for the individual particles are conserved. In quantum field theory, potential vibrations at each point in the four fields are capable of manifesting themselves in their complemtarity, their expression as individual particles. And the interactions of the fields result from the exchange of quanta that are carriers of the fields. The carriers of the field, known as messenger quanta, are the ‘coloured’ gluons for the strong-binding-force, of which the photon for electromagnetism, the intermediate boson for the weak force, and the graviton or gravitation. If we could re-create the energies present in the fist trillionths of trillionths of a second in the life o the universe, these four fields would, according to quantum field theory, become one fundamental field.
The movement toward a unified theory has evolved progressively from super-symmetry to super-gravity to string theory. In string theory the one-dimensional trajectories of particles, illustrated in the Feynman lectures, seem as if, in at all were possible, are replaced by the two-dimensional orbits of a string. In addition to introducing the extra dimension, represented by a smaller diameter of the string, string theory also features another mall but non-zero constant, with which is analogous to Planck’s quantum of action. Since the value of the constant is quite small, it can be generally ignored except at extremely small dimensions. But since the constant, like Planck’s constant is not zero, this results in departures from ordinary quantum field theory in very small dimensions.
Part of what makes string theory attractive is that it eliminates, or ‘transforms away’, the inherent infinities found in the quantum theory of gravity. And if the predictions of this theory are proven valid in repeatable experiments under controlled coeditions, it could allow gravity to be unified with the other three fundamental interactions. But even if string theory leads to this grand unification, it will not alter our understanding of ave-particle duality. While the success of the theory would reinforce our view of the universe as a unified dynamic process, it applies to very small dimensions, and therefore, does not alter our view of wave-particle duality.
While the formalism of quantum physics predicts that correlations between particles over space-like inseparability, of which are possible, it can say nothing about what this strange new relationship between parts ( quanta ) and the whole ( cosmos ) cause to result outside this formalism. This does not, however, prevent us from considering the implications in philosophical terms. As the philosopher of science Errol Harris noted in thinking about the special character of wholeness in modern physics, a unity without internal content is a blank or empty set and is not recognizable as a whole. A collection of merely externally related parts does not constitute a whole in that the parts will not be “mutually adaptive and complementary to one-another.”
Wholeness requires a complementary relationship between unity and difference and is governed by a principle of organization determining the interrelationship between parts. This organizing principle must be universal to a genuine whole and implicit in all parts constituting the whole, even the whole is exemplified only in its parts. This principle of order, Harris continued, “is nothing really in and of itself. It is the way he parts are organized, and another constituent additional to those that constitute the totality.”
In a genuine whole, the relationship between the constituent parts must be “internal or immanent” ion the parts, as opposed to a more spurious whole in which parts appear to disclose wholeness dur to relationships that are external to the arts. The collection of parts that would allegedly constitute the whole in classical physics is an example of a spurious whole. Parts continue a genuine whole when the universal principle of order is inside the parts and hereby adjusts each to all so that they interlock and become mutually complementary. This not only describes the character of the whole revealed in both relativity theory and quantum mechanics. It is also consistent with the manner in which we have begun to understand the relations between parts and whole in modern biology.
Modern physics also reveals, claimed Harris, complementary relationship between the differences between parts that constitute and the universal ordering principle that are
Immanent in each part. While the whole cannot be finally disclosed in the analysis of the parts, the study of the differences between parts provides insights into the dynamic structure of the whole present in each part. The part can never, however, be finally isolated from the web of relationships that discloses the interconnections with the whole, and any attempt to do so results in ambiguity.
Much of the ambiguity in attempts to explain the character of wholes in both physics and biology derives from the assumption that order exists between or outside parts. Yet order in complementary relationships between difference and sameness in any physical event is never external to that event, and the cognations are immanent in the event. From this perspective, the addition of non-locality to this picture of the distributive constitution in dynamic function of wholeness is not surprising. The relationships between part, as quantum event apparent in observation or measurement, and the undissectable whole, calculate on in but are not described by the instantaneous correlations between measurements in space-like separate regions, is another extension of the part-whole complementarity in modern physics.
If the universe is a seamlessly interactive system that evolves to higher levels of complex and complicating regularities of which ae lawfully emergent in property of systems, we can assume that the cosmos is a single significant whole that evinces progressive order in complementary relations to its parts. Given that this whole exists in some sense within all parts ( quanta ), one can then argue that in operates in self-reflective fashion and is the ground from all emergent plexuities. Since human consciousness evinces self-reflective awareness in te human brain ( well protected between the cranium walls ) and since this brain, like all physical phenomena, can b viewed as an emergent property of the whole, it is unreasonable to conclude, in philosophical terms at least, that the universe is conscious.
Nevertheless, since the actual character of this seamless whole cannot be represented or reduced to its parts, it lies, quite laterally, beyond all human representation or descriptions. If one chooses to believe that the universe be a self-reflective and self-organizing whole, this lends no support whatsoever to conceptual representation of design, meaning, purpose, intent, or plan associated with mytho-religious or cultural heritage. However, if one does not accept this view of the universe, there is noting in the scientific description of nature that can be used to refute this position. On the other hand, it is no longer possible to argue that a profound sense of unity with the whole, which has long been understood as foundation of religious experiences, but can be dismissed, undermined, or invalidated with appeals to scientific knowledge.
While we have consistently tried to distinguish between scientific knowledge and philosophical speculation based on this of what is obtainable, let us be quite clear on one point -there is no empirically valid causal linkage between the former and the latter. Those who wish to dismiss the speculative base on which is obviously free to do as done. However, there is another conclusion to be drawn, in that is firmly grounded in scientific theory and experiment there is no basis in the scientific descriptions of nature for believing in the radical Cartesian division between mind and world sanctioned by classical physics. Clearly, his radical separation between mind and world was a macro-level illusion fostered by limited awareness of the actual character of physical reality nd by mathematical idealizations extended beyond the realms of their applicability.
Nevertheless, the philosophical implications might prove in themselves as a criterial motive in debative consideration to how our proposed new understanding of the relationship between parts and wholes in physical reality might affect the manner in which we deal with some major real-world problems. This will issue to demonstrate why a timely resolution of these problems is critically dependent on a renewed dialogue between members of the cultures of human-social scientists and scientist-engineers. We will also argue that the resolution of these problems could be dependent on a renewed dialogue between science and religion.
As many scholars have demonstrated, the classical paradigm in physics has greatly influenced and conditioned our understanding and management of human systems in economic and political realities. Virtually all models of these realities treat human systems as if they consist of atomized units or parts that interact with one another in terms of laws or forces external to or between the parts. These systems are also viewed as hermetic or closed and, thus, its discreteness, separateness and distinction.
Consider, for example, how the classical paradigm influenced or thinking about economic reality. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the founders of classical economics -figures like Adam Smith, David Ricardo, and Thomas Malthus conceived of the economy as a closed system in which intersections between parts ( consumer, produces, distributors, etc. ) are controlled by forces external to the parts ( supply and demand ). The central legitimating principle of free market economics, formulated by Adam Smith, is that lawful or law-like forces external to the individual units function as an invisible hand. This invisible hand, said Smith, frees the units to pursue their best interests, moves the economy forward, and in general legislates the behaviour of parts in the best vantages of the whole. ( The resemblance between the invisible hand and Newton’s universal law of gravity and between the relations of parts and wholes in classical economics and classical physics should be transparent. )
After roughly 1830, economists shifted the focus to the properties of the invisible hand in the interactions between pats using mathematical models. Within these models, the behaviour of pats in the economy is assumed to be analogous to the awful interactions between pats in classical mechanics. It is, therefore, not surprising that differential calculus was employed to represent economic change in a virtual world in terms of small or marginal shifts in consumption or production. The assumption was that the mathematical description of marginal shifts n the complex web of exchanges between parts ( atomized units and quantities ) and whole ( closed economy ) could reveal the lawful, or law-like, machinations of the closed economic system.
These models later became one of the fundamentals for microeconomics. Microeconomics seek to describe interactions between parts in exact quantifiable measures-such as marginal cost, marginal revenue, marginal utility, and growth of total revenue as indexed against individual units of output. In analogy with classical mechanics, the quantities are viewed as initial conditions that can serve to explain subsequent interactions between parts in the closed system in something like deterministic terms. The combination of classical macro-analysis with micro-analysis resulted in what Thorstein Veblen in 1900 termed neoclassical economics-the model for understanding economic reality that is widely used today
Beginning in the 1939s, the challenge became to subsume the understanding of the interactions between parts in closed economic systems with more sophisticated mathematical models using devices like linear programming, game theory, and new statistical techniques. In spite of the growing mathematical sophistication, these models are based on the same assumptions from classical physics featured in previous neoclassical economic theory-with one exception. They also appeal to the assumption that systems exist in equilibrium or in perturbations from equilibria, and they seek to describe the state of the closed economic system in these terms.
One could argue that the fact that our economic models are assumptions from classical mechanics is not a problem by appealing to the two-domain distinction between micro-level macro-level processes expatiated upon earlier. Since classical mechanic serves us well in our dealings with macro-level phenomena in situations where the speed of light is so large and the quantum of action is so small as to be safely ignored for practical purposes, economic theories based on assumptions from classical mechanics should serve us well in dealing with the macro-level behaviour of economic systems.
The obvious problem, . . . acceded peripherally, . . . nature is relucent to operate in accordance with these assumptions, in that the biosphere, the interaction between parts be intimately related to the hole, no collection of arts is isolated from the whole, and the ability of the whole to regulate the relative abundance of atmospheric gases suggests that the whole of the biota appear to display emergent properties that are more than the sum of its parts. What the current ecological crisis reveals in the abstract virtual world of neoclassical economic theory. The real economies are all human activities associated with the production, distribution, and exchange of tangible goods and commodities and the consumption and use of natural resources, such as arable land and water. Although expanding economic systems in the really economy ae obviously embedded in a web of relationships with the entire biosphere, our measure of healthy economic systems disguises this fact very nicely. Consider, for example, the healthy economic system written in 1996 by Frederick Hu, head of the competitive research team for the World Economic Forum -short of military conquest, economic growth is the only viable means for a country to sustain increases in natural living standards . . . An economy is internationally competitive if it performs strongly in three general areas: Abundant productive inputs from capital, labour, infrastructure and technology, optimal economic policies such as low taxes, little interference, free trade and sound market institutions. Such as the rule of law and protection of property rights.
The prescription for medium-term growth of economies ion countries like Russia, Brazil, and China may seem utterly pragmatic and quite sound. But the virtual economy described is a closed and hermetically sealed system in which the invisible hand of economic forces allegedly results in a health growth economy if impediments to its operation are removed or minimized. It is, of course, often trued that such prescriptions can have the desired results in terms of increases in living standards, and Russia, Brazil and China are seeking to implement them in various ways.
In the real economy, however, these systems are clearly not closed or hermetically sealed: Russia uses carbon-based fuels in production facilities that produce large amounts of carbon dioxide and other gases that contribute to global warming: Brazil is in the process of destroying a rain forest that is critical to species diversity and the maintenance of a relative abundance of atmospheric gases that regulate Earth temperature, and China is seeking to build a first-world economy based on highly polluting old-world industrial plants that burn soft coal. Not to forget, . . . the victual economic systems that the world now seems to regard as the best example of the benefits that can be derived form the workings of the invisible hand, that of the United States, operates in the real economy as one of the primary contributors to the ecological crisis.
In “Consilience,” Edward O. Wilson makes to comment, the case that effective and timely solutions to the problem threatening human survival is critically dependent on something like a global revolution in ethical thought and behaviour. But his view of the basis for this revolution is quite different from our own. Wilson claimed that since the foundations for moral reasoning evolved in what he termed ‘gene-culture’ evolution, the rules of ethical behaviour re emergent aspects of our genetic inheritance. Based on the assumptions that the behaviour of contemporary hunter-gatherers resembles that of our hunter-gatherers forebears in the Palaeolithic Era, he drew on accounts of Bushman hunter-gatherers living in the centre Kalahari in an effort to demonstrate that ethical behaviour is associated with instincts like bonding, cooperation, and altruism.
Wilson argued that these instincts evolved in our hunter-gatherer accessorial descendabilities, whereby genetic mutation and the ethical behaviour associated with these genetically based instincts provided a survival advantage. He then claimed that since these genes were passed on to subsequent generations of our dependable characteristics, which eventually became pervasive in the human genome, the ethical dimension of human nature has a genetic foundation. When we fully understand the “innate epigenetic rules of moral reasoning,” it seems probable that the rules will probably turn out to be an ensemble of many algorithms whose interlocking activities guide the mind across a landscape of nuances moods and choices.
Any reasonable attempt to lay a firm foundation beneath the quagmire of human ethics in all of its myriad and often contradictory formulations is admirable, and Wilson’s attempt is more admirable than most. In our view, however, there is little or no prospect that I will prove successful for a number of reasons. Wile te probability for us to discover some linkage between genes and behaviour, seems that the lightened path of human ethical behaviour and ranging advantages of this behaviour is far too complex, not o mention, inconsistently been reduced to a given set classification of “epigenetic ruled of moral reasoning.”
Also, moral codes may derive in part from instincts that confer a survival advantage, but when we are t examine these codes, it also seems clear that they are primarily cultural products. This explains why ethical systems are constructed in a bewildering variety of ways in different cultural contexts and why they often sanction or legitimate quite different thoughts and behaviours. Let us not forget that rules f ethical behaviours are quite malleable and have been used to sacredly legitimate human activities such as slavery, colonial conquest, genocide and terrorism. As Cardinal Newman cryptically put it, “Oh how we hate one another for the love of God.”
According to Wilson, the “human mind evolved to believe in the gods” and people “need a sacred narrative” to his view are merely human constructs and, therefore, there is no basis for dialogue between the world views of science and religion. “Science for its part, will test relentlessly every assumption about the human condition and in time uncover the bedrock of the moral and religiously sentient. The eventual result of the competition between the two world view, is believed, as I, will be the secularization of the human epic and of religion itself.
Wilson obviously has a right to his opinions, and many will agree with him for their own good reasons, but what is most interesting about his thoughtful attempted to posit a more universal basis for human ethics in that it s based on classical assumptions about the character of both physical and biological realities. While Wilson does not argue that human’s behaviour is genetically determined in the strict sense, however, he does allege that there is a causal linkage between genes and behaviour that largely condition this behaviour, he appears to be a firm believer in classical assumption that reductionism can uncover the lawful essences that principally govern the physical aspects attributed to reality, including those associated with the alleged “epigenetic rules of moral reasoning.”
Once, again, Wilson’s view is apparently nothing that cannot be reduced to scientific understandings or fully disclosed in scientific terms, and this apparency of hope for the future of humanity is that the triumph of scientific thought and method will allow us to achieve the Enlightenments ideal of disclosing the lawful regularities that govern or regulate all aspects of human experience. Hence, science will uncover the “bedrock of moral and religious sentiment, and the entire human epic will be mapped in the secular space of scientific formalism.” The intent is not to denigrate Wilson’s attentive efforts to posit a more universal basis for the human condition, but is to demonstrate that any attempt to understand or improve upon the behaviour based on appeals to outmoded classical assumptions is unrealistic and outmoded. If the human mind did, in fact, evolve in something like deterministic fashion in gene-culture evolution -and if there were, in fact, innate mechanisms in mind that are both lawful and benevolent. Wilson’s program for uncovering these mechanisms could have merit. But for all th reasons that have been posited, classical determinism cannot explain the human condition and its evolutionary principle that govern in their functional dynamics, as Darwinian evolution should be modified to accommodate the complementary relationships between cultural and biological principles that governing evaluations do indeed have in them a strong, and firm grip upon genetical mutations that have attributively been the distribution in the contribution of human interactions with themselves in the finding to self-realizations and undivided wholeness.
Equally important, the classical assumption that the only privileged or valid knowledge is scientific is one of the primary sources of the stark division between the two cultures of humanistic and scientists-engineers, in this view, Wilson is quite correct in assuming that a timely end to the two culture war and a renewer dialogue between members of these cultures is now critically important to human survival. It is also clear, however, that dreams of reason based on the classical paradigm will only serve to perpetuate the two-culture war. Since these dreams are also remnants of an old scientific word view that no longer applies in theory in fact, to the actual character of physical reality, as reality is a probable service to frustrate the solution for which in found of a real world problem.
However, there is a renewed basis for dialogue between the two cultures, it is believed as quite different from that described by Wilson. Since classical epistemology has been displaced, or is the process of being displaced, by the new epistemology of science, the truths of science can no longer be viewed as transcendent ad absolute in the classical sense. The universe more closely resembles a giant organism than a giant machine, and it also displays emergent properties that serve to perpetuate the existence of the whole in both physics and biology that cannot be explained in terms of unrestricted determinism, simple causality, first causes, linear movements and initial conditions. Perhaps the first and most important precondition for renewed dialogue between the two cultural conflicting realizations as Einstein explicated upon its topic as, that a human being is a “part of the whole.’ It is this spared awareness that allows for the freedom, or existential choice of self-decision of choosing our free-will and the power to differentiate a direct cars to free ourselves of the “optical illusion”of our present conception of self as a “part limited in space and time” and to widen “our circle of compassion to embrace al living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.” Yet, one cannot, of course, merely reason oneself into an acceptance of this view, nonetheless, the inherent perceptions of the world are reason that the capacity for what Einstein termed “cosmic religious feedings.” Perhaps, our enabling capability for that which is within us to have the obtainable ability to enabling of ours is to experience the self-realization, that of its realness is to sense its proven existence of a sense of elementarily leaving to some sorted conquering sense of universal consciousness, in so given to arise the existence of the universe, which really makes an essential difference to the existence or its penetrative spark of awakening indebtednesses of reciprocality?
Those who have this capacity will hopefully be able to communicate their enhanced scientific understanding of the relations among all aspects, and in part that is our self and the whole that are the universe in ordinary language wit enormous emotional appeal. The task lies before the poets of this renewing reality have nicely been described by Jonas Salk, which “man has come to the threshold of a state of consciousness, regarding his nature and his relationship to the Cosmos, in terms that reflects “reality.” By using the processes of Nature and metaphor, to describe the forces by which it operates upon and within Man, we come as close to describing “reality” as we can within te limits of our comprehension. Men will be very uneven in their capacity or such understanding, which, naturally, differs for different ages and cultures, and develops and changes over the course of time. For these reasons it will always be necessary to use metaphorical and mythical provisions as comprehensive guides to living. In this way. Man’s afforded efforts by the imagination and intellect can be playing the vital roles embarking upon the survival and his endurable evolution.
It is time, if not, only, concluded from evidence in its suggestive conditional relation, for which the religious imagination and the religious experience to engage upon the complementary truths of science in fitting that silence with meaning, as having to antiquate a continual emphasis, least of mention, that does not mean that those who do not believe in the existence of God or Being, should refrain in any sense from assessing the impletions of the new truths of science. Understanding these implications does not necessitate any ontology, and is in no way diminished by the lack of any ontology. And one is free to recognize a basis for a dialogue between science and religion for the same reason that one is free to deny that this basis exists -there is nothing in our current scientific world view that can prove the existence of God or Being and nothing that legitimate any anthropomorphic conceptions of the nature of God or Being. The question of belief in some ontology yet remains in what it has always been -a question, and the physical universe on the most basic level remains what it always been a riddle. And the ultimate answer to the question and the ultimate meaning of the riddle is, and probably always will be, a matter of personal choice and conviction.
The present time is clearly a time of a major paradigm shift, but consider the last great paradigm shift, the one that resulted in the Newtonian framework. This previous paradigm shift was profoundly problematic for the human spirit, it led to the conviction that we are strangers, freaks of nature, conscious beings in a universe that is almost entirely unconscious, and that, since the universe its strictly deterministic, even the free will we feel in regard to the movements of our bodies is an illusion. Yet it was probably necessary for the Western mind to go through the acceptance of such a paradigm.
The overwhelming success of Newtonian physics led most scientists and most philosophers of the Enlightenment to rely on it exclusively. As far as the quest for knowledge about reality was concerned, they regarded all of the other mode’s of expressing human experience, such as accounts of numinous emergences, poetry, art, and so on, as irrelevant. This reliance on science as the only way to the truth about the universe s clearly obsoletes. Science has to give up the illusion of its self-sufficiency and self-sufficiency of human reason. It needs to unite with other modes of knowing, n particular with contemplation, and help each of us move to higher levels of being and toward the Experience of Oneness.
If this is indeed the direction of the emerging world-view, then the paradigm shifts we are presently going through will prove to e nourishing to the human spirit and in correspondences with its deepest conscious or unconscious yearning -the yearning to emerge out of Plato’s shadows and into the light of luminosity.
EVOLVING PRINCIPLES OF THOUGHT
BOOK FOUR
SYSTEMATIC DELINEATION
Finding to a theory that magnifies the role of decisions, or free selection from among equally possible alternatives, in order to show that what appears to be objective or fixed by nature is in fact an artefact of human convention, similar to conventions of etiquette, or grammar, or law. Thus one might suppose that moral rules owe more to social convention than to anything imposed from outside, or have supposedly inexorable necessities are in fact the shadow of our linguistic conventions. The disadvantage of conventionalism is that it must show that alternative, equally workable conventions could have been adopted, and it is often easy to believe that, for example, if we hold that some ethical norm such as respect for promises or property is conventional, we ought to be able to show that human needs would have been equally well satisfied by a system involving a different norm, and this may be hard to establish.
A convention also suggested by Paul Grice (1913-88) directing participants in conversation to pay heed to an accepted purpose or direction of the exchange. Contributions made without paying this attention are liable to be rejected for other reasons than straightforward falsity: Something rue but unhelpful or inappropriate may meet with puzzlement or rejection. We can nevertheless, infer from the fact that it would be inappropriate to say something in some circumstance that what would be aid, were we to say it, would be false. This inference was frequently and in ordinary language philosophy, it being argued, for example, that since we do not normally say ‘there sees to be a barn there’ when there is unmistakably a barn there, it is false that on such occasions there seems to be a barn there.
There are two main views on the nature of theories. According to the ‘received view’ theories are partially interpreted axiomatic systems, according to the semantic view, a theory is a collection of models (Suppe, 1974). However, a natural language comes ready interpreted, and the semantic problem is no that of the specification but of understanding the relationship between terms of various categories (names, descriptions, predicates, adverbs . . .) and their meanings. An influential proposal is that this relationship is best understood by attempting to provide a ‘truth definition’ for the language, which will involve giving terms and structure of different kinds have on the truth-condition of sentences containing them.
The axiomatic method . . . as, . . . a proposition lid down as one from which we may begin, an assertion that we have taken as fundamental, at least for the branch of enquiry in hand. The axiomatic method is that of defining as a set of such propositions, and the ‘proof procedures’ or finding of how a proof ever gets started. Suppose I have as premises (1) p and (2) p ➞ q. Can I infer q? Only, it seems, if I am sure of, (3) (p & p ➞q) ➞q. Can I then infer q? Only, it seems, if I am sure that (4) (p & p ➞ q) ➞ q) ➞ q. For each new axiom (N) needing a further axiom (N + 1) telling me that the set so far implies q, and the regress never stops. The usual solution is to treat a system as containing not only axioms, but also rules of reference, allowing movement fro the axiom. The rule ‘modus ponens’ allow us to pass from the first two premises to 'q'. Charles Dodgson Lutwidge (1832-98) better known as Lewis Carroll’s puzzle shows that it is essential to distinguish two theoretical categories, although there may be choice about which to put in which category.
This type of theory (axiomatic) usually emerges as a body of (supposes) truths that are not nearly organized, making the theory difficult to survey or study a whole. The axiomatic method is an idea for organizing a theory (Hilbert 1970): one tries to select from among the supposed truths a small number from which all others can be seen to be deductively inferable. This makes the theory rather more tractable since, in a sense, all the truths are contained in those few. In a theory so organized, the few truths from which all others are deductively inferred are called axioms. In that, just as algebraic and differential equations, which were used to study mathematical and physical processes, could they be made mathematical objects, so axiomatic theories, like algebraic and differential equations, which are means of representing physical processes and mathematical structures, could be made objects of mathematical investigation.
In the traditional (as in Leibniz, 1704), many philosophers had the conviction that all truths, or all truths about a particular domain, followed from a few principles. These principles were taken to be either metaphysically prior or epistemologically prior or in the fist sense, they were taken to be entities of such a nature that what exists is ‘caused’ by them. When the principles were taken as epistemologically prior, that is, as axioms, they were taken to be epistemologically privileged either, e.g., self-evident, not needing to be demonstrated or (again, inclusive ‘or’) to be such that all truths do follow from them (by deductive inferences). Gödel (1984) showed that treating axiomatic theories as themselves mathematical objects, that mathematics, and even a small part of mathematics, elementary number theory, could not be axiomatized, that, more precisely, any class of axioms that in such that we could effectively decide, of any proposition, whether or not it was in the class, would be too small to capture all of the truths.
The use of a model to test for the consistency of an axiomatized system is older than modern logic. Descartes’s algebraic interpretation of Euclidean geometry provides a way of showing that if the theory of real numbers is consistent, so is the geometry. Similar mapping had been used by mathematicians in the 19th century for example to show that if Euclidean geometry is consistent, so are various non-Euclidean geometries. Model theory is the general study of this kind of procedure: The study of interpretations of formal system. Proof theory studies relations of deductibility as defined purely syntactically, that is, without reference to the intended interpretation of the calculus. More formally, a deductively valid argument starting from true premises, that yields the conclusion between formulae of a system. But once the notion of an interpretation is in place we can ask whether a formal system meets certain conditions. In particular, can it lead us from sentences that are true under some interpretation to ones that are false under the same interpretation? And if a sentence is true under all interpretations, is it also a theorem of the system? We can define a notion of validity (a formula is valid if it is true in all interpretations) and semantic consequence (a formula, written
{A1 . . . An} ⊨ B, if it is true in all interpretations in which they are true) The central questions for a calculus will be whether all and only its theorems are valid, and whether {A1 . . . An} ⊨ B, if and only if {A1. . . . An} ⊢ B. These are the questions of the soundness and completeness of a formal system. For the propositional calculus this turns into the question of whether the proof theory delivers as theorems all and only tautologies. There are many axiomatizations of the propositional calculus that are consistent an complete. Gödel proved in 1929 that first-order predicate calculus is complete: any formula that is true under every interpretation is a theorem of the calculus.
The propositional calculus or logical calculus whose expressions are character representation sentences or propositions, and constants representing operations on those propositions to produce others of higher complexity. The operations include conjunction, disjunction, material implication and negation (although these need not be primitive). Propositional logic was partially anticipated by the Stoics but researched maturity only with the work of Frége, Russell, and Wittgenstein.
The concept introduced by Frége of a function taking a number of names as arguments, and delivering one proposition as the value. The idea is that ‘χ love’s y’ is a propositional function, which yields the proposition ‘John loves Mary’ from those two arguments (in that order). A propositional function is therefore roughly equivalent to a property or relation. In Principia Mathematica, Russell and Whitehead take propositional functions to be the fundamental function, since the theory of descriptions could be taken as showing that other expressions denoting functions are incomplete symbols.
Keeping in mind, the two classical truth-values that a statement, proposition, or sentence can take. It is supposed in classical (two-valued) logic, that each statement has one of these values, and none has both. A statement is then false if and only if it is not true. The basis of this scheme is that to each statement there corresponds a determinate truth condition, or way the world must be for it to be true, and otherwise false. Statements may be felicitous or infelicitous in other dimensions (polite, misleading, apposite, witty, etc.) but truth is the central normative governing assertion. Considerations of vagueness may introduce greys into a black-and-white scheme. For the issue of whether falsity is the only way of failing to be true.
Formally, it is nonetheless, that any suppressed premise or background framework of thought necessary to make an argument valid, or a position tenable. More formally, a presupposition has been defined as a proposition whose truth is necessary for either the truth or the falsity of another statement. Thus, if ‘p’ presupposes ‘q’, ‘q’ must be true for p to be either true or false. In the theory of knowledge of Robin George Collingwood (1889-1943), any propositions capable of truth or falsity stand on a bed of ‘absolute presuppositions’ which are not properly capable of truth or falsity, since a system of thought will contain no way of approaching such a question. It was suggested by Peter Strawson (1919-), in opposition to Russell’s theory of ‘definite’ descriptions, that ‘there exists a King of France’ is a presupposition of ‘the King of France is bald’, the latter being neither true, nor false, if there is no King of France. It is, however, a little unclear whether the idea is that no statement at all is made in such a case, or whether a statement i can made, but fails of being one a true and oppose of either true ids false. The former option preserves classical logic, since we can still say that every statement is either true or false, but the latter does not, since in classical logic the law of ‘bivalence’ holds, and ensures that nothing at all is presupposed for any proposition to be true or false. The introduction of presupposition therefore means that either a third truth-value is found, ‘intermediate’ between truth and falsity, or classical logic is preserved, but it is impossible to tell whether a particular sentence expresses a proposition that is a candidate for truth ad falsity, without knowing more than the formation rules of the language. Each suggestion carries costs, and there is some consensus that at least where definite descriptions are involved, examples like the one given are equally well handed by regarding the overall sentence false when the existence claim fails.
A proposition may be true or false it is said to take the truth-value true, and if the latter the truth-value false. The idea behind the term is the analogy between assigning a propositional variable one or other of these values, as a formula of the propositional calculus, and assigning an object as the value of many other variable. Logics with intermediate values are called many-valued logics. Then, a truth-function of a number of propositions or sentences is a function of them that has a definite truth-value, depends only on the truth-values of the constituents. Thus (p & q) is a combination whose truth-value is true when ‘p’ is true and ‘q’ is true, and false otherwise, ¬ p is a truth-function of ‘p’, false when ‘p’ is true and true when ‘p’ is false. The way in which the value of the whole is determined by the combinations of values of constituents is presented in a truth table.
In whatever manner, truths of fact cannot be reduced to any identity and our only way of knowing them is a posteriori, by reference to the facts of the empirical world.
A proposition is knowable a priori if it can be known without experience of the specific course of events in the actual world. It may, however, be allowed that some experience is required to acquire the concepts involved in an a priori proposition. Some thing is knowable only a posteriori if it can be known a priori. The distinction given one of the fundamental problem areas of epistemology. The category of a priori propositions is highly controversial, since it is not clear how pure thought, unaided by experience, can give rise to any knowledge at all, and it has always been a concern of empiricism to deny that it can. The two great areas in which it seems to be so are logic and mathematics, so empiricists have commonly tried to show either that these are not areas of real, substantive knowledge, or that in spite of appearances their knowledge that we have in these areas is actually dependent on experience. The former line tries to show sense trivial or analytic, or matters of notation conventions of language. The latter approach is particularly y associated with Quine, who denies any significant slit between propositions traditionally thought of as a priori, and other deeply entrenched beliefs that occur in our overall view of the world.
Another contested category is that of a priori concepts, supposed to be concepts that cannot be ‘derived’ from experience, but which are presupposed in any mode of thought about the world, time, substance, causation, number, and self are candidates. The need for such concept s, and the nature of the substantive a prior knowledge to which they give rise, is the central concern of Kant ‘s Critique of Pure Reason.
Likewise, since their denial does not involve a contradiction, there is merely contingent: Their could have been in other ways a hold of the actual world, but not every possible one. Some examples are ‘Caesar crossed the Rubicon’ and ‘Leibniz was born in Leipzig’, as well as propositions expressing correct scientific generalizations. In Leibniz’s view truths of fact rest on the principle of sufficient reason, which is a reason why it is so. This reason is that the actual world (by which he means the total collection of things past, present and future) is better than any other possible world and therefore created by God. The foundation of his thought is the conviction that to each individual there corresponds a complete notion, knowable only to God, from which is deducible all the properties possessed by the individual at each moment in its history. It is contingent that God actualizes te individual that meets such a concept, but his doing so is explicable by the principle of ‘sufficient reason’, whereby God had to actualize just that possibility in order for this to be the best of all possible worlds. This thesis is subsequently lampooned by Voltaire (1694-1778), in whom of which was prepared to take refuge in ignorance, as the nature of the soul, or the way to reconcile evil with divine providence.
In defending the principle of sufficient reason sometimes described as the principle that nothing can be so without there being a reason why it is so. But the reason has to be of a particularly potent kind: eventually it has to ground contingent facts in necessities, and in particular in the reason an omnipotent and perfect being would have for actualizing one possibility than another. Among the consequences of the principle is Leibniz’s relational doctrine of space, since if space were an infinite box there could be no reason for the world to be at one point in rather than another, and God placing it at any point violate the principle. In Abelard’s (1079-1142), as in Leibniz, the principle eventually forces te recognition that the actual world is the best of all possibilities, since anything else would be inconsistent with the creative power that actualizes possibilities.
If truth consists in concept containment, then it seems that all truths are analytic and hence necessary; and if they are all necessary, surely they are all truths of reason. In that not every truth can be reduced to an identity in a finite number of steps; in some instances revealing the connection between subject and predicate concepts would require an infinite analysis, while this may entail that we cannot prove such proposition as a prior, it does not appear to show that proposition could have been false. Intuitively, it seems a better ground for supposing that it is a necessary truth of a special sort. A related question arises from the idea that truths of fact depend on God’s decision to create the best world: If it is part of the concept of this world that it is best, how could its existence be other than necessary? An accountable and responsively answered explanation would be so, that any relational question that brakes the norm lay eyes on its existence in the manner other than hypothetical necessities, i.e., it follows from God’s decision to create the world, but God had the power to create this world, but God is necessary, so how could he have decided to do anything else? Leibniz says much more about these matters, but it is not clear whether he offers any satisfactory solutions.
The view that the terms in which we think of some area are sufficiently infected with error for it to be better to abandon them than to continue to try to give coherent theories of their use. Eliminativism should be distinguished from scepticism that claims that we cannot know the truth about some area; eliminativism claims rather that there are no truth there to be known, in the terms that we currently think. An eliminativist about theology simply counsels abandoning the terms or discourse of theology, and that will include abandoning worries about the extent of theological knowledge.
Eliminativists in the philosophy of mind counsel abandoning the whole network of terms mind, consciousness, self, qualia that usher in the problems of mind and body. Sometimes the argument for doing this is that we should wait for a supposed future understanding of ourselves, based on cognitive science and better than any our current mental descriptions provide, sometimes it is supposed that physicalism shows that no mental description of ourselves could possibly be true.
Greek scepticism centred on the value of enquiry and questioning, scepticism is now the denial that knowledge or even rational belief is possible, either about some specific subject-matter, e.g., ethics, o r in any atra whatsoever. Classically, scepticism springs from the observation that the best methods in some area seem to fall short of giving us contact with the truth, e.g., there is a gulf between appearance and reality, and in frequency cites the conflicting judgements that our methods deliver, with the result that questions of truth become undecidable.
Sceptical tendencies emerged in the 14th-century writings of Nicholas of Autrecourt. His criticisms of any certainty beyond the immediate deliverance of the senses and basic logic, and in particular of any knowledge of either intellectual or material substances, anticipate the later scepticism of Balye and Hume. The; later distinguishes between Pyrrhonistic and excessive scepticism, which he regarded as unlivable, and the more mitigated scepticism that accepts every day or commonsense beliefs (not as the delivery of reason, but as due more to custom and habit), but is duly wary of the power of reason to give us much more. Mitigated scepticism is thus closer to the attitude fostered by ancient scepticism from Pyrrho through to Sexus Empiricus. Although the phrase ‘Cartesian scepticism’ is sometimes used, Descartes himself was not a sceptic, but in the method of doubt, uses a sceptical scenario in order to begin the process of finding a secure mark of knowledge. Descartes himself trusts a category of ‘clear and distinct’ ideas, not far removed from the phantasia kataleptiké of the Stoics.
Scepticism should not be confused with relativism, which is a doctrine about the nature of truth, and may be motivated by trying to avoid scepticism. Nor is it identical with eliminativism, which counsels abandoning an area of thought altogether, not because we cannot know the truth, but because there are no truths capable of being framed in the terms we use.
Descartes’s theory of knowledge starts with the quest for certainty, for an indubitable starting-point or foundation on the basis alone of which progress is possible. This is eventually found in the celebrated ‘Cogito ergo sum’: I think therefore I am. By locating the point of certainty in my own awareness of my own self, Descartes gives a first-person twist to the theory of knowledge that dominated them following centuries in spite of various counter-attacks on behalf of social and public starting-points. The metaphysical associated with this priority are the famous Cartesian dualism, or separation of mind and matter into two different but interacting substances, Descartes rigorously and rightly sees that it takes divine dispensation to certify any relationship between the two realms thus divided, and to prove the reliability of the senses invokes a ‘clear and distinct perception’ of highly dubious proofs of the existence of a benevolent deity. This has not met general acceptance: as Hume drily puts it, ‘to have recourse to the veracity of the supreme Being, in order to prove the veracity of our senses, is surely making a very unexpected circuit’.
In his own time Descartes’s conception of the entirely separate substance of the mind was recognized to give rise to insoluble problems of the nature of the causal connection between the two. It also gives rise to the problem, insoluble in its own terms, of other minds. Descartes’s notorious denial that non-human animals are conscious is a stark illustration of the problem. In his conception of matter Descartes also gives preference to rational cogitation over anything derived from the senses. Since we can conceive of the matter of a ball of wax surviving changes to its sensible qualities, matter is not an empirical concept, but eventually an entirely geometrical one, with extension and motion as its only physical nature. Descartes’s thought, as reflected in Leibniz, that the qualities of sense experience have no resemblance to qualities of things, so that knowledge of the external world is essentially knowledge of structure rather than of filling. On this basis Descartes erects a remarkable physics. Since matter is in effect the same as extension there can be no empty space or ‘void’, since there is no empty space motion is not a question of occupying previously empty space, but is to be thought of in terms of vortices (like the motion of a liquid).
Although the structure of Descartes’s epistemology, theories of mind, and theory of matter have been rejected many times, their relentless exposure of the hardest issues, their exemplary clarity, and even their initial plausibility, all contrives to make him the central point of reference for modern philosophy.
The self conceived as Descartes presents it in the first two Meditations: aware only of its own thoughts, and capable of disembodied existence, neither situated in a space nor surrounded by others. This is the pure self of ‘I-ness’ that we are tempted to imagine as a simple unique thing that make up our essential identity. Descartes’s view that he could keep hold of this nugget while doubting everything else is criticized by Lichtenberg and Kant, and most subsequent philosophers of mind.
Descartes holds that we do not have any knowledge of any empirical proposition about anything beyond the contents of our own minds. The reason, roughly put, is that there is a legitimate doubt about all such propositions because there is no way to deny justifiably that our senses are being stimulated by some cause (an evil spirit, for example) which is radically different from the objects that we normally think affect our senses.
He also points out, that the senses (sight, hearing, touch, etc., are often unreliable, and ‘it is prudent never to trust entirely those who have deceived us even once’, he cited such instances as the straight stick that looks ben t in water, and the square tower that look round from a distance. This argument of illusion, has not, on the whole, impressed commentators, and some of Descartes’ contemporaries pointing out that since such errors come to light as a result of further sensory information, it cannot be right to cast wholesale doubt on the evidence of the senses. But Descartes regarded the argument from illusion as only the first stage in softening up process which would ‘lead the mind away from the senses’. He admits that there are some cases of sense-base belief about which doubt would be insane, e.g., the belief that I am sitting here by the fire, wearing a winter dressing gown’.
Descartes was to realize that there was nothing in this view of nature that could explain or provide a foundation for the mental, or from direct experience as distinctly human. In a mechanistic universe, he said, there is no privileged place or function for mind, and the separation between mind and matter is absolute. Descartes was also convinced, that the immaterial essences that gave form and structure to this universe were coded in geometrical and mathematical ideas, and this insight led him to invent algebraic geometry.
A scientific understanding of these ideas could be derived, said Descartes, with the aid of precise deduction, and he also claimed that the contours of physical reality could be laid out in three-dimensional coordinates. Following the publication of Newton’s Principia Mathematica in 1687, reductionism and mathematical modelling became the most powerful tools of modern science. And the dream that the entire physical world could be known and mastered through the extension and refinement of mathematical theory became the central feature and guiding principle of scientific knowledge.
Having to its recourse of knowledge, its cental questions include the origin of knowledge, the place of experience in generating knowledge, and the place of reason in doing so, the relationship between knowledge and certainty, and between knowledge and the impossibility of error, the possibility of universal scepticism, and the changing forms of knowledge that arise from new conceptualizations of the world. All of these issues link with other central concerns of philosophy, such as the nature of truth and the natures of experience and meaning.
Foundationalism was associated with the ancient Stoics, and in the modern era with Descartes (1596-1650). Who discovered his foundations in the ‘clear and distinct’ ideas of reason? Its main opponent is Coherentism, or the view that a body of propositions mas be known without a foundation in certainty, but by their interlocking strength, than as a crossword puzzle may be known to have been solved correctly even if each answer, taken individually, admits of uncertainty. Difficulties at this point led the logical passivists to abandon the notion of an epistemological foundation altogether, and to flirt with the coherence theory of truth. It is widely accepted that trying to make the connection between thought and experience through basic sentences depends on an untenable ‘myth of the given’.
Still in spite of these concerns, the problem, least of mention, is of defining knowledge in terms of true beliefs plus some favoured relations between the believer and the facts that began with Plato’s view in the “Theaetetus,” that knowledge is true belief, and some logos. Due of its nonsynthetic epistemology, the enterprising of studying the actual formation of knowledge by human beings, without aspiring to certify those processes as rational, or its proof against ‘scepticism’ or even apt to yield the truth. Natural epistemology would therefore blend into the psychology of learning and the study of episodes in the history of science. The scope for ‘external’ or philosophical reflection of the kind that might result in scepticism or its refutation is markedly diminished. Despite the fact that the terms of modernity are so distinguished as exponents of the approach include Aristotle, Hume, and J. S. Mills.
The task of the philosopher of a discipline would then be to reveal the correct method and to unmask counterfeits. Although this belief lay behind much positivist philosophy of science, few philosophers now subscribe to it. It places too well a confidence in the possibility of a purely previous ‘first philosophy’, or viewpoint beyond that of the work one’s way of practitioners, from which their best efforts can be measured as good or bad. These standpoints now seem that too many philosophers to be a fanciefancy, that the more modest of tasks that are actually adopted at various historical stages of investigation into different areas with the aim not so much of criticizing but more of systematization, in the presuppositions of a particular field at a particular tie. There is still a role for local methodological disputes within the community investigators of some phenomenon, with one approach charging that another is unsound or unscientific, but logic and philosophy will not, on the modern view, provide an independent arsenal of weapons for such battles, which indeed often come to seem more like political bids for ascendancy within a discipline.
This is an approach to the theory of knowledge that sees an important connection between the growth of knowledge and biological evolution. An evolutionary epistemologist claims that the development of human knowledge processed through some natural selection process, the best example of which is Darwin’s theory of biological natural selection. There is a widespread misconception that evolution proceeds according to some plan or direct, but it has neither, and the role of chance ensures that its future course will be unpredictable. Random variations in individual organisms create tiny differences in their Darwinian fitness. Some individuals have more offsprings than others, and the characteristics that increased their fitness thereby become more prevalent in future generations. Once upon a time, at least a mutation occurred in a human population in tropical Africa that changed the haemoglobin molecule in a way that provided resistance to malaria. This enormous advantage caused the new gene to spread, with the unfortunate consequence that sickle-cell anaemia came to exist.
Chance can influence the outcome at each stage: First, in the creation of genetic mutation, second, in wether the bearer lives long enough to show its effects, thirdly, in chance events that influence the individual’s actual reproductive success, and fourth, in whether a gene even if favoured in one generation, is, happenstance, eliminated in the next, and finally in the many unpredictable environmental changes that will undoubtedly occur in the history of any group of organisms. As Harvard biologist Stephen Jay Gould has so vividly expressed that process over again, the outcome would surely be different. Not only might there not be humans, there might not even be anything like mammals.
We will often emphasis the elegance of traits shaped by natural selection, but the common idea that nature creates perfection needs to be analysed carefully. The extent to which evolution achieves perfection depends on exactly what you mean. If you mean “Does natural selections always take the best path for the long-term welfare of a species?” The answer is no. That would require adaption by group selection, and this is, unlikely. If you mean “Does natural selection creates every adaption that would be valuable?” The answer again, is no. For instance, some kinds of South American monkeys can grasp branches with their tails. The trick would surely also be useful to some African species, but, simply because of bad luck, none have it. Some combination of circumstances started some ancestral South American monkeys using their tails in ways that ultimately led to an ability to grab onto branches, while no such development took place in Africa. Mere usefulness of a trait does not necessitate a means in that what will understandably endure phylogenesis or evolution.
This is an approach to the theory of knowledge that sees an important connection between the growth of knowledge and biological evolution. An evolutionary epistemologist claims that the development of human knowledge proceeds through some natural selection process, the best example of which is Darwin’s theory of biological natural selection. The three major components of the model of natural selection are variation selection and retention. According to Darwin’s theory of natural selection, variations are not pre-designed to do certain functions. Rather, these variations that do useful functions are selected. While those that do not employ of some coordinates in that are regainfully purposed are also, not to any of a selection, as duly influenced of such a selection, that may have responsibilities for the visual aspects of a variational intentionally occurs. In the modern theory of evolution, genetic mutations provide the blind variations: Blind in the sense that variations are not influenced by the effects they would have-the likelihood of a mutation is not correlated with the benefits or liabilities that mutation would confer on the organism, the environment provides the filter of selection, and reproduction provides the retention. Fatnesses are achieved because those organisms with features that make them less adapted for survival do not survive in connection with other organisms in the environment that have features that are better adapted. Evolutionary epistemology applies this blind variation and selective retention model to the growth of scientific knowledge and to human thought processes overall.
The parallel between biological evolution and conceptual or ‘epistemic’ evolution can be seen as either literal or analogical. The literal version of evolutionary epistemology deeds biological evolution as the main cause of the growth of knowledge. On this view, called the ‘evolution of cognitive mechanic programs’, by Bradie (1986) and the ‘Darwinian approach to epistemology’ by Ruse (1986), that growth of knowledge occurs through blind variation and selective retention because biological natural selection itself is the cause of epistemic variation and selection. The most plausible version of the literal view does not hold that all human beliefs are innate but rather than the mental mechanisms that guide the acquisitions of non-innate beliefs are themselves innately and the result of biological natural selection. Ruse, (1986) demands of a version of literal evolutionary epistemology that he links to sociolology (Rescher, 1990).
On the analogical version of evolutionary epistemology, called the ‘evolution of theory’s program’, by Bradie (1986). The ‘Spenserians approach’ (after the nineteenth century philosopher Herbert Spencer) by Ruse (1986), the development of human knowledge is governed by a process analogous to biological natural selection, rather than by an instance of the mechanism itself. This version of evolutionary epistemology, introduced and elaborated by Donald Campbell (1974) as well as Karl Popper, sees the [partial] fit between theories and the world as explained by a mental process of trial and error known as epistemic natural selection.
Both versions of evolutionary epistemology are usually taken to be types of naturalized epistemology, because both take some empirical facts as a starting point for their epistemological project. The literal version of evolutionary epistemology begins by accepting evolutionary theory and a materialist approach to the mind and, from these, constructs an account of knowledge and its developments. In contrast, the metaphorical version does not require the truth of biological evolution: It simply draws on biological evolution as a source for the model of natural selection. For this version of evolutionary epistemology to be true, the model of natural selection need only apply to the growth of knowledge, not to the origin and development of species. Crudely put, evolutionary epistemology of the analogical sort could still be true even if Creationism is the correct theory of the origin of species.
Although they do not begin by assuming evolutionary theory, most analogical evolutionary epistemologists are naturalized epistemologists as well, their empirical assumptions, least of mention, implicitly come from psychology and cognitive science, not evolutionary theory. Sometimes, however, evolutionary epistemology is characterized in a seemingly non-naturalistic fashion. Campbell (1974) says that ‘if one is expanding knowledge beyond what one knows, one has no choice but to explore without the benefit of wisdom’, i.e., blindly. This, Campbell admits, makes evolutionary epistemology close to being a tautology (and so not naturalistic). Evolutionary epistemology does assert the analytic claim that when expanding one’s knowledge beyond what one knows, one must precessed to something that is already known, but, more interestingly, it also makes the synthetic claim that when expanding one’s knowledge beyond what one knows, one must proceed by blind variation and selective retention. This claim is synthetic because it can be empirically falsified. The central claim of evolutionary epistemology is synthetic, not analytic. If the central contradictory, which they are not. Campbell is right that evolutionary epistemology does have the analytic feature he mentions, but he is wrong to think that this is a distinguishing feature, since any plausible epistemology has the same analytic feature (Skagestad, 1978).
Two extraordinary issues lie to awaken the literature that involves questions about ‘realism’, i.e., What metaphysical commitment does an evolutionary epistemologist have to make? Progress, i.e., according to evolutionary epistemology, does knowledge develop toward a goal? With respect to realism, many evolutionary epistemologists endorse that is called ‘hypothetical realism’, a view that combines a version of epistemological ‘scepticism’ and tentative acceptance of metaphysical realism. With respect to progress, the problem is that biological evolution is not goal-directed, but the growth of human knowledge seems to be. Campbell (1974) worries about the potential dis-analogy here but is willing to bite the stone of conscience and admit that epistemic evolution progress toward a goal (truth) while biologic evolution does not. Many another has argued that evolutionary epistemologists must give up the ‘truth-topic’ sense of progress because a natural selection model is in essence, is non-teleological, as an alternative, following Kuhn (1970), and embraced in the accompaniment with evolutionary epistemology.
Among the most frequent and serious criticisms levelled against evolutionary epistemology is that the analogical version of the view is false because epistemic variation is not blind (Skagestad, 1978, 613-16, and Ruse, 1986, ch.2 (. Stein and Lipton (1990) have argued, however, that this objection fails because, while epistemic variation is not random, its constraints come from heuristics that, for the most part, are selective retention. Further, Stein and Lipton come to the conclusion that heuristics are analogous to biological pre-adaptions, evolutionary pre-biological pre-adaptions, evolutionary cursors, such as a half-wing, a precursor to a wing, which have some function other than the function of their descendable structures: The function of descendable structures, the function of their descendable character embodied to its structural foundations, is that of the guidelines of epistemic variation is, on this view, not the source of disanalogy, but the source of a more articulated account of the analology.
Many evolutionary epistemologists try to combine the literal and the analogical versions (Bradie, 1986, and Stein and Lipton, 1990), saying that those beliefs and cognitive mechanisms, which are innate results from natural selection of the biological sort and those that are innate results from natural selection of the epistemic sort. This is reasonable as long as the two parts of this hybrid view are kept distinct. An analogical version of evolutionary epistemology with biological variation as its only source of blondeness would be a null theory: This would be the case if all our beliefs are innate or if our non-innate beliefs are not the result of blind variation. An appeal to the legitimate way to produce a hybrid version of evolutionary epistemology since doing so trivializes the theory. For similar reasons, such an appeal will not save an analogical version of evolutionary epistemology from arguments to the effect that epistemic variation is blind (Stein and Lipton, 1990).
Although it is a new approach to theory of knowledge, evolutionary epistemology has attracted much attention, primarily because it represents a serious attempt to flesh out a naturalized epistemology by drawing on several disciplines. In science is relevant to understanding the nature and development of knowledge, then evolutionary theory is among the disciplines worth a look. Insofar as evolutionary epistemology looks there, it is an interesting and potentially fruitful epistemological programme.
What makes a belief justified and what makes a true belief knowledge? Thinking that whether a belief deserves one of these appraisals is natural depends on what caused the depicted branch of knowledge to have the belief. In recent decades a number of epistemologists have pursued this plausible idea with a variety of specific proposals. Some causal theories of knowledge have it that a true belief that ‘p’ is knowledge just in case it has the right causal connection to the fact that ‘p’. Such a criterion can be applied only to cases where the fact that ‘p’ is a sort that can enter into causal relations, as this seems to exclude mathematically and the necessary facts and perhaps any fact expressed by a universal generalization, and proponents of this sort of criterion have usually supposed that it is limited to perceptual representations where knowledge of particular facts about subjects’ environments.
For example, Armstrong (1973), predetermined that a position held by a belief in the form ‘This perceived object is ‘F’ is [non-inferential] knowledge if and only if the belief is a completely reliable sign that the perceived object is ‘F’, that is, the fact that the object is ‘F’ contributed to causing the belief and its doing so depended on properties of the believer such that the laws of nature dictated that, for any subject ‘χ’ and perceived object ‘y’, if ‘χ’ has those properties and believed that ‘y’ is ‘F’, then ‘y’ is ‘F’. (Dretske (1981) offers a rather similar account, in terms of the belief’s being caused by a signal received by the perceiver that carries the information that the object is ‘F’).
Goldman (1986) has proposed an importantly different causal criterion, namely, that a true belief is knowledge if it is produced by a type of process that is ‘globally’ and ‘locally’ reliable. Causing true beliefs is sufficiently high is globally reliable if its propensity. Local reliability has to do with whether the process would have produced a similar but false belief in certain counterfactual situations alternative to the actual situation. This way of marking off true beliefs that are knowledge does not require the fact believed to be causally related to the belief, and so it could in principle apply to knowledge of any kind of truth.
Goldman requires the global reliability of the belief-producing process for the justification of a belief, he requires it also for knowledge because justification is required for knowledge. What he requires for knowledge, but does not require for justification is local reliability. His idea is that a justified true belief is knowledge if the type of process that produced it would not have produced it in any relevant counterfactual situation in which it is false. Its purported theory of relevant alternatives can be viewed as an attempt to provide a more satisfactory response to this tension in our thinking about knowledge. It attempts to characterize knowledge in a way that preserves both our belief that knowledge is an absolute concept and our belief that we have knowledge.
According to the theory, we need to qualify rather than deny the absolute character of knowledge. We should view knowledge as absolute, reactive to certain standards (Dretske, 1981 and Cohen, 1988). That is to say, in order to know a proposition, our evidence need not eliminate all the alternatives to that preposition, rather for ‘us’, that we can know our evidence eliminates al the relevant alternatives, where the set of relevant alternatives (a proper subset of the set of all alternatives) is determined by some standard. Moreover, according to the relevant alternatives view, and the standards determining that of the alternatives is raised by the sceptic are not relevant. If this is correct, then the fact that our evidence cannot eliminate the sceptic’s alternative does not lead to a sceptical result. For knowledge requires only the elimination of the relevant alternatives, so the relevant alternative view preserves in both strands in our thinking about knowledge. Knowledge is an absolute concept, but because the absoluteness is relative to a standard, we can know many things.
The interesting thesis that counts as a causal theory of justification (in the meaning of ‘causal theory’ intended here) is that: A belief is justified in case it was produced by a type of process that is ‘globally’ reliable, that is, its propensity to produce true beliefs-that can be defined (to a good approximation) As the proportion of the beliefs it produces (or would produce) that is true is sufficiently great.
This proposal will be adequately specified only when we are told (i) how much of the causal history of a belief counts as part of the process that produced it, (ii) which of the many types to which the process belongs is the type for purposes of assessing its reliability, and (iii) relative to why the world or worlds are the reliability of the process type to be assessed the actual world, the closet worlds containing the case being considered, or something else? Let ‘us’ look at the answers suggested by Goldman, the leading proponent of a reliabilist account of justification.
(1) Goldman (1979, 1986) takes the relevant belief producing process to include only the proximate causes internal to the believer. So, for instance, when recently I believed that the telephone was ringing the process that produced the belief, for purposes of assessing reliability, includes just the causal chain of neural events from the stimulus in my ear’s inward ands other concurrent brain states on which the production of the belief depended: It does not include any events’ as the telephone, or the sound waves travelling between it and my ears, or any earlier decisions I made that were responsible for my being within hearing distance of the telephone at that time. It does seem intuitively plausible of a belief depends should be restricted to internal omnes proximate to the belief. Why? Goldman does not tell ‘us’. One answer that some philosophers might give is that it is because a belief’s being justified at a given time can depend only on facts directly accessible to the believer’s awareness at that time (for, if a believer ought to holds only beliefs that are justified, she can tell at any given time what beliefs would then be justified for her). However, this cannot be Goldman’s answer because he wishes to include in the relevantly process neural events that are not directly accessible to consciousness.
(2) Once the reliabilist has told ‘us’ how to delimit the process producing a belief, he needs to tell ‘us’ which of the many types to which it belongs is the relevant type. Coincide, for example, the process that produces your current belief that you see a book before you. One very broad type to which that process belongs would be specified by ‘coming to a belief as to something one perceives as a result of activation of the nerve endings in some of one’s sense-organs’. A constricted type, in which that unvarying processes belong would be specified by ‘coming to a belief as to what one sees as a result of activation of the nerve endings in one’s retinas’. A still narrower type would be given by inserting in the last specification a description of a particular pattern of activation of the retina’s particular cells. Which of these or other types to which the token process belongs is the relevant type for determining whether the type of process that produced your belief is reliable?
If we select a type that is too broad, as having the same degree of justification various beliefs that intuitively seem to have different degrees of justification. Thus the broadest type we specified for your belief that you see a book before you apply also to perceptual beliefs where the object seen is far away and seen only briefly is less justified. On the other hand, is we are allowed to select a type that is as narrow as we please, then we make it out that an obviously unjustified but true belief is produced by a reliable type of process. For example, suppose I see a blurred shape through the fog far in a field and unjustifiedly, but correctly, believe that it is a sheep: If we include enough details about my retinal image is specifying te type of the visual process that produced that belief, we can specify a type is likely to have only that one instanced and is therefore 100 percent reliable. Goldman conjectures (1986) that the relevant process type is ‘the narrowest type that is casually operative’. Presumably, a feature of the process producing beliefs were causally operatives in producing it just in case some alternative feature instead, but it would not have led to that belief. (We need to say ‘some’ here rather than ‘any’, because, for example, when I see an oak or pine tree, the particular ‘like-minded’ material bodies of my retinal image are casually clearly toward the operatives in producing my belief that what is seen as a tree, even though there are alternative shapes, for example, ‘pineish’ or ‘birchness’ ones, that would have produced the same belief.)
(3) Should the justification of a belief in a hypothetical, non-actual example turn on the reliability of the belief-producing process in the possible world of the example? That leads to the implausible result in that in a world run by a Cartesian demon-a powerful being who causes the other inhabitants of the world to have rich and coherent sets of perceptual and memory impressions that are all illusory the perceptual and memory beliefs of the other inhabitants are all unjustified, for they are produced by processes that are, in that world, quite unreliable. If we say instead that it is the reliability of the processes in the actual world that matters, we get the equally undesired result that if the actual world is a demon world then our perceptual and memory beliefs are all unjustified.
Goldman’s solution (1986) is that the reliability of the process types is to be gauged by their performance in ‘normal’ worlds, that is, worlds consistent with ‘our general beliefs about the world . . . ‘about the sorts of objects, events and changes that occur in it’. This gives the intuitively right results for the problem cases just considered, but indicate by inference an implausible proportion of making compensations for alternative tending toward justification. If there are people whose general beliefs about the world are very different from mine, then there may, on this account, be beliefs that I can correctly regard as justified (ones produced by processes that are reliable in what I take to be a normal world) but that they can correctly regard as not justified.
However, these questions about the specifics are dealt with, and there are reasons for questioning the basic idea that the criterion for a belief’s being justified is its being produced by a reliable process. Thus and so, doubt about the sufficiency of the reliabilist criterion is prompted by a sort of example that Goldman himself uses for another purpose. Suppose that being in brain-state ‘B’ always causes one to believe that one is in brained-state ‘B’. Here the reliability of the belief-producing process is perfect, but ‘we can readily imagine circumstances in which a person goes into grain-state ‘B’ and therefore has the belief in question, though this belief is by no means justified’ (Goldman, 1979). Doubt about the necessity of the condition arises from the possibility that one might know that one has strong justification for a certain belief and yet that knowledge is not what actually prompts one to believe. For example, I might be well aware that, having read the weather bureau’s forecast that it will be much hotter tomorrow. I have ample reason to be confident that it will be hotter tomorrow, but I irrationally refuse to believe it until Wally tells me that he feels in his joints that it will be hotter tomorrow. Here what prompts me to believe dors not justify my belief, but my belief is nevertheless justified by my knowledge of the weather bureau’s prediction and of its evidential force: I can advert to any disavowable inference that I ought not to be holding the belief. Indeed, given my justification and that there is nothing untoward about the weather bureau’s prediction, my belief, if true, can be counted knowledge. This sorts of example raises doubt whether any causal conditions, are it a reliable process or something else, is necessary for either justification or knowledge.
Philosophers and scientists alike, have often held that the simplicity or parsimony of a theory is one reason, all else being equal, to view it as true. This goes beyond the unproblematic idea that simpler theories are easier to work with and gave greater aesthetic appeal.
One theory is more parsimonious than another when it postulates fewer entities, processes, changes or explanatory principles: The simplicity of a theory depends on essentially the same consecrations, though parsimony and simplicity obviously become the same. Demanding clarification of what makes one theory simpler or more parsimonious is plausible than another before the justification of these methodological maxims can be addressed.
If we set this description problem to one side, the major normative problem is as follows: What reason is there to think that simplicity is a sign of truth? Why should we accept a simpler theory instead of its more complex rivals? Newton and Leibniz thought that the answer was to be found in a substantive fact about nature. In “Principia,” Newton laid down as his first Rule of Reasoning in Philosophy that ‘nature does nothing in vain . . . ‘for Nature is pleased with simplicity and affects not the pomp of superfluous causes’. Leibniz hypothesized that the actual world obeys simple laws because God’s taste for simplicity influenced his decision about which world to actualize.
The tragedy of the Western mind, described by Koyré, is a direct consequence of the stark Cartesian division between mind and world. We discovered the ‘certain principles of physical reality’, said Descartes, ‘not by the prejudices of the senses, but by the light of reason, and which thus possess so great evidence that we cannot doubt of their truth’. Since the real, or that which actually exists external to ourselves, was in his view only that which could be represented in the quantitative terms of mathematics, Descartes concludes that all quantitative aspects of reality could be traced to the deceitfulness of the senses.
The most fundamental aspect of the Western intellectual tradition is the assumption that there is a fundamental division between the material and the immaterial world or between the realm of matter and the realm of pure mind or spirit. The metaphysical frame-work based on this assumption is known as ontological dualism. As the word dual implies, the framework is predicated on an ontology, or a conception of the nature of God or Being, that assumes reality has two distinct and separable dimensions. The concept of Being as continuous, immutable, and having a prior or separate existence from the world of change dates from the ancient Greek philosopher Parmenides. The same qualities were associated with the God of the Judeo-Christian tradition, and they were considerably amplified by the role played in theology by Platonic and Neoplatonic philosophy.
Nicolas Copernicus, Galileo, Johannes Kepler, and Isaac Newton were all inheritors of a cultural tradition in which ontological dualism was a primary article of faith. Hence the idealization of the mathematical ideal as a source of communion with God, which dates from Pythagoras, provided a metaphysical foundation for the emerging natural sciences. This explains why, the creators of classical physics believed that doing physics was a form of communion with the geometrical and mathematical form’s resident in the perfect mind of God. This view would survive in a modified form in what is now known as Einsteinian epistemology and accounts in no small part for the reluctance of many physicists to accept the epistemology associated with the Copenhagen Interpretation.
At the beginning of the nineteenth century, Pierre-Sinon LaPlace, along with a number of other French mathematicians, advanced the view that the science of mechanics constituted a complete view of nature. Since this science, by observing its epistemology, had revealed itself to be the fundamental science, the hypothesis of God was, they concluded, entirely unnecessary.
LaPlace is recognized for eliminating not only the theological component of classical physics but the ‘entire metaphysical component’ as well’. The epistemology of science requires, he said, that we proceed by inductive generalizations from observed facts to hypotheses that are ‘tested by observed conformity of the phenomena’. What was unique about LaPlace’s view of hypotheses was his insistence that we cannot attribute reality to them. Although concepts like force, mass, motion, cause, and laws are obviously present in classical physics, they exist in LaPlace’s view only as quantities. Physics is concerned, he argued, with quantities that we associate as a matter of convenience with concepts, and the truths about nature are only the quantities.
As this view of hypotheses and the truths of nature as quantities were extended in the nineteenth century to a mathematical description of phenomena like heat, light, electricity, and magnetism. LaPlace’s assumptions about the actual character of scientific truths seemed correct. This progress suggested that if we could remove all thoughts about the ‘nature of’ or the ‘source of’ phenomena, the pursuit of strictly quantitative concepts would bring us to a complete description of all aspects of physical reality. Subsequently, figures like Comte, Kirchhoff, Hertz, and Poincaré developed a program for the study of nature hat was quite different from that of the original creators of classical physics.
The seventeenth-century view of physics as a philosophy of nature or as natural philosophy was displaced by the view of physics as an autonomous science that was ‘the science of nature’. This view, which was premised on the doctrine of positivism, promised to subsume all of the nature with a mathematical analysis of entities in motion and claimed that the true understanding of nature was revealed only in the mathematical description. Since the doctrine of positivism assumes that the knowledge we call physics resides only in the mathematical formalism of physical theory, it disallows the prospect that the vision of physical reality revealed in physical theory can have any other meaning. In the history of science, the irony is that positivism, which was intended to banish metaphysical concerns from the domain of science, served to perpetuate a seventeenth-century metaphysical assumption about the relationship between physical reality and physical theory.
Epistemology since Hume and Kant has drawn back from this theological underpinning. Indeed, the very idea that nature is simple (or uniform) has come in for a critique. The view has taken hold that a preference for simple and parsimonious hypotheses is purely methodological: It is constitutive of the attitude we call ‘scientific’ and makes no substantive assumption about the way the world is.
A variety of otherwise diverse twentieth-century philosophers of science have attempted, in different ways, to flesh out this position. Two examples must suffice here: Hesse (1969) as, for summaries of other proposals. Popper (1959) holds that scientists should prefer highly falsifiable (improbable) theories: He tries to show that simpler theories are more falsifiable, also Quine (1966), in contrast, sees a virtue in theories that are highly probable, he argues for a general connection between simplicity and high probability.
Both these proposals are global. They attempt to explain why simplicity should be part of the scientific method in a way that spans all scientific subject matters. No assumption about the details of any particular scientific problem serves as a premiss in Popper’s or Quine’s arguments.
Newton and Leibniz thought that the justification of parsimony and simplicity flows from the hand of God: Popper and Quine try to justify these methodologically median of importance is without assuming anything substantive about the way the world is. In spite of these differences in approach, they have something in common. They assume that all users of parsimony and simplicity in the separate sciences can be encompassed in a single justifying argument. That recent developments in confirmation theory suggest that this assumption should be scrutinized. Good (1983) and Rosenkrantz (1977) has emphasized the role of auxiliary assumptions in mediating the connection between hypotheses and observations. Whether a hypothesis is well supported by some observations, or whether one hypothesis is better supported than another by those observations, crucially depends on empirical background assumptions about the inference problem here. The same view applies to the idea of prior probability (or, prior plausibility). In of a single hypo-physical science if chosen as an alternative to another even though they are equally supported by current observations, this must be due to an empirical background assumption.
Principles of parsimony and simplicity mediate the epistemic connection between hypotheses and observations. Perhaps these principles are able to do this because they are surrogates for an empirical background theory. It is not that there is one background theory presupposed by every appeal to parsimony; This has the quantifier order backwards. Rather, the suggestion is that each parsimony argument is justified only to each degree that it reflects an empirical background theory about the subjective matter. On this theory is brought out into the open, but the principle of parsimony is entirely dispensable (Sober, 1988).
This ‘local’ approach to the principles of parsimony and simplicity resurrects the idea that they make sense only if the world is one way rather than another. It rejects the idea that these maxims are purely methodological. How defensible this point of view is, will depend on detailed case studies of scientific hypothesis evaluation and on further developments in the theory of scientific inference.
It is usually not found of one and the same that, an inference is a (perhaps very complex) act of thought by virtue of which act (1) I pass from a set of one or more propositions or statements to a proposition or statement and (2) it appears that the latter are true if the former is or are. This psychological characterization has occurred over a wider summation of literature under more lesser than inessential variations. Desiring a better characterization of inference is natural. Yet attempts to do so by constructing a fuller psychological explanation fail to comprehend the grounds on which inference will be objectively valid-A point elaborately made by Gottlob Frége. Attempts to understand the nature of inference through the device of the representation of inference by formal-logical calculations or derivations better (1) leave ‘us’ puzzled about the relation of formal-logical derivations to the informal inferences they are supposedly to represent or reconstruct, and (2) leaves ‘us’ worried about the sense of such formal derivations. Are these derivations inference? Are not informal inferences needed in order to apply the rules governing the constructions of formal derivations (inferring that this operation is an application of that formal rule)? These are concerns cultivated by, for example, Wittgenstein.
Coming up with an adequate characterization of inference-and even working out what would count as a very adequate characterization here is demandingly by no means nearly some resolved philosophical problem.
The rule of inference, as for raised by Lewis Carroll, the Zeno-like problem of how a ‘proof’ ever gets started. Suppose I have as premises (i) ‘p’ and (ii) p ➝ q. Can I infer ‘q’? Only, it seems, if I am sure of (iii) (p & p ➝q) ➝ q. Can I then infer ‘q’? Only, it seems, if I am sure that (iv) (p & p ➝ q & (p & p ➝ q) ➝ q) ➝ q. For each new axiom (N) I need a further axiom (N + 1) telling me that the set so far implies ‘q’, and the regress never stops. The usual solution is to treat a system as containing not only axioms, but also rules of inference, allowing movement from the axioms. The rule ‘modus ponens’ allow ‘us’ to pass from the first premise to ‘q’. Carroll’s puzzle shows that distinguishing two theoretical categories is essential, although there may be choice about which theses to put in which category.
Traditionally, a proposition that is not a ‘conditional’, as with the ‘affirmative’ and ‘negative’, modern opinion is wary of the distinction, since what appears categorical may vary with the choice of a primitive vocabulary and notation. Apparently categorical propositions may also turn out to be disguised conditionals: ‘X’ is intelligent (categorical?) Equivalent, if ‘X’ is given a range of tasks, she does them better than many people (conditional?). The problem is not merely one of classification, since deep metaphysical questions arise when facts that seem to be categorical and therefore solid, come to seem by contrast conditional, or purely hypothetical or potential.
Its condition of some classified necessity is so proven sufficient that if ‘p’ is a necessary condition of ‘q’, then ‘q’ cannot be true unless ‘p’; is true? If ‘p’ is a sufficient condition, thus steering well is a necessary condition of driving in a satisfactory manner, but it is not sufficient, for one can steer well but drive badly for other reasons. Confusion may result if the distinction is not heeded. For example, the statement that ‘A’ causes ‘B’ may be interpreted to mean that ‘A’ is itself a sufficient condition for ‘B’, or that it is only a necessary condition fort ‘B’, or perhaps a necessary parts of a total sufficient condition. Lists of conditions to be met for satisfying some administrative or legal requirement frequently attempt to give individually necessary and jointly sufficient sets of conditions.
What is more, that if any proposition of the form ‘if p then q’. The condition hypothesized, ‘p’. Is called the antecedent of the conditionals, and ‘q’, the consequent? Various kinds of conditional have been distinguished. Its weakest is that of ‘material implication’, merely telling that either ‘not-p’, or ‘q’. Stronger conditionals include elements of ‘modality’, corresponding to the thought that ‘if p is truer then q must be true’. Ordinary language is very flexible in its use of the conditional form, and there is controversy whether conditionals are better treated semantically, yielding differently finds of conditionals with different meanings, or pragmatically, in which case there should be one basic meaning with surface differences arising from other implicatures.
It follows from the definition of ‘strict implication’ that a necessary proposition is strictly implied by any proposition, and that an impossible proposition strictly implies any proposition. If strict implication corresponds to ‘q follows from p’, then this means that a necessary proposition follows from anything at all, and anything at all follows from an impossible proposition. This is a problem if we wish to distinguish between valid and invalid arguments with necessary conclusions or impossible premises.
The Humean problem of induction is that if we would suppose that there is some property ‘A’ concerning and observational or an experimental situation, and that out of a large number of observed instances of ‘A’, some fraction m/n (possibly equal to 1) has also been instances of some logically independent property ‘B’. Suppose further that the background proportionate circumstances not specified in these descriptions has been varied to a substantial degree and that there is no collateral information available concerning the frequency of ‘B’s’ among ‘A’s or concerning causal or nomologically connections between instances of ‘A’ and instances of ‘B’.
In this situation, an ‘enumerative’ or ‘instantial’ induction inference would move rights from the premise, that m/n of observed ‘A’s’ are ‘B’s’ to the conclusion that approximately m/n of all ‘A’s’ are ‘B’s. (The usual probability qualification will be assumed to apply to the inference, rather than being part of the conclusion.) Here the class of ‘A’s’ should be taken to include not only unobserved ‘A’s’ and future ‘A’s’, but also possible or hypothetical ‘A’s’ (an alternative conclusion would concern the probability or likelihood of the adjacently observed ‘A’ being a ‘B’).
The traditional or Humean problem of induction, often referred to simply as ‘the problem of induction’, is the problem of whether and why inferences that fit this schema should be considered rationally acceptable or justified from an epistemic or cognitive standpoint, i.e., whether and why reasoning in this way is likely to lead to true claims about the world. Is there any sort of argument or rationale that can be offered for thinking that conclusions reached in this way are likely to be true in the corresponding premisses is true ‒or even that their chances of truth are significantly enhanced?
Hume’s discussion of this issue deals explicitly only with cases where all observed ‘A’s’ are ‘B’s’ and his argument applies just as well to the more general case. His conclusion is entirely negative and sceptical: Inductive inferences are not rationally justified, but are instead the result of an essentially a-rational process, custom or habit. Hume (1711-76) challenges the proponent of induction to supply a cogent line of reasoning that leads from an inductive premise to the corresponding conclusion and offers an extremely influential argument in the form of a dilemma (a few times referred to as ‘Hume’s fork’), that either our actions are determined, in which case we are not responsible for them, or they are the result of random events, under which case we are also not responsible for them.
Such reasoning would, he argues, have to be either deductively demonstrative reasoning in the concerning relations of ideas or ‘experimental’, i.e., empirical, that reasoning concerning matters of fact or existence. It cannot be the former, because all demonstrative reasoning relies on the avoidance of contradiction, and it is not a contradiction to suppose that ‘the course of nature may change’, that an order that was observed in the past and not of its continuing against the future: But it cannot be, as the latter, since any empirical argument would appeal to the success of such reasoning about an experience, and the justifiability of generalizing from experience are precisely what is at issue-so that any such appeal would be question-begging. Hence, Hume concludes that there can be no such reasoning (1748).
An alternative version of the problem may be obtained by formulating it with reference to the so-called Principle of Induction, which says roughly that the future will resemble the past or, somewhat better, that unobserved cases will resemble observed cases. An inductive argument may be viewed as enthymematic, with this principle serving as a supposed premiss, in which case the issue is obviously how such a premiss can be justified. Hume’s argument is then that no such justification is possible: The principle cannot be justified a prior because having possession of been true in experiences without obviously begging the question is not contradictory to have possession of been true in experiences without obviously begging the question.
The predominant recent responses to the problem of induction, at least in the analytic tradition, in effect accept the main conclusion of Hume’s argument, namely, that inductive inferences cannot be justified in the sense of showing that the conclusion of such an inference is likely to be true if the premise is true, and thus attempt to find another sort of justification for induction. Such responses fall into two main categories: (i) Pragmatic justifications or ‘vindications’ of induction, mainly developed by Hans Reichenbach (1891-1953), and (ii) ordinary language justifications of induction, whose most important proponent is Frederick, Peter Strawson (1919-). In contrast, some philosophers still attempt to reject Hume’s dilemma by arguing either (iii) That, contrary to appearances, induction can be inductively justified without vicious circularity, or (iv) that an anticipatory justification of induction is possible after all. In that:
(1) Reichenbach’s view is that induction is best regarded, not as a form of inference, but rather as a ‘method’ for arriving at posits regarding, i.e., the proportion of ‘A’s’ remain additionally of ‘B’s’. Such a posit is not a claim asserted to be true, but is instead an intellectual wager analogous to a bet made by a gambler. Understood in this way, the inductive method says that one should posit that the observed proportion is, within some measure of an approximation, the true proportion and then continually correct that initial posit as new information comes in.
The gambler’s bet is normally an ‘appraised posit’, i.e., he knows the chances or odds that the outcome on which he bets will actually occur. In contrast, the inductive bet is a ‘blind posit’: We do not know the chances that it will succeed or even that success is that it will succeed or even that success is possible. What we are gambling on when we make such a bet is the value of a certain proportion in the independent world, which Reichenbach construes as the limit of the observed proportion as the number of cases increases to infinity. Nevertheless, we have no way of knowing that there are even such a limit, and no way of knowing that the proportion of ‘A’s’ are in addition of ‘B’s’ converges in the end on some stable value than varying at random. If we cannot know that this limit exists, then we obviously cannot know that we have any definite chance of finding it.
What we can know, according to Reichenbach, is that ‘if’ there is a truth of this sort to be found, the inductive method will eventually find it’. That this is so is an analytic consequence of Reichenbach’s account of what it is for such a limit to exist. The only way that the inductive method of making an initial posit and then refining it in light of new observations can fail eventually to arrive at the true proportion is if the series of observed proportions never converges on any stable value, which means that there is no truth to be found pertaining the proportion of ‘A’s additionally constitute ‘B’s’. Thus, induction is justified, not by showing that it will succeed or indeed, that it has any definite likelihood of success, but only by showing that it will succeed if success is possible. Reichenbach’s claim is that no more than this can be established for any method, and hence that induction gives ‘us’ our best chance for success, our best gamble in a situation where there is no alternative to gambling.
This pragmatic response to the problem of induction faces several serious problems. First, there are indefinitely many other ‘methods’ for arriving at posits for which the same sort of defence can be given-methods that yield the same results as the inductive method over time but differ arbitrarily before long. Despite the efforts of others, it is unclear that there is any satisfactory way to exclude such alternatives, in order to avoid the result that any arbitrarily chosen short-term posit is just as reasonable as the inductive posit. Second, even if there is a truth of the requisite sort to be found, the inductive method is only guaranteed to find it or even to come within any specifiable distance of it in the indefinite long run. All the same, any actual application of inductive results always takes place in the presence to the future eventful states in making the relevance of the pragmatic justification to actual practice uncertainly. Third, and most important, it needs to be emphasized that Reichenbach’s response to the problem simply accepts the claim of the Humean sceptic that an inductive premise never provides the slightest reason for thinking that the corresponding inductive conclusion is true. Reichenbach himself is quite candid on this point, but this does not alleviate the intuitive implausibility of saying that we have no more reason for thinking that our scientific and commonsense conclusions that result in the induction of it ‘ . . . is true’ than, to use Reichenbach’s own analogy (1949), a blind man wandering in the mountains who feels an apparent trail with his stick has for thinking that following it will lead him to safety.
An approach to induction resembling Reichenbach’s claiming in that those particular inductive conclusions are posits or conjectures, than the conclusions of cogent inferences, is offered by Popper. However, Popper’s view is even more overtly sceptical: It amounts to saying that all that can ever be said in favour of the truth of an inductive claim is that the claim has been tested and not yet been shown to be false.
(2) The ordinary language response to the problem of induction has been advocated by many philosophers, none the less, Strawson claims that the question whether induction is justified or reasonable makes sense only if it tacitly involves the demand that inductive reasoning meet the standards appropriate to deductive reasoning, i.e., that the inductive conclusions are shown to follow deductively from the inductive assumption. Such a demand cannot, of course, be met, but only because it is illegitimate: Inductive and deductive reasons are simply fundamentally different kinds of reasoning, each possessing its own autonomous standards, and there is no reason to demand or expect that one of these kinds meet the standards of the other. Whereas, if induction is assessed by inductive standards, the only ones that are appropriate, then it is obviously justified.
The problem here is to understand to what this allegedly obvious justification of an induction amount. In his main discussion of the point (1952), Strawson claims that it is an analytic true statement that believing it a conclusion for which there is strong evidence is reasonable and an analytic truth that inductive evidence of the sort captured by the schema presented earlier constitutes strong evidence for the corresponding inductive conclusion, thus, apparently yielding the analytic conclusion that believing it a conclusion for which there is inductive evidence is reasonable. Nevertheless, he also admits, indeed insists, that the claim that inductive conclusions will be true in the future is contingent, empirical, and may turn out to be false (1952). Thus, the notion of reasonable belief and the correlative notion of strong evidence must apparently be understood in ways that have nothing to do with likelihood of truth, presumably by appeal to the standard of reasonableness and strength of evidence that are accepted by the community and are embodied in ordinary usage.
Understood in this way, Strawson’s response to the problem of inductive reasoning does not speak to the central issue raised by Humean scepticism: The issue of whether the conclusions of inductive arguments are likely to be true. It amounts to saying merely that if we reason in this way, we can correctly call ourselves ‘reasonable’ and our evidence ‘strong’, according to our accepted community standards. Nevertheless, to the undersealing of issue of wether following these standards is a good way to find the truth, the ordinary language response appears to have nothing to say.
(3) The main attempts to show that induction can be justified inductively have concentrated on showing that such as a defence can avoid circularity. Skyrms (1975) formulate, perhaps the clearest version of this general strategy. The basic idea is to distinguish different levels of inductive argument: A first level in which induction is applied to things other than arguments: A second level in which it is applied to arguments at the first level, arguing that they have been observed to succeed so far and hence are likely to succeed in general: A third level in which it is applied in the same way to arguments at the second level, and so on. Circularity is allegedly avoided by treating each of these levels as autonomous and justifying the argument at each level by appeal to an argument at the next level.
One problem with this sort of move is that even if circularity is avoided, the movement to higher and higher levels will clearly eventually fail simply for lack of evidence: A level will reach at which there have been enough successful inductive arguments to provide a basis for inductive justification at the next higher level, and if this is so, then the whole series of justifications collapses. A more fundamental difficulty is that the epistemological significance of the distinction between levels is obscure. If the issue is whether reasoning in accord with the original schema offered above ever provides a good reason for thinking that the conclusion is likely to be true, then it still seems question-begging, even if not flatly circular, to answer this question by appeal to anther argument of the same form.
(4) The idea that induction can be justified on a pure priori basis is in one way the most natural response of all: It alone treats an inductive argument as an independently cogent piece of reasoning whose conclusion can be seen rationally to follow, although perhaps only with probability from its premise. Such an approach has, however, only rarely been advocated (Russell, 19132 and BonJour, 1986), and is widely thought to be clearly and demonstrably hopeless.
Many on the reasons for this pessimistic view depend on general epistemological theses about the possible or nature of anticipatory cognition. Thus if, as Quine alleges, there is no a prior justification of any kind, then obviously a prior justification for induction is ruled out. Or if, as more moderate empiricists have in claiming some preexistent knowledge should be analytic, then again a prevenient justification for induction seems to be precluded, since the claim that if an inductive premise ids truer, then the conclusion is likely to be true does not fit the standard conceptions of ‘analyticity’. A consideration of these matters is beyond the scope of the present spoken exchange.
There are, however, two more specific and quite influential reasons for thinking that an early approach is impossible that can be briefly considered, first, there is the assumption, originating in Hume, but since adopted by very many of others, that a move forward in the defence of induction would have to involve ‘turning induction into deduction’, i.e., showing, per impossible, that the inductive conclusion follows deductively from the premise, so that it is a formal contradiction to accept the latter and deny the former. However, it is unclear why a prior approach need be committed to anything this strong. It would be enough if it could be argued that it is deductively unlikely that such a premise is true and corresponding conclusion false.
Second, Reichenbach defends his view that pragmatic justification is the best that is possible by pointing out that a completely chaotic world in which there is simply not true conclusion to be found as to the proportion of ‘A’s’ in addition that occurs of, but B’s’ is neither impossible nor unlikely from a purely a prior standpoint, the suggestion being that therefore there can be no a prior reason for thinking that such a conclusion is true. Nevertheless, there is still a substring wayin laying that a chaotic world is a prior neither impossible nor unlikely without any further evidence does not show that such a world os not a prior unlikely and a world containing such-and-such regularity might anticipatorially be somewhat likely in relation to an occurrence of a long-run patten of evidence in which a certain stable proportion of observed ‘A’s’ are ‘B’s’ ~. An occurrence, it might be claimed, that would be highly unlikely in a chaotic world (BonJour, 1986).
Goodman’s ‘new riddle of induction’ purports that we suppose that before some specific time ’t’ (perhaps the year 2000) we observe a larger number of emeralds (property A) and find them all to be green (property B). We proceed to reason inductively and conclude that all emeralds are green Goodman points out, however, that we could have drawn a quite different conclusion from the same evidence. If we define the term ‘grue’ to mean ‘green if examined before ’t’ and blue examined after t ʹ, then all of our observed emeralds will also be gruing. A parallel inductive argument will yield the conclusion that all emeralds are gruing, and hence that all those examined after the year 2000 will be blue. Presumably the first of these concisions is genuinely supported by our observations and the second is not. Nevertheless, the problem is to say why this is so and to impose some further restriction upon inductive reasoning that will permit the first argument and exclude the second.
The obvious alternative suggestion is that ‘grue. Similar predicates do not correspond to genuine, purely qualitative properties in the way that ‘green’ and ‘blueness’ does, and that this is why inductive arguments involving them are unacceptable. Goodman, however, claims to be unable to make clear sense of this suggestion, pointing out that the relations of formal desirability are perfectly symmetrical: Grue’ may be defined in terms if, ‘green’ and ‘blue’, but ‘green’ an equally well be defined in terms of ‘grue’ and ‘green’ (blue if examined before ‘t’ and green if examined after ‘t’).
The ‘grued, paradoxes’ demonstrate the importance of categorization, in that sometimes it is itemized as ‘gruing’, if examined of a presence to the future, before future time ‘t’ and ‘green’, or not so examined and ‘blue’. Even though all emeralds in our evidence class grue, we ought must infer that all emeralds are gruing. For ‘grue’ is unprojectible, and cannot transmit credibility form known to unknown cases. Only projectable predicates are right for induction. Goodman considers entrenchment the key to projectibility having a long history of successful protection, ‘grue’ is entrenched, lacking such a history, ‘grue’ is not. A hypothesis is projectable, Goodman suggests, only if its predicates (or suitable related ones) are much better entrenched than its rivalrous past successes that do not assume future ones. Induction remains a risky business. The rationale for favouring entrenched predicates is pragmatic. Of the possible projections from our evidence class, the one that fits with past practices enables ‘us’ to utilize our cognitive resources best. Its prospects of being true are worse than its competitors’ and its cognitive utility is greater.
So, to a better understanding of induction we should then term is most widely used for any process of reasoning that takes ‘us’ from empirical premises to empirical conclusions supported by the premises, but not deductively entailed by them. Inductive arguments are therefore kinds of applicative arguments, in which something beyond the content of the premise is inferred as probable or supported by them. Induction is, however, commonly distinguished from arguments to theoretical explanations, which share this applicative character, by being confined to inferences in which he conclusion involves the same properties or relations as the premises. The central example is induction by simple enumeration, where from premises telling that Fa, Fb, Fc . . . ‘where a, b, c’s, are all of some kind ‘G’, it is inferred that G’s from outside the sample, such as future G’s, will be ‘F’, or perhaps that all G’s are ‘F’. In this, which and the other persons deceive them, children may infer that everyone is a deceiver: Different, but similar inferences of a property by some object to the same object’s future possession of the same property, or from the constancy of some law-like pattern in events and states of affairs ti its future constancy. All objects we know of attract each other with a force inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them, so perhaps they all do so, and will always do so.
The rational basis of any inference was challenged by Hume, who believed that induction presupposed belie in the uniformity of nature, but that this belief has no defence in reason, and merely reflected a habit or custom of the mind. Hume was not therefore sceptical about the role of reason in either explaining it or justifying it. Trying to answer Hume and to show that there is something rationally compelling about the inference referred to as the problem of induction. It is widely recognized that any rational defence of induction will have to partition well-behaved properties for which the inference is plausible (often called projectable properties) from badly behaved ones, for which it is not. It is also recognized that actual inductive habits are more complex than those of similar enumeration, and that both common sense and science pay attention to such giving factors as variations within the sample giving ‘us’ the evidence, the application of ancillary beliefs about the order of nature, and so on.
Nevertheless, the fundamental problem remains that ant experience condition by application show ‘us’ only events occurring within a very restricted part of a vast spatial and temporal order about which we then come to believe things.
Uncompounded by its belonging of a confirmation theory finding of the measure to which evidence supports a theory fully formalized confirmation theory would dictate the degree of confidence that a rational investigator might have in a theory, given some-body of evidence. The grandfather of confirmation theory is Gottfried Leibniz (1646-1718), who believed that a logically transparent language of science would be able to resolve all disputes. In the 20th century a fully formal confirmation theory was a main goal of the logical positivist, since without it the central concept of verification by empirical evidence itself remains distressingly unscientific. The principal developments were due to Rudolf Carnap (1891-1970), culminating in his “Logical Foundations of Probability” (1950). Carnap’s idea was that the measure necessitated would be the proportion of logically possible states of affairs in which the theory and the evidence both hold, compared ti the number in which the evidence itself holds that the probability of a preposition, relative to some evidence, is a proportion of the range of possibilities under which the proposition is true, compared to the total range of possibilities left by the evidence. The difficulty with the theory lies in identifying sets of possibilities so that they admit of measurement. It therefore demands that we can put a measure on the ‘range’ of possibilities consistent with theory and evidence, compared with the range consistent with the evidence alone.
Among the obstacles the enterprise meets, is the fact that while evidence covers only a finite range of data, the hypotheses of science may cover an infinite range. In addition, confirmation proves to vary with the language in which the science is couched, and the Carnapian programme has difficulty in separating genuinely confirming variety of evidence from less compelling repetition of the same experiment. Confirmation also proved to be susceptible to acute paradoxes. Finally, scientific judgement seems to depend on such intangible factors as the problems facing rival theories, and most workers have come to stress instead the historically situated scene of what would appear as a plausible distinction of a scientific knowledge at a given time.
Arose to the paradox of which when a set of apparent incontrovertible premises is given to unacceptable or contradictory conclusions. To solve a paradox will involve showing either that there is a hidden flaw in the premises, or that the reasoning is erroneous, or that the apparently unacceptable conclusion can, in fact, be tolerated. Paradoxes are therefore important in philosophy, for until one is solved it shows that there is something about our reasoning and our concepts that we do not understand. What is more, and somewhat loosely, a paradox is a compelling argument from unacceptable premises to an unacceptable conclusion: More strictly speaking, a paradox is specified to be a sentence that is true if and only if it is false. A characterized objection lesson of it would be: “The displayed sentence is false.”
Seeing that this sentence is false if true is easy, and true if false, a paradox, in either of the senses distinguished, presents an important philosophical challenger. Epistemologists are especially concerned with various paradoxes having to do with knowledge and belief. In other words, for example, the Knower paradox is an argument that begins with apparently impeccable premisses about the concepts of knowledge and inference and derives an explicit contradiction. The origin of the reasoning is the ‘surprise examination paradox’: A teacher announces that there will be a surprise examination next week. A clever student argues that this is impossible. ‘The test cannot be on Friday, the last day of the week, because it would not be a surprise. We would know the day of the test on Thursday evening. This means we can also rule out Thursday. For after we learn that no test has been given by Wednesday, we would know the test is on Thursday or Friday -and would already know that it s not on Friday and would already know that it is not on Friday by the previous reasoning. The remaining days can be eliminated in the same manner’.
This puzzle has over a dozen variants. The first was probably invented by the Swedish mathematician Lennard Ekbon in 1943. Although the first few commentators regarded the reverse elimination argument as cogent, every writer on the subject since 1950 agrees that the argument is unsound. The controversy has been over the proper diagnosis of the flaw.
Initial analyses of the subject’s argument tried to lay the blame on a simple equivocation. Their failure led to more sophisticated diagnoses. The general format has been an assimilation to better-known paradoxes. One tradition casts the surprise examination paradox as a self-referential problem, as fundamentally akin to the Liar, the paradox of the Knower, or Gödel’s incompleteness theorem. That in of itself, says enough that Kaplan and Montague (1960) distilled the following ‘self-referential’ paradox, the Knower. Consider the sentence:
(S) The negation of this sentence is known (to be true).
Suppose that (S) is true. Then its negation is known and hence true. However, if its negation is true, then (S) must be false. Therefore (s) is false, or what is the name, the negation of (S) is true.
This paradox and its accompanying reasoning are strongly reminiscent of the Lair Paradox that (in one version) begins by considering a sentence ‘This sentence is false’ and derives a contradiction. Versions of both arguments using axiomatic formulations of arithmetic and Gödel-numbers to achieve the effect of self-reference yields important meta-theorems about what can be expressed in such systems. Roughly these are to the effect that no predicates definable in the formalized arithmetic can have the properties we demand of truth (Tarski’s Theorem) or of knowledge (Montague, 1963).
These meta-theorems still leave ‘us; with the problem that if we suppose that we add of these formalized languages predicates intended to express the concept of knowledge (or truth) and inference-as one mighty does if a logic of these concepts is desired. Then the sentence expressing the leading principles of the Knower Paradox will be true.
Explicitly, the assumption about knowledge and inferences are:
(1) If sentences ‘A’ are known, then “a.”
(2) (1) is known?
(3) If ‘B’ is correctly inferred from ‘A’, and ‘A’ is known, then ‘B’ id known.
To give an absolutely explicit t derivation of the paradox by applying these principles to (S), we must add (contingent) assumptions to the effect that certain inferences have been done. Still, as we go through the argument of the Knower, these inferences are done. Even if we can somehow restrict such principles and construct a consistent formal logic of knowledge and inference, the paradoxical argument as expressed in the natural language still demands some explanation.
The usual proposals for dealing with the Liar often have their analogues for the Knower, e.g., that there is something wrong with a self-reference or that knowledge (or truth) is properly a predicate of propositions and not of sentences. The relies that show that some of these are not adequate are often parallel to those for the Liar paradox. In addition, on e c an try here what seems to be an adequate solution for the Surprise Examination Paradox, namely the observation that ‘new knowledge can drive out knowledge’, but this does not seem to work on the Knower (Anderson, 1983).
There are a number of paradoxes of the Liar family. The simplest example is the sentence ‘This sentence is false’, which must be false if it is true, and true if it is false. One suggestion is that the sentence fails to say anything, but sentences that fail to say anything are at least not true. In fact case, we consider to sentences ‘This sentence is not true’, which, if it fails to say anything is not true, and hence (this kind of reasoning is sometimes called the strengthened Liar). Other versions of the Liar introduce pairs of sentences, as in a slogan on the front of a T-shirt saying ‘This sentence on the back of this T-shirt is false’, and one on the back saying ‘The sentence on the front of this T-shirt is true’. It is clear that each sentence individually is well formed, and was it not for the other, might have said something true. So any attempts to dismiss the paradox by sating that the sentence involved are meaningless will face problems.
Even so, the two approaches that have some hope of adequately dealing with this paradox is ‘hierarchy’ solutions and ‘truth-value gap’ solutions. According to the first, knowledge is structured into ‘levels’. It is argued that there be one-coherent notion expressed by the verb; knows’, but rather a whole series of notions: knows0. knows, and so on (perhaps into transfinite), stated ion terms of predicate expressing such ‘ramified’ concepts and properly restricted, (1)-(3) lead to no contradictions. The main objections to this procedure are that the meaning of these levels has not been adequately explained and that the idea of such subscripts, even implicit, in a natural language is highly counterintuitive the ‘truth-value gap’ solution takes sentences such as (S) to lack truth-value. They are neither true nor false, but they do not express propositions. This defeats a crucial step in the reasoning used in the derivation of the paradoxes. Kripler (1986) has developed this approach in connection with the Liar and Asher and Kamp (1986) has worked out some details of a parallel solution to the Knower. The principal objection is that ‘strengthened’ or ‘super’ versions of the paradoxes tend to reappear when the solution itself is stated.
Since the paradoxical deduction uses only the properties (1)-(3) and since the argument is formally valid, any notions that satisfy these conditions will lead to a paradox. Thus, Grim (1988) notes that this may be read as ‘is known by an omniscient God’ and concludes that there is no coherent single notion of omniscience. Thomason (1980) observes that with some different conditions, analogous reasoning about belief can lead to paradoxical consequence.
Overall, it looks as if we should conclude that knowledge and truth are ultimately intrinsically ‘stratified’ concepts. It would seem that wee must simply accept the fact that these (and similar) concepts cannot be assigned of any-one fixed, finite or infinite. Still, the meaning of this idea certainly needs further clarification.
Its paradox arises when a set of apparently incontrovertible premises gives unacceptable or contradictory conclusions, to solve a paradox will involve showing either that there is a hidden flaw in the premises, or that the reasoning is erroneous, or that the apparently unacceptable conclusion can, in fact, be tolerated. Paradoxes are therefore important in philosophy, for until one is solved its show that there is something about our reasoning and our concepts that we do not understand. Famous families of paradoxes include the ‘semantic paradoxes’ and ‘Zeno’s paradoxes. Art the beginning of the 20th century, paradox and other set-theoretical paradoxes led to the complete overhaul of the foundations of set theory, while the ’Sorites paradox’ has lead to the investigations of the semantics of vagueness and fuzzy logics.
It is, however, to what extent can analysis be informative? This is the question that gives a riser to what philosophers has traditionally called ‘the’ paradox of analysis. Thus, consider the following proposition:
(1) To be an instance of knowledge is to be an instance of justified true belief not essentially grounded in any falsehood.
(1) if true, illustrates an important type of philosophical analysis. For convenience of exposition, I will assume (1) is a correct analysis. The paradox arises from the fact that if the concept of justified true belief not been essentially grounded in any falsification is the analysand of the concept of knowledge, it would seem that they are the same concept and hence that:
(2) To be an instance of knowledge is to be as an instance of.
knowledge and would have to be the same propositions as (1). But then how can (1) be informative when (2) is not? This is what is called the first paradox of analysis. Classical writings’ on analysis suggests a second paradoxical analysis (Moore, 1942).
(3) An analysis of the concept of being a brother is that to be a
brother is to be a male sibling. If (3) is true, it would seem that the concept of being a brother would have to be the same concept as the concept of being a male sibling and tat:
(4) An analysis of the concept of being a brother is that to be a brother is to be a brother
would also have to be true and in fact, would have to be the same proposition as (3?). Yet (3) is true and (4) is false.
Both these paradoxes rest upon the assumptions that analysis is a relation between concepts, than one involving entity of other sorts, such as linguistic expressions, and tat in a true analysis, analysand and analysandum are the same concept. Both these assumptions are explicit in Moore, but some of Moore’s remarks hint at a solution to that of another statement of an analysis is a statement partly about the concept involved and partly about the verbal expressions used to express it. He says he thinks a solution of this sort is bound to be right, but fails to suggest one because he cannot see a way in which the analysis can be even partly about the expression (Moore, 1942).
Elsewhere, of such ways, as a solution to the second paradox, to which is explicating (3) as:
(5) An analysis is given by saying that the verbal expression ‘χ is a brother’ expresses the same concept as is expressed by the conjunction of the verbal expressions ‘χ is male’ when used to express the concept of being male and ‘χ is a sibling’ when used to express the concept of being a sibling. (Ackerman, 1990).
An important point about (5) is as follows. Stripped of its philosophical jargon (‘analysis’, ‘concept’, ‘χ is a . . . ‘), (5) seems to state the sort of information generally stated in a definition of the verbal expression ‘brother’ in terms of the verbal expressions ‘male’ and ‘sibling’, where this definition is designed to draw upon listeners’ antecedent understanding of the verbal expression ‘male’ and ‘sibling’, and thus, to tell listeners what the verbal expression ‘brother’ really means, instead of merely providing the information that two verbal expressions are synonymous without specifying the meaning of either one. Thus, its solution to the second paradox seems to make the sort of analysis tat gives rise to this paradox matter of specifying the meaning of a verbal expression in terms of separate verbal expressions already understood and saying how the meanings of these separate, already-understood verbal expressions are combined. This corresponds to Moore’s intuitive requirement that an analysis should both specify the constituent concepts of the analysandum and tell how they are combined, but is this all there is to philosophical analysis?
To answer this question, we must note that, in addition too there being two paradoxes of analysis, there is two types of analyses that are relevant here. (There are also other types of analysis, such as reformatory analysis, where the analysands are intended to improve on and replace the analysandum. But since reformatory analysis involves no commitment to conceptual identity between analysand and analysandum, reformatory analysis does not generate a paradox of analysis and so will not concern ‘us’ here.) One way to recognize the difference between the two types of analysis concerning ‘us’ here is to focus on the difference between the two paradoxes. This can be done by means of the Frége-inspired sense-individuation condition, which is the condition that two expressions have the same sense if and only if they can be interchangeably ‘salva veritate’ whenever used in propositional attitude context. If the expressions for the analysands and the analysandum in (1) met this condition, (1) and (2) would not raise the first paradox, but the second paradox arises regardless of whether the expression for the analysand and the analysandum meet this condition. The second paradox is a matter of the failure of such expressions to be interchangeable salva veritate in sentences involving such contexts as ‘an analysis is given thereof. Thus, a solution (such as the one offered) that is aimed only at such contexts can solve the second paradox. This is clearly false for the first paradox, however, which will apply to all pairs of propositions expressed by sentences in which expressions for pairs of analysands and anslysantia raising the first paradox is interchangeable. For example, consider the following proposition:
(6) Mary knows that some cats tail.
It is possible for John to believe (6) without believing:
(7) Mary has justified true belief, not essentially grounded in any falsehood, that some cats lack tails.
Yet this possibility clearly does not mean that the proposition that Mary knows that some casts lack tails is partly about language.
One approach to the first paradox is to argue that, despite the apparent epistemic inequivalence of (1) and (2), the concept of justified true belief not essentially grounded in any falsehood is still identical with the concept of knowledge (Sosa, 1983). Another approach is to argue that in the sort of analysis raising the first paradox, the analysand and analysandum is concepts that are different but that bear a special epistemic relation to each other. Elsewhere, the development is such an approach and suggestion that this analysand-analysandum relation has the following facets.
(a) The analysand and analysandum are necessarily coextensive, i.e., necessarily every instance of one is an instance of the other.
(b) The analysand and analysandum are knowable theoretical to be coextensive.
© The analysandum is simpler than the analysands a condition whose necessity is recognized in classical writings on analysis, such as, Langford, 1942.
(d) The analysand do not have the analysandum as a constituent.
Condition (d) rules out circularity. But since many valuable quasi-analyses are partly circular, e.g., knowledge is justified true belief supported by known reasons not essentially grounded in any falsehood, it seems best to distinguish between full analysis, from that of (d) is a necessary condition, and partial analysis, for which it is not.
These conditions, while necessary, are clearly insufficient. The basic problem is that they apply too many pairs of concepts that do not seem closely enough related epistemologically to count as analysand and analysandum. , such as the concept of being 6 and the concept of the fourth root of 1296. Accordingly, its solution upon what actually seems epistemologically distinctive about analyses of the sort under consideration, which is a certain way they can be justified. This is by the philosophical example-and-counterexample method, which is in a general term that goes as follows. ‘J’ investigates the analysis of K’s concept ‘Q’ (where ‘K’ can but need not be identical to ‘J’ by setting ‘K’ a series of armchair thought experiments, i.e., presenting ‘K’ with a series of simple described hypothetical test cases and asking ‘K’ questions of the form ‘If such-and-such where the case would this count as a case of Q? ‘J’ then contrasts the descriptions of the cases to which; K’ answers affirmatively with the description of the cases to which ‘K’ does not, and ‘J’ generalizes upon these descriptions to arrive at the concepts (if possible not including the analysandum) and their mode of combination that constitute the analysand of K’‘s concept ‘Q’. Since ‘J’ need not be identical with ‘K’, there is no requirement that ‘K’ himself be able to perform this generalization, to recognize its result as correct, or even to understand he analysand that is its result. This is reminiscent of Walton’s observation that one can simply recognize a bird as a swallow without realizing just what feature of the bird (beak, wing configurations, etc.) form the basis of this recognition. (The philosophical significance of this way of recognizing is discussed in Walton, 1972) ‘K’ answers the questions based solely on whether the described hypothetical cases just strike him as cases of ‘Q’. ‘J’ observes certain strictures in formulating the cases and questions. He makes the cases as simple as possible, to minimize the possibility of confusion and to minimize the likelihood that ‘K’ will draw upon his philosophical theories (or quasi-philosophical, a rudimentary notion if he is unsophisticated philosophically) in answering the questions. For this conflicting result, the conflict should ‘other things being equal’ be resolved in favour of the simpler case. ‘J’ makes the series of described cases wide-ranging and varied, with the aim of having it be a complete series, where a series is complete if and only if no case that is omitted in such that, if included, it would change the analysis arrived at. ‘J’ does not, of course, use as a test-case description anything complicated and general enough to express the analysand. There is no requirement that the described hypothetical test cases be formulated only in terms of what can be observed. Moreover, using described hypothetical situations as test cases enables ‘J’ to frame the questions in such a way as to rule out extraneous background assumption to a degree, thus, even if ‘K’ correctly believes that all and only P’s are R’s, the question of whether the concepts of P, R, or both enter the analysand of his concept ‘Q’ can be investigated by asking him such questions as ‘Suppose (even if it seems preposterous to you) that you were to find out that there was a ‘P’ that was not an ‘R’. Would you still consider it a case of Q?
Taking all this into account, the fifth necessary condition for this sort of analysand-analysandum relations is as follows:
(e) If ‘S’ is the analysand of ‘Q’, the proposition that necessarily all and only instances of ‘S’ are instances of ‘Q’ can be justified by generalizing from intuition about the correct answers to questions of the sort indicated about a varied and wide-ranging series of simple described hypothetical situations. It so does occur of antinomy, when we are able to argue for, or demonstrate, both a proposition and its contradiction, roughly speaking, a contradiction of a proposition ‘p’ is one that can be expressed in form ‘not-p’, or, if ‘p’ can be expressed in the form ‘not-q’, then a contradiction is one that can be expressed in the form ‘q’. Thus, e.g., if ‘p is 2 + 1 = 4, then 2 + 1 ≠ 4 is the contradictory of ‘p’, for
2 + 1 ≠ 4 can be expressed in the form not (2 + 1 = 4). If ‘p’ is 2 + 1 ≠ 4, then 2 + 1-4 is a contradictory of ‘p’, since 2 + 1 ≠ 4 can be expressed in the form not (2 + 1 = 4). This is, mutually, but contradictory propositions can be expressed in the form, ‘r’, ‘not-r’. The Principle of Contradiction says that mutually contradictory propositions cannot both be true and cannot both be false. Thus, by this principle, since if ‘p’ is true, ‘not-p’ is false, no proposition ‘p’ can be at once true and false (otherwise both ‘p’ and its contradictories would be false?). In particular, for any predicate ‘p’ and object ‘χ’, it cannot be that ‘p’; is at once true of ‘χ’ and false of χ? This is the classical formulation of the principle of contradiction, but it is nonetheless, that wherein, we cannot now fault either demonstrates. We would eventually hope to be able ‘to solve the antinomy’ by managing, through careful thinking and analysis, eventually to fault either or both demonstrations.
Many paradoxes are as an easy source of antinomies, for example, Zeno gave some famously lets say, logical-cum-mathematical arguments that might be interpreted as demonstrating that motion is impossible. But our eyes as it was, demonstrate motion (exhibit moving things) all the time. Where did Zeno go wrong? Where do our eyes go wrong? If we cannot readily answer at least one of these questions, then we are in antinomy. In the “Critique of Pure Reason,” Kant gave demonstrations of the same kind -in the Zeno example they were obviously not the same kind of both, e.g., that the world has a beginning in time and space, and that the world has no beginning in time or space. He argues that both demonstrations are at fault because they proceed on the basis of ‘pure reason’ unconditioned by sense experience.
At this point, we display attributes to the theory of experience, as it is not possible to define in an illuminating way, however, we know what experiences are through acquaintances with some of our own, e.g., visual experiences of as afterimage, a feeling of physical nausea or a tactile experience of an abrasive surface (which might be caused by an actual surface -rough or smooth, or which might be part of a dream, or the product of a vivid sensory imagination). The essential feature of experience is it feels a certain way -that there is something that it is like to have it. We may refer to this feature of an experience as its ‘character’.
Another core feature of the sorts of experiences with which this may be of a concern, is that they have representational ‘content’. (Unless otherwise indicated, ‘experience’ will be reserved for their ‘contentual representations’.) The most obvious cases of experiences with content are sense experiences of the kind normally involved in perception. We may describe such experiences by mentioning their sensory modalities ad their contents, e.g., a gustatory experience (modality) of chocolate ice cream (content), but do so more commonly by means of perceptual verbs combined with noun phrases specifying their contents, as in ‘Macbeth saw a dagger’. This is, however, ambiguous between the perceptual claim ‘There was a (material) dagger in the world that Macbeth perceived visually’ and ‘Macbeth had a visual experience of a dagger’ (the reading with which we are concerned, as it is afforded by our imagination, or perhaps, experiencing mentally hallucinogenic imagery).
As in the case of other mental states and events with content, it is important to distinguish between the properties that and experience ‘represents’ and the properties that it ‘possesses’. To talk of the representational properties of an experience is to say something about its content, not to attribute those properties to the experience itself. Like every other experience, a visual; experience of a non-shaped square, of which is a mental event, and it is therefore not itself irregular or is it square, even though it represents those properties. It is, perhaps, fleeting, pleasant or unusual, even though it does not represent those properties. An experience may represent a property that it possesses, and it may even do so in virtue of a rapidly changing (complex) experience representing something as changing rapidly. However, this is the exception and not the rule.
Which properties can be [directly] represented in sense experience is subject to debate. Traditionalists include only properties whose presence could not be doubted by a subject having appropriate experiences, e.g., colour and shape in the case of visual experience, and apparent shape, surface texture, hardness, etc., in the case of tactile experience. This view is natural to anyone who has an egocentric, Cartesian perspective in epistemology, and who wishes for pure data in experiences to serve as logically certain foundations for knowledge, especially to the immediate objects of perceptual awareness in or of sense-data, such categorized of colour patches and shapes, which are usually supposed distinct from surfaces of physical objectivity. Qualities of sense-data are supposed to be distinct from physical qualities because their perception is more relative to conditions, more certain, and more immediate, and because sense-data is private and cannot appear other than they are they are objects that change in our perceptual field when conditions of perception change. Physical objects remain constant.
Others who do not think that this wish can be satisfied, and who are more impressed with the role of experience in providing animisms with ecologically significant information about the world around them, claim that sense experiences represent properties, characteristic and kinds that are much richer and much more wide-ranging than the traditional sensory qualities. We do not see only colours and shapes, they tell ‘us’, but also earth, water, men, women and fire: We do not smell only odours, but also food and filth. There is no space here to examine the factors relevantly responsible to their choice of situational alternatives. Yet, this suggests that character and content are not really distinct, and there is a close tie between them. For one thing, the relative complexity of the character of sense experience places limitations upon its possible content, e.g., a tactile experience of something touching one’s left ear is just too simple to carry the same amount of content as typically convincing to an every day, visual experience. Moreover, the content of a sense experience of a given character depends on the normal causes of appropriately similar experiences, e.g., the sort of gustatory experience that we have when eating chocolate would be not represented as chocolate unless it was normally caused by chocolate. Granting a contingent ties between the character of an experience and its possible causal origins, once, again follows that its possible content is limited by its character.
Character and content are none the less irreducibly different, for the following reasons. (a) There are experiences that completely lack content, e.g., certain bodily pleasures. (b) Not every aspect of the character of an experience with content is relevant to that content, e.g., the unpleasantness of an aural experience of chalk squeaking on a board may have no representational significance. © Experiences in different modalities may overlap in content without a parallel overlap in character, e.g., visual and tactile experiences of circularity feel completely different. (d) The content of an experience with a given character may vary according to the background of the subject, e.g., a certain content ‘singing bird’ only after the subject has learned something about birds.
According to the act/object analysis of experience (which is a special case of the act/object analysis of consciousness), every experience involves an object of experience even if it has no material object. Two main lines of argument may be offered in support of this view, one ‘phenomenological’ and the other ‘semantic’.
In an outline, the phenomenological argument is as follows. Whenever we have an experience, even if nothing beyond the experience answers to it, we seem to be presented with something through the experience (which is itself diaphanous). The object of the experience is whatever is so presented to ‘us’-is that it is an individual thing, an event, or a state of affairs.
The semantic argument is that objects of experience are required in order to make sense of certain features of our talk about experience, including, in particular, the following. (i) Simple attributions of experience, e.g., ‘Rod is experiencing an oddity that is not really square but in appearance it seems more than likely a square’, this seems to be relational. (ii) We appear to refer to objects of experience and to attribute properties to them, e.g., ‘The after-image that John experienced was certainly odd’. (iii) We appear to quantify ov er objects of experience, e.g., ‘Macbeth saw something that his wife did not see’.
The act/object analysis faces several problems concerning the status of objects of experiences. Currently the most common view is that they are sense-data -private mental entities that actually posses the traditional sensory qualities represented by the experiences of which they are the objects. But the very idea of an essentially private entity is suspect. Moreover, since an experience may apparently represent something as having a determinable property, e.g., redness, without representing it as having any subordinate determinate property, e.g., any specific shade of red, a sense-datum may actually have a determinate property subordinate to it. Even more disturbing is that sense-data may have contradictory properties, since experiences can have contradictory contents. A case in point is the waterfall illusion: If you stare at a waterfall for a minute and then immediately fixate on a nearby rock, you are likely to have an experience of the rock’s moving upward while it remains in the same place. The sense-data theorist must either deny that there are such experiences or admit contradictory objects.
These problems can be avoided by treating objects of experience as properties. This, however, fails to do justice to the appearances, for experience seems not to present ‘us’ with properties embodied in individuals. The view that objects of experience is Meinongian objects accommodate this point. It is also attractive in as far as (1) it allows experiences to represent properties other than traditional sensory qualities, and (2) it allows for the identification of objects of experience and objects of perception in the case of experiences that constitute perception.
According to the act/object analysis of experience, every experience with content involves an object of experience to which the subject is related by an act of awareness (the event of experiencing that object). This is meant to apply not only to perceptions, which have material objects (whatever is perceived), but also to experiences like hallucinations and dream experiences, which do not. Such experiences none the less appear to represent something, and their objects are supposed to be whatever it is that they represent. Act/object theorists may differ on the nature of objects of experience, which have been treated as properties. Meinongian objects (which may not exist or have any form of being), and, more commonly private mental entities with sensory qualities. (The term ‘sense-data’ is now usually applied to the latter, but has also been used as a general term for objects of sense experiences, as in the work of G. E. Moore) Act/object theorists may also differ on the relationship between objects of experience and objects of perception. In terms of perception (of which we are ‘indirectly aware’) are always distinct from objects of experience (of which we are ‘directly aware’). Meinongian, however, may treat objects of perception as existing objects of experience. But sense-datum theorists must either deny that there are such experiences or admit contradictory objects. Still, most philosophers will feel that the Meinongian’s acceptance of impossible objects is too high a price to pay for these benefits.
A general problem for the act/object analysis is that the question of whether two subjects are experiencing one and the same thing (as opposed to having exactly similar experiences) appears to have an answer only on the assumption that the experiences concerned are perceptions with material objects. But in terms of the act/object analysis the question must have an answer even when this condition is not satisfied. (The answer is always negative on the sense-datum theory; it could be positive on other versions of the act/object analysis, depending on the facts of the case.)
In view of the above problems, the case for the act/object analysis should be reassessed. The phenomenological argument is not, on reflection, convincing, for it is easy enough to grant that any experience appears to present ‘us’ with an object without accepting that it actually does. The semantic argument is more impressive, but is none the less answerable. The seemingly relational structure of attributions of experience is a challenge dealt with below in connection with the adverbial theory. Apparent reference to and quantification over objects of experience can be handled by analysing them as reference to experiences themselves and quantification over experiences tacitly typed according to content. Thus, ‘The after-image that John experienced was colourfully appealing’ becomes ‘John’s after-image experience was an experience of colour’, and ‘Macbeth saw something that his wife did not see’ becomes ‘Macbeth had a visual experience that his wife did not have’.
Pure cognitivism attempts to avoid the problems facing the act/object analysis by reducing experiences to cognitive events or associated disposition, e.g., Susy’s experience of a rough surface beneath her hand might be identified with the event of her acquiring the belief that there is a rough surface beneath her hand, or, if she does not acquire this belief, with a disposition to acquire it that has somehow been blocked.
This position has attractions. It does full justice to the cognitive contents of experience, and to the important role of experience as a source of belief acquisition. It would also help clear the way for a naturalistic theory of mind, since there seems to be some prospect of a physicalist/functionalist account of belief and other intentional states. But pure cognitivism is completely undermined by its failure to accommodate the fact that experiences have a felt character that cannot be reduced to their content, as aforementioned.
The adverbial theory is an attempt to undermine the act/object analysis by suggesting a semantic account of attributions of experience that does not require objects of experience. Unfortunately, the oddities of explicit adverbializations of such statements have driven off potential supporters of the theory. Furthermore, the theory remains largely undeveloped, and attempted refutations have traded on this. It may, however, be founded on sound basis intuitions, and there is reason to believe that an effective development of the theory (which is merely hinting at) is possible.
The relevant intuitions are (1) that when we say that someone is experiencing ‘an A’, or has an experience ‘of an A’, we are using this content-expression to specify the type of thing that the experience is especially apt to fit, (2) that doing this is a matter of saying something about the experience itself (and maybe about the normal causes of like experiences), and (3) that it is no-good of reasons to posit of its position to presuppose that of any involvements, is that its descriptions of an object in which the experience is. Thus the effective role of the content-expression in a statement of experience is to modify the verb it compliments, not to introduce a special type of object.
Perhaps, the most important criticism of the adverbial theory is the ‘many property problem’, according to which the theory does not have the resources to distinguish between, e.g.,
(1) Frank has an experience of a brown triangle
and:
(2) Frank has an experience of brown and an experience of a triangle.
Which is entailed by (1) but does not entail it. The act/object analysis can easily accommodate the difference between (1) and (2) by claiming that the truth of (1) requires a single object of experience that is both brown and triangular, while that of the (2) allows for the possibility of two objects of experience, one brown and the other triangular, however, (1) is equivalent to:
(1*) Frank has an experience of something’s being both brown and triangular.
And (2) is equivalent to:
(2*) Frank has an experience of something’s being brown and an experience of something’s being triangular,
and the difference between these can be explained quite simply in terms of logical scope without invoking objects of experience. The Adverbialists may use this to answer the many-property problem by arguing that the phrase ‘a brown triangle’ in (1) does the same work as the clause ‘something’s being both brown and triangular’ in (1*). This is perfectly compatible with the view that it also has the ‘adverbial’ function of modifying the verb ‘has an experience of’, for it specifies the experience more narrowly just by giving a necessary condition for the satisfaction of the experience (the condition being that there are something both brown and triangular before Frank).
A final position that should be mentioned is the state theory, according to which a sense experience of an ‘A’ is an occurrent, non-relational state of the kind that the subject would be in when perceiving an ‘A’. Suitably qualified, this claim is no doubt true, but its significance is subject to debate. Here it is enough to remark that the claim is compatible with both pure cognitivism and the adverbial theory, and that state theorists are probably best advised to adopt adverbials as a means of developing their intuitions.
Yet, clarifying sense-data, if taken literally, is that which is given by the senses. But in response to the question of what exactly is so given, sense-data theories posit private showings in the consciousness of the subject. In the case of vision this would be a kind of inner picture show which itself only indirectly represents aspects of the external world that has in and of itself a worldly representation. The view has been widely rejected as implying that we really only see extremely thin coloured pictures interposed between our mind’s eye and reality. Modern approaches to perception tend to reject any conception of the eye as a camera or lense, simply responsible for producing private images, and stress the active life of the subject in and of the world, as the determinant of experience.
Nevertheless, the argument from illusion is of itself the usually intended directive to establish that certain familiar facts about illusion disprove the theory of perception called naïevity or direct realism. There are, however, many different versions of the argument that must be distinguished carefully. Some of these distinctions centre on the content of the premises (the nature of the appeal to illusion); others centre on the interpretation of the conclusion (the kind of direct realism under attack). Let ‘us’ set about by distinguishing the importantly different versions of direct realism which one might take to be vulnerable to familiar facts about the possibility of perceptual illusion.
A crude statement of direct realism might go as follows. In perception, we sometimes directly perceive physical objects and their properties, we do not always perceive physical objects by perceiving something ‘else’, e.g., a sense-datum. There are, however, difficulties with this formulation of the view, as for one thing a great many philosophers who are ‘not’ direct realists would admit that it is a mistake to describe people as actually ‘perceiving’ something other than a physical object. In particular, such philosophers might admit, we should never say that we perceive sense-data. To talk that way would be to suppose that we should model our understanding of our relationship to sense-data on our understanding of the ordinary use of perceptual verbs as they describe our relation to and of the physical world, and that is the last thing paradigm sense-datum theorists should want. At least, many of the philosophers who objected to direct realism would prefer to express in what they were of objecting too in terms of a technical (and philosophically controversial) concept such as ‘acquaintance’. Using such a notion, we could define direct realism this way: In ‘veridical’ experience we are directly acquainted with parts, e.g., surfaces, or constituents of physical objects. A less cautious verison of the view might drop the reference to veridical experience and claim simply that in all experience we are directly acquainted with parts or constituents of physical objects. The expressions ‘knowledge by acquaintance’ and ‘knowledge by description’, and the distinction they mark between knowing ‘things’ and knowing ‘about’ things, are generally associated with Bertrand Russell (1872-1970), that scientific philosophy required analysing many objects of belief as ‘logical constructions’ or ‘logical fictions’, and the programme of analysis that this inaugurated dominated the subsequent philosophy of logical atomism, and then of other philosophers, Russell’s “The Analysis of Mind,” the mind itself is treated in a fashion reminiscent of Hume, as no more than the collection of neutral perceptions or sense-data that make up the flux of conscious experience, and that looked at another way that also was to make up the external world (neutral monism), but “An Inquiry into Meaning and Truth” (1940) represents a more empirical approach to the problem. Yet, philosophers have perennially investigated this and related distinctions using varying terminology.
Distinction in our ways of knowing things, highlighted by Russell and forming a central element in his philosophy after the discovery of the theory of ‘definite descriptions’. A thing is known by acquaintance when there is direct experience of it. It is known by description if it can only be described as a thing with such-and-such properties. In everyday parlance, I might know my spouse and children by acquaintance, but know someone as ‘the first person born at sea’ only by description. However, for a variety of reasons Russell shrinks the area of things that can be known by acquaintance until eventually only current experience, perhaps my own self, and certain universals or meanings qualify anything else is known only as the thing that has such-and-such qualities.
Because one can interpret the relation of acquaintance or awareness as one that is not ‘epistemic’, i.e., not a kind of propositional knowledge, it is important to distinguish the above aforementioned views read as ontological theses from a view one might call ‘epistemological direct realism? In perception we are, on at least some occasions, non-inferentially justified in believing a proposition asserting the existence of a physical object. Since it is that these objects exist independently of any mind that might perceive them, and so it thereby rules out all forms of idealism and phenomenalism, which hold that there are no such independently existing objects. Its being to ‘direct’ realism rules out those views defended under the cubic of ‘critical naive realism’, or ‘representational realism’, in which there is some non-physical intermediary -usually called a ‘sense-datum’ or a ‘sense impression’ -that must first be perceived or experienced in order to perceive the object that exists independently of this perception. Often the distinction between direct realism and other theories of perception is explained more fully in terms of what is ‘immediately’ perceived, than ‘mediately’ perceived. What relevance does illusion have for these two forms of direct realism?
The fundamental premise of the arguments is from illusion seems to be the theses that things can appear to be other than they are. Thus, for example, straight sticks when immerged in water looks bent, a penny when viewed from certain perspective appears as an illusory spatial elliptic circularity, when something that is yellow when place under red fluorescent light looks red. In all of these cases, one version of the argument goes, it is implausible to maintain that what we are directly acquainted with is the real nature of the object in question. Indeed, it is hard to see how we can be said to be aware of the really physical object at all. In the above illusions the things we were aware of actually were bent, elliptical and red, respectively. But, by hypothesis, the really physical objects lacked these properties. Thus, we were not aware of the substantial reality of been real as a physical objects or theory.
So far, if the argument is relevant to any of the direct realisms distinguished above, it seems relevant only to the claim that in all sense experience we are directly acquainted with parts or constituents of physical objects. After all, even if in illusion we are not acquainted with physical objects, but their surfaces, or their constituents, why should we conclude anything about the hidden nature of our relations to the physical world in veridical experience?
We are supposed to discover the answer to this question by noticing the similarities between illusory experience and veridical experience and by reflecting on what makes illusion possible at all. Illusion can occur because the nature of the illusory experience is determined, not just by the nature of the object perceived, but also by other conditions, both external and internal as becoming of an inner or as the outer experience. But all of our sensations are subject to these causal influences and it would be gratuitous and arbitrary to select from indefinitely of many and subtly different perceptual experiences some special ones those that get ‘us’ in touch with the ‘real’ nature of the physical world and its surrounding surfaces. Red fluorescent light affects the way thing’s look, but so does sunlight. Water reflects light, but so does air. We have no unmediated access to the external world.
Still, why should we consider that we are aware of something other than a physical object in experience? Why should we not conclude that to be aware of a physical object is just to be appeared to by that object in a certain way? In its best-known form the adverbial theory of something proposes that the grammatical object of a statement attributing an experience to someone be analysed as an adverb. For example,
(A) Rod is experiencing a coloured square.
Is rewritten as?
Rod is experiencing, (coloured square)-ly
This is presented as an alternative to the act/object analysis, according to which the truth of a statement like (A) requires the existence of an object of experience corresponding to its grammatical object. A commitment to t he explicit adverbializations of statements of experience is not, however, essential to adverbialism. The core of the theory consists, rather, in the denial of objects of experience (as opposed ti objects of perception) coupled with the view that the role of the grammatical object in a statement of experience is to characterize more fully te sort of experience that is being attributed to the subject. The claim, then, is that the grammatical object is functioning as a modifier and, in particular, as a modifier of a verb. If it as a special kind of adverb at the semantic level.
At this point, it might be profitable to move from considering the possibility of illusion to considering the possibility of hallucination. Instead of comparing paradigmatic veridical perception with illusion, let ‘us’ compare it with complete hallucination. For any experiences or sequence of experiences we take to be veridical, we can imagine qualitatively indistinguishable experiences occurring as part of a hallucination. For those who like their philosophical arguments spiced with a touch of science, we can imagine that our brains were surreptitiously removed in the night, and unbeknown to ‘us’ are being stimulated by a neurophysiologist so as to produce the very sensations that we would normally associate with a trip to the Grand Canyon. Currently permit ‘us’ into appealing of what we are aware of in this complete hallucination that is obvious that we are not awaken to the sparking awareness of physical objects, their surfaces, or their constituents. Nor can we even construe the experience as one of an object’s appearing to ‘us’ in a certain way. It is after all a complete hallucination and the objects we take to exist before ‘us’ are simply not there. But if we compare hallucinatory experience with the qualitatively indistinguishable veridical experiences, should we most conclude that it would be ‘special’ to suppose that in veridical experience we are aware of something radically different from what we are aware of in hallucinatory experience? Again, it might help to reflect on our belief that the immediate cause of hallucinatory experience and veridical experience might be the very same brain event, and it is surely implausible to suppose that the effects of this same cause are radically different -acquaintance with physical objects in the case of veridical experience: Something else in the case of hallucinatory experience.
This version of the argument from hallucination would seem to address straightforwardly the ontological versions of direct realism. The argument is supposed to convince ‘us’ that the ontological analysis of sensation in both veridical and hallucinatory experience should give ‘us’ the same results, but in the hallucinatory case there is no plausible physical object, constituent of a physical object, or surface of a physical object with which additional premiss we would also get an argument against epistemological direct realism. That premiss is that in a vivid hallucinatory experience we might have precisely the same justification for believing (falsely) what we do about the physical world as we do in the analogous, phenomenological indistinguishable, veridical experience. But our justification for believing that there is a table before ‘us’ in the course of a vivid hallucination of a table are surely not non-inferential in character. It certainly is not, if non-inferential justifications are supposedly a consist but yet an unproblematic access to the fact that makes true our belief -by hypothesis the table does not exist. But if the justification that hallucinatory experiences give ‘us’ the same as the justification we get from the parallel veridical experience, then we should not describe a veridical experience as giving ‘us non-inferential justification for believing in the existence of physical objects. In both cases we should say that we believe what we do about the physical world on the basis of what we know directly about the character of our experience.
In this brief space, I can only sketch some of the objections that might be raised against arguments from illusion and hallucination. That being said, let us begin with a criticism that accepts most of the presuppositions of the arguments. Even if the possibility of hallucination establishes that in some experience we are not acquainted with constituents of physical objects, it is not clear that it establishes that we are never acquainted with a constituent of physical objects. Suppose, for example, that we decide that in both veridical and hallucinatory experience we are acquainted with sense-data. At least some philosophers have tried to identify physical objects with ‘bundles’ of actual and possible sense-data.
To establish inductively that sensations are signs of physical objects one would have to observe a correlation between the occurrence of certain sensations and the existence of certain physical objects. But to observe such a correlation in order to establish a connection, one would need independent access to physical objects and, by hypothesis, this one cannot have. If one further adopts the verificationist’s stance that the ability to comprehend is parasitic on the ability to confirm, one can easily be driven to Hume’s conclusion:
Let us chance our imagination to the heavens, or to the utmost limits of the universe, we never really advance a step beyond ourselves, nor can conceivable any kind of existence, but those perceptions, which have appear̀d in that narrow compass. This is the universe of the imagination, nor have we have any idea but what is there Reduced. (Hume, 1739-40, pp. 67-8).
If one reaches such a conclusion but wants to maintain the intelligibility and verifiability of the assertion about the physical world, one can go either the idealistic or the phenomenalistic route.
However, hallucinatory experiences on this view is non-veridical precisely because the sense-data one is acquainted with in hallucination do not bear the appropriate relations to other actual and possible sense-data. But if such a view were plausible one could agree that one is acquainted with the same kind of a thing in veridical and non-veridical experience but insists that there is still a sense in which in veridical experience one is acquainted with constituents of a physical object?
A different sort of objection to the argument from illusion or hallucination concerns its use in drawing conclusions we have not stressed in the above discourses. I, have in mentioning this objection, may to underscore an important feature of the argument. At least some philosophers (Hume, for example) have stressed the rejection of direct realism on the road to an argument for general scepticism with respect to the physical world. Once one abandons epistemological; direct realisms, one has an uphill battle indicating how one can legitimately make the inferences from sensation to physical objects. But philosophers who appeal to the existence of illusion and hallucination to develop an argument for scepticism can be accused of having an epistemically self-defeating argument. One could justifiably infer sceptical conclusions from the existence of illusion and hallucination only if one justifiably believed that such experiences exist, but if one is justified in believing that illusion exists, one must be justified in believing at least, some facts about the physical world (for example, that straight sticks look bent in water). The key point to stress in relying to such arguments is, that strictly speaking, the philosophers in question need only appeal to the ‘possibility’ of a vivid illusion and hallucination. Although it would have been psychologically more difficult to come up with arguments from illusion and hallucination if we did not believe that we actually had such experiences, I take it that most philosophers would argue that the possibility of such experiences is enough to establish difficulties with direct realism. Indeed, if one looks carefully at the argument from hallucination discussed earlier, one sees that it nowhere makes any claims about actual cases of hallucinatory experience.
Another reply to the attack on epistemological direct realism focuses on the implausibility of claiming that there is any process of ‘inference’ wrapped up in our beliefs about the world and its surrounding surfaces. Even if it is possible to give a phenomenological description of the subjective character of sensation, it requires a special sort of skill that most people lack. Our perceptual beliefs about the physical world are surely direct, at least in the sense that they are unmediated by any sort of conscious inference from premisses describing something other than a physical object. The appropriate reply to this objection, however, is simply to acknowledge the relevant phenomenological fact and point out that from the perceptive of epistemologically direct realism, the philosopher is attacking a claim about the nature of our justification for believing propositions about the physical world. Such philosophers need carry out of any comment at all about the causal genesis of such beliefs.
As mentioned that proponents of the argument from illusion and hallucination have often intended it to establish the existence of sense-data, and many philosophers have attacked the so-called sense-datum inference presupposed in some statements of the argument. When the stick looked bent, the penny looked elliptical and the yellow object looked red, the sense-datum theorist wanted to infer that there was something bent, elliptical and red, respectively. But such an inference is surely suspect. Usually, we do not infer that because something appears to have a certain property, that affairs that affecting something that has that property. When in saying that Jones looks like a doctor, I surely would not want anyone to infer that there must actually be someone there who is a doctor. In assessing this objection, it will be important to distinguish different uses words like ‘appears’ and ‘looks’. At least, sometimes to say that something looks ‘F’ way and the sense-datum inference from an F ‘appearance’ in this sense to an actual ‘F’ would be hopeless. However, it also seems that we use the ‘appears’/’looks’ terminology to describe the phenomenological character of our experience and the inference might be more plausible when the terms are used this way. Still, it does seem that the arguments from illusion and hallucination will not by themselves constitute strong evidence for sense-datum theory. Even if one concludes that there is something common to both the hallucination of a red thing and a veridical visual experience of a red thing, one need not describe a common constituent as awarenesses of something red. The adverbial theorist would prefer to construe the common experiential state as ‘being appeared too redly’, a technical description intended only to convey the idea that the state in question need not be analysed as relational in character. Those who opt for an adverbial theory of sensation need to make good the claim that their artificial adverbs can be given a sense that is not parasitic upon an understanding of the adjectives transformed into verbs. Still, other philosophers might try to reduce the common element in veridical and non-veridical experience to some kind of intentional state. More like belief or judgement. The idea here is that the only thing common to the two experiences is the fact that in both I spontaneously takes there to be present an object of a certain kind.
The selfsame objections can be started within the general framework presupposed by proponents of the arguments from illusion and hallucination. A great many contemporary philosophers, however, uncomfortable with the intelligibility of the concepts needed to make sense of the theories attacked even. Thus, at least, some who object to the argument from illusion do so not because they defend direct realism. Rather they think there is something confused about all this talk of direct awareness or acquaintance. Contemporary Externalists, for example, usually insist that we understand epistemic concepts by appeal: To nomologically connections. On such a view the closest thing to direct knowledge would probably be something by other beliefs. If we understand direct knowledge this way, it is not clar how the phenomena of illusion and hallucination would be relevant to claim that on, at least some occasions our judgements about the physical world are reliably produced by processes that do not take as their input beliefs about something else.
The expressions ‘knowledge by acquaintance’ and ‘knowledge by description’, and the distinction they mark between knowing ‘things’ and knowing ‘about’ things, are now generally associated with Bertrand Russell. However, John Grote and Hermann von Helmholtz had earlier and independently to mark the same distinction, and William James adopted Grote’s terminology in his investigation of the distinction. Philosophers have perennially investigated this and related distinctions using varying terminology. Grote introduced the distinction by noting that natural languages ‘distinguish between these two applications of the notion of knowledge, the one being of the Greek ϒνѾναι, nosene, Kennen, connaître, the other being ‘wissen’, ‘savoir’ (Grote, 1865, p. 60). On Grote’s account, the distinction is a natter of degree, and there are three sorts of dimensions of variability: Epistemic, causal and semantic.
We know things by experiencing them, and knowledge of acquaintance (Russell changed the preposition to ‘by’) is epistemically priori to and has a relatively higher degree of epistemic justification than knowledge about things. Indeed, sensation has ‘the one great value of trueness or freedom from mistake’ (1900, p. 206).
A thought (using that term broadly, to mean any mental state) constituting knowledge of acquaintance with a thing is more or less causally proximate to sensations caused by that thing, while a thought constituting knowledge about the thing is more or less distant causally, being separated from the thing and experience of it by processes of attention and inference. At the limit, if a thought is maximally of the acquaintance type, it is the first mental state occurring in a perceptual causal chain originating in the object to which the thought refers, i.e., it is a sensation. The thing’s presented to ‘us’ in sensation and of which we have knowledge of acquaintance include ordinary objects in the external world, such as the sun.
Grote contrasted the imagistic thoughts involved in knowledge of acquaintance with things, with the judgements involved in knowledge about things, suggesting that the latter but not the former are mentally contentual by a specified state of affairs. Elsewhere, however, he suggested that every thought capable of constituting knowledge of or about a thing involves a form, idea, or what we might call contentual propositional content, referring the thought to its object. Whether contentual or not, thoughts constituting knowledge of acquaintance with a thing are relatively indistinct, although this indistinctness does not imply incommunicably. On the other hand, thoughts constituting distinctly, as a result of ‘the application of notice or attention’ to the ‘confusion or chaos’ of sensation (1900, pp. 206-7). Grote did not have an explicit theory on reference, the relation by which a thought is ‘of’ or ‘about’ a specific thing. Nor did he explain how thoughts can be more or less indistinct.
Helmholtz held unequivocally that all thoughts capable of constituting knowledge, whether ‘knowledge that has to do with Notions’ (Wissen) or ‘mere familiarity with phenomena’ (Kennen), is judgements or, we may say, have conceptual propositional contents. Where Grote saw a difference between distinct and indistinct thoughts, Helmholtz found a difference between precise judgements that are expressible in words and equally precise judgements that, in principle, are not expressible in words, and so are not communicable (Helmholtz, 19620. As happened, James was influenced by Helmholtz and, especially, by Grote. (James, 1975). Taken on the latter’s terminology, James agreed with Grote that the distinction between knowledge of acquaintance with things and knowledge about things involves a difference in the degree of vagueness or distinctness of thoughts, though he, too, said little to explain how such differences are possible. At one extreme is knowledge of acquaintance with people and things, and with sensations of colour, flavour, spatial extension, temporal duration, effort and perceptible difference, unaccompanied by knowledge about these things. Such pure knowledge of acquaintance is vague and inexplicit. Movement away from this extreme, by a process of notice and analysis, yields a spectrum of less vague, more explicit thoughts constituting knowledge about things.
All the same, the distinction was not merely a relative one for James, as he was more explicit than Grote in not imputing content to every thought capable of constituting knowledge of or about things. At the extreme where a thought constitutes pure knowledge of acquaintance with a thing, there is a complete absence of conceptual propositional content in the thought, which is a sensation, feeling or precept, of which he renders the thought incommunicable. James’ reasons for positing an absolute discontinuity in between pure cognition and preferable knowledge of acquaintance and knowledge at all about things seem to have been that any theory adequate to the facts about reference must allow that some reference is not conventionally mediated, that conceptually unmediated reference is necessary if there are to be judgements at all about things and, especially, if there are to be judgements about relations between things, and that any theory faithful to the common person’s ‘sense of life’ must allow that some things are directly perceived.
James made a genuine advance over Grote and Helmholtz by analysing the reference relation holding between a thought and of him to specific things of or about which it is knowledge. In fact, he gave two different analyses. On both analyses, a thought constituting knowledge about a thing refers to and is knowledge about ‘a reality, whenever it actually or potentially ends in’ a thought constituting knowledge of acquaintance with that thing (1975). The two analyses differ in their treatments of knowledge of acquaintance. On James’s first analysis, reference in both sorts of knowledge is mediated by causal chains. A thought constituting pure knowledge of acquaintances with a thing refers to and is knowledge of ‘whatever reality it directly or indirectly operates on and resembles’ (1975). The concepts of a thought ‘operating on’ a thing or ‘terminating in’ another thought are causal, but where Grote found teleology and final causes. On James’s later analysis, the reference involved in knowledge of acquaintance with a thing is direct. A thought constituting knowledge of acquaintance with a thing either is that thing, or has that thing as a constituent, and the thing and the experience of it is identical (1975, 1976).
James further agreed with Grote that pure knowledge of acquaintance with things, i.e., sensory experience, is epistemologically priori to knowledge about things. While the epistemic justification involved in knowledge about things rests on the foundation of sensation, all thoughts about things are fallible and their justification is augmented by their mutual coherence. James was unclear about the precise epistemic status of knowledge of acquaintance. At times, thoughts constituting pure knowledge of acquaintance are said to posses ‘absolute veritableness’ (1890) and ‘the maximal conceivable truth’ (1975), suggesting that such thoughts are genuinely cognitive and that they provide an infallible epistemic foundation. At other times, such thoughts are said not to bear truth-values, suggesting that ‘knowledge’ of acquaintance is not genuine knowledge at all, but only a non-cognitive necessary condition of genuine knowledge, knowledge about things (1976). Russell understood James to hold the latter view.
Russell agreed with Grote and James on the following points: First, knowing things involves experiencing them. Second, knowledge of things by acquaintance is epistemically basic and provides an infallible epistemic foundation for knowledge about things. (Like James, Russell vacillated about the epistemic status of knowledge by acquaintance, and it eventually was replaced at the epistemic foundation by the concept of noticing.) Third, knowledge about things is more articulate and explicit than knowledge by acquaintance with things. Fourth, knowledge about things is causally removed from knowledge of things by acquaintance, by processes of reelection, analysis and inference (1911, 1913, 1959).
But, Russell also held that the term ‘experience’ must not be used uncritically in philosophy, on account of the ‘vague, fluctuating and ambiguous’ meaning of the term in its ordinary use. The precise concept found by Russell ‘in the nucleus of this uncertain patch of meaning’ is that of direct occurrent experience of a thing, and he used the term ‘acquaintance’ to express this relation, though he used that term technically, and not with all its ordinary meaning (1913). Nor did he undertake to give a constitutive analysis of the relation of acquaintance, though he allowed that it may not be unanalysable, and did characterize it as a generic concept. If the use of the term ‘experience’ is restricted to expressing the determinate core of the concept it ordinarily expresses, then we do not experience ordinary objects in the external world, as we commonly think and as Grote and James held we do. In fact, Russell held, one can be acquainted only with one’s sense-data, i.e., particular colours, sounds, etc.), one’s occurrent mental states, universals, logical forms, and perhaps, oneself.
Russell agreed with James that knowledge of things by acquaintance ‘is essentially simpler than any knowledge of truths, and logically independent of knowledge of truths’ (1912, 1929). The mental states involved when one is acquainted with things do not have propositional contents. Russell’s reasons here seem to have been similar to James’s. Conceptually unmediated reference to particulars necessary for understanding any proposition mentioning a particular, e.g., 1918-19, and, if scepticism about the external world is to be avoided, some particulars must be directly perceived (1911). Russell vacillated about whether or not the absence of propositional content renders knowledge by acquaintance incommunicable.
Russell agreed with James that different accounts should be given of reference as it occurs in knowledge by acquaintance and in knowledge about things, and that in the former case, reference is direct. But Russell objected on a number of grounds to James’s causal account of the indirect reference involved in knowledge about things. Russell gave a descriptional rather than a causal analysis of that sort of reference: A thought is about a thing when the content of the thought involves a definite description uniquely satisfied by the thing referred to. Indeed, he preferred to speak of knowledge of things by description, rather than knowledge about things.
Russell advanced beyond Grote and James by explaining how thoughts can be more or less articulate and explicit. If one is acquainted with a complex thing without being aware of or acquainted with its complexity, the knowledge one has by acquaintance with that thing is vague and inexplicit. Reflection and analysis can lead one to distinguish constituent parts of the object of acquaintance and to obtain progressively more comprehensible, explicit, and complete knowledge about it (1913, 1918-19, 1950, 1959).
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