m a 1 ti J -: i; 1 i Mi i nmtmv.ilillil'l;!,:;' " uJi til Rntir'r' .< ' •• i i 4 1 V'^ I ■ I ' i f I ' . 'a;ic-i/nBfor^fn 1}-' , ?u:iti;f ^*i!::;!f*ifi%^:'M?; rfi'r'if.'' ! imnr/; n Class i5.V_iAl Book._ CogyiightN^ 4^ u CDBORIGHT DEPOSm / PSYCHOLOGY AN INTRODUCTORY STUDY OF THE STRUCTURE AND FUNCTION OF HUMAN CONSCIOUSNESS BY JAMES ROWLAND ANGELL Head of the Department of Psychology in the University of Chicago NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1904 THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Two Copies Received DEC ?.6 1904 f. ©opyriifht Entry euss cu XX& Noi COPY A. Copyright, 1904, BY Henry Holt and Company PREFACE Psychologists have hitherto devoted the larger part of their energy to investigating the structure of the mind. Of late, however, there has been manifest a disposition to deal more fully with its functional and genetic phases. To deter- mine how consciousness develops and how it operates is felt to be quite as important as the discovery of its constituent ele- ments. This book attempts to set forth in an elementary way the generally accepted facts and principles bearing upon these adjacent fields of psychological inquiry, so far as they pertain to the mind of man. Inasmuch as i^ is mental activity, rather than mental structure, which has immediate significance for thought and conduct, it is hoped that students of philosophy, as well as students of education, may find the book especially useful. The author has had the interests of such students constantly in mind. The differing conditions under which introductory courses in psychology are offered at various institutions render it desirable that a text-book should be adaptable to more than one set of circumstances. The present text has accordingly been arranged with the purpose of permitting considerable flexibility in the emphasis laid upon the several portions of the subject. This fact accounts for an amount of repetition and cross-reference which otherwise would have been re- garded as unnecessary. To my teachers. Professor John Dewey and Professor Wil- liam James, I owe much of what may be found good in these m iv PREFACE • pages. Were not the list too long to recount, I should gladly express my obligations to the many other psychologists by whom I have been influenced in the formation of my views. I am much indebted for advice and suggestion to a number of my colleagues in the University of Chicago, especially to Professor H. H. Donaldson, Professor A. W. Moore, and Dr. J. B. Watson. My wife has given me great assistance in the preparation of my manuscript. For the use of a number of illustrations acknowledgments are due to the following authors and publishers: William James; D. Appleton & Co., publishers of Barker's "The Nervous System'^; W. B. Saunders & Co., publishers of " The American Text-Book of Physiology '^ ; Walter Scott, Ltd., publishers of Donaldson's '' Growth of the Brain '' ; John Murray, publisher of McKendrick and Snodgrass' "Physi- ology of the Sense Organs '' ; and G. P. Putnam's Sons, pub- lishers of Loeb's " Physiology of the Brain." CONTENTS CHAPTEE I PAGE The Problems and Methods of Psychology . . 1 CHAPTEE II The Psychophysical Organism and the Nervous System 11 CHAPTEE III A Sketch of the General Eelations of Conscious- ness to N"eural Action 47 CHAPTEE IV Attention, Discrimination, and Association . . 64 CHAPTEE V Sensation . 91 CHAPTEE VI Perception 122 CHAPTEE VII The Perception of Spatial and Temporal Eela- tions 141 CHAPTEE VIII Imagination 161 V vi CONTENTS CHAPTEE IX PAGE Memory 184 CHAPTEE X The Consciousness of Meaning and the Forma- tion OF Concepts 203 CHAPTEE XI -/ Judgment and the Elements of Eeasoning . . 223 CHAPTEE XII The Forms and Functions of Eeasoning . . . > 235 CHAPTEE XIII The Affective Elements of Consciousness . . . 256 CHAPTEE XIV Feeling and the General Principles of Affective Consciousness . 270 CHAPTEE XV Eeflex Action and Instinct 283 CHAPTEE XVI The Important Human Instincts . . . . • . . 294 CHAPTEE XVII Nature of Impulse 310 CHAPTEE XVIII The Nature of Emotion 315 CONTENTS YU CHAPTER XIX PAGE General Theory of Emotion 325 CHAPTER XX Elementary Features of Volition 340 CHAPTER XXI Relation of Volition to Interest, Effort, and Desire 362 CHAPTER XXII Character and the Will 376 CHAPTER XXIII The Self 383 PSYCHOLOGY CHAPTEE I PEOBLEMS AND METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY Definition of Psychology. — Psychology is commonly de- fined as the science of consciousness. It is the business of a science systematically to describe and explain the phenom- ena with which it is engaged. Chemistry, physics, and the various branches of biology all attempt to deal in this man- ner with some special portion of the facts or processes of nature. Mental facts, or facts of consciousness, constitute the field of psychology. The Nature of Consciousness. — Consciousness we can only define in terms of itself. Sensations, ideas, pains, pleasures, acts of memory, imagination, and will — these may serve to illustrate the experiences we mean to indicate by the term; and our best endeavour to construct a successful definition results in some such list, of which we can only say : ^' These taken together are what I mean by consciousness.^^ A psychological treatise is really an attempt to furnish the essentials for such a catalogue. It is generally maintained that despite our difficulty in framing a satisfactory definition of consciousness, wa can at least detect one or two of its radical differences from the physical objects which make up the rest of our cosmos. 2 PSYCHOLOGY These latter always possess position and extension^ i. e.y they occupy space. Psychical facts, or events, never do; on the other hand they possess one characteristic vrhich, so far as we know, is wholly wanting to physical facts, in that they exist for themselves, A man not only has sensations and ideas, he knows that he has them. A stone or other physical object has no such knowledge of its own existence or of- its own experiences. Yet, whatever may be the value of these distinctions, we need entertain no real fear of encountering anj^ serious misapprehension of the inner nature of conscious- ness, for each one of us experiences it every day for himself and each is thus fitted to discuss it with some measure of accuracy. Former Definitions of Psychology. — Formerly psychology was often defined as the science of the soul. But the word soul generally implies something above and beyond the thoughts and feelings of which we are immediately conscious ; and as it is these latter phenomena with which psychology is primarily engaged, this definition is now rarely used by care- ful writers. Psychology is also defined at times as the science of mind. The objection to this definition is that the word mind ordinarily implies a certain continuity, unity, and personality, which is, indeed, characteristic of normal human beings ; but which may, for all we can see, be wholly lacking in certain unusual psychical experiences like those of in- sanity, or those of dream states, and may be wanting at times in animals. All consciousness everywhere, normal or abnor- mal, human or animal, is the subject matter which the psychologist attempts to describe and explain; and no defini- tion of his science is wholly acceptable which designates more or less than just this. The Procedure of the Psychologist. — In his description of conscious processes the psychologist attempts to point out the characteristic features of each distinguishable group of facts and of each member of such groups, and to show how they PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY 3 differ from one another. Thus, for example, the general group knoTVTi as '' sensations ^^ would be described and marked off from, the groups- known as " feelings ^^ ; and the peculiarities of each form of sensation, such as the visual and tactile forms, would be described and distinguished from one another and from those belonging to the auditory form. The psychologist's explanations consist chiefly in showing (1) how complex psychical conditions are made up of simpler ones, (2) how the various psychical groups which he has analysed grow and develop, and finally (3a) how these various conscious processea^are connected with physiological activi- ties, and (3b) with objects or events in the social and physi- cal world constituting the environment. The Fields of Psychology. — In this book we shall be pri- maril)(^concerned with the facts of normal human conscious- ness, its constitution, its modes of operation, and its devel- opment. But we shall avail ourselves, wherever possible, of useful material from the allied fields of child psychology, abnormal psychology, social psychology, and animal psy- chology. Child psychology is occupied with the study of the mental processes of infants and young children, with special refer- ence to the facts of growth. Abnormal psychology has to do (1) with the study of the unusual phases of conscious proc- ess, such as are met with in trance, hallucinations, hypno- tism, etc.; and is concerned (2) with the more definitely diseased forms of mentality, such as characterise insanity. Social psychology, in its broadest sense, has to do mainly with the psychological principles involved in those expressions of mental life which take form in social relations, organisations, and practices, e. g.^ the mental attributes of crowds and mobs as contrasted with the mental characteristics of the indi- viduals constituting them. A branch of social psychology, often known as folk psychology, or race psychology, is con- cerned with the psychical attributes of peoples, especially •iis=i 4 PSYCHOLOGY those of primitive groups as contrasted with civilised nations. Animal psychology is engaged with the study of conscious- ness^ wherever, apart from man, its presence can be detected throughout the range of organic life. The four last-men- tioned branches of psychology taken together are sometimes spoken of as comparative psychology, in distinction from the psychology which describes facts concerning normal adult human beings. Those phases of psychology which touch particularly upon the phenomena of development, whether racial or individual, are sometimes spoken of as genetic psy- chology. ^ The Methods of Psychology. (1) Introspection. — The fundamental psychological method is introspection. Intro- spection means looking inward, as its derivation indicates. As a psychological method it consists simply in the direct examination of one's own mental processes. Much mystery has been made of the fact that the mind can thus stand oif and observe its own operations, and criticism has been lav- ishly devoted to proving the impossibility of securing scien- tific knowledge in any such fashion as this. But it is an un- deniable fact that by means of memory we are made aware of our mental acts, and we can trace in this manner by care- ful and systematic observation many of the rudimentary facts and principles peculiar to human consciousness. When a number of us cooperate in such introspective observation, we greatly augment the exactness and the breadth of our results, and the accepted doctrines of psychology have actually been established by the successive observations of many investi- gators in much this manner. (2) Direct Objective Observation. — Moreover, we are able to supplement introspection by immediate objective observa- tion of other individuals. It is thus possible, for example, to detect much which is most characteristic of the emotions, such as anger and fear, by watching the actions of persons about us and noting their expressions, their gestures, etc. PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY 5 The facts which we thus obtain must of course be interpreted in terms of our direct knowledge of our own experience, gained introspectively. But such observation of others often makes us sensitive to psj^chological processes in ourselves, which we should otherwise overlook. Finally, it is clear that our psychological facts, whether gained from observation of ourselves, or of others, before they can become of scientific value, must be made the subject of careful reflection and systematic arrangement ; otherwise they would be purely hap- hazard, disconnected fragments, with no more meaning than any other collection of odds and ends. The need of such orderly reasoned arrangement is no more and no less true of the psychological facts gained by observations of others, or by introspection, than it is of physical facts discovered in any realm of science. ^The facts of gravity had been noticed again and again, but it required the ordering mind of a Newton to set them in intelligent array. Whenever we speak of direct observation, or of introspection, as methods, we shall understand, therefore, this systematic and scientific use of the terms. All the other psychological methods which we shall mention are simply developments of introspection, either in the direction of systematising and perfecting its emplo}rtnent, or of applying its results interpretatively in fields not open to its immediate application; for example, the field of animal consciousness. (3) Experiment. — Experimental psychology, sometimes spoken of as " the new psychology ,^^ or the " laboratory psy- chology,^^ is perhaps the most vigorous and characteristic psychological method of the present day. It is simply an in- genious system for bringing introspection under control, so that its results can be verified by different observers, just as the result of a chemical experiment may be verified by anyone who will repeat the conditions. In every branch of science an experiment consists in making observations of phenomena under conditions of control, so that one may know just what 6 PSYCHOLOGY causes are at work in producing the results observed. A psychological experiment is based on precisely the same principle. (4) Physiological Psychology and (5) Psychophysics. — Physiological psychology and psychophysics/ which are both closely connected, in spirit and in fact^ with experimental psychologj^^ are especially devoted to investigating the rela- tions between consciousness on the one hand^ and the nervous system and the physical world on the other. Much of physi- ological psychology, and all of psychophysics, is experi- mental so far as concerns the methods employed. They both furnish information supplementary to that gathered by ordinary introspection. The Psychologist's Standpoint. — In our study of mental processes we shall adopt the biological j)oint of view just now dominant in psychology, and regard consciousness, not as a metaphysical entity to be investigated apart from other things, but rather as one among many manifestations of organic life, to be understood properly only when regarded in connection with life phenomena. We shall discover, as we go on, abundant reason for the belief that conscious processes and certain nervous processes are indissolubly bound up with one another in the human being. But at this point, without attempting to justify the assertion, we may lay it down as a basal postulate that the real human organism is a psychophys- ical organism, and that the mental portion of it is not to be , completely or correctly apprehended without reference to the physiological portion. The psychophysical organism is, moreover, a real unit. The separation of the mirid from the body which we commonly make in thinking about them is a separation made in behalf of some one of our theoretical or practical interests, and as such, the separation is often serviceable. In actual life experience, however, the two things are never separated. Therefore, although our primary task is to analyse and explain mental facts, we shall attempt PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY 7 to do this in closest possible connection with their accom- panying physiological processes. Our adoption of the biological point of yiew^ while it im- plies no disrespect for metaphysics, will mean not only that we shall study consciousness in connection with physiological processes wherever possible, but it will also mean that we shall regard all the operations of consciousr^ess — all our sensations, all our emotions, and all our acts of will — as so many expressions of organic adaptations to our environment, an environment which we must remember is social as well as physical. To the biologist an organism represents a de- vice for executing movements in response to the stimulations and demands of the environment. In the main these move- ments are of an organically beneficial character, otherwise the creature would perish. Mind seems to be the master device by means of which these adaptive operations of organic life may be made most perfect. We shall consequently attempt to see in what particulars the various features of consciousness contribute to this adaptive process. Let it not be supposed that such a point of view will render us oblivious, or insensi- tive, to the higher and more spiritual implications of con- sciousness. On the contrary, we shall learn to see these higher implications with their complete background, rather than in detachment and isolation. Psychology and Natural Science. — In one important par- ticular the method of psychology follows the procedure of the natural sciences, such as physics, botany, and geology. Psy- chology takes for itself a certain definite domain, i. e., con- sciousness as a life process. Moreover, it starts out with cer- tain assumptions, or postulates, as they are called, about its subject matter, which it refuses to challenge. The chemist, for example, never stops to inquire whether matter really exists or is simply an illusion. He assumes its reality with- out question, and forthwith goes about his business. So the psychologist assumes in a common-sense way the reality of 8 PSYCHOLOGY mind and the reality of matter. ISTor does he question that mind can know matter. These assumptions prevent the necessity of his untangling the metaphysical puzzles which are involved at these points^ and leave him free to investigate his field in a purely empirical way. He also attempts^ wherever possible, to emulate the natural scientist's use of the idea of causation. Our most reliable forms of knowledge about nature are based upon our knowledge of cause and effect relations. A great deal of our chemical knowledge is in this way exceedingly precise and exact; whereas the lack of such knowledge renders much of our acquaintance with dis- ease extremely superficial and unreliable. The subject matter of psychology evidently brings it into a distinctly universal relation to all the other sciences, for these sciences are severally engaged in the development of knowledge, and the knowledge-process is itself one of the subjects in which psychology is most interested. Psychology and Biology.— Inasmuch as psychology is oc- cupied with life phenomena, it is clearly most nearly related to the biological sciences. Indeed^ as a natural science it obviously belongs to the biological group. This relationshi 3 is as close in fact as it is in theory. The modern psychologist makes frequent use of material furnished him by the anat- omist, the physiologist, the zoologist, and the alienist, and he gives them in return, when he can, such psychological facts as they find it necessary to employ. Psychology and Philosophy, — Psychology has developed historically out of philosophy, and although it is now in many ways practically independent, its relations with philosophy are necessarily very intimate. The connection is particularly close with those branches of philosophy commonly called normative, i, 6., ethics, logic, and aesthetics. These inquiries are primarily concerned with questions of right and wrong, truth and error, beauty and ugliness. It is evident that the profitable discussion of such problems must involve a know- PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY 9 ledge of the mental operations employed when we make a right or wrong choice, when we reason falsely or truly, when we experience pleasure in listening to music, etc. In a sense, therefore, psychology furnishes the indispensable introduc- tion to these several philosophical disciplines. It affords an acquaintance with the mental processes w^hich lead respec- tively to conduct, to knowledge, and to the creation and appreciation of art. It thus enables an intelligent appre- hension of the problems which arise in these spheres, and furnishes much of the material essential for their solution. A similar thing is true, though in a less conspicuous and obvious way, of the relation of psychology to metaphysics, and to that form of metaphysical inquiry which formerly was known as rational psychology. By rational psychology was commonly understood the in- quiry into the conditions rendering the existence of conscious- ness possible. Evidently these inquiries, i, e., rational psychol- ogy and metaphysics, together with what is known as epistemology, or the theory of knowledge, are engaged with just such problems as underlie the assumptions of psychology and the natural sciences, e, g,y the reality of matter, its inde- pendence of mind, etc. It is on this account that metaphysics — which fundamentally represents an effort to solve the prob- lem of the ultimate nature of matter and mind and their rela- tion to one another — is said to be the science of sciences. Al- though metaphysics is in this sense more fundamental than psychology, and logically antecedent to it, it is so extensively concerned with mental processes that a knowledge of psy- chology is commonly recognised as practically indispensable for its effective conduct or apprehension. All these branches of philosophy clearly involve, as does psychology, the study of consciousness in a certain sense. But whereas these dis- tinctly philosophical disciplines are primarily interested in some one or another of the implications and products of thought processes, psychology is interested primarily in the ~1 10 PSYCHOLOGY constitution and operation of consciousness itself. We may question whether ultimately there are any hard and fast lines severing these philosophical inquiries from one another and from psychology. The distinctions ure perhaps rather practical than ultimate. One inquiry inevitably shades off into the others. Psychology and Education. — Psychology is related to educational theory in much the way that it is to ethics. It may be said to be related to actual educational procedure as theory is to practice. Education has as its function the symmetrical development of the powers of the individual. What the natural relation may be among these faculties, what are the laws of their unfolding, what the judicious methods for their cultivation or repression — these and a thousand similar practical questions can be answered by the assistance of psychological observation, or else not at all. The result which we desire to attain in our educational system must be, in a considerable measure, determined by the social and ethical ideals we have in view. But the securing of the re- sults, the realising of the ideals which we have set up, through our educational machinery — this must be accomplished, if we would work with true insight and not by blind experi- ment, through a real knowledge of human mental processes. We shall keep constantly before us in this book the facts, of growth and the facts of adaptation to the demands of ihe environment. Clearly these are the facts of practical signifi- cance for educational procedure. CHAPTEE II THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL OEGANISM AND THE NEEVOUS SYSTEM The TJnioii of the Psychical and the Physical in the Organism. — We shall now examine some of the evidence con- firmatory of our assertion in the last chapter, that conscious processes and physiological processes are intimately connected in the organism. We shall in this way discover some of the reasons why it is desirable for us at the outset of our study of mental life to learn something about the nervous system, to which subject we shall then devote the remaining portion of the chapter. Common observation informs us of at least two funda- mental types of fact concerning these mind-body relations. We know in this manner ( 1 ) that our consciousness or know- ledge of the world about us depends primarily upon the use of our senses. A person born blind and deaf has neither visual nor auditory sensations or ideas, and never can have so long as he remains destitute of eyes and ears. By means of the other senses he may be taught much about colours and sounds, as Helen Keller has been ; but he never can have the experience which j^ou or I have, when we see a colour or hear a sound, or when we permit a melody ^^to run through our heads,^^ as we say, or when we call into our minds the appear- ance of a friend^s face. Indeed, if a child becomes blind before he is five years old he commonly loses all his visual ideas and memories just as completely as though he had been born blind. There is every reason to believe that if we were deprived of all our senses from birth, we could never possess knowledge of any kind. The senses thus hold the keys which unlock the doors of intelligence to the mind, and the II 12 PSYCHOLOGY senses are physical^ not mental^ things. Apparently^ there- fore^ the most simple and fundamental operations of con- sciousness are bound up with the existence and activity of certain bodily organs. Common observation also informs us (2) that the expres- sions of mind ordinarily take the form of muscular move- ments which we call acts. We hear a bell and our conscious- ness of the sound results in our going to open the door. We consider a course of action, and the outcome of our delibera- tion issues in the form of words or deeds, all of which con- sist primarily in muscular movements. Strange as it may appear, even keeping still involves muscular activity. It would accordingly seem as though the mind were hemmed in between the sense organs on the one hand and the muscles on the other. It would be a truer expression of the facts, however, to say that these are the tools with which the mind works. Through the sense organs it receives its raw material, and by its own operations this material is worked up and organised into the coherent product which we call intelli- gence. This intelligence is then made effective in practical ways through the rationally controlled action of the voluntary muscles. There are other facts of a well-known kind whose precise purport is, perhaps, less evident, but whose general implica- tion of intimate connections between mind and bodv is iden- tical with that of the considerations which we have just men- tioned. We know, for example, that blows and wounds niay seriously disturb consciousness, or even destroy it. The similar effects of many drugs, such as alcohol, ether, and hashish, are matters of common knowledge. Even coffee and tea exercise a mild influence upon our psychical mood, and the change in general disposition which frequently fol- lows indulgence in a satisfactory meal is a phenomenon familiar to every family circle. Bodily disease often pro- duces a most marked effect upon the mind, and conversely THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 13 the different effect upon disease, of a cheerful or a depressed mental attitude, is a subject of frequent remark. When we examine the less familiar evidence offered us by certain branches of modern science, we find our previous im- pressions strongly confirmed. Thus we learn from pathology, the science of disease, that disordered conditions of particular portions of the brain tissue are accompanied by disturbances of definite kinds in consciousness. In this way we learn, for example, that the destruction or disintegration of the tissue of one region in the brain is followed by the loss of one's visual mgnories, so that one cannot recall the appearance of familiar objects. A similar disorder in another region costs one the control of certain muscles in the hand, etc. The science of anatomy is able to demonstrate structural connec- tions of nerves between these diseased parts of the brain and the sense organs and muscles over which consciousness has lost control, thus supporting the implication of the patholog- ical evidence already cited. Experimental physiology shows us, that by stimulating (either mechanically or electrically) certain brain areas in animals, we can produce movements of definite muscles, whereas by extirpating these regions we can at least temporarily cripple the muscles and render the will powerless over them. By similar excisions of other brain areas we can cripple definite sense organs. Thus pathology, anatomy, and physiology all point to the same intimate rela- tion of mind and body and indicate more specifically than the observations of every-day experience could do a fixed and positive relation between definite parts of the nervous system and such special phases of consciousness as the visual, the auditory, etc. Moreover, comparative anatomy, comparative physiology, and comparative psychology all converge upon another cognate principle, i, e., that the development of consciousness among various- genera and species of the organic world has run parallel with the development of the nervous system. 14 PSYCHOLOGY Taking all these considerations into account, the deliverances of common sense as well as the teachings of scienc^^ it is easy to understand why the modern psychologist finds it judi- cious in his study of consciousness to leiarn all that he can about the nervous system, the sense organs, and the motor mechanism. The Nervous System. — It will assist us in gaining a work- ing idea of the nervous system to bear in mind the fact that its fundamental function consists in ^^ the conversion of in- coming sensations into outgoing movements of a kind tend- ing to preserve the creature/^ Creatures destitute of some form of nervous system are practically incapable of prompt and appropriate adaptation to their surroundings. Plants are thus in large measure the passive victims of their en- vironments. Injury to one part commonly produces little or no immediate effect upon the rest of the plant. But by means of its nervous system every part of an animal organism is brought into vital connection with every other part. Cooperation becomes the controlling principle in the life activ- ities. This cooperation, or coordination, takes the form of movements made in response to sensory stimulations, and the most highly evolved form of nervous system, such as that of the human being, differs from the very rudimentary forms, like that of the jelly fish, only in the complexity of the de- vices by which these stimulations and movements are con- nected. When we are studying the structure of this sys- tem, we should, then, always remember this fact about the coordination of sensations and movements, as the clue by which to interpret even its most intricate arrangements. The Elementary Structures. — The nervous sj^stem is made up of nerve cells, with their filamentous elongations which are called fibres. A sketch of certain common forms of nerve cells is shown in figures 1, 2, and 3. It will be seen that they are accumulations of granular protoplasmic masses containing a nucleus, and often within this nucleus smaller THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 15 nucleoli, while from their edges are given off filaments of various forms and sizes. These filaments are outgrowths of the cell-body and constitute an organic part of the structure. The whole structure, including both fibre and cell-body, is nowadays called a neurone. The neurone is, therefore, the Fig. 1. Isolated body of a large cell from the ventral horn of the spinal cord of man. Multiplied 200 diameters (Donaldson after Obersteiner). A, axone (each cell has but one) ; D, dendrites ; N, nucleus with enclosures ; P, pigment spot real element of the nervous system. It has been estimated that in the nervous system of the adult human being there are about 3000 millions of these neurones in various stages of development. Their average volume is probably about .00033 of a cubic millimetre.* * We follow in this statement the conception of the nervous system and the terminology at present generally prevalent among neurologists. It must be remembered, however, that the science of neurology is growing with astonishing rapidity, and radical changes, of doctrine are consequently possible at any time. i6 PSYCHOLOGY Certain of the fibrous protuberances are called axones or neurites, others are known as dendrites. The axones, as may be seen from figure 3, are generally smooth in their contours, and when they branch, the divisions commonly occur at right angles. Within the central system the dendrites are rougher and branch more gradually from one another, somewhat like the sticks of a fan. The fully developed axones have a peculiar structure, shown in figure 4. The central strand is known as the axis cylinder. This is a transparent mass \ \ a V M / V 50 f 100 11 P- Fig. 2. A group of human nerve Knells, all drawn to the same scale : a, small motor cell from ventral horn of the spinal cord in the cervical region; &, cell from the dorsal part of the thoracic region ; c, small cell from the top of the dorsal horn of the cord, thoracic region ; ^xC/ / fibres from the cell-bodies in the ventral or anterior region of the grey mass pass out from the spinal cord in bundles, at the general level of the several spinal vertebrae. Thence they may be traced principally to the voluntary muscles of the limbs and trunk. The fibres issuing from the dorsal or posterior re- gion of the grey matter pass out in similar bundles from the posterior sides of the cord^ and thence, after uniting with the bundles from the-motor region, are distributed chiefly to the sense or- gans of the skin, joints, muscles, ten- dons, etc. It may be remarked at this point that the voluntary muscles, such as control the movements of the hand, are commonly striped muscles, whereas the involuntary muscles, e. g., those of the alimentary and circulatory systems, are generally unstriped. The unstriped muscles are mainly connected with the sympathetic nervous system, of which we shall speak briefly a little later. The striped muscles contract and relax more rapidly than the unstriped. Fig. 13. Showing the ventral surface of the spinal axis, as far up as the pons. The spinal nerves appear on both sides, and on the left the sympathetic gang- lia are still in connection with them. 0\ first cervical root ; D\ first thoracic root ; D^^, twelfth thoracic root ; .L^, first lumbar root ; S^, first sacral root ; a, &, c, superior, middle, and inferior cervical sympathetic ganglia ; f?, first thoracic ; d}j eleventh thoracic. (Donaldson after Thomson, in Quain's Anatomy.) d'i ^jyjs The arrangement of the elements in the spinal cord sug- 26 PSYCHOLOGY gests at once two of its principal functions^ and is so typi- cal of the facts generally characterising nervous structure and function that it seems judicious to comment upon it briefly. 4 Fig. 14. Portion of cervical region of spinal cord. A, cord seen from posterior surface. B, cord seen from the lateral sur- face. 1, ventral median fissure ; 2, dorsal fissure ; 5, ventral fibres entering the cord ; 6, dorsal fibres leaving the cord ; 7, spinal nerve after the union of the dorsal and ventral bundles of fibres; 7\ sympathetic fibres. (After Barker and Rauber.) It will be observed in the first place^ that in the cord cell- bodies^ connected through their fibres with the sense organs and the muscles respectively, are in ver}^ close proximity to one another. It should be relatively easy, therefore, for an incoming sensory impulse to find its way out over motor nerves and so to produce reflex movements, that is, move- ments made in immediate response to sensory stimulations, without the guiding action of consciousness. This is pre- cisely what happens, and it is as a reflex mechanism that the spinal cord exercises one of its important functions. As in- THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 27 stances of such reflexes we ma}^ mention the jerking of the foot when the sole is tickled^ and the knee-jerk exhibited when one leg is crossed over the other and the region just below the knee-cap is smartly struck. Furthermore, we should find upon examination that the white fibrous tracts along the external surfaces of the cord connect it with both the higher and the lower parts of the system. (Figures 16 and 17.) It should thus be easy for impulses to pass upward and downward^ between the brain on the one hand and the sense organs and muscles on the other. Such ready trans- mission actually occurs^, and it is in this fact that we find the second great function of this organ. The spinal, cord is ac- cordingly typical of the central structures in general, in that D P. Fig. 15. Diagrammatic cross-section of the spinal cord. W TT, white fibrous matter : G G, gvey cellular matter ; A, afferent sensory fibres passing through 8G, the spinal ganglion into the posterior horn of the grey matter ; E, efferent motor fibres, most of which lead to muscles like J/, many of which connect with the sympathetic ganglia, like 8y. D. P., dorsal or posterior, surface of the cord; Y, A., ventral, or anterior, surface. it provides (1) means for the immediate connection of sense organs and muscles and (2) devices for connecting various parts of its own and other nervous structures with one another. If we were to examine the other subcortical masses lying between the cerebrum and the spinal cord^ we should find that^ in general^ they consist of aggregations of neurones 28 ' PSYCHOLOGY much like those in the cord^ but on the whole less simply and regularly disposed. Thus, the medulla, the corpora, and the thalami all display ganglion groups with sensory and motor Anterior root v" Central motor pathway Motor ganglion cell Sensory collateral Peripheral motor fibre Motor nerve ending in muscle Sensory fibre Peripheral ending sensory nerve Posterior root Ascending and descending branch of sensory fibre Sensory collateral Cell and fibre oj lateral column spinal g^ Speaking within such limitations, we may say that there 30 PSYCHOLOGY are two functions of centres lying in the meduUic region^ about which considerable unanimity of opinion exists. The control of the automatic respiratory movements^ and the con- trol of the vaso-motor nerves which govern the calibre of the Fig. 18. The human brain from below, with its nerves numbered. ( Modified from James after Henle. ) Z, olfactory ; 11, optic ; ///, oculomotorius ; IV, trochlearis ; V, trifacial ; VI, abducens oculi ; VII, facial ; VIII, auditory ; IX, glosso-pharyngeal ; Z, pnenmogastric ; XI, spinal accessory ; XII, hypoglossal ; ncl, first cervical, etc. A, association centres ; O, olfactory cen- ^ tres ; V, visual centres ; M, medulla oblongata ; Ce, cerebellum ; P, pons Varolii. arteries^ are apparently the immediate possessions of neurones belonging in this neighbourhood. Needless to say^ all these regions are like the spinal cord in containing pathways for THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 31 neural excitation to pass upward and downward^ between the cerebrum on the one hand and the sense organs and muscles on the other. . It is in this region of the brain^ too^ that the cranial nerves are given off^ e. g., the nerves of special sense, like the olfac- tory, the auditory, the optic, the gustatory and facial, and such motor nerves as those controlling the eyes, the tongue, the lips, etc. (Figure 18.) It is commonly maintained that the phylogenetic pattern from which the human nervous system has been developed is of a segmental character, each Fig. 19. The left side of the brain. Me,, the medulla oblongata cut off just above the point of junction with the spinal cord. C, the cerebellum. R, the fissure of Rolando. S, the fissure of Sylvius. VV, region of the occipital lobe where neurones from the optic tract terminate ; MM, motor cellular centres ; SM, motor centres controlling muscles used in speech ; HH, centres where auditory neurones terminate ; BB, region re- ceiving neurones from the organs of bodily sensations, such as pressure, temperature, movement, etc. ; AA, association centres. part of it receiving sensory and motor nerves from relatively distinct regions, or segments, over which they exercise a defi- nite and sometimes exclusive control. In the human being 32 PSYCHOLOGY the motor nerves can, indeed, be classified in this segmental way in accordance with the special muscles which they in- nervate, e. g., those of the head, the upper trunk, the lower trunk, etc. But the connections of the sensory neurones in man make any such segmental divisions of them very hazard- ous, so that the application of the segmental idea to the inter- pretation of our human nervous action is somewhat uncertain. The Cortical Neurones. — The Cerebellum. — So little is known about the operations of the cortex of the cerebellum, that it will not be profitable to discuss it. Suffice it to say that the cerebellum has a very rich connection, by means of both sensory and motor neurones, with the cerebrum and the lower brain centres. The Cerebrum. — For the psychologist the cerebral hemi- spheres are the most interesting and most important portions of the nervous system. From the various lines of evidence mentioned earlier in the chapter, we know that consciousness is connected with this part of the brain in an exceedingly intimate way, and we shall consequently devote some little space to its consideration. The surface of the hemispheres, called the cortex, and shown in figures 19 to 22, is made up of layers of cell-bodies, with their delicate protoplasmic processes. The extraordi- nary richness of the dendritic development in the cortical neurones furnishes one of the most marked peculiarities of the human cerebrum, as contrasted with those of animals. This intricate dendritic structure apparently represents the bodily counterpart of those elaborate interrelations among ideational processes, which characterise in general the higher forms of intelligence. Certain of the cortical areas are known to be in functional connection with sense organs from which they receive stimuli. Thus, the region marked H is in connection with the ear, and receives auditory impressions. (Compare figures 18 to 21.) The region marked V is similarly connected with the retina, THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 33 and receives visual impressions. It is reasonably certain that the areas marked receive olfactory stimuli, while the region marked B is probably that immediately concerned with the reception of tactual and thermal stim- uli. The centres for taste are not clearly made out. It seems probable, however, that they are in the neighbourhood of the olfactory termi- nals. There is rea- son to believe that ordinarily the per- ipheral sensory neu- rones are in connec- tion with the side of the cortex oppo- site to that from' which they origi- nate. For example, the touch nerves of the left hand find R Fig. 20. Diagram showing cerebral hemi- spheres as seen from above. LF, longi- tudinal fissure separating the hemi- spheres ; RR, fissure of Rolando. W, visual regions of the occipital lobes ; AA, association centres ; MM, motor centres ; BB, centres for bodily senses of touch, temperature, etc. their cortical termi- nations in the right side of the hemispheres. The optic nerve, however, affords a curious modification of this plan. The neurones from the right side of each retina are connected with the right side of the brain, those from the left side, with the left hemisphere. (See figure 23.) In this partic- ular, as in some others, the optic tract is peculiar. The retina itself differs from all the other sense organs in being a part of the brain, which has in the course of developnient been dislocated from its original position. Another great group of these cortical cells in the region 34 PSYCHOLOGY marked M^ generally known as the region of Eolando, from its proximity to the fissure of that name, is well recognised as being in connection with the voluntary muscles, which are controlled from this centre. The voluntary muscles of each half of the body appear as a rule to be controlled by cells situated in the opposite side of the brain. (See figure 24.) In view of such facts as we have just been rehearsing, the cerebral cortex has been described as a projection system, representing every sensitive point and every voluntary muscle Fig. 21. Mesial surface of the left half of the brain severed along the great longitudinal fissure from the right half. Me, medulla oblongata ; P, pons Varolii ; AA, association centres ; M, motor centres ; BB, centres for bodily sensations, such as touch, temperature, etc. ; VV, visual centres ; (7, cerebellum. in the body. There are, how^ever, other large areas in the cortex which are not in immediate control of n:iuscles, nor do they represent the emergence point for neurones in connec- tion with the sense organs. These centres marked A are called by Plechsig, who has studied them most carefully, association centres. One of these centres, lying beneath the fissure of Sylvius, is not shown by our cuts. Their business seems to be that of uniting the several sensory regions, such as H and F, with one another and with the motor region. c.z. M.P. A. sir, Subm. P, Gt. P.P. Pol P. J W. Fig. 22. Cortex of human cei-ebriiiu illustrating systems of fibres • f;f" f, ,^^" ^°"^ ^^^^ *'™i" ^I'l'es : Ji./^. plexus in the " molec- ular ' layer ; Gt. P.P., great p.vramidal plexus ; Pol P poly- morphic plexus; TF., -.vLite matter. (Barker after Andriezen ) L T. r. R.N. F ~~i LOS L O.O Fig. 23. Scheme of the mechanism of vision. ( James after Segnin. ) The cuneus convolution {Cu) of the right occipital lobe is supposed to be injured, and all the parts which lead to it are darkly shaded to show that they fail to exert their func- tion. F.O. are the intra-hemispheric optical fibres. P.O.C. is the region of the lower optic centres (corpora geniculata and quadrigemina). T.O.D. is the right optic tract; (7, the chiasma ; F.L.D. are the fibres going to the lateral or tem- poral half T of the right retina, and F.C.8. are those going to the central or nasal half of the left retina. O.D. is the right, and 0.8. the left, eyeball. The rightward half of each is therefore blind ; in other words, the right nasal field, R.N.F., and the left temporal field, L.T.F., have become in- visible to the subject with the lesion at Cu, THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 37 (Compare figure 25.) It appears to be true in a general way that these association centres are relatively larger and more highly developed in those animals possessing most intelli- gence. There is another extremely important connecting mechanism, made up, however, exclusively of fibres, and Fig. 24. Schematic transverse section of the human brain to show the crossing of motor fibres in the neighbourhood of the medulla, through the Rolandic region. S, fissure of Sylvius ; N. C, nucleus caudatus, and X.L., nucleus lenticularis of the corpus striatum ; O.T., thalamus ; O, crus ; M, medulla ob- longata ; F//., the facial nerves passing out from their nucleus in the region of the pons. The fibres passing between 0,T. and N.L. constitute the so-called internal capsule. known as the corpus callosum (figures 21, 25, and 26), by means of which the two sides of the hemispheres are brouglit into connection with one another. These various devices make it possible for cortical nervous impulses originating in 38 PSYCHOLOGY the stimulation of some sense organ^ like the ear^ to pass into other cortical regions like that belonging to vision^ and thence ont through the Eolandic zone to some muscle^ pro- ducing^ perhaps^ a voluntary movement. This is probably Fig. 25. Fibres associating the cortical centres with one another. (Schematic, James after Starr.) what would occur^ for example^ were we to hear the words *^*'Draw a horse/^ then to think how a horse looks^ and then finally to make the appropriate movements of our hands. This and similar relations are suggested b}^ figure 27. The Cerebral Cortex and Memory. — When we contrast the cerebral cortex with the other parts of the nervous system, with reference to its significance for consciousness, we find that it is in the memory processes that the most conspicuous differences first come to light. If one suffers the destruction of the retinae by accident or disease, or if the pathways be interrupted anywhere between the retinas and the cortex, one becomes blind, but that may be all. When, however, as oc- casionally happens, one loses the use of the occipital regions, one not only becomes blind, but one also loses all visual mem- THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 39 ories. It is not possible to remember liow familiar objects look^ and they are often not recognised when seen. So-called word-blindness^ or visual aphasia^ is caused in this way, the patient being unable to recognise or understand written words. If the injiirj^ is confined to one side of the brain the common result is hemianopsia in more or less serious form, i. e,y blindness to one-half of the field of view^ owing to the destruction of the cortical centres receiving the fibres from the lateral half of each retina. Similarly^ when the auditory region is injured^ one loses the memory of auditory experi- ences. If in this case^ as frequently happens^ the disorder be confined to one side of the brain^ and this be the side most highly developed (the left side in right-handed peo- ple), one cannot understand what is heard. This disease is known as sensory, or auditory, aphasia. The patient is not deaf, for the less developed and uninjured half of the cor- tex may serve for the produc- tion of vague auditory con- sciousness, but the associa- tions which words and familiar sounds ordinarily evoke are wholty gone, because these were possessions of the now diseased side. The mental con- dition is not unlike that of a person hearing an unknown foreign language. He is not deaf to the words, iDut they mean nothing to him, for they have no associations. A closely comparable condition is that of motor aphasia, a disease in which one cannot articulate coherently. One is Fig. 26. Transverse sec- tion through right hemisphere. ( James after Gegenbanr. ) Oc, corpus caUosum ; Pf, piHars of fornix ; /c, internal capsule ; Scl V, third ventricle ; 'Nl, nucleus lenticularis. 40 PSYCHOLOGY not necessarily dumb, and there may be no true paralysis of the articulatory muscles. But one simply cannot make the enunciatory movements in their correct order. This disorder is often found con- nected in right-handed per- sons with disease of the left side of the motor region of the cerebral cortex, which is in control of these muscles. (Compare figure 19.) But it may be brought about — and often is — as a secondary consequence of auditory or sensory aphasia. If, when we speak, we are in the habit of having in our minds just prior to enunciation the au- ditory image or thought of how the words are going to sound, any difficulty which prevents our securing these auditory images will effectually prevent our ut- terance. Now sensory aphasia involves precisely this difficultv in command- ing auditory images. As most of us do actually employ auditory thoughts to innervate our speech muscles, for we learn to speak as children by imitating sounds, it is surely not unnatural that sensory aphasia should so often be accompanied by motor aphasia. Cases are on record of persons who employed visual instead of auditory imagery to innervate the speech muscles, and who, upon suffering from lesions in the visual regions of the brain, were seized with Fig. 27. A is the auditory cen- tre, V the visual, W the writ- ing, and E that for speech, (After James.) .••1 THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 4I motor aphasia. The sensory-motor arc, or circuit, as we have previously remarked, represents the unit of action, finding no exception in the activity of the complex cortical centres, and any stoppage of it in the sensory portion may be as fatal to its proper operation as a defect in the muscles them- selves. This is brought out in the accompanying diagram, figure 38. Such facts as these we have been describing show us that our memory is in a peculiar way dependent upon the integrity M Fig. 28. SO, a sense organ : SC, a sensory cortical centre ; MC, a cortical motor centre ; M, a muscle. If M has become accus- tomed to contracting in response to a stimulus from 80 ^ any interruption of the neural pathway joining the two, whether at i, or 2, or 3, may destroy the coordination and render M temporarily useless. of the cortex. Visual ideas, tactual ideas, auditory ideas, and the like can apparently be recalled only when the several parts of the cortex with which these functions are connected are intact. In the first instance a visual consciousness in- volves not only a visual cortex, but also a retina, and more or less of the intermediate organs between the two. A similar thing is true of the relation of all the other sense organs to the various elementary forms of sensory experience, such as touch, sound, taste, etc. But once the sensory experience has occurred, the cortex instantly takes up the impress and mem- ory becomes possible. Destroy any part of the nervous system save this, and conscious memory may escape destruction. Destroy any specific sensory region in this cerebral cortex, and the corresponding sensory memories are obliterated or seri- 42 PSYCHOLOGY ously deranged. Destroy a region in the motor zone^ and the voluntary control of some muscle^ or group of muscles^ is affected. Destroy or injure the association centres, and onr intelligent conjoining of ideas, impressions, and movements is likely to be impaired. The gravity and permanency of these psychical disorders brought about in the way suggested, i.e., by destruction of certain areas, varies very greatly under different conditions, so that the statements as made must be understood as attempting to convey only the broad general facts. When one remembers that our most important and signifi- cant acts of will are based upon hopes and fears and beliefs which involve our calling upon the memory of our past ex- perience, one begins to appreciate how immensely important for all our life history this memory function of the cortex must be. Thus we choose, for example, one course of action rather than another, because we remember that somebody will be benefited if we act in this way, or injured if we do not. Memory always operates whenever we deliberate, and anything which would deprive us of our memory would effectually destroy the will. The cortex of the cerebrum as the physiological substrate of our conscious memory is thus the unquestioned peer among the various gross structures in the nervous system. In concluding this statement, two things should be em- phasised. (1) The cortex is nowhere in direct connection with a sense organ, but receives all its sensory stimulations through the intermediation of the peripheral neurones and of some of the subcortical groups, like the medulla, and it is similarly in direct connection with no voluntary muscles, but communicates with them by means of the subcortical neu- rones. The shortest possible pathways which could, so far as is now known, be emplo3^ed in the transmission of an auditory or visual stimulus to the cortex, and back from the cortex to voluntary muscles, is shown in figures 29 and 30. The anatomical arrangements peculiar to these illustrative cases THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 43 maj^ be regarded as typical for all sense organs and voluntary mnscles^ but undoubtedly the pathways generalh^ traversed by nervous impulses are much more complicated and indirect. r^-M/:v.\--\:- Fig. 29. D, periphery of the body ; G, cell of the posterior sensory ganglion of the cord, sending its fibre d to the surface of the body ; c, a central process of G coming into connection with f,;a c^ll in the region of the medulla; f is shown terminating with branches in the cortex g. It is probable, however, that another cell in the medullic region is always employed in the transmission of sensorj^ impulses from D to g. A, a cell of the motor cortex, sending a long process a down to the cell h in the ventral horn of the cord; & sends out a fibre to the muscle (7. 44 PSYCHOLOGY 3 AOC COS TC)C Toe A. M()C MoC H C C G soc -A. M (2) The cortex seems always to act in an essentially unitary way. Consciousness is, then, the counterpart of the total mass of shifting tensions going on all over the cortex at any given mo- V ment. When this tension is greatest P j^ P in the occipital re- gion, v/e are aware of visual qualities. When the temporal convolutions are under greatest strain, conscious- ness is auditory, etc. Moreover, in this picture of con- sciousness as the counterpart of a unified series of physiological ten- sions all over the cortex, we must not forget that the whole nervous sys- tem is in a measure involved. These tensions are of such a character as to require a constant escapement through the motor path- ways, with a mo- 1 V voc TOC A ROG bJc Ro. I Co. t t Jr^ •\^ Fig. .30. Diagram to iHustrate the short- est pathways from sense organs to cortex, and from cortex to muscles, i, the visual tract ; 2, the auditory tract ; 3, a cutaneous tract ; ^, a motor tract. Ro, and Co., rods and cones ; BC, bipolar retinal cell ; RG, large re- tinal ganglion ; TO, cell body in the thalamic region ; FO, cell in the visual cortex of the occipital region. HC, hair cell of the cochlea ; CC, ganglion cell of the cochlea ; MC and TC as in the visual tract: AO, cell in the audi- tory cortex of the upper temporal re- gion. ^aS', end-organ in the skin ; SG, cell of the spinal ganglion on the pos- terior root of the cord: MC and T(7 as before : O^V, sensory cell in the cor- tex of the Rolandic region, RMC, motor cell of the Rolandic region : SC, motor cell of the ventral horn of the cord, sending down a process to M, a muscle. mentary establish- ment of equilibrium as a consequence of such escapement, and a fresh disturbance of equilibrium as a secondary con- sequence; this latter disturbance being brought about THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 45 through movements actually executed. Such a recurrent series of movements and sensations^ illustrated by the accom- panying diagram^ is involved in every coherent^ consecutive occupation of which we are capable. (Figure 31.) Sleep affords practically the only instance of cessation from these coordinated series of stimulations and movements. Idea- tional processes are often^ of course^ interpolated between the sensation and the movement, as is suggested by the diagram. The Autonomic System. — In addition to the central ner- vous system of which we have thus far spoken must be men- FiG. 31. Diagram to illustrate the progress of a series of co- ordinated movements. 8, a sense organ being stimulated : 8C, the cortical centre for this special sense ; MC, a motor centre controlling the muscle, M; KC, a sensory centre for the kin- sesthetic sensation produced by the contraction of M. MC^, another motor centre innervating M^, which in turn produces the kinsesthetic sensation reported at KC^, etc. ; //, ideas or images, whose brain processes may be interpolated anywhere throughout such a series, discharging into the motor centre MC2, thus originating a fresh series of movements and kin- sesthetic sensations. tioned the autonomic system commonly known as the sjrmpa- thetic system, and of which the true sympathetic is a highly important part. The autonomic sj^stem, about which our exact knowledge is lamentably defective, is apparently an out- growth of the central system, and the two are intimately con- nected, both as regards their structure and their action. The striking peculiarity about the autonomic system is, as its name indicates, its relatively self-directing or automatic activity. 46 PSYCHOLOGY The autonomic system of neurones may be conveniently^ though roughly^ described as made up of three great groups. One of these groups consists of a series of ganglia gathered into two long strands extending up and down each side of the spinal cord. This contains the sympathetic system in the narrower and more precise sense of the term. The second group consists of the great plexuses of ganglia found respec- tively in the thoracic^ abdominal^ and pelvic cavities. The third group consists of isolated ganglia scattered miscella- neously through the body^ e, g,, in the hearty, in the walls of the arteries^, in the eye cavity^ etc. These neurone groups are made up of cell-bodies and fibres for the most part unmedul- lated. A portion of the impulses which affect their action apparently come from the central system. They certainly discharge impulses into the glands^ the unstriped muscles^ and^ in the case of the hearty, into striped muscle. Thus^ for example^ when an embarrassing announcement is made in our presence a sensory impulse passes over the auditory tract of the central system and thence^ among other consequences, im- pulses are sent to the region in the medulla which controls the S3^mpathetic ganglia connected with the muscular tissue of the blood-vessels;, and straightway we find ourselves blushing. The sweat glands may also become active, causing us to perspire. All the important vegetative and life sustaining processes, such as respiration, circulation, digestion, etc., are under the guidance, partial or entire, of the autonomic nerves. It is consequently to the activity of these parts that we owe our general sense of bodily well-being, as w^ell as our feelings of distress and pain when any of these great. life functions go astray. Our consciousness is undoubtedly toned, as it were, all the time, by the condition and activity of the autonomic system. This fact will become very evident when we come to study instinct and emotion. The entire nervous system, therefore, and not simply the central system, is concerned in the modifications of our consciousness. CHAPTER III- A SKETCH OF THE GENERAL RELATIONS OP CONSCIOIJSlSrESS TO NEURAL ACTION It will greatly facilitate our subsequent understanding of the operations of consciousness if we pause to examine at this point some of the things which the nervons system is able to accomplish without the direct assistance of the mind^ together with certain general relations of consciousness to neural ac- tion. Such an examination will bring us face to face with one or two of the fundamental principles^ or laws, which con- trol neural action. A Matter of Terminology. — Let it be understood once and for all that wherever we speak, as occasionally we do, as though the mind might-in a wholly unique manner step in and bring about changes in the action of the nervous system, we are employing a convenient abbreviation of expression which harmonises with the ordinary everyday methods of thinking and speaking about these relations. The real fact appears to be, as we observed in the previous chapter, that whenever we have mental activity, we have also neural activity in the cere- bral cortex. The basal distinction in the two kinds of nervous action to which we are referring in this chapter is, therefore, not primarily between a form in which the mind suddenly pro- duces changes in the nerves as against one in which it does not, but rather a distinction between certain kinds of neural activity involving consciousness, e. g., cortical activity of the cerebrum, and certain other kinds not involving it, e. g., spinal cord reflexes. To use on every occasion the long modi- fying phrases necessary to precise accuracy on this matter 47 48 PSYCHOLOGY would evidently be undiily cumbrous^ and so we shall employ the commoner modes of expression^ but the fundamental facts which lie behind these convenient metaphors must not be forgotten. Automatic and Eeflex Acts. — If we take np the general character of neural action from the genetic point. of view, we shall have our attention at once called to the fact that the new-born babe does not come into the world so completely helpless as is sometimes implied. There is a small group of acts which the little stranger is at once able to perform. Eespiration, circulation, and digestion are three physiological functions which are carried on from the first. They all in- volve muscular movements, and constitute what are commonly known as automatic acts. The nervous stimulus for such* activities is wholly, or in part, within the organism itself. Thus, the chemical condition of the blood may be responsible for changes in circulation and respiration, the presence of food in the stomach incites its digestive processes, etc. We are as a rule under normal conditions entirely unconscious of those automatic activities whose effects terminate inside the organism, although if anything goes wrong with them they ordinarily cause us pain and in this way we become cognisant of them. Other motions can be excited by stimuli outside the organ- ism. Thus the sucking movements necessary for the child to obtain its food are capable of being aroused by touching the lips. The fingers will clasp firmly any object put into them, an act said to be reminiscent of the days when our ancestors lived in trees, and the young had to cling to the branches. Acts of this kind are called reflex. A reflex act, as we re- marked in the previous chapter, is definable as an act in which a movement is made in direct response to a stimulus outside the organism, without the interposition of consciousness. Of course consciousness sometimes takes cognisance of reflex acts, but it does not produce them. We may be conscious that CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 49 we have winked^ and still the closure of the e3^elids be due to a reflex. We are very unlikely not to remark that we have sneezed. Oftentimes, however, reflex acts escape our notice altogether, just as the automatic acts do. Now such acts as these, few in number and simple as they are, evidentlv furnish the child with a nucleus of coordina- tions by means of which to begin the conquering of his world. They are evidently hereditary and, as every normal child possesses them, we may regard them unhesitatingly as racial, or phylogenetic, in nature. The animals generally possess at birth a larger equipment of such inherited coordinations than does man, and certain ones we commonly call instincts. These instincts we shall have occasion to examine with greater detail at a later point in the book, so we may pass them by here with the single remark that they are, as regards their origin, undoubtedly akin to the reflexes and the automatic acts. They represent thus the outcropping of the universal racial characteristics in the individual. Development of Reflexes. — Were we to observe closely the growth of any child, we should find that from time to time new reflexes were added to his original stock. Thus, winking and sneezing would after a time put in an appearance, and finally at about twelve or fourteen years of age the full store of these reflexes as displayed by the adult would be complete. This course of development undoubtedly runs parallel to the development of the several nerve centres and the intercom- municating pathways. Continuous Nature of Organic Activity. — In the light of the foregoing statements it njay, perhaps, arouse no special surprise, although it is certainly a striking thing, that from the moment of birth until death there is never complete quiet throughout the organism. Always do we find muscular move- ments, alwaj^s something is being done, always activity of some kind is going forward. In sleep itself, which we com- monly associate with complete repose, respiration and circula- 50 PSYCHOLOGY tion are occurring^ and although each specific muscular con- traction is followed by a period of recuperation for that par- ticular muscle^ viewing the organism as a whole there 1$ never entire quiet. When awake^ these automatic activities are augmented in the new-born child by such reflexes as we have mentioned. The reflexes naturally occur but infrequently and as for consciousness^ it appears during the first weeks of a chikVs life only for brief periods^ most of the time being de- voted to deep sleep. Nevertheless^ the points at which it does appear are of fundamental importance for our correct appre- hension of its function^ and we must examine them with care. The Appearance of Consciousness. — Evidently the equip- ment of coordinations with w^hich we have found the new-born infant supplied cannot carry him very far in his adjust- ment to the complex surroundings amid which he finds him- self placed. Why he should have been limited by nature to just the special group of inherited coordinations which we observe in him^ is a question for the biologist to answer. We cannot at present go behind the facts. But it is clear at once, that in our list of muscular activities over which the babe has control, there is no mention of means for responding very effectively to auditory or visual stimuli, to mention no others. A closer inspection of the situation will suggest to us the gen- eralisation, which is undoubtedly correct, that we shall find consciousness appearing at those points where there is in- capacity on the part of the purely physiological mechanism to cope with the demands of the surroundings. If the reflexes and the automatic acts were wholly competent to steer the or- ganism throughout its course, there is no reason to suppose consciousness would ever put in an appearance. Certainly we never find it intruding itself where these conditions are observed, except in pathological instances. Let us examine as a typical case what happens when the consciousness of sound first occurs. We know that many chil- CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 51 dren are unable to hear for several days after birth^ partly because the middle-ear is filled with mucus. When the time comes^ however^ that the ear is able to receive the auditory stimulus^ we have at once an excitation of the "organism for which there is no definite preformed muscular response. Some children^ to be sure^ early display a tendency to move the head^ as does an adult in localising a sounds and this may possibly be a partially hereditarj^ propensity. But it is prob- lematic whether this ever occurs immediately after birth^ and certainly it is quite rare. The usual thing under such con- ditions is unquestionabh'' the appearance of vague conscious- ness clominantly of the auditory kind ; the stimulation having the tendency^ if it be intense^ to discharge itself according to the law of ^^ diffusion ^^ (of which more anon) throughout many motor channels^, involving movements of the muscles in various parts of the bodj^ JN'ow these movements require coordination. If they are ever to be turned to account they must be controlled and ordered. The new stimulus has broken rudely in upon the coordinated reflex and automatic activities alread}^ goi^g ^n- It has probably affected the circulation and the respiration. If the child were feedings it may have shocked him into cessation and;, in place of the sucking, set up the unwelcome wail- ing. Such a case is typical of the occasions where conscious- ness comes to light. The organism has end-organs sensitive to sound stimulations, but no ready-made physiological ar- rangements, for responding effectively to such stimuli. Con- sequently, when a stimulus of sound bursts in upon its activities, some of which, as we have seen, are always in prog- ress, it finds itself helpless and unable to act in any save a random and disordered way. Straightway appears conscious- ness with its accompanying cortical activities, taking note of the nature of the stimulus and of the various kinds of mus- cular response which it called forth. .From this point on, the development is steady and uninterrupted toward the at- 52 PSYCHOLOGY tainment of those fixed and intelligent modes of reaction^ which we call habits. Were we to examine in the same way the appearance of visual consciousness, we should find a precisely similar state of things^ save that in this case the fully developed process involves certain reflexes which are not perfectly matured at birth, like the accommodation of the lense of the eye. But the essential point is the same. Consciousness appears in response to the needs of an organism sensitive to certain kinds of physical stimuli, i. e., in this case light. These stimuli breaking in upon the operations of the organism find it in- competent to cope with them immediately. It has the power of making movements in response, but none of those which are inborn meet the case, and among all the other potential ones there must be intelligent adaptive selection. This is the field of conscious action, and we should fixud, were we to take time for a thorough exploration of all the sensory forms of consciousness, e. g., taste, smell, touch, etc., that they are all called forth, under the same conditions of inadequacy on the part of the purely hereditary physiological mechanisms of movement, to meet the demand of the physical and social environment. It shall be our next business to trace in outline the process by which consciousness brings order out of this threatened chaos and leaves the organism a group of habits to which addi- tions are continually made and by means of which the organ- ism becomes increasingly master of the situation. This account will be only a sketch, however, for all the rest of our study wdll really be devoted to filling in the details. In the chapters upon volition we shall return specifically to these very points. The Formation of Habits. — It will be remembered that in the previous chapter, when we were studying the nervous system, we observed that in its simplest forms the nervous organism appeared to be little more than a device to connect CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 53 a sense organ with a muscle and so to enable the discharge of movements in response to stimulation. When we examined complex systems^ like that of man^ where memory processes are clearly in evidence^ we noticed that this same principle was everywhere in evidence^ although it gained its expression through the most elaborate arrangements in the nervous tis- sues. We remarked^ also^ that the normal state of every incoming sensory stimulus was to find its way out again sooner or later in the form of muscular movements and glandular activities. This tendency is in no way modified by the complexity of the neural structure^ except as regards the ease with which we detect such reappearance of the stimu- lus in the form of motion. If we bear these facts in mind, a considerable part of the mystery seemingly surrounding the processes we are now to investigate will fall away at the outset. The Beginning of Motor Control. — Let us take as a typical instance of the development of motor control the series of events which occur when a baby first learns to connect a visual impression with a movement of his hand and arm. Suppose a bright, coloured ball is held before his eyes. This stimulus sends strong sensory currents over the optic tracts to the brain centres and somehow or other, as we have seen, these currents must get out again in the form of move- ments. But we have also seen that there are few or no pre- formed reflex pathways over which such neural excitement may be discharged. Consequently, instead of some single relatively simple movement like that of reaching, what we observe is precisely what the principle of " diffusion ^^ postu- lates as normal, i. e., a mass of aimless, uncoordinated move- menis in a large number of muscles. The face is wrinkled in a frown or a smile, as the case may be, the fingers open and shut, the arms jerk about, the body and legs move spasmod- ically and possibly the child cries out. This does not seem^a very promising beginning for the development of intelligent 54 PSYCHOLOGY control^ and yet in point of fact it contains jnst the features most essential for progress. Speaking generally^ we may say that snch stimulations call ont an excess reaction, a -motor response in which are contained^ almost without fail^ the special small group of useful and important movements which subsequently become isolated from the general mis- cellaneous motor matrix in which they at first appear. The manner in which this result is attained we can detect by ob- serving our illustrative baby still further in the light of our knowledge of how we^ as adults^ acquire new coordinations. Presently^, if the stimulus be made more exciting by moving it to and fro^ some of these excess movements of the arms will result in the child's hand coming into contact with the ball. We have already noted the hereditary clasping reflex^ and we shall not be surprised^ then^ to find that the tactual stimulus to the skin of the hand results in the closing of the fingers. Now undoubtedly this first successful grasping of the seen object may be wholly accidental, in the sense that it is wholly unforeseen by the child. He is much more surprised by the occurrence than any of his interested observers^ who accredit him with a wealth of conscious purpose and inten- tion of which he is completely innocent. But let us observe what fundamental consequences are bound up with this success. In the first place, the mere shock of surprise and (gener- ally) pleasure makes the connection of the tactual-motor sensations from his hand with the visual sensations from his eye extremely vivid. As he moves his hand, he finds his visual impressions change. When his hand comes to rest, his visual object also remains quiet. There is no reason to sup- pose that the child is in any definitely reflective way aware of these things. He does not say to himself: '^When I see my hand move, I see the ball move; therefore, the two things are connected in some way." Indeed, it is probably impos- sible for us in adult life to portray accurately to ourselves CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 55 the simple immediacy of such experiences as these in infant life. Bnt the important pointy after all^ is this, that of all the sensations which his whole acquaintance with the ball has brought the child up to this pointy the ones connected with his seeing it when he grasps it^ and his seeing it change when his arm-and-hand-f eeling changed^ are the ones most intensely connected in his consciousness. If we read backward into his mind, then, what we all know about our own adult experiences, we may be sure that the child^s irqiroyj is extremely likely to retain the highly vivid connection of the visual sensation^ of the ball with these tactual-motor feelings which accompanied the successful grasping of it. Moreover, the genuineness of this connection is indicated by the evident tendency to make the successful kind of arm movement, rather than any of the dozens of other movements with which he started his response to the ball, provided we give him at once an opportunity to get again the same visual impression from which he set out. To be sure, many of the irrelevant movements persist for a time, but they rapidly become less frequent and finally disappear. The perfect result is of course rarely attained without many trials. In this way, however, the child speedily does for him- self what nature did in the case of the reflexes, i. e., gives himself a neural pathway through which sensory impulses may flow out over motor channels for the production of effec- tive coordinated muscular movements. In this case we have observed the establishing of a control connection between eye and hand. The sight of the ball will henceforth tend to call out the appropriate reaching and grasping movement. The more firmly this connection becomes established, and the more deeply the pathway is cut between the visual sensory centres and the hand-arm motor centres, the more do the irrel- evant movements of face, legs, and body tend to drop away. They are inhibited, as we say. Probably this inhibition is in"^ largest measure due to the fact that the newly formed channel / 56 PSYCHOLOGY is increasingly able to carry off all the neural excitation, and in consequence less remains to overflow into other channels. But the result is certainly beyond question, whatever the means by which it is attained. Moreover, just in proportion as any such coordination becomes perfect, consciousness tends to drop out of the supervision altogether, and to turn the process over to the purely physiological mechanisms of the organism. Figure 32 illustrates certain of the relations which have been described. HMR KH O HC Of. MlVI LM BM FM Fig. 32. Diagram to IHustrate the establishment of motor control through the principle of "excess discharge/' YS, visual stimulus setting up excitation in the retina, which transmits it to VC. visual centre in the occipital cortex. Thence the neural excitement overflows into FC, motor cells controlling muscles of the face, BC, motor cells controlling muscles of the body, LC, motor cells controlling the legs, and HC, motor cells governing the hand and arm. FO, BC, LG, and HO all discharge into their connected muscles, FM, BM, LM, and HM, and each muscular contraction sets up a kinsesthetic sensa- tion, KF, KB, KL, and KH. Of all the movements made HM alone affects the stimulus VS. VSR represents the stimulus reinforced by being moved by the hand. This intensifying of the factors VC, HC, HM, and the connected factor KH, renders the pathway from VS through VC, HC, to HM more pervious than any of the other possible pathways. Conse- quently the tendency gets fixed for VS, or its connected corti- cal processes VC and KH, to discharge into the appropriate grasping movement, HMH. Characteristics of Habit. — The nervous system is not only sensitive to the various forms of stimulation which we call light, sound, temperature, etc., it also manages in some way or other, as we have already observed, to store up the modi- fications which the stimulations produce in it. These modi- CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 57 fications which are thus preserved manifest themselves in the disposition of nervous impulses to run in the same channel which predecessors have cut out. If the nervous system were an inanimate mass^ we might liken that which occurs to the process by which a path is made across a meadow. The first wayfarer may have selected his special route for any cause whatsoever, and his course may have been devious, like those of the cows which are said to have laid out the streets of Boston. But he has left a mark in the downtrodden grass, which the next person to cross the field is likely to follow. Presently the grass is wholly worn away, and thereafter every- one follows the beaten path. The action of nervous impulses is often spoken of as though this kind of thing were precisely what happened. But the moment we recall the fact that the nervous system is part of a living organism, in which processes of nutrition and repair are constantly going forward, and within which many intra- organic changes are producing from moment to moment re- latively new conditions, we see that the metaphor of the pathway in the meadow must be abandoned in favour of some idea in which the vital processes of the organism are recog- nised and the living tissues treated as something other than so much static, plastic clay, which the accidents of the external world can mould to their own exclusive purposes. It is un- doubtedly true that when avenues, or channels, of nervous activity become once established, they tend ever after to re- main and be employed. But the point which we must empha- sise is, that the organism itself largely decides which pathways shall in the first instance become thus established. When one recalls the large number of sense organs on the one hand, and the large number of muscles on the other, between which the central nervous system affords connections, it will at once be appreciated that, if the establishment of dominant connec- tions in the new-born child were left to the accidents of the first external stimulations and to the vagaries of merely pas- 58 PSYCHOLOGY sive nervous centres^ the chances would favour the acquire- ment of insane and harmful habits of reaction. Objects which burn would be just as likely to produce movements of grasp- ing as movements of retreat. We may summarise the general purport of habit as a funda- mental principle of nervous action in two propositions. (1) l^ervous currents tend to employ those pathways which have been previously employed. (2) The organism itself plays a governing part in determining what pathways shall become thus fixed. Results of Habit.— The advantages which accrue from habit are almost self-evident. When we compare such habitual coordinations as are involved in writing the familiar English script with those employed in writing the German characters with which most of us are far less familiar^ we note that the former letters are much more rapidly executed^ that they are much more accurately made^ and that they produce far less fatigue. It is evident^, therefore^, that habit is a most valu- able contributor to efficiency in action. Any process which increases speed and accuracy^ v/hile at the same time it diminishes the fatigue of labour^ is a possession to be cherished. But more important^ if possible^ than any of these results is the fact that through the, mediation of habits the physiological organism is enabled to cope almost unaided with situations which originally required the assistance of conscious processes^ and consciousness is thus left free to go about further attain- ments, which will in their turn become habits and be handed over to certain of the relatively non-conscious processes of the nervous system. Consciousness is thus ever going on in advance and building up coordinations, which are necessary to the most eifective reactions upon the environment. The whole course of mental development could truly enough be described as made up of this process of acquiring habits, which once imbedded in the tissues of the nervous system become CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 59 the permanent possession of the individual^ ready^ when need arises, to step in and deal with the necessities of any particular situation. Acquired and Hereditary Habits. — If we now look back over the ground covered in this chapter, we shall see that con- sciousness occupies a curious middle-ground between hered- itary reflex and automatic activities upon the one hand and acquired habitual activities upon the other. The organism comes into the world with a small capital of these hereditary coordinations. These suffice to meet the most immediate and pressing needs in the conservation of life, but they are hope- lessly defective for the attainment of anything beyond these immediate necessities. ]^ow and again the world of light and sound and contact breaks in upon the coordinations which our hereditary neural mechanisms are executing, because the adaptive responses made by these mechanisms are inadequate to the organic necessities of the situation, and at such points we find consciousness appearing. Consciousness immediately enters upon its characteristic cycle. At first of course its ' activities are vague andjsrude. But presently it has selected from out the masses of motor responses created by the sen- sory stimulations to which the sense organs are sensitive, those particular ones which issue in effective muscular control over the environment, and straightway we are confronted with habits. As soon as these habits are firmly established, con- sciousness betakes itself elsewhere to points where habitual ac- commodatory movements are as yet wanting and needed. Thus the progress of events is marked by the emergence of consciousness from a matrix of movements which are ap- parently unconscious and hereditary, and its disappearance again aftera period of activity in the creation of the quasi- reflexes, which we call habits. It is an interesting fact in- cidental to this development, that when we attempt to inject consciousness into a process which is either reflex or habitual, we upset the accuracy of the coordination and mutilate its 6o PSYCHOLOGY efficiency. Thus, to direct attention to the act of swallowing, which is a reflex, is to render it for many persons all but impossible of performance. Witness the common difficulty in taking pills. Similarly, to direct attention to one^s mode of walking often results in producing a thoroughly artificial gait quite unlike one's normal manner. The early experi- ences of appearance before the public, as on the stage, also illustrate this point. Habit and Will. — Although we do not commonly think of it in this way, a moment's reflection will show us that all expression of the will depends upon our ability to command habitual muscular coordinations. For example, I decide after careful consideration that duty bids me refuse a friend's request. Now note, that if I speak to my friend, I must fall back upon habits of articulation, which cost me much labour as a child to attain, but which now largely take care of them- selves. If I decide to write my decision, again I must employ habitual activities, and I cannot by any device communicate intelligibly with my friend without employing these or other similar muscular movements which are essentially habits. Neural habit, therefore, is not only the great emancipator of consciousness from the necessities of endless control over the same trivial round of acts, it is the great tool by which that feature of consciousness which we call the will executes its behests and renders our mental decisions and choices effective in the world of action. Without habits, consciousness could never get beyond the borders of the inevitable daily routine. With habit, however, it is able to pass from victory to victory, leaving behind^in captivity the special coordinations it needs. Intellectual Habits. — We cannot linger to develop the mat- ter, but it may be helpful simply to point out that the mas- tery of any subject matter, such as mathematics, for instance, involves a precisely similar establishment of habits, which, as the material is thoroughly mastered, are left behind for use when required. We do not ordinarily regard such attain- CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 6l ments as concerned in any fundamental manner with mus- cular movements^ although we all recognise readily enough that the sole manner of assuring ourselves a reliable command over a subject matter is to use it^ to do something with it. We sometimes think of such doing as purely mental. In reality^ however^ movements are involved in all cases^ and, even were this not true, the general principle of habit, so far as this stands for a law governing the transmission of nervous currents, would still be valid. The gain in rapidity, efficiency, and lessened fatigue would remain, not to mention the freeing of consciousness for further achievements. Apart from such command over special departments of in- formation, what are known as " habits of thought,^^ which we are often vaguely told we ought to cultivate, are in reality largely habits of exercising our attention. We are assured, for instance, that the pursuit of certain studies is valuable because it will teach us desirable habits of thought. Now when this assurance means anything more than the expression of a pious hope, it refers either to the attainment of a familiarity bordering on habit, with a useful field of information, or to the securing of general modes of approaching a new subject mat- ter; habits of alert attention, habits of logical division and persistent search for relations, etc. Whether any special studies are preeminently valuable in the production of this second class of results is a question which can be answered more judiciously, if at all, at the end of this book. Meantime, we shall not err seriously if we assert that a wholly fallacious value has often been placed upon so-called formal disciplines, which are supposed to teach us how to do things in general, without any special reference to accomplishi-ng particular results. Ethical Aspects of Habit. — The moment one gets clearly in mind the physiological nature of habit and its basis in the nervous tissues, its ominous significance for morality becomes evident. To break up a bad habit means not only to secure a 62 PSYCHOLOGY penitent^ reformatory attitude of mind^ — this is often easy to achieve^ — it means a complete change in certain parts of the nervous system^ and this is frequently a thing of utmost diffi- culty of attainment. No amount of good resolution can- possibly wipe out at once the influences of nervous habits of long standing;, and if these habits are pernicious^ the slavery of the victim is sure to be pitiable and likely to be permanent. On the other hand^ the momentous significance for the indi- vidual and society of deeply imbedded habits of a moral kind cannot be overestimated. The existence of such habits means stability, reliability, and the promise of the utmost possible confidence. It is all but impossible for one to break over the moral habits of a lifetime. One may at times be mildly tempted by the possibilities such breaches hold out, but actual violation in overt action is essentially impossible. The man who has been vicious all his life is hardly free to become virtuous, and the virtuous man is in a kind of bondage to righteousness. What one of us could go out upon the street and murder the first person he met ? Such action is literally impossible for us so long as we retain our sanity. In view of these considerations, no one can over-estimate the ethical importance of habit. To make the body, in which our habits are conserved, one's friend and ally and not one's enemy is an ideal which should be strenuously and intelli- gently held out to every young person. One never can say at what precise moment it may become literally impossible to shake off a bad habit. But we know with perfect certainty that our nervous tissues are storing up every day the results of our actions, and the time is, therefore, sure to come when no amount of merely pious intention can redeem us from the penalty of our folly. Meantime, for one who has fallen under the sway of a habit he wishes to escape from, this gen- eral advice can be given : begin the new regime at once, do not wait for a convenient season. If tlie result is not likely to be physically disastrous, stop wholly, do not taper off. Give CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 63 yourself surroundings which will offer the least possible temptation. Do not try merely to suppress the bad habit. If possible^ put something else which is good in place of it. See to it that you are always occupied in some proper way until you feel sure that the grip of the bad habit is loosened. On the other hand^ it is to be frankly admitted that viewed in a broad way the benefits of habit have their 'limitation. If the world always did things just as they have been done in the past our civilisation would approach that of the Chinese. But the changes which by the consensus of intelligent persons are beneficial to mankind^ the alterations of habit which are progressive^ are rarely such as have to do with those purely personal forms of action whose perversion constitutes the most flagrant form of vice. Moral progress always consists in a harmonised action of wider and wider interests, the securing of broader and truer visions of life. Such progress, while it may change old and accepted habits of life, does not for a moment involve any departure from those rules of personal honesty, sobriety, and chastity which the world^s history has demonstrated again and again as the foundations of all sane, happy human life. CHAPTER IV ATTENTION, DISCEIMINATION, AND ASSOCIATION Consciousness and Attention. — We announced our purpose at the outset to adopt a biological point of view in our psy- chological study, and to attempt at every step to see just how the mind aids in the adjustment of the psychophysical human organism to its environment. If we turn from the merely general statement that the fundamental function of con- sciousness is to better such adaptive activities, and observe any specific instances of the process of adaptation itself, we shall always find that the actual work of accommodation is going on at the point which we call the point of attention. Atten- tion, we shall accordingly discover, represents the very heart of consciousness, its most important centre of vitality. It therefore deserves our careful notice. In a vague fashion we all recognise this rudimentary sig- nificance of attention. Thus we speak of the awakening of the new-born infantas mind when we first see signs that the child is attending to something. Moreover, we roughly measure the growth of children in intellectual maturity and power by their increasing ability to give prolonged attention to definite trains of thought. Alienists and specialists in ner- vous disorders inform us that mental disease is commonly accompanied by disturbance in the power of . attention. In some forms of neurasthenia the attention is extremely un- stable and irritable, flitting from one subject to another with feverish haste. In mania there is often a similar, but much exaggerated, attention to the flow of disconnected ideas. In melancholia, on the other hand, as in the milder t3^pes of neurasthenic hypochondria, attention is morbidly fascinated 64 ATTENTION 65 by some single idea^ or group of ideas^, and cannot be long lured away to the normal business of life. Definition of Attention. — When we attempt a definition of attention we experience the same sort of difficulty which we met in defining consciousness^ and for a similar reason. So long as we are conscious at all^ attention in some degree is present. We therefore find it difficult to define it without employing the thing itself in the definition. ( Because of this f act^ attention has been commonly referred to as a " general^ or universal^ characteristic of consciousness.^^ j In default of a wholly satisfactory definition of attention^ we may at least illustrate what we mean by the term. When we look at a printed page there is always some one portion of it^ perhaps a word^ which we see more clearly than we do the rest; and out beyond the margin of the page we are still conscious of objects which we see only in a very imperfect way. The field of consciousness is apparently like this visual field. There is always a central point of which we are momentarily more vividly conscious than of anything else. Fading gradually away from this point into vaguer and vaguer consciousness^ is a margin of objects^ or ideas^ of which we are aware in a sort of mental indirect vision. This fact that consciousness al- ways has a focal point, which reveals the momentary activity of the mind, is what is meant by the fact of attention, so far as it can be described in terms of the content of conscious- ness. Baldwin has suggested the accompanying diagram- matic presentation of the facts we are speaking of, in con- nection with certain others. (Figure 33.) The margin of mental processes, outside the focal point of attention, con- stitutes what James calls the '' fringe of consciousness.^^ Whether we are attending to objects in the world about us, or to ideas in our own minds, there is always such a fringe, partly made up of sensations, partly of ideas. No matter what we are especially attending to, we are never completely oblivious to all other sensory and ideational processes. 66 PSYCHOLOGY The direction of attention to any part of the field of con- sciousness is commonly accompanied by a certain increase in duration, together with a certain clarifying and intensifying of this part, as compared with the remainder of the field, which is thus inhibited from further entrance into the mental region. Thus, if we give our definite attention to a musical note we remark its exact quality much more perfectly than when we simply listen to it in a casual way. It is apt to seem more intense, and it certainly tends to linger longer in the mind. State- ments of this kind bring out the fact that we use the term attention at times as virtually synonymous with mental activity. To turn the attention to an object is simply to direct one^s mental activity toward it. Now, our mental activity, con- sidered as directive, is commonly called conation, and we must ac- cordingly conclude that attention is a rudimentary form of conation, or will. This is unquestionably true. We see, then, that attention is capable of being considered in two different ways. We may emphasise the mere fact of mental activity, illustrated by all attending; or we may dwell upon the structure of any moment of such attentive con- sciousness, and note the fact of its containing a focal point, with a fading margin. But our emphasis upon one or other of these phases of attention does not alter the fact that the mental process, which we describe in these two ways, is one and the same. In the remainder of the chapter we shall therefore make no attempt rigidly to dissever tliese aspects of every act of attention, although we shall be frankly most Fig. 33. Graphic repre- sentation of the field of consciousness. i, the unconscious (physiological) ; 2, the subconscious ; 5, diffused, vague con- sciousness ; Jf, active consciousness ; 5, the focal point of atten- tion. (After Bald- win. ) ATTENTION 67 interested in attention as an instance of mental activity. Meantime, the best practical definition of attention is afforded by such an analysis and description of it as is contained in the remainder of this chapter. The Selective Character of Attention. — Probably the most striking characteristic of attention is its selective nature, and the significance of this function will grow more conspicu- ons as we examine the facts. We have seen that the nervous system is so constituted that by means of its sense organs it is capable of being affected by >Arions forms of motion in the physical world, e. g., light, heat, sound, etc. This fact has itself sometimes been regarded as a form of cosmic, or organic, selection. Thus, of all the rates of vibration in the physical world, the retina responds only to those between the limits of approximately 440 billions and 790 billions per sec- ond. In a similar way the ear selects a certain group of sound vibrations, and so on for the other senses. Undoubtedly there are manj^ forms of vibrations in the physical world to which we are wholly insensitive, because we have no sense organs appropriately attuned to their special rates, and are thus incapable of receiving them. However all this may be, it is easy to convince oneself that innumerable stimulations of the kind to which we are sen- sitive are always falling upon the sense organs ; and were we conscious of all of them at once our minds would present a curious conglomerate. As a matter of fact, only a few of these stimuli ever succeed in producing simultaneously that 'form of cortical reaction which accompanies consciousness, and consequently we are never at any one moment aware of more than a small part of them. Apparently the psycho- physical organism selects from the wide range of potential objects those special ones which shall receive attention and so come to consciousness. Thus, when reading an entertain- ing book we may become altogether oblivious to the rattling of carts in the street, to the odour of the smoking lamp, to the 68 PSYCHOLOGY contact sensations from our clothings etc. Similarly^ wlien we are preoccupied with some train of thought our atten- tion dwells upon this idea^ and turns away from that^ accord- ing as the one or the other appears to the mind to be relevant and useful for the business in hand. Indeed^ were it not for the selective activity of attention exercised in the form of reasonings it is clear that we could never make any consistent mental advance^ but that we should always be at the mercy of our sporadic ideas. We can^ perhaps^ examine this selective function of attention to best advantage by analysing the principal forms in which attention is found to operate. Forms of Attention. — Probably the most fundamental division of attentive processes^ and certainly one of the oldest^ is that into active and passive^ or^ as they are better termed^ voluntary and involuntary attention. A more satis- factory division^ which we shall adopts adds one more class^ and recognises (1) voluntary, (2) non- voluntary, or spon- taneous, and (3) involuntary attention. Voluntary Attention. — Active, or voluntary, attention is precisely what the name implies, attention as the result of definitely self-initiated activity. In its clearest and most unambiguous form it always involves mental strain and effort. Whenever we attend to anything because we expli- citly will to, we are exercising active attention. It matters not what the object may be to which our minds are thus directed. It may be a sound or an odour, an object which we see, or an object which we touch; a thought in the mind itself, a memory, an emotion, or anything one pleases. So long as it is attended to, as the result of our definite purpose to give it attention, it must be regarded as involving a case of active attention. That we are capable, v/ithin certain limits, of thus direct- ing our mental activity wherever we will is one of the easiest of facts to verify introspectively. Probably the reader has found repeated occasion, before reaching the pres- ATTENTION 69 ent point in this book, to make just such voluntary efforts of attention to prevent his mind from wandering off to more attractive by-paths. Obviously the selective nature of atten- tion, upon which we have already insisted so strongly, is con- spicuously in evidence in active attention. Moreover, it seems probable that this type of attention, involving, as it does, the purposeful direction of our thoughts, would in its fully de- veloped form be a somewhat later achievement than the other forms, which require for their existence far less of experience. To direct one^s thought involves the possession of purposes and plans, however rudimentary, and these are the outgrowth of experience and relative maturity. Young infants are hardly capable of voluntary attention in any proper sense, although they may achieve both non-voluntary and involun- tary attention from the beginning. Non- Voluntary Attention. — It requires no extended reflec- tion upon our everyday experience to reveal to us the fact that in the course of every twenty-four hours we attend in an effortless way to a great many things to which we have no explicit purpose to direct our thought, to which we cannot, therefore, be said to attend voluntarily in the full sense of the word; but to which we certainly are not attending against our will and in spite of ourselves. Such cases constitute what is meant by non-voluntary, or spontaneous, attention. A few illustrations may make the distinction clearer. It happens not infrequently, for example, that we suddenly arouse to consciousness of the fact that for several minutes our minds have been running off on subjects quite discon- nected from the special occupation with which we may at the moment be engaged. We have ^^ lost ourselves,^^ as we say, in some day dream, perhaps. Our prolonged attention to a subject which sincerely interests us is often of this same character. Our attention is not given as the result of any effort on our part. Eather should we find that it required effort to direct our attention elsewhere. It necessitates no 70 PSYCHOLOGY strenuous act of will for the boy interested in athletics to give his attention to a newspaper account of a football game. On the contrary^ his attention can only- be obtained for less ex- citing themes by some artifice on your part^ or hj a self- sacrificing effort of volition upon his. So far as these cases of non-voluntary attention reflect the actual nature of our interests^ they must be regarded as afford- ing peculiarly intimate information of the real character of our minds^ and so of our wills. They are thus^ in this par- ticular^ closely related to voluntary attention. After all^ what I am interested in^ is a very close synonym for what mentally and morally I am. Moreover^ it is frequently, and probably with right, maintained that this non-voluntary, or spontaneous, form of attention is the primitive germ, out of which voluntary attention in the full meaning of the term has developed. Certainly something like this, combined at times with involuntary attention, appears to form the begin- nings of infant attention. In any event it is clear that how- ever sharply we may be able to mark off at times those instances in which we attend as the result of a definite pur- pose so to do from those instances in which we find the allure- ments of an interesting subject have drawn off our attention almost unnoticed, both cases reflect very accurately the texture and character of our minds. To the relationship of these two forms of attentive activity we shall return in a moment with greater fulness. Involuntary Attention, — However genuinely voluntary and non-voluntary attention may differ from one another, they neither of them involve attention given against the vv^ill. But there are numerous cases in which, at first sight, anyhow, this form of attention apparently occurs ; and it is to this that the name *^^ involuntary attention'' has been given. Thus, for example, if the door slams while I am writing this sentence I am seemingly obliged to hear the sound, however much I might prefer not to do so. To be sure, if I am sufficiently ATTENTION 7^ preoccupied a very loud noise may in this way escape my notice; and the obliviousness to ordinary sounds^ such as the ringing of the dinner-bell, the striking of the clock, etc., of persons thus engrossed in some interesting occupation is too familiar to require comment. Archimedes, absorbed in his studies and unconscious of the sacking of Syracuse, is the classical illustration of this kind of thing. But despite the fact that when one is thoroughly immersed in some congenial undertaking one becomes relatively insen- sitive to sensory stimuli, which otherwise would be noticed, the further fact obstinately remains that even under such conditions stimuli of sufficient intensity will force themselves into consciousness. Certainly we should all agree that in this way bright flashes of light, loud sounds, unpleasant odours, etc., repeatedly intrude themselves upon our attention dis- tinctly against our wills. Moreover, there are experiences in which ideas, instead of sense impressions, thus force them- selves in upon our attention against our wills. What are known as insistent ideas are of this character. The hypo- chondriac, for instance, is unable long to keep his attention away from his own bodily ailments, real or fancied. He may make a sincere effort to divert his mind, but in spite of him- self the unwelcome idea presently shows its face at the door and claims his recognition. Less definitely morbid than such cases, and still illustrative of the imperious command exercised at times over our at- tention by certain ideas, are the intense experiences of the emotional kind. Great joy, great grief, great anxietj^, brook no prolonged opposition. We may attempt to force our at- tention on to the lines of the day's work and for a moment succeed, only to find ourselves in the next moment once more mastered by the idea we had attempted to put behind us. Certain psychologists would prefer not to give the name in- voluntary attention to these cases of attention against the will to ideas. But they are clearly more closely related to this 72 PSYCHOLOGY form of attention^ as illustrated by our forced attention to intense sensory excitation^ than they are to the other classes we have distinguished; and we shall accordingly designate them as cases of involuntary attention. Interrelations of the Forms of Attention. — ^We have al- ready intimated that involuntary and non-voluntary^ or spon- taneous^ attention are genetically prior to voluntary attention. Undoubtedly the earliest experiences of a baby involve in largest measure spontaneous attention to sensory stimuli. The rude power with which some of these stimulations force them- selves on the child's notice might give ground for the postu- lation of involuntary attention also. But if we confine the term " involuntary attention '^ strictly to such cases as those in which we attend against our wills^ it is doubtful whether we ought often to apply the designation to a young child's at- tention; for we can hardly speak with confidence of the new- born child's possessing any resolution not to attend to a given stimulus. Spontaneous attention^ then^ working in the main upon the sensory material supplied by the physical surround- ings^ constitutes probably the earliest and most fundamental type of attention process. Voluntary attention is apparently a derivative form of spontaneous attention^, which may arise as soon as^ and when- ever^ there is a tendency to the splitting of attention^ a felt tendency to opposition against the direction our attentive energies are taking. Evidently this can only occur when we have developed intellectually to a suSicient degree to set over agair^t some momentary disposition^ or action^ a more or less definitely formed plan involving interests and purposes op- posed to the present activities. When we say that in volun- tary attention we force ourselves to attend to some particular object or idea^ what we evidently mean is^, that the mind in its entirety is brought to bear in suppressing certain disturbing objects or ideas^, and in bringing to the front the chosen ones. The act of voluntary attention is^ in shorty an expression of ATTENTION 73 the sovereignty of the whole mind over its lesser parts, i. e,^ over the disturbing or alluring ideas and sensations. Now, spontaneous, or non-voluntary, attention is likewise in reality just such an expression of onr total mental organisa- tion at the moment. Those things to which we spontaneously attend are the things to which our minds, by virtue of their temporary condition, inevitably go out. And if we took into account the entirety of these spontaneous acts of our attention for any considerable period of time, we should undoubtedly secure an extremely accurate portrait of the real constitution of our minds. In the sense, therefore, upon which we com- mented briefly in an earlier paragraph of the chapter, non- voluntary attention is itself an expression of the individ- uality of the mind, and thus an expression of the true source of our volitional acts. It is a sort of voluntary attention, in which there is no internal, mental opposition to be overcome, and from which we are consequentlj^ apt to feel one character- istic fact of complete volition has been subtracted. But this does not detract from the fact that such spontaneous atten- tion is in reality an expression of the mental organisation, quite as truly, if not so completely, as voluntary attention. It appears, then, that the distinction between voluntary and non- voluntary attention is not absolute, in the sense that we can always determine without question to which class a specific case of attention belongs. Quite the contrary. It appears that there is a gradual transition from one class to the other, through cases which partake of the characteristics of both forms. Thus, for example, we should have to admit the existence of many cases in which it would be all but impossible to say whether we were attending to certain subjects as the result of a definite purpose and an explicit effort to attend, or as the result of more or less unconscious mental drifting. What shall one say, for instance, of the attention which is given to the routine duties of daily life ? Some of them undoubtedly 74 PSYCHOLOGY require definite^ purposeful attention. Others enlist our spontaneous interest^ require no effort and reveal little or no antecedent purpose to attend. Many others are surely on the border line^ where it is not easy to say whether our attention is altogether due to spontaneous interest or to preconceived purpose. Meantime^ we must admit that it is in voluntary attention that consciousness raises the human being into the greatest freedom from mere routine^, with the greatest inde- pendence from mere temporary surroundings. The Psychophysical Organism and the Forms of Attention. — The true relation of involuntary attention to voluntary and non-voluntary attention can hardly be understood without reference to the psychophysical organism as a whole. But fortunately we have all along taken this into account^ and our present mention of it will mark no change in our point of view. So far as concerns such instances as those in which we are forced against our will^ or at all events without our mental consent^ to notice intense sensations^ it would seem that in- voluntary attention must be fundamentally opposed to volun- tary attention at leasts whatever might prove to be the case as regards non-voluntary attention. The one form of atten- tion expresses the will^ the other either defies^ or disregards^ the will. Such differences certainly appear to be funda- mental ; but we shall see reason to modify this view, when we consider that both forms of attention are vital functions which are brought out and developed in the general adaptive reaction of the organism to its social and physical surround- ings. If we remember that those objects which are harmful to us commonly stimulate the nerves very violently^ we shall begin to see how in the general economy of the organism it may be useful to have our senses so constructed that they shall call our attention to such possible sources of danger as are represented by these intense stimuli, even when we do not consciously desire to have our quiet thus invaded. We shall ATTENTION 75 begin to see that in the interests of the continuation of life and health it may be desirable that loud sounds and extreme temperatures^ intense lights and violent odours^ should have the power to elicit the attentive reaction from us. In a sense, therefore^ such reactions are instances of a kind of organic selection from among various movements of just those which shall result in our making momentary accommodation to the invading stimulus. If it prove really menacing^ we may then take to flighty or adopt such other precautionary measures as the situation demands. If it be, in point of fact, innocuous or insignificant, our minds are left free to revert to the inter- rupted occupation. Involuntary attention of this kind repre- sents, accordingly, the protest of the primarily physiological portion of the organism against a too complete subserviency to merely intellectual conscious processes. Involuntary attention is only involuntary when the mind is viewed in isolation from the body. It is a kind of spon- taneous bodily attention, and it is undoubtedly selective in a true enough sense. Moreover, even when viewed from the mental side alone, such attention could only properly be called involuntary, never passive. The term passive is quite mis- leading. Involuntary attention, once it is aroused, is just as genuinely a form of mental activity as is voluntary attention. Its antecedents, both mental and physical, are in part different and often its consequences are different too. But both opera- tions are mental acts, and neither of thenwcan properly be designated in terms of pure passivity. In all forms of attention, then, we find selective activity going on. Selection always implies a purposive, forward- looking type of action, and this is precisely what attention is in all its forms. It stands for the fact that the organism is teleological in its very constitution. That is to say, the or- ganism contains within itself certain ends to be attained in course of development by adjustive activities. In part these ends exist imbedded in the physiological mechanisms, where 76 PSYCHOLOGY they come to light as reflex, automatic, and instinctive acts, sometimes accompanied by consciousness; and in part they exist as conscious purposes, in which case they appear as recognised intentions. In spontaneous attention the selection seems to be psy- chically originated and directed, but it occurs without effort, even though the end to be achieved is clearly recognised and elaborately planned for. Voluntary attention also appears to involve a distinctly mental origin for selection, and we have no new factors here, save the presence of psychical conflict and the feeling of effort. We have seen that in voluntary attention this effort is always internal and mental — an effort to conquer our own impulses, or thoughts, in the interests of the end to which we are attempting to attend. It is thus sharply distinguishable from the effort to overcome merely external obstacles — a type of effort that often characterises spontaneous attention. Finally, in involuntary attention the selective activity is still clearly present, but its locus appears now to have been transferred from the distinctly mental to the more definitely physiological side of the organism. Of course, in our speaking of voluntary and non-voluntary at- tention as being primarily psychical in their nature, it must not be understood that we mean to deny the presence of neural processes accompanying these activities. All we mean is, that the selective action shows itself to us in these instances priviai^ as a mental event. In involuntary atten- tion it appears primarily as a physiological event. Both groups of attentive activity, however, have the double psy- chophysical characteristic. Duration of Attention. — It is extremely difficult to secure reliable information as to the length of time we can and do attend to objects in non-voluntary and involuntary attention; for the conditions in these forms of attention are necessarily very unfavourable to accurate introspection. But having dis- covered that the differences among the several forms of atten- ATTENTION 77 tion are relative and not absolute^ we may, perhaps, safely assume that the facts which we find in voluntary attention are fairly representative of the other forms, and these facts are fortunately rather easy to make out. 'AH voluntary atten- tion displays a more or less rhythmic pulse, the duration of which varies considerably under different conditions.^ If we attempt to attend to a letter on this page, we shall nnd that we can only do this for a moment or two, unless we constantly observe something new about it. Otherwise we invariably find, either that the eye has moved away to something else, or that the mind has wandered off on to an entirely different subject, i However constant the physical object may remain, to which we thus attend, we can onl}^ continue our attention to it provided we continually see it in some fresh fashion; provided, that is to say, that the mental object keeps changing. This seems to be a fundamental law of our mental life, and did space permit we might profitably enlarge at some length upon its implication. A few consequences we may properly pause to mention.; Consequences of Shifting;^ Attention. — Evidently change is the primal law of mental life, as well as of bodily life. Thought processes which cease to move, cease to exist. They simply go out. To keep a thought alive we must keep turning it over, keep doing something with it. Mental paralysis is mental death. It is a familiar experience with all of us, especially with students, that occasionally when a question is asked us our minds either become perfectly blank, or remain for a moment stupidly confronting the mere sound of the words addressed to us. In such a case the only salvation lies in doing something, doing almost anything is better than such quiescence. Often to begin speaking is sufficient to break the spell, however pointless our remarks may be. The act of speech starts up the cerebral machinery and presently, if we keep our composure, we get our thought once more in" movement. Similarly, the boy told to think about what he is 78 PSYCHOLOGY studying finds himself, in the effort to execute the injunction laid upon him, simply surveying the page before him with an apathetic gaze. He is merely exposing himself innocu- ously to the light waves proceeding from the page. Mentally he is either in a condition of partial asphyxiation, or his mind is off engaged upon something really of interest to him. He is not in any proper sense attending to the subject matter of his work at all. For such a youth the sole possibility of progress consists in taking the topic and forcing his attention to turn it over, ask questions of it, examine it from new sides. Presently, even though such questions and inspections be very foolishly conceived, the subject will start into life, will begin to connect itself with things he already knows, will take its place in the general furniture of his mind ; and, if he takes the next and all but indispensable step, and actually puts his rudimentary information to some use, applies it to some prac- tical problem, incorporates it, perhaps, in an essay, or even talks about it with others, he will find he has acquired a real mental tool which he can use, and not simply a dead load which must be carried on his already aching back. What we call attending to a topic for a considerable period of time will, therefore, always be found to consist in attending to changing phases of the subject. Thus, to fix one's mind upon history for an hour or two will involve attending to hundreds of thoughts about the special historical subject, or problem, with which we are concerned. Accordingly, these instances of the practical continuation of attention to a single subject strongly confirm our position, instead of contradicting it, as might seem at first sight to be the case. Why Attention Shifts. — It has been suggested that the rapid changes of attention are due primarily to fatigue in the delicate cortical cells which are connected with conscious proc- esses. Whether this statement be accepted or not, we gain a very significant suggestion in explanation of these changes, when we remember what the essential function of attention ATTENTION 79 appears to be. (We remarked at the outset that attention is simply a name for the operation of the central^ and most active^ portion of the field of consciousness?) I We have all along maintained that consciousness is an organic function whose intrinsic occupation consists in furthering the adaptive responses of the organism to its life conditions. We have also pointed out that^ if this conception be true at all, it is at the point of attention that we shall find the most obvious and imporant part of the adjusting activity in progress. N'ow^ in the nature of the case^ each particular act of adjustment must be of relatively brief duration. In the case of common ob- jects in the world of sensations it consists as a rule merely in the recognition of the stimulus {e, g., as a colour^ as a sound, as a book^ or a word, etc.), with a motor response, which con- sists, perhaps, in some movement of the eyes or head, cal- culated either to bring to notice some new and useful phase of the stimulus, or to divert further attention altogether away from it. Thus we look, for instance, at a book, recognise it as the one for which we are searching, pick it up and proceed to examine it; in this way continuing the activity of attending to the book, but, as a matter of fact, continuing it in the form of attention to ever new features. The same sort of thing is true when our attention is occupied with ideas, instead of with sensations. In short, so far as attention is really an activity of the relating, adjusting kind, its work is done when the relation between the mind and the thing attended to is once established. This is the mental, as distinct from the physiological, part of the adjustment ; and attention must go elsewhere, because it is intrinsically the adjusting act it- self, and other things are demanding of the organism the same energies of adjustment. To retain our attention for any con- siderable period an object must, therefore, by changing its aspect, present itself as a new object, to which fresh responses can be made. 1^ ) Range, or Scope , of Attention. — The question is often 8o PSYCHOLOGY asked : How many things can we attend to at once ? Various answers have been given^ some authorities maintaining that we can attend only to one object at a time^ others insisting that we may attend to an indefinite number. We must sharply distinguish between the question in the form in which we have given it^ and the question often^ but erroneously, treated as synonymous with it^ i. e.y How many things can we do at one time ? We have seen in the preceding chapter that there is literally no limit to the number of things we can learn to do at once. It is^ in this latter case^ simply a question of how elaborate we can make our habitual motor activities. A skilled pianist^ or a trained acrobat^ may do dozens of things simultaneously. But the question of how many things we can attend to is much more puzzling. The differences of opinion upon the matter are^, however, apparently due in the main to a failure to define with pre- cision the underlying mental conditions. It is the view here adopted, that we never have more than one mental object before the mind at any one moment. This object may be complex, or simple, but if it is really present in its entirety to consciousness, it is cognised mentally as a single thing. To illustrate, we may take the case of perceiving a table. If we examine introspectively the manner in which we are con- scious of such an object, when we allow the eyes to rest mo- mentarily upon it, we find that we perceive it as a complex single object; not as four legs, plus a top, plus a colour, plus a particular shape, etc. Now, these characteristics of a table which we have mentioned all correspond to distinguishable parts of it, and we might speak in a certain sense of having attended to all these circumstances at once. But this would be an injudicious mode of expression, tending to confuse our ability to analyse the physical object, or our own conscious- ness of the object, with the fact of the manner in which we actually perceived it in our momentary glance. However many things, therefore, may be present to us at one moment; ATTENTION 8i it seems probable that our consciousness is of all of them as a single mental object, which we may, nevertheless, imme- diately recognise as being complex in its constitution, mean- ing,' and references. Indeed, we may go further, and say that in order to perceive an object as one, there must be some com- plexity in it, which we thus synthesise into a unit. A pure, undifferentiated conscious quality never does, and apparently never can, constitute the object of a cognising consciousness. Plurality is, in short, just as necessary for an object of atten- tion as unity; but our mental activity always gives the stamp of unification to these plural particulars. How many such particulars can be brought together in any one act of con- sciousness is a practical problem for experimental psychology. The various interesting experiments which have been per- formed to test the so-called scope of momentary consciousness must all be interpreted in the light of the foregoing consid- erations. Thus, we find that with momentary exposure we can cognise four or five letters, under proper conditions. // When the letters make words the number which we can cognise in this instantaneous fashion quickly rises. To these facts we shall revert in another chapter. Some sensations, which have become thoroughly dissociated from one another, seemingly refuse to come together at all into simultaneous objects. Thus, it seems altogether prob- lematic whether we can attend to a sound and a colour simul- taneously. We hear the sound and then the attention oscil- lates to the colour, or vice versa. The same thing is true of sensations of contact, when conjoined with either sound or colour. On the other hand, fusions of two kinds of sen- sations, like those of taste and smell, are of course al- ways attended to as simultaneous. They are not sensed as two. Inattention and Scattered, or Dispersed, Attention. — Inat- tention is often spoken of as though it were a positive mental- condition, just like attentioji, Ag a matter of fact inattention 82 PSYCHOLOGY to any subject simply means attention to some other subject. In school-children of various ages this condition is often ex- asperating to the last degree. Its cause^ however^ is not the absolute loss of attention^ but the direction of it into some forbidden but attractive channel. Wanderings or sporadic, attention also is never, properly speaking, the negative of at- tention. It is simply the unstable, flitting, inefficient form of it. This condition is sometimes spoken of as scattered attention, and, when not due to actual mental disease, is cer- tainly attributable, if long continued, to bad mental surround- ings, i. e., surroundings which neither encourage nor give scope for the expression of native and normal interests. Dispersed attention is another much abused term. To have one^s attention completely dispersed would be to become unconscious. The conditions properly describable by this term are illustrated in the general lowering of our mental alertness when we become drowsy. Mental distinctions of all kinds tend, under such circumstances, to become blurred and indefinite. The state is one of fading attention. Nevertheless, as long as we are conscious at all, we are always more clearly aware of some part of the field of thought than we are of the remainder. Our attention is never distributed evenly over the whole of the conscious field. If it ever were thus distributed, completely dispersed attention would, in- deed, be realised. Motor Accompaniments of Attention. — In our description of attention thus far, we have made occasional reference to the part played by sense organs and brain ; but this has been somewhat incidental, and we have hardly noticed at all the conspicuous position of muscular activities. To bring out the significant facts bearing on these matters it will be con- venient to avail ourselves temporarily of another common classification of attentive processes, differing from that which we have employed. This is the division of attention as sen- sory, or ideational; a division which certain of our illustra- ATTENTION 83 tions have involved. All attention to objects stimulating the sense organs^ every process^ therefore^, of sensation and per- ception^ involves sensory attention. All attention to ideas^ images^ thoughts^ etc.^ is ideational attention. The first type of activity involves both sense organ and brain, whereas the second type involves immediately only the brain. In normal sensory attention muscular movements seem always to be concerned. These movements are accommoda- tory, and are calculated to put the sense organs in the best attitude to receive distinct impressions from the objects stim- ulating them. In vision, for example, if we see to best ad- vantage, the eyes must converge upon the objects at which we are looking, the lenses must be accommodated to the dis- tance of the object, and oftentimes the head must be turned, in order to permit the most effective visual operation. In hearing, we similarly tend to turn the head toward the source of the sound, or at all events, to turn in that direction the more sensitive of our ears. In taste, we press against the substance in the mouth with the tongue in order to detect most fully its flavour. - In smelling, we inhale in order to bring the odorous particles against the olfactory membrane at the upper part of the nasal cavity. In touch, we explore the object with the hand, if we desire accurate information of its tactual characteristics. We find a similar state of things true, as regards all our sensations, when we make them the object of direct attention. Each of these cases illustrates the function of the sensorv- motor circuit. The light rays falling upon the retina set up currents in sensor}^ nerves, which are transmitted to cells in control of the muscles of the eyes ; and these in turn send out impulses, which result in convergence and accommodation. In some cases the sensory impulse may originate in a cortical centre, or in a sense organ other than that which experiences the modifications of the accommodatorv movement. Thus," the hand may be moved in response to an idea, or in response 84 PSYCHOLOGY to a stimulus from the eye^ and not from the skin of the hand itself. Psychologists have observed a similar kind of muscular accommodation when our attention is directed to intellectual processes. Thus^ if we close our eyes and attempt to get a visual mental picture of some particular place^ it will gen- erally be found that the eyes tend to turn in the supposed direction of the imagined locality. In attempting to recall an odour we almost inevitably make slight movements of inhalation. In calling up images of taste, the tongue moves and salivation is stimulated. Furthermore^ the effort to fix our attention firmly upon any train of thought is generally accompanied by a strong tendency to assume some specific bodily attitude, in which we somewhat unconsciously seek to prevent the distraction of our attention by outside disturb- ances. In this effort the brows are often wrinkled, the breathing impeded, the body bent over and held rigid, the hands clenched, the head tilted in this way or that, etc. The attitudes which we thus assume evidently share with the sense organ accommodations already mentioned, the function of putting the organism in the most advantageous position for meeting the special demand momentarily laid upon it. The psychophysical effort at concentration overflows in move- ments calculated to assist in reaching the desired end. The actual value of these movements probably varies greatly, and depends (1) upon their success in eliminating, or neutralis- ing, the effect of the disturbing stimuli from without; and (2) in their contribution, through their cortical effects, to- ward the continuation of the ongoing activity. Thus, if more nervous energy is being liberated than can be properly disposed of by the pathways of discharge involved in the special matter in hand, these overflow motor pathways may be called in to take care of the excess of neural activity, and so indirectly further the ongoing occupation. The in- voluntary muscular processes, such as those of respiration ATTENTION 85 and circulation^ also reflect the changes in attention. When attention is much perturbed, they display rapid and rela- tively violent oscillations. When, on the other hand, atten- tion moves along smoothly, these motor reactions are also stable. The motor activities which accompany processes of atten- tion necessarily, at least in the case of the voluntary muscles, send back to the cortex sensory impulses, which then enter into the general field of consciousness to modify its com- plexion and tone. These are sometimes spoken of as the '^ strain sensations ^^ of attention. It seems probable that there is a small group which characterises in some measure all attention, and that the use of any special sense, or any special, form of ideational process, involves another specific and relatively constant group. The intensity of these sensa- tions necessarily varies widely from time to time, and is com- monly greatest in cases of intense voluntary attention. The muscles most regularly and most obviously affected are those of the face, throat, and chest, although the hand and other parts of the body may be involved. The breathing move- ments are almost sure to be involved in cases of vigorous attention. Dr. Gordon has suggested another interesting explanation of the function of these strain sensations. It is possible that in attempting, for example, to force our attention along some mentally difficult path, we primarily crave more nervous excitement and stimulation, more push a tergoj and these muscular activities setting up definite sensory im- pulses, which return to the cortex, may possibly furnish this needed help. It may well be that all these accounts of the motor aspects of attention are correct. After what has been said it is, perhaps, unnecessary to insist that motor processes are bound up in an inextricable way with the movements of attention, both as leading up to its effective activity and as secondary consequences of its operation. The idea of the 86 PSYCHOLOGY sensory-motor circuit proves to be radically implicated^ there- fore, in every form of conscious action. Genetic Features of Attention. — All the evidence which we can command, coming in part from the examination of our own mental operations as adults, and in part from observing how children deal with the objects about them, points to the notion that attention is from the very first engaged in the double process of pulling apart and putting together the various elements of conscious experience. These two processes are commonly known as dissociation and asso- ciation. It seems to be fairly certain that at the outset of life consciousness is extremely vague and crude in its organ- isation. To begin with, there is, perhaps, no definite distinc- tion felt between the various kinds of sensations, visual, auditory, tactual, etc. Certainly the process of distinguish- ing the various kinds of sensory qualities within the range of any given sense series — like the spectral colours in the field of vision — is quite slow in developing. The various colours are undoubtedly distinguished from one another very imper- fectly even up to a late period in childhood. ISTevertheless, after the first moment of consciousness attention is constantly at work, splitting up experiences which previously were felt as simple, and bringing about an increasingly definite aware- ness of the several distinguishable qualities within them. The analytical activity of attention is what we called above dissociation, or discrimination. Although we shall have a great deal to say about it under other titles further on in the book, we must glance at some of its more conspicuous features here. Analytic Activity of Attention. — Discrimination. — When the different distinguishable elements of any state of con- sciousness blend with one another, so that they lose their in- dividuality, we speak of the resulting condition as a case of fusion. Thus, the partial tones in a piano note are generally lost to us as separate sounds, and we seem to hear only a ATTENTION 87 single musical tone. Similarly^ when we grasp a book we seldom distinguish the sensations of pressure from those of temperature and tendinous strain. These sensations fuse. Again^ the sensations which we get when eating onions^ or when drinking coffee^, we commonl}^ speak of as being tastes. In point of fact^ they largely depend for their characteristic quality upon smell sensations^, which fuse with the tastes and in consequence are entirely overlooked by us. Now^ it seems probable that the original tendencies of all sensory stimuli^ which impinge upon our sense organs simultaneously^ is to fuse in just this same fashion; so that were it not for this discriminative action of attention which we are describings we might remain oblivious to much of the complexity of the objective world. Meantime^ it must not be overlooked that once attention has succeeded in analysing some of these orig- inally fusing qualities^ we may find their distinctness and separateness enhanced by being experienced simultaneously. Colours^ like black and white, red and green^ may gain in definiteness and individuality by the contrast effects of juxtaposition. However it may be in later life^ there can be no question that during the first year or two the great agent in furthering discrimination is the change in the objective stimuli^ which affect the sense organs from moment to moment. Thus^ sounds sometimes occur simultaneously with stimulations of colour^ and sometimes they do not. Stimulations of red sometimes occur together with stimulations of blue^ and sometimes with white. These changes in the mode of sen- sory stimulation necessarily produce different forms of cor- tical reaction; and^ as consciousness is conditioned by these cortical activities/ we have thus a basis for different states of consciousness. That we are able to recognise the fact that one state of consciousness differs from a second^ and is lik^e a thirds is an ultimate fact which we cannot further explain. All psychologists agree that this is a fundamental attribute 88 PSYCHOLOGY of consciousness^ and, so far as concerns the conditions under which we actually come in the first instance to attain this awareness of differences, the description we have just given seems to represent the undoubted facts. We can put the matter diagrammatically, as in figure 34. So long as a certain taste sensation T^ and a certain smell sensation S, are always given us together, we fail to note the complexity of the sensation, and we experience a fusion possessing a Fig. 34. single quality, 1 Q. When, however, the taste sensation hap- pens to be combined with some sensation X other than the previous smell, we can then note the fact that TX contains two qualities — 2 Q; and if 8 happens to be combined also with this X we may immediately note the three qualities S, X and T. In each case we have, by varying the concomi- tants, produced a new psychical condition, different from its predecessors, and in this way we have provided the pre- requisites of discrimination. Evidently, if these are the preconditions of our original capacity for the dissociating activity of attention, any device which facilitates the arousal of different nervous conditions will assist us in making our discriminations. Submitting ob- jects to successive, instead of simultaneous, inspection pro- duces a maximum of nervous difference ; and we find accord- ingly that if we wish, for example, to detect the heavier of two objects of nearly equal weight, we judge most accurately when we lift them immediately in succession. If we wish to tell whether or no two colours match, we let the eye pass rapidly from one to the other, etc. Of course, when the objects stimulate different sense organs there is already considerable difference in the nervous processes resulting, and ATTENTION 89 to discriminate among them it is only necessary to let either sense be stimulated independently. The kind of discrimina- tion^ or comparison^ which occurs among ideas in the higher, processes of reflection, reasoning, etc., we shall consider at a later point. The form of dissociation which we have de- scribed clearly underlies the higher form, because it is con- cerned with our primary analysis into its rudimentary features of the world as we first know it. Synthetic Features of Attention. — Simultaneous Associa- tion. — Hand in hand with these dissociative, analytical ac- tivities of attention is to be found a synthetic process, which serves to unite the various dissevered elements, and to which the name association is commonly given. In a logical sense, one phase of this associative process really precedes and un- derlies the dissociative activity; for it is evident that if we are to differentiate the two qualities A and B from one an- other, they must already be together in the mind; that is, they must be associated in some kind of fusion such as we have just been descrihing. Thus, to distinguish the colour white from the colour black upon this printed page involves not only that the black and the white objects shall be side by side in the space before me, but also that they shall in a way be together in my mind. It is clear that everv act of attention must involve in some degree both discrimination and this form of ^^ simul- taneous association.^^ We may, for example, remark that the colours upon a postage stamp are red and white. Such an act is evidentlv one of discrimination. But it is also quite as truly one of association, for the qualities must be experienced together, must be mentally synthesised, that this special kind of discrimination may occur at all. Successive Association. — There is another form of associa- tion, known as successive association, a term which is com- monly restricted to the sequence of our ideas as they pass through the mind; and is not primarily and properly applied 90 PSYCHOLOGY to our sensory and perceptual processes. We shall discuss it in connection with imagery and the higher cognitive func- tions. Even this kind of association of ideas-, however^ evi- dently involves discrimination ; for the ideas must be noticed as different, in order that they may be separate ideas at all. And conversely, so far as we remark differences in successive moments of consciousness, we must admit the presence of associative factors of some kind or other, uniting the several temporally distinct contents of consciousness with one another. Generalising, then, we may say that attention is both a synthetic and an analytic activity. Sometimes our primary purpose and interest in attending is to analyse and discrim- inate, but we cannot accomplish this without simultaneously employing association. And similarly, although we may be ostensibly engaged in connecting, or associating, the various items of our experience with one another, the execution of our task inevitably involves us in discrimination. CHAPTEE V SEiSTSATION Eudimentary Forms of Knowledge. — ^We now take up in detail the several forms of cognitive process through which we attain knowledge. This undertaking will necessarily in- volve onr examining various aspects of consciousness one at a time^ and we must unavoidably turn our backs temporarily on most of the processes^ apart from the special one we are for the moment engaged in studying. We must bear con- stantly in mind^ therefore^, this partial and tentative mode of procedure^ remembering that the mind^ which we thus analyse piecemeal^ is in point of fact a real unit. The first step in the activity of the sensory-motor circuity which represents^ as we have seen^ the unit of action in the nervous system^ is the sensory stimulation. This is reported in consciousness as a sensation^ at which point we shall accord- ingly begin our detailed study of the various portions of our psychological processes. Some psychologists regard the feel- ings of pleasure and pain as even more primordial than sensation in this primitive sensory-motor activity of the organism. Be this as it may, we shall find it practically more convenient to examine the cognitive functions of the organism first; that is to say, those which inform us most definitely of an external world. The Evolution of Sense Organs. — That it may be put into the most delicate and complete accord with the world in which it is placed, the organism must be capable of responding to the various objects found therein. To this end we find the QI 92 PSYCHOLOGY sense organs so devised that they may give information about the most widely differing kinds of physical existence. There seems to be no doubt that even very simple forms of organism are sensitive in a rude way to most^ if not all^ of the types of sensory stimuli to which human beings respond^ e, g.^ lights sounds mechanical impact^ etc. This is simply another way of saying that protoplasm itself is sensitive to these modes of stimulation. But so far as concerns the develop- ment of definitely differentiated sense organs^, specially de- vised to receive particular modes of sensory stilnuli, the facts seem to indicate great irregularity and wide variation among different organic forms. The kinds of sensitivity which are most certainly and regularly present in the lower orders cor- respond most nearly to the human cutaneous sensations of touchy pain, and temperature. But beyond such a statement as this, we are hardly in a position to offer any definite out- line of sensory development. Not a few animal forms well up in the scale of organisms seem to possess sense organs unknown to man, the nature of whose functions we can, therefore, only speculate about. Moreover, when we come to animals on the level of the birds and quadrupeds, we come upon astonishing anomalies. For example, it seems probable, that some birds are essentialy destitute of the sense of smell. This is said to be true of vultures. On the other hand, dogs seem to live in a mental world in which smell probably plays a predominant part. Speaking generally, advance to any high level of intelligence is p^ccompanied by an increasing prominence of vision and hearing, and a decreasing promi- nence for the rest of the sensations. This fact seems to be largely due to the superior richness and flexibilit)' of the ma- terial supplied by these two senses for elaboration into idea- tional processes. Moreover, these senses are the ones which afford most detailed and accurate information of objects at a distance — an important consideration in developing organ- isms. Smell is their only rival in this particular, and for f SENSATION 93 purposes of general orientation^ as regards prey, or dangerous animal foes, is made large nse of by wild creatures. Neural Basis of Sensation in Man. (1) Cutaneous Sensa- tions. — Each form of sensation which we possess is appar- ently connected with the activity of a specially constituted end-organ. Thus, the sensations of touch or contact prob- ably come from the stimulation of minute structures in the dermis (figure 35), and from nerves ending about the roots of the hair. The available evidence makes it fairly certain that children have a more delicate and accurate sense of touch than adults. There is probably an anatomical reason for this fact. The skin of the child contains practically the same nervous innervation as does that of the adult, but the area thus innervated is much smaller. The difference is most marked on surfaces which are not commonly used for Fig. 35. touching. The touch, pain, and tem- perature apparatus in the nervous system is fairly complete at birth. Sensations of cold probably originate from organs in the skin, such as are shown in figure 36. It is possible, though not wholly certain, that sensations of warmth come from special structures, shown in figure 37; and in the epidermis are found the so-called free nerve endings, i, e., nerve fibres which become much attenu- ated and terminate without contact with any special end- organ. Their stimulation is believed to produce the cutting, smarting, burning sensations of physical pain, which must not be confused with the experience of mere disagreeableness, or unpleasantness. It will be seen, therefore, that the skin, which affords a covering for all these structures, is in reality Tactile corpus- cle of Meissner from the skin of the hu- man toe. Bl, blood- vessel ; N, medulated nerve fibre. (Barker after P. Schieffer- decker. ) a delicate mosaic of sensitive and insensitive spots. Certain spots will respond to stimulations with a sensation of cold, as may be noticed by passing a pencil point gently over the skin of the forearm; other spots with a sensation of pain, or pressure, and others with a sensation of warmth. Moreover, these temperature sensations can be produced by electrical stimulation, and by tapping upon the skin with an object which is thermally indifferent. This fact would evidently seem to indicate the existence of some special organ for these particular sensations. ISTaturally, the spots are very close together, so that it is often pos- sible to secure several kinds of sensa- tions from what is apparently one and the same spot. Figure 38 shows a rude map of these temperature spots, which are less numerous than the pressure spots, and much less numerous than those responding to pain sensations. (2) Kinaesthetic Sensations. — The insertions of the tendons and liga- ments are supplied, as are the muscles, with sensory nerves, by means of which we are made aware of the rotation of the joints when we move any part of the body. The sensations produced in this way are called kinaesthetic. Of their condition at birth we cannot speak with confidence. They are evidently present, but how perfectly developed we do not know. We occasionally have sensations arising in the viscera, and these probably originate either in the pain, nerves before mentioned or in nerves of the general tactile variety. (3) Olfactory Sensations. — The olfactory nerves terminate about the olfactory cells of the mucous membrane lining the upper portion of the nasal cavity. (Figures 39 and 40.) Fig. 36. Various forms of end- bulbs. The axis cylinder of the nerve Is seen ter- minating In little sac-like struc- tures. ( M c K e n - drick and Snod- gr as s a f ter Krause. ) SENSATION 95 The most acute perceptions of smell are probably not ob- tained before seven years of age^ because of mechanical diffi- culties in the form of the nostril. The abundance of mucus Fig. 37. Ruffini's nerve endings. Cylindrically shaped bodies formed of finely divided nerve fibrils. gH, sheath of the nerve ; L, connective tissue covering ; tn, terminal interlacings of the axis cylinder. (Barker after Ruffini.) in infancy has a similar effect^ producing obtuse smell sen- sitivities. (4) Gustatory Sensations. — The cells in the taste buds^ found as a rule only on certain papillae of the tongue (though occasionally elsewhere in the mouth) ^ furnish us with our taste sensations. (Figure 41.) This sense is well developed at birth^ a fact which^ perhaps^ has a- certain evolutionary significance. The sense is often defective in the feeble- minded. It seems probable that there is still further differ- entiation of the forms of this end-organ ; for certain regions^ like the base of the tongue^ are often especially sensitive to some one taste^ in this case bitter. The sides of the tongue are particularly responsive to sour^ the tip to sweet and to salt. The centre of the tongue is generally altogether insensitive to 96 PSYCHOLOGY taste. The leaves of the plant called gymnema sylvestre will^ if they be chewed, paralyse the sensitivity for bitter and sweet without affecting the other tastes. Cocaine, if applied to the tongue, causes first a loss of the ability to distinguish bitter, then sweet, and fin- ally salt and sour. Further- more, some substances, e. g,^ saccharine, produce one taste in one part of the mouth, and another taste in another part of the mouth. Sacchar- ine is sweet to the tip, and bitter to the base, of the tongue. All these facts are easy to explain, provided there are taste cells, which always respond, however they are stim- ulated, with some one taste quality. But the facts are not all as yet definitely determined, and we must consequently eschew dogmatic statements. (5) Auditory Sensations. — The auditory nerves terminate at the base of hair cells in the internal ear, such as appear in figure 42. There Fig. 39. Isolated cells from the olfactory region of a rabbit, magnified 560 diameters. Fig. 38. (7, cold spots; fl", hot spots. ( McKendrick and Snodgrass after Gold- sheider. ) are many thou- sands of these cells, and the pre- cise mode of their stimulation by vi- brations of the air is extremely interesting, but too complex and too problematic for detailed explanation here. Suffice it to say, that the hair cells are immersed in the liquids contained by the sac-like membranes of the inner ear, and that the external ear and the middle- ear contain physical devices (membranes joined by min- supporting cells ; s, short, stiff cilia, or, according to some, cones of mucus resembling cilia ; r, r, olfactory cells. The nerve process has been torn off the lower cell marked r. (McKendrick and Snodgrass after Stohr.) SENSATION 97 ute bones) by means of which the air waves outside the ear are gathered up and multiplied in power, so that they may cause the liquids of the internal ear to vibrate, and thus indirectly stimulate the hair cells. Figure 43 shows, the essential parts of the ear. The ear can respond with sensations of sound to vibrations of the air ranging from 16 per second up to 50,000. The great majority of musi- cal experiences arise from tones whose vi- bration rates fall be- tween 64 and 5,000 per second. We have once before called at- tention to the fact 17 that, owing to the i^ — presence of mucus in 20 ' the middle and exter- i9-* nal ear, the new-born child is generally in- sensitive to ordinary Fig. 40. Outer side of left nostril; S, sounds. The position perforated plate of ethmoid bone, 16 through which pass the twigs of the olfactory nerve on their way to ol- factory cells of the mucous membrane lining the upper nasal cavity ; Q, ves- tibule of the nose; 8, entrance to middle meatus, or passage; IS, upper meatus leading into the throat; i8, entrance to Eustachian tube. (Mc- Kendrick and Snodgrass after Schwalbe.) of the drum mem- brane also contributes to this insensitivity. About four davs after birth most children will show response to loud sounds 'by expressions of fright. The sensitivity to high-pitched sounds seems to develop sooner than that to low sounds. Localisation of sounds seems to begin with many children at about four months of age. Children a year and more of age often seems extremely sensitive to very weak sounds which older persons cannot hear at all. The semicircular canals of the internal ear (figure 44) 98 PSYCHOLOGY also contain sensory nerves^ which terminate^ like the true auditory nerves^ about the bases of hair cells. We are said to owe in part to these organs our sense of total bodily trans- location^ our awareness of our equi- librium, etc.;, matters to which we shall return in a later paragraph. The fluid in the canals contains lit- tle calcareous particles called oto- liths. When the body moves in any given direction some of these oto- liths are supposed to lag behind, be- cause of their inertia, thus striking the hair cell filaments and setting up a sensory disturbance. As the canals are at right angles to one an- other, the fluids of some one or two of them would always be most af- fected by any single movement, and the sensations arising from them could thus by experience come to be connected with specific kinds of movements, e, g.y forward, backward, upward, etc. We shall speak at a later point of the alleged sensations aris- ing from these organs. (6) Visual Sensations, — The retina, which differs from all the other sense organs in being in reality a part of the brain removed by growth from its original location, contains a most elaborate series of structures. These are shown in figure 45. As in the case of the ear, we shall unfortunately be obliged to content ourselves with the most cursory account of this in- teresting organ. The optic nerves enter from the back of each eyeball, and the nerve fibres are then distributed radially all over the spherical surfaces of the eyes, as far forward as the lens. (Figure 46.) The fibres turn backward, away from the centre of the eye, and lose themselves among the basal cells of the retinal structure. The light waves make T'iG. 41. Taste bud seen in the papiHa foliata of a rabbit X ^^0 d. g, Taste bud, showing outer supporting ceHs ; s, fine ends of taste ceHs ; p, taste pore. ( McKendrick and Snodgrass after Stohr.) SENSATION 99 their way in through the dioptric media of the eye^ i, e,^ the cornea^ the aqueous humour, the lens, and the vitreous humour, and finally, after passing through the transparent optic fibres, come to the retinal end-organs, the rods and cones. (Figure 47.) At this point the physical ether vibrations which we call light set up physiological changes in the nerve, and the nervous current runs backward along the nerve fibres, and so to the brain. The rods and cones respond to vibration rates of the ether between 440,000,000,000 and 790,000,000,000 per second. Fig. 42. Cross section of the organ of Corti ; p and p^, internal and external rods of Corti ; i and I'S internal hair cells ; e\ exter- nal hair cells ; mh, basilar membrane ; re, nerve fibres leading from the hair cells inward to the central nervous system. (Barker after Retgius and Rauber.) These are the rates of the light waves of the spectrum of the sun. By means of the six muscles which are attached to the external surfaces of each eye we are enabled so to move the eyes as to bring the rays of light from the object at which we are looking directly upon the central point of each retina^ the so-called fovea centralis^ the place of clearest vision. This process is convergence. By means of the lens in eachc eye, which can be made more or less convex, the rays of light from the object at which we are looking are brought to a lOO PSYCHOLOGY focus upon this foveal spot, and thus we secure a clear, well- defined image upon each retina. This act is called accom- modation. The retina is fully developed at birth, and som_e children apparently have a slight control over the movements of fixa- FiG. 43. Diagram of the ear ; natural size. 1, auditory nerve ; 2, internal auditory meatus closed by the cribriform plate of bone through the perforations of which the branches of the auditory nerve pass to the ear ; S-8, membranous labyrinth composed of S, utricle, 4^ semicircular ^canals, 5, saccule, 6, duct of the cochlea (the coils not entirely shown), 7, endolym- phatic duct with, 8, its saccule lying inside of the cranial cavity ; 9, lymphatic space surrounding the membranous labyrinth ; 10, osseous labyrinth of compact bone lying in the more spongy substance of the petrous bone, 11; 12, the oval window, filled by the foot-plate of the stirrup-bone ; IS, the round window, across which is stretched the internal tympanic membrane ; IJ^, auricle ; 15, 16, external auditory meatus ; 15, its cartilaginous, and, 16, its bony part ; 17, tympanic membrane ; 18-20, auditory ossicles ; 18, hammer ; 19, anvil ; 20, stirrup ; 21, middle ear ; 22, osseous, and, 23, cartilaginous portion of the Eustachian tube ; 24, cartilages of external auditory meatus. (McKendrick and Snodgrass after Schwalbe.) tion at birth. This is, however, rare, and such control gen- erally does not come until the third week. But there is much variation. Older children surpass adults in their ability to see in a dim light, and to see small objects at a distance. SENSATION toi This is probably because the optical media, e, g,, the humours of the eye, etc., are with them more transparent. The colour sense is often apparently defective in children. But this probably means simply a lack of experience in distinguishing colours. The brighter colours are generally preferred. Genuine colour blindness is extremely rare among girls, whereas perhaps one in every twenty-five or thirty boys is defective. The Elementary Qualities of Sensation. — At this point the question naturally arises as to the number and nature of the elementary sense qualities which the several sense organs mediate. We must next address ourselves to the answering of this question, by scrutinising each department of sensory activity. We may profitably remark, however, at the outset of this undertaking, that these sensory qualities, such as redness and blueness, warmth and cold, etc., with which we shall come into contact, are highly ab- stract affairs, isolated by us for our psychological purposes from the larger matrix of actual conscious expeiience of which they properly form part. Thus, for example, we are never conscious merely and simply of the colour yellow. It is al- ways a yellow object of which we are aware, with some sort of contours, felt against a background of other conscious proc- esses, many of which are not even visual at all. But by turning our analytical processes of attention upon the yellow part of the whole experience, we can practically abstract it for our ex- amination, and study it as though it actually occurred singl}^ and alone. Throughout the next few pages, therefore, we shall be engaged in this process of abstracting pure sensory qualities Fig. 44. Membranous laby- rinth (diagrammatic), c, cochlea ; s, saccule united by p, the ductus en- dolymphaticus, with u, the utricle, arising from which are seen the three semicircular canals, (After McKendrick and Snodgrass. ) 102 PSYCHOLOGY for separate study. Indeed^ in a certain sense^ as we have al- ready emphatically remarked^ all our psychological analysis proceeds by abstracting now this and now that phase of con- FiG. 45. Scheme of the structure of the retina. A, layer of rods and cones ; a, rods ; ?>, cones ; E, layer of bipolar cells : (7, layer of large ganglion cells ; H, layer of nerve fibres ; s, centrifugal nerve fibre. (Barker after Ramon y Cajal.) sciousness for detailed inspection. But the fact requires especial notice in the case of sensations^ which we are apt to think of as mentally independent and isolated facts. They are only independent and isolated in a thorough-going way^ in so far as our reflective manipulation makes them so tem- porarily. We may add^ by way of definition, that it is the consciousness of the qualities of objects stimulating the sense organs which most psychologists mean to designate by the term sensation. dualities of Dermal Sensation. — From the skin we obtain SENSATION 103 as the rudimentary qualities of sensation^ cold, warmth, pain, and pressure; and some psychologists would add heat, a sen- sation said to differ from warmth, and to be caused by the simultaneous stimulation of cold and warmth. The evidence for this statement, as to the elementary qualities of the cutan- eous sensations, consists in the careful examination of every kind of psychical experience which we can obtain from the stimulation of the skin. At first, it may seem that we have many other elementary qualities peculiar to cutaneous reac- tions. Thus, it is common in the older text-books to see such asserted sensations as hardness, softness, wetness, dryness, active and passive touch, sharpness, smoothness, roughness, etc., referred to the skin. It is true, of course, that these sev- eral impressions origi- nate in the skin. But Nop they are quite certainly either compounds of pressure with some of the other sensations already mentioned, or else mere modifications of pres- sure itself. Thus, if one p^^^ 4^^ Scheme of retinal fibres, heat a drop of water to (James after Kiiss.) islop, optic the exact temperature of the skin, and then place it on the hand, it will prove very difficult to imagine any sensation caused by it other than pressure. Similarl}^, if a hard and a soft object be made therm_ally indifferent, and both be laid very gently against the skin, pressure will be the only sensation confi^ dently felt. As the intensity of the pressure increases, the difference will be remarked. But hardness simplj- means nerve ; S, sclerotic ; Ch, choroid ; R, retina; P, papilla (blind spot, where no retinal structure is found) ; F, fovea. io4 PSYCHOLOGY more intense pressure^ plus, on most occasions, certain sensa- tions of effort, resistance, or strain, which comes from muscles, or tendons, and not from the skin. And so with the other experiences suggested above. When carefully examined, they Bet Chop. Sclen Fig. 47, (After James.) will all be found capable of resolution into pressure, or pres- sure and some other sensation, like that of temperature, or tendinous strain. Itching, tickling, and creepy sensations of the skin probably originate at times from the effects upon the dermal end-organs of circulatory changes. Occasionally, however, they are due to very light pressure stimulations. The SENSATION 105 creepy feeling is often a complex of the prickly pain sensations with cold sensations, etc. There seems no reason to postulate any new elementary forms of sense experience because of these reactions. Kinaesthetic Sensation dualities. — Closely connected with the skin sensations are the kinsesthetiC;, or organic, sensations. When one lifts a heavj^ weight there is quickly noticeable, over and above the pressure sensation in the hand, a feeling of strain in the arm. When the hand is firmly clasped this strain is also detectable. This sensation without doubt is largely referable to the sensory nerves about the tendons. The muscles, also, have sensory nerves, as we have noted in a pre- vious paragraph, and there is undoubtedly a muscle sensation. But it is hardly possible introspectively to isolate the sensa- tion without experimental appliances, except in the case of moderate muscular fatigue. The feeling which arises under such conditions of fatigue is, then, the specific sensation con- cerned. The joints, also, are probably indirect contributors to this group of sensations, through their effect upon the ten- dons. Certainly we are extremely sensitive to their move- ments. The sensation which is experienced when we attempt to isolate the joint activity is strikingly like ordinary pres- sure. This isolation can be accomplished with sufficient accuracy by attaching a heavy weight to a cord, and then, while holding the cord, allowing the weight to sink rapidly to the ground. At the moment when it strikes, one feels a sort of '' snap-back ^^ sensation in the joints. Sensations From the Semicircular Canals. — Many authors are inclined to ascribe a pair of specific sensations inti- mately connected with the above (provided they are genuine sensations) to the semicircular canals of the internal ear. These canals, upon the basis of this view, are supposed to pro- duce the sensation of dizziness, and the sensation of change of rate of movement, when the whole body is being moved, as occurs when one is on a railroad train. It should be said of lo6 PSYCHOLOGY these dizziness sensations^ that the eyes play a very large part in them^ and also that various muscles may be engaged in their production. There is^ thns^ in no case any conscious reference by us of the sensations to the semicircular canal region. We simply feel our balance disturbed^ and note the misbehaviour of the visual field. Organic Sensations. — The respiratory and circulatory proc- esses produce certain sensory experiences closely akin to the cutaneous ones^ e. g.^ the sensation of '^ closeness ^^ in the air^ perhaps^ comes from a genuine intra-thoracic sensation. The sexual organs have a specific sensory quality ;, and the alimen- tary tract gives rise to the experiences of nausea^ thirsty and hunger. It may, perhaps, be questioned whether these last experiences are not resolvable into other simpler constituent sensation qualities, in which pressure and pain, for example, possibly play a part, and with which the affective factors of pleasantness and unpleasantness are markedly connected. But the disposition among psychologists seems on the whole to be in favour of regarding them as real sensations, with prob- ably some specific end-organ, although the case is far from clear. Olfactory dualities. — It is impossible at the present time to say anything definite about the elementary sense qualities of smell. The evidence at present available would make it seem probable that the number is large. We seldom make any attempt at classifying odours by their sense qualities, probably because practical exigencies do not require it. Our only common classification is based upon the affective con- sequences of the odour stimuli, which we divide into the two great classes, agreeable and disagreeable. We designate odours by the objects from which they come, e. g.^ violet, orange, leather, etc., adding occasionally to these terms metaphors borrowed from taste, e. g., sour, sweet, terms which are not always applied unambiguously to the mere sense quality, but often involve reference to affective processes, and to other SENSATION 107 concomitant activities^ both mnscnlar and sensory. For example^ a sour smell is often one which stirs np unpleasant gustatory sensations^ with choking contractions of the throat. The classification most nsed in a practical way at the present time is Zwaardemaker^s modification of Linnaeus^ table: 1 — Ethereal smells^ including fruit odours. 2 — ^Aromatic smells^ e, g., camphor^ spice. 3 — Fragrant smells^ e, g,^ many flowers, violets, sweet peas, etc. 4 — Ambrosiac smells, e. g.^ musk. 5 — Alliaceous smells, e. g, garlic, chlorine. 6 — EmpjTCumatic smells, e. g.^ burning tobacco, burnt toast, coffee. 7 — Hircine smells, e, g.y cheese. 8 — Virulent smells, e. g,, opium. 9 — N^auseous smells, e. g., decaying animal matter. This classification of the table has a purely practical value, however, and cannot be in any way accepted as representing the irreducible sense q^ialities. The Qualities of Taste Sensations. — There are, without much question, four and only four elementary qualities of taste sensation, i. g., sour, salt, sweet, and bitter. What we commonly call tastes are generally compounds, or fusions, of taste with temperature, pressure, and smell. Thus, as we have remarked at an earlier point, the characteristic taste of onions will be found astonishingly altered, if one close the nostrils firmly before taking the onion into the mouth. Some au- thorities incline to add two other elementarj^ tastes to the list of gustatory qualities, i. e., alkaline and metallic. But on the whole, it seems probable that these are compounds of the others alreadv mentioned. Certainlv it is remarkable to see how completely these four suffice to describe the true taste sensations, when we are given a large number of substances to test by taste alone, without knowing in advance what they are to be. . To make this experiment satisfactorily, one must lo8 PSYCHOLOGY see to it that smell is absolutely ruled out, that the tempera- ture of the substances is that of the mouth itself; and one must be careful not to confuse the prickings puckering effects of certain substances^ which are not taste sensations at all, with the true taste quality. Furthermore, one must employ solutions to make the test, for many food substances produce characteristic contact sensations which we instantly recog- nise. Finally, there is a striking difference in the sensitive- ness of various parts of the tongue, as was pointed out in an earlier paragraph, to these four kinds of taste stimuli. J^o other tastes show this local peculiarity. Auditory Qualities. — Our auditory sensations fall naturally into two great groups — noises and tones. But each of these can be subdivided again into a very large number of distin- guishable qualities. We get the sensation qualities which we call noise when less than two complete vibrations of a sound wave are allowed to reach the ear ; or, what is perhaps, owing to the reflection of the sound, the same thing, when the waves which do reach the ear are irregular and non-periodic in their mode of vibration. These irregularities may evidently be in- definite in number, and so we get such differences in the sounds as distinguish, for example, the noise of a train from the noise of a drum. These last mentioned cases, however, are what are called complex noises, and are conceived as made up of aggregations of 'the simple noises first mentioned, of which we can detect some 550 or more. The sensation of tone comes from bodies which vibrate periodically and regu- larly, like the pendulum. Such bodies are represented best by tuning-forks. In this case we can distinguish some 11,000 qualities. The differences among these qualities are primarily what we call differences in pitch. These arise from differ- ences in the vibration rates of the sounds, and, as we have already learned, we can hear tones ranging in vibration rate from 16 to 50,000 per second. It must be remembered that the musical tones which we commonly hear are not sim- SENSATION 109 ple^ but complex^ being constituted of a number of tones — the fundamental and its overtones. The nature^, num- ber^ and relative intensity of these partial tones deter- mines the timbre of a sound. The characteristic differ- ences in the tone quality of different instruments has this fact as its basis. In the piano^ for instance^ there is a rich and well-balanced set of the lower partial tones. In the clarinet the odd overtones are predominant ; in the flute these overtones are few and weak^ etc. The evidence for these facts is not easily obtained without the use of apparatus. But the rough acoustic difference between noise and tone is fortunately familiar to us all^ and the other points which we have noted we shall have to accept on authority. Visual dualities. — Like the auditory sensations^, our visual sensations fall into two general classes — sensations of bright- ness and sensations of colour. The brightness sensations are caused by the impingement upon the retina of mixed light waves of various lengths; thus^ what we call white light is made up of light waves-of all lengths. Pure colour sensations are produced by homogeneous light waves, or waves of prac- tically equal length. As a matter of fact, we never experience colours without getting a measure of brightness sensation also. Although it is convenient to distinguish the two forms of sensation from one another, this concomitance must not be forgotten. If we gradually decrease the intensity of white light, we pass first through a series of shades, to which we should ordinarily apply the name grey, and come finally to black. Black and white are thus the extremes of the bright- ness series of sensations, and between them occur the various shades of grey. We are able to distinguish some 700 different brightness qualities between the deepest black and the most brilliant white. We are in the habit of referring to the spectral colours, of qualities, as being seven in number, i, e., red, orange, yellow, green, blue^ indigo-blue, and violet. This is, however, a no PSYCHOLOGY merely practical and somewhat arbitrary division. These names apply to distinctions in colonr tone which we promptly and easily remark when looking at a sunlight spectrum. But in reality the colour between pure green and pure blue is just as truly entitled to a separate name as is orange^ a colour which distinctly suggests both red and yellow. Purple^ too^ which can be formed by mixing red and violet^ the colours at the ends of the spectrum^ is a perfectly genuine colour quality^ deserving to rank in this respect with the spectrum colours themselves. When we are given proper experimental condi- tions we find we can distinguish some 150 spectral qualities. This includes the purple. Elementary Colour Relations. (1) Mixtures and Comple- mentaries. — If we now apply to vision the mode of analysis we have employed heretofore in the case of other sensations^ and attempt to reduce the visual spectral qualities^ apart from brightness^ to those which seem really elementary^ we shall find four such colours remaining^ i. e.^ red^ yellow^ green^ and blue. All the others^ when closely inspected^, appear to us to be compounds. Orange^ we have already remarked^ appears both reddish and yellowish. Violet has traces both of blue and red^ and so with all the transitional hues leading from one of these elementary colours to another. Moreover^ if we be given these four colours^ we can^ as we should naturally expect^, produce all the other spectral hues by mixing these elements in proper proportions. Among the mixtures which we can make in this way are certain very peculiar ones^ which result when we take two such colours as yellow and blue^ or red and blue-green. These pairs of colours, when mixed together^ give us^ instead of a new spectral hue, simply grey. Colours whose mixture results thus in grey are called complementary colours, and every colour has some com- plementary in the spectral series, except green, whose comple- mentary is purple, a mixture of red and blue. (Figure 48 shows these relations.) SENSATION III (2) After-images. — Our visual sensations are in one par- ticular very remarkable^ as compared with our sensations of other kinds. The after-effects of sensorv stimulation last longer and are more peculiar than is apparently the case else- RED \ ^ f ^ WHITF ^ -< 3n ^ m /o Fig. 48. The colours at opposite ends of any diameter of the circle produce white, if mixed \yith one another. Purple, which is the complementary colour to green, is not found in the spectrum, but is produced by a mixture of the end-colours of the spectrum, red and violet. where. There are two principal forms of after-images^ as they are called^ i. e.^ positive and negative. After-sensations would^ perhaps^, be the better term for them. If one suddenly looks at a very bright lights and then closes the eyes^ the light continues to be seen for some seconds in its proper intensity and hue. This phenomenon is a positive after-image. If one looks for a few seconds fixedly at a bit of blue paper, and then closes the eyes, or turns them upon some neutral grey back-ground, one sees a yellow patch corresponding in shape to the blue stimulus. This is a negative image. Negative images invert the relations of brightness in the stimulus, so 112 PSYCHOLOGY that what was white in the object appears black in the after- image^ and vice versa. They also convert all spectral colours and their compounds into their several complementaries. While all the senses display after-effects similar to the positive visual after-image, none of them has anything precisely comparable with the negative image. (3) Colour Contrast. — The phenomena of contrast also, although characterising in a measure all sense domains, and for that matter all conscious processes, are especially striking in vision. Yellow and blue appear respectively yellower and bluer, when seen side by side, than when seen apart. This seems to be largely because of the fact that the eye moves slightly from one to the other; and the eye fatigued for blue already has a disposition to react with the yellow after- image. If the part of the retina containing this yellow after- image process is then exposed to the real objective yellow, the power of the stimulus is much enhanced, and we see a deeper, more intense yellow than we otherwise should. This phenom- enon is called successive contrast. Simultaneous contrast is an even more interesting phenomenon, and may be illus- trated by putting a small bit of grey paper upon any coloured field, and then covering the whole with thin white tissue paper. The grey patch will, under such conditions, always appear as of a colour complementary^o that of the field, i. e., it will appear blue, when the field is yellow ; yellow, when it is blue ; reddish when it is green, etc. The explanations offered for this phenomenon would take us too far into physiological psychology, and we must rest content with the general con- clusion that our colour sensations are dependent, not only upon the colour of the objects immediately fixated, but also upon the colours surrounding it, and upon the immediately preceding stimulation. (4) Defects in Colour Vision. — ^Finally, we may remark, that the peripheral portions of the retina are seriously de- fective in their colour reactions. Accurate colour vision SENSATION 113 belongs only to the central portion of the retina around the fovea. According to most observers^ red and green are only seen accurately for a short distance outside this region. Yellow and blue are lost next^ and in the extreme periphery only white and grey can be sensed. This condition suggests the pathological colour-blindness from which many persons suffer even at the fovea. Compound dualities. — In addition to these colour sensa- tions of which we have been speakings large numbers exist formed by combining the several spectral qualities (150) with the brightness qualities (700). Some 30,000 distin- guishable qualities can be produced in this way. Thus red, for example, can be mixed with white to produce various tints, which we call pink; or with black to produce various shades, which we designate brown. Figure 49 displays in a general way these relations. Summary of Sensation Qualities. — Eeverting now in con- clusion to the matter from which we started, and taking all these sensations into account, which we have found originat- ing in the various sense organs, we shall find that, even dis- regarding smell, of which we cannot speak confidently, we are supplied with more than 42,000 distinguishable sensory qualities. On the other hand, if we consider only the irre- ducible sense qualities, like redness and sweetness, and call these the sensation elements, we have probably not more than 20 or 25 when smell and sound are left out of the count. The problem of reduction to simple sense forms is, in the case of these last two groups of sensations, fraught with great diflBculty and uncertainty. The Intensity of Sensations. — We have remarked incident- ally a number of times in this chapter, that our sensations originate from the stimulation of a specific sense-organ by some form of motion in the physical world about us, such, for example, as the air waves, the ether waves, the heat waves, etc. But it is not only necessary that these various forms of 114 PSYCHOLOGY stimuli should fall upon the sense organs. It is also nec- essary that they should possess sufficient intensity ;, if we are to become conscious of them, A very faint light; a very faint sounds a very faint odour^ may fail altogether to produce a sensation in us. The point at which such a stimulus becomes intense enough to produce a sensation is called the limen, or y^ the threshold. It is also a mat- ter of frequent observation that when sensory stimuli be- come very intense they cease to be felt as they were before^ and we experience pain in- ^ stead. A very bright and blinding light may cause acute pain. A loud^ shrill sound, extreme heat^, and extreme cold are all painful. The point at which the various stimuli are thus felt as pain- ful is known as the upper limit of sensation. Between the limen and the upper limit fall an indefinite number of gradations of sensory intensi- ties. It should be noted in passing, that certain olfactory and gustatory stimuli can hardly be obtained in suffi- cient intensity to be called painful; and also that many very weak sensations are unpleasant, e, g, weak sounds and faint lights, the tickling from delicate cojitact, etc. Weber's Law. — Exhaustive experiments have revealed a very interesting law, known after its first careful investigator as " Weber's Law,'' which obtains among the relations of these sensation intensities, as we experience them. When we Fig. 49. The colour pyramid. The line WB corresponds to the white-black series of colours ; the plane BJ. YG represents the most satur- ated spectral colours — e. g., blue, red, green. The lines joining W and B with the letters representing the several spectral colours, e. g., Bl. and G, illustrate the transitional tints and shades. (After Ebbing- haus. ) SENSATION 115 place a weight of 20 grams upon the hancl^ we find that we observe no change in the pressure sensation nntil a whole gram has been added to the 20. If we take 100 grams we must add 5 grams before we can observe the change in inten- sity; and, speaking generallj^;, whatever absokite weight we start with, we find always that we mnst add the same fraction of its own weight, that is, 1-20, in order to feel that the pressure has changed. A similar thing holds true of the intensity of sounds, but in this case the fraction is approxi- mately 1-3. In sensations of brightness the change must be 1-100, etc. In all these cases the formula is most nearly true in the medium ranges of intensity. When we approach the limen or the upper limit, the relations seem to become irreg- ular, and in the case of certain senses, like smell, the appli- cation of the law is somewhat dubious. Duration of Sensations. — We have seen that every stimulus must possess a definite intensity before it can give rise to a sensation ; and it is even more obvious that every such stimulus must also possess a certain duration, if it is to be felt. More- over, many sensations are very profoundly altered by pro- longed duration. Thus, colour sensations will be found to grow dim and to fade, if long continued. Some sensations of sound, on the other hand, seem to become more intense, if continued, and finally occasion pain. The detailed facts about the influence of duration upon sensory processes cannot at present be both accurately and briefly set forth, and we shall therefore pass them by. Extensity in Sensations. — Certain sensations, like those of vision and touch, always possess, in addition to the pre- viously mentioned characteristics of duration and intensity, a definite spatial quality. Some distinguished psychological authorities insist that all sensations are thus spatial, sensa- tions of sound and smell and taste, as well as those of touch and sight. This is not, howeyer, the prevalent view, and we shall not discuss the matter here. Suffice it to say, that a Il6 PSYCHOLOGY colour sensation cannot exist at all without being experienced as possessing extensity. The same thing is true of pressure; and^ in general^ all sensations which ever possess the quality of extensity always possess it, just as they possess duration and intensity. The kinsesthetic sensations are admitted by all psychologists to belong, with pressure, temperature, and vision, to the spatial senses. If we bring together the points we have gone over in dis- cussing the quality, extensity, duration, and intensity of sen- sations, we shall see that quality is, in a definite sense, the most fundamental thing about a sensation, and that the other characteristics can fairly be regarded, for our psychological purposes, as subordinate attributes of quality. Thus, a given musical tone may last one second, or three, without essential change of the pitch, which is its quality, psychologically speaking. It may be louder, or softer, without changing its pitch. Furthermore, it may change its timbre, which seems to be a sort of secondary quality, by changing its overtones, and still retain its pitch, or primary quality, unaltered. Sim- ilarly, a sensation of red may come from an object one inch square, or from one two inches square, without noticeably changing the hue of the colour. General Characteristic of the Sensation duality. — The fundamental characteristic common to all the sensations is a certain something which they occasion in us, for which shock is possibly the most appropriate name. This characterises all transition in consciousness, and especially consciousness of immediate sense activities. Primary Function of Sensation. — X consideration of the sensory-motor circuit makes it evident that the primary organic function of the sensory element in consciousness must be that of instigating movements. Moreover, in Chapter III. we examined certain typical instances, in which we found sen- sation processes operating to produce movements, and then further operating to report the results of those movements. SENSATION 117 thus assisting in the establishment of useful coordinations. Although we shall be analysing in the next few chapters the details in the process of acquiring control over the move- ments which sensations thus bring about^ it only remains^ so far as concerns the rudiments of this process^ to add one thing. When we say that sensory stimulation instigates movements^ we must not make too sharp a distinction be- tween the stimulation^ as sensed^ and the tnovement, when a response is made without deliberation. The nervous process is practically a continuous forward movement of impulses from the sense organs clear around to the muscles. There is nowhere any essential break in this feature of the activity. The act is literally a unit. Similarly, if we examine the facts closely, we shall see that the sensory reaction is simply the registration in con- sciousness of a c^^^n kind of act, and that it varies markedly with the kind o^Bsponse that is executed by the muscles. What we should commonly call a sensation of a disagreeable odour consists not only in the consciousness of a certain kind of olfactory quality; it consists also in the consciousness of tendencies to movement, ' e. g., choking movements in the throat, violent expiratory movements, movements of the head away from the source of the odour, etc. The sensation of the odour is instantly merged with other sensations which these movements call out, and is markedly modified by them. Fur- thermore, the kind of sensation which we get from an odour in the first instance will be definitely determined by the kind of movement in progress at the moment when we come into contact with the stimulus. If we are not expecting the odour, our breathing may be free and deep. In consequence, we obtain a deep inhalation of the noxious fumes, and from the blending of this impression with the ongoing mental ac- tivity, one kind of sensation results. If we are expecting t^le odour, or if our breathing happens momentarily to be super- ficial, the sensation is much modified and weakened. So we ^ Il8 PSYCHOLOGY see that our consciousness of sensory stimuli is qualified on both sides by movements^ i. e.^ by those movements which lead up to it^ and by those which follow it. The sensation- movement process is^ therefore^ essentially a continuous things and our analysis of it into parts is simply for the readier ap- prehension of its characteristics^ and does not at all imply any such actual severance of the various stages of it. Secondary Function of Sensation, — When our attention is called to the fact;, we readily notice^ as was intimated earlier in the chapter^ that if our sense organs are stimulated^ we are commonly made conscious of objects^ rather than of mere qualities^ such as we have been^^-^escribing in this chapter. Thus^ if our eyes are exposed to stimulations of lights we or- dinarily see such things as people^ or trees^ or houJ^es^ and we do not think of such objects as being merely so much colour. We can^ of course^ note and recall the ^^mrs which belong to these objects^ but as our eyes rest up^Biem we are cer- tainly in adult life infrequently conscioi^of them as mere aggregates of colour qualities. Similarly^ when we hear familiar words^ it is very rarg, that- the simple quality of the vocal sounds monop/jlises our attention. Instead of this^ we are instantly absorbed in the meaning of the words. On the other hand, a single musical tone, an unfamiliar fragrance, a feeling of warmth, may enter our consciousness almost as pure qualities, to the objective character of which we are prac- tically oblivious. JsTow, the difference between these two classes of experience marks the difference between sensation and the next of the cognitive processes which we shall study, i. e.y perception; and before we can understand satisfactorily the function of sensation, we must attempt to make the dis- tinction clear. Sensation and Perception. — In the previous chapter we remarked upon the manner in which attention succeeds by dissociation in breaking up the conscious continuum of infancy into distinguishable portions. The infant conscious- SENSATION 119 ness^ so far as concerns its cognitive features^ mnst be at the outset almost wholly a consciousness of the vague sensation kind^ a consciousness of undifferentiated fusions of sensory qualities^ plus pleasantness and unpleasantness^ which are here temporarily disregarded. Little by little^, through the discriminative and associative activities of attention^ these qualm?s" become disintegrated and attached to certain recur- rent experiences. A visual quality becomes in this fashion extradited^ and connected with a kingesthetic quality from the movement of the hand and arm. Presently in this proc- ess the visual consciousness loses its former disconnected vagueness^ and becomes an explicitly recognised sign^ or sjrnibol^ of the hand movement^ and^ perhaps^ of the further agreeable experiences connected with the allaying of hunger. In this way comes to pass the baby's consciousness of his bottle^ as an object external to himself. The process is evidently one which involves the extrusion, from a vague mass of sensory consciousness, of the several fusions of sensations concerned; and then, the further process of relating these sensory groups to one another. I^ow, so far as we ever approximate the ob- taining of a sense qualit}^, severed in all respects, save that of time, from the rest of our consciousness, so far do we tend to become aware merely of quality; but the moment the relating activity becomes vitally operative, at that moment do we tend to lose the experience as a mere quality, and begin to give it objective character. Speaking in an absolutely literal way, this relating activity is of course never wholly absent; and consequently, save for the hypothetical first moment of con- sciousness, we are never able to get a really pure sensation. Sensation is in this sense, therefore, an abstraction, as we have already insisted. But, speaking relatively, such illus- trations as those from which we started bring out the very striking differences in the degree to which we retain the pri- mary ability to cognise mere qualitj^, as distinguished from the tendenjcy to react upon the sensory stimulations as objects. 120 PSYCHOLOGY James has hit off the pointy in one of his happy inspirations^, in saying that sensation gives us mere " acquaintance with objects/^ whereas perception gives ns ^^ knowledge about ^^ them. As a matter of f act^ it is clear that our sensory experi- ences which involve simply becoming acquainted with objects are few and far between. The all but universal re- action is one in which we place^ or classify^ or recognise^ the stimulus in some way^ thus relating it vitally to our past knowledge. It should be added^ too^ that this assignment of objective character to our sense experiences is especially prompt and convincing in those senses which most definitely contribute to our awareness of extension^ resistance, and ex- ternality to the organism, i, e,, touch and vision. Limitations of Sensation. — In general, we may say that the function of sensation is to furnish us with the elementary symbols of the various things in the world about us which stimulate our sensory-motor activities, e, g., odours, colours, sounds, etc. Moreover, it must not be forgotten that, despite the elaborations which it undergoes, this sensuous raw ma- terial continues throughout our lives to furnish the body, the content, of all our sensory consciousness; and as our minds pass from one sense element to another, the fact is, as we have already observed, reported by a sort of delicate shock, which is therefore a factor common to all sensation processes. So far as a mere simple symbol is all we need, so far we tend to rest content with the mere awareness of the sensory quality; but there are many kinds of things with which we must come into daily contact for which such symbols are inadequate, because they do not reflect with sufficient accuracy and detail the complexity of the object or stimulus. Consciousness of odours occasionally approximates the condition of sensation, by rendering us aware of specific qualities which relate them- selves only in the vaguest way to our past experience, and which we do not think of as objects. Such stimuli are for us essentially simple. But our visual consciousness of the SENSATION 121 external world is always more or less complex; it always in- volves more or less of different colonrs^ each of which has its own qualities; and we must consequently become aware of a group of these sensory qualities experienced simultaneously. Such fusions of sensation elements^ with their wealth of sug- gested reactions and relations^ we think of as objects. Similarly^ if a very small point be brought in contact with the skin we feel what we call a sensation of touch ; and such a sensation^ if very lights may fail to suggest definitely any object whatsoever. But if a large area is stimulated by con- tact we instantly recognise such a complex of sensory qualities as being an oiject, whose nature we generally appreciate with some accuracy. The consciousness of relatively isolated simple qualities is^ accordingly^ when produced by stimulating the sense organ, what we mean by primary, or peripherally aroused, sensation. When the qualities cease to be simple, and take on definite relations to one another, and to us, especially that of externality, we have the consciousness of objects, which is commonly called perception. Clearly, then, sensation as the consciousness of isolated qualities is a prod- uct of mature abstraction. Sensation, as giving the qualita- tive determinant to all sensory experience, is not only the first stage in the perceptual process, furnishing the vague undif- ferentiated matrix out of which the richness of qualitative varietv is later extradited bv analvsis, but it is also the con- stant accompaniment of sensory activities, giving the stuff, the material, out of which perception is elaborated. To a fuller account of the perceptual stage in the cognitive function we must next proceed. CHAPTEE VI PEECEPTION Definition of Perception. — Perception has sometimes been defined as ^^the consciousness of particular material things present to sense/^ Perception is as a matter of fact always a larger thing than this definition would immediately imply; because we are always aware in the '^' fringe/^ in the back- ground of consciousness^, of .sense activities other than those we speak of as being perceived, especially those connected with the internal operations of our own organism. Perception as psychologists describe it, is therefore, like sensation, some- thing of an abstraction.* Our definition, however, marks off perception from sensa- tion in its emphasis upon the consciousness of objects^ or things. Sensation, as we saw in the last chapter, is more ap- propriately conceived as concerned with ^the consciousness of qualities. The two"^ processes liave this in common, that both are produced by the stimulation of a sense organ. This cir- cumstance serves to mark both of them off from such mental conditions as ihemory and imagination, in which our con- sciousness may equally well be engaged with objects. Never- theless, as we shall see more fully in later chapters, the sen- *It will be seen from this definition that the psychologist uses the term perception in a somewhat narrower sense than that recog- nised in ordinary usage. We speak in common parlance of per- ceiving the meaning of a theory, when we refer to our appreciation, or apprehension, of it. In such cases we may be engaged in reflection upon the theory, and our thought may thus be quite independent of any immediate stimulation of sense organs. 122 PERCEPTION 123 suous material of perception and imagination and memory is qualitatively one and the same. Visual mental stuffy for example^ whether perceptually or ideationally produced^ is sui generis^ and totally unlike any other kind of mental stuffy such as auditory or olfactory. It will be seen that the distinction mentioned between the perceptual consciousness of objects and such consciousness of them as we may have in memory and imagination rests upon a physiological basis^ i, e,^ the presence or absence of sense organ activity. The only difference on the mental side is commonly to be found in the intensity and objectivity of the two. Perceptions are commonly more intense^ and feel more as though given to us^ than do our memories or imaginings. In hallucination^ howeyer^ it seems as though mere mental images assumed the vividness and externality of percepts ; and in the case 01 very faint stimulations^ e, g.^ of sound or colour^ we cannot always be confident whether we have really per- ceived somethiijg^ or merely imagined it. This principle of distinguishing the twols^ therefore^ not alwa}^s to be depended upon. Fortunately for our practical interests^ the distinction is generally valid and we do not often confuse what we reallj^ perceive, with what we imagine. We pointed out the fact in the last chapter that, save for the earliest experiences of infancy, sensation, as a total mental state distinguishable from perception, probably does not occur. The great masses of our sensory experiences are, accordingly, perceptions, and it obviously behooves us to examine them with care. Analysis of Perception. — We may evidently have percep- tions which originate from the stimulation of anj^ sense organ, and we might select an example from any sense de- partment for analysis. Because of their importance for every- day life we may, however, profitably •choose a case from visual perceptions for our examination. Let us take the in- stance of our perception of a chair. When our eyes fall upon 124 PSYCHOLOGY such an object we instantly react to it as a single object. Al- though the chair has four legs and a seat, we do not see each of the legs as separate things, and then somehow pnt them together with the seat, and so mentally manufacture a chair for ourselves. On the contrary, our immediate response is the consciousness of a single object. We know of course that the chair possesses these various parts, just as we know that it has various colours, and in a sense we notice these features when we perceive it. But the striking thing is, that despite the great number of sensory nerves which are being stimulated by such an object, we perceive it, not as an aggregate of qual- ities a-\-l)-\-c, but as a unit^ a whole, which we can, if neces- sary, analyse into its parts. The same thing is true as to our perception of words. We naturally see them, not as so many separate letters, but as wholes, or at most as groups of sylla- bles; a fact which modern education wisely takes advan- tage of in teaching children to recognise entirer words at a glance. Evidently this is another phase of the fact v/hich we noted at the time we were studying attention, when we re- marked the selective and synthesising nature of attention in its operation upon sensory stimuli. We also came across the same fact in our description of the action of the cortex of the cerebrum. We observed there, that the cortex has its activity determined, "ni)w from this sensory source, and now from that, but the response is always of a unifying, synthe- sising character. This seems to be the reason, too, that our perceptions are so regularly definite, instead of vague, as they apparently might be. The cortical reaction tends toward the systematised orderly form. We note first, then, in our analy- sis of visual perception, that we commonly perceive objects as single and distinct, not as vague, confused, and aggregated compounds. If we describe for ourselves just what we perceive in such a case, we should add to our consciousness of the colour of the PERCEPTION 125 chair our sense of its size and its shape. We say^ for example^ that the seat is square^, that it looks square. Now it requires only a moment^s reflection to convince us that^ as we stand at a little distance from the chair^ the image of its seat^ which is reflected upon the retina^ is not square at all^ but is a kind of rhomboid^ with two acute and two obtuse n angles. We become more clearh^ aware of this fact when we attempt to draw the chair as it appears. We are obliged under these conditions to draw just such a rhomboid as the seat presents to the eye. If we draw a real square on the paper, we cannot make it serve acceptably for a chair seat^ seen as we now see the chair of our illustration^ which is supposed to be at a little distance from us. Now^ how does it come about that we can perceive a rhom- boid as a square^ which is what we unquestionably do in this case ? The reply contains the secret of the fundamental fact about all perceptions. We see it as a square^, because we see it, not as it actually is to our vision at this moment^ but as our past experience has taught us it must be. Were it not for the influence of this past experience^ this habitual reaction upon objects like the present chair seat, undoubtedly we should not see it as square. The same thing is true as regards our perception of the height and size of the chair, and the material of its construction. Had we no previous experiences that resembled the present one, we should be hopelessly un- certain as to the element of size. To judge of this with any accuracy we must, to mention only a single circumstance, know with considerable exactness the distance of the chair from us; for the nearer an object is, the larger our visual image of it. Experience has taught us the common size of chairs and tables, and has taught us to allow correctly for the effects of distance, etc. We come at once, then, upon this striking fact, that in some manner or other perception in- volves a rudimentary reproductive process. Somehow, our former perceptions are taken up and incorporated into our 126 PSYCHOLOGY present perceptions^ modifying them and moulding them into accord with the past. Moreover^ if we interrogate onr consciousness carefully, we shall find* that in visual perceptions we often^ perhaps gen- erally^ get an immediate impression of the contact values of the seen object. We get instantly something of the cool- smooth-feeling when we look upon highly polished marble. Velvet seen near at hand gives us similarly a feeling of soft- ness. It is not simply that we know the marble to be cool and smooth^ or the velvet to be soft. That would be merely a matter of associating certain ideas with the percept. We mean to designate a phase of the actual perceptual synthesis. Certain bizarre forms of a similar process^ known as synes- thesia^ illustrate the point. For example^ certain persons when they hear music alv/ays experience colour sensations accompanying it. We may regard it as certain, therefore, that sensory stimuli affecting only one sense organ may set up perceptual reactions involving directly more than one sen- sory area in the cortex, so that the percept resulting may be regarded as a coalescence of several different sense qualities. Auditory perceptions show just the same influence of ex- perience as do the visual perceptions which we have analysed. When we first hear a foreign language spoken, it is a mere babel of sounds. Presently, as we come to learn the lan- guage, the sounds become words with meanings intelligible to us, and our perception of what we hear thus manifests, as in the case of vision, unmistakable dependence upon our past experience. So also with touch. We learn that certain kinds of contact experiences mean door-knobs, or pencils, or books, etc. We might run through the whole list of sense organs and find the same thing true in varying degree. We may conclude then, that a second important factor in perceptual processes, in addition to the tendency to perceive objects as definite wholes, is the striking combination of the present with the past, of novelty with familarity. Were it PERCEPTION 127 not for the fact that the perceived object connects itself in some way with our foregoing experience^ it would be entirely meaningless and strange to us. This is the way the words of an unknown language impress ns when we hear them. On the other hand^ the perceived thing is in some particulars dif- ferent from these previous experiences^ otherwise we could not distinguish the past from the present. Perception is^ then^ evidently a synthetic experience^ and the combination of the new and the old is the essential part of the synthesis. This process of combining the new and the old is often called apperception. In perception^ therefore^ the raw material supplied by the several senses is taken up into the psycho- physical organism^, and there^ under the process of appercep- tion^ given form and meaning by its vital and significant union with the old psychophysical activities. Material taken up in this way becomes as truly a part of the organism as does the food which enters the alimentary tract. Genesis of Perception. — It is evident from the facts we have examined in the immediately preceding paragraphs^ that the development of perception depends upon the degree to which our past experience enters into the results of each new sensory excitation. In the discussion of habit and of atten- tion^ we observed that attentian undoubtedly does make itself felt^ first in splitting up the undifferentiated, vague' con- tinuum of consciousness into parts; then in connecting these parts with one another; and finally in endowing the organism with habits whereby it may the more promptly and efficiently cope with the conditions it has to meet. Clearly, a fully developed perception is itself simply a kind of habit. That I should be able, when looking at a plane surface limited by four lines making two acute and two obtuse angles, to see a square table-top is only explicable by remarking that this perception has been acquired just as most other habits have been, i. e., slowly and by dint of many repetitions. So far as we can determine, experience begins to operate 128 PSYCHOLOGY upon our sensory excitations at the very outset of lif e^ and the process of perception accordingly begins, but in a very rudi- mentary manner, immediately after the hypothetical " first moment ^^ of sensation which we described in the previous chapter. Nevertheless, we must suppose that for many weeks the perceptual process is on a very low level of advancement. In the first place, as we pointed out, a perception involves our having some knowledge, however simple, about the object. But such knowledge about objects depends upon our ability to con- nect various sensory experiences with the same object, and this in turn depends largely upon our ability to control our movements. We mentioned in an earlier chapter that such control is a relatively late acquirement, and accordingly our perceptual processes get no available opportunity for develop- ment in early infancy. An illustration will make this clearer. Let us take the possible course of events involved in a baby^s acquiring the perception of a bell. Obviously the visual factors involved cannot be satisfactorily employed, until some control has been attained over the eye miuscles, so that the child's eyes are able to converge and follow an object. This attainment is commonly achieved about the third or fourth week of life, although there is great variation here. If the child never touched the bell and never heard it, he might still learn to recognise it when he saw it, as something he had seen before ; but he evidently would have no such per- ception of it as you and I have. As a matter of fact, the bell will be put into his hand, and during the random move- ments of the hand his eye will sometimes fall upon it. The occasional repetition of this experience will soon serve to fix the association of the touch-hand-movement feelings with the visual consciousness of the bell, so that the thing seen will inevitably suggest the thing felt and moved, and vice versa. Moreover, all the time this has been going on there have been sensory stimulations of sound from the bell. This group of elements, therefore, becomes annexed to the PERCEPTION 129 rest of the group, and straightway we have the rudiments of the process by which, when we see or touch or hear a certain kind of object, we promptly perceive it as a bell, i, e., as a something to which a certain total mass of familiar experi- ence belongs. Such a case as this is typical, and despite certain omissions of detail, may serve to represent the kind of activities which always accompany the acquiring of perceptions. It will be remembered that we connected the perceptual process with the establishment of relations. In the case which we have used for our illustration these relations show clearly in the connecting of one group of sensory experiences with another. The auditory group comes to mean the eye group, and both of these come to mean the hand-movement group. Moreover, the definite establishment of these relations is practically dependent upon the motor factors by which the hand and eye come to control the object. When such relations as these are once set up, we have a definite perception of an object about which we know something, i. e., that it is an object from which we can get certain kinds of familiar experiences. It will be seen at once that in this series of events by which the perception becomes definite, the several steps involved are brought about on the strictly mental side by the action of attention, which we have previously sketched. First, there is the dissociative process, throwing out into the foreground of consciousness the visual characteristics of the bell, as dis- tinguished from other things in the visual field. This is followed by the associative, or relating process, which connects this visual bell with the auditory and tactual-motor experi- ences. It remains, then, to inquire what further development takes place after the accomplishment of this synthesis of the different sensory activities of sounr\ sight, and touch into the consciousness of a single object. Development of Perception. — We spoke of fully developed perceptions a moment ago as habits. If this metaphor were en- I30 PSYCHOLOGY tirely appropriate^ it might seem that perceptions would come to a certain point of development and then stop. Clearly, our reference to habit was in one particular misleading. Our most perfect habits are all but unconscious. A perception, on the other hand, is distinctly a conscious process. The truth of our statement lies in this fact, i, e., that just in the degree in which our necessities permit us to perceive and react upon objects in literally the same manner, time after time, do we tend to become unconscious of them and to react to them in accord- ance with the principle of mere habit. We thus become almost wholly oblivious to the exact appearance of a door- knob which we have occasion to turn very often. Our eyes may rest upon it momentarily, but only long enough to guide the hand in its movement, and often without registering any visual impression of which we could immediately afterward give an exact account. There are also certain features of the neural process in perception which ^ Warrant our com- parison with habit, and to these we shall come in a moment. The great mass of our perceptions, however, are of objects whose relations to us change sufficiently from time to tim^e to make any complete subsidence of our consciousness of them incompatible with their effective manipulation; consequently we continue to be definitely aware of them. The development of perception, which goes on in a certain sense more or less all our lives, and in a very definite sense up to the period of mental maturity, is plainly not a develop- ment involving simply a more automatic response to objects. Quite the contrary. The process which we commonly think of as growth in the powers of perception consists in the further elaboration of the discriminative and associative ac- tivities of attention. We learn to see new things in the old objects, new charactertistics, which before escaped our know- ledge. We also learn more about the objects, and thus, when we perceive them, perceive them in a modified and more in- telligent way. Speaking literally, it therefore appears that PERCEPTION 131 development in perception really involves perceiving new objects in the old. A moment^s reflection will show the similarity of this fact to one which we noted when analysing attention^ i, e.^ that to continue our attention to an object for more than a moment we must notice something new about it, see it in a new way. We might of course substitute the word perception for the word attention, inasmuch as attention is an attribute of all consciousness, and then the proposition would read: we can- not continue to perceive an object beyond a moment or two, unless we perceive it in a new manner. Perceptions which we do not execute in a new way we have already seen do actually tend to lapse from consciousness, passing over into habits of response which we make to certain physical stimuli. When a child is taught to observe the arrangement of the petals in a flower, he thenceforth perceives the flower in a new way. To him it really is, a new object. All development in perception is of this kind, and constitutes a sort of trans- formation b)^ the unfolding of the old object into the new and richer one. The larger part of this perceptual develop- ment occurs during childhood and adolescence. Neverthe- less, there is a continuation of the process in an inconspicuous way far into old age. Thus, we come in childhood to recog- nise the salient characteristics of the common things about us in every day life. During adolescence we enrich this material by observing more accurately the details of these things, and by increasing our knowledge of their general purport and relations. After attaining maturity our further advance is alm-ost wholly connected with the affairs of our professional, or business, life. The musician becomes more sensitive to the niceties of harmonic accord and the nuances of melodic sequence. The business man becomes more observant of the things which pass under his eye, so far as they are related to his specialtj^ The elementary school teacher learns how to keep the corner of her eye sensitive to iniquity upon the back 132 PSYCHOLOGY seat while apparently absorbed in listening to the recitation of virtue npon the front bench. The mother learns to watch her children with an increasingly intelligent discrimination between acts which indicate illness and those which indicate fatigue^ excitement^ and transitory irritation. Everywhere development is primarily shown by fresh skill in the detec- tion of new features in old things. Illusions. — Certain instances of illusion furnish a striking conjS.rmation of the general ide^of perception which we have been explaining. An illusion is a f alse^ or erroneous^ percep- tion^ which is often spoken of as a deception of the senses. But this is misleading, as we shall presently see, for the senses ordinarily operate properly enough. The difficulty is with our reaction upon the sensory material furnished to us. Among the most frequent of such illusions is the misreading of printed words. We sometimes read the words put before us as we have reason to suppose they ought to be, not as they are. Thus, if we come across the word mispirnt, many of us will read it in all good faith as misprint and never see the difference. We react to the general visual impression and its suggestion, and see what really is not before us. If the sentence in which the word occurs is such as to give us a definite anticipation of the word, the probability of our over- looking the typographical error is much increased. Similarly when we come into a darkened room where sits a spectral form — an experience which as children most of us have had — we see a person with startling clearness; and the subsequent discovery, that the supposed person consists of clothing hang- ing upon a chair, is hard to accept as true. Illusions of sound are very common. We fancy we hear our names called, when in point of fact the sound we thus interpret may have been anything from a summons to some other person of simi- lar name, to the barking of a dog, or the whistle of a locomo- tive. Tactual illusions are also easy to produce. The so- called "illusion of Aristotle ^^ is a good specimen. (Figure PERCEPTION 133 50.) Children often achieve it bj' crossing the first and second fingers, and then moving to and fro upon the bridge of the nose with the crotch thus formed between the fingers. Presently one becomes distress- ingly impressed with the fact that one possesses two noses. This last instance is typi- cal of many ilkisions, in that it is caused by stimulating with a single object the sides of the two fingers which are ^^* not ordinarilv in contact with one another, and for the stimulation of which, accordingly, two objects are com- monly necessary. We react in the familiar, the habit- ual, way to the simultaneous stimulation of these areas of the skin. This has invariably been accomplished hitherto by the pressure of two objects, and two objects we therefore feel. It is clear that in such a case the sense organ is in no way at fault. It sends in the impulses communi- cated to it just as it has alwa5^s done before; but the reaction which we make upon the impression also follows the usual course, and in this special case happens consequently to be wrong. The same explanation applies to our reading of incorrectly spelled words. Many illusions of movement, e, g., such as we obtain in railroad trains, are of this character. The same general principle holds, but applied in a slightly different manner, when we see, or hear, or otherwise perceiv-e, some object not actually present, because we are expecting to perceive it. Thus, if we are listening for expected foot- steps, we find ourselves time after time interpreting other sounds as those of the awaited step. At night the nervous housewife wakens to hear the burglars passing from room to room along the corridor. Step follows step in stealthy but unmistakable rhythm, though the whole impression has no other objective basis than the occasional cracking of floors 134 PSYCHOLOGY and partitions^ phenomena v/hich are the constant accom- paniments of changing temperature. There are many kinds of illusions, be it said, which do not come immediately under the headings we have discussed. For example^ such illusions as that in figure 51 are much too complex in their basis to be properly included, without modification, under the ex- planatory rubrics we have considered. It is clear that a consideration of illusion affords new and striking confirmation of the part played in perception by previous experience. The cortical reaction suggested by the Fig. 51. Despite their contrary appearance, the two horizontal lines will be found of equal length. stimulus does not happen to correspond to the object actually present. But this cortical reaction is evidently determined by the impress of old perceptual experiences whose traces have been preserved. The same point is admirably illus- trated by such drawings as the accompanying, figures 52 and 53. We can see the stairs, either as they appear from above, or from below. In one case the surface a seems nearer to us; in the other case 6 seems nearer. We can see in the other figure a big picture frame, the frustrum of a pyramid, or the entrance to a square tunnel. Yet one and the same object is presented to the retina in each case. The eye can PERCEPTION 135 Fig. 52. hardly be accused of responsibility for the shifting results. But lines like these have actually been connected in our for- mer perceptions with the several objects named;, and in consequence the cortical reaction appro- priate to either of them may be called out. It would seem abundantly certain^ therefore^ that while a portion of what we perceive is always supplied from without^ another portion^ and often the dominant portion^ is supplied from within ourselves. Hallucination. — In distinction from illusion^ which is es- sentially perception^ {%. e., a consciousness of particular material things present to sense — though other things than those really perceived happen to be present) ;, hallucination is the name given to the consciousness of objects felt to be physically present^ when as a matter of fact no object of any kind is at hand. Illusions are every day experiences familiar to all of us. Hallucinations^ while by no means infrequent^ are much less common and con- sequently more difficult to de- scribe satisfactorily. Many of the alleged telepathic phenomena in- volve hallucinations. Thus^ for in- stance^ one is sitting alone in a room and suddenly sees another person^ known to be thousands of miles distant^ come in and sit down. Again^ when alone in the same way^ one suddenly hears some sen- tence clearly spoken. In neither case^ needless to say^ is any- one actually present^ save the owner of the hallucination; and Fig. 53. 136 PSYCHOLOGY there are no obvious external phenomena which conlcl be held accountable for the experience. All the senses seem to be represented from time to time in the hallucinatory perceptions^ although hearing and vision are^ perhaps^ the ones most fre- quently involved. An interesting distinction has been made between true hallucination and what is called pseudo-hallucination. In the first case the perceived object not only seems external and real, but there is in the mind of the person experiencing the hallucination no suspicion at the time that the object seen^ or heard^ is not actually real and present. In the second form there is a sort of background consciousness^ such as we sometimes note in dreams^ which assures the victim that the phenomenon is after all imaginary and unreal^ despite its genuinely objective appearance. It has been suggested that hallucinations are really ex- treme forms of illusions^ extreme cases of misinterpretatiqn of sensory stimuli/ resting upon highly disintegrated cortical forms of reaction. The sensory source of the stimulation has been sought at times in pathological conditions of the sense organs^ e. g.^ congestion of circulation in the eye^ or ear, etc. There are many facts which tend to confirm this view, which is ad"stocated by certain of the most competent judges; and some others which are very difficult of reconciliation with it. A discussion of the point at issue would take u.s too far afield for present purposes, and readers who are interested in such matters must consult some of the more extended and special- ised treatises. Meantime, we must admit that unless this last suggestion is correct, hallucination furnishes an excep- tion to the general rule that cortically initiated conscious processes are less vivid and less definitely externalised than those which originate in sense organs. If hallucination is not peripherally initiated, it belongs to the group of phe- nomena which we shall examine in the chapter upon imagina- \ PERCEPTION 137 tion^ and we may defer further discussion of it until we reach that point. Neural Process in Perception. — The nervous pathways in- volved in perception are probabl}^ identical with those which we have described in connection with sensation processes. In vision^ for example^ the occipital regions in the cortex are unquestionably employed^ in cases of auditory perception the temporal region is active^ etc. But there is this highly im- portant fact to be taken more explicitly into account^ i, e., that in perception the cortical activity^ which is in part decided by the Mnd of neural stimulus sent into it^ is in large measure determined by the modifications which previous ex- periences have impressed upon the structure of the hemi- spheres. Evidently this is but a statement in physiological terms of the doctrine which we have alreadj^ enunciated in psychological form. As w^e observed in our discussion of habit^ every nervous current which passes through the cen- tral system seems to leave its impress behind it^ and this impress modifies the nature of the neural excitations which follow it. The case of perception is^ accordingly^ only a special instance of this general principle^, albeit a peculiarly important and conspicuous one. It is on this account^ L e.^ because of the fundamental importance of the accumulating modifications of the cortex, that we compared perception, earlier in the chapter, to the^ case of habit. From tRe side of neural action, therefore, perception cannot be referred simply to the emplo}mient of a certain pathway throughout the sensory-motor tracts; it must be referred to a certain Tcind of action, in which the result in consciousness appears to be a product of two neural factors — sensory stimulus into cortex modified by previous experience. General Function of Perception.— In order to give percep- tual processes their proper setting among the psychophysical activities of adjustment, we must revert once again to our notion of the sensory-motor circuit. We have already ob- 138 PSYCHOLOGY served that in this device the sense organs represent so mam^ telephonic receivers ready to transmit inward messages from the external world to the organism. We have also described in a general way the method by which certain kinds of motor reactions to these sensory stimulations are brought to pass. But in the higher brain centres the pathways connecting sense organs with muscles are often extremely complex^ and a stimulus transmitted inward by the afferent nerves may lead to innumerable intermediary brain activities before it issues again in movements of the voluntary muscles. Now perception is the conscious concomitant of certain of these brain processes. Memory^ imagination^ reasoning, etc.^ are others. Bearing these facts in mind^ and observing closely what actually occurs when we are engaged in perceiving ob- jects^ we readily detect the main function of perception. Perception represents the direct^, organised^ and system- atised internal reaction of the individual upon his environ- ment. The process is sometimes called presentation^ and this is a good name for it. In it the world is presented as a sys- tem of relations — not merely reflected as a disorganised mass of atoms and molecules^ but constructed by the various activi- ties of attention into definite objects. If sensation is prop- erly described^ after a common fashion^ as the process in which the mind and the world of matter first come together^ perception may be described as the point in which the past and the present come together for the creation of a new object. The perceived thing is not simply the physically present vibrations of atoms and molecules which we call lights or sounds or what not; it is these vibrations, as they are interpreted by a psychophysical organism which exposes to them a nervous system already affected by past experiences, that enable it to get only certain specific kinds of results from the present synthesis. Evidently we make far more constant use of our past experience than common-sense ob- servation would lead us to suppose. It is not only when we PERCEPTION 139 reflect upon our past life that vre shape our action in accord- ance with its instructions and admonitions; every time we open our ej^es to see^ or our ears to hear^ what we can see and hear is in a true sense and in large measure determined for us by what we have previously learned to see and hear. It is a moralistic truism that only the good can really love and appreciate virtue. But this principle is not simply^ nor primarily^ a moral tenet. It is based on irrefutable and unavoidable psychological foundations. It states a law of the mind which we might wish at times to change^ but can- not. We can only perceive those things which our experi- ence allows us to perceive. The things may be there before us in all their beauty and purity. But we cannot see them if our minds have been wholly unschooled in such percep- tions. The first and basic function of perception^ then^ is to afford us our primary knowledge of a world of objects amid which we have to live. It is the first actual^ definite^ and complete step in the process of knowledge whose further and more complex features we have next to examine. The second great function of perception grows out of the first. Indeed, it might be regarded as in a measure simply a corrolary of the first. All the sensory and afferent proc- esses have their ultimate value, as we saw must be the case in Chapter II., because of the more efiicient movements of adjustment to which they lead. Perception is no exception to this rule, l^ow in order that sensory stimulations may not lead at once to motor responses, but may be interpreted and correlated with other sensory impulses, it is evidently necessary that there should be some provision for halting them momentarily, and identifying them, when they come again and again. Perception is the process by which this identification is made possible; and so it comes to pass that perception is the first, both logically and genetically, of the conscious operations by which the life of control is inaugurated. HO PSYCHOLOGY We nave repeatedly seen that perception involves immedi- ately within itself the effects of antecedent experience^ and a secondary result of this complication with memory processes is that when we perceive an object which is in any way familiar we instantly recognise it. If the object thus recog- nised be one about which our previous experience is unam- biguous^ we respond almost instantly with appropriate movements — those of aversion^ if it be repulsive or harmful^ those of approbation^ when the contrary sentiments are aroused. If the object have no such definite antecedent reactions connected with it^ we straightway fall to deliber- ating as to our course of action; or if the impression be wholly fleeting^ we pass to some more stim^ulating enticement. Perception is thus the gateway through which the mass of sensory excitations (save those already grown purely habitual) must pass before they can. be permitted to set up motor responses of the volitional kind. Often the perceptual activity is sufficient to decide this volition. The clock strikes and we rise to leave the room. When mere perception is not felt to be adequate to the case^ the matter is handed over to refiective deliberation. In either events voluntary response is safeguarded. The formation of the elements of the process of knowledge and the inauguration of the control' over move- ments in accordance with the mandates of experience — these are the two great functions of perception. This statement applies without modification to the special phases of percep- tion^ to which we shall next advert. CHAPTEE VII PEECEPTION OF SPATIAL A^B TEMPOEAL EELATIOJSrS I. SPACE The objects which we have mentioned in our analysis of sensory consciousness are all objects perceived by us as parts of a spatial and temporal oijder; and it is evident that our account of them would be extremely defective if we altogether omitted a study of these time and space relations. We shall consider space first. Two Fundamental Problems, — Psychologists are divided in opinion upon two fundamental problems concerning our space perceptions. It is maintained in the first place by some of them^ the nativists^ that space perception is pri- marily an innate hereditary attainment possessed by us in a rude form prior to^ and independent of, all experience. Others, the empiricists, maintain that spatial judgments are as much the results of experience, are as truly acquired, as piano playing or the^ liking for caviar. We shall not discuss the question, for this^ would require more time than we can give it. But we;may register the dogmatic opinion that both parties to the controversy are in a measure correct. W^e hold that the crude, vague feeling of extension, of volume, is a genuinely innate experience, unlike any other experience, and underived by mere experience from non-spatial psychical elements. So far we are nativists. On the other hand, we are confident that all accurate knowledge of the meaning of the space relations in our space world, all practically precise 141 142 PSYCHOLOGY perception of direction^ position^ contour^ size^ etc.^ is a re- sult of experience^ and could never be gained without it. So far we are empiricists^ holding to a genetic point of view regarding the development of our adult space consciousness. The analyses and discussions which follow will serve to fur- nish some of the evidence upon which this view rests. Sensory Basis of Spatial Perception. — The second main point upon which psychologists are unable to agree concerns the sensory sources from which we gain our spatial judg- ments^ a matter to which we made cursory reference in Chap- ter V. The majority of psychologists maintain that vision and touch are the only real avenues of spatial perception; whereas certain others^ like James^ boldly maintain that all forms of sensory consciousness are "^ voluminous/^ — ^smell and taste and audition^ as well as sight and touch. The doctrine maintained in this book is that all forms of sensations are immediately suggestive of spatial attributes^ e, g.^ position^ size^ distance^ etc. ; but that only sight and touch possess in- trinsically and completely the full spatial characteristics. We include in touchy when thus mentioned^ all the cutaneous sensations and the motor^ or kinsesthetic^ sensations. As a matter of fact^ however^ the temperature and pain sensations, considered apart from pressure and sensations of movement, are ordinarily negligible elements. When involved in con- junction with pressure, they often modify our perceptions materially. Doubtful Cases. — Taste and smell and hearing are really the debatable sensations. Taste we throw out of court at once, because taste stimuli practically involve invariably the stimulation of cutaneous sensations of contact and tempera- ture. We cannot, therefore, submit the matter to unam- biguous introspective analysis. Smells we undoubtedly - classify at times in ways suggesting spatial attributes. The smell of illuminating gas seems somehow a more massive, extensive sort of thing than the odour of lemon peel. But if SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 143 one lessens the disparity in the intensity of the two odours^ by getting just the merest whiff of the gas and inhaling freely and deeply of the lemon odour, the spatial difference between the two begins to evaporate. There can be no question but that we tend to think of the more intense and more widely diffused odour as the larger. Nor is this remarkable, since we find it actually occupying more of the atmospheric space about us. But when we note that with mild intensities of odours their spatial suggestiveness wanes; when we further note that we have no definite impressions of size, much less of shape, under any conditions; and finally when we remark that even our ability to localise odours is extremely imperfect, we may well question whether smell has itself any properly space quality. The case of auditory space is similar to that of smell. We are told, for instance, that the tones of the lowest organ pipes are far larger, far more voluminous, than those of the high shrill pipes. A base drum sounds bigger than a penny- whistle, a lion's roar than the squeaking of a mouse, etc. Such illustrations, when adduced as evidence of the spatial character of sounds, evidently contain three possible sources of error. In the first place, we often know something about the causes of these sounds, and we tend to transfer the known size of the producing object to the supposed size of the sound. Secondly, and of far more consequence, sounds affect other organs than those of the internal ear, especially when they are loud or of deep pitch. Powerful tones thus jar the whole body, and are felt all over. Moreover, vibrations of the drum membrane of the middle-ear undoubtedly set up crude sensa- tions of pressure, or strain, to which we may come to attach a spatial significance associated with the sound. Add to this, thirdly, the fact that we readily convert judgments based upon the intensity of sounds into judgments about their extensity, just as in the case of smell, and one has a large mass of considerations leading to scepticism concerning the ^^ 144 PSYCHOLOGY genuineness of intrinsic auditory space relations. Of course^ no one doubts that we localise sounds^ and of the factors in- volved in this process we shall have more to say presently. But the fact that certain sounds are located within the head {e, g.y when two telephone receivers are placed against the ears and an induction shock sent through them) has been cited to prove the native possession of a true auditory space ; for here apparently experience from the other senses^ such as vision^ would give no direct assistance. But these cases are certainly capable of explanation by means of the intra-cranial sensa- tions set up in pressure nerves by bone vibrations^ and by the effect of the imagination^ visual and otherwise. Taken alone^ such evidence could hardly be conclusive. If we come back^ then^ to ordinary introspection^ we find that all which the most ardent partisans of an auditory space can claim is a much emaciated form of the visual and tactual article. A vague sense of volume^ or mass^ much vaguer even than that given by mere temperature^ with some crude sense of position^ would seem to be the utmost capacity. Any sense of contour or shape or exact size, any ability to measure, is lacking. Clearly such a space, even if genuine, which we doubt, would ill deserve to be ranked beside the space of sight and touch. The manner in which we localise sound may best be described after we have analysed visual' and tactual space. Growth of Space Perception. — Our adult cognition of space relations is generally so immediate and unreflective, the feeling for space values so compelling and seemingly inevit- able, that we find it difficult to believe that these reactions are the results of a slow process of growth and learning. Nevertheless, this is unquestionably the fact. Babies evi- dently have no precise perceptions of space until they have acquired a considerable degree of motor control; and even then their appreciation of large expanses and distances is often ludicrously inexact. The child reaching in good faith for the moon is the stock illustration of this sort of thing. SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 145 That we have no precise appreciation of visual space relations until experience has brought it to ns is abundantly proven by the cases of persons born blind and successfully operated upon for the restoration of sight. Immediately after the operation such persons are almost wholly at a loss for impressions of sizC;, shapC;, or distance. After the hands have explored the objects seen, and the eyes have been allowed to pass freely to and fro over them, these spatial impressions gradually begin to emerge and take on definiteness. By the use of properly arranged lenses and prisms experiments of various kinds have been made on normal persons, showing that we can speedily accommodate ourselves to the most unusual inversions and distortions of our visual space. We can thus learn to react properly, although all the objects, as we see them, are upside down and turned about as regards their right and left rela- tions. The new relations soon come to have the natural feel- ing of ordinary perceptions. These observations show very strikingly that there is noth- ing rigidly fixed and innate about the form of our space perceiving; that it is a function of experience and can be changed by changing the conditions of the experience. Moreover, it is easy to demonstrate that the space relations, as we perceive them by different senses, are far from homo- geneous. Indeed, the impressions which we gain from the same sense are often far from being in agreement. Never- theless, we feel our space relations to be objectively homo- geneous, a result which could hardly come about under such circumstances of sensory disparity without the harmonising effects of experience. To illustrate — the edge of a card pressed gently upon the forearm will feel to the skin shorter than it looks. The same card, if the finger tip is allowed to run slowh' along it, will feel longer than it looks. The dis- appointing disparity between the cavity of a tooth, as ii: feels to the tongue and appears to the eye, or feels to the finger-tip, is a notorious instance of the same thing. The 146 PSYCHOLOGY tongue and the finger-tip both give ns pressure sensations. Yet they give a very different report of the same object. Similarly^ objects seen upon the periphery of the retina ap- pear smaller than when seen by the fovea; and often they undergo a certain distortion in form. That we should per- ceive^ amid all these possible sources of confusion^ a fairly stable and well-ordered space world betokens unmistakably the systematising effects of experience^ controlled no doubt by the exigencies of our practical interests in effective orientation. Part Played by Movement. — Even though we recognise the fact that experience brings order and precision and effective- ness into our space perceptions^, the general manner by which these results are achieved is not yet clear; much less what factors are chiefly employed in their attainment. It requires only the most cursory examination to convince one- self that the all-important element in the building up and correlating with one another of our various spatial sensa- tions is movement. In acquiring accurate touch perceptions^ for instance^ the finger-tips and hands move over the object^ ^ ^ grasp it now in this way and now in that, until a complex set of tactual impressions has been gained from it. Without such movement our touch perceptions are vague in the ex- treme. If we close our eyes and allow another person to put a series of small objects upon our outstretched hands we receive only the m.ost indefinite impressions of form and size and texture. But allow us to manipulate the same objects in our fingers, and we can give a highly accurate account of them. Similarly, if we wish to compare visually the magni- tude and contours of two objects we must allow our eyes to move freely from one to the other. Indeed, reflection must assure us that the vital meaning of all space relations is simply a given amount and direction of movement. To pass toward the right means to make a certain kind of movement; to pass upward means to make another kind^ etc. To be SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 147 sure^ we assign arbitrary measures to these relations^ and we say an object is a mile away^ or is a foot thick and six inches high. But the meaning to us of the mile^ the foot^ and the inch must always remain ultimately expressible in movement. Were it possible to get at the exact stages in the process by which the child acquires its control over space relations^ ^ we should thus secure the most penetrating possible insight into our adult space perceptions. But as this is at present impracticable^ we must content ourselves with an analysis of the factors which seem clearly involved in these adult con- ditions, without regard to their genetic features. Touch and Vision. — It is certain that touch and vision practically cooperate from the beginning, and we shall isolate them from one another only to point out their respective peculiarities, and not because their operation is independent. (The most important, and for practical pur- poses the most accurate, part of our touch perceptions comes from the hands and finger-tips.) By moving the hands over the various parts of the body we come to have a fairly ac- curate notion of their touch characteristics in terms of the hand as a standard. Moreover, each hand touches the other, and we thus get a kind of check from touch on the tactual standard itself. Generally speaking, when two parts of our body touch each other we feel the one which is quiet with the one which is moving. Thus, if we stroke the forehead with the fingers we feel the forehead; but if we hold the hand steady and move the head, we feel the fingers. I^ow in order that we should be able to learn in these ways that a certain amount of sensation in the finger-tips means a certain area on the forehead, and, much more, that we should be able to tell with so much accuracy when we are touched what part of the body the sensation comes from, seems to depend upon what Lotze calls the ^^ local sign.^^ Local Signs. — If one is touched upon the palm and upon the back of the hand, one obtains from both stimulations / j^ 148 PSYCHOLOGY sensations of pressure; but however much alike they may be as regards duration^ intensity^ and extensity, we promptly feel a difference in them^ which leads us to refer each to its appropriate region. ISTow this something about touch sensa- tions which permits us to recognise them as locally distinct;, although we recognise all of them as being cases of contact, is what is meant by the local sign. These local signs, then, are the relatively fixed elements in our space-perceiving proc- esses. It is by learning to correlate one group of them with another group that we can develop by experience the ac- curacy of our perceptions. Thus, for example, we come to learn that the stimulation of one series of local signs in the order a-h-c means a special movement of one hand over the other, say the downward movement of the right hand over the left. The same series stimulated in the order c-b-a means the reverse movement. ( It must be remembered very explicitly at this point that we are including the kinaesthetic sensations of movement under the general heading of touch : since we doubtless have local signs of movement distinct from those of the cutaneous pressure sense, and they doubt- less play a very important part here. , But they are com- monly fused in an inextricable way with the pressure sensa- tions, so that a separate treatment of them seems hardly necessary in a sketch of this kind. A Caution. — A warning must be held out at this point against the fallacy of supposing that in learning his space world a child uses these local signs in any very reflective way. He does not say to himself : " That movement of localisation was inaccurate because I used the wrong local sign to control it.'^ He generally employs the " try, try again method,^^ until he hits the mark. But his success carries with it a recollection of the total feeling of the suc- cessful experience, and in this total feeling the local sign element is an indispensable part, even though the child is not himself definitely cognisant of the fact. SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 149 The simultaneous stimulation of a group of these local signs gives us the extensity feeling of touchy and when the impressions come from three-dimensional objects we get^ through our motor reactions upon them^ experiences of change of motion in three cardinal directions. This seems to be the basis of our tactual tridimensionality. Delicacy of Touch. — In normal persons touch falls far be- hind vision in its spatial nicety of function^ and far behind its possible capacities, as is shown by the astonishing accuracy of blind persons, who do not, however, seem to be notably more accurate than seeing persons as regards the parts of the •body which are not used for tactual exploration, e, g., the forearms and the back. But despite its lesser delicacy, touch- movement undoubtedly plays an important role during child- hood in furnishing interpretative checks upon our visual estimates of large areas and great distances. The visual per- ception of a mile, for instance, gets a practical meaning for us largely through our walking over the distance. More- over, although vision so largely displaces touch in our actual spatial judgments, touch always retains a sort of refereeship. When we doubt the accuracy of our visual perceptions we are likely, whenever possible, to refer the case to touch, and the verdict of this sense we commonly accept uncritically. Peculiarities of Vision. — Vision resembles the non-spatial senses of smell and hearing in one particular which marks it off characteristicallv from touch. Touch sensations we commonly refer to the surface of the body itself, although when we tap with a cane, or a pencil, we seem to have a curious kind of projection of part of our sensations out to the farther tip of the object. Visual objects we always place out- side ourselves. Even our after-images gotten with closed eyes often seem to float in a space vaguely external to ourselves. It seems necessary to assume a system of local signs for vision, comparable to those of touch-movement, although doubtless more complex. It must be admitted, however, that ISO PSYCHOLOGY introspection is much more uncertain in its deliverances here^, than in the case of touchy and we shall be on somewhat spec- ulative ground in assuming the nature of this visual local signature. It seems probable that this attribute of sensa- tions from the periphery of the retina consists primarily in reflex impulses^ or tendencies^ to movement toward the fovea^ the fovea itself furnishing a peculiar feeling which serves more or less as a fixed point of reference. Certain it is that stimulation of any part of the retina tends to release move- ments turning the fovea toward the stimulus. The incessant and complicated movements of the eyes over the visual field must speedily render the relation of the various retinal points, as conjoined by movements, intricate in the highest degree. But such relations as exist must pretty clearly rest on the intermediation of movements with their motor and retinal effects upon consciousness; and it seems probable, therefore, that the space value of any retinal point comes to be deter- mined by the position it occupies in such a system of move- ments. Thus, a point 20° to the right of the fovea in the visual field comes to mean to us a definite kind of motor impulse. One 20° to the left, another kind of impulse, etc. Whether the visual local sign is actually this sort of a fused retinal-kinsesthetic affair or not, there can be no doubt that, as adults, we have a remarkably accurate sense of the gen- eral space relations of the objects in the field of view, and that we can turn our eyes with unhesitating accuracy to any part of this field. The Third Dimension. — Psychologists have always been especially interested m the problem of the visual perception of distance, or the third dimension. Bishop Berkeley main- tained in his celebrated work entitled '' Essay Toward a New Theory of Vision ^^ (1709), that the eye cannot give us any direct evidence of distance, because any point in the visual field must affect one point and one only in the retina, and it can affect this no differently when it is two feet away from SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 1 51 what it does when four feet away. Therefore^ Berkeley con- cluded that our perception of visual distance is dependent upon our tactual-motor experiences. This view overlooks several important facts^, including its plain contradiction of our common feeling about the matter. (In the first place^ we have two eyes, and each eye sees a part of solid objects varying slightly from that seen by the other. The psychical percept of such objects appears to be a fusion of the factors supplied by the two eyes^ and we get from this source the visual feeling of solidity. The stereoscope employs this principle^ and by giving us pictures which exaggerate somewhat the disparity in the point of view of the right and left eye affords us a most startling impression of distance and volume. Further- more, we converge our eyes more upon near points than upon far, and the muscular strain thus brought about may serve to inform us of differences in distance. Similarly, the muscles controlling the lenses contract with varying degrees of intensity in the effort properly to focus rays of light from objects at different distances. How far our consciousness of these focussing movements is significant for our judgments of distance it is difiicult to say. But it is at least clear that there are factors operative other than those Berkeley had in mind, and the genuineness of the optical sense of distance can hardly be seriously questioned. The eye is, in short, not merely a retina, it is a binocular motor organ as well. Formally, therefore, visual perceptions are always fused stere- oscopic binocular-motor experiences. We use in actual practice other forms of criteria for dis- tance. Thus, the apparent size of the object is used as a clue to its distance. By the apparent size of a man we may judge whether he be a mile or a hundred yards away. Con- versely, when we know the distance, we can employ it to form an estimate of the size of an object at that distance. Thus,^ if we know the approximate distance, we can be fairly sure whether the person we see is a man or a boy. 152 PSYCHOLOGY The seeming size of objects runs roughly^ but not percisely^, parallel with the size of the retinal image. We make a certain compensation for objects at considerable distances.* The distinctness of the perceptual image is another crite- rion. Things seen dimly^ other things equal^, are judged to be far away. Objects near at hand seen dimly in this way^ as during a fog^ seem much magnified in size. We have dim- ness^ the sign of distance^ conjoined with a large image^ and we consequently judge the object to be much larger than it is^ because of its seeming distance. The contrary form of this confusion is experienced by persons going into the mountains for the first time. The unaccustomed atmospheric clearness renders distant objects unwontedly distinct^, and so they are misjudged as much nearer and much smaller than they really are. Our judgments of distance are seriously dis- turbed^ also^ when deprived of the assistance of familiar inter- mediary objects. Persons unacquainted with the sea are wholly unable to guess accurately the distance of vessels or other objects across the water. Light and shadow give us many trustworthy indications of contour^ and even the absolute brightness of the light seems to affect our judgment^ bright objects seeming to^ be nearer than those which are less bright. Inaccuracies of Space Perception. — Despite its general ac- curacy^ our visual perception is subject to sundry eccentric- * Much mystery has been made of the fact that the image on the retina is upside down, and still we see things right side up. This irrelevant wonder is like marvelling how we can see a sphere, when the cortical cells responsible for our seeing are arranged in a shapeless mass. The fact is, we have no direct personal consciousness of either retina or brain cells. The psychical image is a thing entirely distinct from the retinal image. To speak of this psychical image as having one position rather than another is simply equivalent to saying that a cer- tain set of motions are necessary to pass from one part of it to another. To pass from what we call the bottom to the top means a certain series of eye movements, or hand movements, and so on. SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 153 ities^ the precise causes of which we cannot pause to discuss. In many cases^ indeed^ the reasons for them are far from cer- tain. Thus vertical lines are commonly judged longer than objectively equal horizontal lines. The upper portions of vertically sjTnmetrical figures look larger than the lower portions. The printed letter S and the figure 8 illustrate the supplementary principle, that to make the top and bottom parts appear of equal size the bottom one must be made larger. The seeming size of objects is affected by their sur- roundings, a kind of spatial contrast evidently existing. Figure 54 illustrates this. We might mention many other instances, but space forbids. In the establishment of effective correlations among our Fig. 54. The middle lines of the two figures are of equal length. To most observers the lower one seems shorter. This result is attributed to the contrast effect of the surrounding lines. several sources of space perception, there can be no question, as we have previously insisted, that movement is the great factor. Objects touched are, by the movement of the eyes, at the same time seen. The superposition of one object upon another, and the successive passing of one hand after the other over the things we touch, must rapidly serve to build up elaborate space perceptions upon the foundation of local signs, some of which are visual and some tactual. Our space,^ as we know it in adult consciousness, is, then, a distinctly synthetic affair, developed from two or three distinct sensory 154 PSYCHOLOGY sources, through the intermediation of localising and explor- ing movements. Space Limen. — We may add for those who are interested in the quantitative aspect of these matters, that the limen for space perception in vision has generally been given at 60", this being the angular distance at which two lines can just be distinguished as two. Recent experimenters report a far smaller angle, one observer finding the limen at 15'', another at 2.5''. In touch, the threshold for the detecting of two points as two is, for the finger-tips, roughly, 2 mm. The tongue is even more sensitive. But this can hardly be called the space limen with propriety, for single points are felt as having some extension. Apart from the tongue, the finger-tips are the most delicate tactual surfaces. Speaking generally, the deli- cacy of tactual space perception seems to be a function, first, of the richness of nervous innervation (those places which are most richly innervated being generally most sensitive), and second, of practice, or use. Localisation of Sound. — Although we may not admit that auditory sensations are themselves spatial, we cannot question that we localise sounds with considerable accuracy. In ou^^^^ view, however, this localisation occurs in the space world of vision-touch-movement. The two most important factors in the localisation of sound are, first, the relative amplitude of the sound waves distributed to the two ears, and, second, the acoustic complexity of the sound waves. If the right ear is more violently stimulated than the left, we locate the stimulus on the right side of the body. If the two ears are stimulated equally, we judge the sound to be somewhere in the median vertical plane, at right angles to the line joining the ears. But of the precise point in this plane we are very un- certain. With sounds that have many partial tones, these tones, es- pecially the higher ones, are so affected by the bones of the head and by the external ear, that they reach the two ears in • SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 155 distinctly different condition^ save when they occur in the median plane. In consequence the timbre of complex sounds differs with their direction; and it seems quite certain that we employ these differences in our auditory localisation of direction^ and possibly also of distance. Our auditory esti- mates of distance, however, are highly inexact. To put it graphically, a sound on the right side may be heard as a fusion of tones a-h'C'd-e-f by the right ear, whereas by the left ear it could only be heard as a fusion of a-h-c, Now if the sound be moved to a point a little to the right of straight back, the right ear gets a-b-c-d-e, the left ear a-i-c-d. Our perception of the sound is of course always a fusion of the increment coming from the two ears. But our illustration may serve to show how these differences in timbre may act as local indices. Most persons seem to m_ake their localisation of sounds either in the form of visual imagery, or in the form of quasi-reflex localising movements of head and eye. It is possible that cutaneous sensations from the drum membrane are of some consequence in certain localisations, but the evi- dence for this is hardly conclusive. II. TIME Space and Time. — Although certain of our sensations may not, perhaps, contribute directs to our consciousness of space, all of them participate in furnishing us our sense of time. We are probably never wholly oblivious to the feeling of pass- ing time, and now and then it monojDolises our entire atten- tion. Unlike our perception of space, however, our direct , perception of time is a very limited, cramped sort of an affair. The eye permits us to range over the vast distances of inter- stellar space, but our perception of time, so far as it is an immediate sensory process, never gets far beyond the present - moment. It seems to be based upon our awareness of the changes occurring in consciousness itself. 156 PSYCHOLOGY Primary Characteristics of Time Perception — We may per- ceive the passing of time^ either in the form of a mere vague duration^ or as an interval^ depending upon whether we give our attention to the filling of the period^ or to its limiting stimuli. In either case what we become aware of is never a mere point of time^ sharply marked off from that which has gone before and that which follows. It is always a conscious- ness of an extent of time which confronts ns^ however limited this extent may be. The Specious Present. — This consciousness of the sensibly present moment is often referred to as the ^^ specious present ^^ — a phrase suggested by E. E. Clay. This specious present seems to owe its extended nature to the fact that objects which have once been in consciousness do not drop out in- stantaneously^ but fade out often somewhat slowly. We are at any given moment^ therefore^ aware in the fringe of con- sciousness not only of that which a moment ago engaged our attention but also of that which a moment hence is more fully to occupy us. This period of waning which our thoughts display before passing entirely out of the field of consciousness is often entitled the period of '^ primary mem- ory .^^ In any case our direct perception of the passing of time is simply this process in which from moment to moment we become aware of the coming and going among our con- scious activities. Evidently the scope of such a perceptual process must be very circumscribed. As a matter of fact our direct, as distinguished from our indirect and inferred^ con- sciousness of time never exceeds a few seconds. Under favourable conditions it may mount up to twelve seconds or thereabouts^ but ordinarily it is much shorter. Factors in Direct Perception of Time. — Although all the senses may be employed for this purpose, hearing is the sense from which we gain our most accurate direct perception of time relations. Touch and the motor sensations rank next, and in actual practice generally operate with hearing. If we SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS I57 are attempting to judge accurately the length of two time intervals we tend strongly to tap^, or make other rhythmical movements^ and our judgment is much assisted by these move- ments. The shortest interval which we can feel as a time period between two sounds is about 1-50 to 1-80 of a second. Sounds succeeding one another more rapidly than this we may distinguish as qualitatively different from absolutely simul- taneous sounds^ but we hardly recognise them as temporally separate. Furthermore^ we may feel as successive two stimuli which are objectively simultaneous. This is said to be true of the combination of a noise and a light sensation. When the auditory stimuli follow each other at the rate of less than 1-2 second^ we seem to sense the sequence in one way. When they come at intervals of 1-2 second to 3 seconds^ we have a different mode of reaction. These latter cases we feel distinctly as durations. Probably the sensory content of these durations is largely made up of kinaesthetic sensations^ especially from the respiratory muscles. The shorter intervals first mentioned we sense more as ^^ mo- ments/^ although they may vary considerably in actual length. They are in no true sense^ therefore^ felt as mere points in time. If we compare intervals longer than three seconds we find ourselves beginning to employ our consciousness of the number of sensations^ or ideas^ which come into the mind. We tend to overestimate very small intervals and to under- estimate long intervals. The region of relatively correct judgment may be called the indifference zone. This is about 6-10 to 7-10 of a second. Much as in the case of space perception^ we judge richly filled intervals as longer than relatively vacant intervals. " Empty time "^ is a myth. We always have some conscious- ness of change^ so long as we are conscious at all. We are also subject to illusions and to the effect of contrast, as in- spatial processes. An interval seems shorter when preceded by a long interval than when preceded by a short one, and 158 PSYCHOLOGY vice versa. An interval bounded by intense stimuli seems shorter than one with more moderate limiting stimuli. If our attention is very much engaged upon some expected event we may perceive it as coming before another event which it actually follows. Generally speakings our consciousness of time^ as such^ is proportional to our interest and absorption in the occupation of the moment. When we are bored^ as in waiting for a train^ or when ill^ time drags outrageously. We may be con- scious of every loathsome increment in it. When^ on the other hand;, we are thoroughly interested^ long intervals may pass as in a flash. Certain drugs^ such as hashish^ have a curious effect upon our time perception^ lending a vastly magnified perspective to it^ so that events of a moment since seem ages remote. Dreams often display a similar distortion. Indirect Time Perception. — Clearly our practical use of time relations depends largely on other processes than those of direct perception. For our consciousness of the hour, the day, and the year we resort to the sun and moon, to clocks, watches, calendars and other indirect means of information. Despite the fact that the subject does not bear immediately upon perception^ it will be convenient to add a few words at this point upon one or two general features of our time con- sciousness. General Characteristics of the Apprehension of Time Relations. — When we recall intervals of time which belong to the more or less remote past, we immediately remark a seeming paradox. Intervals which actually passed very slowly for us appear retrospectively to have been very brief. Thus, a tedious illness, when time palled upon us almost beyond endurance, may in recollection seem very short, although we actually know it occupied weeks. Conversely, intervals which passed in a twinkling appear to us in memory as long drawn out. The reason for the paradox is obvious. Our feeling for the length of these remembered intervals depends upon SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 159 the amount of content^ the number of events^ which we can read back into them. The interesting intervals are full of such things^ whereas the tedious periods are characterised by a depressing sameness^, which affords our memory little or nothing to lay hold upon. The change which comes over our feeling for the various intervals of time as we grow older is an interesting and familiar phenomenon. In childhood the year seems inter- minable, the month majestic, the week momentous, and even the day important, to say nothing of the hour. In adult years all these periods shrink, the longest ones most markedly. Our feelings for very short intervals, like the second and the minute, undergo no change of which we can speak confidently. Our notion of very remote times, whether thought of as past or future, is gotten in an almost wholly symbolic way, like our notion of vast numbers. The difference between 2000 B. C. and 6000 B. C. is a thing for which we have a cold intellectual apprehension, quite distinct from our feeling for the difference between 1776 and 1860. Neural Basis of Time Perception. — We can say very little about the neural basis of time perception, and that little is largely of an inferential and speculative character. If the awareness of passing time rests, as we have maintained, upon our consciousness of the waxing and waning of the thought processes, there should be some fairly constant phase of the cortical activity corresponding to this conscious metabolism. We may suppose this to exist in the rising and falling of the pulses of neural activity throughout the various regions of the cortex. Time consciousness would depend, therefore, upon the overlapping of the activity of various groups of neurones. Beyond some such vague formulation as this we cannot go. Let it be remarked, however, that the conception, though vague, is wholly intelligible. Physiological Time Sense. — In closing this subject, we may mention two striking and perplexing peculiarities which many i6o PSYCHOLOGY persons possess. One of these is the capacity for telling with great accuracy the precise honr^ whether by day or by nighty, without any recourse to watch or clock, and without any deliberate computation or estimate. The other is the ability to awaken exactly at any given hour, without any preliminary disturbance of the soundness of sleep. Both of these per- formances probably rest upon some sort of recognition by the cortical centres of the rhythm of physiological activities constantly in progress in the body. But after all is said, the matter remains something of a mystery, a mystery which is enhanced, rather than removed, by the familiar attempt to find an explanation in " subconscious ^^ activities. It sug- gests certain of the experiences met with in post-hypnotic suggestion. Of hypnotism itself we shall have something to say in the final chapter of this book. CHAPTEE VIII IMAGINATION General Psychophysical Account of Re-presentation. — In the last chapter we saw that even in those psychophysical proc- esses where the sense organs were most obviously engaged^ the effects of past experience were very conspicuous. This fact will suggest at once the probable difficulty of establishing any absolute line of demarcation between processes of percep- tion and those which^ in common untechnical language, we call memory and imagination. We shall find as we go on that this difficulty is greater rather than less than our first impressions would indicate^, and it will be well to come to the matter with the understanding that we are examining various stages in the development of a common process, rather than with any idea of meeting entirely separate and distinct kinds of mental activity. We called attention to this same point at the outset of our analysis of the cognitive functions. Our study of habit brought out clearly the strong tendency of the nervous system to repeat again and again any action with which it has once successfully responded to a stimulus. This tendency is peculiarly prominent in the action of the brain as distinguished from the lower nervous centres and the peripheral nerves. The undoubted retention by the ner- vous organism of the modifications impressed upon it by the impact of the physical world, in what we call experience, is commonly designated ^^ organic memory,^^ and forms beyond question the physiological basis of conscious memory. Thus, in perception, as we have just seen, the sensory nerves may bring in excitations of as novel a character as you please, but i6i i62 PSYCHOLOGY the brain insists on responding to these stimulations in ways suggested by its previous experience. That is to say, it repeats in part some previous cerebral action. Similarly, we observe that from time to time thoughts flit through our minds which we have had before. This we may feel con- fident, from the facts we examined in Chapter II., means a repetition in some fashion of the cortical activities belonging to an earlier experience. Sometimes these thoughts are what we would commonly call memories, L e,, they are thoughts of events in our past lives which we recognise as definitely portraying specific experiences. Sometimes they are what we call creations of fancy and imagination. But even in this case we shall find it difficult to convince our- selves that the materials of which such thoughts are consti- tuted have not come to us, like those of clearly recognised memories, from the store-house of our past lives. Although we shall postpone the detailed examination of memory until the next chapter, and must therefore anticipate somewhat the full proof of our assertion, we may lay down the general principle at once, that all psychophysical activity in- volves a reinstatement, in part at least, of previous psycho- physical processes. Stated in terms of mental life alone, and reading the principle forward instead of backward, it would stand thus : all the conscious processes of an individual enter as factors into the determination of his subsequent conscious activities. With this general conception in mind, we have now to analyse the special form of representation known as imagination. . General Definition of Imagination. — The term imagina- tion, in its ordinary use, is apt to suggest the fanciful and the unreal, the poetic and the purely aesthetic. We speak in this way of great poems as ^' works of imagination.^^ We describe certain persons as of imaginative temperament when they are subject to romantic fiights of fancj^ etc. These im- plications are of course properly a part of the meaning of the IMAGINATION 1 63 word, when emploj^ed in its usual nntechnical sense. But the psychologist uses the term in a broader way than this. In the preceding chapter we discussed the consciousness of ob- jects present to the senses. Imagination, in the psycholo- gist's meaning, might be called the consciousness of objects not present to sense. Thus, we can imagine a star which we do not see ; we can imagine a melody which we do not hear, an odour which we do not actually smell, etc. Stated in the more usual way, imagination consists in the reinstatement of previous sensory excitations. Speaking broadly, both per- ception and imagination would evidently involve the con- sciousness of objects, and their primary distinction from one another would be found in the physiological fact that one arises immediately from a sense organ stimulation, while the other does not. The principal psychical difference we pointed out in a previous chapter. The perceptual consciousness, which is peripherally originated, is almost invariably more vivid, enduring, and distinct than the centrally initiated proc- ess of imagination, and seems to us somehow more definitely ^^ given'' to us, to be more coercive. But the similarity of the one process to the other is quite as obvious, and quite as important, as their difference. The stuff, so to speak, out of which visual imagination is made is qualitatively the same kind of material as that out of which visual perception is made. Indeed, when we describe imagination as a conscious- ness of objects, we have already suggested that which is really the fact, i. e., that all imagination is based in one way or another upon previous perceptual activities, and conse- quently the psychical material which we meet in imagination is all of a piece with the material which perception brings to us, and altogether like it, save that in imagination the fabric is often mu.ch faded and sometimes much cut up and pieced. So far as we approximate pure sensations in sense experience so far do we have images reinstating approxi- mately pure qualities as distinct from objects. Images of 1 64 PSYCHOLOGY warmth^ for instance^ may have in them relatively little sug- gestion of objective character. Analysis of Imagination. (A) Content. — If we were to ask a dozen persons to think of a rose for a few moments, and then relate for ns the ideas which had passed throngh their minds, we should find that some of them had at once secured a mental picture of the rose in which the colour and the form were represented with considerable accuracy and detail. These persons evidently got visual images of the rose. Others would have found that the word ^'^rose^^ came at once into mind, followed by other words such as " American Beauty/^ " red/^ ^^bud/^ etc. These words would, perhaps, have been heard mentally, and together with this mental hearing the more acute observers would report for us a similar consciousness of the sensations of movem^ent which arise from the throat and lips when one is enunciating the words. This group of persons would have experienced auditory and motor imagery. Still others would report a faint consciousness of the odour of the rose, which involves olfactory imagery; and a few might tell us that they fancied they got tactual images, such as would arise from the thought of touching the soft petals. It might occur, although v/e should find this result rare, that some individual would report all of these images as passing through his mind in sequence. It has been asserted that we have no genuine motor, or kinaesthetic, images, because every attempt to think of a movement results in our actually making the movement in a rudimentary way; so that we get a kinaesthetic sensation in- stead of a kinaesthetic image. There can be no doubt that this is often the case; e, ^., the effort to think how the word ^^back^^ sounds will by most persons be found to be accom- panied by a definite feeling in the tongue and throat. More- over, there can be no doubt that the normal procedure is for every kinaesthetic ideational excitement to produce movement. This is only less immediately true of ideational excitement of IMAGINATION 165 otiieT kinds. M^antime^ there seems to be no reason in the nature of the case why we may not have kinsesthetic images in a form definitely distinguishable from the kinaesthetic sensations to which they may lead; and many observers in- sist that their introspection verifies the reality of these images. According to the commonly accepted doctrine there are, theoretically at leasts as many kinds of images as there are sense organs. If our experiment be amplified and a large number of persons be submitted to it^ we shall find that it is much easier for most persons to secure with confidence accurate and reliable images of the visual^ auditory, and motor varieties than it is to secure those of the gustatory, thermal, tactual, and olfactory types. Later on we shall in- quire into the probable reason for this difference. Moreover, we should find in the same way, if we gathered statistics upon the subject as others have done, that many persons, even though they can with sufficient effort command various forms of images, actually have their imagination in its ordinary use dominated by some one or two forms. From this observa- tion has arisen the recognition of mental " types," and cur- rency has been given to the division into " audiles," " tactiles,'^ "motiles," etc. These types are, as we have just pointed out, seldom or never absolutely exclusive of one another. But they indi- cate the prevalent form of mental material. With most of us there appears to be a relatively good representation of several forms, especially the visual, auditory, tactual, and motor. In any event we find that specific images of one kind or another always constitute the content, the material, of imagination. Image and Idea. — It may serve to clarify the terminology employed from this point on, if we pause to distinguish tenta- tively between the terms i mage and idea. So far as we have in mind the sensuous content of a thought, e. ^., its visual or 1 66 PSYCHOLOGY auditory character, we use the term iniage. So far as we wish to emphasise in addition to, or in distinction *f rom, this fact of sensuous constitution the purport, significance, or meaning of the image, we use the term idea. Images and ideas do not refer to two different states of consciousness, but to one and the same state, looked at now from the side of sensory char- acter and antecedents, now from the side of meaning. The matter will be discussed more fully in our analysis o%the concept. It should also be reiterated that in speaking of images as though they were distinct mental events, we do not mean to imply that the image constitutes the whole of consciousness at any given moment; nor that thought is made up of dis- connected bits of stuff called images. We are simply in- dulging the kind of abstraction in which we frankly an- nounced our purpose to indulge. Images merely represent, on the cognitive side, the more substantive moments in the onward flow of consciousness. They rise by indiscernible gradations out of antecedent conscious processes, and fade away into their successors without a vestige of abrupt separ- ation. Moreover, any given image is merged in a setting of sensory processes representing the momentary bodily condi- tions, attitude, etc., of which we made mention in discussing the physiological accompaniments of attention. (B) Mode of Operation of Imagination. — If we watch the play of our images under different conditions, we observe, regardless of the sense department to which they belong, cer- tain marked peculiarities which evidently call for separate classification of some kind. In dreams, for example, there often appears to be the utmost chaos in the fashion in which the images succeed one another; and when we have regard to their composition and character, they occasionally seem to be utterly novel and bizarre inventions, the like of which we have never known in waking experience. The hobgoblins of nightmares, with their inconsequential torments, are illus- IMAGINATION 167 trations of this sort of thing. On the other hand, in revery our minds ocasionally wander off amid trains of images which are coherent in their relations to one another, and which evidently spring from recognisable experiences, of which they are in a measure faithful representations. Thus, the recollections of a journey may pass through our minds, diversified by excursions into connected fields of thought suggested by the various incidents of the trip. Can it be that these two forms of imagination are really identical? Is the process which brings back to mind the recollection of the sound of the multiplication table one and the same in kind with that which leads to the sudden perfection of an inven- tion, or the inspiration of a fine verse? To answer this question in even a provisional way requires a closer examin- ation of these two forms of imagination, to which psycholo- gists have assigned the names " reproductive ^^ and '' produc- tive '^ respectively. Reproductive Imagination. — Eeproductive imagination consists in the representation of perceptions, or images, which have previously appeared in our consciousness. Thus, I may close my eyes and obtain a visual image of the desk at which I am writing. Such an image would illustrate what psy- chologists mean by reproductive imagery, inasmuch as my imagination would in this case simply repeat, or reinstate, some conscious experience which has previously been present in my mind. Evidentty at this rate the great mass of the events which we are able to remember would be recalled by means of reproductive imagination. Our ordinary memory processes would be instances of reproductive imagination, or, as it is sometimes called, re-presentation. Productive Imagination. — Productive imagination on the other hand involves the appearance in consciousness of images which have never before entered the mind in their present order and form. Thus, the visual image of an eight- legged dog might be called up, although it is reasonably cer- l68 PSYCHOLOGY tain that most of us have never seen such an animal, nor even a picture of it. Such an image would illustrate, in a rough way, what is meant by productive, or constructive, imagination. Now it is a favourite conceit of the untutored mind to suppose that it is possible mentally to create absolutely new materials for ideas, that it is possible to burst over the bounds of one's past experience and beget thoughts which are wholly novel. This is a flattering delusion which a little reflection will effectually dispel, although there is a distorted truth underlying the vanity of the belief. In the case of the eight-legged dog it is clear that, although we may never have encountered just such a creature in any of our adventures, the superfluous legs with which we have endowed him, which constitute his sole claim to novelty, are merely as legs familiar items in every experience with the canine breed. The productivity of our imagination consists, therefore, in the modest feat of putting together in a new way ma- terials of a thoroughly familiar kind. There is, and can be, no question of our having originated de novo fresh elements of the psychical imagery. We shall find a similar thing true of any instance we might examine in which a genius has created a new poem, a new statue, a new melody or symphony, a new machine, or a new commercial process. In each and every case, startling as is the result, and novel as may be the combination in its entirety, the elements which have been thus ingeniously juxtaposed are all of them drawn in one way or another from the richness of the indi- vidual's previous experience. Productive imagination is productive, therefore, only within the limits set by the possi- bility of combining in new ways the materials of past states of consciousness. But such limitations, be it said, afford scope for an amount of originality and creative fertility which far surpass any human accomplishment thus far recorded. IMAGINATION 169 Relation of Productive to Reproductive Imagination. — It appears at once from the foregoing statement that in one sense all productive imagination is really reproductive; and that in consequence we have in the last analysis only one form of relation obtaining between our present imagery and our previous consciousness. Strictly speaking this is un- doubtedly true. The differences which attract our attention to the seemingly distinct modes of imagination are primar- ily differences in the degree to which any given image^ or any sequence of images^ actually correspond to the entirety of some antecedent conscious event in our lives. When the cor- respondence is obvious^ we think of the imagery as reproduc- tive. When it is not^ we are likely to credit it with creative characteristics, and justly so, within the limits which we have designated. It only remains to notice one peculiarity about reproductive imagery which serves to modify some- what the purport of our conclusion. It is altogether problematical whether any image is ever in a thorough-going way a mere reinstatement, or repetition, of a previous perception or image. I may to-day, for ex- ample, think by means of an auditory-motor image of the word psychology ; I may do exactly the same thing to-morrow, and I shall then speak of having had the same image on two occasions. But it is clear in the first place that I cannot prove the two images to be really alike; for I can never get them side by side in my mind for comparison. When one is there, the other has gone, or has not yet arrived, as the case may be. Furthermore, if we turn to the considerations which we canvassed when we discussed the operations of the cerebral cortex, we shall find reason for thinking that no two images ever can be quite alike. For we saw that our con- sciousness, in which these images appear, and of which they are a part, apparently runs parallel with the brain activities X and it is quite certain that the brain, through its constant change of structure and tension, is never twice in precisely 110 PSYCHOLOGY the same condition; and consequently is never in a position to lead twice to the same excitation of consciousness. On the whole^ then^ it is perhaps nearer the truth to say that all imagination is productive^ rather than reproductive. When we speak of having had the same image on several oc- casions^ what we really mean is that we have had in this way images which we employed to refer to the same object. They have thus served our purpose quite as efficiently as they could have done by being actual copies^ the one of the other. The same thing is more obviously true as regards any image which purports to represent a perception. Functionally^ as regards what it does for us^ what it symbolises^ it really does reinstate the perception; but it is not on this account neces- sarily an exact copy of the perception. The distinction be- tween reproductive and productive imagination must not^ therefore^ be conceived of as resting on ultimate differences. It marks a practical distinction^ which is useful in enabling us to indicate significant variations in the operations of our imagery. Successive Association of Images.— This is a convenient point at which to consider the principles controlling the se- quence of our images, as they pass through the mind. The so-called law of association, which has played historically so important a part in psychology, undertakes to formulate the facts under a single general principle, i, e., the principle of habit. We have mentioned in an earlier chapter the phenom- enon known as simultaneous association. The process which we are to examine at this juncture is designated successive association. The law of association asserts that whenever two images, or ideas, have been at any time juxtaposed in the mind, there is a tendency, if the first of them recurs, for the other to come with it. Furthermore, the law asserts that so far as concerns the sequence of ideationally aroused imagery, no IMAGINATION 171 image ever comes into the foreground of consciousness un- less it has been in some wav connected with its immediate predecessor. The order of our thoughts is, in short, deter- mined by our antecedent experience. It is clear to the most casual reflection that this principle, if true, must operate under a number of definite limitations. We know, for example, that a given idea comes into the mind on one day with a certain set of accompaniments, and on another occasion presents itself with a wholly different escort. How is such a variation to be accounted for ? If we follow James in formulating the relation in brain terms, we may say that the liability of any special cortical activity, such as X, connected with the thought x^, to arouse any other cortical activity, such as 7/, connected with the thought y^, is propor- tional to the permeability of the pathway joining the brain areas involved in the production of x and y, as compared with the permeability of all the other pathways leading from the brain area involved in x to other regions of the cortex. (Figure 55.) Now this permeability must be largely a func- tion of previous use; that is to say, pathways which have by repeated employment become deep-cut in the brain tissues will, other things equal, be most pervious. Stated in purely psychological terms, this will mean thr^' the oftener any two ideas have actually been associated with one another, the more chance there will be that if the first one appears in consciousness the second one will accompany it. Among the many factors which must affect this perme- ability of the brain paths, three important ones are easily dis- cernible. These are the frequency, intensity, and recency of associative connection. Images which have been frequently associated evidently must be connected with neural activities which will tend, if once aroused, to react in the regular habitual way. Images which have been connected with one another in some vivid experience will be connected with in- 172 PSYCHOLOGY tense neural activities^ whose modifications of the brain tis- sues will therefore tend to be relatively deep and permanent. In this casC;, again^ we may look^ nnder the general operation of the principle of habit^ for practically the whole of the par- ticular psychophysical activity to be called ont^ provided any- thing starts up the first step in the process. Similarly, if two images have been recently associated, the pathwa5^s joining the brain tracts responsible for their accompanying cortical activities are likely to be d \ open; and the recurrence of the first image may 5 \ readily bring with it the reinstatement of the sec- ond. When we take into account the enormous num- / — -\ ber of our perceptual ex- — -^ y ) periences and the varied \^^^ richness which they present, we see at once that the num- ber of possible associates which the idea of any one of these experiences may possess is extremely large. If the idea 7 times 9 pops into my head, it is promptly followed by the idea 63. If, however, 4 times 9 comes to my mind,, the next idea is 36. In both cases the idea 9 is present, but the subse- Fig. 55. Altbougb pathways exist connecting the brain process X with the brain processes a, &, c, d, and y, if the pathway from a? to ^ is more pervious than the others, the activity of X is likely to be followed by the activity of y. quent associate depends upon the special concomitant with which the idea 9 is combined in the antecedent thought process. In a similar fashion our memory of special words in poetry depends upon the total mass of verbal associates with which they are surrounded. The word " mirth ^^ occurs IMAGINATION 173 in two of the following lines, and taken alone might suggest either of the following groups of words. Taken with its predecessors it rarely fails to awaken its correct consequents. *' And, if I give thee honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew, " These delights if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to live." Even if no factors were operative in the modification of the general principle of association, other than those we have already mentioned, we should find it practically impossible ever to predict with confidence what particular idea would come to our mind at any special moment. The law of asso- ciation is not, therefore, a principle of prediction^ but simply a formula for rendering intelligible in a schematic way the nature of the influences which control the order of our thoughts. It remains to remark one further factor of equal impor- tance with those already mentioned in its effect in determin- ing what associates shall recur with an idea at any given time. This is our momentary interest, the prevailing ten- dency of our attention. If our minds are dominantly en- gaged upon any line of thought, as when we are wrapt up in some absorbing problem, or plunged in some profound emo- tion, the ideas which flood our minds are almost wholly such as sustain intimate relations to the matter in hand. When we are overcome by sorrow all our thoughts centre about our grief. No other thoughts can gain a hearing from us. And the same thing is true in varying degree of any intense mental preoccupation. ^Ye see, then,, that the principle of association, or cortical habit, is modified, not only by the changing relations among the factors of past experience al- ready mentioned, e, g,^ such as frequency and recency, but also by the present psychophysical conditions reflected in such things as our attention and interest. This means, so far as concerns the brain, that those pathways are normally 174 PSYCHOLOGY most pervious which connect most intimately with the entire mass of ongoing brain processes. The astonishing vagaries of dream consciousness illustrate what may occur when all dominating purpose is removed and the associative ma- chinery is allowed to run wild and uncontrolled. Psychologists have been interested in various types of asso- ciation^ which they have called association by contiguity, association by similarity, contrast, etc. Association by con- tiguity is essentially identical with the process of which we have been speaking heretofore. A suggests B, not because of any internal connection, but because the two have often been contiguous to one another. This contiguity is originally per- ceptual in character. The objects are actually present together to the physical senses. All association is primarily dependent upon the contiguity of perceptual objects, as will be readily apprehended when the dependency of images upon perception is recalled. Ideas apparently follow one another at times, however, which could not have been previously experienced together, and in certain of these cases we remark at once that the two things suggested by the ideas are similar, contain an internal element of connection. We meet a total stranger, perhaps, and instantly observe the similarity to some absent friend. Poetry owes much of its witchery and charm to the delicate and unusual resemblances which the poet detects for us, as when he says : " So gladly, from the songs of modern speech Men turn, And through the music of the languid hours, They hear, like ocean on a Western beach The surge and thunder of the Odyssey." All the more conspicuous forms of genius seem highly endowed with this type of association, which is undoubtedly a genuine form of mental activity. We shall err only if w€ IMAGINATION 175 suppose the similarity to be somehow the cause of the associ- ation. As a matter of fact we always observe the similarity after the association has occurred^ not before^ as should be the case if it were strictly speaking a cause. James suggests, and this seems as plausible as anything yet proposed, that the brain activities involved in thoughts of two similar things are in part identical, and that consequently we have in their suggestion of one another a further instance of the principle of cortical habit. (Figure 56.) The brain processes x and y, having the similar thoughts x^ and y^ as their concomitants, Fig. 56. possess a common brain activity z. When x is active, there is thus a chance that the excitation of z may stir up y, to which z also belongs. Oftentimes the elements of likeness between two objects are several, as in cases of personal resemblance. On other occasions the resemblance may reduce to a single element. But the principle of explanation is the same in either case. Association by contrast is really a modification of the con- tiguity and similarity classes. Things are not felt as con- trasting unless they have some element of likeness, and tu feel this likeness and difference commonly involves experiene- ing them together, as Avhen we come to remark the contrast of black with white. 176 PSYCHOLOGY Miss Calkins has pointed out that in certain associative sequences the image which comes into the mind entirely dis- places the one which previously held sway. She calls this type of case desistent association. In other cases, however, a part only of the departing image is lost, the rest being taken np into the new image which succeeds it. This she calls persistent association. This analysis seems to touch upon a real distinction, but it clearly introduces no basal alteration into the general nature of the principle controlling the ideational sequences. Genesis and Function of Imagery. — The best clue to a correct understanding of the function of the image is to be gained, as in the case of all organic activities, when possible, by examining the conditions of its genesis, its appearance upon the field of psychophysical processes. In several of the preceding chapters we have examined the evidence underlying our thesis, that consciousness appears at those points where the purely physiological mechanisms of the organism prove inadequate to cope with the requirements of its life. We have seen how the organism is endowed at birth with certain established sensory-motor neural pathways, by means of which it is enabled to respond with appropriate movements to certain primitive kinds of stimuli. We have also seen how, at the places where these responses are found insufficient, sensory consciousness appears; and we find, first, vague sensation processes, and then crude perception. We have also noticed how attention, working upon this crude per- ceptual matrix, succeeds in differentiating it into the mul- titude of qualities and objects which constitute the world of the adult. In seeking to detect the appearance and the function of imagery, we must remember, then, thatffrom the outset of life organic activities are in progress and the sen- sory-motor activities in particular are in full swing. Each sensory stimulus is producing movements, which in turn are productive of fresh sensations. It is out from such a IMAGINATION I77 cycle of onward moving coordinations as these, therefore, that the image emerges; and if onr previous hypothesis is really adequate to all the facts, it must be that /the image is called forth by some need of the organism which the processes that we have already described are incompetent to satisfy. This is undonbtedly the case, and we have only to observe the evi- dent limitations in the capacities of the perceptual processes, taken by themselves, to discern certain of the functions which our images subserve. Perception enables its possessor to register in consciousness the particular object momentarily presented to the senses. But if consciousness never advanced beyond the merely perceptual stage, it is not apparent that it could serve to develop sys- tematised and intelligent movements of response to environ- mental demands and opportunities. We should always live in the immediate present, and our minds could consciously look neither backward nor forward. Now it is in the image that we find the psychical mechanism for accomplishing both these highly important functions. If an organism is to be in the fullest possible measure master of its own fate, it must be able to bring to bear upon the incitations of any particular stimulus all the informa- tion which its total experience will permit. Its response must thus represent, not onty the intrinsic tendency to overt action, which belongs to the stimulus itself, but it must also represent and express all the tendencies to movement which remain as the result of yielding to previous incitations. Un- less there be some organic arrangement of this kind, by means of which each act may represent with some adequacy the product of all related experiences in the past, one's actions would be as purely reflex, or as purely haphazard, as those of the least developed creatures. It is obvious that mere per- ception — although, as we have noticed, it does embody in a certain way the outcome of antecedent consciousness — does not in any sufficient manner provide for such a focussing of 178 PSYCHOLOGY one^s past experiences upon the selection of specific acts^ as is demanded by the best accommodatory responses. Without the image we might make many appropriate reactions^ but we should also make many more inappropriate ones than we now do; and any development of intelligence^ in the proper sense of the word^ w^onld be impossible.* The image is^ then^ the primary psychical process by means of which we bring into mind at need the experiences of the past. It is also the means by which we forecast the future. If I wish to remember what I read yesterday^ I accomplish it by summoning images which represent the experience at issue. If I wish to decide which of several lines of conduct I had best pursue^ or which of several possible acts my enemy is likely to hit upon^ I do it in either case by the use of images, which serve me in my tentative prognostication. These images may of course be of any variety ;, but in my own case they are likely to be largely visual — images of objects^ or scenes — and auditory-motor images of words^ for my own thinking goes on largely in these terms. The image thus affords us the method by which we shake off the shackles of the world of objects immediately present to sense^ and secure the freedom to overstep the limits of space and time as our fancy^ or our necessity^ may dictate. If we have correctly diagnosed the chief function of our imagery we may be certain that it makes its first appearance at a very early stage in the conscious life of the human being. For obvious reasons it is not possible to designate the precise * It is not certain that in animals the effects of pleasure and pain may not at times operate to produce the semblance of reflective intelligence, by discouraging some acts and encourag- ing others, without the interposition of any definite imagery. On the whole, however, it is difficult to believe that some vague counterpart of the image is not present, provided the action be not really dependent upon veiled reflexes. The impossibility of inspecting directly the animal consciousness renders ail dogmat- ism upon such questions unwarrantable. IMAGINATION 179 moment in the unfolding of the life of the mind at which the image is clearly and distinctly differentiated from the vague matrix of sensor3^-motor activities which we have seen characterising the first experiences of the child. But we may be confident that it is beginning to emerge in some sense departments^ whenever we see unmistakable signs of volition^ sav at about the twelfth week in most children; and there is no reason whj?' it may not be present^ in a crude^ indefinite way^ from the beginning of extra-uterine life. The Training of Imagery. — The development of imagery in the main runs parallel with that of perception^ with which^ as we saw in the previous chapter^ it is very intimately con- nected. It holds to reason^ without any elaborate justifica- tion^ that if any sense organ is allowed to go unused, or is used infrequently, the imagery belonging to that special sense cannot develop freely. In confirmation of this general asser- tion we have but to notice that the imagery which most of us find we can command with greatest accuracy and flexibility is that belonging to the perceptual processes with which we are most intimately familiar, i. e., vision, hearing, movement, and touch. Compared with these, our images of temperature, smell, and taste are relatively impoverished. Moreover, chil- dren who lose their sight before they are five years old com- monly lose all their visual images, thus exhibiting further evidence of the connection of the image with sense organ activitity. ISTevertheless, we have to admit that we display individual peculiarities and preferences in the kind of imagery which we employ that cannot be satisfactorily explained in terms of sense organ activities. The eye and the ear may be used with indifferent frequency and effectiveness, and still the imagery be dominantly of either the visual or auditory kind. Differences of this sort probably rest upon unassign- able structural variations, such as those which determine the colour of our eves. If we examine the type of development which characterises l8o PSYCHOLOGY the growth of any special form of imagery, such, for example, as the visual, we shall find that two distinct tendencies are discernible. We find (1) that the number of objects which can be simultaneously visualised increases, and (3) that the vividness, detail, and definiteness of the image increases. It is astonishing to observe how rapidly this capacity for visualis- ing unfolds in response to a little systematic effort and prac- tice. By devoting to the task a few minutes each day for a week, one may learn to visualise with great detail and re- markable accuracy the form, size, colour, etc., of even large and complex objects, such, for example, as great buildings. Generally at the outset we find that our images are relatively faint, meagre, and unstable; they lack vividness and veracity in colour, detail in form, and appropriate dimensions in size. Images of other varieties, auditory, for instance, are similarly defective at times, and yield as a rule to discipline, with a corresponding form of development. But after all, the important development of our imagery is not to be found by inquiring for such changes as we thus detect, when we consider it of and by itself apart from its place in the totality of psychophysical activity. The essen- tial thing is the increase in the dexterity with which we em- ploy it, and the growth in the efficiency with which it serves its special purpose in the economy of the organism. We have already commented upon its principal function. It is the psychical device by which we are enabled consciously to focalise upon our acts the lessons of our previous relevant ex- periences, and through which we forecast the future in the light of the past. To perform this function with the greatest ease, prompt- ness, and efficiency is the goal toward which the develop- ment of our imagery tends, both in those cases where we, as psychologists, purposely bend our efforts in that direc- tion, and also in those cases characterising ordinary prac- tical life, in which our attention is concentrated upon, and IMAGINATION i8i absorbed in^ the execution of some act^ and for the moment is oblivious to the means employed. We have already^ in an earlier chapter, outlined the general nature of this development, and we need hardly do more here than refer to the significant facts, and cite an instance or two of the process involved. If I wish to express some proposi- tion with the greatest possible force and clearness, I go about it by calling into my mind auditory-motor word images. Clearly I might use other kinds of imagery without affecting the relations which we are now examining. As a matter of fact I generally use, as do most persons under these condi- tions, auditory and kinsesthetic imagery. From among these word images I select that combination which appeals to my judgment as most appropriate and effective. Evidently the success which I achieve will be in part conditioned by the extent and richness of the images which I am actually able to summon. We speak sometimes of persons possessing a rich vocabulary. In the case of our illustration, my posses- sion of a good vocabulary means, when stated in strictly psy- chological terms, that I can command a large and effective group of auditory word images. As a child my imagery of the verbal kind is necessarily circumscribed in amount and phlegmatic in operation. When adult years are reached the amount of the available imagery is ordinarily much augmented, but unless there be discipline in its actual use, it is commonly found that much investment of time and effort is needed in order to secure the best and most expressive terms. The only real and infallible means of training one^s imagery for such actual operations is found in the definite use of it, either by writing or speaking. Prac- tice is here, as elsewhere, the one invariable clue to the highest attainable success. The business of such imagery is always to be found in some act, and the only way to develop it and make it reliable and efficient is by worlcing it. For various reasons, which we need not pause to discuss, the possession l82 PSYCHOLOGY of a good vocabulary for writing purposes does not neces- sarily carry with it a rich vocabulary for speaking; and in less degree the converse is true. One commonly requires separate training for each form of activity, if the best results are to be attained. When we were discussing the principle of habit we observed that all such coordinations as those which we have just men- tioned tend^ under the influence of practice, to become essen- tially automatic; and that consciousness consequently tends to disappear from their control. If this be always the case, the idea is at once suggested that in such a process as is involved in our illustration, i, e., the process of linguistic expression, the same tendency should be in evidence. I be- lieve this to be actually the fact, and I think a little observa- tion will confirm the position. We shall have occasion to examine the question more at length when we discuss later on the relation of language to reasoning, but a word or two may properly be inserted here. Just in the degree to which our linguistic expression involves thoroughly familiar ideas, and deals with familiar situations, do we find our consciousness of definite imagery vague and indistinct. A student inquires : '^ What did you mention as the date of the battle of Waterloo ? ^^ Instantly, almost without any definite consciousness of what I am about to say, I find I have replied — ^^ 1815.^^ But when the expres- sion is of some relatively unfamiliar idea, when the thought presents the possibility of several discrepant modes of utter- ance, I promptly become aware of imagery. Not always verbal imagery of course. That consideration is wholly secondary. But imagery of one kind or another I always find when the coordination required cannot be executed in the purely— or almost purely — habitual manner. If the situations with which we have to cope by means of speech were more widely fixed, instead of being, as they are in fact, relatively unstable and fluid, relatively changeable, I see no reason to doubt that IMAGINATION 1 83 speech^ like walkings might become essentially automatic — as I believe it to be in part already. Summarising^ then^ we may say that all imagery arises ont of perceptual activities^ upon which its appearance is. therefore^ most immediately dependent; it develops by use in the actual processes of controlling action^ and develops its real functions in no other way. This accounts for its appear- ance in greatest profusion in connection with those sense processes which are most significant for human life. It tends to drop away after it has served, in the general congeries of consciousness, to establish effective habits. It only remains to add, that while it arises from perception, it also reacts upon perception; for we perceive with fresh vitality those objects, qualities^ and relations for which we possess distinct images. CHAPTEE IX MEMOEY Memory and Imagination. — A considerable portion of the mental events which we examined in the last chapter as instances of imagination^ might with propriety have been described as phases of memory. In our common use of the term ^^ memory/^ we mean to indicate such processes as involve recollection in any fashion whatever. We say in this way that our memory informs us that Napoleon was impris- oned at St. Helena; that 8 x 7=56 ; that yesterday was rainy, etc. We also speak of remembering that on a certain occasion we m_ade a certain remark to a certain individual. Evidently these illustrations might all be described as cases of reproduc- tive imagination, for they all involve reproductive imagery. We may be reasonably sure at once, then, that memory and imagination have one point at least in common, i. e.^ the image. But there is one important difference between memory, in the more precise meaning of the word, and mere imagination, which makes it desirable to devote a separate chapter to its study. We might go on indefinitely having similar, or even identical, images pass through our minds, and, if we did not recognise them as having been previously portions of our experience, we should never in any strict sense be able to speak of our having a memory process. In memory, our consciousness not only re-presents old experiences to us, but we are aware of the images thus brought to us as actually standing for items of our previous states of consciousness. If I am turning over in my mind the wisdom of making a 184 MEMORY 185 journey to India^ the thoughts which come into my mind are brought there by some form of reinstatement of knowledge which I have gained on some earlier occasion. Productive, or reproductive, processes of imagery are at work. But my attention may be wholly monopolised with the reference of these thoughts to the future. They may not at any point in my thinking present themselves as mere exponents of my ante- cedent experiences. I think of India as an interesting country, and my 'attitude is of course determined by things which I have previously learned about it. But this fact of my having gotten my information in some moment of my earlier life may drop wholly out of sight in my enthusiasm over the knowledge itself. Clearly, then, there is a distinc- tion between the mere reappearance of ideas in consciousness, and the fact of memory, as involving recognition of these ideas as elements in my own past history. Definition of Memory. — ^We may define memory, then, with more preciseness than we have before attempted, by quoting James' words. "Memory proper — is the knowledge of an event or fact, of which meantime we have not been thinking with the additional consciousness that we have thought^ or experienced it before/^ Analysis of Memory.— Let us take a specific instance of memory as thus defined and examine it. Suppose we attempt to recall where we were and what we were doing at 10 o'clock on the fifteenth day of last month. Ordinarily we shall be obliged to begin by remembering upon what day of the week that month began, and this in turn may require our remembering upon what day the present month came in. Let us suppose that we find in this way that the fifteenth of the preceding month fell upon a Tuesday. If our life is subject to a fixed routine, this will generally suffice to give us the clue to our whereabouts and doings at the hour suggested. After a moment's reflection we remember, perhaps, that we were ii^ the library reading American history, and upon a little 186 PSYCHOLOGY more reflection we may recall what other persons were in the room^ and what portions of the text we were reading. Memory and Association, or Cerebral Habit. — This analysis at once reveals what we shall find true in any case we may select, i. e,, that we call back our memory ideas, or im^ages, by means of ideas which are associated with them. In order to solve the problem set ns by the question in our illustration, we began by calling into mind ideas which we knew to be con- nected with the solution. In this way, little by little, we obtain the clue to our occupation at the time suggested. /Memory depends, then, for its operation upon the principle of i, ^' association, and this principle is in the last analysis identical with the law of habit in the cortical processes of the cere- brum, as was shown in the previous chapter. Memory and Imagery. — If we inquire into the nature of the mental content 'which has passed through our consciousness in any such case of memory, we find that it is made up of images — visual, auditory, motor, etc. When we reach the goal of our endeavour, and succeed in recalling our presence in the library, we discover that the content of our thought is not only made up of images, but that over and above this fact is to be remarked the peculiar character of the imagery. Just in the measure in which our recollection is detailed and confident, we shall ordinarily find the imagery profuse and exact in its representation of the temporal and spatial order of the events and objects present to consciousness in the original experience. This consideration affords us, therefore, a practical distinction between the imagery involved in mere reproductive imagination and that employed in memory. We can symbolise the matter as in the accompanying diagram (figure 57). In reproductive imagination the image X brings with it only the images Y and Z, and these are insufficient to give it a specific setting in time and space. In memory, the image a brings with it the extensive cluster of images &, c, d, etc., which serve to reinstate with MEMORY 187 some approach to compieteness the experience which they purport to represent. There is commonly a difference^ then^ both in the quantity and the character of the imagery found in memory as distinct from reproductive imagination. All memory is reproductive imagination. But not all reproduc- tive imagination is memory, as we have defined it. Memory and Recognition. — One still more important peculiarity is noticeable in this case of memory which we are analysing. After we have, by means of associated images, gotten into mind our whereabouts and acts at the time named. Fig. 57. and after the imagery portraying our situation has been developed in consciousness, it is still necessary, if this is not all to be futile, that we should recognise, identify, and assent to the images thus brought before our notice, as indicating the actual experience to be recalled. This fact of recognition we have previously emphasised as a distinguishing mark of memory when compared with imagination. It seems to be an ultimate and unanalysable property of consciousness. But however much it may baffle our attempts to dissect it, there can be no question of its fundamental import, and we must accordingly take account of it. Memory an Outgrowth of Recognition. — It seems on the whole probable that memory, in the meaning of our defini- tion, has grown out of a cruder process of recognition which, 1 88 PSYCHOLOGY although it is now no longer sole pi^bprietor of the activity^ still accompanies the memory act in its elaborate forms as a basal and indispensable characteristic. If we examine^ for example^ the actions of an infant^ we very early observe evi- dences of the recognition of objects. Thns^ the mother^s face^ the sounds of preparing food^ the contact sensations occasioned when clothing is put on or off^ are all of them recognised at a period when it would be hazardous to assume that any independent memory imagery has as yet become dis- engaged from the general sensory continuum of conscious- ness. Clearly then^ the recognition process may begin with conscious events which are dominantly of the sensory and perceptual kind; whereas our contact with it thus far in our study has been primarily in connection with representational activities of the centrally initiated character. Psychophysical Conditions of Sensory Kecognition. — ^When we consider the neural conditions uin j^ which sensory recog- nition arises in the young babe^ it is immediately suggested to us that recognition depends primarily upon the reexcita- tion of pathways in the nervous system over which nervous impulses have previously travelled. The psychical thrill which such stimulation sets up finds an echo in the organism^ which is probably the beginning of recognition. If we take this fact of recognition^ in connection with the other facts we noticed when describing the beginnings of habit^ we shall secure a deeper insight into the mode of development peculiar to the process here at issue. Take the case of a child learning to recognise its mother. At first, when the mother takes the child up to be fed, the visual, tactual, and gustatory stimulations set up miscellaneous movements which are in the main uncoordinated and utterlv variable. Little by little, however, as these sense impressions are repeated, and their agreeable consequences are experi- enced, the movements tend, after the manner we have already described, to settle down into the relatively coordinated MEMORY 189 groups which the experience encourages. Smiling^ gurgling, jerking the limbs in movements anticipatory of being taken up rapidly appear and become fixed as habits. Very quickly, then, these repeated sense impressions set up sensory-motor coordinations, of which tiie conscious process of recognition is the psychical accompaniment. These impres- sions promptly come to mean certain movements. Indeed, the movements are actually initiated by the impressions, and recognition is the mental state which observes, assents to, and in a sense guides, these physiological responses. The psy- chophysical activity in recognition does not involve merely a repetition of these sense stimulation; it involves a reinstate- ment of a sensory-motor cycle, and the recognition factor, as we isolate this on the psychological side, is simply the peculiar quale which belongs to this cycle. As these responses become more and more automatic, the psychical part of the activitj^ tends to evaporate, as ^,:e have so often pointed out. In just the measure in which tliis occurs do we cease to feel any clear, definite, vital sense of familiarity, any tingling thrill of recog- nition. This is illustrated in adult life by the "matter of course ^^ manner in which we respond to the thousand and one objects which we see every day — the books, papers, ink- stand and pens on our desks, the tables, chairs, windows and lamps in our rooms, the trees on our familiar streets, the shape and colour of our own houses, etc. We recognise all these things of course, but it is with a relatively automatic, dim kind of consciousness, which contrasts sharply with the vivac- ity and distinctness of the feeling which we get upon first seeing these same objects after prolonged absence. We may feel moderately confident, therefore, that recognition of the sensory variety rests upon the reinstatement of acquired sen- sory-motor coordinations ; i. e., on the genetic side it displays a period of conflict of impulses and movements with mal- adjustment, a period of increasingly efficient adaptation, and a final period in which the conscious factor tends to drop out. I90 PSYCHOLOGY sometimes apparently doing this^ sometimes stopping just short of jiisappearance. Psychophysical Conditions of Ideational Recognition. — When we recognise ideas^ or images^ in distinction from per- ceptions^ as having previously occupied our consciousness^ the strictly mental features of the case do not differ materially from those we have just described. We are ordinarily ;, per- haps^ more definitely aware of the fringe of suggested images with which an idea that we recognise promptly surrounds itself^ although this is apparently not an invariable feature of recognition. But the production of an emotional reaction^ or mood^ which we may name the familiarity feelings is com- mon to both the sensory and the ideational forms of recog- nition. Generally^ but not always, the act of recognition is agreeable, and this, too, is true whether the act be of the sensory or the ideational kind. Probably the mere act of recognition is, as such, always agreeable, although the object, or content of the thought recognised, is. of course sometimes quite otherwise. Moreover, both kinds of recognition, sensory and ideational, may vary almost indefinitely as regards the distinctness and the degree of elaboration belonging to the various parts of the process. We may thus find that an idea which comes into our mind — for example, the visual image of some person^s face — calls up the vague feeling '^ f amiliar,^^ " seen before,'^ and nothing more. Or it may surround itself with a number of other images and we may at once recognise it as the face of a speaker whom we heard last week. In both cases, and in all instances of recognition, however, it must be remembered that the mental act of explicit recognition is something unique; something which is not simply synonymous with these accompanying condi- tions which we are describing. When we get these accom- panying conditions we get the act too, and when they are all absent, the act is apparently absent. But the mental relating of the remembered idea, or the remembered perception, to the MEMORY 191 past is something distinctly additional to and beyond these concomitants. On the physiological side it seems probable that ideational recognition is mnch like sensory recognition, save as regards the neural processes which initiate it. The sense organ activ- ity is clearly not the immediate predecessor of the cortical action underlying recognition in the case of its ideational form. But the motor response is essentially identical, and its cortical basis is, for all we can see, of a similar character. The matter can be put diagrammatically, as in the accom- panying figure (58). In the case of sensory recogni- Ci C2 Cs Fig. 58. tion the process starts in the sense organ (SO) and is trans- mitted to the sensory regions of the cortex (SC), arousing perception. Thence it is transmitted to other cortical centres ((7i, C2, etc.), resulting in the arousal of supplementary ideas, which serve to give the perception its place in past experience, and the process is then carried over to the motor regions (i¥(7), and thus out into the voluntary and involuntary muscles, producing the habitual response in completion of the sensory-motor cycle. In ideational recognition the process is of the same character, save that now the sense organ origin of the cortical excitation is lacking. The process starts, so far as we can discern, in some cortical centre like (7i. At^all events, if a sensory process is really responsible for the result, it lies so far back in the series of cortical activities that we 192 PSYCHOLOGY cannot confidently connect it with the result. It ought not to be necessary to point out that the actual motor reactions characterising these processes of recognition may be of an extremely rudimentary and fragmentary kind. But the tend- ency to make the movements^ with its indication of a degree of innervation in the mortor cortex^ seems to be a genuine part of the act. Remembering and Forgetting. — It has already been abun- dantly emphasised that memory (using the term from this point on to the end of the chapter in the broader sense of common parlance, as equivalent to recollection in its various forms) depends in the last analysis upon the retentiveness of the nervous tissues. When we are not occupied with a thought, or an image, so far as we know, the thought, or image, simply goes out, ceases to exist. Certain psycholo- gists prefer to think of these psychological facts as stored up in the mind in the form of what they call '^'^ psychical disposi- tions,^^ or tendencies. But however it may fare with this last mentioned theory, the modifications of the cortical tissues which our experiences bring about are certainly relatively durable; and when the cortex is called upon to resuscitate a previous experience, it summons the* appropriate centres, with their imbedded modifications, to perform again the action previously executed. This is apparently the physical basis of imagination and memory. In one sense, therefore, it is probable that no item of our lives is ever literally and entirely forgotten. Even if we find it impossible, as we sometimes do, voluntarily to recall a certain idea, we must believe that the experience in which we originally encountered it has left its indelible impress upon the substance of the brain, whose action will in consequence be somewhat different from that which it might have manifested had the experience in question never befallen us. Despite this belief, forgetfulness is a constant and often exasperating characteristic of daily life. It also has a useful MEMORY 193 function^ which we do not always recognise. From the psy- chophysical point of view we obtained the most important explanation of the value of forgetting when we were examin- ing the facts about attention. In the chapter devoted to attention we found that consciousness is seemingly never impartial in its response to the objects presented to it. It is alwaj^s primarily concerned with some particular portion of the objective field. It neglects this and attends to that, it is dimly aware of this and keenly cognisant of that. Ifow, if memory is dependent upon the modifications which neural stimulations impress upon the cerebral cortex, and if con- sciousness and cortical action run parallel with one another, as we have seen is apparently the case, it holds to reason that those items in any experience which procure our undivided and concentrated attention must succeed in leaving deeper and more permanent traces in the cortical tissues than do those to which we attend in the margin of consciousness, or than those over which we pass uninterestedly./ Although the undoubted tendency of the brain is to register and store up all the impressions which are imposed upon it, the gradual change of organic structures must inevitably bring it about that some of the less deeply engraved modifications should gradually become so faint and so disused as to render them practically inert and incompetent to participate vitally in the operations of memory. Temporary functional disconnections of brain centres that normally are connected are familiar to all of us. I know my friend^s middle name perfectly well, and yet when asked for it a moment ago I could not command it. Some momentary stoppage of the associated pathways in the cortex checked the attempt at recall. Many of the most serious disorders of insanity involve this kind of disconnection and disintegration among ideas, of course much exaggerated. One primary reason for our forgetfulness, therefore, is found in the process of attention. We must expect to forget a goodly part of all those items of experience to which we 194 PSYCHOLOGY do not lend a vigorous and forceful attention. The only compensation for the lack of such concentration is found in the tedious process of repetition^ by means of which we may, with even indifferent attention^ grind gradually into our brain tissues any material which we desire to retain. Forgetting has its use, however, in freeing us from the incubus of much utterly valueless experience. On the whole we remember fairly well those things which are of practical importance to us. Were our minds so organised as to retain with impartial accuracy all the events in our experience, and were their total capacity to remain unchanged, we should find our intellectual possibilities immensely curtailed by the obtrusion of the insignificant and irrelevant. While we are occasionally incommoded by forgetting, it is undoubtedly on the whole an added source of efficiency in our mental opera- tions, that we find the unimportant elements of our knowledge so frequently dropping out of our memories. Defects in Recollection. — We obtain an interesting side- light upon normal memory processes by observing some of the common defects and abnormalities, to which it is subject. These are in the main exaggerations of common and familiar deficiencies. Thus, in one form of mental disorder every- thing is forgotten the moment it passes out of the range of perception. We observe in ourselves the counterpart of this case, when after reading a sentence, for instance, we find, as occasionally occurs to all of us, that for a few moments we are absolutely unable to remember anything about it, and often must ignominiously read it again. The opposite type of abnormality is met with in the form of vastly heightened sen- sitivity to impressions, which can then be recalled with mar- vellous accuracy and detail. The mathematical prodigies who can recall lists of a hundred or more figures after a single glance are cases in point. With most of us the only phe- nomenon closely corresponding to this is found in our ability to recall experiences which have been characterised by intense MEMORY 195 emotional disturbance. The details of some episode in which we have been greatly terrified may linger in our memories with a vividness which rivals the distinctness of the original experi- ence. Again^ the mem^ory of events during a severe illness may be almost wholly lost. A similar obliviscence as to the occurrences preceding a severe accident is very frequent. An interesting disease of memory which furnishes striking confirmation of our conclusions concerning the dependence of memory and imagination upon the image consists in the loss of memory for specific forms of sensory material. Thus^ the visual memory may be entirely lost^ so that one cannot recall how objects look. Or the auditory images of words may be obliterated. If the imagery which is lost be of the varietj^ chiefly employed by the patient in his thinking, the result is inevitably most disastrous, reducing the victim to a condition bordering upon imbecility. Another curious disturbance of memory, with which most of us are familiar, is found in the experience of a feeling that we have previously been in the place where we are at the moment, or a feeling that we have previously said the words we are now saying, while as a matter as fact we know that we cannot possibly have been in the given situation, nor have spoken the words. Many explanations have been advanced for this phenomenon, which still remains, however, obscure as to its origin. It probably arises from different causes at different times, and is, perhaps, most often to be regarded as primarily a disturbance of emotional processes connected with the '' familiarity f eeling.^^ Lastly there are numerous abnormalities in which the order of remembered events and the time of their occurrence is distorted ; things are persistently " remembered,^^ which never occurred, and imaginary events are interpolated among real events, in a manner which baffles analysis. The counter- parts of these last named defects in our own every-day life will suggest themselves at once. 196 PSYCHOLOGY When memory begins to decay under the advance of age there is a remarkable uniformity in the order in which certain kinds of knowledge disappear^ and in many cases of insanity a similar order of disintegration is observed. Thns^ the mem- ory of proper names is among the earliest of the losses^ and the more concrete are our ideas^, the earlier do we lose the memory of the words for them. Abstract ideas which depend very largely for their existence in our thought upon the words which we use to designate them are by virtue of the law of habit much more persistent; because the word is in this case bound up much more widely and intimately with our use of the idea. So it comes about that the memory of adjectives and verbs^ conjunctions and prepositions^ outlives that of most nouns and proper names. The objects for which nouns are our verbal symbols we can^ and frequently do^ think of in terms of imagery other than that of words^ e. g., visual^ tactual^ etc. Consequently the memory of these words is less deeply imbedded in the brain tissues^ and when this tissue decays such memories are the first to suffer extinction. Training and Development of Memory Processes. — It is evident that any effort to train the memory must^, if it is to succeed^ be based upon the employment of such principles as are natural and inherent in the memory process itself. ISTow the first of these principles involves factors which are largely mechanical in their nature. If the cortical basis of recollection is resident in the modifications of nervous tissue^ brought about by the impressions which pour in upon us, it is clear that anything, which will augment the permanency of these modifications, or increase their number, will in so far make towards the preservation of the accompanying psychical processes and the establishment of an efficient memory. Ex- perience certainly justifies this statement, for we find that any impressions which we can make extremely vivid are likely to be retained in memory for a longer time than would be the case if the impressions were less intense. Such vivid MEMORY 197 experiences are always productive of deep-seated neural excite- ment^ and we may reasonably suppose that their ready reten- tion and recall is a sign of the depth of the nervous modifica- tion produced by them. Similarly^ the mere repetition of an impression must serve sooner or later to set up relatively permanent modifications in the brain tissue^ and so indirectly accomplish permanency of retention in the mind. These points we have already touched upon in our account of asso- ciation in the previous chapter. It is not often easy in a practical way to enhance the effec- tiveness of our memories through rendering emotionally vivid the impressions we wish to preserve. But so far as we can succeed in focalising our attention exclusively upon the matter in hand^ so far we do make gains in vividness^ and the importance for efficient memory processes of concentrated attention is based upon precisely this fact. Speaking from an empirical point of view^ it seems probable that the immense variation in the memory processes of different people is largely connected with this difference in abilitv to concentrate atten- tion. The habit of giving oneself with complete abandon to the undertaking immediately in hand is one of the most significant clues to the securing of an alert and accurate memory. Obviously it is simple enough to make use of repetition. We may either do this by giving ourselves over and over again the same sense stimulation, as when we repeat a name which we wish to remember; or we may, after the manner of the modern elementary schools^ present the same object to a number of different senses, as when we listen to the sound of the name, then speak it, then write i^and look at the written word. In such ways we can increase the depth of the cortical modifications, corresponding to some single sense department, or we can increase the number of cortical areiis affected bv the stimulus. In either case we evidentlv increase the total amount of cortical modifications, and so better the 198 PSYCHOLOGY chances, not only for the permanent retention, but also for easy and ready recall. The more pathways there are in the brain leading to the stimulation of any special activity, the more likely is it that the given activity can be promptly aroused. The more ideas there are in the mind connected with any given idea, the more chances there are for the latter to be expeditiously produced when needed. As a matter of fact all memory processes depend in some measure upon this mechanical factor, but it becomes relatively less important as the general level of intellectual development rises. There are many things which children must neces- sarily get at first in a largely mechanical fashion. Learning to spell, for example, is in English largely a mechanical accomplishment, the available rational elements being chiefly conspicuous by their absence. But for adult undertakings it is a poor memory which responds only to mechanical incite- ments. Nevertheless, our modern education, with its exten- sive desertion of all verbatim methods of memorising, is undoubtedly in danger of pouring the baby out with the bath, of discarding a method useful in its place, even though not useful in all places. Logical Method of Memorising. — The most important factor in assisting the establishment of broad and sound mem^ory processes is of a practical and logical character. If we can once knit up a fact to be remembered with a group of other already known facts with which it is inti- mately related, we often come to see the entire group as mutually dependent upon, or explanatory of, one another. And thus we find we can retain in memory the total mass more efficiently than we could a much smaller number of items, so long as they remain unrelated. Such an interrelating of the facts has in a sense the effect of reducing the mass to a single mental fact. A child being taught the method of long divi- sion in arithmetic, or the method of determining the square root of a number, finds the successive steps in the process MEMORY 199 extremely difficult to keep straight, so long as the procedure is based simply upon the memor}' of the rule^ which states dogmatically the order of the various operations to be per- formed. But as soon as the relation of the several steps to one another is clearly apprehended, as soon as the real nature of the process is understood, the verbatim memory of the rule becomes a superfluity, which may be forgotten with entire impunity. The several facts represented by the separate arithmetical operations all flow together as integral parts of a larger whole, to which they are seen to be essential. Thereafter, the nightmare of a forgotten rule is banished. In a certain sense, however, the rule can hardly be forgotten as long as the clear apprehension of the relations involved remains. For the rule is simply the verbal formulation of these relations. But under such conditions one^s action is free, intelligent, and independent, instead of blind^ and slavish to a mere rule-of-thumb. If we are asked how to go about the creation of these logical relations among the facts with which we wish to equip our memories, the answer will turn upon two points. We must first reflect upon the thing to be remembered, and attempt to give it a setting among the things with which it is most elosely connected. No fact ever comes to us wholly isolated from the rest of our knowledge, and most facts bear upon their faces evidence of their most intimate relations. We should at once, then, scrutinise each new fact that comes, and inquire what there is in the series of events or relations to which it belongs that has occasioned its existence. We should ask for the causes which have produced it, and the consequences to which it leads. If we can succeed in setting up relation- ships of this kind, we find that the new fact becomes a real part of our minds, just as in the case of the arithmetical rules of which we spoke a moment ago. In studying histor}^, for example, such a procedure will mean that we shall try to see any given fact, like a battle, a cession of territory, or a :200 PSYCHOLOGY piece of legislation, in the light of all the facts, politicaj, social, economic, geographical, etc., which may bear upon it in any significant way. All the important episodes in a his- torical period will thus be welded together, each throwing light upon the other in a way which makes it natural and easy to recall them. An ideally perfect mind would involve, among other things, a complete working out of all the relations sustained by a given fact to all other known facts. In actual experience, however, we find that our information is largely stored away on the compartment principle. Our knowledge of history seldom gets any very intimate articulation with our knowledge of astronomy. The events with which each deals do not appeal to us as intrinsically germane. Similarly, our knowl- edge of exact science seldom interferes in either a theoretical or a practical way with our knowledge of politics; and it is notorious that, for certain persons at least, religious knowl- edge and belief is kept quite distinct from every other intel- lectual and practical interest. In the second place, we should always, when possible, pro- ceed at once to make some actual use of the information we are seeking to impress upon our memories. In a certain way the process of reflection, which we have just been describing, necessitates our using the facts we are trying to memorise. But we have in mind here a more overt activity. We saw in the previous chapter that the fundamental function of our memory and imagination is the control which they afford over experience, both past and future. These activities are, moreover, only a sort of half-way house between the sensory stimulus and the motor reaction, of which we have heard so much. The relevant motor expression ought, therefore, to be allowed to occur. If all this be true, we shall have some theoretical foundation for the precept we have just formu- lated, a precept which is abundantly justified by experience. The sooner and oftener we can apply to some practical under- MEMORY 20 1 taking a fact we wish to remember^ the better the chance of its remaining in our minds. Talking about it^, writing about it^ incorporating it into some manual constructive activity, if it is a fact which will permit such treatment, are all methods of accomplishing the desired result. A mind trained to concentrated logical reflection upon facts, and then further trained to make the earliest feasible application of them in practical ways, is a mind which will achieve the maximal efficiency in its memory processes. Mnemonic Systems. — Evidently these methods of training the powers of retention and recall suggest no easy royal road to success. They mean hard work. But they are the only methods which have any large and general significance for the development of the mind. Many catch-penny devices have been hit upon to simplify memorising, and within certain nar- row limits such s}^stems have a value. The mnemonic schemes of many so-called '' memory systems ^' illustrate the point. Suppose one has occasion to remember a great many unrelated numbers, like the street addresses of a large group of people. One may greatly facilitate such a feat by first memorising a " form,'' in which each digit is connected with a consonant, e, g.y the 1 with t, 2 with 1, 3 with d, etc. The next step is to make a word easily suggested by the person whose name is to be remembered, in which these letters shall occur in proper order. For example, Mr. Smith's number is 122, Mr. Smith is tall. The word tall in the number form means 122, for the vowels are neglected. For special purposes, such as that of our illus- tration, such methods can be made very useful. But as applied to the acquirement and retention of miscellaneous information they are failures. It requires more time and effort to learn the forms, or frames, and then make the appli- cations, than is required to acccomplish the same result in the ways we have already pointed out. Idiosynciacies in Form of Recall. — Many persons have curious individual peculiarities in their methods of recalling 202 PSYCHOLOGY specific kinds of material. Thus^ certain people always think of the numerals by means of a kind of visual framework^ known as a number form. These number forms are most various in their shape and size and general character^ some of them being seen as coloured in many hues. An example of one of the simpler types is given in the accompanying sketch. (Figure 59.) A person possessing one of these forms always 40 30. 20. 10 12. 11 Fig. 59. In this form the numbers are seen extending upward and to the right from about the level of the shoulders. sees the numbers about which he is thinking appearing in their appropriate place in the framework. Other persons always think of the months of the year^ the days of the week^ and even the hours of the day^, in similar visual frameworks. All these devices seem to represent the effort of the mind to give a concrete basis to abstract relations. But they are for the most part acquired in early childhood in a perfectly naive way^ and apparently indicate native differences in the way different minds get hold of material to be remembered. " Coloured hearing/^ or chromgesthesia, of which mention was made in the analysis of perception, belongs to the same range of individual idiosyncracy. CHAPTER X THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING AND THE FORMATION OF CONCEPTS In the actual execution of the functions hitherto described another mental operation is involved in addition to those which we have thus far analysed. This operation, is contained in a latent fashion in each of these conscious activities with which we have been dealing; but it comes repeatedly to light as a relatively distinct mental process^ and we must accord- ingly submit it to examination. Indeed^, many of the acts which we have used as illustrations throughout our previous study could hardly result as they do were it not for the pres- ence of this mental factor^ which is known in its most devel- oped form as conception. The mental product which results from it is called a concept. In its more rudimentary form we may call it the consciousness of meanings and we shall discuss the simpler phase first. The Consciousness of Meaning. — On the side of function^ the most fundamental property of intelligence is^, perhaps^ the ability to recognise and employ meanings. Perception could never lead to the establishment of efficient habitual coordina- tions were we not able to apprehend the meaning of that which we see and hear and touch. Memory would be an abortive resuscitation of the past could we not recognise the meaning of that which we recall. Imagination in all its forms would be a mere mental logomachy were it not for our ability to understand the meaning of the images which occupy our minds. From beginning to end^ therefore, of our mental activities the presence of meaning is absolutely indis- pensable. 203 204 . PSYCHOLOGY That a thing means something to ns is equivalent to saying that it symbolises something for ns^ that we are aware of some of the relations which it sustains to other things. Now^ the mind shows itself from the very outset as a isolating activity. We have previously analysed one of the most elementary forms of this relating process, in onr account of recognition. On the level of perceptual and sensory activities the crude^ vague identifying of one experience with an antecedent one must represent in the infant consciousness the first outcropping in an explicit way of the relational factor^ the first appearance of the awareness of meaning. An experience which is recog- nised^ no matter how vaguely^ is thereby in our very manner of feeling it connected by us symbolically with something else not present. / The fundamental activities of attention — i. e,y the manipu- lation of the sensuous material of experience^ now in an analytical^ discriminative way^ and now in a synthesising, associative wa)^ — result inevitably from the very first in the disclosure of innumerable relations involved among masses previously sensed in a rude^ inchoate manner.) Certain typical forms under which this analytic-synthetic development of relations occurs^ we have already described in the chapter on attention^ so that we need not repeat the matter at this point. We are emphasising here^, however^ as we did not do at that juncture^lthe fact that our noticing of differences and likenesses in the material presented to our senses rests upon our ability to note and employ the relations which these proc- esses of attention throw into relief. It is^ in shorty because the elements which we thus break out from the total mass of unanalysed sense experience possess meaning for us^ symbolise relations of one and another kind^ that we can employ them coherently and efficiently. Without this element of appre- hended meaning they would remain disconnected^ wholly irra- tional and inert bits of mentality; curious perhaps^ but cer- tainly useless. The element of meaning joins them to one CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 205 another in a vital organic union. Probably the most funda- mental form of this consciousness of meaning and relation is our previously mentioned awareness of sameness and dif- ference. We know at once without tutelage of any kind when two experiences seem to us the same^ and when they seem different. Evidentl}^^ the process of recognition is closely related to this sense of sameness^ if it be not^, indeed^ found practically identical, j All that we have said^ thus far^ about sense perception and the analytic-synthetic play of attention upon such material is true in even more obvious fashion, when we come to speak of images and ideas. The idea is^ as such^ clearly a symbolic affair^ finding its raison d'etre not in itself^ but in that which it does^ that for which it stands. Evidently meaning is the very essence of the idea. Moreover^ we develop the meanings and relations among our ideas by means of just the same kind of attention processes as characterised our manipulation of sensory activities. By focussing our attention now upon one feature of a thought^ and now upon another, by " abstract- ing/^ as it is sometimes called, one phase or another, we analyse our ideas, compare them with one another, and so come to the discernment of unsuspected relations, of un- realised likenesses and differences. Psychologists are by no means agreed as to the precise nature of the mental activity by means of which w^e appre- hend relations. Certain writers make the whole achievement a function of attention, and disclaim the necessity for any further explanation. Attention is declared to be in its very essence a relating activity, and consequently, so far as we attend, we always attend in a relational way. Other writers maintain that just as certain moments of conscious- ness are cognisant of percepts or images, so certain other moments are cognisant of relations. Thus eTames speaks of our having " feelings of relation,^' e. g.y a feeling of " and,^' a feeling of " if/^ and a feeling of " for/^ Certain psycholo- 206 PSYCHOLOGY gists of this way of thinking recognise what they call " rela- tional elements ^^ of consciousness comparable with sensation elements. A complete consideration of this matter would take ns too far afield into unsettled principles^ and the reader must temporarily countenance the author^s dogmatic general statement that the consciousness of relation is a basal factor in all activities of attention; that our attention is sometimes more^ and sometimes less^ directed toward the extant rela- tions than toward the things related ; but that no moment of cognitive consciousness is wholly lacking in the awareness either of relations or objects. The distinction between ob- jects and relations simply names two features^ the static and the dynamic^ of a common phenomenon. We come next to consider conception^ which constitutes the most overt and elaborate form assumed by our consciousness of meanings a form in which psychologists and philosophers have always been specially interested. Definition of Conception. — In our illustrations of the man- ner in which we consciously avail ourselves of the lessons taught us by experience^ we have implied that memory and imagination operate by summoning specific events which apply to the problem immediately confronting us. This is often the case. Thus^ I find myself puzzled as to the best method for getting to some very remote country town. I at- tempt to recall what railroads I employed to get there a year ago^ and I solve my problem by applying the recollection which comes to me of this particular achievement. I remem- ber that I took the A and B to junction D^ waited two hours and got a train on the X and Y to my destination. But many cases in which we apply the fruits of past experience are of a different order from this. Thus^ if I am purchasing scientific instruments from a French firm^ I must convert the prices in their catalogue from francs into dollars. This I accomplish by first bringing to mind my idea of a franc, as CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 207 being approximately a fifth of a dollar, and then performing the appropriate arithmetical operation. In this ease I obvi- ously employ my memory in meeting my necessities; but it is memory in the form of reproductive imagination upon which I fall back, and not necessarily the memory of any single event or experience, as in the preceding instance. Again, I am interested in certain philanthropic efforts at social reform, and I find that the programme which I am in- vited to support involves belief in the hereditary nature of acquired characteristics. The theory at issue maintains that vicious traits are acquired and transmitted from parents to children, and mv contribution is solicited in the furtherance of a project to prevent the possibility of such acquirement and transmission. Immediately I find my mind busying itself with the idea of heredity, and my final action is, per- haps, determined by the conclusion which I am able to reach upon this point. Now in these last two cases my use of the idea of a franc or my idea of heredity clearly does not necessarily involve an immediate reference to any single and specific experience of francs or heredity. I might, of course, make the applica- tion in this way, if I chose. I might allow my mind to dwell on the last occasion upon which I saw a franc, and on the last book in which I had read of heredity. But this is by no means essential, and often would not occur under such cir- cumstances as we have supposed. Accordingly, these ideas, to wit, franc and heredity, are mental devices by which we succeed in symbolising for ourselves in the one case a num- ber of objects, and in the other case a number of relations, without the necessity of calling to mind any particular occa- sion upon which we have come in contact with them. We use these ideas fearlessly in our reasoning, and when we have reached our conclusions we make the application to the con- crete instance in hand, with entire confidence that the event will justify our action — and generallv it does. Such ideas 2o8 PSYCHOLOGY as these are what are usually called concepts^ and taking such cases for the moment as reliable illustrations^ we may say, following the common usage, fthat conception is that mental operation by means of which we bring together the common points of our various experiences and mentally consolidate them into ideas; ideas which we are then able to use as symbols, or representatives, of these manifold items./ It should, perhaps, be remarked at this point that the sci- entific and logical concept is generally credited with a higher degree of exactness and precision than our definition sug- gests. The concepts of science, such as " metaV^ are gotten by a process of abstraction and comparison, the result of which is then expressed in the most rigorously exact verbal definition. Evidently, however, these are not the concepts of practical life. The derivation of the word concept (from concipere, to take in) may assist us to bear the facts in mind. Conception is thus, as we shall presently see in more detail, the great simplifier of our knowledge, the great labour-saving device by means of which a single idea may do the work of hundreds of other ideas. We apply the term '' concept ^^ to this idea, the term '^ conception ^^ to the mental operation in which the idea is produced. . Analysis of Conception. — If concepts are general ideas of the kind we have indicated it is evident that we must possess them in large numbers. Concepts of men and horses, houses and trees, hats and tables, with others of like ilk, must con- stitute a large part of our mental furniture. We must also have concepts of such things as colour, odour, and sound ; con- cepts of physical relations, like position, order, and time; concepts of moral attributes, such as good and evil, and dozens of other forms too numerous to mention. W^e shall probably get ahead most rapidly in our analysis if we take some special instance of conception and examine the mental processes involved in it. Take in this way one^s general idea of horse. CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 209^ /Concept and Image.— If I say to a group of persons, " Fix your attention firmly upon your idea of horse/^ a certain number of them are certain to find a visual image of a horse arising in their minds. Another group will find that the auditor}' -motor word-image " horse ^^ is present in their consciousness. Now, according to our definition, the con- cept of horse must not apply to any special horse, but it must represent all horses. How can the persons who are con- fronted with a visual image of some particular Bucephalus, or Eosinante, be said to have any concept of horses in gen- eral? The correct answer to this question is at once sug- gested by a reference to the imagery of the second group of persons. The word-image " horse ^' evidently does not pretend to refer to one specimen of the class more than to another. It is purely symbolic. When it comes into our consciousness to serve as a concept, it is as though we had agreed mentally with ourselves to accept it as a representative of the physical equine genus. Just as in algebra we allow the early letters of the alphabet to stand for certain quantities in our prob- lems and the later letters for certain others, making the appropriate practical substitutions at the completion of our computation, so here we symbolise certain objects to our- selves by means of auditory word-images. We mentally manipulate these images, draw certain inferences and then execute the substitutions, which in these cases are commonly overt acts. Having, for example, reflected by means of such concepts upon the shortcomings of horses, we decide to pur- chase an automobile. The concept, which is primarily mental^ is eventually converted into movements which are physical. Now, the case of the persons who use visual images is in no respect fundamentally different from that of these users of word imagery. The visual image is, to be sure, for better or for worse, a kind of copy of an individual in the class 2IO PSYCHOLOGY which it is supposed to represent. At least it is often a recognisable copy of one of our perceptions of such an indi- vidual. But provided that, in our use of an image, we rec- ognise it as really symbolising the class^ and not an indi- vidual, and use it, intending it to accomplish this purpose for us, it is a matter of essential indifference what special kind of imagery we happen to employ, whether visual, or auditory, or motor. Two important points emerge from the examination of of this case. (1) The concept apparently involves an image; and, (2) whatever image we use, it is the specific meaning which we attach to it that constitutes it a concept. These two considerations make clear how it comes about that our thought processes seem often so different on different occa- sions, even when we have been thinking about the same sub- ject. Of course, the order of our thoughts might easily vary at different times, and our conclusions might vary. But how is it that we can think about the same things when the con- tent of our thought is so different? The content of our thought is, so far at least as concerns the knowledge process, always made up of imagery. To-day this may be largely auditory and verbal, to-morrow largely visual. But provided I use the different images to stand for the same meanings on the two days, I shall come out perfectly well and my thought will unquestionably have been about the same object and its relations. Thus it comes to pass that, although we never have literally the same image present twice in our conscious- ness, we nevertheless can think the same meanings again and again. The Generic Idea. — This seems the appropriate place to refer to a theory which certain eminent psychologists have espoused, i, e., the theory of generic ideas. The hypothesis upon which the theory rests is that our repeated visual per- ceptual experiences of tables, for example, result in producing a kind of composite mental photograph of tables. Such a CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 211 composite photograph would evidently serve us whenever we wished to think of tables in general ; that is to say^ it would serve as a concept. We might use other images for the same purpose, conspicuously our word-images; but we might equally well, use this composite visual image. * i We shall mgke only two comments upon this theory. In the first place it is extremely difficult to determine w];iether or not we really have such composite images. It would obviously be very diflficult to say with entire confidence whether an imag'e possessing the indefiniteness of outline and the indistinctness of detail which a true ^composite would undoubtedly possess were actually a representative of in- numerable individual perceptions ; or simply a blurred^ vague^ imperfectly reinstated image of some single perception. In- trospectively^ that is to say^ the evidence can hardly be made conclusive in * support of the theqry. ' Moreover^ the brain processes involved in the production of such an image are somewhat difficult to understand when brought into connec- tion with our supposed ability to call up images of specific objects belonging to a given class^, of which we might also have a generic image. In the second place^ so far as concerns the function of conception^ it appears at once that such a generic image would belong to the class of images which we may call " copy- images/^ in distinction from images which purport to be merely symbols. All images are, of course, symbolic, so far as the}^ stand for something not themselves, and all images are copy-images so far as they serve to reinstate special forms of sense perception. An auditory image may be in this way a copy, good, bad, or indifferent, of an acoustical perception. A visual image ma}^ likewise simulate some visual perception. But the auditory image may, on the other hand, serve to symbolise some visual experience, and the visual image, e.jg., the visual image of a word, may also symbolise something of a non-visual character. Evidently, copy-images may be hope- 212 PSYCHOLOGY lessly inadequate^ as copies, to stand for generalised relations. So^ to revert to our original illustration^ a visual image of a table would^ as a mere copy^ be an unsatisfactory representa- tive of the class '' table/^ for no single image could embody all the peculiarities of all tables. This limitation would be as true of the composite image, supposing it to exist, as of any other. It is only as such an image is employed sym- bolically that it serves satisfactorily as a concept of the class ^^ table.^^ But an image of any table whatever would serve this purpose well enough, provided only that in our thinking we used it with this recognised intention. Furthermore, the word-image, which commonly has no resemblance whatever to the objects symbolised, is always available. So that taking account of these considerations — the doubt as to the actuality of the generic image, and the absence of any special fitness in it for service as the basis of a concept — we may safely omit further discussion of it. Conception and Language. — Our analysis of conception has brought out the fact that it is by means of this mental proc- ess that we are able to make our thoughts the vehicles of definite meanings. It is a familiar fact that language has a precisely similar function. The inference at once suggests itself that language may be nothing but an elaborate con- ceptual system, and this inference is essentially correct. When we communicate with others we give our ideas outward expression in spoken words, which serve as concepts to the hearer. When we are engaged in reflective thought, we shall often find that we are thinking in terms of word-images, and these word-images in such cases serve as our concepts. Language is thus not only the great social medium of thought exchange, it is also in large measure the medium of sub- jective thought processes. Some psychologists maintain that all concepts are of the language variety, and philosophers formerly contended that no reasoning would be possible without language. Both of these CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 213 views are undoubtedly too extreme. We do sometimes reason^ and we may have a considerable number of concepts^ with- out resorting to language. ISTevertheless, the supplementary statement must be made that language is the great conceptual mechanism^ and that we depend upon it far more than upon any other mental material for conveying our meaning, not only wheib' we commune with others, but also in our own private thinking. In the use of spoken language, as well as in the use of verbal images when we are reflecting, the thought process is often so rapid that we have no distinct consciousness of the words as such. The stress of our interest and attention is upon the meaning which we are seeking, and this seems often to attach to the verbal activity in its entirety as a sentence, or a series of sentences, rather than to the isolated words. This fact does not, however, prejudice the truth of our general assertion that words serve as our most important conceptual symbols. The use of words as concepts brings readily to our notice certain facts which bear significantly upon our present topic. We defined conception as a process of forming general ideas, and this seems to be the most striking feature in the process. But if all words are essentially concepts, we must have con- cepts of individual objects as well as of classes; or at all events our method of thinking individual objects must be the same as our method of thinking classes. This is, indeed, the fact. We really have a concept of • Jupiter, as well as of gods; a concept of earth, as well as a concept of planets; a concept of this particular book, as well as of books in general. We have only to remember that conception is after all at bottom simply a mental process of designating meanings, to see that we can in this way indicate any meaning we wish; e. g.y the meaning of a single object or a dozen; the meaning of a mathematical relation, or of an historical relation; the meaning of a familiar object, or of an impossible one. In '■^:W» 214 PSYCHOLOGY each and every case we shall have a concept^, and in most i'^r. cases a word^ or a word-image, will be a very convenient device by means of which to -think it. We may easily connect the process by means of which we gain concepts of single objects with the process by means of which we obtain general ideas of classes of objects, if we ob- serve that in both cases we have simply set a boundary line about certain things; in the one case the boundary contains one object, in the other it contains an indefinite number. But in both cases our mental act has been the distinguishing of one kind of meaning from all other kinds of meaning. That form of the process in which our idea refers to some common property, or properties, of a number of experiences has commonly been regarded as the true type of conception, because we appear in such cases to have abstracted the com- mon qualities of a number of events, then generalised upon these, and so obtained the concept, or general idea. But the process by which we reach a concept of a single object in- volves abstraction just as truly, if not so extensively, as the previous form of operation. To obtain a concept of London involves setting the idea of London off against all other ideas ; involves abstracting it in a perfectly definite way. In a sense, too, our concept of London is just as complete, just a« universal, as is the concept city. It applies to all of its ob- ject, as truly as does the concept city, and it is in a measure an accident, an irrelevant incident, that the total object re- ferred to is singular and not plural. The process by which we actually come into possession of some of our more abstract general ideas is, perhaps, more complicated than that by which we gain our concepts of par- ticulars. But the fundamental distinction between the^two kinds of concepts, after we have attained them, resides in the fact that the one emphasises points of identity and sameness among the various elements of our experience, the other em- phasises primarily points of difference. Strictly speaking^ CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 215 then^ we may be sure that we have concepts of single objects^ as well as of classes of objects. We have, also, concepts of abstract attributes, concepts of relations of all kinds. There is no meaning of any sort accessible to our intelligence for which we may not have a concept. Indeed, in the broad sense of the term, every idea is a concept. On the whole it is, perhaps, easier to follow the older usage and to retain our original provisional definition of the con- cept as a generalising idea, and then to remember that such ideas sometimes generalise, so to speak, upon single objects, qualities, or relations, rather than to recast our definition, which would then vary somewhat ambiguously from that traditionally employed. After all, the fundamental points about concepts are those we have already mentioned, which evidently remain untouched by these questions of the number and character of the objects to which the concepts refer : that is, (1) the existence of the concept as a concrete thought, which we call an image; and (2) the use of this image to con- vey to ourselves, or to others, some definite, recognised, and intended meaning. The General Function of Conception. — The general func- tion and value of conception in the economy of the psycho- physical organism is probably so obvious as to require no further elaboration. It has already been described as the great simplifier of mental operations, the labour-saving device by means of which we are enabled to accomplish with single ideas the work which otherwise might require the cooperation of many. It only remains to call attention afresh to the fact that the mental capacity which permits this condensation of the meaning of many experiences into the mea'ning of a single image is generically one and the same with that apprehen- sion of meaning which renders perception intelligible, imag- ination significant, and memory coherent. Neural Process and Conception. — So far as conception in- i^olves imagery, it necessarily follows that it depends upon the 2i6 PSYCHOLOGY reaction of those areas in the cerebral cortex with which the several sense organs are most immediately connected. Be- yond this we can say very little^ save that there seems some reason to believe that all the more reflective and ratiocinative forms of thought process involve in an important way the action of the Plechsig association centres. It must be frankly admitted that at the present moment the neural counterparts of these higher and more recondite phases of psychical activity are practically unknown. It seems clear that they must in large measure involve the action of the same areas that are concerned in perception and in simple acts of memory. But the nature of the differences in the form of the nervous action^ when the psychical act is one of pro- longed reasoning with the use of elaborate concepts^ as con- trasted with the mere accidental calling to consciousness of some familiar visual image^ for example^ is still altogether a matter of speculation and hypothesis. Development of Conception. — We have repeatedly seen reason to believe that mental life is in all essential respects like other life phenomena^ manifesting periods of growth, maturity, and decay. This view leads us to expect a gradual unfolding of the typical phases of consciousness, which are at the outset latent in the infant mind, rather than the sudden appearance at different times of totally new kinds of mental operation. The development of conception is no exception to this rule. The appearance of a rude type of recognition, which we have discovered to be the prototype of the developed act of conception, may be detected very early in infant consciousness. But it is exceedingly difficult, not to say impossible, confi- dently to designate the precise moment at which the first general idea is elaborated. The facts suggest that babies generalise in a rough way upon their experiences at a very early date. Or, if they do not positively generalise, they accomplish the same result negatively, by failing adequately CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 217 to distinguish and analyse. Infants a few days old, if given some distasteful medicine^, will often refuse utterly for hours afterward to take anything into their mouths^, and for in- definite periods will reject the medicine itself. It would probably be absurd^, however^ to suppose that the baby has at this time a general idea of medicine^ although one might with propriety speak of a generalised motor reaction. Nor would such a description detract from the genuinely conceptional nature of the reaction^ for the concepts of adults may also be considered as forms of generalised motor activity. As soon as language appears^ from the fourteenth to the twenty-eighth months the formation and growth of general ideas is im- mensely augmented. But our previous assertion about the connection of concepts and language holds true here^, and it is certainly reasonable to suppose that crude general ideas antedate the use of adult language forms. In this connection one must not forget that gestures — for example^ smiling^ scowling, clenching the hands, etc. — are often vehicles for conveying conceptual relations, and that the inarticulate cries and vocalisations of various kinds which precede the intel- ligent use of words may also be regarded as primitive lin- guistic concepts. Thus, a certain sound means water, another means milk, and so on. The sign language of deaf-mutes affords admirable illustrations of the same type of expression for concepts. Formation of New Concepts. — Turning to the development of our concepts after the period of infancy, we find that their transformation proceeds along two main lines, which we can best discuss separately: first, by the creation of essentially new concepts ; and second, by the enrichment of old concepts with new material. An important factor in the formation of our concepts, i, e., the process of judgment, cannot be dis- cussed until the next chapter, where we shall, however, revert briefly to the conceptual activity. We have already seen that concepts are primarily based 2i8 PSYCHOLOGY upon perceptual processes^ just as memory and imagination are. We have also observed the way in which every percep- tion^ even the freshest and most novels involves past experi- ence. We shall^ therefore^ be safe in assuming that what we call new concepts are only partially new^ and really contain a measure of familiar material. For example^ when a boy first studies algebra he is introduced to the concept of the equation^ to the concept of symbolism in quantitative proced- ure^ to the concept of negative numbers^ etc. Now^ we speak of such concepts as being new to the boy^ and so in a sense they are. But we must also recognise the fact that they are not wholly new, and that if they were they would be entirely unintelligible to him. The significance of the equation as a mathematical tool could never be grasped were the boy's previous experience incapable of furnishing him the notion of equality as a starting point. So, too, the concept of negative numbers could never be mastered were there not the founda- tion of knowledge about positive numbers to build upon. Granted the rudimentary idea, or concept, of equality, and the concept of the equation becomes a possible intellectual possession. Moreover, once it is gained it takes its place as a perfectly distinct concept, related to the concept of equality and to many other concepts, but still mentally an independent idea. What the boy really does in getting hold of such a new con- cept as that of negative numbers is to compare the new notion with his old idea of number, to remark their likenesses and differences, and to throw into the foreground, by this process of discrimination, the most practically important features of the new case. The result of this procedure is the boy^s first concept of negative numbers. These abstracting, discriminat- ing, and comparing activities of attention are present in vary- ing degree in all self-directed attainments of new concepts. This form of development of ideas displays in an unmis- takable manner the essentially organic nature of our knowl- CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 219 edge. Each idea springs out of other ideas, which have gone before, and in turn gives birth to new successors. The connection is not merely one of sequence in time; it is a connection of the genuinely developmental type, in which one idea is, as it were, unfolded from, and given off by, an- other. Ultimately, therefore, each of our ideas is related, however remotely, to all the others, a fact which constitutes one illustration of the so-called doctrine of the total rela- tivity of knowledge. Speaking metaphorically, but within the bounds of literal fact, we may say that the great tree of knowledge springs from the seed of that vague consciousness with which the infant's life begins. Differentiation followed by fresh synthesis, old experiences blended with new ones, each modifying the other — such is the course of progress. The natural incentive to the development of these new concepts is to be found in the needs of the individual. We find ourselves confronted with a situation in which our old ideas are inadequate and unsatisfactory. We cannot get ahead. We are thwarted, and find ourselves obliged to set about the securing of new notions to meet the case. The child whose toy refuses to go resorts first to the familiar idea of assistance from parent or nurse. Some day this assistance fails and the child, thrown back upon his own resources, may hit upon the idea of helping himself. The same sort of thing characterises adult procedure. Thus, the frequent disaster arising from surgical operations under the old ideas of clin- ical cleanliness led to the examination of tissues affected by such operations, and in the light of the modern knowledge of bacterial life a wholly new and more drastic concept of surgical cleanliness has arisen, resulting in an astonishing diminution in the fatal consequences of operative surgery. When we seek illustrations in the range of our formal educational procedure it is not always so clear that the new concepts are gained in response to felt deficiencies in our existing stock of ideas. The boy confronted with the con- "2^0 PSYCHOLOGY cepts peculiar to the study of Greek and Latin and mathe- matics would often forego the attainment of them with definite complacency^ not to say enthusiasm. It is evident that if he is to master these subjects he must first secure these concepts ; but it would sometimes be a sad perversion of the facts to say that the concepts are obtained as the result of a need fdt by the boy. A child caught thus in the educa- tional machinery is often whirled about among needs^ for which the ideas held out do indeed afford relief^ but they are not always needs which the child himself feels. One has, however, only to glance at the history of any specific educa- tional system to recognise that in its inception each system was intended to fit its pupils for some special form of life, and in this vocation the studies offered really had a place. The adult has here attempted to anticipate in the most ef- fectual way the needs which at some time the child is sure to feel. Fortunate the child who is brought up in a system which affords him ideas fitted to his own day and generation, instead of those appropriate to the times and conditions of his great-grandparents. The concepts which we get in the educational system may not always, then, reflect needs and difficulties of which we personally are as yet cognisant. But the system itself is an effort to epitomise the satisfaction of just those needs which in the human experience of the leaders of our race have been felt to be most imperative. Our general statement remains, therefore, essentially true, i. e., that our new concepts arise out of the inadequacy of those already on hand to cope with the conditions in which we find ourselves. The Petrifying of Concepts. — This doctrine gets a depress- ing confirmation by observation of persons who have once settled down into a fixed and narrow vocation in which radically new demands are rarely encountered, and when encountered, are found hopelessly baffling. In a degree this condition overtakes everybody as middle age passes by. The CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 221 result is too often the pathetic person of inflexible sympathies^ circumscribed and dogmatic ideas — ^the person who is sure the world is going to the bow-wows, and who knows it was all much better in his own day. Such persons have ceased to get new concepts, and the old ones are inadequate. Enrichment of Old Concepts. — Hand in hand with this ap- pearance of relatively new concepts goes the development of our old ideas. This development might be described as having two directions, but in reality the two are one. Our concepts seem sometimes to widen and sometimes to grow more narrow. Thus, we learn more every day about men and women, and so we may truly enough say that our con- cept of humanity broadens as our experience becomes richer. On the other hand our concept of science may, as our knowl- edge increases, become more and more restricted in its scope. Many branches of inquiry which would originally have found place under this heading may, in our maturer judgment, be- long elsewhere. Both these processes are, however, simply different modes of reaching an identical result, i. e., the clarification of the precise meaning of our concepts. Every concept is in a sense a working hypothesis, a tenta- tive manner of thinking about things, and is subject at need to revision. Our idea of right is gained in childhood from parental percepts. If we do not stagnate morally, a time must come when we are obliged to reconstruct and modify this childish concept. As our knowledge becomes broader this process of reconstruction may go on indefinitely. This does not mean that we necessarily discard wholly the idea of right which we received from our parents. Far from it ! It means that this idea was necessarily a child^s idea, and so inadequate to certain adult experiences; and it becomes necessary to develop it in accordance with the new needs. ,^^ The incentive to this form of growth in our concepts is, then, precisely identical with that which led to our getting what we call new concepts. It is clear that in a certain sense the V 222 PSYCHOLOGY process we have just described really gives us new concepts. But practically we think of the new idea as a modification of the old one. The doctrine is sometimes held that our concepts are un- changeable. The difference betv/een this view and the one we have been presenting is largely verbal. In a certain sense our concepts are unalterable. To use our last illustration again^ I can remember what I meant by my childish idea of right, and can recall the idea when I will. In this sense the concept does remain a permanent part of my mental equip- ment;, undergoing only such changes as may be due to fail- ing memory. But practically my adult concept which I call my idea of right is^ as has just been shown, very different from this childish one out of which it has grown. CHAPTER XI JUDGMENT AND THE ELEMENTS OF REASONING The mental operations which we have thus far described find the culmination of their development in the process which we know as reasoning. This does not mean that reasoning is a totally new form of psychical activity, to which the others are subordinate. It means that in the process of reasoning the full implication and significance of these other conscious processes come clearly to light, while in it they reach their completed evolution. Moreover, it does not mean that reasoning is a form of process which appears only after the other processes which we have studied have been devel- oped. Rudimentary reasoning is present from the beginning of conscious life in the human being, and is clearly involved in each of the processes we have thus far analysed. But in the gradual unfolding of consciousness, by means of which it comes to maturity, we meet more and more complex in- stances of reasoning, and at each stage we find it involving perception and memory and imagination and conception. At each stage it affords the best index of the real value of these other processes, and in its most elaborate forms it brings out in the clearest possible way their real function. We shall revert to these points more fully later in the chapter. A technical definition of reasoning may well await our examination of certain of the facts upon which such a definition must be based. Meantime, we may define it broadly and provisionally as purposive thinking^ that is to say, thinking carried on in the interests of some plan which we wish to execute, some problem which we wish to solve, some difficulty which we wish to surmount. 223 224 PSYCHOLOGY Analysis of Reasoning. — We are often told that the great educational value of mathematics lies in teaching us to reason correctly. Some hardy iconoclasts have ventured to question the extent of the value to be gained from the subject on this scorC;, but at least it seems to be universally admitted that mathematics involves reasonings, and we may^ therefore^ judiciously seek from it an illustration of the reasoning process for our examination. Take the following arith- metical problem, reminiscent of the perplexities of the days of our academic youth. If thirteen melons cost a dollar and forty-three cents, how much should twenty melons cost? Most of us would solve this problem by finding the cost of one melon through the division of one hundred and forty-three by thirteen; and then the cost of twenty melons by multiply- ing this quotient by twenty. When the problem is distinctly understood, there instantly comes into our minds, through our memory habits, the idea '' cost of one melon ^^ ; and straightway we find ourselves executing the relatively hab- itual process of division. This accom^plished, our minds im- mediately turn — again by virtue of our mental habits — to the multiplication of our quotient by twenty. The reason- ing in a case of this kind, therefore, seems to involve the selection of certain ideas out of all those supplied us by the problem, the manipulation of these ideas in accordance with previously acquired habits, and the attainment of the solution by a proper combination of these two processes. So far as there is any originality in such a procedure, we must look for it in the skill and expedition with which we hit upon the right idea to work with, and the accuracy and promptness with which we apply to it the fruits of our previously acquired knowledge. Should we examine a little more closely the nature of these ideas which we employ we should find that they are clearly concepts. Thus, melon is a concept, cost is a concept, cent is a concept, etc. Were we to give verbal form to the JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 225 several steps in the process^ which we do not always do^ we should find that we had such expressions before us as this: one melon eleven cents — eleven times twenty is two hundred and twenty^ is two dollars and twenty cents. In other wordS;, we put the concepts together in a form which the psychol- ogists call a judgment. A judgment^ when put into words^ is what logicians call a proposition^ and what grammarians call a sentence. It accordingly appears that a process of reason- ing, such as that of our illustration, contains concepts com- bined in the form of judgments. We have already examined the nature of the concept, but judgment is a new mental operation to which we must now devote our attention. Analysis of Judgment. — It will facilitate our investigation to begin with those cases of judgment to which we give verbal expression, for they can readily be secured in a concrete form, stripped of the introspective difficulties which beset the analysis of other varieties. It will suggest itself at once that, if the judgment is in any measure equivalent to a proposi- tion or a sentence, we ought to gain assistance, in the distin- guishing of its principal forms, from the classifications of the grammarians and logicians. Although the exact meaning of mental judgments and linguistic propositions are not always identical, even where they have the same verbal form, never- theless many of these classifications are undoubtedly avail- able; and we may expect to find assertative judgments, hypo- thetical judgments, disjunctive judgments, and so on. In the judgment, ^^the book is heavj^,^^ we have the concept heavy united to the concept book. On the other hand, in the judg- ment, ^^the book is not heavy ,^^ we have the concepts appar- ently sundered from one another. Even in this case, how- ever, it is obvious that in the mental state, of which the judg- ment is the expression, the two ideas were together, as truly as in the first case. It is only so far as the ideas refer to objects distinct from themselves that their separation is asserted. In the judgment, " if the storm is severe, the ship 226 PSYCHOLOGY will be imperilled/^ we have two pairs of concepts iiiiited to one another, t. e.^ " storm ^^ and " severe/^ '' ship ^^ and ^^ im- perilled/^ Like the preceding cases, the ideas are brought together mentally, bnt the objective union of one pair is made dependent upon the objective union of the other. The judg- ment, " Mr. Smith is either a democrat or a popnlist,^^ gives us a typical instance of disjunction. The concept '' Smith ^^ is conjoined mentally with the two concepts " democrat ^^ and ^^ populist,^^ and the objective union is asserted of one or the other.* In all these verbal precipitates of judgment we seem then to have two or more ideas mentally united in mean- ings which may imply either the postulated union or sever- ance of the objects to which they refer. Analytic-Synthetic Judgments. — Availing ourselves of a further classification which the logicians employ, we may speak of analytic or of synthetic judgments. " This wood is white,^^ is an instance of the analytic judgment. It exhibits a property of the wood which is inherent in it, and may, there- fore, be said to involve an analysis of the concept, '^ this wood.'^ ^^ Wood is a combustible/' is a synthetic judgment, because it adds to the idea of wood the idea of combustibility, which is not immediately, nor obviously, implied in it. We shall presently see reason to believe that synthetic and analytic judgments are psychologically really one, and for our present purpose we can at least see that they involve, like all the other cases which we have examined, the mental synthesis of concepts, whose objec- tive union^ or separateness, we mentally predicate. * The so-caHed " impersonal judgment " has caused logicians much controversy. " It rains " is an instance of it. At first sight it appears as though such a judgment could hardly be said to involve a synthesis of two ideas, or concepts, at all. On the whole it seems probable that this form of judgment represents a primitive type of the judging activity, out of which possibly our more elaborate forms have developed. If this be true, the nature of the impersonal judgment will become evident as we go on with our analysis. JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 227 Genetic Relation of Concept and Judgment. — Having dis- covered in these verbal judgments the constant presence of concepts^ it v^ill be well to revert to our account of their de- velopment^ and detect^ if possible^, the relation of the judgment to this process. We observed^ vrhen stiid}dng the origin of concepts^, that they spring out of the mind^s effort to mark off^ and render distinct, the various meanings with which it has to deal. We saw that in the course of experience these meanings grow in definiteness and scope, so that a concept which meets the demands of childhood often needs for the purposes of the adult either to be reconstructed or else discarded in favour of some more adequate notion. If we examine once again some specific instances of the attainment and development of a concept, we shall come upon an instructive fact concerning the relation between conception and judgment. If we con- sider in this way our concept badness, we find that it has its origin in our very early childish experiences in connection with certain acts for which we were reproved or punished. The notion of parental disapproval quickly became attached to such acts, and, as soon as language could be comprehended at all, we remarked that they received the common appella- tion, ^^ bad.^^ Unless our account of the memory processes be fundamentally defective, the thought of such deeds should call to mind, in however vague a way, the undesirable conse- quences which had previously accompanied them. At this early stage, then, we must in a nebulous sort of fashion have brought together in our minds the idea of the act and the idea of its effects in the nature of punishment. Such a mental act obviously has implicit in it the beginnings of judgment, i. e., the assertion of a relation ietween two mental elements. When, with increasing age, language finally comes to our assistance, we are easily able to apprehend the usage of our elders, and we straightway apply the term ^^ bad ^' to all acts of a certain character. At 228 PSYCHOLOGY this point the idea of badness is for iis s3monyTQons with a certain list of acts with which various kinds of adult dis- approval are connected. When we are inspired to perform such an act^ we promptly execute mentally the judging proc- ess quivalent to labelling the act bad. Were we to put our thought into words^ we should undoubtedly have a verbal judgment. All of which seems to indicate with no great uncertainty that the origin of such a concept as " badness ^^ is to be found in mental processes which are in their nascent stages crude^ vague^ undeveloped judgments^ involving a rudimentary recognition of relations between certain more or less distinct portions of our experience. We get at these elements of experience mentally by means of rudely distin- guished ideas — in the case of our illustration the idea of the act and the idea of its consequences. Such concepts as this, i. e.^ badness, owe their creation, then, to elab- orations of already attained ideas in a primitive form of judgment. Moreover, if we turn our attention to the subsequent history of such a concept as badness, we find unmistakably, as was pointed out in the last chapter, that its develpoment is accom- plished by means of new judgm^ents which are brought to bear upon it from time to time. In childhood, for example, bad- ness may for a long time mean, among other things, disobedi- ence. There comes a time, however, when possibly disobedi- ence seems in some crisis the only alternative to lying. We have also identified lying with badness. What shall we do? Well, whatever we do, we have at least laid the foundation for the reconstructive development of our concept of badness, by noting that disobedience may sometimes be necessary to the attainment of the maximal possible good. We necessarily make judgments about badness in such a case, and the trans- formation, whether shrinkage or enlargement, which the con- cept undergoes, is a direct expression of the effect of judg- ment. The development as well as the origin of such JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 2^9 concepts is, accordingly^ most intimately bound up with the judging operation. Before generalising upon this single case, it would, of course, be desirable to examine every variety of concept in order to see if any of them originate independently of such judgments. This is, however, evidently impracticable, and we shall have to fall back upon the consideration that inas- much as the concept is always a mental recognition, or desig- nation, of specific meaning, there must, in the nature of the case, sooner or later be a judging process involved in it; for judgment is neither more nor less than the overt recognition and expression of just such relations as are embodied in the concept. The concept ^^ gravity,^^ for example, implies certain definite relations which we can only express in detail by means of judgments, and so with all other concepts. We shall accept this account of the relation between the two processes, then, with a large measure of confidence in its correctness. Order of Development of the Cognitive Processes. — This analysis inevitably raises the question as to what is the most primitive and fundamental mode of conscious operation to which we have thus far given attention. We have shown that the conceptual element is present in perception, and we had already explained that in a genetic sense perception evidently antedates memory and imagination. InTow we seem to find judgment as a precursor of the concept. What is the real order of development among these activities? To secure a correct impression regarding the genetic rela- tions among these processes^ we must resort to an analogy which we have employed on a number of previous occasions. The development of an organism of any kind is accomplished by means of the gradual unfolding of structures, and the gradual evolution of functions, out of undifferentiated matrices. The fertilised ovum contains in a way, implicit within itself, all the potentialities of the fully developed 230 PSYCHOLOGY organism which may subsequently grow out of it. But no inspection which we could make of the ovum would enable us to detect these invisible members. Step by step the homo- geneity of the ovum gives way to more and more complex conditions^ until finally the process of assimilation and dif- ferentiation issues in the full-grown organism. At each step in the progress toward maturity the several anatomical organs and the various physiological functions are moving together toward completion. At one stage one group of these ele- ments may seem further advanced than others^ but there is nevertheless mutual dependence of each of the factors upon the other, and each member of the several groups is from the beginning represented by some forerunner^ however crude. So it is with the psychical operations which we have been studying. Judgment^ conception^ memory^ imagination^ per- ception^ and still other processes^ which we have not as yet examined^ are in one form or another present in conscious- ness from the very first; and each process^ which we have described and analysed under one or another of these names, really involves each of the other processes. At certain mo- ments consciousness presents itself as dominantly engaged in the way we call perception, sometimes in the way we call imagination. But each operation involves the other^ and it would hardly be possible to point to a stage in development where one was obviously present and the other obviously and altogether absent. Judging is in a precisely similar situation as regards its primary or secondary nature^, its early or late appearance^ in the history of the individual consciousness. We may^ per- haps, make this point clear most easily by examining the case of perception which we have seen to be present past all rea- sonable question from the earliest moments of waking life. When we perceive a familiar object, say a chair, the mental operation of cognising the object is essentially equivalent to the assertion, " this is a chair,^^ or " this is a thing to sit JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 231 upon." Triie^ we rarely put the conclusion in this explicit form to ourselves. Nevertheless^ the mental process is pre- cisely akin to the proposition^ and in our first intelligent application of names to objects it is exactly of this character. Indeed^ the first childish exclamations^ which represent in however amorphous a fashion the precursors of language^ are of this type. The whole mass of feelings which such early infantile vocalisation may serve to indicate is often ex- tremely complex and extended. One sound may designate an experience^ which as adults we should describe as " this-is- the-sound-of -the-coming-to-take-me-up-and-f eed-me -which - is- a-delightful-experience." Another sound may represent judgments in the form of a command^ such as ^^ I-am-hot- and-I-wish-vou-would-take-the-blanket-off.^^ Let it not be supposed that we mean to credit the half- inarticulate infant with the mental recognition of all the dif- ferentiated elements in these cases to which we as adults are sensitive. Quite the contrary. It seems probable^ as we saw, when we discussed attention and discrimination^ that the early experiences of the baby are extremely vague^ not in the sense of being positively confused^ as adults sometimes are when embarrassed^ but in the negative sense^ in which vagueness means absence of distinct^ well-recognised mental control. These primitive judgments are rudimentary expres- sions of just such reactions upon those indefinite, undifferen- tiated features of infant consciousness as we find appearing in ourselves when we make judgments about our more highly elaborated and more definitely discriminated ideas. The earliest rudimentarj^ processes of judgment consequently involve the manipulation of unanalj^sed masses of experience, which we subsequently discover, through processes of disso- ciation, comparison, and judgment, to be extremely complex. It is quite possible, as has been already suggested, that the impersonal judgments, such as '^ it thunders," represent sur- vivals of assertions of just this primitive kind about total 232 PSYCHOLOGY experiences whose elements are only vaguely and imperfectly analysed. Judgment as the Primitive Cognitive Activity. — It seems highly probable from the foregoing that in its original form all judgment is essentially a reaction upon immediately present perceptual experiences. Undoubtedty^ rude judg- ments in which memory and imagination play leading roles may occur at a very early period. But it seems quite certain that their most important functions must come somewhat later than the periods during which perceptual judgments are first clearly in evidence. Moreover^ inasmuch as these rudi- mentary forms of judgment appear to involve as their most characteristic features^ like the highly developed ideational judgments^ the recognition^ or assertion^ of relations^ it seems impossible to deny that the simplest case of perception^ with its connection of a first sensory stimulation with something already familiar^ is also implicitly^ at leasts of the same genus as the judgment. When we ask^ then, which of the several mental processes we have described is most fundamental, we must reply that if the question applies to the order of appearance in conscious- ness no single one enjoys this preeminence. They develop together, and are all, in one way or another, present from the outset of conscious life. If the question means, however, which process exhibits most conspicuously the whole scope of cognitive conscious capacities, then we must probably reply, judgment; because in this activity the detection and manip- ulation of relations is possibly most obvious, and this undoubtedly is the great mental achievement in the building up of knowledge and the controlling of conduct, to which ulti- mately all these processes revert for their final significance. In this sense, therefore, judgment is the most fundamental operation of consciousness on the cognitive side. Before leaving this account of judgment and passing on to consider reasoning, a further word should be said of the fact JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 233 which came to our notice a moment ago in speaking of the judging process in the primitive consciousness of infant life. Judgment undoubtedly begins with a process of disentangling the various constituents of some large and relatively vague experience. The operation which we described in an earlier chapter as discrimination is commonly identical with these rudimentary judging processes. Now in so far as judgment does really deal in this way wdth the analysis of ideational (or perceptual) experiences^ which are to start with undifferenti- ated wholes^ it would seem to be necessary to regard it as a process in which relatively vague ideas are resolved into their definite constituents^ rather than as a process in which already distinct and separate ideas are brought together. It will be remembered that our previous description of it is more closely allied to the second of these views about it. As a matter of fact both views are correct in the conception which they emphasise^ and the disparity between them is only apparent. Just as we saw was the case in the differentiation of the various sensations out of the relatively homogeneous con- scious continuum with which life probably begins^ so the materials upon which our judgments are based and with which they deal are all necessarily elements of our own per- sonal experience. So far as we predicate anything of an object^ — for example^ '' iron is a metal/^ — it may be said that we have simply dissected the idea of iron (our concept), which was already present to our minds, instead of adding to it some new idea, i, e,^ metal. Taken literally, this is a true state- ment of the facts. It is only false by virtue of that which it fails to add. The concept of iron is a concept distinguished from that of metal. We not only may bring these two con- cepts together mentally, but we frequently do unite just such concepts in the form of judgments, which are practically valu- able to us in enabling us to emphasise such phases of our thoughts as are momentarily important for us. Judgment is, then, in its most explicit forms, undoubtedly a process in ^34 PSYCHOLOGY which we synthesise concepts in the course of noting and asserting relations. Yet the concepts which we thus unite are with equal certainty already elements of our stock of knowl- edge^ and so we may seem to have m^ade no gain by the judg- ment;, much less to have added a new idea to some old idea. But the gain is often very real^ because the synthesis may bring out relations of which previously we were not clearly cognisant. From this point of view judgment is not so much a matter of creating wholly new mental material as it is a matter of ordering our mental equipment in the most efficient possible manner. CHAPTEE XII THE FOEMS AlfD PUISTCTIOI^S OF EEASOmNG^ Judgment and Reasoning. — From the illustration with which we set out in the last chapter in our first rough analysis of reasonings we observed that the solution of the problem with which we were hjrpothetically engaged involved a series of judgments. We therefore turned aside to examine more closely into the nature of judgment; and we have dis- covered that this is an analytic-synthetic process^ in which concepts are employed and elaborated. As the great majority of our important concepts have a linguistic basis^ it goes with- out saying that reasoning makes almost constant use of lan- guage. It now remains to survey somewhat more fully the manner in which our judgments are combined to form the various types of reasoning. We proposed as a provisional definition of reasonings at the beginning of the last chapter, the phrase "purposive thinking/^ meaning by this to desig- nate any thought process in which we were thinking toward some ends attempting to overcome some difficultys or solve some problem. If we turn to certain familiar instances of this sort of thing in every-day life, we shall at once obtain an impression of the fashion in which we make use of our judg- ing activities. Practical Reasoning. — Suppose that we are about to make a long journey which necessitates a choice from among a number of possible routes. This is a case of the genuinely problematic kind. It requires reflections a weighing of pros and conSs and the giving of a final decision in favour of one or another of the several alternatives. In such a case the pro- 235 236 PSYCHOLOGY cedure of most of us is after this order. We think of one route as being picturesque and wholly novel^ but also as being expensive. We think of another as less interesting, but also as less expensive. A third is, we discover, the most expedi- tious, but also the most costly of the three. We find ourselves confronted, then, with the necessity of choosing with regard to the relative merits of cheapness, beauty, and speed. We proceed to consider these points in the light of all our inter- ests, and the decision more or less makes itself. We find, for instance, that we must, under the circumstances, select the cheapest route. ISTow, this process is evidently made up of a number of judgments, in which we have employed various conceptions of the routes and the consequences connected with their choice. Obviously, also, we have made constant use of the machinery of association by means of which the various connected ideas have called one another into the mind. Our conclusion is seemingly the outcome of a series of judgments, whose number may be wholly indeterminate, and whose order is far from systematic. Nevertheless, the process results in a solution of the problem, the conclusion is essentially a reasoned one, and the operation is altogether typical of the fashion in which we actually deal with the practical problems of common experience. When we look at the successive steps a little more closely, we see that such judgments brought into the foreground some aspect of the general problem which assisted us in viewing the situation in its entirety. Thus, the idea of cost as less by one route than by the others proved in our final estimate to be of fundamental significance. But we could not isolate this element of the problem and conceive it aright until we had compared the routes with one another, and considered all the expenses involved in each. Only then were we in a posi- tion to assert which route was cheapest. This crucial judg- ment issued immediately from our comparison of the several FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 237 routes with one another^ but the process of comparison was itself an indispensable step in reaching our final choice. We considered speed in a similar manner, and found that all the routes were satisfactory enough in this particular. Finally, the consideration of beauty and the pleasure of the journey is canvassed in like manner, and we find from the ideas which come into our minds that one route is markedly preferable. This factor of beauty remains, then, to settle accounts with the item of economy. The ultimate decision involves our taking stock of our financial status, past, present, and future, and the issue is settled on the basis of the story told by this set of facts. Each step in the process has been relatively simple, and entirely intelligible. We have allowed certain ideas, which we have abstracted in our mode of con- ceiving the problem, to take up by association other ideas re- lated to them in ways which bear upon the case in hand ; and from the judgments which we pass upon the meanings of these ideas our choice is made and our volition determined. Our effectiveness as practical reasoners (or theoretical reasoners, either, for that matter) wall depend then, first, upon the skill with which we succeed in conceiving the prob- lem correctly, and second, upon the speed and accuracy with which this conception suggests to our reasoning processes the recall of the special ideas appropriate to the case at hand. The whole series of judgments employed could finally be reduced to two or three (or possibly to one), which, as the outcome of our tentative weighing of now this claim and now that, have proved to be finally significant. In a sense the judgm^ents have all been connected and related. They have all arisen in response to our persistent dwelling upon the prob- lem before us. But a few of them depend upon one another in an even more intimate way, and these are the permanently significant ones. For example : '^ Two routes cost more than $1000 ; 1 cannot afford to pay more than $800 ; I must therefore patronize the third route/^ 238 PSYCHOLOGY Value of Association by Similarity. — In so far as reasoning involves associative processes^ it is clear that association by similarity will be of highest importance^ especially in the more abstruse forms of thinking. The more complex types of problem with which we have to cope often require for their successful solution the application of facts and prin- ciples which have no connection with the matter in hand^ save some fragile bond of similarity. The detection of these delicate links of relation is an achievement which charac- terises in high degree only the most remarkable minds^ the geniuses. The rest of us find;, to be sure^, that we outstrip the brutes enormously in our capacity to employ this form of associative nexus. But the great revoluntionary achieve- ments in human reason have to wait upon the man and the hour, and when they are compassed they generally reveal a marvellous manifestation of the capacity for discerning simi- larity. Newton^s formulation of the law of gravity may serve to illustrate the point. Reasoning and the Syllogism. — Now, to many persons the process of selecting a route for a journey will seem a mislead- ing illustration of reasoning, because it will not appear to be sufficiently abstruse, nor sufficiently orderly and inevitable. It will represent what they may prefer to call " practical think- ing,^^ as we have done, although we have not meant by the use of the term to deny to the process the essential character of reasoning. We shall be told that when we really reason we perform such mental deeds as the following syllogism exhibits : All men are mortal ; Socrates is a man, Therefore Socrates is mortal. Here we are assured we have new facts attained by reason, here is perfect order and symmetry, instead of miscellaneous groping for correct conclusions, which may, or may not, be attained. Here are judgments arrayed in serried ranks, each FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 239 supported by its neighbour, and the final judgment an irre- futable consequence of its companions, from which our think- ing set out. In response to this suggestion we have only to inquire whether or no our original thinking really goes on in this way, or whether this example illustrates the arrangement of which certain of our thought processes are susceptible after they have been pruned of excrescences. Our own view about this question is doubtless indicated by the mode in which we have approached it. There can be no doubt that the cele- brated syllogism which we have just proposed reveals an extremely fundamental fact about the relations of certain of our judgments to one another. That the syllogism also represents the actual mode in which we commonly reach con- clusions is altogether another proposition, and one to which assent certainly cannot be given. The question here at issue is purely one of fact, and each one must determine for him- self whether in his reasoning processes he finds himself pro- ceeding in the syllogistic manner. When we examine our thinking, with this question in mind, most of us find that neither as regards the order of the several steps, nor as regards their number, does our common reasoning comply with the pattern of the syllogism. In instances like that of our illustration we should rarely have any recourse to the second proposition, or the minor premise, as logicians call it, even provided we found it necessary to consider the truth of the conclusion. Moreover, it would as a rule be only in case we found it necessary to verify the truth of the concluding proposition that we should revert to either of the other propositions ; and then the order of our thought would be — first, the conclusion; second, the major premise. So that neither order nor number of judgments is as the syllogism with which we started requires. As a device for exhibiting the source of our confidence in the truth of the conclusion^ the syllogism undoubtedly 240 PSYCHOLOGY possesses a value ; for it makes explicit and clear in the fewest possible words the fundamentally important relations among the ideas involved. It is^ however, as a method of exposition, demonstration, and proof, rather than as a type of actual constructive thinking, that it gets its chief significance. Nevertheless, it possesses one characteristic which is peculiar to many reflective processes, and to this we must briefly refer. Deduction. — The major premise— '^^ all men are mortal ^^ — contains an assertion of a general principle which we have observed that we may use as a principle of veriflcation for such an assertion as that of the conclusion — '' Socrates is mortal.^^ Now, general principles play essentially the same role in our thinking as do the general ideas which we dis- cussed in the chapter on conception. They summarise, just as concepts do, large masses of human experience, and in our purposive thinking we repeatedly have occasion to employ them. We might call them complex concepts. These general principles represent the counterparts in our conscious operations of the principle of habit in our motor coordinations. Just in so far as we regard them as really stable and well established, v/e use them almost reflexly in our thinking, and apply them without more ado to the deter- mination of conclusions about such facts as they may concern. Thus, having assured ourselves that a certain act is really stealing, we instantly class it as despicable and wrong; hav- ing learned that a substance c^ culiar appearance is wood, we are immediately prepared to and that it will burn; if we hear of the discovery of a new planet, we assume without ques- tion that it will possess an elliptical orbit. These reactions consist in applying to appropriate things the habitual accom- paniments of speciflc objects, or events, in the form of general ideas, or principles, concerning similar objects and events. Such a process lends perspective to the special subject to which the principle is applied, by bringing it into overt con- nection with the experieiice to which it may be most immedi- FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 241 ately germane, while it enriches and fortifies the general principle itself by adding to its scope a new and definite instance. It demands no argument, beyond the mention of the facts just described, to demonstrate that we make a con- stant use of general principles in some such fashion as this. The problem is at once suggested by the foregoing discus- sion of deduction, as to how we obtain the general principles therein at issue. This brings us to the complementary proc- ess which logicians designate induction. Induction. — According to the familiar accounts of it induc- tion is the operation by means of which we come to generalise upon individual events. For example, having observed num- bers of specific instances of the phenomenon, we come to the conclusion that all paper is combustible. In a similar way we come to assert that all mammals have lungs, that masses attract one another, etc., etc. Criticism of Induction. — Now, logicians have argued at grea^t length upon the question whether we really succeed by inductive inference in going beyond the particular facts which have actually been examined. They have also consid- ered at great length the criterion, or warrant, upon which inductive principles proceed, supposing that they ever do transcend the facts from which they set out. Sometimes it has been maintained, for example, that the inductive general- isation, " All men are mortal,^^ which is based upon our examination of a finite nun>"' ""of cases of human mortality, obtains its ultimate significance for knowledge simply by virtue of the assumed uniformity of nature. What has hap- pened a number of times will always happen under like con- ditions, is the meaning of this view. Or, stated more rigidly, whatever has happened under given conditions will always happen under the same conditions. Many other views of the matter have been defended, but we can hardly enter upon them. Suffije it for our purposes to observe that whatever may be the final merit and reliability of inductive inferences. 242 PSYCHOLOGY we do in our actual thinking make constant use of such gen- eralisations^ and on the whole with practical success. Indeed^ after our account of habit and association and our account of the formation and development of concepts^, we should be ill-prepared for any other conclusion. Having found a certain characteristic common to a large number of events^ it could not well be otherwise than that we should be predisposed by the principle of habit to connect this character with all other events which we judged to be of like kind. This would tend to occur on the level of mere trains of associative ideas^ as in revery^ where it mighty however, often escape attention ; it would also come out clearly in the recognition of points in common among such occurrences as we found our- selves obliged to reason about in the course of overcoming difficulties^ whether practical or theoretical. Thus^ in revery our thoughts might run upon the planets^ and as the ideas of them passed through our minds we should probably think of them all as spherical, and yet this common property might escape our definite notice. In reasoning, however, we should often find it indispensable to emphasise common qualities of this kind. So, for instance, in attempting to predict weather conditions we should speedily find it necessary to proceed on the generalisation that all low barometric phenomena were indicative of storm formation. The same exigencies, there- fore, which lead us to form general ideas, also lead us to that special type of idea which we more often call a general prin- ciple and express in a proposition. Deduction and Induction Compared. — In comparing deduc- tion and induction it is often said that induction necessarily precedes deduction, because we obviously cannot apply our general principles until we possess them, and it is by means of induction that we obtain them. It is also said that in deduc- tion our thought proceeds from the more general to the less general, from the universal to the particular; whereas in in- duction the order of procedure is reversed. There is an ele- FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 243 ment of truth in both assertions, but this form of expressing it is certainly misleading. The truth in the first contention consists in the fact that all general principles are based upon particular experiences. But this does not mean that inductive processes occur first, and then at a later step deduction appears. Both kinds of process go on together, as we shall see in a moment. Indeed, strictly speaking, they are in the last analysis simply two phases of one and the same process. The truth in the second assertion resides in the fact that some portions of our think- ing proceed under relatively more habitual forms than others. The deductive process represents the application of a mental habit, or principle, to a practical case, under just such condi- tions as we have already described. The inductive process represents more distinctly the formation of these habits of thought. In both cases, however, so far as concerns the prog- ress of the successive thoughts, we always find that the advance is from particular to particular. Moreover, the advance is not so much an advance from the particular idea X to the independent and particular 1/, now shown to be related in some way to x^ as it is a development of the idea X, hitherto undifferentiated in this special fashion, into the idea x containing a y relation. Thus, the generalisation about low barometric conditions and storm formation is not a mental process in which two wholly disconnected ideas are brought together. It is simply a process in which the hith- erto unspecified experience " low-barometer-storm-forma- tion ^^ is resolved into its fuller significance for practical use. Similarly, in subsequent deductive operations with this prin- ciple, i, e.y all low barometric conditions indicate storms imminent, we proceed from the particular idea ^^low barome- ter/^ to the particular idea " storm forming.^^ However con- venient, therefore, it may at times prove to speak of passing from the general to the particular, and vice versa, we must remember that in our actual thought processes we always 244 PSYCHOLOGY juxtapose particulars; or more precisely^ we deal with dis- criminable features of a single mental particular. Of course it will be understood from our studj^ of the development of concepts that these particulars are under this treatment modified incessantly^ both by expansion and contraction. We have seen from time to time throughout our work that each mental process which we have examined contains some old features and some new features^ that it reflects the prin- ciple of habit and the principle of fresh adjustment to novel conditions. Induction and deduction are further illustra- tions of this same fact. Just as in perception we observed the new element in the sensory stimulus^ and the old element in the reaction b)^ a modified cortex^ so we have seen that induction represents that function of our purposive thinking in which the new adjustment is uppermost; whereas deduc- tion represents more conspicuously the application of ac- quired habits. If the parallel is really genuine^ we should expect to find^ as we have at each previous step^ that the two attributes of novelty and familiarity in the elements employed are never entirely dissevered from one another^ and so we should expect to find substantial warrant for our remarks a few lines above^ that induction and deduction are but phases of a common process. That they are actually conjoined in this way does not mean that they always are met v/ith in a condition of perfect balance. It may much more naturally be expected that sometimes one and sometimes the other will present itself as more immediately important and more properly conspicuous. We have seen an analogous case in the instance of memory when compared with some kinds of per- ception. In the one case the obvious emphasis falls upon the new, in the other upon the old. So it is in reality with the relation between deduction and induction. In reaching the induction, " all low barometer = storm formation/^ we may suppose a number of instances to have been examined before the generalisation is made. Now, the FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING H5 intelligent apprehension of the terms concerned in the judg- ments^ that is^ low barometer and storms^, evidently involves a reference back to past experience^ to past factors of knowl- edge^ which is^ as we have seen^ the essential feature of deduc- tion. Moreover^ the actual procedure by which we assure ourselves of the tenability of such an induction consists in comparing mentally each new instance with previous similar instances. In this operation the old experiences practically occupy the place of general principles^ under which we array the new case. So that the deductive characteristics are evi- dently present in an unmistakable way in inductive forms of reasoning. Conversely, when we apply a general principle, or infer that a special consequence will follow an event, because of the general class to which it belongs, we inevitably avail ourselves of inductive methods, in so far as we label the new fact. When we predict a storm because we observe a fall in the barometer we are in reality dealing with a new specific instance, which we generalise in an essential inductive way. We may call it a case of deduction, because we have already convinced ourselves of the invariability of the connection between the storm phenomena and the particular barometric conditions. Nevertheless, the actual mental process by means of which we make the prediction is quite as truly characterised by induction. We may feel reasonably con- fident, therefore, that the reasoning processes do not constitute any exception to the rule which we have previously enun- ciated, that all cognitive mental operations involve both old and new factors. Reasoning and Purposive Thinking. — It ought now to be fairly clear that the precise significance which we attach to the term reasoning is largely a matter of arbitrary termi- nology. Undoubtedly some of our purposive thinking takes a highly abstract and systematised form. Undoubtedly, also, most of it goes on in a much more concrete, miscellaneous, 246 PSYCHOLOGY hit-and-miss fashion. But it is essentially impossible to draw any sharp line marking off the more orderly and exact pro- cedure from the more promiscuous form ; and as the presence of a dominating purpose^ plan^ or interest seems to control the ideational processes in both cases^ it has seemed the simpler and more natural thing to call all purposive thinking reasoning. We are then entirely able to recognise stages of abstraction and complexity in the execution of such thinking without any sacrifice of regard for the facts. General Function of Reasoning. — In reasoning, with its employment of concepts in judgments, we meet with the most highly evolved of all the psychical devices for assisting the adaptive activities of the organism, and this notion of its general significance is so familiar that it requires no detailed justification. Certain features of its practical operation may, however, profitably be described, especially in connection with our general notion of the relation between conscious and neuro-muscular processes. In the original sensory stimulations of early infant life we have seen that there is a general overflow of the nervous energy into miscellaneous motor channels, occasioning hetero- geneous and uncoordinated movements of various parts of the bodj^ We have also traced in outline the process of the devel- opment by means of which the motor escapement becomes confined to certain limited and definite channels, and thus succeeds in establishing coordinated habitual movements. We have seen that these coordinations become more and more elaborate as growth proceeds, and we have noted that in this development the psj^chical processes which we have analysed as perception, imagination, and memory play an amazingly important part. Now, so far as we mean to cover by the term reasoning all purposive thinking, it is clear that these various mental operations just referred to can only contribute in a significant way to the modification of motor reactions in the measure in which they enter into processes of reasoning. FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 247 It must be remembered again^ that our purposive thinking is sometimes very riidim±entary^ simple, and abrupt; and at other times highly complicated, prolonged, and abstract. In reasoning we really find brought together and focalised all the important characteristics of the various mental modes which we have thus far studied. This may be shown in the case of memory, as an illustra- tion, but it is no truer to the facts here than it would be in the case of perception or imagination. If memory operated so as to bring into our consciousness ideas of our past experi- ences, but without any special reference to some present need, it would possess a certain intellectual interest comparable with that of a geyser, or other irregular natural phenomenon. But it would be an almost wholly useless adornment of our mental life. It is because memory enables us to recall experi- ences when we need to bring to bear upon some present per- plexity the significance of our past experience that it assists us in getting ahead in the world. It is, in short, the part which it plays in purposive thinking which gives it its value. Moreover, this significance of the past experience is a thing which concretely brings w^ith it tendencies to certain modes of action. It is not a mere reinstatement of ideas with which we are dealing in such a case. It is a reinstatement of ideas connected with which are certain quasi-habitual actions. For example, we come back to a city which we have not visited for a number of years, and go in search of a friend. We finally reach the street upon which his dwelling stands, but to our surprise we are at once in doubt whether to turn to the right or to the left. We think a moment and succeed in recalling his house number. A moment^s inspection of the street numbers suffices to determine our action, and we immediately turn in the correct direction. The memory image, in connection with our perceptual process, instantly resulted in a movement in the appropriate direction. Similarly, though not always so obviously, with perceptual 248 PSYCHOLOGY activities. If I am engaged in writings wliat I perceive (my hand^ the words, etc.) is certainly in part determined by my mental operations at the moment. Not only so, but my per- ceiving of the pen and paper are processes directly contribu- tory to the expression of my purposes in my writing. The perception is taken up into the purposive thinking of the moment; or, expressing the facts more accurately, it is itself an integral part of the onward movement of my general pur- posive thought activities. I cannot execute efficiently that type of purposes which gets expression in writing without the assistance of the perceptual act. Always somewhere imbedded in the general matrix of our conduct, whether lying near the surface or deeply hidden in the recesses of our inner con- sciousness, we come upon purposes, plans, intentions, which explain our whereabouts and our action ; and upon these basal factors rest our particular perceptions, as well as our other mental acts. Neural Counterpart of Reasoning. — In a diagrammatic manner, but only in such manner, we can indicate the general neural counterpart of our purposive thinking, whether in its simpler, or in its more elaborate forms. In the case of our more distinctly habitual coordinations we long since observed how with a minimum of conscious accompaniments a sen- sory stimulus may make its way in the form of neural excita- tion from a sense organ directly through the (lower?) centres to appropriate muscular groups. This case is illustrated in the movement of the hand to throw the latch of a familiar door. In the case of stimulations which require a conscious reaction, whether simple or complex, the motor discharge is postponed, sometimes only for an instant, sometim.es in- definitely. A typical instance which brings out the more important features of cases where persistent perplexities are involved is the following: A man sleeping in a strange building is awakened by an alarm of fire. He hastily rises, throws on some clothing, and FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 249 starts for the stairway. Up to this point the course of the successive neural events has been — auditory stimulus, memory activity, motor response with habitual coordinations, involved in dressing and running toward the remembered stairway. He finds the stairway already filled with smoke. Escape in this way is cut off and he turns back. Again sensory stim- ulus — -this time partly visual, partly olfactory and auditory — and motor response of the habitual variety. His next thought is of a fire-escape, but none is to be discovered. He tries other rooms, but also without success. In these movements we have successive expressions of sensory stimuli, with memory intermediaries suggesting fire-escapes, each group of stimulations discharging into movements carrying him from place to place. Terror has rapidly been overcoming him, and his motions become violent and ill-controlled. Suddenly it occurs to him to make a rope of the bed-clothing. Before he can complete this the fire has made such progress that on looking from the windows he sees he cannot pass through the flames and live. His terror now turns to complete panic, his excitement bursts over into aimless rushing about, and he is on the point of hurling himself from the window when he comes upon another stairway, bounds to the roof, and finally escapes to another building. In this case we have essentially all the stages of practical reasoning process involved. We have a problem, or a dif- ficulty, reported in the form of a stimulus, which cannot be dealt with in a purely habitual, non-conscious fashion. The first effort to meet this obstacle consists in cortical excitations of relevant memory processes, and the expression of these in the forms of acquired coordinated movements. In many instances the first or second effort would, of course, have achieved success and cut short the remainder of the process. In some more distinctly intellectual forms of problem th^ memory process would not necessarily express its bearings in the form of actual movements executed at the moment. But 250 PSYCHOLOGY the excitation of the cortical activities is of precisely the same kind;, and has precisely the same significance^ as in the hypo- thetical case we are considering. Whenever the coordinations employed at the summons of the memory process^ in the way we have described^ prove inadequate to meet the difficulties in hand^ there is always this same progress from one reaction to another^ until patience^ or the available store of one^s experi- ence, has been exhausted. If the problem constitutes an insignificant stimulus, one or two failures to solve it may result in the abandonment of the effort in favour of some more pressing interest which enlists our more vivid feeling. But when, as in the case of our illustration, the significance of the problem is compelling, we meet, after the failure of all the reactions suggested by memory and executed by habitual coordinations, the remark- able phenomenon we last described. The stimuli apparently continue gathering power, which can no longer be drained off in coherent motor responses, and presently we see very much what we observed with babies, i, g., the breaking over of the neural excitement into almost every motor channel. This diffusion in the case of infants is wholly uncoordinated, whereas with the adult it is coordinated in a measure, but incoherently, and with reference to no single purpose. Never- theless, such mal-coordinations, which at least serve to bring the organism into new conditions, are sometimes, as in our illustrative case, successful in providing escape from diffi- culties. Animals make large use of such violent and random movements whenever they are confronted by strange and ter- rifying conditions. If, after memory has done its work, there still be need for other forms of reaction, this sort of general motor explosion is really all that there is left to fall back upon. Our supposititious man might have thrown him- self out of the window, as many others have done under the intellectually stupefying effects of extreme fear, but even so, the neural process would have been highly similar to that FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 251 which we have described^ and it represents the consequences of a practical breakdown in the coordinated movements sug- gested by memory as competent to meet the case at hand. The neural process in the more abstruse forms of reasoning is probably quite like that which we have now described^ save as regards the delicacy and infrequency of the associative links by means of which we pass from idea to idea in our effort to overcome mental difficulties. Sensory discrimina- tion^ intellectual abstraction^ memory processes^ judgments of comparison^ habitual coordinations — in varying degree and in shifting combinations these factors are present in all types of reasonings from the most concrete and simple to the most complicated and abstract. Genesis of Reason in Human Beings. — The precise moment at which a child passes out of the stage of mere perceptual thinking and succeeds in creating concepts detached from particular events is not one that we can exactly determine, nor is it important that we should do so. It certainly comes in a rudimentary way with the voluntary control of his muscles, and it grows rapidly as soon as he gets control of language. In general, it may be said that its appearance is largely dependent upon the demands which the child's en- vironment makes upon him. So long as he is a mere vege- table, fed and watered at definite intervals, conceptual think- ing is of no great consequence. As he comes to attain more complex social relations, and as he finds himself surrounded with increasingly complex situations to deal with, conceptual thinking, with its classifying, simplifying characteristics, be- comes essential to effective adaptation. Moreover, when such thinking does appear, we know that the child is beginning the evolution of that special part of his mental life which marks him off most definitely from the higher brutes. The Reasoning of Animals. — We gain an interesting side- light upon the reasoning processes of human beings, and especially upon the development of reasoning in children, by 252 PSYCHOLOGY observing certain of the mental operations of animals. Two extreme views have been popularly entertained concerning the reasoning powers of animals. One of them is repre- sented by the disposition to apostrophise man as the sole possessor of reason^ the lord of creation^ rnling over creatures of blind instinct. The other view has fonnd expression in marvelling at the astounding intellectual feats of occasional domestic animals^ or at the shrewdness and cunning of their brethren of the wild. Both kinds of animals have been forth- with accredited with the possession of reasoning powers of no mean pretensions. Of recent years rapid advances have been made in the scientific observation of animals^ and it seems probable that at no remote day we may possess a fairly ac- curate impression of the scope and nature of their psychical lives. Meantime we must speak somewhat conservatively and tentatively. Many of the acts of animals which have enlisted the most unbounded admiration are undoubtedly purely instinctive. And not only so^ but it seems probable that many of these instincts are unconscious and just as truly reflex as the most uncontrollable of human reflexes, such as the patellar. Thus, the remarkable actions of ants, whose astonishing system of cooperative government has furnished so many fine rhetorical figures, are apparently due to reflex reactions, to stimulations chiefly of an olfactory kind, to which they are probably obedient in much the same fashion as are the iron filings to the magnet which they seek. Many acts of animals, which are at least effective expres- sions of mJnd, seem upon close examination to consist simply in associating certain acts with certain objects or situations. The original associating of the correct elements may have come about more or less accidentally, and is certainly often the result of many random trials. Thus, a young rat, in at- tempting to get into a box containing cheese, the entrance to which requires his digging away an amount of sawdust at FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 253 one particular spot^ will often scamper many times around and over the box before starting to dig. If after digging and finding the correct spot he be removed and the sawdust replaced, the same sort of operation generally goes on as did at first, only now he succeeds much more rapidly than before. After a few trials he goes almost instantly to the correct spot, makes few or no useless movements, and promptly gets his reward. In cases of this kind we see an animal endowed with a large number of motor impulses, which enal)le him by virtue of his sheer restlessness to achieve his original success in getting food. Little by little the association between the food and the efficacious impulse becomes ingrained, all the others fall out, and to the observer, who is innocent of the previous stages of the process, his act appears highly in- telligent. As the creature grows older an interesting change comes over his performances. If he be given a problem to solve similar to the one we have just described, he begins in a much calmer and more circumspect way than does his younger protege. His first success may consequently be less quickly achieved. But in subsequent trials he becomes much more rapidly proficient, and one or two trials may be all that he requires to attain practical perfection in the act. In the mature rat the memory process is evidently much more active and reliable. Eeasoning processes of this kind — if one wishes so to label them — are much in evidence in little children. The small boy, striving to repair his toy, turns it this way and that, hammers it, and pulls it about. Sometimes success unex- pectedly crowns his labours, and he may then be able to bring about the desired result again. He has a general wish to set his toy aright, much as the rat has his ambition in the matter of the cheese. Neither of them has any clear recognition of the means appropriate to the end, but both of them, by trying one move after another, finally come upon the correct com- 254 PSYCHOLOGY bination^ after which memory often enables them to repeat the achievement. In the light of our present knowledge it seems probable that the great mass of seemingly intelligent acts which animals perform^ apart from instinctive acts^ are of this variety^ and therefore involve nothing more elaborate than the association of certain types of situation with certain motor impulses. Just how far such acts may at times involve the perception of coherent relations in the manner characteristic of adult human intelligence^ it is essentially impossible to say. One of the vigorously controverted points about animal intelli- gence comes to light here. Do animals form concepts of any kind? If they do not^ they evidently cannot execute the intellectual processes peculiar to the more abstruse forms of human reasoning. Do animals ever employ association of similars in their psychical operations? If not^ again we must deny to them one of the most significant features of human thinking. Do th'^eir gestures and attitudes^ by means of which they seem to communicate with one another^ ever rise to the level of real language^ furnishing a social medium for definitely recognised meanings? On these points com- petent observers are not at present altogether agreed. It seems^ however^ probable that animals rarely^ if ever^ achieve the distinct separation of ideas and perceptions which human beings attain; and that they do not^ therefore^, employ the concept in the form in which developed language permits the human to do. The acts of certain of the apes^ however, and occasional performances of some of the higher mammals^ in- dicate a very considerable degree of original and intelligent reaction to sensory stimulations. The animal consciousness is probably much more exclusively and continuously mo- nopolised by mere awareness of bodily conditions than the human consciousness^ and much more rarely invaded in any definite manner by independent images of past experience. Meantime^ we have to remember that the nervous system of FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 255 che higher animals seems to afford all the necessary basis for the appearance and development of the simpler forms of rational consciousness^ and the only difference in these processes^ as compared with those of man^ of which we can speak dogmatically and with entire confidence, is the differ- ence in complexity and elaboration. CHAPTEE XIII THE AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS Feeling and Cognition. — In the foregoing chapters our attention has been chiefly directed to those phases of our consciousness by means of which we come into the possession of knowledge. We have examined the several stages in cognition from its appearance in sensation up through the various steps to reasoning. We have noted the increasing complexity and the increasing definiteness which seems to characterise the development of this aspect of our minds^ and we have traced so far as we could the neural basis of the several processes at issue. We have seen that the elements of our knowledge ultimately reduce to sensory activities, for which the immediate preconditions are specialised sense organs and a central nervous system. We have seen how the whole significance of the different stages in the cognitive operation is found in the devices which they represent to further the efficiency of the motor responses which the organ- ism is constantly obliged to make to its environment. We have seen that memory, imagination, and reasoning are thus simply half-way houses between stimuli and reactions which serve to permit the summoning of just those movements which the present situation demands, when interpreted in the light of the individuaFs past experience. We stated explicitly at the outset of our analysis of these cognitive operations that we should be obliged temporarily to overlook certain other factors of our consciousness. We come now to take up one of these neglected processes which has as a matter of fact contributed to produce the results in many of our illustrations. This process is commonly known to psy- 256 AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 257 chologists as feeling. The word feeling has many other well- recognised meanings^ and the function which it is made to subserve in this present connection is somewhat arbitrarily imposed upon it. Moreover^ certain psychologists refuse to -use it in this limited fashion. But we shall employ the term to designate in a general way those processes which represent and express the tone of our consciousness. A rough distinc- tion is sometimes made between cognition and feeling by saying that cognition furnishes us the nouns and adjectives^ the " whats ^^ of our states of consciousness^ while feeling affords the adverbial '' how.^^ What are you conscious of ? An object;, a picture. How does it affect you? Agreeably. The first question and answer bring out the cognitive factors, the second emphasise the feelings. Another line of demar- cation which is sometimes proposed is based on the assertion that cognition informs us of objects and relations external to ourselves, whereas feeling informs us of our own internal mental condition. The general character of the distinction will become more evident as we examine more carefully cer- tain specific types of conscious experience. Elementary Forms of Feeling, or Affection. — If we hold a prism up in the sunlight and throw the spectral colours upon a wall, we not only experience the various sensory quali- ties of the several colours, we also commonly experience pleasure. If we now turn and look at the sun, we not only see the orb, we also experience discomfort. Similarly, when we strike three tuning forks which harmonise with one another we hear the qualities of the component sounds and we also find them agreeable. Instances of disagreeable sounds will readily suggest themselves. We might examine our sen- sation of pressure, movement, temperature, smell, and taste, and find the same thing true, i. e., that they are accompanied sometimes by pleasure and sometimes by discomfort. More- over, we shall find the same kind of sensation, for example, the sensation of sweetness, at one time felt as agreeable, at 258 PSYCHOLOGY another time as disagreeable. The converse case is repre- sented by acquired tastes^ such as the fondness for olives, where ordinarily the taste is originally unpleasant., but sub- sequently becomes highly agreeable. Finally, there are many sensations which seem to be essentially neutral and indiffer- ent. We cannot say with confidence that they are clearly and positively either pleasant or unpleasant. Many colours and many sounds are in this manner all but impossible to classify as agreeable or disagreeable. Ideas also, as well as sensa- tions, display escorts of agreeable or disagreeable character. It would, therefore, appear that pleasantness and unpleasant- ness are attributes of consciousness which, although they may accompany sensory and ideational activities, are distinguish- ^ able from sensations. Apparently sensory forms of conscious- Niess may occur without any, or at all events without any unmistakable, accompanying process of agreeableness and disagreeableness. On the other hand, it does not seem possible to point out any case in which the consciousness of pleasant- ness and unpleasantness occurs independently of sensations or ideas. The agreeable-disagreeable element or phase of our states of consciousness is often spoken of as '' affection,^^ the total complex state in which it occurs being then called ^' feeling.^^ This seems a convenient usage, even if somewhat arbitrary, and we shall therefore adopt it. Theories of Wundt and Royce. — Wundt and Koyce have recently maintained that there are other dimensions of feel- ing in addition to those of pleasantness and unpleasantness. Both of these writers speak of feelings of excitement and calm, and Wundt adds a third group, i, e.^ feelings of strain and relaxation. It is contended that the individual members of these several groups may, theoretically at least, be com- bined in any manner whatever. Thus, pleasantness may be accompanied by strain and excitement, or by excitement alone, or by increasing quiet alone. A detailed criticism of these views is not to be thought of AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 259 at this time. The author can only indicate the general grounds of his disagreement with these theories^ and remark that their enunciation has not as 3- et called forth very extended assent from psychologists. That our general condition is sometimes one of strain and sometimes one of relaxation naturally admits of no doubt. But our awareness of this condition of strain or relaxation is due primarily to the peculiar kinsesthetic sensations which accompany such states and report the tension of our muscular system. This feature in consciousness is of a sensor)^ nature therefore^ and does not warrant a classification with the affective elements. Strain and relaxation may be at times general characteristics of the total attitude of consciousness towards its object. But they belong to the cognitive order of conscious processes. Again^ excitement and its opposite are characteristics which apply beyond question to the general activity of conscious- ness. But after we have subtracted the effects already men- tioned under strain-relaxation^ it is not clear that we have anything left to designate as the consciousness of excitement, except our awareness of the general vividness and date of flow in our conscious states. When we are much excited, com- monly our muscles are (some or all of them) tense, our res- piration is abnormal;, etc. When there is muscular quiet with absence of acute kinaesthetic sensations, only our conscious- ness of the intensity and rapidity of change in the conscious processes remains. Although we acknowledge, therefore, the appositeness of these new categories as applied to certain general modifications of aur consciousness, we maintain that we become aware of these modifications through cognitive channels already recognised and described. We consequently prefer at present to abide by the older analysis of pleasantness and unpleasantness as the two modes of affection fundamen- tally distinct from sensation. Pain Sensations and Affection. — It will be judicious before going further to forestall one fertile source of confusion in 26o PSYCHOLOGY the description of affection. It will be remembered that in our account of sensations we noted pain^ which, we saw reason to believe, probably had a definite nervous organ like other sensations. The characteristic conscious quality arising from this organ is the cutting-pricking sensation. If pain is like other sensations, it should sometimes prove agreeable and sometimes disagreeable, and again neutral. It may possibly seem to strain veracity somewhat to speak of this sensation as ever being neutral, much less agreeable. And yet slight sensations of this character are at least interesting, and many persons secure a certain thrill of pleasurable gratification in gently touching a wound, in approaching with the tongue a sore or loose tooth, etc. That these sensations quickly take on when intense an all but unbearable character is notorious. This disagreeableness constitutes the affective phase of these sensations just as it does with those of sound or vision. When we speak of pain, we shall try to mean such states of consciousness as depend upon the operation of the pain nerves, in connection with which it must be remembered we most often obtain on the side of intensity our maximal experi- ences of the disagreeable. It is not possible at the present moment to indicate precisely how far pain nerves may be involved in the operation of the other sensory tracts, such as the visual, and therefore how far many of our unpleasant sensory experiences, such as occasionally arise from audition, vision, etc., may be referable to this source. Meantime, we shall follow the indication of the facts best established to-day, with a mental willingness to rehabilitate our conception whenever it may become conclusively inadequate. Affection and Sensation. — In our study of sensation we discovered that intensity, duration, and extensity w^ere funda- mentally significant features in its constitution. If affection is connected with sensory activities, it is highly probable that it will be found related to changes in these basal sensory characteristics. AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 261 Relation of Affection to the Duration of Sensory Processes. — The case of duration is relatively simple and obvious. Sen- sory stimuli of extremely brief duration maj% if we are attempting to attend to them^ be somewhat unpleasant. Stimuli which are agreeable at first, such as certain tones, often become positively disagreeable if long continued, and always under such conditions become at least tedious. It must be remembered that in some instances, for example, cases of olfactory and thermal stimulation, the sense organ becomes either exhausted or adapted, as the case may be, and that for this reason the stimuli practically cease to be felt — cease properly to be stimuli. Such cases furnish exceptions to the statement above, which are exceptions in appearance only. Disagreeable stimuli when long continued become increasingly unpleasant until exhaustion sets in to relieve, often by unconsciousness, the strain upon the organism. There is, therefore, for any particular pleasure-giving stimu- lus a definite duration at which its possible agreeableness is at a maximum. Briefer stimulations are at least less agree- able, and longer ones become rather rapidly neutral or even unpleasant. Disagreeable stimuli probably have also a maxi- mum unpleasantness at a definite period, but the limitations of these periods are much more diflBcult to determine with any approach to precision. All sensory experiences, if continued long enough, or repeated frequently enough, tend accordingly to lose their affective characteristics and become relatively neutral. As familiar instances of this, one may cite the gradual subsidence of our interest and pleasure in the beauties of nature when year after year we live in their presence; or the gradual disappearance of our annoyance and discom- fort at the noise of a great city after a few days of exposure to it. Certain objects of a purely aesthetic character, such as statues, may, however, retain their value for feeling through^ out long periods. Affection and the Intensity of Sensations. — The relations 262 PSYCHOLOGY of affection to the intensity of sensation processes is extremely complex; among other reasons^, because the intensity of a sensation is not wholly dependent npon the vigour of the stimulus^ but upon the relations momentarily existing between the stimulus and the organism. When one has a headache the sound which otherwise might hardly be noticed seems extremely loud. Commonly^ however^ sensations of very weak intensity are either indifferent or slightly exasperating and unpleasant; those of moderate intensity are ordinarily agreeable^ and those of high intensity are usually unpleasant. Owing to the obvious connection of the sensory attributes of duration and intensity^ we shall expect that affection will show variations in keeping with the relation between these two. A very brief stimulus of moderate intensity may affect the ner- vous system in a very slight degree. A moderate stimulus on the other hand^ if long continued^ may result in very intense neural activity^ and so be accompanied finally by unpleasant affective tone^ rather than by the agreeableness which generally belongs to moderate stimulation. Affection and Extensity of Sensations. — We shall find that the extensity of sensation processes^ when regarded alone, possesses no significance for the production of affective phe- nomena which has not already been exhibited under the head of intensity. A colour which seems to us beautiful^ when a sufficient amount of it is presented to us, may become indif- ferent when its extent is ver)^ much diminished. This con- sists, practically, however, in substituting a moderate intensity of visual stimulation for one of very restricted intensity. On the side of extensity the variations in affective reactions are most important in connection with the perception of form, and to this feature we shall refer at a later point. Comparison of Affection With Sensation. — It may be remarked before we proceed to another phase of the matter in hand, that affection agrees with sensation in possessing degrees of intensity and duration, although it never displays AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 263 extensity. It apparent^ possesses only two fundamental qualities^ agreeableness and disagreeableness^^ which shade through an imaginary zero point into one another. On both sides of this zero point there are ranges of conscious experi- ence whose affective character we cannot introspectively verify with confidence^ and we may call this zone the region of neutral affective tone. But we must not suppose that this involves a genuine third elementary quality of affection. Apart from these two qualities^ it seems probable that the only variations in affection itself are those which arise from differences in its intensitv and duration. The more intimate phases of the changes dependent upon the shifting relations among these attributes we cannot at present enter upon. Wundt^ how^ever^, maintains that an indefinite number of qualities of agreeableness and disagreeableness exist. Con- clusive introspective proof bearing upon the matter is obviously difficult to obtain. Affection and Ideational Processes. — We have spoken first of affection in dependence upon sensory activities, in part because it is in this connection that it first appears, and in part because the fundamental facts are here more obvious and less complex in their surroundings. But affection is of course a frequent companion of ideational processes, and it is, indeed, in this sphere that it gains its greatest value for the highest types of human beings. We must, therefore, attempt to discover the main conditions under which it comes to light among ideas. We may conveniently take as the basis of our examination the processes which we analysed under the sev- eral headings of memory, imagination, and reasoning. For- tunately we shall find that the principles governing affection in these different cases are essentially identical. That our memories are sometimics agreeable and sometimes disagree- able needs only to be mentioned to be recognised as true^ Oddly enough, as was long ago remarked, the memory of sor- row is often a joy to us, and the converse is equally true. It 264 PSYCHOLOGY does not follow^, therefore^ that the affective colouring of an act of memory will be like that of the circumstances recalled. It may^ or it may not^ be similar. Moreover^ either the orig- inal event or the recalling of it may be affectively neutral. What then determines the affective accompaniment of any specific act of memory ? In a general way we may reply^ the special conditions at the moment of recall. In a more detailed way we may say whatever furthers conscious activity at the moment in progress will be felt as agreeable^ whatever impedes such activities will be felt as disagreeable. An illus- tration or two may help to make this clearer. Affection a Concomitant of the Furthering^ or Impeding, of Ideational Activities. — Suppose a man goes out to make a number of purchases. At the first shop he gives an order^ and upon putting his hand into his pocket to get his purse and pay his bill he finds that the purse is gone. The purse contained a considerable sum of money^ and a search through the outlying and generally unused pockets of the owner fails to disclose it. The immediate effect of this discovery is dis- tinctly and unmistakably disagreeable. The matter in hand is evidently checked and broken up. Furthermore^ the execu- tion of various other cherished plans is instantly felt to be en- dangered. Thereupon^ the victim turns his attention to the possible whereabouts of the purse. Suddenly it occurs to him that just before leaving home he changed his coat^ and instantly the fate of the purse is clear to him. It is serenely resting in the pocket of the coat he previously had on^ which is now in his closet. The result of this memory process is one of vivid pleasure. The business in hand can now go on. It may involve a trip home again^ but at all events the money is still available, and the whole experience promptly becomes one of agreeable relief. Suppose that in this same case, instead of being able to recall the circumstances assuring him of the safety of the purse, our illustrative individual had failed to find any such AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OP CONSCIOUSNESS 265 reassuring clue, and did on the other hand distinctly recall being roughly jostled by a group of suspicious-looking char- acters on the platform of the street car while on the way from his home. In this case the memory process would augment the unpleasantness of the original discovery of the loss. The activity which he had planned for himself would appear more than ever thwarted, and the disagreeableness of the experience might be so intense as to impress itself on his mind for many days to come. Affection and Memory. — We shall find upon examination that the paradox referred to a few lines above finds its ex- planation in a mianner altogether similar to that of this case just described. The remembrance of a previous success or of a former prosperity may be accompanied by the most disagree- able exasperation, because it jars upon the experiences of the present moment, from which everything but disaster may seem to have fled. Many persons in straitened circumstances often seek a pale and disappointing solace in the memory of better days. Pride makes in this way a vain effort to efface the brute reality of the present, but the effort is generally a melancholy failure. Happiness lies not in the contemplation of such a past, but in the earnest and absorbed performance of the task just at hand. On the other hand, the memory of privation and struggle, once success is achieved, may be pleasurable, because in this case the thought not only does nothing to thwart our present purposes and interests, but even augments our progress by a conviction of our own strength and capacity. From these brief considerations it is evident that memory processes may contain very intense affective elements, and that apparently these will be painful, or at least unpleasant, when the thought which comes to mind serves to impede our immediate purposes and desires, especially if the impeding i_s sufficiently serious to arouse emotion; whereas they will be pleasurable when the suggested ideas contribute vigorously 266 PSYCHOLOGY to the onward flow of our interests and intentions.. Many memory processes stand midway between these extremes, and are neutrally toned. It is not so evident, but it is never- theless the general opinion of psychologists, that the affective feature in such ideational feelings is qualitatively identical with the affective element in sensory feelings. Sometimes the sensory, peripherally initiated feeling is more intense, sometimes the ideational or centrally initiated feeling. But^ so far as concerns the affective elements proper, the two are probably qualitatively alike, and the differences in the total states of consciousness in which they appear are, intensity apart, primarily due to differences in the cognitive and motor elements accompanying them. Is There an Affective Memory? — An interesting question suggests itself at this point, upon which we may profitably dwell a moment. Do we have memories of our feelings in the same sense in which we have memories of ideas and per- ceptions? Before we essay an answer we must be sure that we understand exactly what the question means. When we remember events we find that at times the visual image, per- haps, of the surroundings comes into our minds. Sometimes words or motor images may flash upon us. Or again, we may in reply to a question say, " Yes, I remember the circum- stances,'^ when in point of fact what we mean is that we are certain we could remember them if necessary, although we do not at the moment make any effort actually to recall them. The last form of memory for feelings we undoubtedly have. We can often say with confidence whether at a definite time we were experiencing pleasure, or displeasure, or neither. But if we actually attempt to recall the event, we find then, as we just remarked, that sometimes the recollection itself is af- fectively colourless, sometimes it has the affective character of the original event, and sometimes an opposite character. In a practical way, therefore, we have a memory of affective experiences as genuinely as we have in the case of ideas. We AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 267 can tell what affective tone belonged to vivid experiences. But our ability to reinstate the original affective tone with the cognitive memory of an event is extremely defective. The reasons for this will be clearer after we have examined the neural basis of affection. Affection and Imagination. — The case of imagination we may readily suppose will prove to be much like that of mem- ory^ for we discovered earlier in our work how closely related these two forms of conscious process are. This supposition we find to be correct^ and the only important addition which we shall need to make to our previous account of the oper- ation of affection in connection with memory will become manifest in our examination of reasonings which we shall employ in its broadest meaning to apply to all grades of pur- posive thinking. Affection and Reasoning. — In our analysis of reasoning we found that in its most rudimentary forms it seemed to re- duce to the ability to apprehend relations and employ them constructively. Eecognition we saw was, therefore, in a measure an elementary expression of the reasoning power akin to the crude forms of conception. It has sometimes been maintained by psychologists that all recognition^ whether of object or relation, is as such agreeable. The objects or relations which we apprehend are, of course, often unpleasant. But whenever the content of our apprehension is itself in- different, the act of identifying is said to be agreeable ; hence the theory. The agreeableness is admitted to be inconsider- able in such cases as would be illustrated by a person^s per- ception of a familiar book when his eyes chance to fall upon it in an accidental excursion about the room. But it is never- theless said to be discernible even in instances of this kind, while in all cases of mental struggle with some baffling prob- lem, the detection of a relevant relation, or the appearance of an appropriate idea, is welcomed with a thrill of unmis- takable pleasure. Total states of consciousness of this kind, 268 PSYCHOLOGY together with such antithetic cases as are mentioned a few lines below, are by certain psychologists designated as '^ in- tellectual feelings/^ Wholly strange surroundings, on the other hand, in which we find nothing familiar to recognise, are said to produce in us at times uneasiness and discomfort. Moreover, we are all familiar with the unpleasantness of an abortive effort to recall a name or a number, and the fruitless effort to solve a problem is often mentally most distressing. Evidently such a formula as that cited above contains a quota of truth, but it is also evident that exceptions are easy to find. In order to reach consistency we must look for the principle lying beneath these formulations. By examining the condi- tions under which we execute these relatings of conscious processes to one another, we may come upon the law govern- ing their affective consequences. It will clearly be judicious to follow the clue which we se- cured in our description of the affective aspect of memory. It is at least possible that this may prove to afford us a basal principle. If so, we shall expect that in so far as any appre- hension of relations, or objects, furthers an enterprise at the moment dominating our consciousness, it will be agreeable; whereas in so far as it thwarts or checks such an interest it will be unpleasant. This certainly seems to hold true wher- ever it is possible to apply it to concrete facts. For example, strange things are not disagreeable, but quite the contrary, provided we are travelling for amusement. If we are in haste to reach some destination in a city, and find that we have accidentally left the street car at the. wrong point and are in strange streets surrounded by totally unfamiliar houses, the experience may be momentarily very uncanny and dis- agreeable, after which it may strike us as amusing, or as ex- asperating, depending on the circumstances involved. The agreeableness or disagreeableness in the perception of such objects and such relations is, therefore, in no true sense primarily determined by their strangeness or their famil- AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 269 iarity. It is determined by the manner in which the percep- tion affects our purposes and interests. On the other hand^ the perception of a familiar object like one^s own home may arouse either ennui^ tedium^^ and a sense of unrest^ or the keenest pleasure^ depending not at all upon the familiarity of the object^ but solely upon the mental condition in which we chance to be^, and upon the relation which the object bears to this condition. If we are eager to see our parents to communicate some piece of good news we may find the sight of home most delightful. If^ on the other hand, we desire^ in the midst of a hot summer^ to get away to the sea;, the very bricks of the house cry out and mock us in our discomfort. On the whole it appears probable that the principle which obtains in these cases holds good throughout all the pur- posive thought processes of our mental life. In trains of thought where we almost lose ourselves in complete revery, as well as in those prolonged and strenuous mental operations by means of which we solve the more serious problems^ prac- tical or theoretical^ with which our pathway is beset;, in these and in all the intermediary transitional forms agreeable feeling is the accompaniment of such ideas as further our momentary interests; disagreeableness^ on the other hand^ is the mark of those which obstruct or thwart those interests. CHAPTER XIV FEELING AND THE GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS Classifications of Feeling. — We are now in a position to recognise the fact that all forms of the cognitive activities are characterised at times by marked affective qualities. Our feelings may^ therefore^ be brought for classification under any of the several main forms of the knowledge process. lii point of fact the usual classifications of feeling are actually based upon these cognitive factors^ and we may profitably ex- amine some of the principal divisions which are secured in this way^ although we must remember that they are very misleading groupings if they are understood as arising pri- marily from peculiarities of the affective element in such complex feelings. Sensuous and Intellectual Feeling. — Feelings are thus divided into sensuous and intellectual, depending upon whether they originate in, and chiefly terminate in, sense organ activities, or in central processes, like imagination. We, have already seen that the affective part of such feelings, the agreeableness or disagreeableness, is probably one and the same, whatever their immediate occasion. It is, however, un- doubtedly true, as our discussion in the early part of the pre- vious chapter implied, that many feelings which belong to sensory processes are relatively confined in their significance to these immediate activities, whereas the intellectual feelings commonly run out into a bearing on larger and more remote portions of our mental life. The agreeableness of the taste of candy, for instance, or the delight in the fragrance of 270 PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 271 violets, commonly exhausts itself in the moment of enjoy- ment; whereas the pleasure of a fine picture pervades one's life long after the picture itself has passed from one's view. This distinction must not, however, be unduly magnified if the basis for it be laid in the mere part played by the sense organ, for it must be remembered that the picture also is seen by means of a sense organ. Moreover, the feeling which' the picture calls out would commonly be designated aesthetic, rather than intellectual. More often, perhaps, the term "^ in- tellectual feeling '' is employed to cover such cases as wonder, surprise, curiosity, and interest, the apprehension of relations, the feeling of ignorance, and the like. The real distinction, which is hinted at in this old division of feelings, is one that can only be stated correctly when we observe what functions various feelings subserve in the life of the organism. And to this we shall return shortly. Aesthetic, Ethical, Social, and Religious Feeling. — Other suggested divisions of feeling are the following: aesthetic, ethical, social, and religious. These divisions, like the im- mediately preceding one, are evidently based upon differences in the objects which call out the feeling, and result in different cognitive and emotional activities, rather than upon any dif- ferences among the affective elements of the feeling itself. Such classifications are undoubtedly suggestive and valuable in their indication of the great avenues along which our feel- ings are approached. But we must once more carefully guard ourselves against the misapprehension that the affective factor (which ostensibly constitutes, in the theory of many psycholo- gists, the differentia of feeling from other forms of conscious process) is in any true sense the basis of the distinction from one another of the several types of so-called feeling. These classifications are really based upon the possibility of viewing all consciousness as internal in its reference, rather than on the presence of affective processes, a view to which we shall re- turn briefly in the final chapter of this book. The specific 272 PSYCHOLOGY forms of psychical experience which are peculiar to the vari- ous classes that have been mentioned can be examined more profitably in connection with our study of emotions^ and we shall, therefore, postpone their further consideration until that time. Neural Basis of the Affective Element in Feeling. — In our discussion of sensation we observed that the various sensory qualities depend upon the action of specific end-organs. We have now seen that the affective processes may occur in con- nection with any of the sensational or ideational activities. And the question naturally arises as to their neural basis. Unfortunately our positive and detailed knowledge about the matter is lamentably incomplete. The theory, however, which enjoys widest currency at the present time maintains that the two antithetical forms of affection represent the fundamental modes in which any neural activity may go on. They do not depend, therefore, as sensations and ideas pri- marily do, upon the action of specific segments of the nervous system; they are rather the counterparts of the manner in which the whole nervous system is affected by the activity initiated in any segment at a particular time. From this point of view pleasure is correlated with physiologically useful and wholesome activities; pain and disagreeable- ness with the physiologically harmful. Thus, the theory would find the neural explanation for the unpleasant char- acter of dazzling lights and loud, shrill sounds in the manner in which the nervous system as a whole is affected by the re- action from these violent stimulations of the optic and the auditory tracts respectively. The nervous action is conceived as being of a definite form, which is qualitatively similar for all disagreeable or injurious stimuli, but quantitatively dif- ferent for stimuli of varying intensity or varying harmfulness. As these peripheral sensory tracts, when they are active, always influence more or less directly the whole nervous system, the 2-ffective reaction represents in reality the effect of the particu- PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 273 lar stimuli upon the whole organism. The agreeableness of a musical chord or a sweet odour would, on the basis of this theory, be referable to a normal and efficient reaction of the nerves ; the disagreeableness of a discord or a nauseous odour would, on the other hand, J&nd its explanation neurally in an excessive or internally mal-adapted reaction of the organism. We shall accept the validity of the general conception un- derlying this theory, although we have to admit that its pre- cise meaning is often found to be vague when we insist upon detailed facts confirmatory of its contention. Moreover, there are some facts which lend themselves to incorporation in the theory only with extreme difficulty. We can best get an insight into the more important considerations by revert- ing to our fundamental conception of the purpose and signifi- cance of consciousness in organic life — a conception which we have stated so often as to render repetition superfluous. General Significance of Affective Consciousness. — Agree- ableness and disagreeableness are the immediate indices of the significance for the organism of the various stimuli and re- sponses which enter its experience. Evidently some such marks, or signs, in consciousness of the value of particular objects or movements are indispensable to the execution by mental processes of the part we have assigned to them. The sign in consciousness of the organically advantageous might very well have been something different from the experience we now name pleasure, and the sign of harmfulness might have been other than that which we now recognise as pain and disagreeableness. But some such symbols there must be, if consciousness is to steer successfully among new sourroundings and in strange environments. If it were necessary to await the loss of one^s eyesight before discovering that dazzling lights were injurious, consciousness would certainly be little more than a pernicious aggravation. As a matter of fact such stimulations are instantly felt as disagreeable, and the mind without further information has forthwith a guide to the kind 274 PSYCHOLOGY of action appropriate to the occasion. Similarly as regards agreeable experiences. When one is tired and hungry after fatigue and exposure to cold;, any food may seem welcome, but warm and well-flavoured food tastes best and will be preferred when choice is possible. In such cases one needs no further experience than is afforded by a specimen of the cold and the warm food to recognise which is more agreeable. So fundamental is this significance of the affective proc- esses in all those activities immediately connected with the maintenance of life in the individual and the race, that sev- eral psychologists of repute have defended the thesis that pleasure and displeasure are the primordial forms of con- sciousness, the other processes connected with the special senses being of later origin. It is interesting in this connec- tion to note that one writer has assigned displeasure as the original form of consciousness; another, pleasure; while a third has advocated the hypothesis that the two appeared together in advance of other modes of consciousness. If space permitted, we might examine the evidence for these several points of view, but as this is out of the question, we may remark provisionally that if our analysis of the affective features of consciousness has been thus far correct, we cannot assent to any of the theories just mentioned. It may well be that with the more rudimentary types of mind the affective factors of consciousness dominate over the distinctly sensory and ideational. It may be, too, that the first appearance of consciousness is in connection with the operation of the pain nerves, though this is wholly problematical. ^ But affection, as we know it (and we have no right to go afield from such knowledge) is apparently not a form of consciousness inde- pendent of sensations and ideas. Quite the contrary; it in- variably appears clearly in connection with them ; whereas the sensations and ideas are occasionally wholly, or all but wholly, destitute of affective tone. Meantime, it should be reasonably certain that agreeableness and disagreeableness — as signs of PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 275 the immediate import for the organism of particular moments of experience — are indispensable elements in the successful functioning of consciousness. As Bain puts it, pleasure rep- resents a heightening, and pain a lowering, of some or all of the vital processes, and consciousness is in this way given im- mediate information of the nature of the situation. We may accept Bain^s formula in a general way, although it is far from clear that a raising of vitality is always the immediate autcome of pleasure, and a lowering of it an immediate con- sequence of discomfort. Marshall has put the matter somewhat differently, in a manner which certainly fits many of the facts most admir- ably. He connects pleasurable experience with the use of stored-up nervous energy in amounts less than that actually available, whereas unpleasant experience he connects with the use of nervous energy beyond the limits of the normal modes of functioning. We shall revert to this again. Miinsterberg connects pleasantness and unpleasantness, respectively, with movements of extensor and flexor muscles, with expansion and contraction of the organism, a view which certainly has, despite its suggestiveness, only a very general and indefinite basis. Physiological Expressions of Feeling-Tone. — In connec- tion with this general theor}^ of agreeableness and disagree- ableness as expressions respectively of the increase or decrease in organic vigour, certain investigators have reported constant and definite physiological changes accompanying the antith- eses of affective tone. Pleasurable experiences are thus said to cause dilation of the peripheral blood-vessels, de- creased rate in the heart beat, increased depth of breathing, and heightened tonus of all the voluntary muscles. Dis- agreeable experiences on the other hand are said to produce constriction of the peripheral blood-vessels, and in generaj a set of physiological phenomena exactly opposite to those just mentioned as arising from pleasure. Several competent ex- 276 PSYCHOLOGY perimentalists have failed to confirm these observations^ and the phenomena are apparently verifiable only under certain very definite and normally infrequent conditions. Meantime, there can be no question that all the vital processes, including those of assimilation, secretion, and excretion, are profoundly influenced by intense affective conditions. The only question is whether they are always affected in the same way by the same conscious tone. We shall have occasion to emphasise certain of these phenomena when we examine the emotions. Genesis of the Affective Elements of Consciousness.— Fol- lowing our method in previous cases we may ask, first, under what conditions affection makes its earliest appearance. So far as concerns the life history of any given individual, we may say that affection is undoubtedly coincident in its mani- festations with the dawn of consciousness. The cry with which the child draws its first breath has led to the assertion that life begins, as well as ends, in pain. However this may be, there is every reason to think that the mental life of the new-born babe is for many days one of vague sensory con- sciousness, dominated by relatively vivid antitheses of agree- ableness and disagreeableness. Certainly the earliest expres- sions of infants suggest nothing so strongly as pleasure and pain. If we inquire more closely into the conditions under which expressions of satisfaction and dissatisfaction arise, we find that they align themselves very suggestively with the doctrine which we have repeatedly formulated regarding the origin of consciousness in general. When the child is cold or hungry consciousness is called into play, for the organism does not possess, in its inherited mechanism of reflexes and automatic movements, any device adequate to cope with these difficulties. But the materials of voluntary muscular control have not as yet been acquired, and so the intense dammed-up nervous currents break over into the few pervious pathways of the quasi-reflex type. The crying muscles are liberally repre- PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 277 sented here, and the child^s lamentation, which summons parental assistance, is the outcome of this motor escapement. If there were no damming up of the nervous currents, if the stimulus represented by the cold immediately resulted in re- leasing efficient motor reactions, there is no reason to suppose consciousness would be aroused. This, however, is not the ease. The stimulations are there, and they become more and more insistent. The conditions for the appearance of con- sciousness are, therefore, at hand, and if we may judge by external expressions it promptly comes to life. But it is confronted with a situation with which it cannot immediately deal. It is reduced to the condition of a spectator conscious of an unnamed, yet imperious need, but almost powerless to render assistance. Now, whenever we encounter such cir- cumstances as these, we shall always find that the affective tone is one of unpleasantness. In very young babes instances of definite pleasure are somewhat more difficult to secure. The child spends most of its time in relatively deep sleep, and the expressions of grati- fication which it manifests are, for several days at least, ambiguous. When such expressions do appear, they are apt ' to be in connection with the satisfaction of hunger. They seem to represent a kind of ratification on the part of con- sciousness of the activities which have been indulged to relieve hunger. Indeed, if we may judge by external ap- pearances, supported by our knowledge of the conditions in adult life, the whole of this process of allaying hunger, as well as the final stage of satiety, is agreeable. The case is extremely interesting in the apparent contrast which it offers to the conditions of maturity. Prior to the securing of con- trol over the voluntary muscles, the function of consciousness is necessarily in large measure that of an approving or dis- approving onlooker, who has little power to make his opinions felt in action. We have noted the conditions under which painfully toned 278 PSYCHOLOGY consciousness is produced. It would seem at first sight as though these must be synonymous with all those circum- stances in which obstacles were to be overcome^ and therefore synonymous with all those cases where consciousness would be required. This position is, however, only tenable provided we disregard the obvious fact that the organism is in course of development, and that at this early stage, when voluntary movements are not yet under control, the total significance of the various factors in its life is not superficially obvious. Disagreeableness is undoubtedly the counterpart of continued inability to cope with a demand laid upon the organism, and the degree of unpleasantness is roughly paralleled by the insistence and the poignancy of the demand. Agreeableness, on the other hand, is the psychical counterpart of effective modes of reaction to a situation. When the situation is being adequately met, therefore, we may expect to find pleasure ap- pearing, whether the successful response has come as a result of definite voluntary acts, as it may in adult life, or as a result in part of outside assistance, as it does in the early days of infancy. Why Consciousness Is So Often Neutrally Toned. — The question then suggests itself as to why we are not more vividly aware of agreeableness in the normal activities of every-day life. These activities involve more or less of voluntary co- ordinations, which for the most part go on efficiently, and should consequently, from the point of view we have adopted, produce pleasurable results in consciousness. We have in- timated that as a matter of fact a large part of our mental life is neutrally toned. The reply to this query is, therefore, that in so far as we are provided with healthy bodily proc- esses, and in so far as we are engaged in the effective solution of problems which confront us, our consciousness is agreeable in tone. But large parts of our daily undertakings are of a routine character which verges upon habit, and in con- sequence require little vigorous conscious attention, and PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 279 therefore call out little affective reaction. Moreover^ it frequently happens that although our mental operations are efficiently executed from the standpoint of practical results^ some of our intra-organic processes are slightly indisposed, and inasmuch as our consciousness reflects the totality of our organic condition, we find ourselves either experiencing very little pleasure, or else feeling positive discomfort. General Theory of Affective Processes. — It is evidently im- possible, therefore, to state the conditions under which agree- ableness or disagreeableness is produced, by reference to any single set of activities with which our cognitive and volitional processes may be engaged. Consciousness always reflects more than a single group of such activities, and its affective char- acter is always dependent upon the whole gamut of physio- logical operations going on at any given moment. Under conditions of perfect health we may often predict with much accuracy what the affective results of a given stimulus may be, because we know that ordinarily it will stimulate moder- ately a well-nourished nerve tract. But unusual neural con- ditions in any part of the organism may lead to the falsifying of our predictions at any time. The melody which charmed us to-day may irritate us to-morrow, and this, not because the melody, or the auditory nerve, has either of them changed in the meantime, but simply because the digestive processes which yesterday were orderly are to-day chaotic. We see, therefore, that our provisional formulations in the previous chapter were too simple to account for all the facts. The evidence thus far examined points to the belief that disagreeableness always appears in infancy, as well as in adult life, in connection either with (1) diseased conditions of the organism, or (2) with excessive neural stimulation, or (3) with the checking and impeding of consciousness in its efforts to guide action. The third point may prove to be identical with the second. It is certainlv identical in some instances. The function of the unpleasant in consciousness 28o PSYCHOLOGY is^ then^ evidently to furnish an immediate and nnambignous index of conditions which menace the welfare of the organism. Agreeableness appears in connection with (1) healthful or- ganic conditions^ (2) the stimulation of nerves inside the limits of their ability to respond with maximal vigour^ and (3) the free and unobstructed flow of consciousness^ whatever its object. The obvious function of agreeableness is consequently found in the furnishing of immediate exponents of organic welfare. Neither agreeableness nor disagreeableness are un- ambiguously prophetic. Their important function is in the present. Their meaning for the future requires the light of intelligence and experience. The frenzied delights of a Bacchanalian orgy are certainly no reliable harbingers of healthy nor are the pangs of the morrow necessarily indicative of inevitable future disaster. We may now advantageously examine a few typical instances of affective consciousness^ in order to test the adequacy of our principle. The agreeableness and disagreeableness which arise re- spectively from healthful or diseased conditions of the organism hardly require comment. The organic feelings of a strong, well-fed organism are distinctly buoyant and pleasant ; whereas the depression of dyspepsia, the tedious discomfort of a severe cold, etc., are almost unmitigatedly disagreeable. .The moderate stimulation of the sense organs by simple stimuli is normally agreeable, and their excessive stimulation normally disagreeable. The pleasure of exercise and the unpleasantness of extreme fatigue, the agreeableness of mod- erately intense simple colours and tones, and the disagree- ableness of those which are very intense, ■ afford instances which we might multiply indefinitely.* * Acquired tastes and the correlative loss of liking for certain objects constitute interesting instances of the development which goes on in the organism in connection with affective phenomena. It seems probable as regards the acquirement of tastes, that in the case of gustatory sensations at least, certain organic changes in the neutral activities take place, by means of which stimuli, PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 281 The intellectual processes involved in grappling with a problem in which we are interested are normally agreeable so long as we seem to be making progress. They speedily become exasperating if we seem to be getting nowhere; and if our minds, by reason of fatigue, distraction, or any other cause, refuse to bring to our aid the ideas which we feel are needed, the operation may become intolerable. When our emotions are vigorously enlisted in such reflective processes the agreeableness or disagreeableness may be ex- tremely intense. Thus to many persons reflections upon immortality, upon the mercy of God, and other religious ideas may be profoundly uplifting and deeply gratifying so long as the mind meets with no obstacle in working out its concep- tions. On the other hand, the mental agony experienced in reaching the belief that immortality is unreal is to many minds all but unbearable. In aesthetic pleasures the situation is ordinarily complicated by the presence of both sensory and intellectual factors. A beautiful picture not only appeals through its richness of colouring and its grace of line to the immediately sensory activities, it also suggests to us ideas which take hold of our sentiments, our emotions, and our in- telligence, setting up in us strong tendencies to motor reac- tions of one or another kind. Application of the Principles to Aesthetic Experience. — It seems fairly certain that those aesthetic objects which we adjudge agreeable comply with the second of our principles in the moderate stimulation of neural processes which are more than adequate to the demands laid upon them. It seems also to be true that in such cases the third of our prin- ciples is justified. An object which we feel to be beautiful which originally produced excessive reaction, are subsequently adjusted to. The loss of liking for certain flavours may be due to a similar adaptation by means of which the agreeableness of the stimulation passes away, or to an excessive stimulation, which finally overflows into other neural tracts, producing reflexes of the nausea type. ~^ 282 PSYCHOLOGY sets up ideational reactions which are unimpeded, focalised, and definite. The picture, if it be a picture, means some- thing fairly definite and real to us. On the other hand, pictures which displease or fail to interest us are either unpleasant as regards their colour, — in which case we prob- ably have either inadequate or excessive optical stimulation of some kind, — or they are faulty in drawing, or confused in meaning, so that our minds either feel a discrepancy be- tween what is portrayed and what is suggested, or else are left thwarted and baffled. The case of music is one in which to most of us, did we but acknowledge the truth, the sensory element, with its immediate motor effects, is at a maximum, and the idea- tional at a minimum. But it seems difficult to find an in- stance of aesthetic experience which does not readily enough conform to our principles. On the whole, then, we may accept these principles, provisionally at least, as indicative of the general facts about the conditions for the appearance of affective reactions, and as suggesting their fundamental significance. We shall now go on to see, in connection with our study of instinct, emotion, and volition, how these affec- tive phases of our consciousness actually enter into the deter- mination of our acts and our character. We can in that way make out most clearly the manner in which they enter into the cognitive operations which we have previously discussed. CHAPTEE XV EEFLEX ACTIOX AND INSTIXCT Motor Aspect of Conscious Processes. — We come now to study the group of motor powers by means of which the psychophysical organism is enabled to guide its own move- ments^ and so to control in a measure its own fate. In many of the discussions which have gone before it has been neces- sary to assume that these muscular reactions were occurring, but their intimate nature we have been obliged to overlook. As a matter of fact all the mental operations which we have analysed have their ultimate significance and their final out- come in precisely these motor activities. In reality, there- fore, all our previous study has been upon these reactions, for it has all had to do with their immediate psychophysical ante- cedents, which are functionally a part of them. Ifeverthe- less, it is essential that we should examine the motor phenomena in and of themselves, and much more exhaust- ively than hitherto. We shall turn, first, to the earliest forms of muscular activity which we find in the human being, and then proceed to study the more highly developed forms which characterise a later period. Primitive Motor Capacities. — A survey of the motor equip- ment of a new-born babe discloses the fact, as we have previ- ously seen, that a certain number of automatic and reflex coordinations are already provided for at birth. The auto- matic activities of respiration, circulation, and digestion are carried on from the first. The reflexes involved in sucking, crying, and clasping the fingers about objects placed in them 283 284 PSYCHOLOGY also take place. But aside from these, the child^s motor capacities are potential, rather than actual. This slender store of motor accomplishments finds its explanation in the undeveloped condition of the nervous system at birth. Meagre as is this array of hereditary motor coordinations to which we have referred, it suffices, with parental assist- ance, to keep the child alive until the appearance of more adequate adjustments. Moreover, it bears striking evidence to the fact, were any demonstration of it necessary, that the human organism is exactly like that of the lower animals, whose instinctive activities are often sources of so much won- der, in that it possesses at birth preformed pathways in the nervous system, by means of which sensory stimulations may discharge in effective movements of accommodation. The primordial form of motor control over the environment is, then, so far as concerns the human infant, to be found in hereditary reflexes. Early Motor Development. — Development goes forward at such a tremendous rate that it is difficult to follow with en- tire confidence the course of motor events during the first year or two of a child^s life. But certain of the most important transitions from the conditions we have just described occur commonly during the first three or four months, and we may in passing profitably remark upon the general nature of this change. Afterward we shall go back to look for the appearance of other forms of automatic, reflex, and instinctive acts, which we have seen to be the primitive types of motor activity. We shall find evidences of their development at periods covering a considerable portion of the time of organic growth. Furthermore, we shall find that, in a modified form, the instincts remain throughout life as fundamentally important factors in the evolution of volition and in the foundation of character. The point to which we wish to call attention for a moment is illustrated by the growth of the hand and eye control. At REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 285 the outset the eyes are generally destitute of all orderliness of movement. They move independently of one another^ and with no special reference to objects in the field of view. In the course of the first few weeks, however, they begin to move together, to converge, and gradually to show a tendency to follow moving objects. At this time the child loses its original blank stare, and from time to time fixates objects with a totally new expression of countenance. About the time that this accomplishment is achieved the hand begins to show a definite development. It explores objects with which it is in contact. The thumb, which at the beginning took little or no part in clasping, is now brought into operation, and the things grasped are moved about in a fairly well coordinated manner. The next step in advance is characteristic of all development in motor control, and con- sists in the conjoining of the two previously independent coordinations of hand and eye. The eye is now able to follow the hand, and the hand is able to give the eye objects for inspection. We shall come back with more of detail to this type of inter- coordination of acquired forms of control in our analysis of voluntary action. Meantime, it will be helpful to bear in mind that once a coordination, like the eye-coordination, is gotten under command, it is promptly incorporated as a mem- ber of a larger coordination, such as the eye-hand coordina- tion, which is in its turn destined to a similar fate in the course of evolving conduct. Turning back now to a fuller study of the instinctive and reflex types of action, we shall find the general trend of events to be somewhat as follows : The development of the nervous system goes on with astonishing rapidity during the first three years, so that the child has, with the exception of the sexual processes, practically a full store of reflexes estab- lished by the end of that time. Contemporaneous with this acquirement of the reflexes occurs the gradual unfolding of 286 PSYCHOLOGY the life of impulse^ and the upbuilding of this into the elaborate forms of voluntary action^ which promptly tend to become habitual. We must now analyse more carefully the details of this process. Reflex Action. — A reflex act^ as has been earlier remarked, is one in which a muscular movement occurs in immediate response to a sensory stimulation without the interposition of consciousness. Consciousness is often aroused by reflex actions, but the motor reaction is not executed in response to conscious motives, and in the more deeply imbedded reflexes consciousness is quite powerless to suppress the movement. Thus, in winking we may be conscious that the eyelid has closed, and at times the movement may be executed volun- tarily. But if a cinder or other irritating substance enter the eye we may be wholly unable to resist the tendency to shut the lids. On the other hand, when we are absorbed in reading our eyelids may close dozens of times in the reflex way, without our becoming in any definite manner aware of the fact. Variability of Reflexes. — ^We have already referred many times to the (racially) hereditary nature of these reflexes. It remains to point out certain other striking facts about them. In the first place, they are subject, like all organic activities, to the general principles of development. They appear from time to time, as the nervous centres ripen, and are not all given complete at birth. The more rudimentary of them appear within the first few months. Sneezing, coughing, and hiccoughing come within the first few days, as a rule. Winking comes somewhat later, generally from the seventh to the eleventh week. Walking, which is primarily based upon refiexes, does not ordinarily begin until the twelfth to the eighteenth month or thereabouts, and is gen- erally preceded by the creeping movements, which are prob- ably partially reflex. Moreover, no one of the reflex acts is, at the outset, so well coordinated as it speedily becomes. It REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 287 is clear that the nervous machinery^ like other machinery, requires to be used somewhat before its maximum efficiency is available. Furthermore, the reflexes vary at times in response to the general conditions of the organism. They are not wholly dependent in their operation upon the presence of a stimulus. The child, for example, when sated, stops sucking. When one is nervously wrought up, a slight noise, if unexpected, may result in a violent movement; whereas, if one had been agreeably absorbed in some occupation, no movement of any noticeable kind would have occurred. On the other hand, the essentially mechanical nature of the reflex is rendered obvious by the impartial way in which such responses are often executed, regardless of the desirability of the act at the moment. A man wishes his presence to be unobserved when in a dangerous situation, and he must needs select that occasion to be seized with an irrepressible paroxysm of sneez- ing. Again, although one is behind a strong screen, one still finds it impossible to avoid winking when any threat- ening object is seen approaching close to the eyes. It ap- pears, therefore, that whereas the reflexes represent hered- itary modifications in the connections of sensory-motor activities, — which are undoubtedly indispensable for the main- tenance of organically useful reactions, — they may at times, by virtue of their mechanical nature, react in injudicious ways; and on the other hand, certain of them are unquestionably open to modification, either through the direct control of consciousness, as when one succeeds in suppressing a tend- ency to wink, or through the indirect effect of general organic conditions. It is evident, therefore, that reflexes represent various degrees of plasticity, but this does not invalidate the doctrine that all of them are hereditary in nature, and that on the whole they contribute distinctly to the general ef- ficiency of those adaptive reactions which the organism makes upon its surroundings. 288 ^ PSYCHOLOGY Instincts. — Instincts have an origin "unquestionably simi- lar to that of reflexes. They represent structurally pre- formed pathways in the nervous system, and stand function- ally for effective inherited coordinations made in response to environmental demands. It is, perhaps, impossible to draw any absolutely sharp line between instincts and reflexes, although many principles of demarcation have been proposed. On the whole, the most fertile and suggestive working dis- tinction seems to be found in the presence or absence of some relatively definite end dominating a series of acts. If the motor activity is simple, and is discharged in response to some objectively present stimulus without conscious guid- ance, it will be safe to call the act a reflex. Moreover, some reflex acts are essentially unconscious, whereas instincts, in the higher animals at all events, appear always to involve consciousness. Instincts accordingly depend more largely than reflexes upon the operations of the higher brain centres. If the activity involves a number of acts, each one of which, considered singly and alone, is relatively useless, but all of which taken together lead up to some adaptive consequence, such as the building of a nest, the feeding of young, etc., it will be safe to call the action instinctive. The difference thus pointed out is founded theoretically upon the nature of the functions subserved by the two types of action, their relative immediacy, generality, etc. It sometimes reduces in practice to a mere difference apparently of degree, or com- plexity, and will be found on further examination to involve, generally at all events, a difference in the intra-organic con- ditions leading to the two forms of reaction. It must be frankly confessed, however, that many cases are discoverable in which all distinctions seem arbitrary and fictitious. Too much stress should not be laid, therefore, upon the matter of ultimate differences. It is rather upon the identity of serv- ice to the organism that the emphasis should fall, with the added recognition that such service may be rendered in REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 289 thousands of ways, whose interrelations may well baffle our clumsy and ill-informed attempts at classification. Modifications of Instincts. — Instincts resemble reflexes in their susceptibility to modifications through experience;, and also in their appearance in connection with definite stages in the development of the nervous system. Experience operates in two opposite directions. If the first expression of an in- stinct chances to be disastrous^, and results in pain or fright, the instinct may be either temporarily, or permanently, inhibited. Thus, chicks, which possess the instinctive tend- ency to peck at food, are said to suppress this tendency when bad-tasting food is given them. On the other hand, if the instinctive action is successful and produces agreeable organic results, it tends at once to become ingrained as a habit. In all creatures which possess even rudimentary forms of con- scious memory instincts must, therefore, speedily lose their original and wholly blind character. The tendencies to in- stinctive reactions must, in such creatures, very early set up organic reminiscences of the previous consequences of their indulgence; and these reminiscent traces must lead either to inhibitory movements or to responses of the habit type, in which the outcome must be in some vague way forecast. Suppression of Instincts. — Instincts not only appear at definite points in the growth of the nervous system, but cer- tain of them may also atrophy and disappear, provided that at the crucial period the appropriate conditions are not at hand to call them out and fix them as habits. Illustrations of the periodic nature of development in instincts are familiar to everyone. The puppy cannot swim, the older dog can, and he does it instinctively. The bird displays no tendency to nest-building until a certain maturity is attained, and instances of a similar kind might be multiplied indefinitely. The abolition of an instinct by failure to secure expression at the correct time is shown in the case of chickens, which tend at first to follow any moving object. Ordinarily nature 290 PSYCHOLOGY provides^, of course^ that this object shall be the maternal hen. If the opportunity to translate this instinct into a habit is not afforded^ the instinct dies within a few days^ and there- after commonly cannot be reestablished. Instinct, Experience, and Reason. — The relatively flexible and plastic nature of instincts which is suggested by the foregoing observations finds additional confirmation in the innumerable instances in which intelligence^ or unexpected and unusual environment, come in to exercise modifications. In the earlier views of instinct we always find it contrasted with reason^ as though the two were radically distinct. The keener insight of our own time shows us that although reason represents the individuaFs contribution to his own fate in terms of his own experience, while instinct represents the contribution of racial experience, the actual operation of the two factors often displays most intimate interrelations. This is peculiarly true of all the higher animals, and especially man. Indeed, the great difficulty in studying in- stinct in human beings is due to the fact that intelligence immediately comes in to transform the native reactions in accordance with the dictates of the individuaPs personal experience. Even in the lower animals, however, individual experience exercises a guiding influence over the particular forms of instinctive expression^, although in many of these cases we must speak very conservatively as to the manner and measure in which consciousness participates. Whatever the explan- ation of the modus operandi, there can be no doubt that birds and insects such as bees and wasps and ants often modify their instinctive methods of nest-building in a most remark- able manner when the exigencies of local conditions require such modification. On the other hand^ instincts are often carried out in a bungling fashion^ and in the face of circum- stances clearly fatal to their successful issue. The well- known disposition of certain dogs and squirrels to attempt. REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 291 with elaborate efforts at diggings the burying of their bones or nuts when confined upon hard board floors illustrates the occasional futility of irrepressible instincts. The clas- sical observations of the Peckhams upon bees and wasps afford striking instances of instincts misdirected at some crucial moment. They report^, for instance^ that wasps frequently prepare a nest carefully for the reception of the food store and then seal it up empty. The obvious implication of such observations is that we have to do in the phenomena of instinct^ as these appear in the several genera and species of the organic kingdom^ with an overwhelming variety of reactions^ all of which evidently emanate from the same type of ancestral source; but with indefinite and unpredictable susceptibility to modifications from environing conditions^ and with an equally uncertain submission to conscious guidance. In so highly evolved a nervous system as that possessed by the human being we may naturally anticipate a very considerable number of these ancestral tendencies, and we must also expect to find them very promptly submerged in motor activities under the con- trol of consciousness. These expectations seem to be fully realised by the actual facts. Origin of Instincts. — Although everyone is agreed that instincts are racial habits transmitted by heredity to the particular individual, there has been wide difference of opinion regarding the precise manner in which they origin- ally became established. The questions here at issue are clearly in large part biological in nature, and this is, there- fore, evidently the reason why we find that the authoritative names connected with the conspicuous theories are chiefly those of great naturalists. Two fundamentally opposing views have until recently held the field. One is commonly known as the theory of lapsed intelligence. The American biologist. Cope, was an eminent defender of this view, which regards in- stincts as organically fixed habits which were originally in- / 292 PSYCHOLOGY telligent adaptive acts partaking of the general character of volition. Wnndt has been a distinguished adherent of this view among psychologists. The second theory is known as the reflex theory, and its basal contention is that instincts are simply accumulated reflex adjustments, explicable in their survival by the general principle of natural selection, which tends to weed out accumulations, however acquired, which are not preservative in their effect. Spencer and Weis- mann are representative adherents of two sub-forms of this theory. The first theory has been criticised as making too great de- mands on our credulity concerning the amount of intelli- gence displayed by primitive forms of consciousness, and also on the score of defective evidence for the transmission of acquired characteristics. The second theory has been held vulnerable in its inability to explain how groups of reflex movements could have been slowly built up, when only the final step in the process rendered the chain really useful. A recent modification of these views, for which J. M. Baldwin stands sponsor among psychologists, is known as the theory of organic selection. Theory of Organic Selection. — The crucial point in this theory is the supposition that even tentative and imperfect accommodation, with or without conscious direction, may serve to preserve the life of a species during the critical period when the instinct in its entirety is forming, and thus give it opportunity to become permanently imbedded in the organism as both a structural and functional attribute. Whether this view succeeds in weathering the storms of crit- icism or not, it is at least a highly ingenious and suggestive modification of the two previously extant views. It seems to contain what was most significant in both, while avoiding the more obvious pitfalls belonging to each. It gives scope for the play of intelligence in assisting in the formation of useful reactions, without going to the indefensible extreme of REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 293 assuming that all valuable coordinations have had such in- telligent origin. On the other hand^ it offers a practicable hypothesis as to the manner in which movements of essentially reflex character may have been become chained together in instinctive reactions. Function of Instinct. — Despite the differences which have characterised the opinions of the most acute biologists as to the origin of instincts, there is no divergence of opinion as to their function. They represent, by common consent, those forms of reaction upon the environment which the race has found most effective in maintaining itself against the rigours of climate and geographical habitat, and against the assaults of various forms of animal life. So far, therefore, as we may find traces of true instincts in human beings, we may know that we are confronted with tendencies which represent racial experiences, with reactions which express the pressure of untold ages of men engaged in the struggle for existence. It should, in the light of such considerations, afford us no astonishment to find that some reactions have been preserved, which are either useless at present or even somewhat posi- tively disadvantageous. Moreover, remembering the complex conditions of our organic structure, we may well expect that certain of these instinctive reactions may possess their chief value and significance in the intra-organic physiological changes which they bring about, rather than in movements primarily affecting objects in the environment. Both these anticipations we shall find fulfilled. CHAPTEE XVI THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS The Distinction Between Native and Acquired Forms of Reaction. — We come now to examine the general scope and character of human instincts^, and we are at once confronted with the concrete difficulties previously mentioned^ i, e., the difficulty of distinguishing the genuinely instinctive and hereditary reactions from the merely habitual^ or from the acquired. Fortunately^ there are certain great basal in- stinctive activities which we find appearing in children long before they have had sufficient experience to enable themx to execute such reactions on the basis of volition; and^ further- more^ there is a considerable group of reactions which -all of us manifest that appeal to us when our attention is called to the matter as being native and untutored^ as all but wholly devoid of purposeful conscious guidance. With these as a clue we may at least make a beginning in our catalogue^ and from their analysis secure hints as to other similar instinctive traits. In all properly constituted babies anger and fear are in evidence^ with their appropriate motor expressions^ long be- fore experience has afforded opportunity to observe and copy these reactions in others. They are^, therefore^ unques- tionably native. It may;, however^ be said^, that these are emotional processes^ and not instincts. Half of this contention is true and half is false. Anger and fear are instincts^ and they are also emotions. Each involves a series of somewhat elaborate organic activities, and these are all of +^^he unpremeditated hereditary type. They pos- 294 THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 295 sess^ however, in addition to these motor characteristics perfectly definite conscious concomitants, and to the con- scious part of the whole process we commonly give the name emotion. We shall return to a detailed consideration of emotions in the next chapter. Meantime, we find that in anger the brows are wrinkled, the face ordinarily crimson, the veins gorged and prominent, the nostrils dilated, the lips drawn back and the teeth set, the hands clenched, the body tense, and the voice harsh. In extreme fear we meet with pallor and trembling, spasm of the heart, diarrhoea, the ap- pearance of goose-flesh, cold sweat, bristling of the hair, dry- ness of the month, choking, paralysis of the voice, or hoarse screaming, together with tendencies to flight, coupled with a feeling of weakness. These reactions are called out precisely as the instinctive reactions in animals, i. e., by the presence of appropriate stimuli. So far as consciousness is involved in them, the striking thing is the headlong fashion in which we find ourselves plunged into a vortex of intense impulsive feeling, compelling us to acts the consequences of which, in their first expressions, anyhow, are wholly unforeseen. Utility of Instinctive Reactions. — The utility of such ex- pressions may well arouse one^s curiosity. In the case of anger some of the movements evidently have a " use ^' value, provided actual combat is necessary or desirable. But the trembling of fear, whatever may be said of the tendencies to flight, is a questionable organic asset for an individual wishing to react most effectively upon menacing surround- ings. It must be admitted frankly that some of the motor responses displayed in emotional and instinctive discharges are unintelligible at present from the standpoint of utility. The attempt has often been made to refer the preserva- tion of such acts as have no obvious value for the con- quest of the environment, and even, perhaps, a deleterious influence upon this task, to their physiological usefulness in restoring disturbed organic conditions. Thus, the gorging of 296 PSYCHOLOGY the blood vessels in anger^ the secretion of tears in grief^ the laughter in response to wit and humour^ have sometimes been held to assist in relieving the abnormal circulatory conditions in the brain set up by the several emotional experiences. Of such explanations one can only say that they serve^ at least temporarily, decently to cloak our ignorance. IsTevertheless, there seems to be in the meantime no hesitation in any im- portant quarter in accepting the general hypothesis already mentioned, that these racial habits which we designate emo- tions and instincts represent types of reaction which were useful at some time in the past history of the race, however problematical their usefulness may be at present. Genetic Interrelations of Instincts. — The precise order in which the great mass of instincts make their debut is a difficult problem, and one for which it is, perhaps, not al- together profitable to undertake a solution. It seems prob- able that rudimentary forms of most of the instincts are encountered at a very early date, whereas the occasion for the expression of the matured reaction may be long post- poned. Eibot has made it clear that in general those in- stinctive activities, such as fear and anger, which have to do most immediately with the maintenance of the physiologi- cal organism, and to which he gives the name of " egotistical emotions,^^ are the first to appear in infancy and the last to disappear in old age or before the ravages of mental disease. The more altruistic emotions and instincts are for the most part found in a developed condition much later. Thus, sym- pathy, in unequivocal form, anyhow, occurs only with some considerable mental development. Indeed, it has sometimes been questioned whether sympathy is truly instinctive at all, whether it does not rather reflect the conclusions of intelli- gent consideration. But on the whole there seems no good reason to cavil at the evidences of its native character, es- pecially as we can discern its seeming presence in certain animals. THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 297 List of Human Instincts. — Waiving, then, the question of the order of appearance, we find the generally recognised instincts in man to be as follows: Pear, anger, shyness, curiosity, affection, sexual love, jealousy and envy, rivalry, sociabilit}^, sympathy, modesty (?), play, imitation, construc- tiveness, secretiveness, and acquisitiveness. Many authorities would add hunting to this list, and it must be admitted that in many races, and in many individ- uals of all races, it gives strong indications of a funda- mentally instinctive nature. It is, however, so honeycombed with the effects of experience, and so irregular in its ap- pearance, that it may fairly be given a position among the disintegrating instincts. Walking and talking are also in- cluded by many writers. Whether they shall be counted in or not is, as we have already observed, simply a question of classification. We may call them either chained refiexes or instincts, according to the criterion which we adopt for our divisions. James has added cleanliness to his list, and there are some facts which point to the correctness of this view, both in its application to men and to animals. But it is at best a very imperfect and erratic trait, as any mother of normal children can testify, and we may omit it in con- sideration of the necessary brevity of our discussion. We shall similarly forego any description of sjonpathy and modesty. A perusal of our list brings at once to notice the union of instinct and emotion. A part of the terms apply primarily to acts, and so connect themselves with the common implica- tion of the term instinct; whereas the other part suggests much more immediately the conscious feelings characteristic of the several forms of emotional experience. Imitation, play, and constructiveness are examples of the first kind of term; fear, anger, and jealousy illustrate the second. A few comments upon each of the instincts mentioned may serve to emphasise helpfully the typical conditions under which they 29^ PSYCHOLOGY appear, and the wholly naive^ untutored nature of the motor reactions which they manifest. Fear. — ^We have already sufficiently described the motor phenomena in the case of fear^ and it surely requires no ad- ditional argument to convince one of their native and un- sophisticated character. It only remains to notice that in little children^ despite some irregularity in different indi- viduals, the normal provocatives are represented by strange objects, frequently by fur, by strange places^, and especially by strange people, by being left alone, by darkness, and even occasionally by black objects; and by noises, particularly if very loud and unfamiliar. In later life, in addition to the fear which arises from the presence of actually dangerous situ- ations, such as the menace of a great conflagration, many per- sons are seized with dizziness and a more or less acute terror upon finding themselves on a very high place, even though the possibility of falling over is efficiently precluded by rail- ings, etc. Others are frightened by anything which verges upon the supernatural. Even the cold-blooded materialist of polite fiction feels his unsentimental blood curdle just a bit at the rehearsal of a thrilling ghost story, and only the possessor of practiced nerves can be alone on a dark night in a cemetery, or a thick wood, without some " creepiness ^^ of the hair and skin. All of us are likely to find that in the midst of a violent tempest, whether on land or sea, the howling of the wind is a distinct source of mental anxiety quite disproportionate to our sober, intellectual apprehension of its real danger. All these things take hold of our racial instincts, and however vigorously our individual experience attempts through its cortical ma- chinery to put a veto on such nonsense, our lower brain centres refuse to abandon their world-old habits, and accord- ingly we find that our hearts are beating wildly, our breathing coming in gulps, our limbs trembling, the while we look on, mortified at the weakness we cannot control. THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 299 Anger. — Anger has several different forms and the most varied provocatives. We are irritated by the tireless piano next door^ exasperated by the teasing child^ hurt and vexed by the social snnb^ ^i^gry at the open insult;, and perhaps moved to enduring hatred by the obnoxious and unscrupulous enemy. There is a common emotional vein running through all these conditions however much the particular momentary expression may vary. Possibly resentment is the best name wherewith to label this common factor. The instinctive na- ture of the motor reactions requires no further demonstra- tion than is furnished by the sight of any little child enjoying a tantrum. The explicitly pugnacious element is, under civilised surroundings, inconspicuous after childhood is passed, despite the tremendous virility it displays if the curb be once slackened. The evolution of the race has been notori- ously sanguinary, and we should feel no surprise, however much of disgust and regret we may entertain, that under the excitement of actual combat the old brute should display the cloven hoof. The development of so-called civilised codes of war affords interesting instances of the effort rational man makes to clothe with decency the shame of his own brutish- ness. According to the code, women and children may not be slaughtered, but it is occasionally lawful to despoil them of their flocks and herds, to lay waste their grain, and even to burn the roofs above their heads. Shyness and Sociability. — The antagonistic instincts to which we have given the names shyness and sociability, not only appear as genuine hereditary impulses in little children, but they also fight, in the case of many persons, a lifelong bat- tle for supremacy over the individuaFs habits. Sociability is simply an expression of the essentially gregarious nature of man. Some men seem destined for membership in a very small herd, — two or three at most, — others find their most natural surroundings amid large numbers. But the man^or child who in one form or another does not natively crave 300 PSYCHOLOGY companionship^ sympathy^ admiration^ and confidence from others is essentially insane. Many turn from life and such companions as they chance to have attracted with horror and disgust^ seeking in God or in some ideal-^f their own imag- ination a companionship which shall be fit and satisfying. But what is such a turning other than the most pathetic ap- peal for true comradeship^ for a real society conformable with the deepest needs of the soul? No^ sociability;, under what- ever limitations^ is an expression of the very essence of hu- manity ;, and every little child evinces it by shunning solitude. What often passes with children for a love of solitude is really more truly referable to the operation of the contrary instinct of shyness. In the very nature of the case the two impulses must always have been in unstable equilibrium so long as the drama of human life has been upon the boards. A certain measure of suspicion toward the action and pur- poses of others must always have been a condition of avoiding harm and imposition. On the other hand^, the race is funda- mentally gregarious^ and all its greatest achievements have come about through cooperative undertakings in which the solidarity of the social structure has been a sine qua non. The tension between these two instincts^ which we often find existing in ourselves^, is no mere idiosyncrasy of our own purely personal organisation. It is rather a replica in us of a conflict which has been a part of the experience of every sane human being that ever lived. Sociability finds everywhere its natural expression in smil- ing and in bodily attitudes^, or gestures^, which are^ perhaps^, best described as obviously non-pugnacious; The secondary gestures^ apart from smiling and laughing^ are through imita- tion early overlaid with the conventional ceremonials of dif- ferent races and peoples. But in babies we find general ex- tensor movements of reaching and stretching out of the arms^ with eyes wide open and gaze fixed^ head erects and often nodding. In shyness the precise reverse is encountered. The THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 30 1 eyes are averted^ the hands and arms held close to the body^ the whole attitude being one of retreat. In older children and adults blushing and stammerings or even speechlessness^ are common concomitants. Strangers and persons feared or venerated are the normal stimulants to shyness. In both kinds of reaction the movements are observed before there can be any question of conscious imitation. They are accord- ingly of undoubtedly instinctive nature. The great diflBculty many persons experience in inhibiting the expressions of shy- ness also points to a similar conclusion. A special form of the generic tendency to sociability is found in childish affection for parent or nurse^ and in the tender feelings in general which we cherish toward those of whom we are fond. It finds its overt manifestation in facial expression^ in modulation of voice^ and in caressing gestures in general. The instinct is speedily veiled bj^ experiential influences^ but it gives every internal evidence of resting upon a native impulse^ and its motor indices apparently require no artificial training. In childhood its common stimulus is found in persons upon whom we are dependent for our daily care. It may even extend in a somewhat imperious fashion to toys and other possessions intimately associated with child- ish cosmology. In mature life its stimulus is extremely com- plex^ and baffles brevity of description. In general^ it extends to all persons and possessions that we cherish as in some sort a part of ourselves. Curiosity and Secretiveness. — Curiosity and secretiveness are in a measure antithetic impulses^ like shyness and soci- ability; they vary immensely in different individuals^ but bear^ whenever met with^ unmistakable traces of an instinctive origin. Animals afford us abundant instances of curiosity, and many methods of hunting are designed to take advantage of this tendency. Taken broadly, curiosity is simply another name for interest. In its simplest and most immediate form it is represented in the vertiginous 302 PSYCHOLOGY fascination which novelty of any kind at times possesses for US. The child must pry about until he has fathomed the depths of your preoccupation. If asked why he wishes to know what you are about, he could give you no rational answer, even if he would. He simply knows that he must find out what you are doing. That is his feeling, and to ask for any deeper reason is itself unreasonable. The staid busi- ness man who allows himself to be lured across the street of a summer evening by the flaring torch of the street fakir has no reputable account to offer of his procedure. Time out of mind he has yielded to the same fascinating bait, always to find the same old bogus gold watches, the same improbable jewelry, the same nauseous medicines, passing out into the capacious maw of the great gullible public. Curiosity is the racial instinct to which our sedate citizen is yielding, and that is all there is to the matter. In this simple form the motor expression is found in the alert and wide-open eyes, the parted lips, the attentive ear, the general attitude of readiness to react to any lead. In its more intellectual phases we shall consider it under the head of interest in a later chapter. Secretiveness will by many readers be thought unwar- rantedly introduced as an instinct. It is not usually of suf- ficient consequence to justify any extended defence of its instinctive nature. But as a special form of shyness, at least, it deserves a word. It seems to be a development of those instincts among animals which lead them to render them- selves as inconspicuous as possible. Certain insects and birds frequent haunts in which the surroundings, whether vegeta- tion or earth, are of a colour similar to their own. In a corresponding fashion many persons feel an ineradicable im- pulse to conceal their plans, their actions, and their character behind a screen of non-committal silence and reserve. The impulse has no necessary connection with the preservation of a consciously defined personal dignity. It extends quite as forcefully to the suppression of all publicity touching the THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 3^3 trivial as it does to the concealment of the momentous. Taciturnity is its commonest expression — if this formulation is not itself a paradox. Its irrational impulsive character is the mark which stamps it instinctive. Many of us are at times secretive of fixed and consciously recognised design. But the sort of thing of which we are here speaking is tem- peramental and may be felt in the absence of all explicit justification. Acquisitiveness. — The instinct which we have called ac- quisitiveness appears chameleon-wise in many colours and under various conditions. As a primitive expression of the recognition of personal property it is one of the earliest and most tempestuous of innate reactions. It commonly gets a bad name at this time, and is often undiscriminatingly en- titled selfishness. Certainlv the distinction between meum and tuum is one for which every child betrays a remarkable precocity, although the precocity is commonly much more evident in the emphasising of meum than in the recognition of tuum. But however perverted the moral perspective, the thing is there in the form of an impulse to get hold of, and keep, and guard, something — anything. The particular ob- jects which call it out are altogether incidental to the mo- mentary' surroundings and to the age of the special individual. With boys in the '' marble age ^^ '' glassies ^^ and '' alleys ^^ are the recipients of the passion. A little later it may be ribbons bestowed by, or purloined from, the young ladies of the hour ; presently it is stocks and bonds and real estate. Ifow these things are many of them sought for ulterior ends consciously apprehended. But through the whole drama runs the in- stinctive thread, the impulse to acquisition, binding the whole together into a vital tale of human impulse striving after gratification. So far as it can be said to possess relatively fixed motor expressions, they are to be found in the elabo- rations of the infantile reaching and grasping, with the facial expressioDL of ^lert, tejise interest, and the intra-organic dis- 304 PSYCHOLOGY turbances which generally accompany such excitement. The impulse takes its origin, however, from so many forms of stimulations that a perfectly fixed and inflexible motor indi- cation of it is hardly to be expected. Rivalry. — Closely connected with acquisitiveness is the instinct of rivalry, or emulation. It is intimately allied to play and imitation in its origin, and it easily runs to excess in anger, hate, jealousy, and envy. Its stimulus is apparently found in the successful achievements of anyone coming within our own social circle, by virtue of which we are likely to be relegated to inferior positions. If one happens to be a bank clerk one feels no rivalry instigated by the promotion of the janitor, but the advancement of one^s fellow clerk is quite an- other matter. The small boy views with unmixed admiration the skill of the professional ball-player, but the performances of his rival for a place on the school nine stir his blood in quite a different way. So far as concerns the voluntary m_uscles, the expres- sion of this impulse has about it hardly anything fixed save the vigour and energy which go into their use when stung by the prick of rivalry. As we intimated a few lines above, emulation is readily transformed into anger, and this fact points to a kinship which has undoubtedly in the history of racial evolution been most significant. Among the lower animals fighting is a constant and fundamental factor in life history. Under the ameliorating conditions of civilisation mankind has managed in large measure either to eliminate this element from human life or so to change its complexion as to shade its more brutal features, and to substitute for bloodshed and carnage the starvation and bankruptcy which emanates from unsuc- cessful competition. In so far, therefore, as rivalry repre- sents the survival in modern life of the old fighting propensi- ties, we must look in it for the vestigial evidences of tumult and excitement, of emotional tension, v/hich have always char- THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 3^5 acterised the struggle for existence. ISTeedless to say, we find them in abundance^ and hence it is that emnlation so easily leads to the more unworthy instinctive expressions; hence it is that so much of moral dignity attaches to him who can feel and cherish rivalry without sacrificing his highest ethical ideals of integrity and respect for others. Jealousy and Envy. — Viewed merely as natural impulses, jealousy and envy are sufficiently alike to render a separate mention of each unnecessary. Envy is generally applied to our covetousness of the prosperity or possessions of others. This covetousness is often accompanied, as in jealousy, by more or less malignity. Jealousy we commonly apply to a similar feeling toward persons who are our supposed rivals, whether actually successful or simply feared. Both animals and little children manifest jealousy, and no one can question that the depth of the feeling, together with these facts, points to its springing from a racially hereditary source. Its char- acteristic expressions are similar to those of anger and hatred, but commonly occur in milder form. Sexual Instincts.— Among the most imperious of our im- pulses are undoubtedly those connected with sex. The approach to sexual maturity is usually attended by very deep- seated organic changes, and these are refiected in a marked development of the whole emotional nature. It is in this fact that we find an explanation of the definite bent which is often imparted to character at this time, leading in certain instances to a life-long devotion to ideals which are lofty and habits which are pure, and in other instances to perversion and debasement of the entire moral nature. This is the great formative period, the storm and stress period, of the moral life. The delineation of the basal facts in the birth and de- velopment of love between the sexes has been accomplished so perfectly in the great poems and tales of passion as to render futile and superfluous any such brief outline as would-be possible here. 3o6 PSYCHOLOGY Parental Love. — Parental love is a far stronger impulse in the mother than in the f ather^, as a rule. It is unquestionably instinctive in the mother^ is given most lavishly during the infancy and childhood of the offsprings but commonly remains to the end one of the majestic forces in the history of human- ity. Its expressions are partly those of caressing tenderness and partly those of protection and prescient regard for thef needs of the child. .|^: Play. — We come now to speak of the three instincts re-^^^ maining upon our list^ i. e., play^ imitation^ and constructive-^** ness. They are by no means synonymous, but their connec- tion is so intimate, and their significance for the development of the child so similar and so important, that we shall consider them together, and at some length. In little children the impulse to play is practically identical with the impulse to use the voluntary muscles. Indeed, the definition of play which enjoys widest currency at the present moment identifies it with the free, pleasurable, and spon- taneous activity of the voluntary muscles. For all periods after those of early childhood, say subsequent to seven years of age, there is an increasing disposition to contrast play with work, and to ascribe to the former a certain lack of serious- ness. But with little children this lack of seriousness exists only for the sophisticated onlooker. To the child himself his playing is the '^ real thing.^^ It has all the seriousness which the child is able to reflect in his activities at the time. The two most imiportant theories regarding play are, per- haps, those advocated respectively by Spencer and Groos. The former regards play as representing a discharge of sur- plus organic energy. The latter considers it as an impul- sive function serving to call into being those activities which presently are to be required in the strenuous conflicts of life. Play has its biological significance, therefore, in the discipline which it affords. So far from finding it necessary to choose one or the other of these theories, reflection suggests that they THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 3^7 are entirely reconcilable and distinctly supplementary to one another. It may be that the impulse to play has its racial significance in the opportunity which it affords for the exer- cise of those forms of coordinated movement which adult life demands. It may^ indeed^ owe its preservation in hereditary form to just this circumstance. And it may^ nevertheless^ be also true that in its expression at any specific time the im- j)iilse really represents the tapping of reservoirs of surplus energy. These alternatives seem altogether probable^ and they serve to connect the obvious present vitality and utility of the play impulse with adequate genetic and historical causes. Imitation. — As the play impulse actually is observed in its development;, it early takes on certain imitative characteristics^ and at a slightly later date, perhaps, gives evidence of deserv- ing the name constructive. As in the case of play, we must distinguish several stages or phases in the imitative reactions. There is without much question a purely instinctive form of imitation in which, without anj^- necessar)^ conscious purpose to imitate, acts of others are repeated as accurately as possible. This is conspicuously true of the earlier speech activities, in which the sensations of the vocal sounds made bv others seem to discharge immediately, in an almost reflex manner, in ar- ticulatorv reactions more or less closelv resembling the stimu- lus. At a later period, however, there is a definitely conscious purpose to repeat sounds, and this kind of conscious imitation characterises a large part of the educational process in young children. Indeed, the only propriety in mentioning it in this chapter, so explicitly volitional is it, arises, first, from its possession oi:^ compelling fascination for the minds of all normal children, and, second, from its striking similarity to the genuinely instinctive form mentioned above. The name " suggestive imitation ^^ has been given to such acts as appear imitative to an observer but are not necessarily felt to be so by tlie imitator, A recrudescence of the more purely in-. 3o8 PSYCHOLOGY stinctive tjipe is exhibited in the loss of individual initiative and inhibition in the case of mob action and the movement of crowds^ where one falls in, almost unaware, with the purposes and impulses of the mass. "'^ Plastic imitation ^^ has been suggested as a distinguishing name for this class of cases. Constructiveness. — In childhood constructiveness is hardly more than a convenient term to specify one of the aspects of play. Children delight in the making of things out of their toys, and this may properly be called constructiveness, even in those cases where a carping parental economy might de- scribe the impulse as one of destructiveness. Pulling a feather-duster to pieces to make a nursery Indian may not commend itself highly to the presiding guardian as an evi- dence of constructive tendencies, but psychologically it is quite as truly entitled to rank here as the activity by means of which the precocious child converts the paternal cigar- box into the inlaid maternal glove-box. Its shortcomings as a constructive performance are ethical and economic, not psychological. In later adult life constructiveness, so far as it is separable from volitional activities exercised under the stress of fear, pride, or other similar emoti'ons, becomes inti- mately connected with the impulses of artisanship and crafts- manship, in which a native intellectual interest finds a con- genial and appropriate channel of expression by means of native deftness in specific forms of manual manipulation. This later type undoubtedly has in it much that is genuinely impulsive, but it is so overlaid with the effects of experience that it will not be profitable for us to dwell longer upon it. Relation of Play, Imitation, and Constructiveness. — It surely requires no complicated demonstration to prove that these three last-mentioned impulses — play, imitation, and constructiveness — interlace with one another in almost inex- tricable ways. Much of the strictly impulsive element in con- structiveness, if not, indeed, all of it, is play, pure and simple. Many of the plays of children, commonly so recognised, are THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 3^9 of a distinctly constructive character. The child building a house from his blocks is, from his own point of view, much more truly described as engaged in construction than as en- gaged in play. The conscious " make-believe ^^ of many plays, and the simulation of fictitious situations, is seldom obvious in the earlier plays of little children. Imitation is often sim- ply a designation for a specific mode of reaction which the special play calls forth, and many games have their point in feats of imitation. Constructive impulses are more often than not dependent for their expression in the first instance upon patterns which determine the mould in which the child casts his activities. Little children running after larger chil- dren, they know not why, the boy trying to use a hammer as he has seen his father do, the girl playing at setting the table as she has seen her mother do — these and a hundred other in- stances illustrative of these points will immediately come to mind. We shall revert to the development of these native modes of reaction in our account of the growth of volitional control. It must suffice here to have pointed out the native organic nature of these expressions. The occasions for their appearance are evidently found wherever a situation affords opportunity for a vigorous organism to react spontaneously and agreeably with movements indicative of control and power. CHAPTEE XVII NATURE OP IMPULSE Throughout the whole of the preceding chapter^ so far as we have dealt with facts of consciousness^ we have had con- stantly before onr notice impulses of one or another kind. Impulse is^ then^ from the psychologists standpoint unques- tionably the cardinal fact about instincts. The residuum is a matter of physiology and biology. It is a mere matter of neural mechanisms. But so far as we have impulse we have a definite psychical factor^ and we must examine it somewhat more intimately. Impulse and Movement. — Etymologically considered^ an impulse is anything which '' pushes along.^^ We have re- peatedly observed the tendency of all forms of consciousness to pass over into movements^ and there can be no doubt that in this sense at least all states of consciousness are naturally impulsive in character. Left to itself^, any mental condition would convert itself at once into some kind of muscular move- ment. This is peculiarly true of direct sensory impressions^ which, as we saw in the chapters on sensation and attention, tend, so far as we give them undivided attention, to set up immediate motor responses. It is, however, equally true of images and other centrally aroused psychoses, so far as we become absorbingly attentive to them. If we have reference, then, primarily to the consequences which follow upon men- tal states, there seems to be no obvious exception to the rule that they all tend toward muscular movements, and are, therefore, all intrinsically impulsive. 310 NATURE OF IMPULSE 31 1 This fact must not, however, be interpreted as meaning that all states of mind reveal these motor consequences in equal measure, nor that the impulsive element in them is in- susceptible of further analysis. Quite the contrary. The disposition to make certain movements is much more marked in cases of anger than in cases of reluctant choice after de- liberation. Moreover, the whole psychosis in anger may be much more intense than in the other case, and we may, there- fore, be much more vividly aware of these tendencies. It is evident, consequently, that, viewing the matter introspectively, we have to recognise the existence of very different degrees of impulsiveness in our immediate feelings of disposition to movement. The feeling may be very distinct and acute, or it may be so faint and insignificant as to have hardly any existence save the hypothetical one to which our whole ob- servation of conscious operations has committed us. Development of Impulse. — Furthermore, we shall at once remark another important distinction if we note the changes accruing from the development of the individuals experi- ence. The first time that one of the strong racial impulses is felt, the individual's consciousness contains little or no an- ticipation of what is about to occur. He is simply aware of an unusual thrill, a passing unrest, which comes to him dis- closed in part by muscular movements — half mechanical in their nature. But the inner meaning of his experience is at the moment, perhaps, wholly problematic to him. He is a stranger to himself. How true to the facts this statement is many persons will readily admit by recalling some of the strange, acute mental disturbances of their own adolescent period. The child screaming with fright for the first time is likely to harbour no little shame over the event afterward because of its startling strangeness to him. The youth smit- ten with his first infatuation is a constant source of wonder to himself. He has become suddenlv aware of a multitude of feelings which before were inexistent for him. But all 312 PSYCHOLOGY these impulses, once they have been experienced^ are thereby forever changed. They may retain^ as many of them do, a prodigious intensity and vitality, but thenceforth they have lost a part of their mystery. We know at least so much of what they mean as to anticipate the acts to which they tend to lead. From this time forth we become increasingly aware of the objects which are calling them into being and of the consequences to which they lead. The impulses tend, there- fore, to become more and more sophisticated. They become illuminated with a knowledge of their meaning, and the im- mediacy of our feeling and our unrestrained disposition to reaction are lost forever after the original, unsullied reaction. The conscious portion of the instinctive life is modified by growth and experience quite as truly as the purely motor and physiological parts of it. Consciousness of Impulse. — We have seen that even though we admit impulse as a feature characterising all forms of mental activity, we have also to acknowledge very different degrees in the intensity of this impulsiveness, and very dif- ferent conditions surrounding its expression. We may ob- serve a further similar peculiarity belonging to those reac- tions which we most commonly regard as instinctive. We may call the play impulse definitely instinctive, and so give it rank among those expressions of our motor dispositions of which we are most keenly and unambiguously conscious. But it requires no elaborate demonstration to prove that we are most distinctly cognisant of the impulsive nature of this re- action when for any reason its expression is hampered or checked. Moreover, a little observation would bring the con- viction that this is a general principle applicable all along the line. We can hardly be said to be conscious of the impulse, as an impulse, if the conditions are all ripe for its immediate translation into movement. Under such conditions we are absorbed in the object of our doing, in the acty in the con- sequences, with their thousand ramifications. But the im- NATURE OF IMPULSE S^S pulse to act^ as such, we are hardly aware of in any genuine sense, unless something impedes the impulsive movement. Then we promptly become aware of tense muscles, of thwarted execution. Then we are really conscious of the impulse, and we are made conscious of it by means of the nascent and in- cipient movements to which it has actually given rise. As a matter of fact, few of our impulsive tendencies ever find the opportunity to run wholly free and unconstrained. But so far as they do, we find we have lost consciousness of the impulse, as such. We encounter no exception at this juncture, then, to the facts which we have in the earlier part of the book so often emphasised, i. e., the fact that consciousness appears at those points where there is friction of one kind or another in the purely physiological mechanisms of adjustment. Types of Impulse. — It remains to comment upon an ex- tremely important distinction among -the various forms of impulse. Certain of these seem to be practically invariable in their appearance in all human beings, and they show them- selves in the form of relatively fixed forms of movement. These are the instinctive reactions in the strictest sense of the phrase. In this category belong such activities as fear and anger. Certain other impulses are essentially universal but still somewhat less uniform in their appearance than the pre- ceding class. These impulses have a far more variable form of expression. Here belong the reactions we call play, imi- tation in certain forms, parental love, etc. Both these classes of impulses give every evidence of a racial origin. But the first type is evidentl}^ the more stable and more deeply im- pressed upon the organism. Over against these two classes of impulsive acts — the first of which are properly called in- stincts, in which the individual is expressing the pressure of racial experience— are to be set the residual conscious activi- ties, which are all impulsive, as we have seen, in the sense in which this indicates their relation to movement. These latter forms of consciousness are, however, representative of the ~-l 314 PSYCHOLOGY processes by means of which^ on the foundation of his racial patrimony^ the individual builds up his own adaptive re- sponses to his environment. The antitheses^ then^ are on both the physiological and the psychological side to be found be- tween impulse as hereditary , and founded on inherited neural structure, and impulse as individual and reflective of innate personal disposition. The first factor represents the element of conservation and habit, the second the element of variation and progress. CHAPTEE XVIII THE NATUEE OP EMOTION" Distinction Between Emotion and Instinct. — Our previous study has already brought us into contact with emotion, once in our analysis of feeling, and again in our examination of instinct. But it still remains for us to discover more exactly the peculiarities of this form of mental experience, and especially to point out its functional significance in the economy of conscious life. Although as they appear in human beings instinct and emotion are both psychophysical processes, the term " in- stinct ^^ refers primarily to physiological phenomena, and the term " emotion '^ to psychological. This is brought out in James^ statement that " an emotion is a tendency to feel, and an instinct is a tendency to act characteristically when in the presence of a certain object in the environment.^^ As psychologists we are accordingly under obligation to describe the salient features of these hereditary feelings which accom- pany the instinctive activities. In the last chapter we found that impulse is present in all instincts, and we exhibited some of the modifications which the impulsive feelings undergo. We must now scrutinise certain other equally important features of the emotional psychosis. When we feel ourselves in the grasp of any of the more powerful emotions, such as fear or anger or grief, we imme- diately refer the experience in toto to the object which is, as we say, its cause. We say we are afraid of the lightning, we are angry with our defamer, we are grief -stricken at the death 315 3l6 . PSYCHOLOGY of a beloved friend. In this way we come naturally enough to identify the emotion with our consciousness of its immediate provocative^ and this fact has often served to becloud the real psychological constitution of these experiences. Thanks to the acumen of two contemporary psychologists^ James and Lange^ we can now describe more precisely than formerly cer- tain of the psychical conditions indigenous to these states of consciousness. Physiological Accompaniments of Emotion.— Let us take the case of a person who is extremely timid about thunder- storms. Such a person may be thrown into a paroxysm of fear by the sight of an ominous cloud approaching. More- over^ after the storm has bursty every flash of lightning and every clap of thunder may serve as a fresh source for the waves of terror which surge over the shrinking soul. Now in such a case the usual description of the mental experience would connect the fear immediately with the perception of the cloud and with the several perceptions of lightning, and thun- der. The mere perception itself would be accredited with the instant arousal^ without further intermediation^ of the emo- tion of fear. Following the arousal of fear^, and serving as expressions of it^ would be enumerated the several motor re- actions which the individual might manifest^ e, g., trembling palings palpitation of the hearty, etc, N"ow^ it need not be questioned that such perceptions as these suggested are per- ceptions of terrifying objects recognised forthwith as such. But the authors to whom, we have referred have pointed out^ with a wealth of illustrative detail, that the motor activities just mentioned occur in an essentially reflex way immediately upon the perception of the emotional stimulus. These mus- cular reactions necessarily initiate at once afferent neural cur- rents, which set up sensory and affective disturbances that are promptly reported in consciousness. The Lange-James view insists, therefore, that all accurate introspective observa- tion of such experiences reveals the emotion of fear as a con- THE NATURE OF EMOTION 3^7 scious state in which these motor reactions are represented as essential and integral parts. We may apprehend an object in a cold-blooded and self-controlled way as terrifying and dan- gerous. This is a common experience among policemen, fire- men, and soldiers of a certain temperament. But we never feel afraid unless we have already made certain of the motor reactions which characterise fear. If the heart remains un- disturbed in its pulsations, if the distribution of the blood in the various parts of the body is not markedly changed, if the breathing is not affected, if we do not tremble, it matters not how clearly we may appreciate the danger of the situation, nor how dangerous the situation may be, the total complex feeling, the emotion, of fear is not ours. These movements, then, which common description accredits with the expression of the emotion, are not merely expressions, they are rather indispensable causal factors producing the psychical condition which we all recognise when we experience it as the genuine emotion. The psychological constitution of the emotion of fear is typical of all the strong emotions which lend themselves readily to introspective observation. In each one the organic reverberation which is produced by the emotional stimulus enters into consciousness to give it its characteristic emotional colouring and to mark it off from other modes of mental activ- ity. In anger we ordinarily find the breathing disturbed, the circulation irregular, and many of the voluntary muscles, e. g., those of the hands and face, tense and rigid. These muscular movements are inevitably reported by distinct modifications in the tone of consciousness. In grief an opposite type of muscular condition is met with, i. g., depression of motor tonicity throughout most of the system, but with an equally inevitable reaction upon the conscious mood. Emotions are, therefore, extremely complex processes, so far, at least, as regards the organic activities which condition them. In emotions we are not only conscious of the emotional 3i8 PSYCHOLOGY object^ as in ordinary perceptual acts^ we are also overwhelmed by a mass of sensational and affective elements brought about by the intra-organic activities of our own musculature. The prominence of the affective factors to which we have referred in our account of feeling is in large part referable to the hyper-normal^ or subnormal^ activity set up in the muscles of the respiratory^ circulatory^ and digestive systems. It will be remembered that under most conditions we are entirely un- conscious of these processes. Only under rather unusual cir- cumstances^ involving some vivid form of stimulation^ do they intrude themselves. But such circumstances^ we have al- ready observed^ are precisely those to which affective tone almost inevitably attaches^ and we have forthwith an obvious reason for the conspicuously affective character of the emotions. Reply to a Criticism. — It may be said that however true our account of the organic activities involved in emotional psychoses^ it is^ nevertheless^ a false description of the facts to say that we are conscious in any explicit way of these functions of our bodily selves. Our consciousness^ it is al- leged^ is absorbed in the object of the emotion; we are hyp- notised by the impending calamity^ transfixed in contemplation of our gaucherie, swept away by the sally of wit, etc. The bodily movements are things of which we have little or no distinct mental report. The emotion^ consequently, however much entangled with motor activities it may prove to be, cannot be spoken of as consisting in a consciousness of these movements. The point at issue in this contention rests upon a misapprehension of the principle defended in this chapter. It is not maintained that the emotion of fear is made up of a consciousness of some terrifying object, say a serpent, plus the consciousness of a palpitating heart, plus the consciousness of shaking limbs. The assertion is, that our consciousness of the serpent is modified by all the sensory- motor activities going on in the body at the moment, just as THE NATURE OF EMOTION 3^9 is the case in less noticeable degree with every perception. It is further asserted that the motor activities which do occur at such times are characteristic and relatively fixed^ and m consequence lead to relatively fixed psychical surroundings for any perceptual acts revealing terrifying objects. To state it in neural terms^ we may say that the cerebral cortex is a kind of resonance board for the whole organism^ and that emotional stimuli produce definite and fairly constant motor reactions^ which are echoed by the cortex. Our attention may^ then^ be more or less absorbed in the object of any given emotion, but the total mental state is conditioned quite as truly by the sensory consequences of the hereditary motor dis- turbances as it is by the special sensory activity reporting the object. These motor disturbances constitute in James' terms a characteristic ^^ fringe '^ for the emotional stimulus. Significance of Emotion. — We must next inquire into the special significance of the emotional life, and discover, if pos- sible, the reasons for its peculiarities. In emotion we are apparently confronted with a case in which now and again consciousness takes on an unusual intensity. Can we find in our analysis of its intrinsic characteristics, or in our observa- tion of the circumstances under which it becomes manifest, any explanation of this phenomenon ? We may at least make the attempt. Fear. — If we examine a series of emotional situations, such as we find in grief, anger, fear, embarrassment, and pity, we shall discover that in one particular they all agree. In each and every case conscious activity is thrown backward and inward upon itself instead of going forward in the form of well-adjusted processes of control. This condition may last only a moment, or it may run on indefinitely. In one form or another, however, it is the distinguishing mark of all emotional conditions. For example, I am sitting at my desk writing, oblivious of the storm without. Suddenly a blind- ing flash and a deafening noise, followed by the sound of 320 PSYCHOLOGY falling walls^ breaks in upon me. Unquestionably, I am thoroughly frightened. For a moment or two I am all but paralysed mentally. My attitude is one of cowering con- templation. In a vague, terror-stricken way I wonder what is coming next. I may have started to my feet^ but that is almost a reflex act, and certainly evinces no special intelli- gence, for I am perhaps quite as well off, and quite as useful, seated as standing. In a moment the paroxysm has passed off and I start forth to see what damage has been done. So long, however, as the fear was in the ascendency my mental activity was of the most futile, inefficient character. At great conflagrations, where persons become panic-stricken under the continued influence of terror, a similar thing is observed. Either they sit cowering in a half-dazed condition, or they rush madly and aimlessly about. Eational conduct has fled, and consciousness has become almost extinct, or else a mere riot of impulses. Embarrassment. — In profound embarrassment everyone who is capable of the emotion will recognise the applicability of our description. We find ourselves speechless, not simply because the mouth is dry and the tongue paralysed, but also because our thoughts have fled. We have been suddenly re- duced to the mental condition of a vegetable, growing rooted to the spot where we stand, a vital mass destitute of informing intelligence. Grief and Anger. — The prostrating effect of deep grief is nowhere more flagrant and more distressing than in the total inability of the mind to get away from the source of its sor- row and take up the direction of necessary activities. For a person deeply afflicted, freedom of will and action is a sheer delusion. The mind refuses to operate, save in reiterated contemplation of its loss. In anger^ on the other hand^ it may be at first supposed that mental and motor activity are alike enhanced, rather than otherwise. But this impression proves erroneous upon a closer inspection of the facts. The THE NATURE OF EMOTION 321 immediate and instantaneous effect of anger is precisely like that of the other emotions we have just mentioned^ i, e., the temporary checking of directive conscious processes. The checking is often only momentary^ and is then frequently followed by a torrential motor discharge of a more or less efficient kind^ which readily serves to obscure the preceding and invariable inhibition. In children one often sees this latent period^ during which the storm is getting up its destruc- tive forces. Presently the apoplectic silence is broken by an outburst^ which harks back in its violence to periods long antecedent to the dawn of civilisation. Emotion a Phenomenon of Interrupted Conscious Action. — This break in the adaptive movements under the supervision of consciousness^ which we should observe in all emotions if we took time to analyse all of them, is reflected in the organic reactions which we have already described. The stimulations to which consciousness is responding from moment to moment must drain off through motor channels of some kind. So long as they do not possess emotional vividness they call forth either simple reflex responses, or habitual coordinations un- der conscious control. The moment the stimulus takes on an emotional hue, however, as we have just seen, the guidance of consciousness is more or less abridged; the motor channels of acquired coordinated voluntary movements are consequently somewhat obstructed, and the only alternative is an overflow of the nervous currents into the involuntary pathways and the instinctive hereditary pathways of the voluntary system. On the neural side, therefore, the profuse motor reaction in emotion represents the discharge of dammed-up impulses which cannot find egress through the sluice-ways of ordinary voluntary movements. Meaning of the Interruption and Overflow. — Taken in their entirety, what do these two great bodies of fact point to, re- garding the function of emotion, i. e., (1) the temporary sus- pension of voluntary control in the forward movement of con- 322 PSYCHOLOGY sciousness^ and (2) the overflow of motor impulses into channels leading partly to the involuntary muscles and partly through hereditary influences to the voluntary system? Stated differently: what makes a situation emotional and why does it lead to these results which we have designated? Conditions Upon Which the Appearance of Emotion De- pends. — We seem entitled to conclude that any situation is emotional in which an impediment to the ongoing activity is encountered so serious as to break up the progress of the consciously directed coordinations occurring at the moment^ and of a character requiring a definitely new adaptive reaction of consciousness in order to surmount it. The case represents in a way the very conditions under which we found consciousness first coming to light. An individual we may suppose is going about his business^ doing one thing or an- other^ for which he has already attained accurate coordinated reactions. He is considering^ perhaps^, the wisdom of a cer- tain purchase while his hand writes out a communication upon the subject. Here we have conscious direction of com- mercial activities through the motor coordinations of the hand. A telegram is put before him reporting the failure of his bank and the loss of his fortune. Such an event may or may not cause an emotion. It depends on the individual^ not on the event. But if it does produce an emotion^ thei^e will instantly A be a break in his coordinated and consciously directed move- ments. The writing will cease^, he may gasp^ and drop back in his chair^ his mind may refuse to work for a few moments^ and he must accommodate himself to the new situation^ rep- resented by the idea of his loss^ before he can act intelligently. The news contained in the despatch has simply erected a mental barrier across the path of his letter-writing. Con- sciousness cannot instantly adapt itself to the new situation, and in the meantime the motor energy overflows in what we call the expressions of emotion. If it be true that consciousness tends to appear where the THE NATURE OF EMOTION 323 reflex and hereditary responses of the organism are inade- quate to cope with the demands of the environment^ we may say with equal truth that emotions appear whenever there is conflict among the motor impulses called forth by any special situation. Both cases demand fresh adjustments of con- sciousness for the securing of efficient action. The significance of emotion as a fact of consciousness would seem^ therefore, to be resident in this monitory function^ represented by its compelling announcement of needed adjustments^ its report of unstable equilibrium. At all events this is evidently the part it plays, be its teleology what it may, and obviously this conflict with an impediment in the course of carrying out coordinated activities is the universal occasion of its appearance. Such a view as this flnds its most immediate and striking confirmation in the depressive emotions like fear, grief, and embarrassment, but it is not less true of the more sinister emotions, such as anger and jealousy, and it seems to be obvious enough in certain moral crises, in which we speak of the '^ pangs of conscience.^^ The period of abortive voluntary control is often brief, and frequently the resumption of co- ordinated action antedates very much the cessation of the organic emotional disturbances. One suffering the depths of grief may thus take up again the weary round of a blighted life, despite the gnawing pain at the heart and the constant presence of the face that has gone. When we turn to the more mirthful emotions, it may not appear so certain that the same principle maintains, yet careful observation will assure us that it does. Take the case of a man making out his accounts who sud- denly learns that he has fallen heir to a million dollars, to a grandson, to a beautiful estate, or anything else which he may be supposed eagerly to desire. Is his consciousness momentarily disconcerted by anything fairly to be called- a barrier? Undoubtedly this is so. If the experience is really 324 PSYCHOLOGY unexpected^ so that he gets a distinct thrill of joy from it^ one may be sure of finding that his condition is for a little time one of genial insanity. Ideas may flow in profuse inco- herency. But the nearest approach to coordinated, move- ments are those of laughter (one of the channels of undirected motor overflow) and the inane movements of hands and feet. Not for some moments does it occur to him to telegraph his wif e^ to " treat ^^ the assembled company^ or do any other intelligent thing. So far as concerns the suppression of well-ordered movements and rationally conceived conscious processes^ joy is no exception to the other emotions we have described. It traverses our common prejudices to designate the objects of joy as in any true sense barriers or impedi- ments to us. But the " barrier ^^ characteristic of emotions only has reference to the processes going forward at the mo- ment^ and^ with reference to these^ objects of the joy-produc- ing kind are as truly obstacles and interruptions as those which occasion grief or fear. Our appreciation of wit and humour involves a precisely similar form of readjustment. The joke is par excellence the typical stimulus provocative of disorganising tendencies in our coordinations. We listen to the skilful raconteur^ our minds following step by step the evolution of the epic^ and then^ presto ! the unexpected occurs^ our minds react to the shock with an appreciation of the anomalies of the situation. The motor discharge in laughter announces the relief of the energy pent up momentarily by the unforeseen denouement^ and the total experience constitutes our feeling of the funny^ the odd^ or the amusing. On the whole^ then^ there seems no reason to question the essential validity of this general view of the function of emo- tion and the conditions which call it forth. We may^ there- fore^ revert with advantage to certain points in our analysis of instinct which must be brought into connection with our theory of emotion. CHAPTER XIX GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION Further Relations of Emotion and Instinct. — We noticed in a previous chapter that our instinctive reactions are accom- panied by consciousness^ and we observed further that the consciousness is of the kind which is commonly designated emotional. We did not^ however^ point out the further fact that this emotional element varies very greatly in the several kinds of instinctive activities which we discussed. This variation characterises not only the qualitative features of the emotion^ but especially and conspicuously the intensity of the mental disturbance. After the considerations of the last chapter^ it is unnecessary to elaborate upon the vivid and tumultuous nature of the conscious processes in anger^ fear^ grief, and the reactions of this type. We observed in the cases cited that much of the stinging intensity of the experi- ence is derived from the afferent nervous impulses originat- ing in muscular disturbances of the digestive, circulatory, and respiratory tracts. On the other hand, in such impul- sive operations as imitation and play these intra-organic dis- turbances may be largel)^ lacking. The mind is, under such conditions, monopolised with the achievement of the objective act, and is affected much less definitely by the sensory stimu- lations of the systems just mentioned. So far as these sys- tems do contribute to modify the condition of consciousness, it is in the direction of the creation of a feeling of general bodily well-being, emanating from the vigorous normal activi- ties of the vital organs. We must conclude, therefore, that even though we are obliged to admit a minimum measure of emotional tone in all 325 326 PSYCHOLOGY instinctive or impulsive acts^ which we refer forthwith to the bodily resonance aroused by all such acts^ nevertheless^ some instinctive activities are markedly emotional^ whereas others are not. Those which are obviously of the emotional type present instances in which the motor reaction is largely confined^ so far at least as concerns its immediate signifi- cance^ to intra-organic disturbances. The defensive emotion of anger is the only one which regularly reveals any strong tendency to pass over into acts producing changes in the sur- rounding objects. Such impulses as those of play tend^ on the contrary^ to pass immediately over into acts affecting one's surroundings. In both the more and the less emotional forms of instinct the motor activities are supposedly determined by racial hereditary influences^ but in the emotional form this determination is relatively more definite^ and often more elaborate^ as in fear; whereas^ in the other form it is little more than a disposition or tendency to certain kinds of re- action^ which are^ however, highly modifiable. While we possess, then, inherited tendencies to acts which seem to affect primarily either our own organism or the environment, as the case may be, it is the former of these tendencies rather than the latter which is ordinarily called out by obstacles to our progress. Whenever such obstructions (perceptual or ideational) are encountered, the motor dis- charge is thrown back upon the vital processes of the organism itself, and straightway we have an emotion. It now remains to discover, if possible, the meaning of this situation. Genesis of Emotion. — ^We described in Chapter XV. the general theory touching the origin of instincts, but we may profitably consider again, in connection with our analysis of emotion and its variable connection with instincts, the ques- tion of the genesis of emotional consciousness. Our study of the various cognitive processes, such as per- ception and memory, and our study of affective phenomena, has enabled us to ascribe in every case some specific function. GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 3^7 or group of functions, \Yhich each process serves in the general economy of mental life. The essential problem now before us is to find the real function of emotion, and to account, if possible, for its specific forms. We have already noted its appearance under conditions of stress and tension requiring new conscious coordinations in order to permit progress, and we have connected this fact with the service of emotion as a general monitor reporting friction and the need of additional intelligent supervision. Can we, however, locate the source of this friction and give it its intelligible setting in the history of organic evolution? Can we, moreover, discover any reason for the differences in the qualities which the emotion of fear manifests when compared with grief? If the monitory character of emotion contained an adequate explanation of its function, it does not appear why these two emotions mentioned should display any such radical differ- ences. From this point of view all that is required is some index in consciousness which shall, with a maximum of certainty, attract attention to the difficulties to be overcome. The direction to which we may unquestionably look for assistance in answering these questions is that hinted at in the account of the evolution of instinct. The best exposition of this theory, and the one which we shall adopt in a general way, has been given by Dewey. His theory can hardly be called conclusively proven, but it is unquestionably the most plausible and luminous exposition of the Darwinian hypoth- esis, in connection with the Lange-James theory, which has been as yet attempted, and we shall certainly be wise in accepting it provisionally. Put briefiy, it is this: The peculiar feeling which marks each emotion off from other emotions is primarily due to the different reactions which various objects call forth. These reactions are in turn determined by circumstances, which may lie indefinitely far back in the early history of the race, but in each case they required for their effective manipulation 328 PSYCHOLOGY special forms of coordination. The coordinations which served these ends were necessarily useful^ and so tended to become fixed as organic heritages. Every emotional reaction represents^ therefore^ the survival of acts originally useful^ either in the immediate physiological way or in the indirect biological and social way. Wundt and others also recognise forms of reaction which tend to copy already established responses to stimuli^ that arouse " analogous f eelings.^^ Thus we raise the nostrils in token of moral disgust^, just as we do at a nauseous odour. In the present-day individual these originally valuable reactions are not commonly executed as they once were^ for they are no longer unequivocally useful. But they appear now in the form of attitudes^ or tendencies to action^ which are^, however^ in part inhibited from expres- sion. This inhibition is due to the fact that^ owing to our personal experience and our present complex structure^, the emotional stimulus tends to produce two or more different motor reactions^ instead of producing simply the old^ in- stinctive^ hereditary one. The emotion itself is in essence our consciousness of the conflict between the several reactions which the stimulus tends to call forth. The conflict subsides only when the two or more groups of nascently aroused co- ordinations are in some way unified and brought into a larger and more inclusive coordination. Were there no such tenden- cies to specific forms of movement originally appropriate to special conditions^ undoubtedly emotions would be either all alike^ or else utterly irregular and disorderly. One or two illustrations may serve, in connection with our previous analysis, to make this general hypothesis clear. Illustration of the Principle. — Suppose that in walking across a meadow we are suddenly beset by an irate bull. So far as the bull is an interesting and unfamiliar object the visual impression which we get of him undoubtedly tends to bring about such movements as may permit us to examine him more closely. Such tendencies involve move- GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 3^9 ments of approach. In so far^ on the other hand, as he is a roaring, devastating mass, indulging a high momentum in our direction, he equally stimulates motions of defence and retreat. ]^ow, however it may be with the first group, this second group of tendencies is very largely instinctive in origin, and involves movements which unquestionably were originally of practical utility, whatever their present worth, e, g,^ the breathing temporarily checked, as on all occasions immediately preparatory to severe effort; the increasing rapidity of heart- beat, with its consequent augmentation of the circulatory efficiency, etc.; all making for the maximum chance of suc- cessful escape from danger. If either of these groups of impulses were carried over into immediate action it seems improbable that the emotion of fear, as we know it, would appear at all. Certainly the expression of the motor tenden- cies indicative of curious interest would not produce fear, and if the impulses looking toward retreat were absolutely alone in the field, it is altogether likely that we should have conditions akin to those which characterise the free expression of the play impulses in children, i. e., heightened sense of vitality, but no such emotion as fear. Evidently these two groups of impulses called forth by the ominously interesting bull cannot both be expressed simultaneously, and in point of fact they tend to inhibit one another. It is the organic out- come of this conflict of impulses, of which we become so keenly conscious as the '^ emotion.^^ If the disposition usual in such cases finally conquers, we take to our heels, and at this point an instructive confirmation of our theory occasionally comes to light. If we succeed in really putting our luJiole minds into the running, the emotion of fear is practically at an end. We may still have exhilarating, and even exhausting, mental ex- citement, but terror has fied with our own whole-hearted flee- ing. In reality we often fail to throw ourselves thus com- pletely into the act of flight, and, instead of this, images of 33<^ PSYCHOLOGY the pursuing fate keep rising in our minds. We hear the thunder of footsteps^ and the air is rent with savage bellow- ing. Each one of these sounds may stir in us a fresh emo- tional paroxysm^ and in just the same way as the original reaction was aroused. The impulse may be now strong to turn and see how near the brute has come^ and over against this tendency is the impulse to run still faster. In this man- ner recurrent waves of emotion may overwhelm us, until haply we reach the point where free and unimpeded coor- dinations may once more fare forth. This is most apt to occur on the other side of the bulFs fence. But in any case the emotion evaporates when the mutual antagonism and in- hibition of impulses cease, and not until then. A Difficulty. — It may occur to someone to inquire what becomes, on the basis of this theory, of the emotional outbursts of fear on the part of little children, too young to have Jcnowl- edge of the objects serving as stimuli, and, therefore, too young to have any of the acquired tendencies to reaction of which we have spoken, and to which we have assigned so im- portant a part. We have, for example, previously mentioned the fear which children sometimes manifest of fur. The reply to this query is that such seizures are not, properly speaking, emotional at all in the sense in which adult life experiences emotion. True emotion distinctly implicates an element of knowledge. We are afraid of this, that, or the other thing of which we know something which inspires our dread. Such reactions, therefore, on the part of children must be alto- gether on a par, as conscious processes, with the first con- sciousness of one^s organic sensations. They may be dis- agreeable, and probably are, but they no more deserve the name emotion, before there is a knowledge (however rudimen- tary) of the significance of the stimulus, than do the immedi- ate feelings of stomach-ache, of fatigue, or of general vitality. The Case of Satisfaction. — We may take, as an antithetical illustration to put alongside of our description of fear, the GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 331 emotion of satisfaction, where it might seem that we have necessarily an essential absence of conflict and inhibition. But if we examine a specific instance of emotional elation, such as that which arises from victory in an athletic contest, we instantly meet evidence confirmatory of our view. Up to the moment of final success there has, we may suppose, been an oscillation between anxiety and exultation, as the tide of victory has ebbed and flowed. On the whole, however, if the contest has been close, anxiety and tension have probably dominated in consciousness. Now that the issue is closed, and the die is cast, a tide of riotous joy surges over us. We shout, laugh, and jump, wave hats, canes, umbrellas, whatever comes to hand; our next neighbour is the recipient of jovial thumps and punches, and our whole nature expands triumphantly in unconstrained complacency. All these performances we think of as expressions of the emotion, and the analysis of the previous chapter implied that our consciousness of these movements constitutes the essen- tial differentia of the emotional psychosis from other states of mind. The point we make here is that we should not be- come so vividly aware of the movements were there not a tendency to inhibit them, exercised by tendencies to make other movements. All consciousness, to be sure, seems to be toned more or less by the sensory reactions which arise from the constant overflow of neural excitement into the muscles, and in so far every psychosis has an element of emotion in it. But it is in connection with the conflicts sometimes encoun- tered in the expression of our racially hereditary impulses that we get the full, clear case, to which the term ^^ gross emotion ^^ is occasionally applied. In the instance of our illustration the inhibitive tendencies mentioned are primarily those expressive of our anxiety, and careful introspection will unquestionably show that the real feeling of joy and satisfac- tion is precisely contemporaneous with our mental portrayal of the strife and furor of the contest. When we cease to live 33^ PSYCHOLOGY over again in memory the crucial moments of the game the emotion of joy has given way to some other more negative and quiescent state of bodily lassitude and content. It must, of course, be recognised that much which we commonly think of as mental satisfaction is really an altogether unemotional condition of placid vegetation. We stretch ourselves out after a good meal, and are at peace with the world. We are satis- fied. But this condition must not be confused with the thrill and tension of real emotion, however undiscriminating our descriptive language may be in calling both experiences states of satisfaction. The Case of Joyous Emotion. — A precisely similar situation will be found in every case of joyous emotion, whatever its cause. The lover who has at last carried lovers citadel; the business man who has cornered his market; the scientist who has proved his theory — one and all get the thrill and poignancy of joy from the stress and eagerness of conflicting impulses in which the whole nature is enlisted. On the one hand are tendencies expressive of doubt, hesitancy, conservative retreat ; on the other the expressions of forceful advance, of success and victory. The two sets of motor reactions are in unstable equilibrium, mutually inhibiting one another. The conscious- ness of our organic activities involved in this condition gives the mental background for our recognition of success, and the total psychical result is the emotion of joy. Once the victory is clearly recognised as won, and the game felt to be wholly over, our joy promptly begins to pale and fade. Moreover, let it not be supposed that intense joy is wholly unalloyed pleasure. Quite the contrary; such joy has its pain. " Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught." To be sure, the affective tone of joy is dominantly pleasur- able, and the reasons for this condition are not far to seek, as we shall presently see. But the emotion is a state of ten- GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 333 sion, and this fact is all too likely to be submerged from notice in our disposition to emphasise the objective basis of our joy^ rather than the mental experience in which it is apprehended. Why should these special expressions^ however, characterise joy rather than others — say those which characterise grief? What utility have these reactions now^ or could they ever have possessed, by virtue of which they appear in us as hereditary attitudes? The typical expression of joy is laughter, but laughter, let it be remembered, is also expressive of many other things, e. g., surprise, derision, contempt, and even the more paroxysmal forms of grief — a circumstance which ap- pears anomalous in the light of any theory other than the one herewith set forth. In all these cases the laugh is the motor activity which inevitably accompanies the explosive re- lease from sustained tension, with its suspended breathing. In our account of the attentive processes in consciousness we remarked the holding of the breath as one among other adaptive motor arrangements, all of which involve muscular tension. In joy, in the appreciation of humour, in surprise after expectation, we meet precisely this suspension of breath- ing suddenly cut short. The innervation of the vocal, facial, and breathing muscles which this involves is the laugh. Stress has often been laid upon the rhythmic nature of laughter, and undoubtedly this is an essential feature of it. But this does not distinguish it from other effective coordi- nations which are always rhythmic, and of which we shall have more to say in another chapter. Joy is, then, an emotion which, taken in its entirety, involves a measure of antecedent tension, to which the motor reaction involved in laughter and its accompanying gestures constitutes a necessary relief. The stimulus to these tensions is suddenly transformed, we behold it in a new light ; the tension may, therefore, be released, and our consciousness of the process by which the release is progressively procured, as we apprehend the stimulus in a 334 PSYCHOLOGY new way^ is the emotion. The utility of the attitude of joy should accordingly be sufficiently obvious. Utility of Emotional Attitudes. — If space permitted, and had we not already touched upon essentially the same matter in discussing instinct^ we might in a similar manner illustrate the original utilities of the attitudes peculiar to anger^ grief, and the other rudimentary emotions. Thus, Darwin has sug- gested that the rolling up of the upper lip in anger is a vestige of habits which belong to the days when men fought with their teeth. The clenching of the fists has an unmistakable implication. The sigh in grief and the sobbing which also belong to this emotion are explicable along lines resembling those we have described in connection with joy. It would undoubtedly be interesting to canvass the expressions of such familiar emotions as reverence^ hope^ remorse, gratitude,- shame, bashfulness, disgust, etc., but we must forego this. The reader must not forget, however, that the utility of these emotional attitudes is generally most evident in connection with their function in primitive conditions of life. This is certainly true of the reactions which have a definitely biologi- cal and social value in distinction from a merely physiological value. The various acts which we call expressions of emotion are simply acts which are, or once were, useful under the cir- cumstances calling forth the activity. It is, therefore, a genetic fallacy to speak as though the emotion first existed, and then sought an appropriate expression. The expressive- ness of such acts is primarily a thing which exists only for some observer. The acts are, or at all events originally were, means toward the realisation of some end which the individual has in view. The movements of my hand, as I write, are not to me expressions of my thought. They are simplj^- means to the end. No more are the emotional reactions primarily ex- pressive to the person making them. When for any of the various reasons we have remarked, and we have wholly over- GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 335 looked many^ the tendencies toward these movements come into relations of conflict with other motor tendencies^ we have emotion. This conflict ultimately gives way to a coordination in which both tendencies are brought together, or one sup- presses the other, or both are displaced by a third. In any event, consciousness moves on, and that particular emotion with which we started out is at an end. Mood and Temperament. — While emotions are called forth by specific objects, we are all familiar with the fact that for considerable periods of time we often find ourselves especially susceptible to certain forms of emotion. After receiving a piece of good news we may find every event for hours after- ward tending to take on a bright and humorous colouring. On the other hand, it is an equally common experience to find that a fit of indigestion will cast a saffron hue over the most welcome fortune. This predisposition to special forms of emotion we call mood. It seems to rest upon definite organic conditions, which sometimes appear to be originated purely by intra-organic physiological disturbances, but which sometimes are evidently due to the residual effects of past emotions. In the latter case they are practically recurrent, or continuous, emotions. In either case they afford nothing essentially novel for our inspection. Under certain conditions of intense and relatively permanent emotion we speak of the condition as one of passion. Passion, however, is a term which is used very loosely in several other connections. When we compare individuals wdth one another, one of the striking differences which we observe concerns their in- herited susceptibilities and predispositions to certain forms of emotional response. This characteristic is one of the most important elements in the constitution of what we call tem- perament. Whereas mood indicates a relatively transitory disposition toward a certain emotional tone, temperament re- fers to a permanent tendency, contributing to the very waTp and woof of character. In the conception of temperament 33^ PSYCHOLOGY intellectual and volitional attributes are also included, but the emotional factor is^ perhaps, the most significant. The classical division of temperaments into sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic may be recalled. Sentiment. — Emotions are not dependent upon bodily con- ditions alone for a soil favourable to their development. In- digestion may, indeed, render us prone to irrational irritation and depression, and blooming health may constitute an auspicious prologue to emotions of joy. But another circum- stance must be added, if we are to include all the conditioning factors. This additional consideration is found in the trains of ideas which possess our consciousness at any moment, and particularly in those general habits of thought and reflection which characterise our more distinctly intellectual life. If our customary habit of thought is of an altruistic and opti- mistic turn, there can be no question but that we shall more readily respond to emotional stimulations of the sympathetic type than if our minds are sicklied o^er with a paler and less human cast. These relatively permanent dispositions are what we designate our sentiments. Love, friendship, enmity, etc., are the names by which we know such characteristics. It will be obvious at once that the relation between sentiment and emotion is in a sense reciprocal. Our sentiments predispose us to certain kinds of emotion, — or put more truly, are the predispositions to such emotions, — ^whereas the cultivation of any emotion tends as a rule still further to fix the disposi- tion which it reflects. We observe that although emotions are conscious experi- ences which have their proximate causes in the immediately surrounding objects, they are profoundly modified by idea- tional processes and by antecedent organic conditions, certain of which may be due to temporary bodily derangements, cer- tain others of which may arise from our peculiar personal constitution, and all of which are ultimately derived from our racial heritage. GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 337 Relation of Emotion to the Rest of Consciousness. — If we undertake to connect our analysis of emotion with the account we have already given of other mental processes^ it will at once be evident that we have been dealing with a very complex psychical condition. Clearly there must always be a cognitive element in emotion. We apprehend some object^ some cir- 'cumstance^ which is what we call the cause of the emotion. This apprehension inevitably involves attention and the as- similative^ or associative^ activities which we remarked as invariably accompanying cognition. Furthermore^ we have repeatedly emphasised the strong affective tone which emo- tions display^ and many of the emotions to which we have referred had already been mentioned as ^^ feelings.^^ It seems desirable to dwell a moment upon the nature of this identifi- cation of certain emotions and feelings. It must be definitely understood at the outset that all emotions are feelings in the meaning assigned by us to the term feeling. The question we are now briefly to consider is simply that of the precise im- plication of certain of these emotions to which we had pre- viously accorded a clas^sification as feelings. Feeling and Emotion. — When we speak of sympathy we sometimes mean to indicate a definite feeling which has many of the characteristics of emotion^ and sometimes we refer sim- ply to a sentiment^ to a general attitude of mind. The same ambiguity attaches to our use of the opposite condition^ i. e,, antijDathy^ and to many other so-called feelings^ e. g.^ pride^ humility^ love^ and hate. The moral feeling of obligation, or the feeling of conscience, affords a further instance of an emotional psychosis. The feeling of dependence, which plays so essential a part in religious phenomena, the feelings of reverence and of faith, all have at times an emotional colour- ing which cannot be questioned. The aesthetic consciousness offers repeated instances of feelings which are tinged with emotion, although it must be frankly confessed that much which masquerades as j^sthetic 338 PSYCHOLOGY appreciation is^ even when sincere^ far too cold-blooded, far too strictly intellectual, to lay any claim to an emotional char- acter. The orchestral rendition of a Mendelssohn symphony may fill ns with the most genuine and delightful emotion, it may interest ns merely as a superlative achievement of tech- nique, or it may, frankly, bore us. Evidently its claim to the production of a positive and unmistakable emotion will de- pend, in part at least, on such circumstances as our mood and our musical development. But it must not be supposed that intellectual activities are, as such, necessarily devoid of all emotional context. We already know that they may possess marked affective tone. The experience of wonder is often a genuinely emotional one, and it is distinctively an emotion belonging to cognitive processes. Belief, too, is often a dis- tinctly emotional experience. Yet belief is essentially a judging process with a complicated development and an intimate dependence upon volition. The fact of the matter is that such forms of mental life as these which we have just been mentioning are astoundingly elaborate products of our developing consciousness, and al- though we find evidences here and there in them of native emotional reactions, they are, in our adult life, anyhow, inex- tricably intertwined with the results of previous personal ex- perience. This makes it impossible to regard them merely as emotions of the purely hereditary type to which the earlier analysis in this chapter has been mainly devoted. But despite this qualification, we see at once whence it is that they get their astonishing impulsive power over us. However small the seed, there can be no doubt that each of these feelings, for which our language has so complex a system of titles, con- tains within itself the hereditary racial tendencies which con- stitute and explain the imperiousness of emotion. The truth of this assertion is confirmed by the essentially social char- acter of the most important of these feelings. The social nature of ethical feeling hangs together with the necessarily GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 339 social character of righteousness. The religious feelings are not less social^ so far as they may be conveniently dis- tinguished from the moral feelings. But they find their application in a social order which transcends in part at least the imperfections of life as we know it here. The aesthetic feelings might appear to be purely personal. But a further study discloses the fact that the social element is funda- mental here^ too. This is^ of course^ exactly what we should expect of any conscious process which betrays an emotional cast^ for the emotions reflect racial habits^ and these must inevitably have a social basis. CHAPTEE XX ELEMENTAEY EEATUEES OP VOLITION" All of our study up to this point has been devoted to the several distinguishable features of consciousness by means of which mental operations are carried on. We have discussed the several phases of the cognitive activities^ such as memory^ imagination^ perception^ conception^ judgment^ and reason- ing. We have described the salient peculiarities of the af- fective processes. We have analysed the racial hereditary traces in consciousness as shown by emotion, and we have from time to time exhibited the different forms of motor co- ordinations with which the organism appears to be endowed^ and through which it executes its adjusting movements. It remains for us in the following chapters to bring these various descriptions and analyses into perspective with one another by examining in its entirety, and with much more of detail than was furnished in Chapter III.^ the development and char- acter of voluntary control. Method of Study. — Hitherto we have made it a general practice to begin our study of a given mental process by analysing its more conspicuous and characteristic features, and then, with this as a starting point, we have turned back to trace, whenever we could, the genesis and function of the process in the individual or the race. We have always laid great stress on this genetic side of the case, because it is evidently impossible to evaluate and interpret a biological phenomenon intelligently unless one knows its antecedents, and mental facts furnish no exception to this rule. But, on 340 ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 34^ the other hand, mental facts are so complex and elusive that an effort to trace the unfolding of consciousness can hardly be successful save when one has already some inkling of what to look for. In the investigation of volition we can proceed with a much larger measure of freedom than heretofore, be- cause we have already dealt with the more important elements concerned, e, g., attention, sensation, perception, ideas, and movements. We shall, therefore, after a brief analysis of these elements pass on to considerations of a primarily genetic kind. Subsequently we shall return to consider the more com- plex relations of voluntary acts. General Analysis of Volition. — When we direct our atten- tion to the immediately discernible features of voluntary acts in adult life, we note that such acts always involve foresight of some end, that this end is desired or at least consented to, and that certain muscular movements then occur which are meant to attain the end.* We observe, further, that on some occasions the mere presence of an idea carries with it in- stantly and without deliberation the execution of movement, whereas on other occasions arrival at the stage of mental consent requires long trains of reflective thought, and move- ments expressive of the decision may be postponed indefinitely. Sometimes the decision seems to be a relatively passive affair which makes itself on the basis of the facts considered. Sometimes, on the other hand, the whole self seems to be pro- jected into the choice, and the consciousness of this mandate of the will is designated by James and others as the " fiat.^^ * Inasmuch as certain decisions seem primarily to concern our trains of tliought rather than our muscular activities, as when we resolve to continue a course of reflection, our formula- tion may appear to emphasise unduly the motor features of voli- tion. But it must be remembered that voluntarily carrying on a process of thinking requires the securing of definite motor attitudes, and furthermore, that all such thinking has as. its purpose some future action, however long deferred we may expect this action to be. 342 PSYCHOLOGY Moreover, we observe that ordinarily the attainment of a decision finds the muscles already capable of carrying out the necessary coordinations, but occasionally the will can com- mand no adequate motor agents. We may readily illustrate these cases. As I sit at my desk I feel a draft. Without a moment's hesitation I rise and close the window. Here is a perceptual process, followed immediately by an appropriate movement of voluntary muscles. Again as 1 write, a word comes into my mind the spelling of which is uncertain. Instantly I turn it up in the dictionary. Here is an idea followed promptly by a movement of the volitional kind. As I proceed with my writing I come to a point where I must decide whether or not to incorporate a certain subject in my text. The merits of the question require long and careful consider- ation. Finally I decide to drop the matter from my book, and forthwith my writing goes on upon another topic. In all the cases thus far cited I have been in command of the motor coordinations needed to realise my purposes. But if I suddenly desist from writing and decide to step to the piano in the next room and indulge in a sonata, my willing be- comes a mere burlesque, for I cannot play. We may safely start, then, from the assumption that every voluntary act involves the presence in the mind of ideas anticipatory of the act. v With this doctrine as a point of departure we must examine more precisely our volitional consciousness and its relation to our movements. So far as the '' fiat '^ represents in the author's opinion a genuine feature of voli- tional processes, it will be discussed in a later chapter in connection with the consciousness of effort. It will evidently be judicious to select for our present study acts which differ as widely as possible, both as regards the muscles employed in their accomplishment and in the character of the results achieved. Let us first, then, consider a series of voluntary acts in which different muscles are concerned. ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 343 The Sensory and Ideational Elements of Control Over Vol- untary Acts. — When I wish to sing or whistle a melody, 1 observe that the appropriate mnscnlar movements follow the presence in my consciousness of auditory and kinsesthetic images. I seem first to hear the melody mentally, and to feel the sensations which come from my throat and lips when I do actually sing or whistle. In writing, on the other hand, I observe, especially in the case of words which are difficult to spell, that my movements are more or less controlled by visual imagery. I get a glimpse at a visual image of the word to be used. In this case, however, I am also often aware of auditory images of the sounds of the sequent letters as they would be heard were the word being spelled aloud. There is, moreover, a rather constant escort of kinsesthetic images aris- ing from the former sensations of the hand movements em- ployed in writing the word. I may even use as cues for the ensuing movement the kinsesthetic sensations originating in the muscular contractions of the hand. In throwing at a mark my attention is almost wholly absorbed in looking at the spot for which I am aiming. The control of the throw- ing movement in this case is largely from visual sensory cur- rents, dimly reinforced, however, by kingesthetic impressions from various parts of the body. In jumping from a standing position there is first a visual perception of the distance or height to be cleared, followed almost instantly by a setting of the various muscles of the body involved in the act, with a consequent mass of kingesthetic sensory impressions aroused by these muscular contractions. When these sensations have reached what is Judged to be an adequate quality and in- tensity, the mind says " go,'^ and the jumping occurs. These illustrations suggest that sensational or ideational processes may be used indifferently as the immediate pre- cursors of coordinated movements, and they suggest, further- more, that any kind of sensory or ideational material mayi^e used in this way. Our cases have disclosed auditory, visual, 344 PSYCHOLOGY and kingesthetic qualities^ but a further search would have revealed still other forms. If these cases seem too trivial to be fairly illustrative, we may turn to a case involving some serious practical conse- quences, e, g., the consideration of a large investment. It will, however, be seen at once that such a case promptly re- duces to the form of reasoning, and we may, therefore, with- out more ado refer back to the evidence which we presented in our discussion of that process, to show that imagery of one kind or another is a conspicuous and constant feature of it. We shall find ourselves on such occasions as that of our illus- tration passing in mental review ideas which represent the pros and cons of the proposed investment. Little by little one of these groups of ideas begins to displace the other, and to become more firmly organised in our consciousness, until at last the opposite group is altogether vanquished and devi- talised. The expression of our decision may take verbal form, or it may result in our writing a check, or making some other equally significant motor response. Types of Connection Between the Sensory-Ideational Ele- ments and Movements. — Now if we call to mind each of our illustrations we shall notice that in certain cases the idea which apparently controlled the voluntary act was an idea of the movement itself. This is partly true in the case of singing, more largely true in the case of jumping, where peripherally aroused impressions dominate over those cen- trally aroused. That is to say, in certain instances kinses- thetic sensations and images furnish us the material by means of which we practically anticipate, and so control, the move- ment we wish to make. In other instances, however, the sen- sations and images have to do primarily with the results of the movements, or with something connected with these results in a secondary fashion. The auditory images used in the control of singing, whistling, and sometimes writing are cases in point. In controlling vocal movements in this v/ay we are ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 345 employing images which are copies^ in a measure^ of sensory impressions made upon the ear by the vocalisations. But when the hand movements of writing are thus controlled, we clearly have a roundabout connection between vocal spelling movements, with their auditory consequences, and hand spell- ing motions. In the case of our investment decision the ideas may have had to do entirely with the conditions of the mar- kets, the vitality of our own bank account, etc., and the act which expressed the decision, e. g., signing our name to a cheek, may never once have come to mind until the deed was about to be executed. We must recognise from these observa- tions that the ideas and sensations by means of which we supervise our movements may be of the most various char- acter, and their relations to the movements may be either very close, as in the case where they are kingesthetic, or indefinitely remote. James employs a useful pair of terms in calling those ideas of movement which originate in the part of the body moved, ^^ resident,^^ designating all other ideas which arise from the consequences of the movement, ^^ remote.'^ It must be added, however, that in practice the severance of the two from one another is in most persons by no means so com- plete as his description implies. After we have commented upon another important characteristic of these volitional acts we must attempt to discover just how it comes about that the various forms of sensation and imagery which we have noted attain their connection with the relevant movements. Attention and Volition. — More fundamental, perhaps, in volitional processes than the controlling imagery is the fact of attention. 'No idea can dominate our movements which does not catch and hold our attention. Indeed,^volition as a strictly mental affair is neither more nor less than a matter of attention.^ When we can keep our attention firmly fixed upon a line of conduct, to the exclusion of all competitors, our decision is already made. In all difiicult decisions the stress of the situation exists primarily in the tension between 346 PSYCHOLOGY the ideas representing the alternatives. First one and then another of the possibilities forces itself upon us, and our at- tention will not rest for more than a moment or two upon any- single one. The chapter upon attention brought to our notice a number of reasons for believing this process to be a universal feature of consciousness, and we can feel no sur- prise, therefore, to find it playing a dominant role in volition where consciousness displays its most significant character- . istics. (it is by means of our ideas that we anticipate the fu- ture and project for ourselves the lines of our conduct, but it is by means of attention that we actually succeed in making some one of these anticipatory ideas real in the form of action.^ Attention must have something to work upon, and this some- thing is supplied in the form of sensational and ideational presentations. Attention is the function by means of which mental possibility becomes motor actuality. ^'With this fact in mind our next business must be the tracing of the develop- ment by means of which the various kinds of ideas which we find ourselves using to control our movements come to have this peculiar power. This undertaking involves our turning back to the conditions in infancy and early childhood, during which most of our important coordinations are established. Primitive Motor Consciousness.-— The primitive conscious- ness of the new-born child is confronted not only by the ob- jects of the external world outside the organism, it is also in frequent receipt of impressions from those muscular move- ments of the organism itself to which we have so often re- ferred. The vague precursors in the child^s mind of his subsequent clearly recognised perceptions and ideas of move- ment are thus primordial. In any event, consciousness with the germ of attention in it is present from the beginning, and the stimulations of which it must immediately become aware, in however vague and inarticulate a manner, are in part, from the very outset, sensory stimulations aroused by mus- ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 347 cular movements. So far as consciousness is concerned^ then^ sensation and movement come into existence together; for consciousness they are really one. Transition From Random to Controlled Movements. — ^We have already had occasion in earlier chapters to inventory the capital of motor coordinations with which the new-born babe is endowed^ and we have fonnd it confined to a few simple reflex movements, for the most part poorly executed, to a few possibly " spontaneous movements/^ and to a store of auto- matic activities concerned with respiration, circulation, and nutrition. Voluntary action in any proper sense is wholly wanting, and this finds its immediate explanation in two con- siderations: (1) the psychological fact that voluntary action implies action toward some recognised end which the absence of experience necessarily precludes; and (2) the physiological fact that the cortical centres are still too imperfectly devel- oped to afford interconnections between the sense organs and the voluntary muscles. The latter consideration is, of course, fatal to any immediate development of voluntary control, but even were the nervous system functionally mature at birth, the first difficulty would prevent the rapid establishing of such control. In our description of impulsive activities in Chapter III. we noticed that little by little the merely random move- ments of infancy become coordinated with reference to cer- tain sorts of stimuli, until by the end of the third or fourth week, with most children, the eye movements can be con- trolled, and by the end of the twenty-fourth month all the more important rudimentary muscular movements can be executed. Now, what are the intermediate steps between this period of merely reflex, or random, impulsive activity with which the child begins life and the period of voluntary motor control ? Elementary Principles of Transition. — We may lay down two general propositions to start with, which must be continu- ally borne in mind in order to avoid misapprehension. These 34^ PSYCHOLOGY principles^ which are sustained by all observation^ are: (1) that all voluntary control is built upon a foundation of move- ments which are already going on in an impulsive way; and (2) that the development of control^ although from the be- ginning it extends in a measure^ perhaps, to all the voluntary muscles, proceeds more rapidly, now in one group and now in another. Broadly speaking, the larger muscles are first brought under accurate control, while later on the more deli- cate movements of the small muscles are acquired; a fact which should be taken into account in the early occupations of children. This law of periodic or rhythmic growth char- acterises all mental and bodily development. A child may have fairly good control of its eye movements, while the arm movements are still vague and inaccurate; and it may have acquired considerable dexterity with its hands, while still unable to command its feet with much success. Volition must not, then, be thought of as a process in which conscious- ness somehow brings into life movements which previously did not exist. The problem of the evolution of control is the problem connected with the coordinating, in reference to certain ends, of movements already occurring in an unco- ordinated way. We are under no obligation to explain the existence of the movements. They are already in evidence. Our problem is simply concerned with the method of their systematisation, and their organisation, in connection with consciousness. Law of Excess Discharge. — We may profitably select for examination a case illustrative of one typical form in which control over these unordered movements is secured. Let us suppose that a bright and noisy rattle is presented to the notice of a child who has learned to focus his eyes, but who is as yet unable to reach intelligently for objects. How does the child learn to grasp such an object, which he sees and hears ? The rattle stimulates at once both eye and ear. The child^s first reaction is, perhaps, one of astonished inspection, ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 349 as he gazes at this unfamiliar thing. The noise continues and the bright colour catches the attention. The sensory cur- rents from the two sense organs find no adequate drainage channels in the motor attitude involved in watching, conse- quently they begin to overflow into other channels. Now there are already established^, as we have remarked a number of times^ pervious pathways leading centrifugally awa}^ from the motor regions of the central system. These are the path- ways employed in the impulsive^ instinctive movements^ etc. The overflow from our sensory disturbances naturally tends^ therefore^ to pass off in these directions^ and presently we see that the child is moving his hands and arms and head more or less violently^ and often the muscles of the trunk and legs are also much affected. First Accidental Success. — At first these movements are inevitably spasmodic^ vague, and uncoordinated. They sim- ply suggest, as we observe them, some sort of explosion in the motor centres. We say that the child is interested by the rattle, that he wants to get it, and no doubt his consciousness is much agitated by the experience. But we must guard against the fallacious supposition that he wants the rattle in any such conscious intelligent manner as an adult might desire an object. The child may be acting as he does simply because his nerves make him do so, just as one sneezes when sufficient pepper is introduced into the nostrils, not because one necessarily wants to sneeze^ but because it is impossible to help it. Whatever may be the outcome of the first exposure to such a stimulus as this, the continued presence of the rattle for a few moments is very likely to result in some movement of the arms adequate for grasping it. It will be remembered that the grasping instinct is among the most primitive of all. This successful grasping may not occur until the rattle has been held out in this way a number of times. But the activi- ties which we have described are those which commonly- pre- cede such success, whether it be attained quickly or slowly. 350 PSYCHOLOGY Pleasurable Tone of Accidental Success.— The first step, therefore^ in securing voluntary control of the hand and arm under such circumstances is based upon the tendency of the sensory stimulations to produce diffused motor discharges throughout many muscles of the body. Certain of these motor activities result in changing the stimulus in some way. The next problem is^ therefore^ concerned with the conse- quences of this fact^ which in the case of our illustration consists in the successful grasping of the rattle. Such an act affords a new and generally delightful surprise^ and in this fact is found the reason for its importance in furthering the volitional control. According to the general law of habit which we have so often invoked^ the persistent drainage of the sensory im- pulses set up by the rattle^ out through the miscellaneous motor channels of the nervous system^ would establish a cer- tain predisposition in these impulses to pour out through these same channels whenever the rattle was observed. This seems^ indeed^ to be the fact. But when the rattle is actually grasped we have a new stimulus immediately introduced. In place of the rattle seen-and-heard^ we have now the rattle felt-and-heard-and-seen-moving-with-the-hand. These dis- tinctions^ of course^ cannot exist for the baby with any such definiteness as they do for us who are looking on. But they exist as differences actually felt, however inadequately they might be described^ supposing the child were able to express himself. The mere change of the stimulus visually attended to must, then, under the supposed conditions, serve momentar- ily at least to intensify the child's attention to the total situa- tion. Furthermore, the grasping of the object, involving as it does a definite motor coordination of an efficient kind, is per se agreeable, i. e., it is a normal activity of functions (in this instance instinctive) adequate to the demands laid upon them. The result of success in the reaching and grasping, with its heightened conscious tone, will accordingly accentuate the ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 351 disposition to fix in the form of habit the total series of re- actions which have led np to this outcome. It now remains to observe how the child avails himself of the progress thus far attained to master completely the movements concerned. Progress After First Success. — In the first place^ observa- tion will at once disclose the fact that from this point on progress is generally slow and tentative^ differing markedly in this respect from certain features of the process by which adults learn new coordinations. A considerable number of attempts may be necessary before the baby can repeat promptly his first successful movement. When the coordi- nation is actually well matured^ two striking characteristics distinguish it from the predecessors out of which it has grown. It is accurate^ not hesitant nor vague^ and it in- volves only the muscles actually necessary for its perform- ance^ instead of many others in various parts of the body. How have these useless movements been eliminated? We cannot reply to this question with as much definiteness and detail as is desirable^ but the general nature of the process seems to be somewhat as follows. Elimination of Useless Movements. — The baby^s conscious- ness is all the time vividlv enlisted in the movements which he is making, but the rattle furnishes the constant focus for these, and for the baby^s attention. Of all the movements which are made, those are most likely to get notice which are most intimately connected with the immediate field of atten- tion. Needless to say, these are the movements of the child^s own hands and arms, which he must see whenever thev chance to approach the rattle, and which he must vaguely feel as often as they move. So far, then, as the rattle is the centre of the baby^s attention, those sensations will receive most emphasis in consciousness which are most immediately connected with it, which coalesce most readily with it into a single experience, changing when it changes, remaining unchanged w^hen tt is unchanged. 352 PSYCHOLOGY Once again^ let it not be supposed that we are for a moment oflfering such an analysis as the above as an account of any- thing present reflectively to the child. His naivete may be as great as possible. We are simply describing the kinds of sensations which must apparently get most conspicuous repre- sentation in his consciousness. It would seem^ then^ that the movements of the hand and arm would get most vivid atten- tion among the various random movements of the body^ and that of the several movements which the hand and arms might accidentally execute^ those again would receive most emphasis which actually resulted in grasping the object. The situation seems to hinge for the explanation of its develop- ment into controlled movement^ with lapse of useless move- ments^ upon the pleasurable fixation of attention on the rattle and the consequent emphasis of all sensations caused by movements affecting this centre of attention. Such move- ments as regularly affect the rattle are thereby necessarily emphasised^ so long as the rattle is the object of attention^ and the predisposition for the sensory impulses to drain out through them is heightened. The others fall away largely because the neural energy is adequately provided for in these new-formed pathways. But they do not fall away at once^ and the effective coordination is not set up at once. The process is sloW;, and gives every indication of being a real growth. The Case of Ideational Control. — If this account be ac- cepted^ it suggests an explanation of how it might come about that when an interesting object was placed before a child he might be able to reach it. Our explanation thus far has been cast in terms of the law of habit, operating under the intensi- fying effects of agreeable attention upon motor discharges of an impulsive and excess-discharge type. But what explana- tion does it afford of the ability voluntarily to control the hand and arm movements of this kind when a stimulating object is wanting? How does it account for the origin of ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 353 such ideational control as was evidenced in our analysis of adult volition at the beginning of the. chapter? If we have been correct thus far in onr account of the manner in which movements of the voluntary muscles become coordinated in response to certain sensory stimulations^ it ought not to be difficult to get at the manner in which idea- tional processes secure the same result. The facts upon which the correct explanation rests were discussed in the •chapters beginning with perception^ memory^ and imagin- ation. All centrally initiated imagery is ultimately derived from antecedent sensory sources^ and like its sensory pre- cursors it all tends to be converted sooner or later into motor ax^tivity. In asking how ideas come to set up movements^ therefore^ our only problem is how particular ideas come to be followed by particular appropriate movements. The tendency to produce motor changes of some kind is an innate characteristic of all imagery processes. In this sense all our ideas are motor. Or^ as certain psychologists would put it. all consciousness is conative. The real question is^ why an idea should ever fail to produce a movement^ and we antici- pate our discussion so far as to say forthwith that such failure is due simply and solely to the inhibiting effect of some other ideational process, which is also struggling for motor expression. In connection with our first illustration of the attainment of control over an eye-hand coordination, we have traced the process by which needless movements are eliminated and accurate efficient ones become fixed. So far as memory im- ages of these movements have been forming and gaining dura- bility in the course of the development, those images have evidently had most opportunity for emphasis which have been constantly connected with the successful coordinations. They are, therefore, most likely to persist in consciousness. Neural Habit and Ideational Control. — The explanation of the fact that such ideas are able to call forth the movements 354 PSYCHOLOGY desired seems to rest wholly upon the principle of neural habit. The appearance in consciousness of the idea of the movement means in the first instance a re-excitation neurally of a certain central portion of a sensory-motor arc. Granted that such an excitation takes place^ whatever its neural antecedents^ we can feel sure^ from the polar nature of ner- vous currents^ that it will issue in a motor discharge. The ideational process simply reinstates^ as we have so often noted heretofore^ the latter portion of a previous sensory-motor process. This relation is exhibited graphically^ although with extreme simplification of the actual f acts^ in the accom- panying diagram (figure 60), in which 88SM represents S Fig. 60. The pathway from ^ to M represents the course of a sensory stimulus passing from a sense organ to a muscle through cortical centres. The pathway / to M represents the course of an ideationally, or centrally, aroused neural ac- tivity traversing in part the same pathway as the previous sensory stimulus, and issuing in the same muscle. the course of a sensory impulse forward into a coordinated reaction; and IIIM represents the same reaction, but in this case with its initiation in an image or idea. If it be ad- mitted, then, that we have already discovered the essential steps in the process by which movements become coordinated in reference to certain sensory stimuli, it follows inevitably from the considerations which we have brought forward in earlier chapters that a re-excitement of the central regions ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 355 connected with these sensory-motor coordinations will^ unless inhibited in some definite manner^ reproduce the same motor reactions. Imagery is the conscious factor in such central excitations. The idea of a movement is^ neurally considered, the beginning of that movement. The Learning of New Coordinations by Adults. — Having now analysed the primitive establishment of sensory and ideational motor control, it will be profitable to pause a moment and examine certain peculiarities of adult processes. It has sometimes been maintained that adults in learning any new coordination avail themselves, first, of the " resident ^^ imagery, t. e., that which represents the kinaesthetic sensation of the moving part ; and that after the coordination has been established they resort to " remote ^^ imagery, i. e., that which represents the sensory effect of the movement upon sense organs other than those in the part of the body moved. There is undoubtedly a measure of truth in this formulation, but it requires some modification before we can accept it. So far as concerns the development of coordinations in babies, it is evidently very difficult, if not impossible, to determine what kinds of imagery are employed; and, anyhow, (as we have seen) the important primary steps in the process are probably based upon the use of sensations, and not images at all. When we turn to adults and examine the facts in the case of acquir- ing a new series of coordinations, such, for example, as playing the piano, we find very great individual variation, but in general the process is of the following character: We first employ the visual impression to guide us as to the proper position for our hands. We then attempt to secure a distinct tactual-kinsesthetic impression of the feeling of the hand and fingers when their position is correct for securing certain results, e, g.^ playing the scale. For a long time the proper playing of the scale requires the control of both the visual and the tactual-kingesthetic processes, one of which is resident and one remote. Moreover, it is visual and kinges- 356 PSYCHOLOGY thetic sensory elements^ rather than images or ideas^, which are employed at the outset. After the coordination is fairly well established, the sensory control may be disregarded and either kind of imagery may then be employed to discharge the movement. As a matter of fact, when this stage is reached another and more remote form of imagery generally steps in and takes command. Playing commonly is done from a printed score, and always, save upon a few humanely constructed instruments, produces sound. When the control of the finger movements is highly developed, the sight of the score, the visual image of it, or the auditory image of the sound of the composition, may serve entirely well to bring about the movements, which seem to ^^take care of them- selves,^^ as we say. It appears, therefore, that the change in the form of imagery which we employ in the control of our movements is not to be described merely in terms of a transfer from resident to remote. The sequence of events in the most highly devel- oped cases seems to be of this character, i, e., resident-and- remote-sensations immediately connected with the movements, resident-and-remote-images immediately connected with the movement, remote-sensations-and-images mediately connected with the movement. The clue to the several steps in the onward progress will generally be found in inquiring where one^s interest is located at the moment. So long as this is necessarily in the movement itself v/hose control we de- sire^ the psychological elements will all be found gathered about this. Some of them will be resident, some remote. The moment the movement is mastered, however, interest generally moves forward to the application of the miovement in some larger undertaking, and at this stage the mental ele- ments which refer to the movement and bring it into opera- tion may be only remotely connected with it. But the connection is, nevertheless, real, however seemingly remote, and the appropriate muscular activity never follows an idea^ ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 357 unless one's previous experience has in some fashion or other established a nexus of the habit type. The functional or- ganic connection between such ideas and their motor expres- sions is just as genuine as that displayed by any other kind of ideo-motor fusion. It is only from the standpoint of the outside observer, who either does not know or else neglects the antecedent development, that the two things appear re- mote and disconnected from one another. The Disappearance of Consciousness From Controlled Co- ordinations. — It remains to emphasise once again one of the rudimentary facts about the establishment of motor control before passing on (in the next chapter) to certain of the more complex features of the process. We have repeatedly had occasion to remark that consciousness tends to disappear the moment that physiological conditions are established adequate to the supervision of the various motor adjustments necessary to the organism. The case of volition affords the conspicuous and typical instance of this disposition. When a special form of motor activity is needed, attention steps in and the psycho- physical processes which we have just described cooperate to effect a satisfactory coordination. This coordination is then deposited, so to speak, in the nervous system in the form of a habit. When further organic demands arise, this habit is ready at hand and capable of being employed with a minimum of conscious control. In this way consciousness is ever press- ing onward, supported by the reserve forces of habitual co- ordinations, which can at any moment be summoned in the conquest of new realms. Volition has thus no sooner estab- lished a habit than it turns about and employs the habit as a tool in the construction of larger, more extensive habits. In adult life almost all of one's important decisions are carried out in a practically automatic manner by established coordinations of the habit type. Writing, reading, walking, talking — what is there that one does which does not in1;he last analysis reduce to the use of acquired habits? The 35^ PSYCHOLOGY ethical and pedagogical importance of this absolutely funda- mental nature of habit^ upon which we enlarged in Chapter III.;, must be obvious. When viewed in this way one sees^, too^ why volitional processes seem at first sight to have so much of the miraculous in them. Why and how should the mere flitting of an idea through my mind lead to such remarkably complex and well-adapted acts as the playing of an aria^ the paying of a bill^ etc. ? The answer is literally impossible^ un- less we turn back and trace the progress step by step through which the coordinations have become established and come into functional connection with particular ideas. When we have made such an approach to the problem as this^ the solu- tion is seen to involve definite and intelligible laws operating in a fixed and definite way. Conscious Imitation as a Basal Type of Volition. — It will be recalled that we classified one form of imitation among the impulsive types of reaction. Psychologists are at variance with one another as to its instinctive nature. It will appear when we take up the discussion at this pointy as it did in the chapter on instinct, that certain varieties of imitation are undoubtedly not instinctive in any demonstrable manner, whereas certain other varieties of it strongly suggest this origin. Moreover, certain forms of reaction which have been called imitative are characterised by the mere repetition of a movement- regardless of its immediate provocative. Imitation in the more customary and limited sense applies properly to cases in which the action of some second person is intention- ally copied — in purpose, if not in fact. It must also be added that whereas imitation in the common implication of the term applies to acts done consciously and with definite intent, certain imitative reactions are apparently executed without any explicit purpose and with a minimum of con- scious supervision. These complexities in the modern mean- ing ascribed to the term " imitation ^^ need to be borne in mind if one is to avoid confusion. This is especially true ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 359 when one is referring to snch acts for light upon the mode in which voluntary control is attained. Primary Imitation. — The repetition of monosyllables^ such as da-da, which many babies indulge in long before they begin to use vocal sounds intelligently, may serve to illustrate the first type of imitative acts. Sometimes these sounds are closely similar to certain words which the child may have heard. But it seems questionable how far the term imitation can fairly be applied to acts of this character. In any case they belong to the form of activity which Mr. Baldwin has dubbed '' circular reactions.^^ The articulatory movements, once they are made, produce auditory and kinsesthetic sensa- tions. These sensory stimulations drain out again through the already pervious pathways leading to the same muscles, and so the process goes on more or less indefinitely. Such employment of the muscles is, within the limits of fatigue, per se agreeable, and we must suppose that even though the function of consciousness under these circumstances is largely reduced to that of a spectator, it nevertheless, as spectator, indorses the on-going activity and serves thus in some measure to fix in the habit form the neural-motor groupings which are concerned. Certainly, when one can get the child's attention the movements are commonly checked for the time being, thus suggesting that in some way they are after all in a measure dependent upon the conscious processes. Characteristics of Conscious Imitation. — Conscious imita- tion of copies set by other persons and felt by the child to be models, which he strives to duplicate, constitute a later, more complex, and possibly more important form of action. In- deed, Mr. Baldwin will have it that in this condition we meet the real beginning of volition, and to it he assigns the con- venient designation " persistent imitation.^' The term " persistent '" emphasises the fact that such imitative move- ments are made again and again in the face of partial failure, until success is finally achieved. 360 PSYCHOLOGY It must be remembered;, however^ that many consciously imitative acts are not repeated^ or at all events are repeated after long intervals and without any reference to their previous performance. Thus, a child may make a definite effort to repeat a new word that he hears his parents use. His failure may be ludicrous and it may be weeks before another effort is made. In the case of older children and adults persistent imitation is an omnipresent phenomenon. If one boy in a group jumps over a fence, every other boy feels himself under obligation to go and do likewise; and those whose efforts are below the accepted standard of excellence promptly devote themselves to correcting the defect, adopting for their pattern, so far as possible, the achievement of the leader of the group. In social life one large mass of people is always engaged in at- tempting to follow the pace of the leaders. Each smaller group has its own chief, who again sets the pattern for that group, and in no realm of life, whether aesthetic or religious, practical or theoretical, are we ever wholly free of the dis- position to imitate. What is the actual process involved in the more rudimentary expressions of this deep-seated human tendency ? The process may take place under either of two forms, seem- ingly distinct, but fundamentally alike. The imitation may be directed to repeating certain, movements, e. g., the gestures, intonation, or facial expression of some other person, or it may be concerned with the production of a result similar to some standard object set up as a model, e. g., a letter, or a figure, in which case the actual movements employed may vary consid- erably from time to time without seriously impairing the integrity of the copy. Although this instance of reproducing some visible outline is more highly evolved than certain of the earlier forms of conscious imitation, it will serve satisfactorilv to exemplify the basal facts about such activities and their relation to developing volition. It will be seen, moreover, that they are distinguished in one respect only from the type ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 3^1 of developing coordination which we first described, i. e.^ in the presence of an external standard with which their results are compared. A young child learning to write is commonly given a copy, and then the teacher takes a pen and demonstrates how it should be held, and how the writing movement should be made. -When the child essays his imitation the usual result is something of this kind: The pen is grasped with needless severity, the brows are wrinkled, the muscles of the body are tense, the breathing is spasmodic, and often the mouth is open, and the tongue discovered to be making futile move- ments in secondary imitation of the hand-tracing. Evidently the stimulus has resulted, as in other cases which we have examined, in an overflow of nervous energy into muscles which are largely irrelevant to the success of the immediate enterprise in hand. The product of this effort is compared with the copy, its failure to comply with the original is noted, and another effort is made. Or the repetition may be forth- coming simply because the act itself is agreeable, and with a splendid disregard of any disparity between copy and original. In other cases, candour compels one to admit, the next attempt is made under the influence of some one of the various forms of suasion of which the teacher mav be master. When the activity goes forward of the child^s own initiative, however, and when he is left more or less to himself, he slowly manages to improve his work both as regards faithfulness of portrayal and as regards the elimination of useless movements. Now this result is achieved in much the same manner as already described in connection with our illustrative baby and rattle, so that however fundamental these conscious imitative proc- esses may be, in putting the child in touch with his social surroundings the method of procedure adds nothing essential to the forms we have already studied. CHAPTEE XXI EELATION OF VOLITIOjST TO INTEEEST, EPPOET, AND DESIEE The foregoing chapter has brought to our notice certain of the rudimentary features of voluntary action. We have traced the general development by means of which impulsive and other primary forms of movement set up sensory excitation^ which is then appropriated by attention and converted either directly or indirectly as imagery into a mechanism of control over the movements. We have also remarked the tendency of attention in volition to produce the semi-conscious^ or non- conscious^ quasi-automatic acts which we call habits^ and its further tendency to pass on, as soon as such habitual coordin- ations are established^ to the formation of yet other habits. In the present chapter we must examine certain of the wider and more general characteristics of volition^ and especially its relations to effort^ interest^ and desire. Theory of Selective Attention in Volition.— When we de- scribed in the last chapter the manner in which choice is ac- complished by means of the selective activity of attention^ which rejects certain ideas and clings to others^ we made no special attempt to explain why attention displays these prefer- ences. Indeed^ no ultimate explanation can be given for these decisions^ any more than an ultimate explanation can be given for the constitution of the sun. But in a proximate way we can get at the reason^ and we find it is connected very closely with our whole view of the nature of organic life and the significance of mind for living creatures. 362 RELATION OF VOLITION TO INTEREST 3^3 Spontaneous Attention. — In our account of attention^ early in the book^ we emphasised the basal nature of what we called spontaneous or non-voluntary attention^ i, e., attention directed freely and without compulsion in a manner expressive of the mind's inner interests. We have recently been discussing a parallel fact in the motor region under the name of impulse. When we put these two groups of considerations together^ we find that the psychophysical organism manifests^ both on the psychical and the physiological sides^, definite projective tend- encies. Certain kinds of movement, certain kinds of objects^, appeal to us at once natively and without reflection. We come into the world, so to speak, with a bias already favour- ing certain experiences at the cost of other possible ones. Moreover, we vary from one another very markedly as regards the special directions of this bias. So far, then, as choice comes down to a question of attention to ideas, we may be sure that by virtue of this spontaneous characteristic of atten- tion certain ideas will from the first be given preference over others. If we take the situation on the level of our own adult con- sciousness, we find that we are naturally disposed to attend to those ideas which immediately interest us, rather than to those which do not. But when we ask the further question, why they interest us, we can only point again to the spontaneous and impulsive nature of attention. We get back here finally to the admission that both the hereditary and the personal history of each of us has produced differences in our impulsive and spontaneous modes of acting which we all recognise in one another, and for which we can offer no detailed explan- ation. Fortunately, however, we can point out somewhat more intimately certain of the fundamental features of in- terest as a mode of consciousness, and this we may briefly undertake. Interest. — Interest has sometimes been treated by psycholo- gists as one of the intellectual feelings. In the case of mere 364 PSYCHOLOGY curiosity the reason for this is fairly obvious. Indeed^ we mentioned curiosity as one of these feelings, when we were analysing affective consciousness. But if we consider the type of interest which we feel in an absorbing pursuit^, a game, an experiment, or a business venture, then we recognise that such interest, however truly it may display affective charac- teristics, is a phenomenon which belongs conspicuously among the conative processes of mental life. To bring out the point it is sometimes said that '' we may give attention, but we always fe^e interest.^' This statement discloses the positively active, self-expressive, self-assertive nature of in- terest. We have observed that attention is always in point of fact an expression of organic activity, but the subjective difference between listless attention to a tedious subject and the kind of attention we give to things which interest us is unmistakable. Stimulus to Interest. — Like other psychical experiences, interest always has some stimulus. HoweveT completely absorbed we may conceivably become in our own merely sub- jective feelings, interest always has some object to which it refers, and the object is definitely recognised. This gives us at once a point of identity and a point of difference between pure impulse and interest. Both are internally projective, internally expressive, but one has a recognised object tov/ard which it is directed, whereas the other at first has not. Spontaneous attention may be a primary mental activity. Interest is always secondary. It is a conscious phenomenon attaching to objects of which we have already had some ex- perience. When we seek to discover what attributes an object must possess in order to be interesting, we are forced back at once upon uninstructive generalities. We may say, for example, that all objects which call out emotion are likely to be interesting — in a broad meaning of the word. But we have instantly to admit that in the main we cannot say in advance of the actual test with each individual whether RELATION OF VOLITION TO INTEREST 365 an object will call out an emotion or not. The peculiarities of personal constitution^ the vicissitudes of personal history, the reigning mood, these and a thousand other factors may all enter in to modify the reaction. In the same general way it is sometimes said that strange things are interesting. But this statement also has limita- tions of a serious character. Things may be so strange as to be utterly meaningless to us, and in such cases we are essentially oblivious to them. The behaviour of primitive peoples confronted for the first time with the paraphernalia of civilisation is replete with illustrations of this fact. Again, the affairs of our daily routine are said to interest us, because we are accustomed to them. If this assertion of in- terest in routine were always true, which, unfortunately, perhaps, is not the case, the explanation offered for the fact is evidently in fiat contradiction with the implication of the previous instance of interest in strange things. Indeed, con- sidered impartially, it is difficult to discern any reason why either strange or familiar things should be per se interesting simply by virtue of their familiarity or strangeness. The moment we accept the view that the individual, as born into the world, has certain predispositions toward spon- taneous attention in given directions, just as he has native impulsive m.ovements, we instantly get a standpoint which renders intelligible the different forms of interest which dif- ferent individuals reveal, even though we may be quite unable to account specifically for the special interests which any particular person evinces. Attention and Interest as Organising Activities. — When we recall the fact that attention is essentially an organising activity, bringing into relation with one another the various objects toward which it is successively directed, we can readily appreciate how the existence of spontaneous attention should, at a very early date in the life of each of us, serve to estab- lish a positive and systematised predisposition to emphasise 366 PSYCHOLOGY certain interests and obliterate others. To the child of strongly artistic bent everything is absorbingly interesting which touches in any way upon art^ and all other inter- ests tend to become subservient to this^ on pain of absolute suppression. With most of us spontaneous attention runs out to welcome a miscellaneous range of objects and experi- enceS;, and the development of a single paramount interest is often slow or altogether wanting. There is nothing incompatible (crede expert o) in a boy's being thoroughly interested in both fishing and geometry. The incompatibility arises only when one interest assumes the right to control the other permanently^ or at improper seasons. While spontaneous attention is, therefore^, pri- marily responsible for the differentiation of our interests^ the subsequent course of development involves the coordination of these interests with one another. In this process we call into play in varying measures our reflective abilities and thus elaborate^ each for himself^ a certain hierarchy of inter- ests. Not that this undertaking is^ perhaps^ ever accom- plished with a definite recognition of what is in progress. But as adults we can all discern that such a process has actually been going forward in us. In childhood our inter-' ests were chaotic^ disconnected^ unordered. In maturity they are fairly well marked out and related to one another. Many of the adolescent and childish interests have disappeared alto- gether. The interests in toys and in dancing may have evaporated. In their stead we find interests in the home^, in our professions^ in certain kinds of amusement^, etc. It may be said that^ after all^ this elimination and precipi- tation of interests which we find characterising adult life is again explicable in the last resort only by the action of spon- taneous attention. This is probably true in so far as it means that in the last analysis the explanation of what vitally interests us is to be found in our native constitution. But in distinction from the cruder expressions of this spontaneous RELATION OF VOLITION TO INTEREST 367 attention in childhood and infancy^ the conditions in later life reveal a much more reflective and rational exercise of the function. Moreover, we have at this point to remember once again that man is from beginning to end a social creature; he is constantly under the pressure of social influences; and a large part of the explanation for the special directions which attention finally does take, in building up the interests of each one of us, will be found to lie in the effects of the social rewards and punishments meted out to us by our companions. Put a child into a group of religious ascetics to grow up and the chances are that the only interests which will really get opportunity to live and thrive will be those which- are conformable to the ideals of such a community. On the other haTid, let him be cast among pirates, and a totally dif- ferent group of interests will blossom forth. This is not be- cause the child is a hypocrite. It is simply because one of the most universal of all objects of spontaneous attention is found in the attitudes and actions toward us of those among whom we live. A certain amount of repression from them may not stifle a vigorous interest. But many a taste which might in a kinder social climate take root and bring forth -rich fruit dies ere it is fairly planted, because of the frosts of social disapprobation. Interest a Dynamic Phase of Consciousness. — Interest evi- dently represents the spontaneous, dynamic side of our psychical make-up. The self is in a very true sense reflected in one's interests. It would be truer to say that a person^s emotional reactions disclose his interests than to say, as is occasionally done, that his emotions call forth interest. Furthermore, in the light of our preceding analysis, it seems clear that the interest which we are said to feel in strange things finds its basis in the expansion of our selves. Not the absolutely strange thing do we find interesting, but the thing familiar enough to be vitally connected with our past experience and still novel enough to be felt as a definite en- 368 PSYCHOLOGY largement of this experience. As we saw long since^ all such expansive states of consciousness are^ other things eqnal^ intrinsically agreeable^ and they afford a definite appeal to the accommodatory function of attention. The interest of the customary^ the habitual^, has a precisely similar basis. It is only as we find ourselves and feel the experience as a real expression of ourselves that routine is interesting. What- ever is purely mechanical in it is simply disregarded in consciousness. The artist is the man above all others to whom routine is utterly delightful^ not because it is easy^ not because it fosters the caprices of his indolence^, but because it calls into action the very heart of the man himself. Moreover, let it not be overlooked that the artisan or the professional man who thus delights in his work for its own sake is in so far an artist — the carpenter, the engineer, the lawyer, and the teacher. Each is making, or doing, that which gives overt expression to his own inner nature. So far as routine is disagreeable, apart from sheer physical fatigue, it is because it does not call out an expression of the real self, nor of its keener interests. It is executed in spite of those interests, and against their violent and increasing protest. Let it be understood that we are not here discussing the ethics of routine, the righteousness nor unrighteousness of our feelings, either of satisfaction or disgust. We are simply pointing out the conditions under which routine is interesting or otherwise, and showing their connection with the sources of interest in the strange and the novel. Moral Decisions. — To many persons moral decisions which are made with great effort and under the influence of active conscience appear to be the most genuine expressions of the will, the most typical instances of volition. Such experi- ences are felt to reveal more intimately and deeply than any others the real nature of our personal character and power. The man of strong will is thus the man who can wrestle sue- RELATION OF VOLITION TO EFFORT 369 cessfully with temptation^ feeling to the uttermost the poignancy of his desire^ but still opposing to it the irresistible force of his ideal. It behooves us, in view of this widespread feeling about the significance of decision with effort, to con- sider the important facts in the case. Are we, indeed, in these decisions made conscious of some inner and unique constituent of the mind which on other occasions is wanting, or at all events lurks so surreptitiously in the background as to defy detection ? Volition and Effort. — Broadly speaking, there are three main forms of voluntary processes involving the conscious- ness of effort. We neglect for the present, at least, the case of mere physical effort, such as is involved in lifting a heavy weight. We are conscious of effort when we attempt to keep our attention upon some tedious and uninteresting subject. We are also conscious of effort when we must make some momentous decision, where a correct choice evidently involves a large number of complex considerations which we are not certain we have properly in mind, or when we are in doubt as to our possession of the precise facts. Such cases need not implicate our own personal desires on either side. Compli- cated financial problems often illustrate such situations. In both these cases, however, the feeling of effort does not at- tach primarih^ to the fact of choosing among the alternatives. It is a feeling of strain and tension which we refer to the whole intellectual process. It partakes more nearly of fatigue than of any other single namable experience of a familiar kind. The third iype of case is represented by the moral crisis in which we find ourselves beset by some im- moral but alluring project that thrills every fibre in our being with passionate desire. To this tempest of evil incli- nation there is opposed only the pale, uninteresting sense of duty ; and yet, little by little, conscience makes itself felt, and when the moment for decision comes we gather ourselves together and, throwing the whole power of our will into the 370 PSYCHOLOGY struggle^ we throttle our passion and save unsullied our fidelity to the right. Experiences of this kind have time out of mind been the mainstay of defenders of the freedom of the will. Here;, they say^ is an obvious and undeniable case where the will comes in to bring about action in the line of the greatest resistance^, instead of in the line of least resist- ance, as the mechanical philosophers insist must always occur. We must decline to enter upon the question of the freedom of the will, which metaphysics has preempted, but an analysis of the psychology of effort we may profitably undertake. Analysis of Effort. — Two antagonistic theories have been maintained about the feeling of effort in such a case as that of our last illustration. Certain psychologists have held that under such circumstances we are immediately and unmistak- ably aware of our own will. Others insist that accurate in- trospection discloses to us nothing peculiar to experiences of this character beyond the consciousness of many sensations of muscular strain which originate from the tense condition of the voluntary muscles, especially those connected with respiration. We must distinguish very sharply, in dealing with this disagreement, between the fact of volitional activity and its mental representative which informs us directly of this activity. Undoubtedly crises of the kind mentioned do involve volitional activities of the most basal character. Un- doubtedly, too, they do reflect in the most exact manner the real moral nature. But it does not follow from this that we are conscious of a conative element in consciousness akin, as an element, to sensation. The issue here is one of introspec- tive accuracy, and on the whole the evidence seems to favour the second of the two theories we have mentioned. Our con- sciousness of effort is a consciousness of the emotional kind, in which a very large group of sensations of muscular tension is present. Commonly, too, the affective tone of the ex- perience is distinctly unpleasant. RELATION OF VOLITION TO EFFORT 371 Consciousness of Mental and Moral Effort an Emotional Experience. — If we call to mind what reactions we customar- ily exhibit under circumstances of the kind suggested by our illustrations^ we find that our breathing is checked and spas- modic^ our faces set, our brows contracted, our hands clenched, etc. All the muscular attitudes contribute their sensory increments to the total consciousness of the moment, and observation certainly shows that our sense of the effort involved in a moral decision runs essentially parallel with the intensitv of these motor reactions. When the muscles are quiescent we have no keen sense of effort; when the feeling of effort is strong the muscular tensions are always in evidence. We have asserted that the consciousness of effort, so far as it belongs to ethical decisions, appears when desires are opposed to ideals. We shall discuss the nature of desire in a moment, and we shall then discover confirmatory facts tending to bear out our contention that ordinarily the feeling of mental effort (disregarding the consciousness of fatigue) is itself essen- tially emotional. Its general nature can, therefore, be iden- tified with that of the other emotions which we have already discussed. It is a Dhenomenon connected w^ith the mutual in- hibition of competing motor tendencies. Until the moment of decision has arrived these impulses are dammed up in the or- ganism itself, and we meet the consequences in the form of tense motor contractions. When the choice has been made the inhibitions fade away and coordinated movements expressive of the decision are promptly executed. It has already been suggested that ultimately the utility of these muscular rigid- ities is to be found in the added stimulation which they fur- nish us, augmenting thus the weakening momentum of our onward moving selective activities. Their function would thus be found, like that of the accommodatory movements in attention, in their contribution to the amount of conscious activity available. After all, it must not be forgotten that however much our 372 PSYCHOLOGY consciousness of effort may depend upon certain sensations of strain and tension^ the psychical import of the feeling is essentially that which the most spiritualistic psychologists h9,ve assumed. Effort means conflict within the self^ within consciousness; it means lack of harmony among our ideals and interests and aims ; it indicates imperfect systematisation and coordination among the mental processes themselves. The act by which the dominant system of interests and ideas manifests its sovereignty and executes its behests is the ^^ fiat '^ of our last chapter. All this is perfectly compatible with our finding it distinguished by certain peripheral sen- sory conditions by means of which we come subjectively to know of it. Volition and Impulse. — Although we readily recognise and admit that the volitional processes in childhood are^ in their origin^ dependent upon impulses^, it is not so obvious that adult conduct is in the same manner bound up with impulse. Nevertheless^, this is the fact^, as we shall now see. Indeed, the statement is often made that the development of volition is neither more nor less than a process of reducing our impulses to order^ and that a mature character is simply one in which the impulses are thus subordinated to some systematised principles. Instead^ therefore, of the concep- tion that a developed will or character is one in which all primitive impulses have been extirpated or repressed^ we have the conception of these impulses as continuously operative, but operative in a rational and coherent way, rather than in the chaotic fashion characterising childhood and infancy. This view is unquestionably correct in its general implica- tions, and an examination of the nature of desire will assist to exhibit the fact. Volition, Desire, and Aversion. — -Large portions of our daily acts occur with a minimum of conscious supervision and volition. This fact we have had repeated occasion to emphasise^ and we have found its explanation in the estab- RELATION OF VOLITION TO DESIRE 373 lishment of complicated habits reflecting our customary routine. There is^, however, a highly important residuum of acts in which our wills are most vividly enlisted. This group of acts appears whenever we step outside the beaten path of habit, or when habits are threatened with violation. The clerk who is tempted to cut his work in order to see a ball-game, the young man who is considering an advanta- geous offer to change his occupation, the school-boy whose at- tention to his books is diverted bv the allurino; cries of his truant comrades, these afford illustrations of the workings of desire. N"ow, if we pass in review the various things which we seriously wish for ourselves, we shall find that the vividness of the desire is proportional to the extent to which some one or more of our rudimentary impulses and emotions are enlisted. Objects which do not appeal to any of these primary instinctive reactions do not call forth intense desire. At most, we sporadically '' wish '^ for such things. But the wishing is of a relatively cold-blooded, incidental kind, utterly distinct from the hot, passionate, craving which we feel for objects of the first clfiss. Moreover, along with desire, which is the positive aspect of the phenomenon, must be mentioned aversion, which is like desire in its emotional character, but which discloses to us the negative phase of the process. The experiences in which we are conscious of the definite yearning of desire, or the positive distaste of aversion, are, therefore, those which directly or indirectly call into activity such impulses as play, love, sympathy, grief, ambition, van- ity, pride, jealousy, envy, fear, and hate. Without these or their congeners to colour the occasion we rarely meet with anything which we could justly call either desire or aversion. It hardly needs to be pointed out that in many cases desire and aversion involve several such emotional factors. Pride and love may be thus conjoined, sympathy and grief^ fear and envy. Although the term desire is generally applied to the more 374 PSYCHOLOGY intellectualised forms of cravings we must add to the list the so-called appetites. Bain has classified these as the ap- petites of hunger, thirst, sex, sleep, repose, and exercise. They are all immediately concerned with recurrent organic conditions, but they may readily be developed in such con- nections as to take on a relatively ideal character. Whether or no they come to occupy a place coordinate with the other forms of desire depends upon the degree to which they chance to secure such an integral connection with our general intellectual life and character. Desire.— In its most overt and definite manifestations desire appears, therefore, to be a form of consciousness in which the blind, impulsive character of a pure instinct is modified by a knowledge of the object which will satisfy the impulse. There is on this account, however, little or no lessening of the restless disposition or craving to express the impulse. Desire accordingly gains its power and vivacity from its impulsive nature; it gains its rationality from experience. After our emotions and instincts have been once expressed, we know in the future what to expect of them. Desire is the conscious condition which represents this knowl- edge of what an emotional impulse means. It is the craving unrest for the object which we know will give us pleasurable satisfaction. To be sure we desire some things which we know will cause us pain, but in such cases it may be fairly questioned whether there is not always, save in occasional pathological cases of the insane type, more or less reference to some secondary or ulterior gratification. The tired mother insists on watching by the bedside of her sick child, even when others are ready to take her place and spare her the exhausting ordeal. Aversion. — Aversion, on the other hand, is the precisely polar condition in which again we realise the significance of the object which is mentally present to us, and recognise, on the basis of our experience, that the realisation of it will be RELATION OF VOLITION TO DESIRE 375 disagreeable. We consequently draw back from it and strive to shun it. Paradoxical as it may seem, both desire and aversion are apt to be dominantly unpleasant; desire, be- cause of the temporary thwarting of inclination and impulse ; aversion, either because of the dread of permanent thwarting of some one or more cherished and agreeable experiences, or because of some positive menace of pain. To be sure, there is often a certain exquisite delight in this discomfort of desire, as the poets have repeatedly recognised. Basal Nature of Desire in Formation of Character, — It should be evident from the foregoing discussion that desire occupies an extremely fundamental position in the develop- ment of will and the formation of character. In the first place, the actual psychical condition presented by desire af- fords us a striking instance of the great salient features of the mind with which all our previous study has been con- cerned. In it we find elaborate thought processes at work; we find conspicuous affective factors and we see the whole onward moving conative character of consciousness brought clearly to light. Moreover, it discloses to us an epitome of the character at any given moment. / What one really desires is the best possible index of the sort of character one really possesses. CHAPTEE XXII CHARACTEE AND THE WILL Volition and Character.— Inasmuch as consciousness is a systematising^ unifying activity^ we find that with increasing maturity our impulses are commonly coordinated with one another more and more perfectly. We thus come to acquire definite and reliable habits of action. Our wills become formed. Such fixation of modes of willing constitutes char- acter. The really good man is not obliged to hesitate about etealing. His moral habits all impel him immediately and irrepressibly away from such actions. If he does hesitate^ it is in order to be sure that the suggested act is stealings not because his character is unstable. From one point of view the development of character is never com_plete^ because ex- perience is constantly presenting new aspects of life to us^ and in consequence of this fact we are always engaged in slight reconstructions of our modes of conduct and our atti- tude toward life. But in a practical common-sense way most of our important habits of reaction become fixed at a fairly early and definite time in life. The general manner of speech^ the mode of dressings purely personal manners^ etc.^ are commonly fixed before twenty-one. The general attitude toward moral and religious ideals is likely to be gained sometime during^ or just after^ adolescence. Professional habits come somewhat later. Speaking broadly, hoVf^ever^ for the average individual the dominant tone of his habitS;> social^ moral, aesthetic, and intellectual, is set by the time he is thirty. By this time the direction of his desires and his interests is likely to be finally formed, and for the rest of his life he will but elaborate and refine upon this stock of tendencies. 376 CHARACTER AND THE WILL 377 When we recall the fact that habit depends ultimately upon the preservation of physical changes in neural tissues^ we see how powerful an ally, or how frightful an enemy, one^s habits may be. The man who has led a life of kindli- ness and sobriety not only has a fund of agreeable sentiments upon which his friends and neighbours can rely, he actually could not be mean and selfish and sordid without an hercu- lean effort, for his nervous system contains imbedded in its structures the tendency to altruistic deeds. Moral Development. — When we describe the development of character as a process in which our impulses become co- ordinated with one another, we have in mind a very specific course of events. Thus, for example, the little child in learning obedience to his parents may be engaged with the impulses of love, of fear, and of anger. We may suppose that the child has been forbidden to do something. This occasions disappointment and anger. Disobedience is threatened. The parents may appeal to the child^s affection or to his fear of punishment in the effort to secure the desired action. The competing impulses must be ordered with reference to one another. Anger and obstinacy may carry the day, love may win, or fear may triumph. I^Tow, whatever the actual outcome, the set given to character by the result is undoubted and will make itself manifest on the next occasion when obedience is at stake. At first sight it might seem as though in such a ease as that of our illustration the question were not one of coordinating two impulses, but rather of allowing one to suppress the other. This is the view which many good persons take of the whole course of moral education. But this theory is based on a fatal misapprehension of both the psychological facts and the ethical desirabilities of the situation. If one judged simply by external appearances, one might assume that when the child yielded to the appeal to Jiis affection the impulse of anger was wholly rooted out. This, 37^ PSYCHOLOGY however^ is not strictly the fact. The impulse has met the obstrnction of an opposing impulse^ and the act which follows involves a coalescence of the two^ an ordering of the two with reference to one another. Obedience given under such con- ditions is far more than the mere execution of certain muscu- lar movements. It is a mental process in which the self^ with its capacities for anger and love and a thousand other emo- tions^ gives expression to its innermost nature. The tend- ency to react with anger upon any thwarting of desire is a part of the make-up of the self. The disposition to show love and obedience to the parent is also an integral part of it. When the two impulses come in conflict^ one is not merely suppressed. Eather is the tendency to action diverted into other channels by means of the substitution of the competing impulse. Under such conditions obedience is not the purely mechanical thing it may later becom^e — a things like eating or dressings which concerns sheer muscular dexterity. It is rather a vital outpouring of the self^ in which the seeming suppression of the anger is only a suppression as regards certain movements^ for the disposition to make the angry response has entered in to colour with a deeper and more lasting hue the beauty of the submission to love's dictates. All seeming suppression of impulses will be found to be based upon the expression of other impulses^ not upon sheer brute repression. To root out a bad impulse we must set some contrary impulse to work. Moreover^ in a character built up in this way the control of the morally more danger- ous desires becomes a source of increased richness and power in life. Tennyson expressed this truth when he said " That men may rise on stepping stones Of their dead selves to higher things." Only one who has really suffered can truly sympathise with grief. Only one who has been really tempted and tried can be morally altogether reliable. ' CHARACTER AND THE WILL 379 The Will. — When we bring all our considerations together, it becomes obvious that the proposition from which we set out early in our work is true in a very wide and deep sense. Mind we have found to be^ indeed^ an engine for accom- plishing the most remarkable adjustments of the organism to its life conditions. We have seen how the various features of cognitive and affective consciousness contribute each its quota to the general efficiency of the reaction which the or- ganism is able to make upon its surroundings^ physical and social. We have seen finally that in the will we have the culmination of all these activities of control. But it mu^t have been observed that we have not found any specific mental element or event to which we could give the name will. ISTo, the term will is simply a convenient appellation for the whole range of mental life viewed from the standpoint of its activity and control over movement. The whole mind active^ this is the will. To say that there is no such thing as the will (a statement which troubles many right-minded per- sons) is simply the psychologist's perverse w^ay of saying that mentally there is nothing but tvill. There is no specific mental element to be called w411, because all states of con- sciousness are in their entirety the will. We have seen this doctrine justified in the last two chap- ters, w^herein we have discovered volition concerned with impulses, with pleasure and pain, with emotion, with ideas, with sensations, with memor}^, with reasoning, and with every form and type of mental operation. We have observed the evolving control beginning with the mere master}'- of move- ments, passing from this to more and more remote ends, for the attainment of which the previously mastered movements now available as habitual coordinations are employed, until finally we find the mind setting up for itself the ideas which we csiilideals, and by means of these shaping the whole course of a lifetime. What these ideals shall be for any one of us 38o PSYCHOLOGY depends upon the operations of interest and desire, and these in turn depend in part upon the sort of tendencies which we have inherited, and in part upon the forces of our social and physical environment. We may prate as much as we please about the freedom of the will, no one of us is wholly free from the effects of these two great influences. Meantime, each one of us has all the freedom any brave, moral nature can wish, i, e., the freedom to do the best he can, firm in the belief that however puny his actual accomplishment there is no better than one's best. Training of the Will. — A deal of twaddle is sometimes indulged in as to the training of the will. The will is spoken of as though it were a race-horse which once a day requires to be given its paces about the track. What is obviously in the minds of persons who discuss the question in this way is the wisdom of some form of moral calisthenics, e, g., self-denial, constructive and aggressive altruism, etc. N"ow, it is not necessary to enter into an extended argument upon this special recommendation, although it seeras evident that apart from a deep moral interest in the thing done it could only produce moral prigs. If the moral interest is there, the artificial gymnastics will be superfluous. Life is rich in opportunities for larger and more intelligent kindliness. But disregarding this form of moral discipline, the develop- ment of volition evidently is not a thing to be hastened by any special form of exercise, because the will we have seen to be simply another name for the whole mental activity. Any purposeful intellectual occupation affords means of develop- ing certain features of control. Play develops certain other features. Art develops volitional processes in one direction, mathematics develops them in another. So far as a well- developed will consists in the ability voluntarily to direct one's attention effectively and for unlimited periods in defin- ite directions (and this certainly is a very basal conception), all thoughtful activity facilitates its attainment. CHARACTER AND THE WILL 381 Healthiness of Will. — The well-trained man is the man whose mind is stored with a fund of varied knowledge which he can promptly command when the necessity for it arises; he is the man who can keep his attention upon the problem in hand as long as necessary^ and in the face of distraction; he is, moreover, the man who, having paused long enough to see the situation correctly and to bring to bear upon it all the relevant knowledge he possesses, acts thereupon promptly and forcefully. Defects in any of these require- ments may defeat efficient action and proclaim the actor a person of feeble or defective character. The ignorant person cannot act effectively when nice dis- crimination and wide knowledge are necessary, as they often are. Even the learned person ordinarily cannot go far, pro- vided his attention is wayward and fitful. His effort is too disconnected ever to accomplish large results. The person who is flighty and precipitate is either a genius or a fool — commonly the latter. On the other hand, the hopelessly careful person, whose life is spent in a morass of doubt and indecision, balancing imponderable considerations and split- ting insignificant hairs — he, also, is likely to belong to the incompetents and inefficients. Evidently the attainment of a will which can fill all these requirements for the avoidance of pitfalls requires a training on every side of one's nature, requires a rich experience and a powerful dominant purpose running through it. All life offers us such training, and our success in building up a strong, rich character depends much more on liow we do our work than upon what work we do. There is no calling so humble that it may not afford scope for the expression and development of all the great human in- terests, if we really put ourselves into it, and not our mere labour. CHAPTEE XXIII THE SELF Before we can satisfactorily complete our sketch of the structure and function of consciousness^ we must turn our attention to the feeling of personality and selfhood. The normal human mind is never a mere string of states of con- sciousness. It is always a unitary affair in which the past, the present, and even the future are felt to hang together in an intimate personal way. In our previous study we have been obliged to examine now one aspect of the mind and now another^ but we have always emphasised this partial, piece- meal character of our method, and we must now attempt to trace in bolder outlines the contours of the whole, the salient features of the concrete, actual self. The Consciousness of Personal Identity. — ^Philosophers and psychologists have criticised with relentless vigour the tenahility of our common-sense notions of personal identity. Undoubtedly the basis of this conviction which we all have that our self continues in some way the same from moment to moment is extremely precarious from a logical and meta- physical point of view. But from the strictly psychological standpoint, so far as concerns the structure and function of consciousness, personal identity is as real as memory or at- tention. However much our thoughts may vary from time to time, however much our opinions may alter, however much our characters may seem to be transformed as the years go by, we still feel that as a personality we are somehow un- changed. We even feel this to be true, in some degree, of our bodies, which change consi^icuously as the days of childhood 382 THE SELF 3S3 pass and the period of maturity and old age comes on. It is still my body, whether I am a child or an old man^ and it has always been mine, and never for a moment capable of con- fusion with the bodj^ of any one else. When we try to discern the most important psychological contributors to this feeling of identity, we discover two which are evidently of radical significance. The first of these is memory. Were we not able to identify among our various thoughts those which represent former experiences of our own^ it is certain that any feeling of personal identity which we might have would differ fundamentally from that which we now possess. Undoubtedly that peculiar use of the mem- ory process which we call anticipation plays an important part in this connection. The second factor is a persistent background consciousness of our own organism. When the bodily sensations and feelings are seriously deranged we always experience a strange sense of uneasiness and distress which is often wholly out of proportion to any actual pain that we may be suffering. Our general sense of bodily ex- istence^ then^ gives a fairly constant tone to our consciousness, and thus furnishes a certain impression of sameness or con- tinuit)^ Beyond question there are other phases of con- sciousness which contribute their quota toward the same end. But these two are certainly preeminent. It is a remarkable fact that our sense of the identity and continuity of our own personality is essentially unaffected by the interruptions which occur in the onflowing of conscious- ness. In coma, as in sleep^ consciousness may^ so far as we can discover^ be wholly suspended. Yet upon its return it once more claims its own from out of the past, and under such circumstances it ordinarily manifests no disturbance whatever of the feeling of personal identity. Subject-Object Nature of Consciousness. — If we examine from a more critical and reflective point of view the implica- tions of consciousness for the concept of the self, we come 384 PSYCHOLOGY upon certain suggestive facts. To be conscious of an object involves not only some mental presentation of the object^ but also some subject to whom it is presented. Con — -sciousness (knowledge over against something, for some one) has no other possible meaning than just this. Indeed;, so irrefutable does this idea of consciousness appear to be^, that it has but rarely been called in question, although many of the infer- ences which have been founded upon it have been severely, and often justly, attacked. This fact of the bipolar nature of consciousness has been the basis of many doctrines and has been designated by many different terms. Thus, James speaks of the self as '^ knower '^ and " known,^^ of the '^ I ^^ and the " me.^^ Kant recognises the empirical self and the pure Ego, There are advantages and disadvantages attaching to each of these terms, and there can hardly be said to be any accepted usage. The reader is, therefore, free to accept that which best pleases him. Meantime, it must be clear that all of our descriptions and analyses of the foregoing chapters have had primarily to do with the object half of consciousness, the content side of the mind. Perceptions, images, emotions — ^the things we are aware of — all belong to this objective phase of consciousness. To be sure, we could not apparently be aware of such ex- periences were it not for the subject phase of the mind. But once we have admitted the reality of this subject factor, we seem to have done all we can v/ith it. It persistently avoids direct observation, because, forsooth, it is itself the observer. If we regard the self as characterised by these two indis- soluble aspects, and inquire what then becomes of personal identity, we have to admit at once that there can be no un- changing nature in the object side of consciousness. The contents of consciousness are constantly undergoing altera- tion, and we noticed in an earlier chapter that we probably THE SELF 385 never have exactly the same thought twice. Identity of any thorough-going kind is thus out of the question here. Of the subject side of consciousness it seems impossible to predi- cate anything save its existence. Its function, to be sure, must apparently remain fixed. It m.ust always be the knower annealing the various elements of our experience into some sort of unity. But beyond this functional identity, which we can infer with some confidence, we have little evi- dence as to any of its possible attributes. Clearly, then, the personal identity in which common-sense believes rests on the evidence of some of the more unreflective and immediate influences such as we mentioned a few lines above. We may remark in passing that this necessity for a subject of our states of consciousness has constituted one of the strongest rational considerations adducible in support of the belief in the soul. But it is to be said, on the other hand, that there are logically possible alternatives to this identifica- tion of the knower with the soul, so that we cannot defensibly be dogmatic even here. Consciousness as Internal and External. — Before leaving this general topic one more distinction must be mentioned. Consciousness, when considered merely in its objective aspect, may be thought of in either of two ways. Thus, a perception of a cart may be thought of as external^ in so far as it reports to me something outside my mind. But in so far as the perception is my experience, it may be thought of as internal. It is sometimes said, accordingly, that all consciousness viewed as external is essentially cognitive, knowledge-bring- ing; whereas, viewed as internal, it is feeling, self -reflecting. Certain of the classifications of feeling to which we referred in earlier chapters are based upon this conception of the internal reference discernible in all consciousness. But it should be evident at once that this distinction is by no means synonymous with that between the subject and object aspects of mental life. 386 PSYCHOLOGY Development of the Consciousness of Self. — Despite the extensive study given of late to the subject of this section bj^ Baldwin (to whom the author is indebted for certain views) and others, we cannot as yet be said to have any generally accepted theory, and the description which follows is offered tentatively as the author^s present conception. It seems reasonably certain that the distinction which the child at an early age makes between his own personality and that of others is as completely submerged in the vague con- scious continuum of infancy as is the distinction betv/een different sensations. When it begins definitely to differen- tiate, it seems not unlikely that the first step consists in remarking the differences which characterise the behaviour of persons and the behaviour of things. Things and persons thus get set over against one another. Things are relatively stable and fixed in their actions. Persons, on the other hand, are highly irregular and unpredictable. Of course, the child^s consciousness of both things and persons is from the beginning his own private personal experience. But it may safely be asserted that there is no awareness of the self in a ^^ self-conscious ^^ way until the vague apprehension is at- tained of other persons as distinct from things. As the child gradually attains control over his movements, things tend in certain particulars to obey his impulses in a more immediate way than do persons. They can be seen, reached, touched, and moved more confidently and more regularly than persons. On the other hand, they show them- selves altogether more imperturbable than persons to indirect modes of control. If the child cries, parent or nurse promptly responds. Things remain just where they were. Furthermore, persons show themselves able to furnish many comforting and agreeable experiences in the way of caresses, food, and clothing, which things of their own initiative rarely or never afford. The .moment imitation becomes possible, persons offer the most satisfactory stimuli. What THE SELF 387 they do can^ by virtue of the similarity of structure in vari- ous organisms, often be approximated by the child. We might mention other distinctions which the child must feel, but these will suffice to suggest the lines along which the de- velopment takes place. When this resolution of the objective world into persons and things is once achieved, there is every reason to think that the precipitation of self-consciousness follows close at hand, if it be not, indeed, synchronous with it. The whole process must in the nature of the case be extremely inchoate and protoplasmic in character. N'evertheless, it must contain within it the essential elements for the more elaborate differ- entiations of adult life. Moreover, if this be in any way a true account of the genesis of self-consciousness, it is evident that such consciousness will, from the outset, be social in its constitution. The child remarks certain objects which be- have in a manner altogether distinct from other objects. These he comes to recognise as individuals, which he later calls persons. Something like their independence of action he comes to feel in himself. He naturallv identifies himself with them, and thus gives to his first dimly recognised con- sciousness of self the social JialUmarTc, Needless to add, after what has gone before in this book, the actual content of his consciousness is always in larger or smaller measure social. The relations in which he finds himself are social. The criteria for the reality of many of the things which he is called upon to accept are social. Language is social. By imitation he is plunged at once into social usages, and did space permit, and were it necessary, we might trace out the whole gamut of social infiuences which bound his self-hood on every side. But our primary point here is that the first definite self-consciousness of the child is a consciousness in which he identifies himself in some sort with others, defines himself in terms of agreement or disagreement with others. The fact should be emphasised, however, that the element 388 PSYCHOLOGY of disagreement is quite as important, both for the child and for society, as the element of agreement or imitation. Every individual is in some sense a variant from the human norm, and in so far he is a contributor to the richness of human life and achievement. This variation may take the form of trivial peculiarities of manner and speech, of inventions of a scientific and practical character, of reforms in morals or art ; or it may be embodied in the harmless enthusiasms of a crank, or in the dangerous prepossessions of a lunatic. In each and every case the individual is making his addition to the store of social possessions. In finding that his consciousness of self necessitates his projecting himself against society, we must not, then, for a moment suppose that this means that he merely imitates others, and so arrives at the knowledge of his own Ego. It is in the character of variant from, the norm that the genius gets his paramount significance for the social organism. Society sometimes progresses by the slow accre- tion of incremental changes originating from the conduct of large numbers of commonplace individuals. But the great changes which lend themselves to confident detection and identification are commonly traceable to the towering personality of some genius. Doubtless in the earlier periods of childhood (after the consciousness of self as such has once become established) the actual content of such consciousness is largely personal and bodily — an awareness of impulses, of pleasures, pains, and the like. But as the mind develops and a broader appre- ciation is reached of the general integration of human life and the physical cosmos, this self-feeling spreads out to embrace larger and larger interests. The social factor un- folds into a vivid apprehension of the picture of ourselves which we may imagine to be entertained by various persons and groups of persons. Furthermore, we come increasingly to read into tlie motives and characters of others the peculiar- ities which introspection reveals within ourselves. In a THE SELF 389 certain sense the vagueness which marks the beginning of self-feeling is never entirelj' lost. We come to include in our practical conception of ourselves so many things which lie outside of us^ that the lines which separate the self from the not-self inevitably become hazy. Thus, our bodies, our clothing, our family, our friends, our fortune, our club, our church, our country — these, and a thousand similar things, get identified in a more or less intimate way with our self, which unfolds more and more to take in these widening in- terests. Meantime, there is always a residuum whose status is neither clearly within nor without the self. The question may be raised whether a child growing up alone on a desert island would fail to develop self-conscious- ness because of his inability to follow the course of events which we have described, with its emphasis on the distin- guishing between persons and things, and its further empha- sis on the social nature of self-feeling. The reply — resting on speculative probability — is that undoubtedly something corresponding to self -consciousness might develop under such conditions through the operations of imagination. But the content of such a self-consciousness, and the order and nature of the steps in its unfolding, would certainly differ radically from anything with which we have personal ac- quaintance. Ethical and Religious Aspects of the Self. — Although in a general way the consciousness of self is from the first social in its nature, it speedily takes on two explicitly social aspects, the moral and the religious, which warrant a few moments^ consideration. Among the very earliest of our social experiences are those of praise and criticism, reward and punishment for our deeds. Parents, guardians, and asso- ciates of all kinds unite in thus furthering or hindering our enterprises. The vivid feeling for the distinction between right and wrong is thus aroused in us at a very tender ^ge. As we come to have a definite consciousness of our own per- 390 PSYCHOLOGY sonalitj;, we inevitably tend to array ourselves for or against the usages which have been thus imposed upon us. We come to appreciate something of the ground upon which they rest^ something of the advantages and drawbacks which attend their observance. We take as regards these matters a defi- nite conscious attitude toward society at large and our immediate associates in particular. We evolve a distinctly ethical self^ recognising certain obligations on our own part toward our fellows, and postulating a similar obligation for them in their treatment of us. As we grow older this conception of ourselves as moral persons with duties and obligations takes on a broader and more enlightened character. We extend our sense of respon- sible interest from our immediate family and acquaintances to our town^ state, and country, and often (among the more humanitarianly minded of us) we manage in a fairly definite way to include the interests of all mankind. Coincident with this expansion in the range of our moral selfhood is often to be remarked a growth in the intelligence of our appreciation of the real ethical situation. We come to detect more justly and more sympathetically both the grounds of our neigh- bour's moral ideals and the reasons for his occasional moral lapses, and we may become in consequence more helpful to him, as well as more valuable in furthering the general cause of moral progress in the world. Our moral self thus ex- pands both by intension and extension. The religious consciousness cannot ordinarily be severed altogether from the moral consciousness, yet the two mark quite distinct differences of stress which deserve separate treatment. The religious sentiments, in distinction from those of a merely moral sort, seem to involve a definite sense of personal relationship to a supreme, or at least superior, being. In the higher forms of religious faith this being is conceived as the incarnation of all holiness, righteousness, and truth. He is thus the one perfect companion for the THE SELF 391 highest ideal self^ the one object worthy of complete rever- ence. Belief in such a being constitutes the essence of the most developed forms of religious faith^ and around such a belief cluster all the distinctly religious emotions^ such as reverence, awe, love, gratitude, and the feeling of personal confidence which we call faith. The full mental vision of such a being, with an accom- panying sense of our own unworthiness, is often the imme- diate forerunner of the cataclysmic experiences characterising certain forms of conversion. The whole moral and religious perspective of life is suddenly altered. We see ourselves and others in a different light, and the world takes on a new form. The frequency with which this special phenomenon is en- countered during adolescence has led certain psychologists to connect the experience with the deep-seated physiological changes which mark that period. But, however much of truth there may be in this contention, — and undoubtedly there is much, — we must still recognise the fact that sudden conversion, profound and genuine reformation, is a thing met with at all ages and under the most various conditions. * Disturbances of the Self. — The consciousness of self is subject to certain striking disturbances which merit a few words. The phenomena of alternating personality are among the most interesting of these. In the '' successive '^ form of this disorder a person may suddenly lose his memory of his past life, forget his name, his home, and his friends, and start afresh with a new name, a new occupation, etc. Often his temperament and character change simultaneous^ with this loss of memory. Whereas originally he may have been honest, cheerful, and vigorous, he now shows himself unreliable, pessimistic, and lazy. A few weeks or months later on he suddenly reverts to his former personality and recovers all his memories of his earlier life, although he has no vestige of recollection as to the events which occurred during the period of his altered selfhood. Cases are on 39^ PSYCHOLOGY record where several characters have been assumed in this way, one after the other. In the case of '' simultaneous ^^ personalities we have a more complex and much more ambiguous condition. Here there seems to be in addition to the normal consciousness which superintends the ordinary business of life, a sort of ^^ split-off ^^ consciousness, which is independent of the first and can be gotten at only in indirect ways. Moreover, as in the case of successive personalities, the temperament and character of these two selves are often very different. The one may be gentle and pious, the other riotous and profane. Sometimes this secondary self can be tapped by whispering to the patient while he is engaged in conversation with some one else, and then the responses may be written, apparently without any cognisance on the part of the normal conscious- ness of what has taken place. The memories of the two selves seem to be often distinct. Sometimes, as in alternat- ing personality of the successive type, the secondary self may know all about the primary self, without the converse ap- pearing to be true. These quaint modifications of self-consciousness are diffi- cult to reconcile with many of our prepossessions as to per- sonality and the connection of mind and body. But they at least serve one purpose of positive value. They contain an impressive warning against our natural disposition to assume that our own personal type of self-consciousness is neces- sarily the only type. Evidently the consciousness of self is susceptible of mutations like other forms of consciousness, and no generalisation about it should be accepted without a survey of all the facts. For instance, the disintegrations of personality which are met with in the various forms of insanity must be taken into account. Minor Variations of Self-Consciousness. — Less profound and less prolonged than the disturbances already mentioned are the changes in personality which characterise certain THE SELF 393 forms of trance. In the genuine cases of so-called medium- istic trance the medium becomes more or less oblivious to ordinary sense impressions, and often appears to be half un- conscious. Under these circumstances he assumes the per- sonality of some other individual, usually some one who is dead, and his utterances purport to be expressions of the knowledge and the sentiments of the '' control/^ as the person is called who ostensibly speaks through the medium. Many of these cases of mediumship have been carefully examined. Most of them have proved fraudulent. A few appear to be perfectly genuine, so far as concerns the psychophysiological conditions manifested. But the interpretation of the phenomena is a matter upon which there exists the widest divergence of expert opinion. Most scientifically trained psychologists refuse to give these cases any serious consider- ation, beyond admitting the possibility of their representing a genuine abnormality like insanity. A few insist that we have here fairly convincing evidence of relations among minds which transcend all our usual modes of communica- tion with one another. In hypnotism, also, we may meet with cases of altered personality produced under the influence of suggestion. Changes in sensitivity, in motor control, and memory are not especially difficult to produce. The phlegmatic person may become choleric, the reserved person become flippant and rude, the irreligious become pious, etc. Commonly, if the hypnotic sleep has been deep, there is, upon awakening, little or no memory of what has occurred during the trance. But all the facts can usually be recalled during a subsequent hypnotisation. A curious phenomenon is that of post-hyp- notic suggestion. A person told to perform some action after awakening may have no recollection of the injunction upon arousing from the hypnotic slumber, but with^ few exceptions he will at the time designated faithfully execute the act. Facts of this kind have led to a good deal of need- 394 PSYCHOLOGY less alarm as to the dangers of hypnotism. In point of fact it is practically impossible to force a person to do anything seriously offensive to his moral or aesthetic sense of the right and the decent. Moreover, persons of normal make-up can- not be hypnotised against their wills — at all events not until the process has been performed so often as to become more or less habitual. A thing much more to be feared in our day is the auto-suggestion of a hypnotic character by virtue of which mobs and great crowds give way to the wildest and most beastly excesses. Although hypnotism undoubtedly has therapeutic value, it should not be indiscriminately cultivated by untrained persons. Dreams afford a familiar instance of disturbed personality. Sometimes this is manifested simply in the ridiculous judg- ments which we pass upon dream situations, and the absurd sentiments which they call forth. Occasionally, however^ we actually seem to have become some other person. Despite the frequent occurrence of dreams, no wholly satisfactory theory of their causes . and conditions is yet at hand. Un- doubtedly sensory stimulations, partly from the external senses, partly from the viscera and other intra-organic sources, are largely responsible for the beginning of dreams. Undoubtedly, also, the higher forms of systematised control, the '^ apperceptive activities '' of many authors, are tempo- rarily in abeyance. Although most of us would maintain that we often have dreamless sleep, it has been vigorously urged that we dream all the time during sleep, and that consciousness is consequently never altogether interrupted. Certainly it is true that we frequently forget our dreams with marvellous rapidity, and we ordinarily find that we are dreaming when awakened. But while these considerations afford a measure of presumptive evidence in favour of the hypothesis, they are not conclusive, and the weight of opinion unquestionably regards dreamless sleep as a frequent occurrence. THE SELF 395 The Subconscious and the Unconscious. — Manj'- striking and characteristic experiences are connected with regions of our personality which lie distinctly below the level of clear consciousness. Consciousness does not terminate with sharp edges which mark it off definitely and finally from the non- conscious. On the contrary, as was maintained early in our work, there is a gradual fading out from a focal centre of clearest consciousness toward a dimmer region of partial con- sciousness, which we may designate the zone of the subcon- scious. This subconscious area again gives way to a region of entire non-consciousness. To the activity of the subconscious we are probably in- debted for many of our unreasoned impressions and senti- ments, for many of our unexpected ideas, for certain of our unreflective movements, especially those of the habitual variety. Not a few of our personal preferences and preju- dices are probably referable to influences originating here. Such phenomena as those of automatic writing with the plan- chette, where persons may write considerable numbers of words without any clear idea of what is being written, belong to the border-line of influences lying between the subconscious and the unconscious. Taken all in all, subconscious factors must go to make up a very respectable portion of our total personality, and no doubt are accountable for many of the characteristics which sometimes cause us to wonder at our- selves and question whether or no we really have the kind of character we supposed. The unconscious has been made in recent years the great panacea for all psychological and philosophical difficulties. Whatever one cannot explain otherwise may be explained by the action of the unconscious. The asserted facts of telep- athy, clairvoyance, crystal-gazing, shell-hearing, hypnotism, and all the phenomena of spiritualism, not less than the metaphysical perplexities of personality, mind, matter, and their interrelations, have been treated bv the universal elixir 396 PSYCHOLOGY of the unconscious. JSTeedless to say, our modest business at this point is with no such majestic influence as all this sug- gests. The term unconscious has two proper uses in psychology. It is, first, a limiting concept set over against consciousness of every kind; whatever is not conscious is un- conscious. Evidently this use of the term is largely negative in its implication. As a positive concept the unconscious is, in the second place, practically synonymous with the physio- logical. Thus, to say that an unconscious factor entered in to determine certain of the movements of our voluntary muscles is simply to affirm that certain neurol activities, whose obvious counterparts we cannot detect in consciousness, have contributed to the total mass of motor excitations. In this sense the unconscious ceases to be a sheer enigma, and becomes a more or less convenient term wherewith to desig- nate those marginal neural actions which evidently modify the reactions we make, without, however, producing notice- able mental changes. Summary. — If we take stock of the various points which we have canvassed in this chapter, we see that although the self undoubtedly manifests tendencies toward the systematic unification of its own experiences, it is far from being a sim- ple unity. It is highly complex in constitution, and in many particulars highly unstable. It is distinctly and character- istically a life phenomenon, with periods of growth and expansion, periods of maturity, and periods of decay and disintegration. But after all, the feeling of selfhood is the very core of our psychical being. About it are gathered all the joys and all the miseries of life. However much a critical philosophy may shake our confidence in the implica- tion of the feeling, the fact of its existence is for each of us the one absolutely indubitable fact. INDEX Abnormal, consciousness, 391 ; psychology, 3. Abstract ideas, 214. Abstraction, 214. Accommodation, motor, in at- tention, 82 ; of lens, 99. Acquaintance, 120. Acquisitiveness, 303. Action, muscular, varieties of, 48, 283. .Esthetic feelings, 271, 281, 337f. Affection, as elementary phase of feeling, 257. After-images, 111. After-sensations, see after- images. Agreeableness as affection, 257- 259. Alimentary sensations, see sen- sations, organic. Alternating personality, 391. Altruistic emotions, 296. Amoeba, 19. Analysis, sensory and intellec- tual, 86-89. Anger, 299, 320. Annelids, nervous system of, 20, 21. Animals, reasoning of, 252. Aphasia, auditory, 39 ; motor, 39; visual, 39. Apperception, 127. Aristotle's illusion, 132. Association, simultaneous, 89 ; successive, 89, llOff. ; cere- bral basis of, 171 ; important factors in, lllff.; by contigu- ity, 174; by singularity, 174/.; by contrast, 175; de- sistent and persistent, 176. Association centres in cortex,34. Attention, and adaptation of sense organ, 82 ; change nec- essary to, 76; and field of con- sciousness, 64/f.; motor fac- tors in, 82; relation to inter- est, 362ff.; attention and will, 345; varieties of, 68; involuntary, 70 , non-volun- tary, or spontaneous, 69 ; vol- untary, 68 ; simultaneous to different objects, 79; selec- tive character of, 67; as mental activity, 66. Audition, see hearing. Auditory centre, 32. Auditory image, 164. Auditory ossicles, fig. 43. Automatic acts, 48, 283. Automatic writing, 395. Aut nomic system, 45. Axis cylinder, 16, fig. 4. Axone, 16, 18. BAIN, 275, 374. BALDWIN, 65, 292, 358, 386. Belief, 338. BERKELEY; 150. Biology and psychology, 8. Black, see colour. Blind-spot, fig, 46. ^ Bodily expression and emotion 316, 334. Brain, structure and functions of, and connection with con- sciousness, 21-45. Brightness sensations, 109. CALKINS, 175. Calmness, as affective element, 258. Canals, semicircular, 98, 105. Cell-body, 15/f. 397 398 INDEX Cerebral laws and association, 171. Cerebrum, 32. Cerebellum, 32. Change in field of conscious- ness, 76. Character, Chapter XXII. Child psychology, 3. Chromsesthesia, 202. Choice, see volition. Circulatory sensations, see sen- sations, organic. Clearness in attention, 66. Coalescence of sensations, 126. Cochlea, figs. 43, 44. Cognition, see Chapters Y. to XII. inclusive. Cold, sensations of, 103 ; neural basis of, 93/. Colour blindness, normal pe- ripheral, 112 ; abnormal, 101, Colour, complementaries and mixtures, 110 ; sensations of, 109. Comparative psychology, 4. Comparison, process of^ 86, 218. Complex tone, 109. Conation and attention, 66 ; and will, 353. Concept, nature of, 208, 215 ; and image, 209 ; function of, 215 ; change and growth of, 216ff. ; and meaning, 203 ; and judgment, 227. ^ Conscience, feeling of, 337. Consciousness, appearance of, 50; definition of,- 1 ; relation of to the nervous system. Chapter III, ; motor aspects of, 283, 346. Contiguity, association by, 174/r. Contrast, in colour, 112; in space perception, 153 ; in as- sociation, 174f. Convergence of eyes, 99. Coordinations, primary, 283 ; acquired, 294 ; Establishment of control over, 53/f., Chap- ter XX. COPE, 291. Corpora quadrigea^ina, 22, 28. Corpus callosum, 37, figs. 21, 25, 26. Cortex, cerebral, 32-45, figs, 18- 22. Corti, organ of, fig. 42. Cranial nerves, 31, fi.g, 18. Curiosity, 301. Currents in nerves, see nerve currents. Cutaneous sensations, see sen- sations. DARWIN, 327. Deaf-mutes, 217. Deduction, 240. Dendrite, 16, 18. Desire, analysis of, and re- lation to volition, 374ff. DEWEY, 327. Difference, feeling of, 87. Difference limen, see Weber's law. Diffusion, law of, 53. Disagreeableness as affection, 257. Discrimination, as analytic at- tention, 86 ; relation to as- sociation, 89. Dispersed attention, 81. Dissociation, see discrimina- tion. Distance, perception of, 150. Dizziness, sensation of, and re- lation to semicircular canals, 105. Double personality, see alter- nating personality. Dura mater, 21. Duration, perception of, 156 ; of sensations, 115 ; of sensa- tions in relation to feelings, 261. Ear, figs. 42-44. Earthworm, nervous system of, fig. 8. EBBINGHAUS, 23. Effort, feeling of, 369. Ego, see self. Embarrassment, 320. Emotion, Chapters XYIII., XIX. ; bodily factors in, 316 ; INDEX 399 origin of, 326; relation to in- stincts, 315. Emulation, see rivalry. End-organs, 91-101. Envy, 305. Epistemology, 9. Ethical feelings, 271, 337. Excess discharge, law of, 348/f. Excitement, as affective ele- ment, 258. Experimental psychology, 5. Extensity, in sensation, 115 ; in space perception, 142. Faith, 391, Familiarity, feeling of, 188, 195. Fear, 298, 319. Feeling, Chapters XIII. and XIV. ; elements of, 257 ; classifications of, 270 ; rela- tion to emotion, 337. Folk psychology, 3. Forgetting, 192. Fovea, 99, fig. 46. Freedom of will, 380. Fringe of consciousness, 66. Fusion, or coalescence, 126. General idea, 208. Generic idea, 210. Genetic psychology, 4. Genius, and association, 174. GORDON, 85. Grey, sensations of, ee bright- ness. Grief, 320. GROOS, 306. Gustatory sensations, see taste. Habit, formation of, 52/f . ; re- sults of, 58 ; ethical signifi- cance of, 61 ; relation to voli- tion, 60 ; in thought, 61. Hallucinations, 135. Hardness, consciousness of, 103. Hatred, 299. Hearing, sensations of, 108 ; cortical centre for, 32 ; end- organ of, 96, figs. 42-44. Heat, sensations of, 103. Hemianopsia, 39, fig. 23. Hemispheres, connection with volition and memory, 38; structure of, 32. Humour, feeling of, 324. Hunger sensations, 106. Hypnotic Ltates, 393; Ideas, connection with images, 165 ; and concepts, 208 ; mo- tor, 353. Identity, personal, 382; modi- fications of, 391/f. Illusion, 132. Images, distinction from sen- sation and perception, 163 ; types of, 165 ; function of, 176 ; relation to idea, 165 ; to volition, 352-354. Imagination, Chapter YIII. Imitation, as instinctive, 307; as volitional, 358. Impulse, Chapter XVII. Inattention, 81. Induction, 241. Inhibition, and volition, 55, 352. Instinct, Chapters XV. to XVII. inclusive ; origin of, 291; value of, 293; relation to emotion, 315 ; variability of, 289 ; human, Chapter XVI. Intellectual feeling, 270. Intensity of sensation, 113 ; re- lation to affective conscious- ness, 261 ; and Weber's law, 114. Interest, nature of, 363 ; rela- tion to attention, 365 ; to volition, 362-368. Introspection, 4. JAMES. 66, 120, 142, 171, 175, 185, 205. 297, 315, 316, 345. Jealousy. 305. Judgment, analysis and forms of, 225f. : relation to concep- tion, 227/f . : to reasoning, 236/f. ; genesis of, 229/f. Kina^sthetic, sensation, 94. 105 ; image, 164; function In es- tablishment of motor control, 344, 354. /jOO INDEX > Knowledge, development of, 218/f., 2S2ff.; theory of, 9. Labyrinth, figs, 43, 44. LANGE, 316. Lapsed intelligence, theory of, 291. Laughter, significance of, 333. Limen, 114. Local sign, nature of, 147. Localisation, of functions in the hemispheres, 32/f. LOTZE, 147. Love, 305. MARSHALL, 275. Meaning, apprehension of, 20Sff, Mediums, 392f. Medullary sheath, 16. Medulla oblongata, 22, 30, fig, 18. Memory, Chapter IX., affec- tive, 265 ; analysis of, 185 : de- fects of, 194 ; and forgetting, 192 ; physical basis of, 186 ; distinction between memory and imagination, 184 ; rela- tion to recognition, 187/jf. ; improvement of, 196/f , ; idio- syncracies of, 202. Mental activity, see attention and effort. Mental blindness, see aphasia, visual. Metaphysics, 9. Mind, meaning of the word, 2. Modesty, 297. Molluscs, nervous system of, 20, fig. 9. Mood, 335. Morbid psychology, 3. Motion, sensations of, images of, see kinsesthetic. Motor aphasia, 39. Motor region of cortex, 34. MUENSTERBERG, 275. Muscular sensations, see kin- jesthetic. Nerve-currents, nature of, and rate of conduction, 19. Nerve-endings, see end-organs. Nerves, structure of, 14ff. ; functions of, 14. Nervous system, central, 21^".; autonomic, 45. Neurilemma, 17. Neuroglia, 18. Neurone, definition of, 15. Neurones, peripheral, 23 ; corti- cal, 32 ; subcortical, 24. Noise, 108. Object, perception of, 80, 119, 122 ; fixation of attention and change of, 76. Occipital region of cortex and vision, 33. Odour, see smell. Olfactory end-organ, 94-95, figs. 39, 40. Olfactory region of cortex, 33. Optic end-organ, see retina. Organic selection, theory of, 292. Organic sensations, see sensa- tions. Otoliths, 98. Overtones, 109. Pain, as sensation, 93; its re- lation to affection, 259. Partial tone, 109. Passion, 335. Passive consciousness, 75„ Perception, Chapter VL; and sensation, 118; and' idea- tional activities, 163; neural basis of, 137; of space and time. Chapter VII. Personal identity, see identity. Philosophy and psychology, 8. Physiological psychology, 6. Pia mater, 21. Pitch, 108. Play, 306. Pleasure, as affective element, 257. Practical reasoning, 235. Present, the specious, 156. Pressure, sensations of, see touch. Productive imagination, 167 ; relation to reproductive im- agination, 169. INDEX 401 Psychical dispositions, 192. Psychology, definition of, 1 methods of, 4; fields of, 3 relation to philosophy, 8 to the natural sciences, 7; to education, 10. Psychophysics, 6 ; and charac- ter of human organism, 11/f. Quality, of sensations, 101 ; consciousness of, as sensa- tion, 118. Race psychology, 3. Reasoning, Chapters XI., XII. : elements of, 224; forms of, Chapter XII. ; in brutes, 252. Recognition, sensory, 188; idea- tional, 190 ; relation to mem- ory, 187. Reflex action, definition of, 286 ; relation to instincts, 288; variability of, 286. Relations, between objects, feel- ings of, 205. Relativity of knowledge, 219. Relaxation, as affective ele- ment, 258. Religious feeling, 271, 389. Representation, general nature of, 161. Reproductive imagination, 167; relation to productive imagi- nation, 169. Resistance, consciousness of, 104. Respiratory sensations, see sen- sations, organic. Retention of material in mem- ory, 192. Retina, 98/^., figs, 45-47. RIBOT, 296. Rivalry, 304. Rhythm, of attention,. 77; in judgments of time, 157. ROYCE, 258. Sameness, feeling of, as ele- ment in apprehension of meaning, 87, 204f. Satisfaction, feeling of, 331. Selection, in attention, 67. Self, Chapter XXIII.; develop- ment of feeling of, 385; dis- turbance of, 391 ; ethical and religious aspects of the, 389 ; identity of the, 382; social nature of, 387. Semicircular canals, 98, figs. 43, 44; sensations from, 105. Sensation, Chapter V. ; and per- ception, 118; functions of, 116; qualities of, lOl/f.; in- tensity of, 113 ; duration of, 115 ; extensity in, 115 ; com- mon characteristics, 116. Sensations, of sound, 108 : of sight, 109; of smell, 106; of taste, 107 ; of temperature, 103; of touch, 103; organic, 106 ; of movement, 105. Sense organs, structure of, 93/jf. Sensorv c res in cortex, 32/f., figs, 18-21. Sentiment 336. Shyness, 299. Sight, see vision. Similarity, association by, 174fl^. Simple tone, 108. Size, apparent of objects, 147, 152. Skin-senses, see sensations. Smell, sensations of, 106; end- organ, 94, fig, 39; cortical basis, 33. Sociability, 299. Social feeling, 271, 387. Social psychology, 3. Softness, consciousness of, 103. Soul, in psychology, 2 ; relation to the self, 385. Space, see perception of space. Span, or scope, of conscious- ness, 79. Speech, centres of, in cortex, 40, fig. 19 ; as instinctive, 307. SPENCER, 292, 306. Spinal cord, structure and functions of, 24/jf.; figs, 13-17. Spontaneous attention, 69 ; re- lation to interest, 362. Starfish, nervous system of; fig, 6. Strain, as affective element, 258. 402 INDEX Strain sensations, 85, 370. Subconscious, the, 394. Substantive states of mind, 166. Symbolic nature of presenta- tional consciousness, 204. Sympathetic system, 45. Sympathy, 296/. Synsesthesia, 126. Tactile centre in cortex, 33. Tactile image, 164/. Taste, sensations of, 107; end- organ for, 95, fig, 41 ; cen- tres in cortex, 33. Telepathy, 395. Temperament, 335. Temperature, sensations of, 103 ; end-organs for 93/f., figs, 36-38 ; centres in cortex, 33. Tendons, sensations from, see sensations of movement. Third dimension of space, per- ception of, 149 /f. Thirst, sensation of, 106. Thought, order of, llOff, Threshold, see limen. Tickling, 104. Timbre, 109. Time, judgment of intervals of, 156; memory of, 158. Tone, as auditory element 108. Touch, sensations of, 103 ; end- organs of, 93 ; cortical cen- tres for, 33 ; images of, 164/". ; in space perception, 147-149, 154. Tympanum, flg. 43. Unconscious, the, 394. Unity of thought, 79ff. Vision, sensations of, 109; end- organ of, 98, figs, 45-47 ; cen- tre in cortex, 33 ; mental images of, 164. Volition, Chapters XX.-XXII. ; relation to attention, 345 ; to imagery, 343, 352 ; to impulse, 347 ; to character, Chapter XXII. Voluminousness of sensations, 142. Walking, 286. Warmth, sensations of, 103. Weber's law, 114. WEISSMANN, 292. Will, see volition. 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