[542] As one might expect, biography too has its contribution to make to the problem of psychological types. For this we are indebted mainly to Wilhelm Ostwald, who, by comparing the biographies of a number of outstanding scientists, was able to establish a typical psychological pair of opposites which he termed the classic and romantic types.1
Whereas the former is characterized by the all-round perfection of each of his works, and at the same time by a rather retiring disposition and a personality that has but little influence on his immediate surroundings, the romantic stands out by reason of just the opposite qualities. His peculiarity lies not so much in the perfection of each individual work as in the variety and striking originality of numerous works following one another in rapid succession, and in the direct and powerful influence he has upon his contemporaries.
It should also be emphasized that the speed of mental reaction is a decisive criterion for determining to which type a scientist belongs. Discoverers with rapid reactivity are romantics, those with slower reactions are classics.2
[543] The classic type is slow to produce, usually bringing forth the ripest fruit of his mind relatively late in life (p. 89). A never-failing characteristic of the classic type, according to Ostwald, is “the absolute need to stand unblemished in the public eye” (p. 94). As a compensation for his “lack of personal influence, the classic type is assured an all the more potent effect through his writings” (p. 100).
[544] There seem, however, to be limitations to this effect, as the following episode from the biography of Helmholtz testifies. A propos Helmholtz’s mathematical researches concerning the effects of induction shocks, his colleague Du Bois-Reymond wrote to the scientist: “You must—please don’t take this amiss—devote yourself much more carefully to the problem of abstracting yourself from your own scientific standpoint, and put yourself in the position of those who know nothing of what it is all about, or what it is you want to discuss.” To which Helmholtz replied: “This time I really did take pains with my paper, and I thought that at last I might be satisfied with it.” Ostwald comments: “He does not consider the reader’s point of view at all, because, true to his classic type, he is writing for himself, so that the presentation seems irreproachable to him, while to others it is not.” What Du Bois-Reymond says in the same letter to Helmholtz is entirely characteristic: “I read your treatise and the summary several times without understanding what you have actually done, or the way you did it. … Finally I discovered your method myself, and now I am gradually beginning to understand your paper.”3
[545] This is a thoroughly typical event in the life of the classic type who seldom or never succeeds in “setting like minds on fire with his own” (p. 100). It shows that the influence ascribed to him through his writings is as a rule posthumous, i.e., it appears after he has been disinterred from his works, as happened in the case of Robert Mayer. Moreover, his writings often seem unconvincing, uninspiring, lacking any direct personal appeal, because the way a man writes is, after all, just as much an expression of himself as the way he talks or lectures. Hence any influence the classic type exerts depends much less on the outwardly stimulating qualities of his writings than on the fact that these are all that finally remain of him, and that only from them can his achievement be reconstructed. It is also evident from Ostwald’s description that the classic type seldom communicates what he is doing and the way he does it, but only the final result, regardless of the fact that his public has no notion how he arrived at it. Evidently the way and the method of working are of little importance to him just because they are most intimately linked with his personality, which is something he always keeps in the background.
[546] Ostwald compares his two types with the four classical temperaments,4 with special reference to the speed of reaction, which in his view is fundamental. Slow reactions are correlated with phlegmatic and melancholic temperaments, quick reactions with the sanguine and the choleric. He regards the sanguine and the phlegmatic as the average types, whereas the choleric and the melancholic seem to him morbid exaggerations of the basic character.
[547] If one glances through the biographies of Humphry Davy and Liebig on the one hand, and Robert Mayer and Faraday on the other, it is easy to see that the former are distinctly romantic, sanguine, and choleric, while the latter are just as clearly classic, phlegmatic, and melancholic. This observation of Ostwald’s seems to me entirely convincing, since the doctrine of the four temperaments was in all probability based on the same empirical principles as Ostwald’s classic and romantic types. The four temperaments are obviously differentiations in terms of affectivity, that is, they are correlated with manifest affective reactions. But this is a superficial classification from the psychological point of view; it judges only by appearances. According to it, the man who is outwardly calm and inconspicuous in his behaviour has a phlegmatic temperament. He looks phlegmatic and is therefore classed as phlegmatic. In reality he may be anything but phlegmatic; he may have a profoundly sensitive, even passionate nature, his intense, introverted emotionality expressing itself through the greatest outward calm. Jordan, in his typology, takes this fact into account. He judges not merely from the surface impression, but from a deeper observation of human nature. Ostwald’s criteria of distinction are based on appearances, like the old division into temperaments. His romantic type is characterized by a quick outward reaction; the classic type may react just as quickly, but within.
[548] As one reads Ostwald’s biographies, one can see at a glance that the romantic type corresponds to the extravert, and the classic type to the introvert. Humphry Davy and Liebig are perfect examples of the one, and Mayer and Faraday of the other. The outward reaction characterizes the extravert, just as the inward reaction is the mark of the introvert. The extravert has no especial difficulty in expressing himself; he makes his presence felt almost involuntarily, because his whole nature goes outwards to the object. He gives himself easily to the world in a form that is pleasing and acceptable, and it is always understandable even when it is unpleasing. Because of his quick reactivity and discharge of emotion, valuable and worthless psychic contents will be projected together into the object; he will react with winsome manners as well as with dour thoughts and affects. For the same reason these contents will have undergone little elaboration and are therefore easily understood; the quick succession of immediate reactions produces a series of images that show the public the path he has followed and the means by which he has attained his result.
[549] The introvert, on the other hand, who reacts almost entirely within, cannot as a rule discharge his reactions except in explosions of affect. He suppresses them, though they may be just as quick as those of the extravert. They do not appear on the surface, hence the introvert may easily give the impression of slowness. Since immediate reactions are always strongly personal, the extravert cannot help asserting his personality. But the introvert hides his personality by suppressing all his immediate reactions. Empathy is not his aim, nor the transference of contents to the object, but rather abstraction from the object. Instead of immediately discharging his reactions he prefers to elaborate them inwardly for a long time before finally coming out with the finished product. His constant endeavour is to strip the product of everything personal and to present it divested of all personal relationships. The matured fruit of prolonged inner labour, it emerges into the world in a highly abstract and depersonalized form. It is therefore difficult to understand, because the public lacks all knowledge of the preliminary stages and the way he attained his result. A personal relation to his public is also lacking, because the introvert in suppressing himself shrouds his personality from the public eye. But often enough it is just the personal relationship which brings about an understanding where mere intellectual apprehension fails. This must constantly be borne in mind when passing judgment on the introvert’s development. As a rule one is badly informed about the introvert because his real self is not visible. His incapacity for immediate outward reaction keeps his personality hidden. His life therefore affords ample scope for fantastic interpretations and projections should his achievements ever make him an object of general interest.
[550] So when Ostwald says that “early mental maturity” is characteristic of the romantic type, we must add that, though this is quite true, the classic type is just as capable of early maturity, but hides his products within himself, not intentionally of course, but from an incapacity for immediate expression. As a result of deficient differentiation of feeling, a certain awkwardness lingers on in the introvert, a real infantilism in his personal relations with other people. His outward personality is so uncertain and indefinite, and he himself is so sensitive in this respect, that he dares to appear before the public only with what in his own eyes is a perfect product. He prefers to let his work speak for him, instead of taking up the cudgels on its behalf. The natural result of such an attitude is a considerably delayed appearance on the world’s stage, so that it is easy to accuse him of late maturity. But this superficial judgment overlooks the fact that the infantilism of the apparently early matured and outwardly differentiated extravert is all internal, in his relation to his inner world. It only reveals itself later in life, in some moral immaturity or, as is often the case, in an astonishing infantilism of thought. As Ostwald observes, conditions for development and growth are more favourable for the romantic than for the classic type. His convincing appearance before the public and his outward reactions allow his personal importance to be immediately recognized. In this way many valuable relations are quickly built up which enrich his work and give it breadth (p. 374), whereas the other remains hidden and his lack of personal relations limits any extension of his field of work, though his activity gains in depth and his work has a lasting value.
[551] Both types are capable of enthusiasm. What fills the extravert’s heart flows out of his mouth, but the enthusiasm of the introvert is the very thing that seals his lips. He kindles no flame in others, and so he lacks colleagues of equal calibre. Even if he had any desire to impart his knowledge, his laconic manner of expression and the mystified incomprehension it produces are enough to deter him from further efforts at communication, and it frequently happens that no one believes he has anything out of the ordinary to say. His manner of expression, his “personality,” appear commonplace on a superficial view, whereas the romantic looks intrinsically “interesting” and understands the art of pandering to this impression by fair means or foul. His very glibness provides a suitable background for brilliant ideas and helps the public over the gaps in his thinking. The emphasis Ostwald lays on the successful academic careers of the romantics is therefore very much to the point. The romantic empathizes his students and knows the right word at the right moment. But the classic type is sunk in his own thoughts and problems and completely overlooks the difficulties his students have in understanding him. Ostwald says of Helmholtz:5
In spite of his prodigious learning, wide experience, and richly creative mind, he was never a good teacher. He never reacted on the instant, but only after a long time. Confronted by a student’s question in the laboratory, he would promise to think it over, and only after several days would he bring the answer. This turned out to be so remote from the predicament of the student that only in the rarest cases could the latter see any connection between the difficulty he had experienced and the nicely rounded theory of a general problem subsequently expounded to him. Not only was the immediate help lacking on which every beginner largely relies, but also any guidance adapted to the student’s own personality, that would have helped him to outgrow the natural dependence of the beginner and win to complete mastery of his subject. All these deficiencies are directly due to the teacher’s inability to react instantaneously to the student’s needs, so that, when the desired reaction does come, its effect is entirely lost.
[552] Ostwald’s explanation in terms of the introvert’s slowness to react does not seem to me sufficient. This is no sort of proof that Helmholtz possessed a slow reactivity. He merely reacted inwardly rather than outwardly. He had not empathized his student and so did not understand what he needed. His attitude was entirely directed to his own thoughts; consequently, he reacted not to the personal need of the student but to the thoughts which the student’s question had aroused in himself, and he reacted so rapidly and thoroughly that he immediately perceived a further connection which, at that moment, he was incapable of evaluating and handing back in fully developed, abstract form. This was not because his thinking was too slow, but because it was impossible for him to grasp, all in a moment, the full extent of the problem he had divined. Not observing that the student had no inkling of any such problem, he naturally thought that this was what had to be dealt with, and not some extremely simple and trivial piece of advice which could have been given on the spot if only he had been able to see what the student needed in order to get on with his work. But, being an introvert, he had not empathized the other’s psychology; his empathy had gone inwards to his own theoretical problems, and simply went on spinning the threads taken over from the student’s problem while entirely ignoring his needs. From the academic standpoint, naturally, this peculiar attitude is highly unsuitable quite apart from the unfavourable impression it makes. The introverted teacher is to all appearances slow, somewhat eccentric, even thick-headed; because of this he is underestimated not only by the wider public but also by his own colleagues, until one day his thoughts are taken up and elaborated by other investigators.
[553] The mathematician Gauss had such a distaste for teaching that he used to inform each of his students that his course of lectures would probably not take place at all, hoping in this way to disembarrass himself of the necessity of giving them. Teaching was repugnant to him because it meant having to “pronounce scientific results in his lectures without first having checked and polished every word of the text. To be obliged to communicate his findings to others without such verification must have felt to him as though he were exhibiting himself before strangers in his nightshirt” (p. 380). Here Ostwald puts his finger on a very essential point we have already mentioned—the introvert’s dislike of anything other than entirely impersonal communications.
[554] Ostwald points out that the romantic is usually compelled to terminate his career comparatively early because of increasing exhaustion. This fact, also, Ostwald attributes to the greater speed of reaction. Since in my opinion the speed of mental reaction is still far from having been explained scientifically, and there is as yet no proof that outward reactions are quicker than inward ones, it seems to me that the earlier exhaustion of the extraverted discoverer must be essentially connected not so much with the speed of reaction as with the outward reactions peculiar to his type. He begins to publish very early, quickly makes a name for himself, and soon develops an intensive activity, both academically and as a writer; he cultivates personal relationships among a wide circle of friends and acquaintances and, in addition to all this, takes an unusual interest in the development of his pupils. The introverted pioneer begins to publish later; his works succeed one another at longer intervals, and are usually sparing in expression; repetitions of a theme are avoided unless something entirely new can be introduced into them. The pithy and laconic style of his scientific communications, frequently omitting all indications about the way he arrived at his results, prevents any general understanding or acceptance of his work, and so he remains unknown. His distaste for teaching does not bring him pupils; his lack of renown precludes relations with a large circle of acquaintances; as a rule he lives a retired life, not merely from necessity but also from choice. Thus he avoids the danger of expending himself too lavishly. His inward reactions draw him constantly back to the narrow path of his researches; these in themselves are very exacting, proving as time goes on to be so exhausting as to permit of no incidental expenditures on behalf of others. The situation is complicated by the fact that the public success of the romantic has an invigorating effect, but this is often denied to the classic type, who is therefore forced to seek his sole satisfaction in perfecting his research work. In the light of these considerations, the relatively premature exhaustion of the romantic genius, if demonstrable at all, seems to me to depend more on the outward reaction than on a quicker reactivity.
[555] Ostwald does not pretend that his type division is absolute in the sense that every investigator can be shown at once to belong to one type or the other. He is, however, of the opinion that the “really great men” can definitely be classed in one or the other category with respect to speed of reaction, while “average people” much more frequently occupy the middle range (pp. 372f.). In conclusion I would like to observe that Ostwald’s biographies contain material that has in part a very valuable bearing on the psychology of types, and strikingly exhibit the coincidence of the romantic with the extravert and the classic with the introvert.