Criminal Psychology, Hans Gross [jenna bush book club .txt] 📗

apprehended. Later the name of the paper was cut out of each and pasted on the secretary instead of the script, and then, in spite of the various curly and twisted letters, the habitual images of the titles were easily apprehended and their removal and return became mechanical. The customary and identical things are so habitual that they are apprehended with greater ease than more distinct objects.

 

Inasmuch as we can conceive only on the basis of the constancy and similarity of forms, we make these forms the essence of experience.

On the other hand, what is constant and similar for one individual is not so for another, and essences of experience vary with the experiencer.

 

“When we behold a die of which we can see three sides at a time, seven corners, and nine edges, we immediately induce the image or schema of a die, and we make our further sense-perception accord with this schema. In this way we get a series of schemes which we may substitute for one another” (Aubert). For the same reason we associate in description things unknown to the auditor, which we presuppose in him, and hence we can make him rightly understand only if we have named some appropriate object in comparison.

Conversely, we have to remember that everybody takes his comparison from his own experience, so that we must have had a like experience if we are to know what is compared.

It is disastrous to neglect the private nature of this experience.

Whoever has much to do with peasants, who like to make use of powerful comparisons, must first comprehend their essential life, if he is to understand how to reduce their comparisons to correct meanings. And if he has done so he will find such comparisons and images the most distinct and the most intelligible.

 

Sense-perception has a great deal to do in apprehension and no one can determine the boundary where the sense activity ends and the intellectual begins. I do not recall who has made note of the interesting fact that not one of twenty students in an Egyptian museum knew why the hands of the figures of Egyptian was pictures gave the impression of being incorrect—nobody had observed the fact that all the figures had two right hands.

 

I once paid a great deal of attention to cardsharping tricks and <p 226>

as I acquired them, either of myself or from practiced gamblers, I demonstrated them to the young criminalists. For a long time I refused to believe what an old Greek told me: “The more foolish and obvious a trick is, the more certain it is; people never see anything.” The man was right. When I told my pupils expressly, “Now I am cheating,” I was able to make with safety a false coup, a false deal, etc. Nobody saw it. If only one has half a notion of directing the eyes to some other thing, a card may be laid on the lap, thrust into the sleeve, taken from the pocket, and God knows what else. Now who can say in such a case whether the sensory glance or the intellectual apprehension was unskilful or unpractised?

According to some authorities the chief source of error is the senses, but whether something must not be attributed to that mysterious, inexplicable moment in which sensory perception becomes intellectual perception, nobody can say.

 

My favorite demonstration of how surprisingly little people perceive is quite simple. I set a tray with a bottle of water and several glasses on the table, call express attention to what is about to occur, and pour a little water from the bottle into the glass.

Then the stuff is taken away and the astonishing question asked what have I done? All the spectators reply immediately: you have poured water into a glass. Then I ask further with what hand did I do it? How many glasses were there? Where was the glass into which I poured the water? How much did I pour? How much water was there in the glass? Did I really pour or just pretend to?

How full was the bottle? Was it certainly water and not, perhaps, wine? Was it not red wine? What did I do with my hand after pouring the water? How did I look when I did it? Did you not really see that I shut my eyes? Did you not really see that I stuck my tongue out? Was I pouring the water while I did it? Or before, or after? Did I wear a ring on my hand? Was my cuff visible?

What was the position of my fingers while I held the glass? These questions may be multiplied. And it is as astonishing as amusing to see how little correctness there is in the answers, and how people quarrel about the answers, and what extraordinary things they say. Yet what do we require of witnesses who have to describe much more complicated matters to which their attention had not been previously called, and who have to make their answers, not immediately, but much later; and who, moreover, may, in the presence of the fact, have been overcome by fear, astonishment, terror, etc.! I find that probing even comparatively trained wit-

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nesses is rather too funny, and the conclusions drawn from what is so learned are rather too conscienceless.[1] Such introductions as: “But you will know,”—“Just recall this one,”—“You wouldn’t be so stupid as not to have observed whether,”—“But my dear woman, you have eyes,”—and whatever else may be offered in this kindly fashion, may bring out an answer, but what real worth can such an answer have?

 

[1] Cf. Borst u. Clapar<e!>de: Sur divers Caract<e!>res du Temoigna e. Archives des Sciences Phys. et Nat. XVII. Diehl: zum Studium der Merktahugkeit. Beitr.

zur Psych. der Aussage, II, 1903

 

One bright day I came home from court and saw a man step out of a cornfield, remain a few instants in my field of vision, and then disappear. I felt at once that the man had done something suspicious, and immediately asked myself how he looked. I found I knew nothing of his clothes, his dress, his beard, his size, in a word, nothing at all about him. But how I would have punished a witness who should have known just as little. We shall have, in the course of this examination, frequently to mention the fact that we do not see an event in spite of its being in the field of perception.

I want at this point merely to call attention to a single well-known case, recorded by Hofmann.[2] At a trial a circumstantial and accurate attempt was made to discover whether it was a significant alteration to bite a man’s ear off. The court, the physician, the witnesses, etc., dealt with the question of altering, until finally the wounded man himself showed what was meant, because his other ear had been bitten off many years before,—but then nobody had noticed that mutilated ear.

 

[2] Gericht. Medizin. Vienna 1898. p. 447.

 

In order to know what another person has seen and apprehended we must first of all know how he thinks, and that is impossible.

We frequently say of another that he must have thought this or that, or have hit upon such and such ideas, but what the events in another brain may be we can never observe. As Bois-Reymond says somewhere: “If Laplace’s ghost could build a homunculus according to the Leibnitzian theory, atom by atom and molecule by molecule, he might succeed in making it think, but not in knowing how it thinks.” But if we know, at least approximately, the kind of mental process of a person who is as close as possible to us in sex, age, culture, position, experience, etc., we lose this knowledge with every step that leads to differences. We know well what great influence is exercised by the multiplicity of talents, superpositions, knowledge, and apprehensions. When we consider the qualities <p 228>

of things, we discover that we never apprehend them abstractly, but always concretely. We do not see color but the colored object; we do not see warmth, but something warm; not hardness, but something hard. The concept warm, as such, can not be thought of by anybody, and at the mention of the word each will think of some particular warm object; one, of his oven at home; another, of a warm day in Italy; another of a piece of hot iron which burnt him once. Then the individual does not pay constant court to the same object. To-day he has in mind this concrete thing, to-morrow, he uses different names and makes different associations. But every concrete object I think of has considerable effect on the new apprehension; and my auditor does not know, perhaps even I myself do not, what concrete object I have already in mind. And although Berkeley has already shown that color can not be thought of without space or space without color, the task of determining the concrete object to which the witness attaches the qualities he speaks of, will still be overlooked hundreds of times.

 

It is further of importance that everybody has learned to know the object he speaks about through repetition, that different relations have shown him the matter in different ways. If an object has impressed itself upon us, once pleasurably and once unpleasantly, we can not derive the history and character of the present impression from the object alone, nor can we find it merely in the synthetic memory sensations which are due to the traces of the former coalescing impressions. We are frequently unable, because of this coalescing of earlier impressions, to keep them apart and to study their effect on present impressions. Frequently we do not even at all know why this or that impression is so vivid. But if we are ignorant with regard to what occurs in ourselves, how much can we know about others?

 

Exner calls attention to the fact that it is in this direction especially, that the “dark perceptions” play a great r<o^>le. “A great part of our intelligence depends on the ability of these `dark perceptions’ to rise without requiring further attention, into the field of consciousness. There are people, e. g., who recognize birds in their flight without knowing clearly what the characteristic flight for any definite bird may be. Others, still more intelligent, know at what intervals the flyers beat their wings, for they can imitate them with their hands. And when the intelligence is still greater, it makes possible a correct description in words.”

 

Suppose that in some important criminal case several people, <p 229>

of different degrees of education and intelligence, have made observations.

We suppose that they all want to tell the truth, and we also suppose that they have observed and apprehended their objects correctly. Their testimonies, nevertheless, will be very different.

With the degree of intelligence rises the degree of effect of the “dark subconscious perceptions.” They give more definite presentation and explanation of the testimony; they turn bare assertions into well-ordered perceptions and real representations. But we generally make the mistake of ascribing the variety of evidence to varying views, or to dishonesty.

 

To establish the unanimity of such various data, or to find out whether they have such unanimity, is not easy. The most comfortable procedure is to compare the lesser testimonies with those of the most intelligent of the witnesses. As a rule, anybody who has a subconscious perception of the object will be glad to bring it out if he is helped by some form of expression, but the danger of suggestion is here so great that this assistance must be given only in the rarest of cases. The best thing is to help the witness to his full evidence gradually, at the same time