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Psychological
Types
In the following pages I shall attempt a general description of the types, and my first concern must
be with the two general types I have termed introverted and extraverted. But, in addition, I shall also try to give a certain
characterization of those types whose particularity is due to the fact that his most differentiated function plays the
principal role in an individual's adaptation or orientation to life. The former I would term general attitude types,
since they are distinguished by the direction of general interest or libido movement, while the latter I would call
function-types.
The general-attitude types, as I have pointed out more than once, are differentiated by their particular attitude
to the object. The introvert's attitude to the object is an abstracting one; at bottom, he is always facing the problem
of how libido can be withdrawn from the object, as though an attempted ascendancy on. the part of the object had to be continually
frustrated. The extravert, on the contrary, maintains a positive relation to the object. To such an extent does he affirm
its importance that his subjective attitude is continually being orientated by, and related to the object. An fond, the object
can never have sufficient value; for him, therefore, its importance must always be paramount. The two types are so essentially different, presenting
so striking a contrast, that their existence, even to the [p. 413] uninitiated in psychological matters becomes an obvious
fact, when once attention has been drawn to it.
Who does not know those taciturn, impenetrable, often shy natures,
who form such a vivid contrast to these other open, sociable, serene maybe, or at least friendly and accessible characters,
who are on good terms with all the world, or, even when disagreeing with it, still hold a relation to it by which they and
it are mutually affected. Naturally, at first, one is inclined to regard such differences as mere individual idiosyncrasies. But anyone with
the opportunity of gaining a fundamental knowledge of many men will soon discover that such a far-reaching contrast does not
merely concern the individual case, but is a question of typical attitudes, with a universality far greater than a limited
psychological experience would at first assume.
In reality, as the preceding chapters will have shown, it is a
question of a fundamental opposition; at times clear and at times obscure, but always emerging whenever we are dealing with
individuals whose personality is in any way pronounced. Such men are found not only among the educated classes, but in every
rank of society; with equal distinctness, therefore, our types can be demonstrated among labourers and peasants as among the
most differentiated members of a nation.
Furthermore, these types over-ride the distinctions of sex, since one
finds the same contrasts amongst women of all classes. Such a universal distribution could hardly arise at the instigation
of consciousness, ie. as the result of a conscious and deliberate choice of attitude. If this were the case, a definite level
of society, linked together by a similar education and environment and, therefore, correspondingly localized, would surely
have a majority representation of such an attitude. But the actual facts are just the reverse, for the types have, apparently,
quite a random distribution. [p. 414] In the same family one child is introverted, and another extraverted. Since, in the light of these facts,
the attitude-type regarded as a general phenomenon having an apparent random distribution, can be no affair of conscious judgment
or intention, its existence must be due to some unconscious instinctive cause.
The contrast of types, therefore,
as a, universal psychological. phenomenon, must in some way or other have its biological precursor. The relation between subject and
object, considered biologically, is always a relation of adaptation, since every relation between subject and object
presupposes mutually modifying effects from either side. These modifications constitute the adaptation. The typical attitudes
to the object, therefore, are adaptation processes. Nature knows two fundamentally different ways of adaptation, which determine
the further existence of the living organism the one is by increased fertility, accompanied by a relatively small degree of
defensive power and individual conservation; the other is by individual equipment of manifold means of self-protection, coupled
with a relatively insignificant fertility.
This biological contrast seems not merely to be the analogue, but also
the general foundation of our two psychological modes of adaptation, At this point a mere general indication must suffice;
on the one hand, I need only point to the peculiarity of the extravert, which constantly urges him to spend and propagate
himself in every way, and, on the other, to the tendency of the introvert to defend himself against external claims, to conserve
himself from any expenditure of energy directly related to the object, thus consolidating for himself the most secure and
impregnable position.
Blake's intuition did not err when he described the two forms as the "prolific" and the "devouring"
[1] As is [p. 415] shown by the general biological example, both forms are current and successful after their kind ;
this is equally true of the typical attitudes. What the one brings about by a multiplicity of relations, the other gains by
monopoly.
The fact that often in their
earliest years children display an unmistakable typical attitude forces us to assume that it cannot possibly be the struggle
for existence, as it is generally understood, which constitutes the compelling factor in favour of a definite attitude. We
might, however, demur, and indeed with cogency, that even the tiny infant, the very babe at the breast, has already an unconscious
psychological adaptation to perform, inasmuch as the special character of the maternal influence leads to specific reactions
in the child. This argument, though appealing to incontestable facts, has none the less to yield before the equally unarguable
fact that two children of the same mother may at a very early age exhibit opposite types, without the smallest accompanying
change in the attitude of the mother.
Although nothing would induce me to underestimate the well-nigh incalculable
importance of parental influence, this experience compels me to conclude that the decisive factor must be looked for in the
disposition of the child. The fact that, in spite of the greatest possible similarity of external conditions, one child will
assume this type while another that, must, of course, in the last resort he ascribed to individual disposition.
Naturally in saying this I only refer to those cases which occur under normal conditions. Under abnormal conditions, i.e.
when there is an extreme and, therefore, abnormal attitude in the mother, the children can also be coerced into a relatively
similar attitude; but this entails a violation of their individual disposition, which quite possibly would have assumed another
type if no abnormal and disturbing external influence had intervened. As a rule, whenever such a falsification of type takes
place as a result of external [p. 416] influence, the individual becomes neurotic later, and a cur can successfully be sought
only in a development of that attitude which corresponds with the individual's natural way.
As regards the particular disposition,
I know not what to say, except that there are clearly individuals who have either a greater readiness and capacity for one
way, or for whom it is more congenial to adapt to that way rather than the other. In the last analysis it may well be that
physiological causes, inaccessible to our knowledge, play a part in this. That this may be the case seems to me not improbable,
in view of one's experience that a reversal of type often proves exceedingly harmful to the physiological well-being of
the organism, often provoking an acute state of exhaustion. B. The Extraverted TypeIn our descriptions of this and the following type it will be necessary, in
the interest of lucid and comprehensive presentation, to discriminate between the conscious and unconscious psychology.
Let us first lend our minds to a description of the phenomena of consciousness. (1)THE GENERAL ATTITUDE OF CONSCIOUSNESSEveryone is, admittedly, orientated
by the data with which the outer world provides him ; yet we see that this may be the case in a way that is only relatively
decisive. Because it is cold out of doors, one man is persuaded to wear his overcoat, another from a desire to become hardened
finds this unnecessary; one man admires the new tenor because all the world admires him, another withholds his approbation
not because he dislikes him but because in his view the subject of general admiration is not thereby proved to be admirable;
one submits to [p. 417] a given state of affairs because his experience argues nothing else to be possible, another is convinced
that, although it has repeated itself a thousand times in the same way, the thousand and first will be different.
The former is orientated by the objective data; the latter reserves a view, which is, as it were, interposed between himself
and the objective fact. Now, when the orientation to the object and to objective facts is so predominant that the most frequent
and essential decisions and actions are determined, not by subjective values but by objective relations, one speaks of an
extraverted attitude. When this is habitual, one speaks of an extraverted type. If a man so thinks, feels, and acts, in a
word so lives, as to correspond directly with objective conditions and their claims, whether in a good sense
or ill, he is extraverted. His life makes it perfectly clear that it is the objective rather than the subjective value which
plays the greater role as the determining factor of his consciousness. He naturally has subjective values, but their determining
power has less importance than the external objective conditions.
Never, therefore, does he expect to find any
absolute factors in his own inner life, since the only ones he knows are outside himself. Epimetheus-like, his inner life
succumbs to the external necessity, not of course without a struggle; which, however, always ends in favour of the objective
determinant. His entire consciousness looks outwards to the world, because the important and decisive determination always
comes to him from without. But it comes to him from without, only because that is where he expects it. All the distinguishing
characteristics of his psychology, in so far as they do not arise from the priority of one definite psychological function
or from individual peculiarities, have their origin in this basic attitude.
Interest and attention
follow objective happenings and, primarily, those of the immediate environment. Not [p. 418] only persons, but things,
seize and rivet his interest. His actions, therefore, are also governed by the influence of persons and things. They
are directly related to objective data and determinations, and are, as it were, exhaustively explainable on these grounds.
Extraverted action is recognizably related to objective conditions. In so far it is not purely reactive to environmental stimuli,
it character is constantly applicable to the actual circumstances, and it finds adequate and appropriate play within the limits
of the objective situation. It has no serious tendency to transcend these bounds.
The same holdsgood for interest:
objective occurrences have a well-nigh inexhaustible charm, so that in the normal course the extravert's interest makes
no other claims. The
moral laws which govern his action coincide with the corresponding claims of society, i.e. with the generally valid
moral view-point. If the generally valid view were different, the subjective moral guiding line would also be different, without
the general psychological habitus being in any way changed. It might almost seem, although it, is by no means the case, that
this rigid determination by objective factors would involve an altogether ideal and complete adaptation to general conditions
of life.
An accommodation to objective data, such as we have described, must, of course, seem a complete
adaptation to the extraverted view, since from this standpoint no other criterion exists. But from a higher point of view,
it is by no means granted that the standpoint of objectively given, facts is the normal one under all circumstances. Objective
conditions may be either temporarily or locally abnormal. An individual who is accommodated to such con certainly conforms
to the abnormal style of his surroundings, but, in relation to the universally valid laws of life. He is, in common with his
milieu, in an abnormal position. The individual may, however, thrive in such surroundings [p. 419] but only to the point when
he, together with his whole milieu, is destroyed for transgressing the universal laws of life. He must inevitably participate
in this downfall with the same completeness as he was previously adjusted to the objectively valid situation.
He is adjusted, but not adapted, since adaptation demands more than a mere frictionless participation in the momentary conditions
of the immediate environment. (Once more I would point to Spitteler's Epimetheus). Adaptation demands an observance of
laws far more universal in their application than purely local and temporary conditions. Mere adjustment is the limitation
of the normal extraverted type.
the one hand, the extravert owes his normality to his ability to fit into existing
conditions with relative ease. He naturally pretends to nothing more than the satisfaction of existing objective possibilities,
applying himself, for instance, to the calling which offers sound prospective possibilities in the actual situation in time
and place. He tries to do or to make just what his milieu momentarily needs and expects from him, and abstains from every
innovation that is not entirely obvious, or that in any way exceeds the expectation of those around him. But on the other
hand, his normality must also depend essentially upon whether the extravert takes into account the actuality of his subjective
needs and requirements; and this is just his weak point, for the tendency of his type has such a strong outward direction
that even the most obvious of all subjective facts, namely the condition of his own body, may quite easily receive inadequate
consideration.
The body is not sufficiently objective or 'external,' so that the satisfaction of simple
elementary requirements which are indispensable to physical well-being are no longer given their place. The body accordingly
suffers, to say nothing of the soul. Although, as a rule, the extravert takes small note of [p. 420] this latter circumstance,
his intimate domestic circle perceives it all the more keenly. His loss of equilibrium is perceived by himself only when abnormal
bodily sensations make themselves felt. These tangible facts he cannot ignore. It is natural he should regard them as concrete and 'objective',
since for his mentality there exists only this and nothing more -- in himself. In others he at once sees "imagination"
at work.
A too extraverted attitude may actually become so regardless of the subject that the latter is entirely
sacrificed to so-called objective claims; to the demands, for instance, of a continually extending business, because orders
lie claiming one's attention or because profitable possibilities are constantly being opened up which must instantly be
seized. This
is the extravert's danger; he becomes caught up in objects, wholly losing himself in their toils. The functional (nervous)
or actual physical disorders which result from this state have a compensatory significance, forcing the subject to an involuntary
self-restriction. Should the symptoms be functional, their peculiar formation may symbolically express the psychological situation;
a singer, for instance, whose fame quickly reaches a dangerous pitch tempting him to a disproportionate outlay of energy,
is suddenly robbed of his high tones by a nervous inhibition.
A man of very modest beginnings rapidly reaches
a social position of great influence and wide prospects, when suddenly he is overtaken by a psychogenic state, with all the
symptoms of mountain-sickness. Again, a man on the point of marrying an idolized woman of doubtful character, whose value
he extravagantly over-estimates, is seized with a spasm of the oesophagus, which forces him to a regimen of two cups of milk
in the day, demanding his three-hourly attention. All visits to his fianceé are thus effectually stopped, and no choice
is left to him [p. 421] but to busy himself with his bodily nourishment.
A man who through his own energy and
enterprise has built up a vast business, entailing an intolerable burden of work, is afflicted by nervous attacks of thirst,
as a result of which he speedily falls a victim to hysterical alcoholism. Hysteria is, in my view, by far the most frequent neurosis with the extraverted
type. The classical example of hysteria is always characterized by an exaggerated rapport with the members of his circle,
and a frankly imitatory accommodation to surrounding conditions.
A constant tendency to appeal for interest and
to produce impressions upon his milieu is a basic trait of the hysterical nature. A correlate to this is his proverbial suggestibility,
his pliability to another person's influence. Unmistakable extraversion comes out in the communicativeness of the hysteric,
which occasionally leads to the divulging of purely phantastic contents; whence arises the reproach of the hysterical lie.
To begin with,
the 'hysterical' character is an exaggeration of the normal attitude; it is then complicated by compensatory reactions
from the side of the unconscious, which manifests its opposition to the extravagant extraversion in the form of physical disorders,
whereupon an introversion of psychic energy becomes unavoidable. Through this reaction of the unconscious, another category
of symptoms arises which have a more introverted character.
A morbid intensification of phantasy activity belongs
primarily to this category. From this general characterization of the extraverted attitude, let us now turn to a description
of the modifications, which the basic psychological functions undergo as a result of this attitude. [p. 422] (II) THE ATTITUDE OF THE UNCONSCIOUSIt may perhaps seem odd that I should
speak of attitude of the 'unconscious'. As I have already sufficiently indicated, I regard the relation of the unconscious
to the conscious as compensatory. The unconscious, according to this view, has as good a claim to an I attitude' as the
conscious. In
the foregoing section I emphasized the tendency to a certain one-sidedness in the extraverted attitude, due to the controlling
power of the objective factor in the course, of psychic events. The extraverted type is constantly tempted to give himself
away (apparently) in favour of the object, and to assimilate his subject to the object. I have referred in detail to
the ultimate consequences of this exaggeration of the extraverted attitude, viz. to the injurious suppression of the subjective
factor.
It is only, to be expected, therefore, that a psychic compensation of the conscious extraverted attitude
will lay especial weight upon the subjective factor, i.e. we shall have to prove a strong egocentric tendency in
the unconscious. Practical experience actually furnishes this proof. I do not wish to enter into a casuistical survey at this
point, so must refer my readers to the ensuing sections, where I shall attempt to present the characteristic attitude of the
unconscious from the angle of each function-type, In this section we are merely concerned with the compensation of a general
extraverted attitude; I shall, therefore, confine myself to an equally general characterization of the compensating attitude
of the unconscious. The attitude of the unconscious as an effective complement to the conscious extraverted attitude has a definitely
introverting character. It focusses libido upon the subjective factor, i.e. all those needs and claims which are
stifled or repressed by a too extraverted conscious [p. 423] attitude.
It may be readily gathered from what
has been said in the previous section that a purely objective orientation does violence to a multitude of subjective emotions,
intentions, needs, and desires, since it robs them of the energy which is their natural right. Man is not a machine that one
can reconstruct, as occasion demands, upon other lines and for quite other ends, in the hope that it will then proceed to
function, in a totally different way, just as normally as before. Man bears his age-long history with him in his very
structure is written the history of mankind. The historical factor represents a vital need, to which a wise economy must respond. Somehow the past
must become vocal, and participate in the present. Complete assimilation to the object, therefore, encounters the protest
of the suppressed minority, elements belonging to the past and existing from the beginning. From this quite general consideration
it may be understood why it is that the unconscious claims of the extraverted type have an essentially primitive, infantile,
and egoistical character. When Freud says that the unconscious is "only able to wish", this observation contains
a large measure of truth for the unconscious of the extraverted type. Adjustment and assimilation to objective data prevent
inadequate subjective impulses from reaching consciousness. These tendencies (thoughts, wishes, affects, needs, feelings,
etc.) take on a regressive character corresponding with the degree of their repression, ie. the less they are recognized,
the more infantile and archaic they become. The conscious attitude robs them of their relatively disposable energycharge,
only leaving them the energy of which it cannot deprive them. This remainder, which still possesses a potency not to be under-estimated,
can be described only as primeval instinct. Instinct can never be rooted out from an individual by any arbitrary measures;
it requires [p. 424] the slow, organic transformation of many generations to effect a radical change, for instinct is the
energic [sic] expression of a definite organic foundation. Thus with every repressed tendency a considerable sum of energy ultimately remains.
This sum corresponds with the potency of the instinct and guards its effectiveness, notwithstanding the deprivation of energy
which made it unconscious. The measure of extraversion in the conscious attitude entails a like degree of infantilism and
archaism in the attitude of the unconscious. The egoism which so often characterizes the extravert's unconscious attitude
goes far beyond mere childish selfishness; it even verges upon the wicked and brutal. It is here we find in fullest bloom
that incest-wish described by Freud. It is self-evident that these things are entirely unconscious, remaining altogether hidden
from the eyes of the uninitiated observer so long as the extraversion of the conscious attitude does not reach an extreme
stage. But wherever an exaggeration of the conscious standpoint takes place, the unconscious also comes to light in a symptomatic
form, i.e. the unconscious egoism, infantilism, and archaism lose their original compensatory characters, and appear
in more or less open opposition to the conscious attitude. This process begins in the form of an absurd exaggeration of the
conscious standpoint, which is aimed at a further repression of the unconscious, but usually ends in a reductio ad absurdum
of the conscious attitude, i.e. a collapse.
The catastrophe may be an objective one, since the objective
aims gradually become falsified by the subjective. I remember the case of a printer who, starting as a mere employé,
worked his way up through two decades of hard struggle, till at last he was the independent possessor of a very extensive
business. The more the business extended, the more it increased its hold upon him, until gradually every other interest [p.
425] was allowed to become merged in it. At length he was completely enmeshed in its toils, and, as we shall soon see, this
surrender eventually proved his ruin. As a sort of compensation to his exclusive interest in the business, certain memories
of his childhood came to life. As a child he had taken great delight in painting and drawing. But, instead of renewing this
capacity for its own sake as a balancing side-interest, he canalized it into his business and began to conceive 'artistic'
elaborations of his products.
His phantasies unfortunately materialized: he actually began to produce after his
own primitive and infantile taste, with the result that after a very few years his business went to pieces. He acted in obedience
to one of our 'civilized ideals', which enjoins the energetic man to concentrate everything upon the one end in view.
But he went too far, and merely fell a victim to the power of his subjective infantile claims. But the catastrophic solution may also be subjective,
i.e. in the form of a nervous collapse. Such a solution always comes about as a result of the unconscious counterinfluence,
which can ultimately paralyse conscious action. In which case the claims of the unconscious force themselves categorically
upon consciousness, thus creating a calamitous cleavage which generally reveals itself in two ways: either the subject no
longer knows what he really wants and nothing any longer interests him, or he wants too much at once and has too keen an interest-but
in impossible things.
The suppression of infantile and primitive claims, which is often necessary on "civilized"
grounds, easily leads to neurosis, or to the misuse of narcotics such as alcohol, morphine, cocaine, etc. In more extreme
cases the cleavage ends in suicide. It is a salient peculiarity of unconscious tendencies that, just in so far as they are deprived of
their energy by a lack of conscious recognition, they assume a correspond- [p. 426] ingly destructive character,
and as soon as this happen their compensatory function ceases. They cease to have a compensatory effect as soon as they reach
a depth or stratum that corresponds with a level of culture absolutely incompatible with our own. From this moment the unconscious
tendencies form a block, which is opposed to the conscious attitude in every respect ; such a bloc inevitably leads to open
conflict. In
a general way, the compensating attitude of the unconscious finds expression in the process of psychic equilibrium.
A normal extraverted attitude does not, of course, mean that the individual behaves invariably in accordance with the extraverted
schema. Even in the same individual many psychological happenings may be observed, in which the mechanism of introversion
is concerned. A habitus can be called extraverted only when the mechanism of extraversion predominates. In such a case the
most highly differentiated function has a constantly extraverted application, while the inferior functions are found in the
service of introversion, i.e. the more valued function, because the more conscious, is more completely subordinated to conscious
control and purpose, whilst the less conscious, in other words, the partly unconscious inferior functions are subjected to
conscious free choice in a much smaller degree. The superior function is always the expression of the conscious personality, its aim, its will, and
its achievement, whilst the inferior functions belong to the things that happen to one. Not that they merely beget blunders,
e.g. lapsus linguae or lapsus calami, but they may also breed half or three-quarter resolves, since the inferior
functions also possess a slight degree of consciousness.
The extraverted feeling type is a classical example of
this, for he enjoys an excellent feeling rapport with his entourage, yet occasionally opinions of an incomparable tactlessness
[p. 427] will just happen to him. These opinions have their source in his inferior and subconscious thinking, which is only
partly subject to control and is insufficiently related to the object ; to a large extent, therefore, it can operate without
consideration or responsibility. In the extraverted attitude the inferior functions always reveal a highly subjective determination with pronounced
egocentricity and personal bias, thus demonstrating their close connection with the unconscious. Through their agency the
unconscious is continually coming to light. On no account should we imagine that the unconscious lies permanently buried under
so many overlying strata that it can only be uncovered, so to speak, by a laborious process of excavation.
On
the contrary, there is a constant influx of the unconscious into the conscious psychological process; at times this reaches
such a pitch that the observer can decide only with difficulty which character-traits are to be ascribed to the conscious,
and which to the unconscious personality. This difficulty occurs mainly with persons whose habit of expression errs rather
on the side of profuseness. Naturally it depends very largely also upon the attitude of the observer, whether he lays hold
of the conscious or the unconscious character of a personality. Speaking generally a judging observer will tend to seize the
conscious character, while a perceptive observer will be influenced more by the unconscious character, since judgement is
chiefly interested in the conscious motivation of the psychic process, while perception tends to register the mere happening.
But in so far as we apply perception and judgment in equal measure, it may easily happen that a personality appears to us
as both introverted and extraverted, so that we cannot at once decide to which attitude the superior function belongs.
In such cases only a thorough analysis of the function qualities can help us to a sound opinion. During the analysis
we must observe which [p. 428] function is placed under the control and motivation of consciousness, and which functions have
an accidental and spontaneous character. The former is always more highly differentiated than the latter, which also possess
many infantile and primitive qualities. Occasionally the former function gives the impression of normality, while the latter
have something abnormal or pathological about them.
(III) THE PECULIARITIES OF THE BASIC PSYCHOLOGICAL FUNCTIONS IN THE
EXTRAVERTED ATTITUDE
1. Thinking
As a result of the general attitude of extraversion, thinking is orientated by the object and
objective data. This orientation of thinking produces a noticeable peculiarity. Thinking in general is fed from two sources, firstly from subjective and in
the last resort unconscious roots, and secondly from objective data transmitted through sense perceptions. Extraverted thinking is conditioned
in a larger measure by these latter factors than by the former. judgment always presupposes a criterion ; for the extraverted
judgment, the valid and determining criterion is the standard taken from objective conditions, no matter whether this be directly
represented by an objectively perceptible fact, or expressed in an objective idea ; for an objective idea, even when subjectively
sanctioned, is equally external and objective in origin. Extraverted thinking, therefore, need not necessarily be a merely
concretistic thinking it may equally well be a purely ideal thinking, if, for instance, it can be shown that the ideas with
which it is engaged are to a great extent borrowed from without, i.e. are transmitted by tradition and education. The criterion
of judgment, therefore, as to whether or no a thinking is extraverted, hangs directly upon the question: by [p. 429] which
standard is its judgment governed -- is it furnished from without, or is its origin subjective? A further criterion is afforded
by the direction of the thinker's conclusion, namely, whether or no the thinking has a preferential direction outwards.
It is no proof of its extraverted nature that it is preoccupied with concrete objects, since I may be engaging
my thoughts with a concrete object, either because I am abstracting my thought from it or because I am concretizing my thought
with it. Even if I engage my thinking with concrete things, and to that extent could be described as extraverted, it yet remains
both questionable and characteristic as regards the direction my thinking will take; namely, whether in its further course
it leads back again to objective data, external facts, and generally accepted ideas, or not. So far as the practical thinking
of the merchant, the engineer, or the natural science pioneer is concerned, the objective direction is at once manifest. But
in the case of a philosopher it is open to doubt, whenever the course of his thinking is directed towards ideas. In such a
case, before deciding, we must further enquire whether these ideas are mere abstractions from objective experience, in which
case they would merely represent higher collective concepts, comprising a sum of objective facts ; or whether (if they are
clearly not abstractions from immediate experience) they may not be derived from tradition or borrowed from the intellectual
atmosphere of the time.
In the latter event, such ideas must also belong to the category of objective data, in
which case this thinking should also be called extraverted. Although I do not propose to present the nature of introverted thinking at this
point, reserving it for a later section, it is, however, essential that I should make a few statements about it before going
further. For if one considers strictly what I have just said concerning [p. 430] extraverted thinking, one might easily conclude
that such a statement includes everything that is generally understood as thinking. It might indeed be argued that a thinking
whose aim is concerned neither with objective facts nor with general ideas scarcely merits the name 'thinking'.
I am fully aware of the fact that the thought of our age, in common with its most eminent representatives, knows and
acknowledges only the extraverted type of thinking. This is partly due to the fact that all thinking which attains visible
form upon the world's surface, whether as science, philosophy, or even art, either proceeds direct from objects or flows
into general ideas. On either ground, although not always completely evident it at least appears essentially intelligible,
and therefore relatively valid. In this sense it might be said that the extraverted intellect, i.e. the mind that is orientated
by objective data, is actually the only one recognized. There is also, however -- and now I come to the question of the introverted intellect -- an entirely
different kind of thinking, to which the term I "thinking" can hardly be denied: it is a kind that is neither orientated
by the immediate objective experience nor is it concerned with general and objectively derived ideas. I reach this other kind
of thinking in the following way. When my thoughts are engaged with a concrete object or general idea in such a way that the
course of my thinking eventually leads me back again to my object, this intellectual process is not the only psychic proceeding
taking place in me at the moment.
I will disregard all those possible sensations and feelings which become noticeable
as a more or less disturbing accompaniment to my train of thought, merely emphasizing the fact that this very thinking process
which proceeds from objective data and strives again towards the object stands also in a constant relation to the subject.
This relation is a condition sine qua non, without which no think- [p. 431] ing process whatsoever could take place. Even
though my thinking process is directed, as far as possible, towards objective data, nevertheless it is my subjective process,
and it can neither escape the subjective admixture nor yet dispense with it. Although I try my utmost to give a completely
objective direction to my train of thought, even then I cannot exclude the parallel subjective process with its all-embracing
participation, without extinguishing the very spark of life from my thought. This parallel subjective process has a natural
tendency, only relatively avoidable, to subjectify objective facts, i.e. to assimilate them to the subject. Whenever the chief value is given
to the subjective process, that other kind of thinking arises which stands opposed to extraverted thinking, namely, that purely
subjective orientation of thought which I have termed introverted.
A thinking arises from this other orientation
that is neither determined by objective facts nor directed towards objective data -- a thinking, therefore, that proceeds
from subjective data and is directed towards subjective ideas or facts of a subjective character. I do not wish to enter more
fully into this kind of thinking here; I have merely established its existence for the purpose of giving a necessary complement
to the extraverted thinking process, whose nature is thus brought to a clearer focus. When the objective orientation receives a certain
predominance, the thinking is extraverted. This circumstance changes nothing as regards the logic of thought -- it merely
determines that difference between thinkers which James regards as a matter of temperament. The orientation towards the object,
as already explained, makes no essential change in the thinking function; only its appearance is altered.
Since
it is governed by objective data, it has the appearance of being captivated by the object, as though without the external
orientation it simply could not [p. 432] exist. Almost it seems as though it were a sequence of external facts, or as though
it could reach its highest point only when chiming in with some generally valid idea. It seems constantly to be affected by
objective data, drawing only those conclusions which substantially agree with these. Thus it gives one the impression of a
certain lack of freedom, of occasional short-sightedness, in spite of every kind of adroitness within the objectively circumscribed
area. What I am now describing is merely the impression this sort of thinking makes upon the observer, who must himself already
have a different standpoint, or it would be quite impossible for him to observe the phenomenon of extraverted thinking.
As a result of his different standpoint he merely sees its aspect, not its nature; whereas the man who himself possesses
this type of thinking is able to seize its nature, while its aspect escapes him. judgment made upon appearance only cannot
be fair to the essence of the thing-hence the result is depreciatory. But essentially this thinking is no less fruitful and
creative than introverted thinking, only its powers are in the service of other ends. This difference is perceived most clearly
when extraverted thinking is engaged upon material, which is specifically an object of the subjectively orientated thinking.
This happens, for instance, when a subjective conviction is interpreted analytically from objective facts or is regarded as
a product or derivative of objective ideas. But, for our 'scientifically' orientated consciousness, the difference
between the two modes of thinking becomes still more obvious when the subjectively orientated thinking makes an attempt to
bring objective data into connections not objectively given, i.e. to subordinate them to a subjective idea. Either senses
the other as an encroachment, and hence a sort of shadow effect is produced, wherein either type reveals to the other its
least favourable aspect, the subjectively orientated thinking then appears [p. 433] quite arbitrary, while the extraverted
thinking seems to have an incommensurability that is altogether dull and banal. Thus the two standpoints are incessantly at
war. Such a
conflict, we might think, could be easily adjusted if only we clearly discriminated objects of a subjective from those of
an objective nature.
Unfortunately, however, such a discrimination is a matter of impossibility, although not
a few have attempted it. Even if such a separation were possible, it would be a very disastrous proceeding, since in themselves
both orientations are one-sided, with a definitely restricted validity; hence they both require this mutual correction. Thought
is at once sterilized, whenever thinking is brought, to any great extent, under the influence of objective data, since it
becomes degraded into a mere appendage of objective facts; in which case, it is no longer able to free itself from objective
data for the purpose of establishing an abstract idea. The process of thought is reduced to mere 'reflection', not
in the sense of 'meditation', but in the sense of a mere imitation that makes no essential affirmation beyond what
was already visibly and immediately present in the objective data. Such a thinking-process leads naturally and directly back
to the objective fact, but never beyond it ; not once, therefore, can it lead to the coupling of experience with an objective
idea. And, vice versa, when this thinking has an objective idea for its object, it is quite unable to grasp the practical
individual experience, but persists in a more or less tautological position.
The materialistic mentality presents
a magnificent example of this. When, as the result of a reinforced objective determination, extraverted thinking is subordinated to objective data,
it entirely loses itself, on the one hand, in the individual experience, and proceeds to amass an accumulation of undigested
empirical material. The oppressive mass of more or less disconnected individual experiences [p. 434] produces a state of intellectual
dissociation, which, on the other hand, usually demands a psychological compensation. This must consist in an idea, just as
simple as it is universal, which shall give coherence to the heaped-up but intrinsically disconnected whole, or at least it
should provide an inkling of such a connection. Such ideas as "matter" or "energy" are suitable for this
purpose. But, whenever thinking primarily depends not so much upon external facts as upon an accepted or second-hand idea,
the very poverty of the idea provokes a compensation in the form of a still more impressive accumulation of facts, which assume
a one-sided grouping in keeping with the relatively restricted and sterile point of view; whereupon many valuable and sensible
aspects of things automatically go by the board.
The vertiginous abundance of the socalled scientific literature
of to-day owes a deplorably high percentage of its existence to this misorientation. 2. The Extraverted Thinking TypeIt is a fact of experience that all
the basic psychological functions seldom or never have the same strength or grade of development in one and the same individual.
As a rule, one or other function predominates, in both strength and development. When supremacy among the psychological functions
is given to thinking, i.e. when the life of an individual is mainly ruled by reflective thinking so that every important action
proceeds from intellectually considered motives, or when there is at least a tendency to conform to such motives, we may fairly
call this a thinking type. Such a type can be either introverted or extraverted. We will first discuss the extraverted thinking
type. In accordance
with his definition, we must picture a, man whose constant aim -- in so far, of course, as he is a [p. 435] pure type -- is
to bring his total life-activities into relation with intellectual conclusions, which in the last resort are always orientated
by objective data, whether objective facts or generally valid ideas.
This type of man gives the deciding voice-not
merely for himself alone but also on behalf of his entourage-either to the actual objective reality or to its objectively
orientated, intellectual formula. By this formula are good and evil measured, and beauty and ugliness determined. All is right
that corresponds with this formula; all is wrong that contradicts it; and everything that is neutral to it is purely accidental.
Because this formula seems to correspond with the meaning of the world, it also becomes a world-law whose realization must
be achieved at all times and seasons, both individually and collectively. Just as the extraverted thinking type subordinates
himself to his formula, so, for its own good, must his entourage also obey it, since the man who refuses to obey is wrong
-- he is resisting the world-law, and is, therefore, unreasonable, immoral, and without a conscience. His moral code forbids
him to tolerate exceptions; his ideal must, under all circumstances, be realized; for in his eyes it is the purest conceivable
formulation of objective reality, and, therefore, must also be generally valid truth, quite indispensable for the salvation
of man. This is not from any great love for his neighbour, but from a higher standpoint of justice and truth.
Everything
in his own nature that appears to invalidate this formula is mere imperfection, an accidental miss-fire, something to be eliminated
on the next occasion, or, in the event of further failure, then clearly a sickness. If tolerance for the sick, the suffering, or the deranged should chance to be
an ingredient in the formula, special provisions will be devised for humane societies, hospitals, prisons, colonies, etc.,
or at least extensive plans for such projects. For the actual execution of these schemes the [p. 436] motives of justice and
truth do not, as a rule, suffice; still devolve upon real Christian charity, which I to do with feeling than with any intellectual
'One really should' or I one must' figure largely in this programme. If the formula is wide enough, it may play
a very useful rôle in social life, with a reformer or a ventilator of public wrongs or a purifier of the public conscience,
or as the propagator of important innovations. But the more rigid the formula, the more, does he develop into a grumbler,
a crafty reasoner, and a self-righteous critic, who would like to impress both himself and others into one schema. We have now outlined two extreme
figures, between which terminals the majority of these types may be graduated. In accordance with the nature of the extraverted attitude, the influence and
activities of such personalities are all the more favourable and beneficent, the further one goes from the centre.
Their best aspect is to be found at the periphery of their sphere of influence. The further we penetrate into their own
province, the more do the unfavourable results of their tyranny impress us. Another life still pulses at the periphery, where
the truth of the formula can be sensed as an estimable adjunct to the rest. But the further we probe into the special sphere
where the formula operates, the more do we find life ebbing away from all that fails to coincide with its dictates. Usually
it is the nearest relatives who have to taste the most disagreeable results of an extraverted formula, since they are the
first to be unmercifully blessed with it. But above all the subject himself is the one who suffers most -- which brings us
to the other side of the psychology of this type. The fact that an intellectual formula never has been and never will be discovered which could embrace
the [p. 437] abundant possibilities of life in a fitting expression must lead -- where such a formula is accepted -- to an
inhibition, or total exclusion, of other highly important forms and activities of life.
In the first place, all
those vital forms dependent upon feeling will become repressed in such a type, as, for instance, aesthetic activities, taste,
artistic sense, the art of friendship, etc. Irrational forms, such as religious experiences, passions and the like, are often
obliterated even to the point of complete unconsciousness. These, conditionally quite important, forms of life have to support
an existence that is largely unconscious. Doubtless there are exceptional men who are able to sacrifice their entire life
to one definite formula; but for most of us a permanent life of such exclusiveness is impossible. Sooner or later -- in accordance
with outer circumstances and inner gifts -- the forms of life repressed by the intellectual attitude become indirectly perceptible,
through a gradual disturbance of the conscious conduct of life. Whenever disturbances of this kind reach a definite intensity,
one speaks of a neurosis.
In most cases, however, it does not go so far, because the individual instinctively
allows himself some preventive extenuations of his formula, worded, of course, in a suitable and reasonable way. In this way
a safety-valve is created. The relative or total unconsciousness of such tendencies or functions as are excluded from any participation in the
conscious attitude keeps them in a relatively undeveloped state. As compared with the conscious function they are inferior.
To the extent that they are unconscious, they become merged with the remaining contents of the unconscious, from which they
acquire a bizarre character. To the extent that they are conscious, they only play a secondary rôle, although one of
considerable importance for the whole psychological picture. Since feelings are the first to oppose and contradict [p. 438] the rigid intellectual
formula, they are affected first this conscious inhibition, and upon them the most intense repression falls. No function can
be entirely eliminated -- it can only be greatly distorted.
In so far as feelings allow themselves to be arbitrarily
shaped and subordinated, they have to support the intellectual conscious attitude and adapt themselves to its aims. Only to
a certain degree, however, is this possible; a part of the feeling remains insubordinate, and therefore must be repressed.
Should the repression succeed, it disappears from consciousness and proceeds to unfold a subconscious activity, which runs
counter to conscious aims, even producing effects whose causation is a complete enigma to the individual. For example, conscious
altruism, often of an extremely high order, may be crossed by a secret self-seeking, of which the individual is wholly unaware,
and which impresses intrinsically unselfish actions with the stamp of selfishness. Purely ethical aims may lead the individual
into critical situations, which sometimes have more than a semblance of being decided by quite other than ethical motives.
There are guardians of public morals or voluntary rescue-workers who suddenly find themselves in deplorably compromising
situations, or in dire need of rescue. Their resolve to save often leads them to employ means which only tend to precipitate
what they most desire to avoid. There are extraverted idealists, whose desire to advance the salvation of man is so consuming
that they will not shrink from any lying and dishonest means in the pursuit of their ideal.
There are a few painful
examples in science where investigators of the highest esteem, from a profound conviction of the truth and general validity
of their formula, have not scrupled to falsify evidence in favour of their ideal. This is sanctioned by the formula; the end
justifieth the means. Only an inferior feeling-function, operating seductively [p. 439] and unconsciously, could bring about
such aberrations in otherwise reputable men.
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