Goa Reese > = ee ~~ = <== SEF een eag ee Pa Ea (Cereioesas tI fa a s.28 “s ‘ 5 wi te Ohi 3 Beene ’ + { 7: THE UNIVERSITY © OF ILLINOIS | | LIBRARY _ | foo MPedzZ PSP ohoregy | Return this book on or before the Latest Date stamped below. A charge is made on all overdue books. U. of I. Library MAY =5 1941 WN 30 teaNAR 29 195k Mest « fly EY ~ we Jor | ¥ ifs ae 4 Os | ie A tiem 7 F at el 17625-S DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGY NIHIL OBSTAT J. BRUNEAU, Censor deputatus, Baltimore NIHIL OBSTAT D. JUSTINUS McCANN, Censor Congr., Angliae O.S.B. IMPRIMI POTEST OSWALDUS SMITH, Abbas Preses., die 16 Jun., 1924 IMPRIMATUR ' MICHAEL J. CURLEY, Archiep., Baltimore DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGY AN INTRODUCTION TO MODERN PSYCHOLOGICAL THEORY AND PRACTICE en BY DOM THOMAS VERNER MOORE, Pu.D., M.D. MONK OF THE ORDER OF ST. BENEDICT PROFESSOR OF PSYCHOLOGY, CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA DIRECTOR OF THE CLINIC FOR MENTAL AND NERVOUS DISEASES PROVIDENCE HOSPITAL, WASHINGTON, D. C. SECOND EDITION, REVISED PHILADELPHIA, LONDON, CHICAGO J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1924, By J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY PRINTED IN UNITED STATES OF AMERICA Try % Tnoer ir 2, AA~A~ \ "3 C\ yer turngy § Tne \ A\ PREFACE THE present work is an attempt to present the essentials of a course in Psychology that will give the student : (a) An insight into the modern trends of Psychology; (6b) a foundation for a practical understanding of his own inner life that will be of assistance to him in the solution of the mental difficulties that continually arise in the course of an ordinary existence, and (c) an introduction to the clinical problems of Psychology that will open the way to an appreciation of border- line mental cases and a technique for handling them, should a medical training lead him further into this field. While the aim of this work is to give a practical introduction to Psychology, the points of contact between Psychology and Philosophy have not been ignored. The. now broad field of mental tests has not been entered because this has become a special division of Psychology, and a practical treatment of the subject would demand a sepa- rate volume. The work is based upon years of studying and teaching Psy- chology and the practical experience of handling patients as Director of the Clinic for Mental and Nervous Diseases at the Providence Hospital, Washington, D. C., and during the war as Captain and Major in the Medical Corps of the United States . Army in this country and in France. Experimental Psychology and Human Pathology have been drawn upon to clear up certain _theoretical points and to present the most important evidence —on the theoretical problems discussed. A glossary of technical terms has been added for the con- venience of the general reader. It is to be hoped that the work will be of real service, not only to those who study Psychology as a part of a liberal education, Vv 805640 vi PREFACE but also to spiritual advisors, professional psychologists, social workers, and physicians in their daily work. Since the name Dynamic Psychology was previously used by Professor Woodworth, of Columbia, as the title of one of his publications, I wrote him before publishing this work, and he graciously welcomed another book bearing the same title as his earlier volume. The chapter on the Psychotaxes and the Parataxes appeared in the Psychoanalytic Review in April, 1921, along with a dis- cussion, omitted in the text, of the concept of the Parataxis as a specific medical diagnosis applicable to certain borderline eases. The Editor, Doctor White, has kindly given permission to make use of the material in this volume. The chapter on the Sen- sations Involved in Voluntary Movements and that on the Pathology of Voluntary Action were recently published in the International Clinics with the understanding that they were about to be published in this volume. My thanks are due to Monsignor Pace and Doctor Kerby, of the Catholic University, for reading the manuscript, and to my assistants Mr. John W. Rauth, for attending to the illustra- tions for me during my absence from the country, and Mr. T. G. Foran for reading the proof. I am also indebted to Dom Aidan Baldwin for assistance in the proofreading. THOMAS VERNER Moore. St. Benedict’s Abbey, Fort Augustus, Scotland. March 21, 1924. CONTENTS PART I THE ANALYSIS OF MIND CHAPTER : PAGE I. Tue Concert oF PsyYcHOLOGY............- ee ea eS cee 3 TIE CCONSCIOUSNESS fic fence acess sco vols cece gee mem tie ote LS Liem CHE UNCONSCIOUS Sect ecvc dae cdaul ceed soles gee ees eee eees 17 TV ee ORDAMS) AND “THE UNCONSCIOUS. ., da cle ec sce o Qh's Mss cw besaces 30 V. Metuops oF INVESTIGATING THE UNCONSCIOUS........e0000. 37 VI. Tue CLASSIFICATION OF MENTAL PROCESSES .........ceecees 42 PART II STIMULUS AND RESPONSE AND HUMAN BEHAVIOR PERLE LUXMACTION SA ogc cd Lila ae acd Shela dle oes ora ane 55 II. Reriex AcTION AND REACTION-TIME EXPERIMENTS..........- (8 Mi Pom PROD ISMS fe strcets wi euatg Sie eth Pee) Ga cg Wagld g SUMNER Cg et hater Me 79 PART III HUMAN EMOTIONAL LIFE I. Tae Arrecttve MENTAL STATES.....cccccocccsscssccccevece 101 Liebe) EXPRESSION; OR THE HMOTIONS. 0. 0s faclecsles Seances stn 116 III. Summary oF THE THEORY OF THE AFFECTIVE MENTAL States 132 PART IV THE DRIVING FORCES OF HUMAN NATURE AND ‘THEIR ADJUSTMENT AESTINCEAAND IMPUERE Noe ree or ke gt Caen oe aS nu Ue Ae BOW OTH ES vesctot. are had abet eae cha oe meram an ree ett re cures NM Ite Wann 150 PHA CONEGIOT ernie e nea erg Gere dios te delete naan ek wale aie aaa 160 PAYCHOTARESEAND S17 ARA TAXI steltlasttal trot a eles eeeie wits ele cieies Gee 182 HEM EARATAYIGCNOFN UNE RESSIONG sete lsiek ails slide ttiee on niciecea 189 LHe ARATAX [au OiaANXURE Yatton ca aoe cia dial ele shave esi aie ates 198 PDH MEL ARATAXES*OER tL JEMENSE Woe taut fy theta, crclay late aia a avateraie s 211 COMPING ATION hemi c aiare aete eres tre cinta cutee vietekeie irate ain ak avers aan 235 UE LAM ATION caterer naan rn clair cee meee cium steele d cio tialtte oleae cis woes 241 PART V : PSYCHOANALYSIS AND PSYCHOTHERAPY 1 Dy Sy 0p hype Pb aan iy acbabs Be eer CMO eda) Oe Fes On RN a Le ml A IRA oN 253 UTE Girt 's ctac ade etal ote oreo ark ci evel Mita ete ieis sake eicterareeaani ng are 266 PR TSE SEIS clstihs ules le coe ave eed rat cian ale aCe AUR ete Aik wien tie LM 279 THE PsyCHOPATHOLOGY AND PSYCHOTHERAPY OF ADOLF Meyer 284 THe TECHNIQUE OF PSYCHOTHERAPY........ eas ard'a' cles Wiaateie ate 294 vu Viil CHAPTER I. II. III. TVs V. VI. VII. CONTENTS PART VI VOLITIONAL CONTROL VOLUNTARY ACTION AND THE ACT OF WILL........cccccceces 311 VoLUNTARY MovEMENT AND THE THEORY OF IDEOMOTOR ACTION 321 VoLUNTARY MOVEMENT AND THE THEORY OF CONCEPTUAL CONTROL 331 Kinetic UNITS IN THE SERVICE OF VOLUNTARY ACTION....... 343 THE SENSATIONS INVOLVED IN VOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS....... 349 THe PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION.......-ccccsccvccees 368 PRERDOMFOR THR WILD O00 su). as pice 4 Greece eh tee oe ome 392 CONCLUSION REP SOUE cad cre ee kr rAde ciate Uae a Say adr niteretele tenet, Laan 402 CILOSSARY (OBS TECHNICAL «LDEBRMBy sities ony ween ce een ee ne 412 UBINCTPNDES guise atevelelc et cae bes Wide His bea dies ena Cane ana 2 rane 429 FIG. 2b. ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Dispram ofa Simple spinal’ Reflex) op iiig es ss «tee eich oft’ s eis os 56 Neural Pathway of the Pupillary Light Reflex.................... 58 . Median Longitudinal Section Through the Root Cap of an Adventitious Root of Roripa Amphibia Showing Starch Grains Resting on the PSRUOTDE OL LUG. CMa pe cey ia ty Wnt men aces atts CREM ante ec date 82 Longitudinal Section Through a Node of Tradescantia Virginica, Displaced From the Vertical, Showing Positions Then Assumed PME pa CA LOL ULL Tes ns hel BN eta ees Pie hg ees Alvin ia wel e's ane ain isa Weal Mea dials 82 PSOE LX TORSION + 4 ety isle og'g' sl daretanayt lana ans a ats aieigis pale an MES) Mier 116 Muscles of Expression PEARS ULOUN rte Meoetahalee al eter a aes ata tele ebro 118 Respiratory and Volume-Pulse Curve During a Weak Pleasant- MAD ICAaa Tt LGIOUIODAL HURL wap trite wa a Sareea tela w Aes eueneta-ce core 120 Respiratory and Volume-Pulse Curve Following an Emotion of Fear 120 Cross Section of Muscle Spindle From Sloth, Drawn From Prepa- ration Loaned by Dr. George Wislocki: Semi-Schematic Drawing DPNLUSGIG LS DING ce ne Wie tac s eel eens nee alan fanaa Aare mee erat 352 Hypnotic Suggestion of Wrestling Match: Blood Volume and Pulse SALUT CULVO eR CaPITShIOU CULVO at ni dsl Satie wr age dita 4 366 Voluntary Lively Imagination of Gripping Hand: Blood Volume and Pulse of Arm Curve: Respiration Curve ...........+e+eeeeeees 366 ix ve oh ey Ma — 1 aie i i 7? Landy’ iV yy ware, | yal whorl Ne pte se tea ty Ah hye ie Th awit AND vi diye , rE at a sis a age ‘Yair ‘ iv Het bene 4 ny im) mira Wie in n't cya ssl vee penn ne , Bihiw A sine i, ) 1 phys ahi i ai An: st°¢%) PART I THE ANALYSIS OF MIND aS ag t San; ; eta fea eA DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGY CHAPTER I THE CONCEPT OF PSYCHOLOGY THERE is no definition of psychology at the present day that meets with the approval of all students of the science. This lack of unity in the modern concept of psychology is due to several factors. 1. The close relation of psychology to philosophy, from which it has budded off as an independent study. Metaphysical concepts, one might even say prejudices, are more potent factors in the minds of all men, even scientists, than many would be willing to admit. Different metaphysical attitudes really influence the ideas of the psychologists as to the nature of psychology. 2. Modern psychology is a relatively young science and only in its maturity does a science really crystallize its definition. 3. Psychology is a rapidly growing science splitting up into various subforms, begetting a numerous progeny so that it is hard to decide among its various heirs which is the rightful successor to the name. This being the case, it is fairer to the student to let him know what psychology has been in the past and from the his- torical facts deduce the concept of what should be regarded as truly expressing the nature of psychology. We are confronted with a difficulty at the outset. The name, psychology, is a comparatively recent invention. It is by no means as old as the science itself and was utterly unknown when psychological problems were first discussed in the days of the Greek Sophists. The name, therefore, does not necessarily define for us the science. Were we to take the roots of the word psychology which comes to us from the reformer Melanchthon,' 1Melanchthon, Philip, a German Reformer, 1497-1560, Murray’s New English Dictionary, p. 314, Vol. VI, 1904. 3 4 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND psychology would mean the science of the soul: 2dyos, a root taken, nowadays, to indicate science and ¢vy7, soul. This, however, was not the original concept of psychology. If we go back to the first psychological treatise or group of psychological treatises, we find them in the De Anima and Parva Naturalia of Aristotle. If we look into Aristotle’s treatise, De Amma, we shall see that it really is an attempt to analyze the facts of our mental life. If, however, we wished to give a modern name to the various works grouped together as Aristotle’s psychology, this name would be biology rather than psychology, for the discipline that they treat of is said to be the science of life in all its manifestations. Life, according to him, is that which is capable of at least nutrition, growth and decay. Besides these fundamental essentials of life, which are found even in plant organisms, there is the fuller life of sensa- tion manifested in animals and of the higher thought processes manifested in man. In the special treatise on ‘‘ The Soul ’’ Aristotle pays attention mainly to the analysis of sensation and the thought processes of human intellectual life. Bound up with his treatise on the soul were several minor treatises that were termed Parva Naturalia. The very titles alone indicate a . body of knowledge which extends beyond the metaphysical dis- cussion of the nature of the soul, its freedom, immortality, and other such problems that philosophy now claims as its own. The titles of the Parva Naturalia were as follows: Concerning Sensation and That Which Is Sensed; Concerning Memory and Forgetting; Concerning Sleep and Awakening ; Concerning Dreams; Concerning the Interpretation of Dreams; Concerning a Long Life and a Short Life; Concerning Youth and Old Age; Concerning Life and Death; Concerning Respiration. When we read these titles we see that the first great psychologist made an attempt, very bold for the fourth century THE CONCEPT OF PSYCHOLOGY 5 B.C., to delve into what we now term physiological psychology and even into problems which the most modern of psychological disciplines, psychoanalysis, has claimed as its own. Throughout the Middle Ages several treatises were written which adopted as their title the De Anima used first by Aristotle. These treatises, however, were written from the metaphysical point of view. The name psychology, as we have seen, was used by Melanchthon in the sixteenth century. A hundred years later, Christian Wolff (1679-1754) employed the term rational and empirical psychology. This terminology of Wolff has continued down to the present day with, however, a modification in the meaning of the terms. According to Wolff, there are two methods of studying the soul—the method of reason and the method of experience. Rational psychology investigates the soul by reason; empirical psychology investigates it by experience. From this point of view rational and empirical psychology cover the same field but by a different method. It was soon seen that reason could investigate some problems and empirical research others. It is not possible to study all the problems of psychology by the same method. The distinction, therefore, between rational and empirical psychology became one both of field and of method, rational psychology undertaking to study the metaphy- sical problems, the nature and origin of the soul, and empirical psychology confining itself to the phenomena of the mind. There was but little progress made in this empirical investigation until physics and physiology had developed methods of study which could be applied to the sensory life of man. When this development was attained, physiologists began to investigate the relation between the stimulus and the sensation which it produces. This was in the first half of the nineteenth century. The original investigators were physiologists. Empirical psychology, as a real scientific discipline, had its birth in physiology and not in the philosophy of Christian Wolff. A new science was begotten which was first termed psyehophysies and later, physiological psychology, and then, experimental psychology, and, occasionally, empirical psychology. 6 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND The first work which we may look upon as a treatise in extenso of the new science was Gustav Theodor Fechner’s Elements of Psychophysics, the first volume of which appeared in 1859, the second in 1860. He thus defines psychophysics: ‘* An exact science of the functional relations of dependence between body and mind or, more generally, between the bodily and mental or the physical and psychical world.’’ (P. 8.) The term ‘‘ soul ’’ Fechner understood in a very broad sense. In fact, it embraced everything apprehended by inner experi- ence or that could be deduced from inner experience. By the term ‘‘ body ’’ he understood everything that could be perceived by outer experience, that is, by the senses, or could be inferred from these perceptions. In 1874 two important works on psychology appeared—one was that of Brentano, Psychology from the Empirical Stand- point. He gave a definition of psychology, which became very popular and until recent days was the commonly accepted definition of psychology, namely, psychology is the science of psychic phenomena, that is, of conscious processes. He attempted to show that this definition meant neither more nor less than, psychology is the science of the soul. He adopted this definition because it implied no metaphysical theory whereas the old definition did. The second great work on empirical psychology which appeared in 1874 was destined to go through six editions and to become the classic work on psychology and has been super- seded by no other until the present day. This was Wundt’s Outlines of Physiological Psychology. In his first edition he thus contrasted physiology and psychology: ‘‘ Physiology supplies us with information concerning those vital phenomena which may be perceived by the outer sense. In psychology, however, man beholds himself from within and tries to explain the interrelation of those phenome which introspection pre- sents to his view.’’ ? *Grundztige der physiologischen Psychologie, Leipzig, 1874, first edi tion, p. 1. THE CONCEPT OF PSYCHOLOGY 7 A number of psychologists adopted the definition of Brentano, so that psychology was usually defined as the science of con- scious processes or the science of the facts of the phenomena of self or the science of consciousness. In the meantime, experimentalists were attempting not only to investigate the mental life of man but also to throw some light upon the much discussed problem of animal intelligence. There is, however, this difficulty about the investigation of animal psychology. One can give the animal no verbal instructions; and when one is through with the experiment, one can ask the animal no questions. It is, therefore, necessary to make use of purely objective methods, that is to say, to put the animal in various situations and watch its behavior. One puts a dog in a box, for example, that can be opened by a latch and watches how it gets out and measures the time it takes to liberate itself in successive trials, and thus investigates the time curve in the animal’s process of learning. This objective method of procedure threw a great deal of light on the problem of animal behavior and even gave some insight into the probable nature of animal intelligence as com- pared with human nature. Those who made use of the method were so thrilled with their success that they wished to apply the same method to the study of the human mind. This they pro- ceeded to do, and this they had every right to do and might hope to obtain and did obtain a number of very interesting results. Unfortunately, the human mind has a monistic tendency to extreme simplification, which manifests itself under various dis- guises. If a principle finds valuable application anywhere, some wish to extend it so as to explain everything, and so animal psychologists were not satisfied with applying objective methods to human psychology but commenced to maintain that no other methods whatever were applicable to the mind of man. One must treat a human being as one would an animal. One must ask the subject in the psychological laboratory no questions at all. One must never demand any introspection. One must confine oneself to the objective method. Thus, Watson defines psychology as he purely objective branch of natural science.’’ Its theoreti- 8 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND cal goal is the prediction and control of behavior. Introspection forms no essential part of its methods, nor is the scientific value of the data dependent upon the readiness with which they lend themselves to interpretation in terms of consciousness.* After the denial of the value of an appeal to consciousness in the study of psychology, extremists went on to maintain that there is no such thing as consciousness. This extreme attitude seems even to have been adopted by James in his later days. ‘‘ For twenty years past,’’ he says, ‘‘ I have mistrusted con- sciousness as an entity; for seven or eight years past I have sug- gested its non-existence to my students .. . It seems to me that the hour is ripe for it to be openly and universally discarded.’’ ¢ This school which would define psychology as the science of behavior is known as Behaviorism, and its adherents as Behaviorists. It is difficult for one to understand this denial of consciousness without an insight into Behaviorism as an outgrowth from animal psychology. With this foundation, however, and keeping in mind the natural tendency of some personalities to all embracing monistic concepts and sweeping denials and affirmations, and not forgetting either the delight of the radicals to shock the sensibilities of the conservatives, and the craving of every man to bring forward something new and startling, we may under- stand the ‘‘ psychology ”’ of the Behaviorists though we may have serious misgivings as to the solidity of its logical foundations. The Behaviorist certainly has every right to investigate behavior to the exclusion of consciousness, if he will. When, however, he maintains that psychology is solely the science of external behavior and not an analysis of inner experience, he has no historical foundation for thus limiting the term ‘‘ psychology. ’’ It may be difficult to study our inner mental life, but it is un- doubtedly a field of investigation and a field of investigation which has long been termed by the name of psychology. This inner mental life is of interest to many investigators, and they 5’ Behavior: An Introduction to Comparative Psychology, by John B. Watson, New York, 1914, p. 1. * Quoted by Frost, Psychological Review, 1914, XXI, p. 204. THE CONCEPT OF PSYCHOLOGY 9 have every right historically to term this science of our inner mental life psychology. It is impossible to investigate every- thing in our mental life by objective methods for this inner experience is far richer than its manifestations by actions or reactions that can be the objects of an external observer’s experience. Nor has Behaviorism been able to attain its goal and predict and control human behavior. A pure Behaviorist would have little place in a psychological clinic or the schoolroom or the Juvenile Court, ete. Whenever one wishes to understand any of the real problems of mental conflict, or penetrate into the real eauses of the difficulties of life, one has to obtain introspections from the patient in trouble. His reactions alone will not give the insight into his personality that is necessary in order to give him the help he needs. Psychology should enable us to solve the difficulties of the human race as well as to investigate the curve of learning in white rats, dogs, cats or human organisms. In recent times there has been a return to the older concept of psychology as the science of the soul. This tendency is found in Miss Calkins’ definition of psychology as the science of the self. To conceive of psychology as the science of individual beings has certain advantages over the conception of psychology as the science of conscious processes. When we study psychology we really seek an insight into the mind and mental life of the individual. We hope for a science which will enable us to interpret not human behavior in general, but the particular behavior of some individual whom we are trying to influence. We may be interested in psychological theory and in the nature of conscious processes as such, but psychological interest does not terminate with pulling the mind to pieces. No analysis is ever satisfactory as a final result. We wish to try to put things together—to synthesize. We study, therefore, in psychology not isolated states of consciousness alone but the mental mechan- isms of behavior which are manifested by individual human beings. Psychology, therefore, in the sense of human psychology, may be defined as the science of the human personality. It is not necessary in a definition of this kind to assume any theory of 10 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND human personality but only that there are personalities, indi- vidual human beings who may be studied from the point of view of their mental life and the mechanisms of their behavior. To say that psychology is the science of the soul assumes at the outset a metaphysical theory. It is better to start on common ground. Psychology is not the science of the brain. It is not physiology, the science of the functions of the organs of the body. It is not biology, the science of life in general, as Aristotle defines it. Psychology is merely the science of human beings developed by an analysis of their mental life by experiments, by observations, by everything that will enable us to obtain insight into the minds of men—how they know, how they think, how they reason, how they feel, how they react in the difficulties of life. RELATION OF PSYCHOLOGY TO OTHER SCIENCES The question is often raised, is psychology a natural science? Before answering this question we may ask ourselves, in the first place, is psychology a science at all? What, we may ask, is a science? A science is a branch of knowledge which seeks an explanation of a correlated group of phenomena or events. Does psychology seek an explanation of a definite field of factual ex- perience? It most certainly does. The facts of experience which are studied in psychology are the facts of our mental life. The task of psychology is not merely to describe these phenomena but to ex- plain them. In this sense, therefore, psychology is a science. Now we may ask the further question, is psychology a natu- ral science? A natural science may be looked upon as one whose explanations are in terms of nature, that is to say, physical motion. The explanations of a natural science must be given according to this concept in terms of matter and energy. We may say rather in terms of energy than of matter, for in most of the explanations of natural science matter does not enter into the question, but only the amount of energy before and after a given event. Natural sciences, so far as their ultimate explana- tions are concerned, have to do with the manifestations and trans- formations of energy. Energy is conceived of as the cause of motion, whether of atoms or of masses. Anything that sets in THE CONCEPT OF PSYCHOLOGY 11 motion a part of matter, whether an atom or a planet, is energy. Can mental phenomena be conceived of in terms of the motion of atoms or of masses? If we limit ourselves to such explanations as this, we can hardly get beyond physics. We can measure stimuli, we can correlate stimuli with sensations, and when we have done all this we have scarcely trodden upon the field of psychology at all. Psychological explanations are really on a very different basis from physiological. One might learn all about the energy transformations going on in the human body, meas- ure the quantity of food taken and the amount of work done by a human being, and yet one would not understand the true motives of his behavior. If a man appeared to be paralyzed and one understood that the paralysis was not due to any actual injury to the nervous system but to a state of mind, for example, to a desire to get compensation from a railroad company because of the fact that he was in an accident in which he was not really hurt—if one knew all this about a man one would understand his behavior far better than through any insight given by profound chemical studies which might be made of the balance between the energy taken in his food and the energy manifested in his work. Physiological explanations do not help us to understand purely mental facts. It is not likely that they ever will, nor will the principles of physiology enable us, as a general rule, to modify the behavior of criminals or of a psychoneurotic or of an unruly child, ete. This does not mean that physiology may be dispensed with in the study of human behavior. It merely points out that human behavior is not completely explained or understood by an appeal to principles which are strictly those of natural science. Psychology, therefore, is not in the strict sense of the word a natural science. We shall see as we go on that this does not pre- vent it from being an experimental science or an empirical sci- ence. It has many points of contact with the natural sciences. It relies upon physies for information about the stimuli which are capable of producing sensation. Without a knowledge of physics we could not understand how we see, hear, touch, taste, smell, ete. . Physics, however, carries us only so far. It leaves us at the 12 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND threshold of the bodily organism in which we live. When a stimulus impinges upon one of our sense organs many things happen in that sense organ before we become conscious of some- thing in the outside world. Physiology has investigated the sense organs, the nerves, the brain through which we receive information about the outside world. As psychologists there- fore, we wish to learn as much as possible about the way in which we know. Physiology is a very important aid to psychology. One who would become a psychologist cannot get along without a good knowledge of the principles of physiology. CHAPTER II CONSCIOUSNESS PsYCHOLoGy, as we have defined it, is the science of the human personality. What characterizes the human personality most specifically is its mode of conscious behavior. It is perhaps on this account that some psychologists have chosen as their defini- tion: Psychology is the science of conscious processes. Though the mind cannot satisfy itself with the study of these isolated processes, nevertheless it is necessary for us to analyze consciousness before we can attempt to obtain that synthetic knowledge which gives us an insight into the workings of any individual mind. It is necessary, furthermore, to have names to designate the phenomena we observe. It is necessary to apply those names in a scientific manner, always univocally designating the same fact of observation. Hence, it is necessary, even in dynamic psychology, to know something about the elements of our mental life. We shall prelude this analysis of our mental life by asking ourselves, first, what, after all, is consciousness itself? This is particularly useful inasmuch as some psychologists have denied the existence of consciousness. If, therefore, the fundamental fact of our mental life is apparently in doubt, it is necessary for us to point out clearly just what we mean by this funda- mental fact. James has likened consciousness to a flowing stream. The analogy is, after all, an apt one. It suggests the continuity of our waking experience. This waking experience is roughly what we understand by consciousness. Man is said to be conscious or unconscious. What goes on in his mind when he is said to be conscious constitutes his consciousness. In other words, con- sciousness is a generic term that we use to designate the various forms of experience that we are aware of in our mental life. When, therefore, we say that the human mind is conscious or 13 14 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND possesses consciousness, we do not mean to maintain that there is any generic mental experience over and above the specific forms of which we are aware. To do so would be to lose sight of the meaning of generic terms. Trees exist but there is no tree which is not a special kind of tree, which is neither oak nor maple nor elm nor hickory nor walnut, but only a tree. So, also, conscious- ness exists, but there is no consciousness apart from the specific forms in which it manifests itself. Thus we are conscious when we think, we see, we hear, we are angry, We are annoyed, we are joyful, we are sad, ete. By consciousness, therefore, we merely mean to designate the manifold experiences of our waking life, and no one can deny that we do have experiences of some sort in our waking life. , James’ figure, which compares consciousness to a flowing stream, truly points out the continuity of our mental life. For certainly in our normal waking life the modes of experience vary, but there are no lapses such as occasionally take place when an epileptic has a petit mal attack, becomes dazed for a moment and knows nothing of what may transpire during his lapse of consciousness. The normal human being in his waking life knows no such lapses. He may be distracted, his thought may not follow any one direction for a very long time, but con- sciousness in some form is always present. And though sensa- tions come suddenly, and disappear when they do come, they do not awaken us from a state of unconsciousness but suddenly break our flow of thought, as when the river in its downward course meets a rocky crag and breaks in bubbling streamers on either side. So our waking life is one continuous flow of experi- ences whose character is much more varied than the water in any stream. Is consciousness ever interrupted? In sleep it seems that consciousness ceases, but no one can ever remember the exact moment of becoming unconscious even in sleep. Consciousness seems to fade into another type of experience of which we have fragments in our memory when we awaken and recall to mind the fragments of our dreams. It is not clear that dream-life itself is not a continuous, unbroken stream of conscious experi- CONSCIOUSNESS 15 ence at a lower level. It is not even absolutely certain that con- sciousness ceases under ether or as the result of shock or accident. Nevertheless, seeing that in these states the individual gives no evidence of conscious life and has no memory of anything having transpired during the state, he would be rash indeed who would maintain as a certainty that consciousness continues in such states as these. What, we may ask, is the ultimate nature of consciousness? To answer this question one must enter the field of metaphysics. Properly speaking, it is no task of psychology, and one may go on and study a great deal about the facts of consciousness with- out ever knowing anything at all about their ultimate nature. Thus, though chemistry and physics go back in their origins to disputations about the nature of matter, progress in these sciences came only after men gave up seeking an answer to the ultimate question. And so it can be with psychology. Psychology need not answer the question. of the nature of consciousness before it investigates the operations of the mind. Nevertheless, it may be pardonable to raise the question and suggest a philosophic answer. Consciousness, though continuous as a stream of awareness or waking experience, is always in any single one of its actual manifestations a transitory phenomenon. When we look at these phenomena individually, consciousness does not resemble a stream but rather the fireflies that flash in the night. An experience comes and an experience goes. What are these phenomena which arise more or less suddenly and abruptly and then disappear as quickly or fade gradually into oblivion? All things in nature may be classified as substances or as accidents. Substances have independent existence, such as coal, iron, earth, air, water, trees, animals, ete. Accidents never exist apart from substances. They may be looked upon as character- istics of a substance. Shape, for instance, cannot exist independ- ently and apart from some object whose form it outlines. Color cannot exist without something colored. Motion or action of any kind cannot exist without something that moves or acts. And so consciousness appears to us not as a substance but as an accident, an action of some kind. It is, therefore, the activity of some- 16 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND thing. We know it only in ourselves and we are living organisms. We assume that it exists in organisms that are similar to our own. We find that in some manner it is connected with organisms possessing nervous systems. For organisms without a nervous system, such as plants, do not in general manifest those actions which resemble our behavior in our conscious waking life. Consciousness, therefore, is in some manner the activity of a living organism of a definite type, not of any organism. It is not likely that it would be a mere chemical reaction, for as we under- stand chemical reactions we do not see any identity between the shifting of atomic groupings and those experiences which we recognize as conscious. At least, in the ultimate analysis, there is no possibility of identifying consciousness with ordinary move- ment governed by the relations of mass and velocity. And yet we see from the study of physics and of anatomy and of physiology that all our sensations in becoming conscious involve mechanical motion and chemical change. Consciousness, more than anything else, seems to demand in every organism something more than chemical activity. The German biologist, Driesch,’ feels that the phenomena, of erowth and regeneration cannot be explained without the assump- tion of a vital principle or entelechy in the organism. If this is so, the explanation of a conscious organism by mere physics and chemistry is much more difficult and would therefore demand the assumption of an entelechy as the basis of its conscious life. Metaphysically, one should at least consider the possibility that consciousness is not a chemical reaction, nor is it a secretion of any gland; it is not a substance; it is not physical motion to which all forms of energy are ultimately reduced. It is an activity of the vital principle of an organism. This activity is intimately associated, but not to be identified, with chemical processes that take place in the sense organs, the nerves and the central nervous system. When, therefore, we study consciousness, we must not forget that it has an organic counterpart, nor is it lawful to confound the organic counterpart with consciousness itself. 2 CE infra, p. 405 fi. CHAPTER III THE UNCONSCIOUS In 1868, the German philosopher, von Hartmann, published his work, Philosophy of the Unconscious. He was not the origina- tor of the concept of the unconscious, but he made it popular because he conceived of it in a fashion that was likely to appeal to the general public. Von Hartmann thought that we had two personalities, one our conscious personality, and the other a sec- ondary personality hidden down beneath the surface of our ordi- nary consciousness. It was nevertheless exactly the same, in its structure or in its make-up and its mode of action, as the conscious personality of our waking life. He even suggested that the conscious personality functioned through the cortex of the brain, the unconscious personality through the spinal cord and sub- cortical ganglia.1 Such an idea as this naturally aroused popu- lar notice. Janet in his L’Automatisme Psychologique attempted to show that a number of pathological conditions of the mind may be explained by supposing that certain elements of our mental life are split off and separated from the control of the conscious per- sonality. These split-off elements then act independently and produce phenomena and actions which apparently do not depend upon the conscious personality. Since the days of von Hartmann and Janet the concept of the unconscious has been much discussed. It is certainly very im- portant to know whether or not our mental life is split, so that, besides the flow of conscious thought, there is another stream governing our activity of which we are absolutely unaware. Cer- tainly any such idea as this has a bearing on human conduct, and if we are going to understand the human personality, we must know in what sense and to what extent it is true that we have an unconscious mind. 1 Op. cit., A, 1, pp. 51-61, sixth edition. 17 18 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND In order to answer this problem we shall attempt to outline the sphere of the unconscious by attempting to find various senses in which the unconscious in some form or another or by some extension of the meaning of the word must be admitted. Acts of consciousness, as we have seen, are activities of some- thing. Spiritualists maintain that they are the activities of a spiritual substance. Materialists maintain that they are the activities of the brain itself. No matter whether the spiritualists or the materialists are right, one thing is clear, and that is, that neither the soul nor the brain is given as a conscious fact. In other words, the organ of consciousness is not conscious immedi- ately and directly of itself. No man perceives his own mind. The brain is unknown to those absolutely ignorant of anatomy. The soul is a conclusion arrived at by argument, not an object of perception.” In the second place, not only is the organ of consciousness unconscious but the operations of the organ of consciousness, whether physiological or psychological, are themselves uncon- scious.2 We are not aware of any of the processes that take place in our central nervous system as such. Neurochemistry is not psychology. All neurological processes as such are there- fore unconscious. What is true of the physiological functioning of the mind is true also of its psychical functioning. The mind has various functions that it makes use of in its operations. Thus, association and memory are mental functions, but we are never conscious of association as a function, or memory as a function, but only of their end-results. One idea may bring up another idea. The second idea is often spoken of as an association. This second idea is conscious, but of the process of association, by which the first called up the second, we are not aware. By mem- ory, which is very akin to association, we are able to live over again our past experiences. When these past experiences revive as memories, they are conscious, but the ‘‘function of memory,’’ by means of which the past is recalled, of that we have no aware- ness whatsoever. *Cf. hereon, St. Thomas, Summa Theologica, I. Q. Ixxxvii, Art. 1. 3 Cf. St. Thomas, Summa Theologica, I. Q. Ixxxvii, Art. 3. THE UNCONSCIOUS 19 Our mental habits, whether in their ultimate nature they are psychical dispositions or neurological traces, are absolutely out- side the field of consciousness. They may influence conscious life, but their nature, their character, or anything whatsoever about them, is not given to us among the immediate data of consciousness. Let us now introduce the term ‘‘ subconscious.’’ There are some things that are neither strictly conscious, nor strictly un conscious, but occupy an intermediate position. Thus conscious- ness has a field which has been compared to the field of vision. In the field of vision there is a certain small region which is referred to as the focus point. It is a very limited area that may be seen clearly without any movement of the eyes. Outside of this limited field, everything is more or less blurred. This region, in contrast to the focus point, is termed the field of vision. Precisely the same thing takes place in our conscious life. We are keenly aware of some one or two things to which we pay strict attention. We are very dimly aware of everything else in the stream of consciousness. Of some of these things we are so dimly aware, when our attention is not called to them, that it would almost seem that they are not conscious at all. Ifa clock strikes while we are working, and someone shortly afterwards asks us if the clock has struck, we may perhaps be able to answer, but the interval is very short in which that experience fades entirely from the mind. Many things are present continually in the mind, and when our attention is called to them, we are aware of them, but can scarcely be said to be conscious of them when our attention is not directed to them, e.g., the pressure of clothes on the body, the temperature of the body, are usually not objects of experience; the tension of the skin in the various positions of the members of the body seldom becomes conscious unless it becomes painful as in illness; the overtones of a note on the piano may be picked out once our attention has been called to them. In a certain sense we were conscious of them before, but as individual experiences we certainly were not aware of them. All of these things may be termed subconscious. In fact, “Cf. St. Thomas, Summa Theologica, 1. Q. lxxxvii, Art. 2. eure ? 20 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND everything which we may recognize as belonging in any manner to the field of consciousness which can be brought to the focus point of consciousness at any time, may be said to be subcon- scious. Naturally, there are many degrees of the subconscious. The intensity of consciousness, however, fades very rapidly from the focus point to the contiguous regions of the field. So far, however, we have not eome to the crucial problem. There are many states of mind, forms of consciousness, that flit about in the outskirts of our mind and no one doubts the sub- conscious. But are there any mental states that are not even in the field of consciousness? Are there, in other words, two fields of consciousness that have no connection with one another, but exist on different planes, one above, the other below? Bleuler,® among other lines of evidence for unconscious mental states, speaks of the sensations of reflex action in balancing. Thus, when we walk, stimuli come from the soles of our feet, from the skin, muscles and tendons and enable us to step out with ease and maintain the erect posture. But we are not aware of any sensations exercising a control over the mechanism of walking. It may be possible that sensations, real mental phenomena, are involved in the control of such movements as walking or in stand- ing, sitting, etc., or in the performance of many habitual acts as washing, dressing, playing a musical instrument, ete. But while this is possible, it is also possible and even more probable, that this control may come from mere stimuli that remain neurological phenomena throughout, and never rise to the conscious level, never become even unconscious mental processes. Clear evidence of the existence of unconscious mental states must, therefore, be sought in other fields. Bleuler also points out the evidence that may be adduced from the study of hysterical anesthesia. Many patients have areas over their body of greater or less extent that are absolutely insensitive. They are said to be anesthetic. In these regions you may cut or burn without any manifestation that the patient is aware of any kind of sensation °“Das Unbewusste,” Journal fiir Psychol. und Neurol., XX, Ergiin- zungsheft, 2, pp. 89-90. THE UNCONSCIOUS 21 whatsoever. These areas do not correspond to the distribution of the sensory nerves nor to the root region in the cord, nor to the projection diagram of the cerebral cortex. They are not really cut off from the central nervous system. Binet has made some interesting experiments in which he shows that such areas are still capable of responding to stimuli. Thus, if a patient has an anesthetic arm and you screen it from him, it is possible to get into communication with the arm while the patient apparently knows nothing of what is going on. The arm supposed to be devoid of all feeling will tap a finger just as many times as the anesthetic skin is touched; it may even execute automatic writing, expressing opinions about the experi- menter, etc., and still apparently the owner of the arm knows nothing of what is going on. I have never tried these experiments myself, nor seen them demonstrated by others. If, however, the facts are as Binet pre- sents them, they could be conveniently explained by the existence of unconscious mental states in the mind of the subject con- trolling the behavior of the arm. Bleuler also speaks of the motives of action in conduct and maintains that conduct is often inexplicable unless one supposes over and above the reasons alleged for behavior other reasons ef which the person is not aware. We have only to recall the men in the parable, who all at once commenced to make excuses, to realize that alleged reasons are often insufficient to explain conduct. If we study conduct and the alleged reasons by which it is explained, we shall have no difficulty in assuring ourselves that the alleged reasons are often insufficient. I think, also, that it will frequently be found that those who give the reasons are often perfectly sincere and truly convinced that their actions are adequately explained by the motives they advance. Granted then this is so, it would not, without any shadow of doubt, prove anything more than that people are often uncon- scious of the relation of certain ideas to their conduct. Thus, in cases of excuse the conduct is not to be explained by the reasons given. But are there not reasons flitting about in 22 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND the subconscious mind, or conscious mind, of the subject that are fully adequate to account for his behavior? What is unconscious may be, not the real motives, but the relation of these real motives to conduct. Thus, in the war, some soldiers developed what was termed an anxiety neurosis. They fell into an unreasonable anxiety that incapacitated them for duty. I studied several such patients in France who attributed their anxiety to the fear that some of their relatives were dead at home. They said that this must be the case, otherwise they would have had letters from them. There was always, however, a good reason why letters should not have been received. The postal service was abominable, necessarily perhaps, and whether good or bad they had been out of contact with it by reason of their position at the front. The real reason for their anxiety and its teleological incapacitation was not that they were afraid of a death at home, but of their own death on the muddy fields of sunny France. But were these men wnconscious of their fear? By no means. But I do believe, from my personal examination, that some of them did not consciously connect their conduct with its real motive—the fear of death.°® This leads us on to the consideration of what is termed the complex, an emotionally toned experience, that is looked upon as having been forgotten but, nevertheless, by its associations affecting behavior. White, in his Mental Mechanisms, explains it by the following simile: Suppose a child has a boil on its arm. A physician is called and enters the room with his little black bag. He asks to see the arm which the child innocently and unsuspectingly shrugs up for his inspection. The physician opens the black bag, removes a knife and with a quick movement plunges it into the boil and evacuates its contents. The next day when the physician calls with his black bag he cannot get near the child without it erying and screaming. Some time later, let us suppose, a visitor comes with a black bag. The child sees the bag and immediately com- mences to make an outcry. His mother hushes his crying and A TOOE Spray OS Ele sane) inne Shape PARMA eile ky) Henao OTT tia THE UNCONSCIOUS 23 assures him that the caller is not a bad doctor with a knife. But for some time afterward the child has a horror of black bags. Perhaps later on, having forgotten the incident, he has a peculiar, inexplicable antipathy to people with black bags, or that wear black, or perhaps even to black things in general. When he sees black things, he does not recall the incident in which the boil was lanced with a knife taken from a black bag. That incident is a complex which is forgotten and has sunken into the depths of the unconscious. It is unconscious itself, and its relation to the child’s subsequent behavior when a man, is also unconscious. According to theory, therefore, the complex is an emotionally toned incident which is or may be forgotten, but which, neverthe- less, is awakened to activity, producing its original emotional resonance, without the subject having the slightest inkling of the true cause of his unreasonable behavior. Many cases are given by psychoanalysts of incidents, for- gotten beyond the power of recall, but unearthed by them from the depths of the unconscious. These forgotten incidents fune- tion in the way just described as characteristic of the complex. I would not call in question the existence of really unconscious incidents that function as complexes, that is, incidents that before analysis had been forgotten by the patient beyond the possibility of recall. I have, however, never found such wholly unconscious complexes in any of my patients; but I have frequently found incidents of one kind or another that analysis showed were con- nected with the patient’s behavior and yet the patient prior to analysis had no idea of the association that had been welded between these past events and his subsequent conduct. According to the Freudian concept mere analysis suffices for clearing up mental difficulties. The cure is likened to the opening of a boil. A complex is a mental boil and when opened up and discharged, the psyche heals. In my experience, analysis alone seldom effects a cure. The analysis of a pathological association, however, is a real aid. Its mechanism may be conceived of in this way. Suppose a man whom you ingenuously credited with good intentions had been giving you advice and profoundly influencing your conduct. 3 24 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND Suppose that some day you should discover that he was not considering your interests, but his own; not attempting to help you, but to use you for his own ends. The next time he offered advice it would be robbed of its former potency, because you had an insight into its true meaning. So, also, when by analysis one understands the relation between conduct and com- plex, he seems to say to himself: And so that is all I am worry- ing about—that is the reason for my attraction or my fear; and what influenced him so profoundly before is robbed of its potency. The following case illustrates this mechanism. A young lady came to the clinic; among other difficulties she had an unreason- able attraction for a man very much older than herself. He had never spoken to her about marriage and perhaps would have been surprised had he known the extent of her affection for him. This affection kept her from becoming interested in anyone else; but to marry such an old man would probably have ended un- happily. Merely taking the history of her life revealed that from childhood she had absolutely worshipped her father, and had a tremendous respect for anything he said in spite of his having been several times in an asylum. When eleven years of age she saw her mother, one day, with a gash in the side of her cheek. Her mother told her that she had been hit by something on a train ; but she soon learned that her father had attacked her with a knife. Someone said her father was insane. The word shocked her and she has avoided it ever since. That night she was sent to a cireus and when she returned she learned that her father was gone. She was dreadfully depressed, lonely and hopeless. But she kept her difficulties to herself. Her father returned home again several times but had repeatedly to be taken away. After one of these removals she met the elderly gentleman, a lawyer who took care of her father’s financial affairs. She felt that she was in love with him from that time on, but saw no hope of mar- riage and no other prospect for herself in the future. Explanation of the mechanism of pathological association and the probable substitution of the lawyer for her father dissipated the peculiar charm that the lawyer held over her, and gave her once more her freedom. THE UNCONSCIOUS 25 From this discussion of the complex we may conclude that the influence of ideas and memories on the mental life of individu- als may be real and extensive and yet the relation of cause and effect between the ideas and memories and their resonance in the mental life, may be utterly unknown to the subject. We have two classes of memories: a. Memories subject to recall with little or no difficulty. b. Memories beyond the power of recall or subject to recall only in response to special methods of analysis. Can memories of the latter sort, truly unconscious memories, produce the same effects as the former? The literature says yes, and there is no good reason for calling the verdict in question. Whether either type of memory produces its effects as mental or physical traces in the substrate of our mental life or by being aroused to the condition of unconscious mental states, cannot be decided. But until it is proven that these memories produce their effects not as traces but truly as mental states, they cannot be adduced as evidence of ‘* unconscious conscious processes, ’’ and what we seek now is evidence of these ‘‘ unconscious conscious processes.’’ The apparent contradiction need not be cause for concern. The conscious processes of one man are unconscious to another, for they are unconnected one with another. The con- scious processes in the twilight state of epilepsy are not known by those of the normal states, because they are unconnected. This lack of connection may make possible two simultaneous streams of consciousness, just as there might be branches of a river wholly unconnected on either side of a long island between them. Are there any such islands in the stream of consciousness ? The most direct evidence is that produced by Morton Prince in an experiment on post-hypnotic suggestion.* ‘“While the subject was in hypnosis the problem was given to add 458 and 367, the calculation to be done subconsciously after she was awake. The problem was successfully accomplished in the usual way. The mode in which the calculation was effected was then investigated with the following result: In what may *The Unconscious, second edition, 1921, pp. 169-171. 26 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND be termed for convenience, the secondary consciousness, 7.e., the subconsciousness, the numbers 458 and 367 appear as distinct visualizations. These numbers were placed one over the other, * with a line underneath them, such as one makes in adding. The visualization kept coming and going, sometimes the line was crooked and sometimes it was straight; the secondary conscious- ness did not do the sum at once, but by piecemeal. It took a long time before it was completed.’ The sum was not apparently done as soon as one would do it when awake by volitional calculation, but rather, the figures added themselves in a curious sort of way, the numbers were visualized and the visualization kept coming and going and the columns at different times added themselves, as it seemed, the result appearing at the bottom. ‘*In another problem (453 to be multiplied by 6), the process was described as follows: The numbers were visualized in a line, thus 453 x6. Then the 6 arranged itself under the 453. The numbers kept coming and going the same as before. Sometimes, however, they added themselves and sometimes the 6 substracted itself from the larger number. Finally, however, the result was obtained. As in the first problem, the numbers kept coming and going in the secondary consciousness until the problem was solved and then they ceased to appear. It is to be understood, of course, that the normal or personal consciousness was not aware of these coconscious figures, or even that any calculation was being or to be performed.’’ Taken at its face value, this experiment would demonstrate the existence of these unconscious conscious processes. The ex- ample quoted is but one of many experiments in which these un- conscious processes, or, as Prince terms them, coconscious ideas were deseribed. Prince writes of the experiment as follows: ‘‘ The description of these ideas has been very precise and has carried a conviction, I believe, to all those who have had an opportunity to be present at these observations that these recol- lections were true memories and not fabrications.’’ ® But hypnotie subjects are very much inclined to give the hypnotizer any answer they may guess that he expects, and are TH Op, cit, pp. FLGS-160ei) ain UO, Cites ee nan onan THE UNCONSCIOUS 27 inclined not so much to pure fabrication but to what might be termed the delusion of suggestion. Such suspicions cannot help but throw a cloud on the evidence; but with all that, Morton Prince’s experiment is very suggestive and inclines one strongly to the conclusion that coconscious processes are real elements in our mental life. But, you may say, what happens to human responsibility if the mind is subject to unconscious drives ? Take for instance, such cases as those reported by Healy. A boy, having learned bad sexual practices and stealing from one and. the same companion, developed a peculiar, periodic, appar- ently unmotivated drive to steal. What has happened is that the patient has developed a pathological association between steal- ing and sexuality with which its learning had been combined. Thereafter, stealing had a sexual charm that usually and nor- mally does not belong to it at all. The patient does not know the source of its peculiar attractiveness. Healy has cured such cases by analysis. With insight into the origin of the charm the asso- ciation was broken up.® It is not necessary for us to know why a course of action appeals to us in order to resist it. The sexual drive is strong, but not irresistible. The fact that it masks itself under the temp- tation to steal does not make it overpowering. The unconscious by shuffling the cards makes peculiar and uncanny problems but not insoluble ones. We are all subject to pathological associa- tions. No one can render an account of all his likes and dislikes. But it is not necessary in order to behave ourselves with decency and discretion. Something may appeal with a peculiar, inde- seribable and inexplicable charm. Analysis of the charm is not necessary in order to see whether or not the course of action it leads to is or is not in accord with the ideals of conduct. The ability to compare action with the standards of conduct is the root of freedom. If we would escape the drive of the unconscious we must regulate our conduct according to principle. If, how- °Cf. Wm. Healy, Mental Conflicts and Misconduct, Boston, 1917, p. 183 ff. 28 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND ever, we follow whims and fancies and thoughtlessly yield to desires the unconscious bears us along and we know not whither we are going. From the above discussion it is clearly evident that there are conscious mental processes and subconscious mental proc- esses. It is very likely also that there are unconscious mental processes. May we also say that besides the unconscious mental processes there is also a subconscious personality ? To answer this question we must distinguish between two senses of the word personality ; (a) the metaphysical sense and (b) the empirical sense. The metaphysical personality is the ultimate substrate of our mental life. Materialists would say that this ultimate substrate is the brain. On this theory it is clear that there is in any one man only one central nervois system. Though it is conceivable that the conscious might be connected with one part of the nervous system, and the unconscious with another and though some authors have pointed to the two cerebral hemispheres, and others to the subcortical ganglia as possible explanations of the duality of the mind, nevertheless such suggestions have no foun- dation in fact and are pure conjectures. If, however, the ultimate substrate of our mental life is a spiritual psyche or soul, there is no reason to suppose that in any one organism there is more than one “‘ entelechy ’’ or vital principle of its growth and consciousness. Metaphysically, therefore, there is but one personality. What, now, do we understand by personality in the empiri- eal sense? It is our concept of ourselves, our memory of our life, into which is set, like jewels in a ring, the mental events of the present. There may be fluctuations in the emotional tone of this complex of mental processes but usually even in emotional life there is a certain unity in its undercurrent. If for any reason the unity of memory is broken, the empirical personality disappears as a stream sometimes flows underground only to appear again, further on. Normal interruptions of our mental life oceur during sleep, but when we awaken the same old self makes itself manifest. In epilepsy one may distinguish THE UNCONSCIOUS 29 two empirical selves, the normal self and the twilight self. Usually the twilight self has only sporadic minutes of existence. Sometimes, however, these minutes lengthen into days. Besides these epileptic transformations of personality which are common enough there are alterations of personality in indi- viduals who show no signs of epilepsy whatsoever. I have never had the good fortune to study any of these cases myself. Cases, however, are reported of more or less sudden changes of per- sonality. One personality will be quiet, refined, sedate, the other noisy, vulgar and tom-boyish. One personality knows only by hearsay what the other one does. The memories of one, there- fore, are unconscious to the other. In one and the same individual there are two streams of consciousness apparently wholly uncon- nected. When one is above ground, the other is below. The splitting of the empirical personality may go even further. Three and more personalities in the same individual have been described. The physiology of such changes is even more undeveloped than their psychology. If we understood the physiological basis of the continuity of memory we would undoubtedly have a better insight into their nature. On the psyehological side our own subconscious life and alterations of mood are perhaps the basis of these more marked transformations of personality. But in the midst of all these changes, great or little, there is only one psychic field in which they occur, and that is the one Ego, the one metaphysical personality, the one substrate of our mental life. CHAPTER IV DREAMS AND THE UNCONSCIOUS BEFORE approaching the study of the various methods of analyzing the unconscious it will be useful to understand some- thing about the theory of dreams, for one of the most important methods of analyzing the unconscious is the method of dream interpretation. Sigmund Freud has the credit for giving the psy- chological world its first true insight into the nature of dreams. We shall therefore commence our study of dreams with an out- line and criticism of the Freudian view. According to Freud, ‘‘ some reference to the experiences of the day which has most recently passed is to be found wm every dream.’’ } He gives various examples in which he has been able to trace the dream to some incident which transpired in the day that had just elapsed. In my own experience with dream analysis this principle seems in general justified. Sometimes, however, the incident which gives rise to the dream is not the day just past but dates two or three days previous to the night of the dream. It is true also, as Freud suggests, that something which is apparently trivial is the starting point in which the dream takes its rise. Thus, a middle aged lady reported to me the following dream as one that had absolutely no meaning. She dreamt that she had been an ostrich feather and had been changed into a feather duster. Analysis revealed that she was really very much worried about the approach of old age. The dream, therefore, has the following interpretation. In her youthful days she was the ostrich feather; now no one pays any attention to her, everyone passes her by and she is neglected. The source ~ of the dream was related, by association, to her noticing the day previous a feather which had fallen from a feather duster on *The Interpretation of Dreams, English translation, New York, 1913, p. 139. 30 DREAMS AND THE UNCONSCIOUS 31 the floor, and for some reason or another the thought came to her mind that everybody was walking over this neglected piece of feather duster. In her waking hours she did not see the analogy between the much-trampled feather and herself, but in the night- time her anxiety expressed itself in a dream by a symbolism which had its origin in a trivial incident of the previous day’s experience. As we shall see, in the theory of dreams outlined below, dream-life probably takes its start in the thought of the day that has just elapsed. It is not, therefore, surprising that the dream is associated with the incidents of the day before. Not only ts the dream according to Freud related to the day that has just elapsed, but it also goes back to the experiences of early childhood. Thus, he says: ‘‘ The dream often appears ambiguous, not only may several wish-fulfilments, as the examples show, be united in it, but one meaning or one wish-fulfilment may also conceal another, until at the bottom one comes upon the ful- filment of a wish from the earliest period of childhood; and here too it may be questioned whether ‘ often ’ in this sentence may not more correctly be replaced by ‘regularly.’ ’’ ? He gives the following example: ‘‘ A physician in the thirties tells me that a yellow lion, about which he can give the most de- tailed information, has often appeared in his dream-life from the earliest period of his childhood to the present day. This lion, known to him from his dreams, was one day discovered in natura as a long forgotten object made of porcelain and on that occasion the young man learned from his mother that this object had been his favorite toy in childhood, a fact which he himself could no longer remember.’’ ? In my own experience the word ‘‘ often ’’ in Freud’s state- ment should not be replaced by ‘‘ regularly ’’’ but rather by ‘‘ seldom.’’ | According to Freud also, all dreams have in them something of asexual element. Here again it would seem that the tendency to generalize is exaggerated, for it can scarcely be proved that all dreams have in them a sexual element, but only that many 2 Op. cit., p. 184. * Op. cit., p. 159. 32 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND dreams that seem free from it are nevertheless found on analy- sis to reveal some kind of hidden sexuality. The third and fourth chapters of Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams constitute an attempt on his part to demonstrate that all dreams whatsoever are wish-fulfilments, and that there is no such thing as a fear or an anxiety expressing itself in our dream- life. He points out that the dreams of children are frequently plain, ungarnished wish-fulfilments. This I think anyone will be able to confirm who pays attention from time to time to the dreams that children recount. Thus, for example, I remember a child at a little inn where I stopped over night on a tramp through the Sierra Nevadas: The child was told that a lion inhabited a big black crevice in the rocks above and that if he would wait up at night he could see him come out in the moon- light and hear him roar. Naturally, the child wished to stay up and hear the lon, but was put to bed. The next morning he came down in great glee rubbing his hands and telling how he dreamt of the big lion coming out of the rock and prancing about and roaring to his heart’s content. The child, therefore, was not to be outdone. He was forbidden to stay up and see the lion so he got out of the difficulty by seeing him in a dream. Naturally, Freud does not maintain that all dreams are plain, ungarnished wish-fulfilments for this would be disproved by nightmares and various frightful experiences in dreams. The dreams of adults, he says, are seldom like the dreams of children because of the distortion that the wish must suffer in order to attain its expression. We must, therefore, distinguish between the manifest and the latent content of dreams. The manifest content is usually a meaningless phantasmagoria in which per- sonalities are disguised. In the disguised personality there is, however, usually something of the nature of the devil’s cloven hoof that betrays his character, such as the color of the hair, the presence of a beard, a peculiarity in the clothing, etc. One cannot, according to Freud, argue from the fact that persons in a dream are men or women, that, therefore, they must refer to men or women in reality ; for a man may appear as a woman in a dream and vice versa. Furthermore, dream personalities are DREAMS AND THE UNCONSCIOUS 33 sometimes the telescoping into one of several individuals in real life. From the fact that one dreams of some frightful and terri- fying incident you cannot argue that the dream does not repre- sent a wish-fulfilment. Thus, for instance, a young lady dreamt of her father’s death. She had a real affection for her father. How is it possible for a dream of this kind to represent a wish- fulfilment? As a matter of fact, however, her father was an invalid, absorbed a great deal of her time i caring for him, and prevented her mingling in social activities for which she had a craving. His death alone could free her, but to consciously think of this would be against the natural principles of a dutiful daughter. Therefore, she repressed into the background of con- sciousness any wish that might make itself manifest to obtain her freedom by her father’s death. The unconscious, however, is no respector of persons or of principles. It wants what it desires without regard to consequences or the ideals imposed by educa- tion, or the sanctions of morality. The dream of the girl, there- fore, represents an unconscious wish, a desire for freedom. In this way it may be proved that many dreams are wish-fulfilments in spite of their manifest content, but can we, from any amount of analysis, demonstrate that all dreams are wish-fulfilments? I might mention cases where patients have dreamt of deaths of individuals in which no reason could be found by analysis why these patients would desire the death of the person of whom they dreamt. The Freudians will answer to any such eases as these that the dream is not adequately analyzed, in fact, Freud disposed of a number of dreams that are apparently exceptions to his theory in the following way: ‘‘If I group the ever fre- quently occurring dreams of this sort, which seem flatly to con- tradict my theory, in that they contain the denial of a wish or some occurrence decidedly unwished for, under the head of counter wish-dreams, I observe that they may all be referred to two principles, of which one has not yet been mentioned, although it plays a large part in the dreams of human beings. One of the motives inspiring these dreams is the wish that I should appear in the wrong. These dreams regularly occur in the course of my treatment if the patient shows a resistance to me, and 34 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND T can count with a large degree of certainty upon causing such a dream after I once explain to the patient my theory that the dream is a wish-fulfilment.’’ 4 It may be that Freud is right in referring the dreams that seem to be exemplifications of the inadequacy of his theory to a desire on the part of the patient to prove that his theory is wrong. As a matter of fact, patients do attempt to demonstrate the falsity of the theory when once it has been proposed to them or at least they will give a dream which is apparently not a wish- fulfilment and say: ‘‘There, this shows that the theory is not correct.’’ Thus a patient once related to me as disproving the wish-fulfilment theory of dreams that she had dreamt that her mother had gone to live with her sister-in-law. ‘‘There,’’ she said, ‘‘ is a perfectly common-place event that has no relation whatsoever to any wish-fulfilment.’’ One of the patient’s diffi- culties, however, was precisely with her mother, inasmuch as her mother had the unfortunate habit of drinking too much, and during these times had caused the patient serious trouble and anxiety. Knowing this I immediately asked the patient if she did not have a grudge against her sister-in-law. She answered with some vehemence: ‘‘ I hate her.’’ The meaning therefore is apparent. She wishes to burden her sister-in-law with the troubles that she has with her mother. It would be very difficult by Freudian methods, however, to prove or disprove the Freudian theory. Whether or not all dreams are wish-fulfilments must be determined by the theory of dreams itself. According to Freud the reason why dreams are symbolic and not plain downright wish-fulfilments is that there exists in our mental life a censor. Education and environment place upon us many restrictions and, therefore, we cannot do all the things that we would like to do, we become ashamed of those things that society frowns upon. We look on them as un- worthy of ourselves, and therefore repress them, banishing them utterly from our mental life. The censor does not allow these things to appear in consciousness in a plain, ungarnished form. Freud says: ‘‘ The censor behaves analogously to the Russian newspaper censor on the frontier, who allows to fall into the hands fi * Op. Cit., pp. 133-134. ey fhe DREAMS AND THE UNCONSCIOUS 35 of his protected readers only those foreign journals that ses passed under the black pencil.’’® No explanation has ever been given of the psychological nature of this censor. He is awake both day and night, eternally active with his black pencil. I determined to obtain some light on the theory of dreams by a study of what I termed hypnotic analogies.® If one dozes off to sleep in day time he frequently passes from a trend of thought of waking hfe into something which is very much akin to what occurs in our dreams, for example: ‘‘ T was reading this morning the epistle of St. Clement to the Corinthians. I looked up the word TAPATTW NA., finding the sense ‘ a fall beside,’ metaphorically, a transgression. A little later I dozed off and saw a chute such as one sees in a depot where trunks are allowed to slide along a curved inclined plane to the floor below. Numbers of red mattresses, rolled up and tied with a eord, were tumbling down the inclined plane and as they reached the floor below fell off at the sides. At first I could see nothing with which the peculiar scene could be connected, presently I thought of zapdrrw ya and the ‘fall beside.’ ‘‘The railroad seemed to me to be in some way connected with the Union Station at Washington where I came in last night at about eleven. I do not remember any association with red mat- tresses—except the red bags of feathers used in Germany. I was very sleepy on the car on my way from Baltimore. This might have something to do with an association between the station and the mattress—via my desire to go to bed. I, therefore, did not see trunks going down the chute, but mattresses instead.’’*? What happens here is that the thought of the day is con- tinued immediately into the thought of the hypnotic analogy. The hypnotic analogy is not the commencement of a new train of thought but a continuation of the old. The type of thought is essentially different. The thought of the day is logical, the 5 Op. cit., p. 419. ® Psychological Studies from the Catholic University of America, Psychological Monographs, 1919, Vol. 27, No. 4, pp. 387-400. *“ Hypnotic Analogies,” by Thomas V. Moore, Psychological Mono- graphs, Vol. 27, No. 4, p. 393. 36 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND thought of the hypnotic analogy is poetic and symbolic, but the symbolism is usually too crude to form a part of what waking life would approve of as poetry. In other words, in our waking life we have one type of thought dominant, in our dream-life another. Various authors have called attention to the existence of two types of thought in man. Jung refers to it in his Wandlungen und Symbole der Inbido. Many authors have recognized this type of thought in the mental life of precox patients, and here it has been termed “‘ autistic ’’ thinking. What, we may ask, is the reason for the sudden change from logical to symbolic thought in passing from our waking to our sleeping mental life? In our waking life our thought is largely associated with or affected by the activity of perception. In sleeping these sensations are replaced by images. When one is about to fall asleep he is fre- quently aware of various visual images of the most bizarre charac- ter flitting before his mind; at times one may perceive also audi- tory or other images. Myer has given to these images the name of ‘‘ hypnagogic hallucinations.’’ They are perhaps to be con- ceived of as due to the rhythmic activity of the sensory cerebral centres. Though ordinarily this activity does not become con- scious when actual sensations are present, we do become aware of it in the quiet that comes with the advent of sleep. Perception in waking life, as may be proved by many examples, is the fusion of incoming sensations with past images and categories of ex- perience. In our sleeping life the sensations are largely lacking. Instead we have a train of thought and the hypnagogic hallucina- tions. These hypnagogic hallucinations are seized upon by the train of thought, modified by it and woven into the fabric of our dreams. No censor is necessary. Dreams are symbolic beeause they are woven not from sensations but hypnagogic hallucinations. The trend of thought is not necessarily a drive to wish-fulfilment. Anxieties sometimes find their expression in dreams. More fre- quently, as dream analysis will show, the trend of thought in dreams tends to flow in the channels of repressed desires, and so these desires mainly find their expression in dream-life. Seeing that repressed desires constitute a large element in our subcon- scious or unconscious life the analysis of dreams becomes a very important method in the study of the unconscious. CHAPTER V METHODS OF INVESTIGATING THE UNCONSCIOUS WHEN one has had a little experience with mental disorders he will soon become convinced that some abnormal forms of be- havior do not have their origin and explanation in the con- scious levels of the mind. At all events the development of our knowledge of the unconscious has come to us from those who have devoted themselves to psychiatry, the science of mental disorders. Those who had to deal with abnormalities of conduct natur- ally sought further insight into those forms of behavior that seemed inexplicable at the conscious level. They, therefore, de- veloped methods of investigating and analyzing the unconscious depths of the mind. In the present chapter we shall outline briefly the methods of investigating the unconscious. In mental disorders this fre- quently means the discovery of some emotionally toned incident in the past, a ‘‘complex,’’ which is in some manner related to present behavior. 1. Dream Analysis.—The technique of interpreting dreams is very simple. One asks the patient to write out the dream, pref- erably immediately upon awaking. If a few hours elapse be- tween the time of dreaming and writing out the dream, important elements are likely to be forgotten. With the written copy of the dream before him, the analyzer commences by writing down a phrase. The analyzer then repeats the same to the patient and asks him to tell everything that comes to his mind, jotting these things down as the patient speaks. To be a good dream analyzer one should be a stenographer. The patient is urged to keep nothing back that comes to his mind, to exercise no critique over the order or appearance of his thoughts, but to let his memories and . associations flow forth spontaneously. This is done with one phrase after another. In my own experience the first stages of this procedure seem hopeless and it is only when one comes to the 37 38 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND final associations that suddenly the meaning of the dream dawns upon him. No dream ean be analyzed without revealing a great deal of the hidden life of the patient. Before attempting to analyze the dreams of others it is necessary, or at least very use- ful, to analyze a number of your own. 2. Free Association.—The method of free association resem- bles the technique of analyzing a dream. Without any dream the patient is urged to simply proceed to give all memories and associations whatsoever that come to his mind. These are written down and it is supposed that eventually these memories and asso- ciations will lead to the revelation of hidden complexes in the patient’s life that may be affecting his conduct. Freud ordinarily practised the method by closing the blinds, having the patient recline on a couch while he sat behind the head of the patient taking down in a note-book all the associations and memories that were given. Most psychoanalysts admit that these details are superfluous. The patient may as well sit down in the daylight. .3. Jung’s Method of Controlled Association.——Jung con- ceived the idea of measuring the association time of a patient’s reaction to a series of words. He prepared a list of 100 words. The patient is given one of these words and asked to say the first thing that comes to his mind. The physician measures with a stop-watch the time that elapses between his pronouncing the word and the patient’s response by another word. The whole list is gone through with, the word of response and the reaction time being recorded. When this is over the list is repeated and the patient is asked to give the same association as he gave pre- viously. This in general he will be able to do. Note is now taken of the associations that were exceptionally long, 1.e., any- thing over three seconds, of the forgotten associations, of the associations that seem peculiar and unnatural, of associations which seem to arouse some kind of emotional response in the patient; all such associations are recorded as complex indicators. They call up the complex and are therefore delayed, or another word which does not refer to the complex is chosen by the patient instead, and so reaction time is retarded. The physician then INVESTIGATING THE UNCONSCIOUS 39 takes a complex indicator and asks the patient to recall what- ever comes to his mind, that is, give a series of associations having their starting point in the complex indicator. This series of asso- ciations frequently leads to the complex. 4. Galvanopsychic Reaction.—In this method a series of words is used just as in the last. The indication of the complex is found by means of the galvanopsychic reaction. This is obtained as follows: A beam of light is thrown upon the mirror of a delicate galvanometer and reflected on a transparent scale. When the galvanometer swings, the movement of this beam of light ean be observed on the scale. Electrodes from the galvanom- eter are connected with some part of the patient’s body. The galvanometer swings at once, but settles down after a bit to an angle of rest. When a word is spoken it will give a swing, the ex- tent of which may be observed by means of the scale. Some words cause swings that are three or four times more extensive than the others. These are looked upon as complex indicators. I have never used the method, but saw it in operation in the hands of Doctor von Stauffenberg in Munich. A child of thirteen was being observed who came to the hospital with an hysterical paraly- sis. All words referring to home gave relatively wide swings and it was, therefore, concluded that the child’s home relations were unpleasant, which afterward proved to be the case. 5. Method of Partial Hypnosis.—The German psychiatrist, Frank, has advocated ! the investigation of the unconscious in a kind of semi-hypnotic condition in which conscious attention is not wholly excluded. He produces a mild degree of hypnosis and then asks the patient to recount any images or scenes that he experiences. He finds that patients under these circumstances experience more or less exciting instances of the past and after having lived these instances over again they are free from their anxiety. The following case will explain the method. He gives an account “‘ of a thirty-eight year old man, a motorman on the 1“ Die Determination physischer und psychischer Symptome im Unter- bewusstsein,” Journal fiir Psychologie und Neurologic, 1912, XIX, Ergiin- zungsheft 1, pp. 249-342. 4 = 40 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND city street car line. The patient complained of strong pressure in the head, flushing, and especially of vertigo. The symptoms were of four years’ duration. He slept well, dreamed a great deal but without anxiety. During the day also he did not suffer from anxiety. Physical examination was negative except for _ exaggerated knee-jerks. A thorough examination of the ear by a specialist revealed no cause for vertigo. The patient was very testy, easily breaking out into anger, forgetting himself in conversation. He complained of headaches which radiated from the occipital to the frontal region. The chief symptom was vertigo, which utterly depressed him. This vertigo always set in when the patient left his street car. As long as his attention was occupied with his work as a motorman he felt absolutely nothing. But on leaving his car the vertigo would last for hours, in fact until he would go to bed. Momentarily he would at times experience a hot flushing in the head which obscured a drumming sensation. The condition developed most insidiously, so at first he attributed the cause to his diet until finally he noticed that neither this nor alcoholic drinks (patient has always been a total abstainer) nor smoking had the slightest influence. On the streets, men and houses would become blurred to him, on the car the phenomena appeared as soon as he no longer had to fix his attention on his work. He attempted, therefore, as much as he could, in spite of the prohibition, to talk with passengers in order to divert his attention. He was therefore glad if anyone came near him so that he could enter into a conversation. Analy- sis In the semi-hypnotic condition brought out a whole series of frights and states of anxiety which he had formerly experi- enced, especially when on duty on his car. With the abreaction, the vertigo decreased and after experiencing over again an espe- cially terrifying scene, the patient was free from all pathologi- eal phenomena, so that he felt as if born anew.’’ Frank attributes the reason for the improvement to what he terms the abreaction. He thinks that past emotional experiences for one reason or another were repressed as to their manifesta- tions, producing a state of tension; and when these emotions are INVESTIGATING THE UNCONSCIOUS 41 lived through again in a semi-hypnotic condition and allowed to discharge their emotional resonance, this condition of tension is relieved. Whether or not his theory is correct the method is capable of doing the same thing as the Freudian method of free association and may sometimes be used with success when F'reud’s method ealls forth no associations. Some have attempted to in- vestigate the complex by questioning in a condition of deep hypno- sis. Such a method, however, is of limited application and does not seem to lead to a satisfactory analysis. Automatic Writing.—Dr. Anita Mihl has recently developed? the technique of automatic writing for the investigation of the unconscious. A pencil is placed in the patient’s hand and the arm hung from some fixture above, so that writing movements on the sheet of paper underneath are unobstructed. The patient’s attention is then distracted by giving him a book to read. Some patients commence to execute automatic phenomena very readily : Draw pictures, relate fanciful stories, which may be written every alternate line in mirror script, etc. She maintains that the method ‘‘may be used as a successful adjunct to psychoanalysis. * * * Once succeeding in getting the patient to ‘automat,’ the unconscious gives up its material much more readily and for some reasons a patient seems to accept her unconscious problems with much less disbelief when she sees them on paper written by her- self, rather than if she merely utters them verbally. The patient may write just simple words, or only nonsense syllables but even so each of these by means of free association will generally go back to conflict material.’’ Simple as the method is, it must not be regarded as a parlor experiment. Dangerous symptoms developed in one of her patients and the writings had to be discontinued. Automatic writing is for serious use by the competent only. ? Journal of Abnormal Psychology and Sociology, July-September, 1922; April-June, 1923. CHAPTER VI THE CLASSIFICATION OF MENTAL PROCESSES IN COMPARING our mental life to a stream that is constantly flowing, we have implied that consciousness is continuous and not a group of unconnected states of mind. While this is so, it does not prevent or exclude the possibility of recognizing in our mental life various elements and typical combinations of ele- ments different from and capable of being identified with each other, but which evidently have the one characteristic in com- mon, that they are conscious or in some manner concerned with consciousness. Origin of Dual Classification.—Fundamental differences in the states of consciousness have been recognized from the earliest days of Greek philosophy, or at least from the time when Anaxagoras (500 B.C.) distinguished the vos from sensory forms of mental content. This distinction between sensory and intellec- tual forms of presentation was recognized as fundamental from the days of Anaxagoras until the rise of sensationalism in modern philosophy. Besides this distinction there was recognized very early a fundamental difference between the two forms of cogni- tion, sensory or intellectual, and the affective life of the emo- tions, desires and volitional activity. The philosophy of Socrates clouded this distinction between intellect and will when it did away with the virtue of temperance and maintained that all virtues were forms of prudence. Stoics attempted to explain the affective mental states in terms of our intellectual life. But in scholastic philosophy the two-fold distinction between the sensory and the intellectual, the cognitive and the appetitive, was made the fundamental basis for the classification of the forms of consciousness. So that the following dual classification became the basis of scholastic psychology : 42 CLASSIFICATION OF MENTAL PROCESSES 43 SCHOLASTIC CLASSIFICATION rational Cognitive—soul takes in object external Mental sensuous Faculties internal rational Appetitive—soul turns towards or away from object sensuous Origin of Triple Division.—The dual classification was domi- nant until the eighteenth century. John George Sulzer (1720- 1779) in his Berlin lectures in 1751 is said to have departed for the first time from the traditional division of mental faculties into representative and appetitive. At all events, Immanuel Kant made the triple division of psychical functions into ideation, feeling and willing the systematic basis for his philosophy. It is questionable, however, whether this triple division is justifiable, for feeling and willing, as we shall see, seem to be more closely united to each other than to ideation. They may, therefore, be conceived as subdivisions of one group rather than as parallel divisions of the forms of consciousness. The Fundamental Forms of Mental Activity.—None of these classifications clearly distinguishes the following three forms of mental activities: 1. Mental functions. By this I mean the mechanism by which the forms of awareness are produced. 2. Mental products. By this I mean the resultant of the ac- tivity of the mental functions, the forms of awareness themselves. 3. Mental dispositions. By this I mean the trace that is left of the change that is wrought in the psyche as a result of the activity of any of the mental functions. Let us now consider this tripartite division a little more in detail. It is a tripartite division in a different sense from that of Kant. Kant was classifying mental products. We are here 44 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND classifying the fundamental activities of the psyche. The mental products, as we shall see, naturally fall into a binary classification. Mental Functions.—When consciousness first appears in the mental life of a child, or when, in later life, a state of conscious- ness suddenly bursts upon the mind, there is always some sort of mechanism, mental or physiological, or both together, which is involved in its production. Thus, whenever we perceive a sensation of any kind whatsoever, there is an activity of the sense organ and. a corresponding activity of the psyche, as a result of which we become aware of some sense quality as a light or a tone, an odor, ete. This awareness of sense quality is a sensation. We may clearly distinguish between sensation and a sensation that is between sensation as a function and sensation as a product. In the same way we may distinguish between association as a function and association as a product, memory as a function and memory as a product; in fact, for every single one of the forms of awareness, there must be a corresponding mechanism of production. There are, therefore, just as many mechanisms of production as there are products, just as many functions of the mind as there are forms of awareness. It is characteristic of all our mental functions that they are themselves unconscious both in their physiological and their psychological stage, if such a psychological stage is present as something distinct from the end- product, or the state of awareness itself. No one is conscious of what goes on in his eye when he sees, nor in the optic nerve, nor in the brain; no one is conscious of what takes place in the brain or in the psyche when one remembers, or when one attends, ete. We are only aware of the end-result, @ memory, not the process of memorizing, a judgment, an insight into the truth of a sequence of propositions that we term reasoning, an increase of clearness when something passes from the background of con- sciousness to the focus point in the act of attention. Mental Products.—Mental products are the elements of con- sciousness par excellence, the elements that have been classified in most attempts to analyze our states of mind. It is to the men- tal product that James refers when he likens consciousness to a stream. They constitute, too, those subconscious mental ele- CLASSIFICATION OF MENTAL PROCESSES = 45 ments that he spoke of as the fringe of consciousness, and they also constitute the elements of mental life, if any such there are, that make up the fabric of the unconscious. There are no men- tal products before the operation. of the machinery of the mind. What is native to the mind, what is inborn and not made, is the mechanism of the mental functions, the ability to see, to hear, to understand, to read, and to attend, etc. No mental product could be in the mind before the machinery is sufficiently devel- oped to fulfil its normal functions. Mental Dispositions—The mind at birth has been likened to a tabula rasa. As life proceeds the tablet of the mind com- mences to be filled with all sorts of writings. Whenever a mental function operates it not only produces a transitory glow like the flashing of a firefly in the night, but it leaves a trace that is more or less permanent on the psyche. These traces, the abiding resultant of the activity of the mental functions, constitute what we may term our mental dispositions. We might term these mental dispositions unconscious mental products to distinguish them from the conscious mental products, the states of aware- ness that make up the flow of consciousness. Classification of Mental Functions.—Theoretically, every mental product, as we have said, must have its corresponding mental function by means of which it comes into being. We might, therefore, classify our mental functions, just as we do our mental products. When, however, we come to analyze the mechanism of the mind, we find that while we know a great deal about the mental functions that produce our representative men- tal states, that is, sensations, ideas, Judgments, reason, etc., we know very little about the mental functions that resalt in the affective elements of our mental life. On this account, in the schema that is to follow we shall make no attempt to include the affective mental functions but simply refer to those functions concerning which we have a considerable amount of information. There are three classes of mental functions, those that have to do with (1) reception, (2) construction, and (3) conservation. The functions of reception are those by means of which knowledge is received into the mind. The chief functions of reception are 46 THE ANALYSIS OF, MIND, attention and perception. Attention is conceived of here as truly a function by means of which a state of consciousness is brought from the background to the focus point of consciousness. According to Titchener, attention is not a function but a definite form of awareness, namely, sensory clearness. In the schema here outlined, attention is a mental function, its product is what Titchener terms clearness. Certainly there must be some mechanism by means of which what is in the background of consciousness is brought to the foreground. This mechanism, whatever it may be, we speak of as attention. Perception is the other receptive function. It may be defined as that mental function by which we interpret stimuli, or as that mental function by means of which incoming sensations are assimilated to appropriate images and pertinent categories of past experience. The second group of mental functions are those of construc- tion. Here we have association, judgment and reason. The at- tempt of Binet to identify perception, judgment and reasoning and explain them as forms of association can no longer be re- garded as tenable since Lindworsky’s* brilliant analysis of the process of reasoning. Light may recall by association red, but that is a very differ- ent thing from the statement which corresponds to the judgment that the light is red, different because of its objective reference and the actual assent of the mind to the validity of the reference. It is this objective reference and inner assent based upon insight which differentiates judgment from mere association. Two truths may be in the mind some time before one sees the relation between them. Once this relationship is perceived, there may dawn upon the mind the truth of a third principle different from the others, but evidently implicitly contained in them. This insight into the fact that because this truth is so and the second truth is so, there- fore, a third must be so, is something different from a mere judg- ment or the association of one idea with another. It is a percep- tion of dependence, an insight into etiology, which cannot be * Das schlussfolgernde Denken, Freiburg, 1916, pp. xvi and 454; Hrgdn- zungsheft zu den Stimmen der Zeit II Reihe Forschungen, I, Heft. CLASSIFICATION OF MENTAL PROCESSES 47 identified with the mere objective reference with assent that characterizes judgment. The third group of mental functions has to do with the con- servation of the data of perception. This function may be broadly designated as memory. Just as perception is both sensory and intellectual so also memory, which is the conservation of the data of perception, is sensory and intellectual. One may have an image of the dome of the capitol or Washington monument and may remember that both the dome and the monument are white, and that both at times are illuminated at night; one may also recall the steps in the demonstration of a proposition in geometry. The insight into relationships which facilitates the memorizing of geometrical sequences is quite a different thing from the rising before the mind of visual images. It is impossible to learn geometry by heart; it is fairly easy for some to learn it by insight into relations. We have, therefore, both a sensory and an intellectual memory. But, you may ask, why is memory brought in as among the mental functions? How is the mental function of conservation to be distinguished from the traces which are classified under mental dispositions? Memory may be re- garded from two points of view. In the first place it may be looked upon as a trace, and if one looks upon it in this way, it belongs to the group of mental dispositions. It may, however, be looked upon from a very different point of view. In order that one may actually recall, the trace must be activated. It must not remain an unconscious affair in the brain or in the psyche but a memory must result, an image must come before the mind, a relationship must be perceived. Conceived of in this way, mem- ory is a function which leads to the product, the individual mem- ory, just as the process of sensation leads to its product, a par- ticular sensation. Classification of Mental Products.—The foundation of the dual classification of mental products is found in the fact that the mind receives impressions and reacts to the impressions that it receives. The impressions received are the representative or cognitive elements. The reactions to these impressions are the affective or appetitive elements of our mental life. The mental 48 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND products of reception may be conceived as actions of the mind in the presence of stimuli. They are representative in character, they picture to us the world outside. These pictures are of two kinds corresponding to the two kinds of perception, 7.e., sensory and intellectual. The sensory representative mental states may be subdivided into external and internal. The external are sen- sations, the internal are our images, the phantasmata of scholas- tic philosophy. The intellectual representations are our abstract ideas, different from the images and sensations themselves. The mind not only receives impressions from without but reacts to these impressions in characteristic ways. These reactions of the mind to the stimuli that it receives are the elements of our affective mental life. It is possible for us to react to impressions in two ways: (a) We may welcome them, choose them, accept them or reject them, draw our mind away from them or open it to the fulness of perception. These voluntary reactions of the mind are our acts of will. (b) Not all reactions of the mind are voluntary. Some are necessary. Thus, some things please us whether we will or not. Others displease us without any design on our part. Several forms of necessary reactions may be distinguished. We may mention here reflex action. It is not, strictly speaking, a con- scious process. It belongs not to psychology but to physiology. Nevertheless, the school of Behaviorism maintains that conscious phenomena are to be interpreted in terms of reflex action. And so in the schema of the elements of our mental life, reflex action may be mentioned here, as it were, in parentheses. It is nothing more than a mechanically aroused response of a muscle or gland to the stimulus with which it is organically associated, as, for instance, when the pupil of the eye contracts to light. The neces- sary reactions of our mind are of two kinds: 1. The affective reactions in the stricter sense. When a per- ception arouses our mind to activity, it is frequently pleasant or unpleasant. This peculiar way in which we are affected by the impression so that we like it or dislike it, is termed by psy- chologists a feeling. It is still a mooted point in psychology just CLASSIFICATION OF MENTAL PROCESSES 49 how many elementary feelings there are. It is generally conceded that feelings are elements of our mental life. Whenever an affec- tive reaction of this kind is violent, it embraces much more than mere pleasantness or unpleasantness. It involves deep intellec- tual insights into the present situation, a tremendous resonance throughout the whole body, all of which is united into one com- plex, termed emotion. 2. The second group of reactions of consciousness may be termed conative. Every mental ability, every function has a native tendency to set itself in action. We have not only eyes but a curiosity to look, not only ears but a craving to hear, not only touch but a tendency to fondle. Thus, every ability that we have creates a tendency within us to exercise it. Whenever we are in the presence of an opportunity of exercising any one of our mental abilities or mental functions, we perceive this native tendency. The awareness of this tendency to exercise one of our abilities or mental functions is what we term an impulse. There are just as many impulses as there are abilities. The term instinct is nothing more or less than a name in popular usage given to a group of impulses. Thus, the instinct of self-preservation is the name describing the tendency of a human being to make use of all his abilities, whatever they may be, to help him out of danger. By desire we may designate the craving that we experience to exercise abilities when an opportunity for doing so is not present. Desires, therefore, may be classified in the same way as impulses and they are measured by the number of human abilities. Mental Dispositions.—Mental dispositions may be sub- divided into general and special. An arbitrary division may be made of the general into temperament and character, a distinction similar to that which Kant made between what he spoke of as the sensory and intellectual character. Thus, he said that at birth an individual is endowed with a group of tendencies and impulses so that the child seeks what he wants without regard to any ideal of conduct or any principle whatsoever. As time goes on, how- ever, the mind comes under the influence of the ideals of conduct that Kant spoke of as the ‘‘ Categorical Imperative.’’ Then the original native dispositions are modified and made to conform 50 THE ANALYSIS OF MIND to an ideal. This distinction put forth in the writings of Kant is not original with this German philosopher, it goes back to St. Paul himself, who complained that ‘‘ I do not that good which I will; but the evil which I hate, that I do.’’ (Rom, vii: 15.) attention reception sensory perception intellectual | association Hagen construction ; judgment reason sensory conservation 4 _ intellectual external—sensations representative, | sensory 4 : {zt aAtonS OF internal—images consciousness (phantasms) intellectual—abstract idea Mental Elements | products of Mind ( (reflex action) eeling necessary | affective j appetitive, emotion reactions of aoniee consciousness 18 conative ; desire (instinct) free—act of will temperament (native) general character (acquired, result of voluntary action) Mental . dispositions good—virtues special [habits indifferent bad—vices CLASSIFICATION OF MENTAL PROCESSES 51 We may designate the primitive, unformed native dispositions of a child as temperament. Temperament modified by training and the implantation of ideals of conduct results in something which may be externally very different from its beginning. It is the character of the individual. Besides these general dispositions of the mind there are spe- cial ones, habits, which are formed and facilitate the performance of numerous activities. These habits, from the ethical, but not psychological point of view, may be classified as good, bad or indifferent. Bad habits are vices and good habits are virtues. Of such elements then is the stream of our mental life com- posed. In dynamic psychology we consider only one group of these elements, the reactions of consciousness. It is a group, however, that is most necessary to be comprehended in order to understand ourselves and others to develop our lives so that it will be possible to come to a satisfactory solution of the eternally persistent riddle of existence. PART II STIMULUS AND RESPONSE AND HUMAN BEHAVIOR 4. EEL vr A ) Til eat De 7 it ¥ ‘ ake ws 6 Car 4 o re ah CHAPTER I REFLEX ACTION 1. Use of the Term “ Reflex Action.”—The term ‘‘refiex action’’ has been used to designate a variety of responses of living things to stimulation. Thus, when one startles at a loud sound, the muscular contractions of the body that seem to be produced by the noise are reflex in character. When the eye is suddenly illu- minated by a bright light and the pupil becomes smaller, the contraction of the iris, which results, is a typical reflex action. When an irritation in the respiratory tract leads to an explosive cough, or a stimulation of the nasal mucous membrane brings forth an expulsive sneeze, the muscular contractions and adjust- ments that these acts involve are reflex actions. When one walks, or performs some work of skill with his hands, stimuli are con- tinually bombarding the central nervous system from skin, mus- cles, and tendons reflexly determining finer adjustments of the muscles in action. This interplay of stimulus and response, continuous and ever varying, may be regarded as a series of reflex actions. The varied movements of unicellular organisms to and away from the stimuli that act upon them have also been termed reflex actions. Thus, when Euglena viridis approaches a darkened area and suddenly turns around and passes back into the light, the response of this organism has been regarded by some as a reflex action. Though one may extend the use of terms for good and sufficient reason it would be well in this case to keep before our mind a fundamental difference between a single, smooth muscle cell in the iris and a free swimming, unicellular Euglena viridis. The Euglena is an organism complete in itself. The muscle cell is only a part and a very diminutive part of an organism. Both contract, but there may be a profound difference in the source and control of the contraction—a difference which may be so ae 55 56 STIMULUS AND RESPONSE great as to make it desirable to consider the two phenomena apart and perhaps also to designate them by different names. The instinctive reactions of animals to the problems of their environment are frequently regarded by students of animal behavior as chains of reflex actions. It is not, however, proved beyond all doubt that stimulus and response in instinctive be- havior involves nothing more than obtains in the simple mechan- ism of the reflex multiplied n times by itself. There may be some- where in the chain of events a certain element of organic control which is not present in the simple reflex are. The complex reactions of human beings to the difficulties and problems of life are also spoken of by some as their ‘‘reactions”’ to the situation in which they find themselves involved. It should, however, be recognized clearly and candidly that when such re- sponses are termed ‘‘ reactions ”’ the term is not used equivocally, but only analogously with ‘‘ reflex actions.’’ For here we know by our own experience that between the presentation of the prob- lem and its final solution by a given course of action there is interpolated a great deal of mental process which does not belong to the reflex are. To identify such human responses with refiex action or concatenated reflex action serves only to confuse prob- lems which must be distinguished and given separate treatment and specific terms. In order to clearly understand the problem of stimulus and response it is best for us to analyze it, pick out a type of relation between the two phenomena that we shall regard as a typical reflex action, and then discuss other related modes of behavior. And when we do so let us bear in mind that we are studying reflex action not as a physiologist might do, but from the psy- chological point of view in order to understand clearly the nature of a reflex action; and so be better able to judge whether or not reflex action is a unit which when multiplied n times by itself is capable of explaining all human behavior. 2. Typical Examples of Reflex Action.—When one strikes the tendon of the quadriceps femoris just above its insertion into the head of the tvbia the muscle contracts, giving rise to the phe- nomenon familiarly known as the knee-jerk. Here we have a = Fig. 1.—DIAGRAM OF A SIMPLE SPINAL REFLEX. In a simple spinal reflex the impulse is taken up by the ‘‘receptor,’’ that is, the nerve endings of a sensory area, e.g., the touch corpuscles of the skin. It is transmitted by sensory nerve fibres to their cells of origin, the bipolar cells (B) in the ganglia (SG) of the posterior roots of the spinal cord. Fibres pass from these bipolar cells to the spinal cord, where they divide into shorter descending and longer ascending branches. These branches give off terminal fibres, which end around cells in the posterior horns (PH) of the gray matter in the spinal cord, or which pass directly to the motor cells in the anterior horns (AH). Outgoing fibres from these motor cells pass directly to the ‘‘effector,’’ e.g., a musgle, wmch responds by a “‘reflex’’ contraction to the stimulus. t, = wad 2 REFLEX ACTION 57 sensory stimulus, the transmission of this stimulus to the spinal eord,! and in mechanical sequence the contractions of a definite eroup of muscles without any effort on the part of the will. Simi- larly if one draws a pin across the abdomen the abdominal muscles contract. If one stimulates by rubbing or pinching the skin of the neck, the pupil dilates. If one throws a light into the eye, its pupil contracts. In the knee-jerk, the abdominal reflexes, and the dilatation of the pupil, the sensory impulse passes over into a motor response in the spinal cord; in the reaction of pupillary con- traction, the centre is situated in the mid-brain. 3. Analysis of Reflex Action.—If we attempt to pick out the ehief characteristics of the phenomena under consideration we see that: I. Reflexes are reactions, not of the organism as a whole, but of a mechanism possessed by an organism. 1. They are localized in and dependent upon the integrity of a series of anatomical units: (a) The sensory receptor, (b) the neural path, (c) the muscle of response. If any one of these ele- ments is not functioning the reaction does not take place. If all these elements are intact, contractions take place mechanically and without delay once the stimulus is given. They are not neces- sarily dependent on the life of the organism as a whole. Thus, the frog, whose muscles and nervous system are less dependent on the circulation of the blood than those of warm-blooded ani- mals, may be beheaded and disemboweled and reflexes still ob- tained from the neuromuscular mechanism that remains. mi. They are initiated by stimuli that come from without and not by vague internal conditions of the organism. These internal conditions may modify reflexes, but they do not initiate them. Iv. They are not dependent on the stimuli involved becom- ing conscious. Reflexes may be obtained from those who are asleep or unconscious. *Some deny that the stimulus is transmitted to the cord and say the phenomenon is due to a direct mechanical excitation of the muscle. They therefore decline to regard it as a reflex. The best evidence is, however, on the other side and the knee-jerk will serve very well as an example of a spinal reflex. (See Nagel, Handbuch der Physiologie, IV, p. 284.) 58 STIMULUS AND RESPONSE v. They are not dependent on the will for their initiation but solely on the stimulus. vi. They are inherited mechanisms and not habits developed by experience. Thus all normal members of a given species possess the same set of reflexes. vu. They can exist in the strict sense only in animals with a central nervous system. 4. The Forms of Reflex Action.—Not all reflex actions have as their end-result a movement. Acid introduced into the mouth produces a flow of saliva; increase in temperature of the air around the body stimulates perspiration. We thus have secre- tory reflexes as well as motor. Motor reflexes are of two kinds according as they involve striated muscle over which the will has control, or non-striated muscle which it cannot directly influence. The knee-jerk would be an example of the former, the pupillary reflex of the latter. Besides the reflexes resulting in a movement we have others that stop a movement or keep one from taking place. The most familiar example of this is the inhibition of a sneeze by rubbing the nose. Electric stimulation of the vagus nerve slows the heart. The mechanical stimulation of the vagus terminations in the lungs at the end of inspiration possibly has something to do with inhibiting the contraction of the diaphragm © and allowing expiration to take place. These inhibitory reflexes constitute a very important set of mechanisms. One might also dis- tinguish reflexes as normal and pathological, thus the normal result of stimulating the external region of the sole of the foot is a flexion of the toes; but when there has been an injury of the motor cells in the brain or their fibres in the cord—that is to say, an involvement of the pyramidal tract—stimulation of this region leads to an extension of the big toe and not a flexion. 5. Lhe Neurological Mechanism of the Pupillary Reflex.—It is maintained by some that instincts and reflex actions are really one and the same thing, the difference being, that a reflex action is a mere element, a single link, and the instinct a combination of these elements or a chain of reflexes. Others maintain that all thought is to be identified with some kind of reflex action. This being the case, it may be worthwhile to examine a fairly SS ———— NA j Ss Z == 4A — Z| > A, SA Fig. 2—NEURAL PATHWAY OF THE PUPILLARY LIGHT REFLEX. A, retina; CG, ciliary ganglion; X, optic chiasm; P, pineal body; EG, external genicu- late body; IG, internal geniculate body; SC, superior colliculus; IC, inferior collicuius; If{{, nuclei of oculomotor nerve; IV, fourth ventricle; V, visual centre. For the sake of orientation the cerebrum is shown in outline and the position of the lateral ventricles indicated by shading. ave. a | im! ‘ ‘ am) ’ 4 ‘ OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS . i LIBRARY | ‘ : ' ; ® 7 i . ry =4 : 4 a : = ) - . F 4 F , b % aS t i Ge ~ ¥- ve. * 1 7 yd f -~ ‘t- s j * 7 . s Ph Z ‘ < T = ' ee s @ “ pe ’ A ot i has 7 i ; aos ae as a Pi = oe or REFLEX ACTION 59 complicated reflex in detail so that we may be better able to judge whether reflex action involving a series of neurons may serve for the basis of our explanation of instincts and the thought proc- esses. For this purpose we may examine minutely the mechanism of the light reflex of the pupil. The receptor of this reflex is the retina of the eye, and the effector, the muscles of the iris. The iris has two sets of muscles, one of which radiates like the spokes of a wheel and the other constitutes a series of concentric bands. When the radiating fibres contract they dilate the pupil. When the con- centric bands contract they narrow the pupil. When the rays of light fall upon the eye they illumine the iris before they strike the retina. This illumination apparently has no direct and im- mediate effect on the muscles of the iris, for when the optic nerves are destroyed by tumor growth or trauma, light produces no change in the size of the pupil. In the retina, a region that extends about three millimetres beyond the point of clearest vision, is the receptor of the light reflex.” Since in the point of clearest vision we have only cones, it has been suggested that the cones are receptors for the light reflex. This supposition receives some confirmation from the fact that the contraction of the iris is a function, not of the absolute intensity of the light, but of the state of adaptation of the eye. Now it is known that the cones vary in length with the degree of the illumination to which they are subjected. The extent to which the iris contracts varies also with the intensity of the illumination. It is possible that this coincidence may be in some manner a causal connection so that the cones are the receptors for the light reflex in the eye. From the retina the path of this reflex is through the optie nerves. It is probable that the fibres which mediate vision and those which mediate the light reflex are different. At all events, there are at least two types of fibres in the optic nerve. It is supposed that one of these is the path of the light reflex. When these fibres come to the optic chiasm most of them cross and pass to the superior colliculus and external geniculate body of the op- "Hess, “ Untersuchungen uber die Ausdehnung des pupillomotorisch wirksamen Bezirkes der Netzhant,” Arch. f. Augenheilk, 1907, LVIII. 60 STIMULUS AND RESPONSE posite side. The rest pass to the symmetrical ganglia of the same side. In these gangla they have connections with the medulla oblongata and meet also centrifugal fibres from the cortical area of vision. From each superior colliculus there proceed two sets of fibres, one going to the oculomotor nucleus of the same side, the other to the oculomotor nucleus of the opposite side. We thus have a double crossing, one in the afferent and the other in the efferent path. The result of which is that stimulation of one eye affects the iris of both eyes, but more strongly the iris of the side stimulated. From this neural mechanism we understand at once the direct? and consensual‘ light reflex. It is known also that the iris dilates under stress of emotion, for example, fear; with any act of attention involving mental work such as addition, multiplication, ete. It is possible that this dilation is at times due to a relaxation of the constrictor and not to a contraction of the dilator of the iris. In this case we can understand the function (relaxation of tonus) of the centrifugal fibres to the superior colliculi. The iris also contracts when the eyes converge in looking at a near body. The neural pathway for this reflex of accommodation probably involves some portions of the pathway just outlined. The mechanisms for the two reflexes cannot, how- ever, be identical because in certain pathological conditions the light reflex is lost while the accommodation reflex is retained (Argyll-Robertson pupil). The exact pathway for the accommo- dation reaction is not so well known as that of the light reflex. There is another pathway which has to do with the dilatation of the pupil. The fibres of this pathway pass down the pyramidal tract of the spinal cord leaving it in the region of the eighth cervical and first and second dorsal segments. They pass thence to first thoracic ganglion, thence upwards to the inferior cervical ganglion and thence still further to the superior cervical. Here these fibres probably terminate and a new neuron continues the course of the reflex. A little beyond the superior cervical gang- lion, separating themselves from the fibres that go to form the earotid plexus, they pass to the gasserian ganglion. Thence they * Contraction of the pupil due to light thrown on the same eye. * Contraction of the pupil due to light thrown on the opposite eye. REFLEX ACTION 61 continue with the first branch of the trigeminal nerve and pass ultimately by the long ciliary nerves to the eye. It is this path- way which actively dilates the pupil. It has a connection in the eord with the sensory nerves from the skin of the neck, the stimulation of which causes the pupil to dilate. In this outline we have mentioned only the anatomical mechanism which is nothing more than a shell in which very complex physiological processes take place. Thus some drugs affect in a physiological manner the contractor, others the dilator muscle of the iris. What these physiological processes are is practically unknown to us. The time consumed in the passage of the stimulus of lght from the retina to the ganglionic centres and out again to the muscle of the iris is about 0.30 to 0.50 second. This is a relatively long reflex due possibly to the complicated pathway and also to the character of the smooth muscle of the effector. The time of the knee-jerk is only one-tenth of this, that is to say, 0.040 second. Other reflexes which we shall consider later under the name of ‘‘cortical reflexes,’’ involve an even more complicated path than the pupillary reflex. But no matter how intimate our knowl- edge of the path of a reflex action this alone does not enable us to understand what takes place in the centre controlling the reflex. If this knowledge of the path does not clear up the problem of the central phenomena even in the reflex, we cannot expect to throw much light on the inner side of human behavior by referring to a-, B- and y-ares, particularly when so little is known about the higher ares of the cortical reflexes. But were the pathways known exactly this knowledge would not explain the motives of an individual’s conduct. 6. Control of Reflexes.—It is characteristic of reflexes that we have over them no immediate voluntary control. Our indirect control is meagre and imperfect. An attempt to exert this con- trol may be made along the following lines: (1) Relaxation of the effector. If a muscle is sufficiently re- laxed it does not give a reflex contraction. Thus, if the leg is straight, the quadriceps femoris tendon is so lax that a reflex ean- not be obtained by tapping it. In this way it would be possible indirectly to prevent the reflex taking place even when the stimu- 62 STIMULUS AND RESPONSE lus is given. A similar method can be made use of to control an attack of hiccoughs. If one notes by a second hand the approxi- mate intervals of each hiccough and when the critical moment is expected attempts to relax the diaphragm, he can very soon bring these reflex spasms to an end. (11) Contraction of the effector. Tendon reflexes which are not strongly developed may easily be inhibited by a slight contrac- tion of the muscles involved. Thus, in normal individuals it is usually impossible to obtain the biceps and triceps reflexes unless the muscles are relaxed. Anything above their normal tonus interferes with the reflex. (m1) Attention to the expected movement. Fixing our mind upon the movement of the reflex seems in some manner to interfere with it. Thus, it is much easier to obtain a reflex from another than from ourselves. In cases where the knee-jerk has almost disappeared it may be obtained by the so-called method of reinforcement. This is probably nothing more than a distrac- tion of the patient’s attention. He must close his eyes, hold his hands together and try to pull them apart. When a patient does this, a reflex which could not otherwise be obtained is often promptly elicited. (1v) Stimulation of another receptor. This was the first known method of inhibiting a reflex. It was pointed out in the eighteenth century that a sneeze may be prevented by rubbing the nose. Just what the mechanism of this inhibition is we do not know, but it is one of the indirect methods of controlling reflexes. A sneeze, however, is not one of the simple reflexes we have been here considering, but it belongs to the cortical reflexes we shall consider later. 7. Origin of Reflex Actions.—When we look at the reflexes of any organism we are struck in general by their purposeful character. Thus, the eyelid reflex protects the orbit from injury. The light reflex of the pupil safeguards the retina from the effects of too great an illumination. Swallowing is a reflex absolutely essential to the life of the organism, and equally necessary are all the subsequent reflexes involved in carrying the food to the stomach and through the intestines with the flow of gastric juices, pancreatic secretions, etc. There are, however, some reflexes in REFLEX ACTION 63 which we can see no utility. For example, the pathological Babinski, that is, the extension of the toe on stimulating the out- side of the sole of the foot. Some are tempted to attribute the acquisition of all these reflexes to a Darwinian process of natural selection. We cannot, however, imagine an animal existing in whom from the beginning they were all lacking. They are a part of life itself and are just as mysterious as living organisms. Fur- thermore, considerable doubt has been thrown by Mendelism on the inheritance of acquired characteristics. It is best, therefore, for us to face our ignorance on this problem rather than to indulge in idle speculations. We do not know how reflexes origi- nated. We cannot conceive of an organism existing without them. They come to the individual from the germ plasm itself. How the germ plasm originally arose nobody knows. Pavlov recently attempted to prove (Science, LVIII, 359- 361) that conditioned reflexes (cf. infra, p. 68) may be inherited. Mice were trained to run to a feeding place at the sound of a bell. To learn this trick the first generation took 300 lessons, the second 100, the third 30, the fourth 10, the fifth 5. ‘‘I think it very probable,’’ he says, ‘‘that after some time a new genera- tion of mice will run to the feeding place on hearing the bell with no previous lesson.’’ These results, at their face value, suggest that habits acquired by parents may be transmitted to offspring. Pavlov did not exclude, perhaps, all sources of ambiguity in his experiments, e.g., selection. Are animals that result from generations of laboratory breeding a mentally selected group due to weeding out the less fit? Two independent pieces of research reported by MacDowell and by Vicari (Science, LIX, pp. 302-3) failed to find any evidence of the inheritance of training. There is as yet no good evidence that conditioned reflexes can be inherited. 8. Cortical Reflexes.—Most of the early information about reflex action was obtained from experiments on frogs from which the cerebral hemispheres or the entire brain had been removed. Naturally, the reflexes originally known were those that could be obtained from the spinal cord. The spinal cord, therefore, was looked upon as the centre par excellence for reflex action. It was not known that the brain had anything whatsoever to do with reflexes. Various attempts to stimulate the brain, as one stimu- lates nerves, were at first entirely fruitless. It seemed that the 64 ‘STIMULUS AND RESPONSE brain could be cut and burned without any immediate effects whatsoever. It was not until 1870 when Fritsch and Hitzig made their historical experiments that it was realized that there are centres for movement in the cerebral cortex. Experiments since then, supported by clinical obseryation and pathological studies of cortical injuries and brain tumors have shown that there are a number of so-called centres in the cortex. If a certain centre is injured, a definite movement cannot be executed. If other centres are destroyed, a peculiar type of blindness or deafness results. It thus became apparent that if the brain has sensory and motor centres, the cortex as well as the cord ean function in the reflex are. Thus, the cortical reflex came to take its place along with the spinal reflexes. As typical examples of cortical reflexes, one may mention sneezing and coughing. Unlike spinal or cerebrospinal reflexes above mentioned, the cortical reflex is characterized by the fact that consciousness and voluntary effort are more or less impor- tant factors. Thus, for instance, if one is unconscious he neither coughs nor sneezes, but his eyes still react to light, his tendon reflexes, etc., may still be obtained. It is necessary that the stimu- lus that initiates the cortical reflex should be perceived in order that it may be effective. It is customary to regard consciousness as connected with some kind of cortical activity. When, there- fore, we find a reflex which does not take place unless the stimu- lus is perceived, we have a right to differentiate it from the others and designate it as a cortical reflex. Since the days of Fritsch and Hitzig numerous experiments have been made on the brains of animals to discover what regions may be stimulated in order to produce the various activities which go to constitute the physiological functioning of the organism. It is thus possible to obtain by stimulating the proper regions the secretion of saliva, tears, the gastric juices, the retardation, deepening, or acceleration of respiration, changes in blood pres- sure, ete. More recently Bechterew has put forward the inter- esting view that the centres for movement and sensation are always intimately connected. There is no movement centre that is not closely associated with its sensory region, and vice versa REFLEX ACTION 65 no sense organ that has not in the immediate vicinity of its cor- tical centre a region the stimulation of which produces the appro- priate movements of the sense organ. For example, the precentral gyrus is the motor region for the various members of the body. Immediately behind this is the postcentral gyrus with tactile centres for the organs involved in movement. This fact is one that is known and generally admitted by physiologists. Over and above this, Bechterew claims that he has found in the neighbor- hood of the cortical visual area a centre the stimulation of which produces eye movements, narrowing and dilation of the pupil, contraction and relaxation of the muscles of accommodation. In the vicinity of the auditory area, or more precisely, toward the posterior region of the fissure of Sylvius he has obtained move- ments of the ear, the eye, and the head. In the olfactory region he obtains contraction of the nostrils and movements of respira- tion. In the vicinity of the gustatory region, which he locates in the posterior region of the operculum, he find that stimula- tion produces salivary secretion. In the central region he obtains movements of the stomach, intestines, gastric, lactic, and sweat secretions.° On the basis of the fact that the sensory and motor centres are intimately connected, Bechterew builds up the hypothesis that all thought, all psychic, and all mental phenomena are psy- chic reflexes, that is to say, reflexes that take place in the cere- bral cortex. When one looks for a demonstration of this identity, it is not forthcoming, and when one inquires a little more closely into what he means, we find that he has made no advance upon the old materialistic concept that the psychical is an epiphenom- enon of the physical. We have always known that there are afferent sensory processes and efferent motor ones. The great mystery has always been how the physical stimulus passes over into the mental state of the sensation. To tell us that sensory and motor centres are somewhat closer together in the cortex than has hitherto been supposed does not help to elucidate this mystery. °>See Bechterew’s interesting summary of the work of himself and his pupils, “La localisation des psycho-réflexes. dans l’écorce cérébrale,” Scientia, 1916, XX, pp. 444-457. 66 STIMULUS AND RESPONSE g. Psychic Reflexes.—The term ‘‘ psychic reflexes ’’ which Bechterew employs is not new. It was used in 1882 by Charles Richet in his Physiologie des muscles et des nerfs.® Bonatelli claimed’ priority in the use of the term, referring to his work, La coscienza ed il meccanismo interiore, Padua, 1871. Richet pointed out * that Griesinger used the term in 1846 (Arch. fur physiol. Heilkunde). In 1863 the Russian physiolo- gist, Sétchénoff, in his study entitled Reflexes of the Brain, put forward the theory that thought is a reflex action, saying that ‘< thought is the first two-thirds of a cerebral reflex.’’® In the behaviorist school of the present day, it is usual to identify con- scious phenomena with a reflex of higher order. Thus, if the simple reflex be regarded as an a-are extending from sense organ to cord and out again to muscle or gland, the conscious phe- nomenon is a f-are passing from subcortical centre to cortex and thence outward by efferent channels.1° The psychic reflex, ac- cording to this school, is the conscious process. By way of criticism, one might suggest that the recognition of another are is justifiable from the facts of cerebral histology and physiology. No sensory neuron passes directly to the cere- bral cortex. Between the skin and cortex, for example, there are relay stations in the medulla and thalamus. Thus several ares may be involved in the process by which a stimulus becomes conscious. It does not help us, however, to say that consciousness 7s the mth are. The nth are in its anatomy and physiology is as far removed from the characteristics of mental life as the first are. That the cortical are is more intimately connected with a stimulus becoming conscious appears likely from the general facts of cere- bral physiology, but not from its numerical order nor from the ° See also: “ Les réflexes psychiques,” Revue Philosophique, 1888, XXV, pp. 225-237, 387-422, 500-528. * Revista Italiana di Filosofia, 1887, II, pp. 326-328. ** Actions réflexes psychiques,” Bull. de la soc. de psychol. physiol., 1887, III, pp. 54-55. * Vide V. Kostyleff, Le mécanisme cérébral de la pensée, p. 5. * Cf. E. P. Frost, “ Cannot Psychology Dispense with Consciousness? ” Psychol. Rev., 1914, XXI, pp. 204-211. REFLEX ACTION 67 fact that when itis broken the stimulus does not become conscious. For the first are may be broken and the stimulus will never reach consciousness. To know in a vague way, but with positive cer- tainty, that two things are in some manner related does not justify one in identifying them. Father and son are related, but the father and son are not identical. Day and night are re- lated, but day and night are not identical. Cortical reflexes and conscious phenomena are related, but cortical reflexes and con- scious phenomena are not identical. If, therefore, by a psychic reflex is understood some kind of £-are or y-are, which is a mental state, one is justified in discarding the term until some evidence is brought forth that would justify its use. It is better to say we do not know how consciousness is related to the nervous sys- tem than to make hasty and unwarranted generalizations. The term psychic reflexes, as used by Richet, included two groups of phenomena: (a) One group he termed reflexes of accommodation ; the typi- eal example that he gave of this group was the contraction of the ciliary muscle changing the curvature of the lens. This phe- nomenon depends, he says, on a consciousness of the stimulus— an appreciation of the distance of the object. (b) In the other group, he included the bodily resonance of the emotions, change in heart rate and respiration, blushing, ete. Though these latter phenomena take place independently of the will, it is best not to confound them with reflexes. ; - ' . ‘ “s V¢e° € q aa) v ‘ 7 Poe ’ Pa " 4 s i: i ' ~ : 4 ae. LIBRARY iE rch. OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS ? ——* : - 7 é j oo ) ¢ : , : ry *. i J F ee * - - ® 2 rd ~ > - fv =a ( | Py 4 i . - aot | ' 7 - i" T i a ao . - * > */ ed : ® é ¢ , ij = aan haere ee. ae By o “” 7 wre a ‘ a : " = a, ep 245 err as ‘ee’ b} ¢ oan ) Tie a = . a) ry a < 4 ? TS.) 4 = § ee bse. ee - a ad | Tt i a ‘j ‘ [Sa 6 a ' 6 i a : 7. en Cm 3H he i ¢ as ws ve 7 4 , Cay ¥ f" - 7 ' i 7 ; i rs - 4 7 * ® oy os G i a j ; i : r eae ie a ¢ - " i ig © . ! ,- : ff oe 5 ‘ ’ bs ¥ ‘ - ae TROPISMS 83 turns to the earth is the force of gravity itself, acting not upon the root as a whole but on microscopic particles in the root. This bending is not only a passive something but a growth, in roots, toward the centre of the earth. It is not clear just why growth in one direction should be stimulated by the presence of the starch grains in the bottom of a cell; but when we remember that mitosis or cellular division takes place in wounds when pressure has been removed on the side of the abrasion and stops when equal pressure has been restored by the epidermis closing over, we have perhaps an indication of the mode of action of the falling starch grains. They cause an inequality of tension in the cell, and growth follows the line of least resistance. Does it, therefore, follow that all tropistic phenomena in ani- mals and plants are purely mechanical in nature? Not until the mechanism has been demonstrated as the cause of the tropism. Let us examine now the various forms of tropism in animals and plants. Geotropism.—We have just considered the phenomenon of geotropism in plants. This, we should note, is a bending and a growth by which the bending becomes fixed. There is nothing clearly identical with it in the animal world, but there are a number of things to which it bears a superficial resemblance. The closest resemblance is in the hydroid, Antennularia. ‘‘When the stem of Antennularia antennina which normally grows vertically upward, is put into an oblique position in the aquarium, the tip bends until it is again in a vertical position, and then continues to grow in this direction vertically upward.’” The mechanism of this tropism has not been clearly investigated, and we have no experiments showing the presence of statocysts and their geotropie function such as we have in the ease of plant roots and stems. It is probable, however, that an animal, fixed and growing, with the general habitus of a plant and behaving towards gravity in a similar way, has a mechanism to account for its behavior similar to that of the plant. Connected with the auditory apparatus of many animals are small caleareous particles resting in hairs that are connected * Loeb, The Dynamics of Living Matter, 1906, p. 148, 84 STIMULUS AND RESPONSE with the vestibular root of the eighth cranial nerve. It is known and it can be demonstrated that in some animals gravity, acting upon these caleareous particles (otoliths) and they in turn upon the hair cells amid which they rest, reflexly maintains the ani- mal in a state of static equilibrium. A curious and interesting demonstration of this was given by Kreidl.* The crustacean Palemon loses its otoliths in the process of moulting. It readily makes good the defect by putting sand into its ears. Kreidl hit upon the ingenious plan of placing these crustaceans on a bed of finely divided iron instead of sand. The crustaceans then put the iron into their ears instead of sand. When Kreidl brought an electric magnet near the Palemon’s head, it executed com- pensatory movements just as it does when the animal is tilted on a board and the force of gravity acts upon it in varying directions. He thus proved that the direction of the line of pressure of the otoliths is the fundamental factor in their reflex maintenance of equilibrium. How closely, we may ask, does this equilibration reflex resem- ble the geotropism of the roots of plants? It bears a certain resemblance only at one end of the reflex are. The further fate of the stimulus along the vestibular nerve and the posterior longitudinal fasciculus to the gray matter of the cord and the spinal root cells and thence via the anterior roots and motor fibres to the muscle, seems such an extensive addition, that one should hesitate to designate the two reactions by one and the same name. It would be much better to term these righting movements equilibration reflexes, rather than geotropisms. It is a bad thing to lose sight of important distinctions in an attempt at generalization. Under the term ‘‘geotropism’’ various authors include the tendency of microorganisms to accumulate at upper and lower levels of the water. Thus, Paramecia prefer the upper levels and are spoken of as negatively geotropic. Many forms of bac- teria prefer the lower levels and are spoken of as positively geo- tropic. It is rather peculiar that the geotropic reactions of Para- * Sitzungsber. der Wiener Akademie der Wissensh, 1893, Vol. 102, Abth., 3, p. 149, Fide Loeb, op. cit., p. 152. ° Cf. E. G. Verworn, Allgemeine Physiologie, fifth edition, p. 525. TROPISMS 85 mecium do not take place if the walls of the containing vessel are not clean, or if the water contains many solid particles in suspension. In such eases the animals may settle against the solid matter on the walls of the tube and remain at any level. The explanation of this fact would throw no little light on the true nature of this reaction. It seems to exclude the explanation of changes of pressure and their resultant effect on the trans- fusion of materials through the cell walls. The human race manifests a similar type of reaction. When we ascend above certain altitudes we become dyspneeic, easily fatigued, and suffer from palpitation of the heart. We feel uncomfortable and dissatisfied and descend to a lower level. Are we, therefore, positively geotropic? Not in the sense that geo- tropism is a forced movement—that above certain altitudes our muscles refiexly assume a tonus that makes downward movement and only downward movement possible. Are we sure that lower organisms move only within limited regions because gravity at certain depths causes forced movements that bring them to other levels? Jennings thus describes the movements of Paramecium in mak- ing their depth reaction: ‘‘ Studying the movements of Para- mecia at this point, one observes that the forward motion becomes slower, while the spiral course becomes wider. The animals swerve more strongly than usual toward the aboral side, so that the anterior end swings about in a ecircle..... Thus, the animals are giving the avoiding reaction, ‘trying’ successively many different positions. This is continued or repeated till after a time they come into a position with anterior end upward. The strong swerving reaction then ceases; the animals swim upward in the usual spiral course.’”® It is possible and probable that the reason for this reaction is similar to that of geotropism in plant organisms. Lyon has pointed out that Paramecium contains substances of different specific gravities. If, then, it directs its anterior end downwards there must be a redistribution of these particles. This produces a stimulus and the animal reacts until this source of irritation °H. S. Jennings, Behavior of the Lower Organisms, New York, 1906, p. 76. 86 STIMULUS AND RESPONSE is relieved, which occurs only when the anterior end is again directed upwards.’ If this theory of the depth reaction of Paramecium is correct, there is an analogy of functions between its suspended particles, the starch grains in certain plant cells, and the otoliths of the metazoa. While in plants the effect of the starch grains is direct, changing the tension in certain cells and their metabolism with- out further apparent accompaniment, in Paramecium and the metazoa it seems likely that conditions of stimulation or irri- tation intervene between the action of gravity on certain particles and the righting reaction. In ourselves we recognize a disturb- ance of equilibrium by a sensation of peculiar character. It is not unreasonable to suppose, in metazoa with neural mechanism similar to our own, that there may be at times, associated with the righting reaction, conscious states bearing some similarity to our own. Is there anything of this nature in the microscopic Para- mecium? There is no scientific evidence to rule out this possi- bility. Its movements, on the contrary, as observed, do not seem to be forced by a greater tonus in the cilia of one side rather than another. It seems rather to react until a source of irritation is removed. That some dim forces of ‘‘awareness’’ should be associated with this irritation is within the realm of possibility. Heliotropism.—This tropism may be familiarly observed by anyone who places a plant in his window and watches the leaves and the flowers turn towards the light. Its mechanism is only obscurely understood. According to the studies of Haberlandt it seems likely that the structure of the epidermis is such that it can focus the rays of light and thereby cause a difference of illumination in the interior of the leaf. The position of the point of focus would vary with the direction of the source of illumina- tion. His experiments would indicate that highly sensitive plants have a capacity for reacting to differences of light intensity ‘‘which is not inferior to that of the human eye.’’® The epidermis being the receiving organ of this reaction, the light is transmitted by it to the tissues beneath. Here it acts upon ‘Lyon, E. P., “On the Theory of Geotropism in Paramecium,” Ameri- can Journal of Physiol., XIV, 421-432, Fide Jennings. "Physiological Plant Anatomy, translated by Drummond, p. 629. TROPISMS 87 a substance, which is in general absent from the epidermis itself, the chlorophyl, a greenish coloring matter contained in small granular bodies termed chloroplasts. The chloroplasts take up a position which exposes them to a maximum degree of illum- ination, unless the intensity of light exceeds an optimal maxi- mum. Thus, under mild illumination they may be arranged above the horizontal cell walls—just under the thin layer of epi- dermis that transmits the daylight. If the light becomes stronger, they may leave the horizontal and arrange themselves along the vertical walls, where they enjoy a certain degree of protection. Under very intense illumination they may clump together in the centre of the cell. The mechanism which underlies this motility of the chloro- plasts is unknown to us. We simply name it when we say that under mild illumination the chloroplasts are positively helio- tropic, under strong illumination negatively heliotropic. We likewise are ignorant of the exact mechanism by which certain flowers keep their heads directed toward the sun from morning until evening. Many unicellular plant forms, many protozoa, and metazoa manifest this tropism. How some of these forms of life move at all is a complete mystery to us. It is not surprising then that we should not understand just why they move to or away from the light. In the metazoa, heliotropism is sometimes an important ele- ment in instinctive activity. Loeb has shown that when the cater- pillars of Porthesia chrysorrhea have just left the coeoon in which they wintered they are very strongly positively heliotropic. This, along with a much weaker negative geotropism, forces them to crawl away upward and never downward. The result of this is that they eventually reach the tips of the branches on which they crawl, and there the same warm sun which drew them out of their cocoon has brought forth the first tender buds of the spring. It is in this way that they find their first food with unerring certainty. Loeb maintains that animal and plant movements are depend- ent BLEOn light in one and the same way because: 88 STIMULUS AND RESPONSE (1) The movements caused by light depend upon the direc- tion of the rays of light in both animals and plants.® (2) The shorter are more effective than the longer wave- lengths of light in calling forth heliotropism both in animals and in plants. (3) The reaction in both is a factor also of the intensity of the rays of light, so that between two lights the tropism is towards the stronger light. (4) Light causes the orientation of plants and animals only within certain limits of intensity. (5) Temperature influences the movements of orientation of both plants and animals to light.’° With the exception of the cloud of doubt which hangs over the question, whether the intensity or the direction of the rays of light is the determining factor, the similarities maintained by Loeb are well-established facts. Does it, therefore, follow that heliotropism in animals and plants is essentially identical ? A tropism, it should be remembered, is something akin to a reflex action. It consists of a stimulus, a central process or proc- esses, and a response. For real identity all the elements must be the same. To show that the stimulus is the same in both ani- mals and plants does not establish the identity. In his enthusi- asm to establish identity Loeb has confined his attention to the stimulus. The central process is very important in considering the true nature of this tropism, but of the nature of the central process we are as yet in ignorance. Until further information is available the question remains open. In man there is nothing similar to the heliotropism of plant life in the sense that equilibration resembles geotropism. Here the reaction is dependent on consciousness, for a man who is totally °It may be well to note here that botanists and zoologists are not agreed upon the point whether or not heliotropic movements are dependent on the direction of the rays of light, or on the intensity of the illumination. Verworn in his Allgemeine Physiologie cites an observation of Oltmanns which would indicate that intensity and not the direction of light is the prime factor. Cf. F. Oltmanns, Ueber die photometrischen Bewegungen der Pflanzen. Flora., Jahrg. 1892. * Studies in General Physiology, Chicago, 1905, Part I. TROPISMS © 89 unconscious does not maintain his equilibrium. It is, therefore, remarkably different from the geotropism of plants—not because the acting force is different, but because the central process is not the same. It is very likely that some difference obtains between the central processes in the heliotropism of the metazoa and those involved in the mechanism by which, for example, the leaves of the ivy always maintain one side to the sun and another to the wall. | Chemotropism.—Microorganisms have a tendency to move toward or away from certain chemical substances. This movement, in some cases at least, is due to the fact that a chemical substance diffusing in one region produces a relatively greater or less source of irritation. The response to this source of irritation is an avoid- ing reaction which results in the organisms accumulating in the region of relative freedom from irritation. Thus, Jennings found that if a drop of .1 per cent. sodium chloride be allewed to diffuse under a slide containing Paramecia when the animals come to the zone of diffusion they give their avoiding reaction and swim in another direction. If, however, they are placed to start with in a .5 per cent. solution of sodium chloride, and a drop of .1 per cent. sodium chloride is allowed to diffuse in this solution, the animals on coming to the zone of diffusion pass right through into the drop. On coming to the zone of diffusion at the other side of the drop they here give their avoiding reaction, and swim back again to the other edge where the avoiding reaction is again repeated, and soon. The result of this is that protozoa happening to pass into the drop are caught and held so that it is soon swarming with organisms. Bacteria are strongly positively chemotropic to oxygen. The leucocytes of the blood are strongly chemotropic to bacteria. The source of this attraction is probably the toxines that are diffused from the bodies of the bacteria. When a nerve is cut the fibres separated from their cell of origin degenerate. The sheaths in which they were placed remain as empty cylinders. When regen- eration commences the nerve fibres may pass through several centimetres, even turning around obstacles, to find these empty sheaths—into which they finally grow. The process by which 90 STIMULUS [AND RESPONSE this is done is supposed to be a chemotropism, its source being the diffusion of the products of degeneration into the sur- rounding tissues. It is probably due to chemotropism that the spermatozoon | approaches the ovum and adheres to it until it finally penetrates — its wall. The growth of tissues, in the embryo, of the nerves to their muscles, of pigment cells to definite localities is probably due to chemotropic influences. According to Loeb, the orientation of animals towards chemi- eal stimuli is again a question of forced movements: ‘‘ The cen- tre of diffusion takes the place of the source of light, and the lines of diffusion (that is, the straight lines along which the molecules — move from the centre of diffusion into the surrounding medium, i.e., the air) the place of the rays of light. The chemical effect of the diffusing molecules on certain elements of the skin influence the tension of the muscles, as the rays of light influence the tension of the muscles in heliotropie animals.‘ As typical examples he cites the movements of flies towards decaying meat on which they deposit their eggs, and the movements of the larve towards substances found in decaying meat and cheese. These animals are bilaterally symmetrical, and it is mainly to such animals, says Loeb, that his theory apples. He has not, however, excluded the possibility of a real sensory guidance due to the sense of smell. There is no positive evidence that his imaginary mechanism really effects the movements of flies toward substances on which they deposit their eggs. It certainly does not account for the movements of Paramecium nor of ameba as the observa- tions of Jennings show. The probable explanation of chemotrop- ism is a physiological irritation and attraction to which the organism reacts as a unit. The irritation may be due at times to osmosis; of the physiological nature of the attraction we have at present no mechanical concept. Thermotropism.—Animals always move away from a region in which temperature conditions are unfavorable to their vital processes. Their positive or negative thermotropism is therefore always relative. Its probable source is a condition of irritation % Comparative Physiology of the Brain, New York, 1900, p. 186. TROPISMS 91 caused by any extreme of temperature whether above or below their physiological zero. The organisms move till they come to a region where this irritation is reduced to a minimum. Mendelssohn, in studying the tropisms of unicellular organ- isms, supposed that they gathered at the warmer or cooler end of a trough of water because compelled by forced movements such as Verworn supposes in his theory of tropistic action. If one of these unicellular organisms is swimming with its long axis perpendicular to that of the trough its cilia on one side are cooled, on the other heated. In positive thermotropism the cooled cilia, according to theory, beat more rapidly and the animal turns to the warmer end. In negative thermotropism the warmed cilia are supposed to beat more rapidly and the animal turns to the cooler end. Jennings by actual observation of the infusoria found that they did nothing of the kind. When they come to a region where the temperature is above or below their optimum, instead of turning in the simple way supposed by the theory of tropisms, they back up and then drive ahead again but always at a different angle and to the side away from the mouth. In this way they eventually turn completely around and swim in the opposite direction. There is in these organisms no clearly demonstrable simple mechanism that is set in action mechanically by mere differences in temperature in the two sides of the body. Stereotropism.—This peculiar form of reaction is a tendency of certain animals to bring their bodies into contact with the greatest possible area of solid surroundings. Thus, when you roll over a log in the woods the insects scatter hither and thither. This reaction is not always a negative heliotropism but sometimes a positive stereotropism. For some of these insects will take refuge under a plate of glass as well as under a log. An earth- worm placed in an empty tin can will not coil up anywhere, but will move about till its body finds support in the angle formed by the junction of the bottom and wall of the containing vessel. A mechanical explanation of this tropism in mere terms of inequality of stimulus on the two sides of the body is by no means clearly evident. 92 STIMULUS AND RESPONSE Galvanotropism.—This is a type of reaction never met with in nature and the only one to which perhaps Loeb’s concept of forced movements applies. The introduction of the term, according to Loeb, was due to J. Miller-Hettlingen, who found, while working in Hermann’s laboratory, that if the seedlings of Vicia faba are exposed to a constant current the tips of the roots bend back to the cathode. Hermann discovered shortly after that tadpoles placed in a trough through which a constant current is passing turn their heads to the anode. (Loeb was unable to confirm this.)?? Blasius and Schweizer found'® that many animals when placed in a trough of water through which a current is passing manifest their tendency to go to the anode. They suppose that the animals assumed the position that caused them the least pain. On careful examination Loeb and Maxwell found the following interesting condition in the crustacean Palemontes: ‘*‘When the animal is subjected to a constant current in a trough of water its limbs are forced to assume such positions that it can move most easily to the anode—but with difficulty in any other direction.’’!* This quotation gives us an idea of a forced orientation toward a given stimulus. It is this concept which les at the basis of Verworn’s and Loeb’s mechanical theory of tropisms in general. According to the mechanical theory, not only the galvanic cur- rent but all the modes of energy to which organisms react, stimu- late symmetrical points of the body surface, which stimulation, being transmitted by the central nervous system, produces a differ- ence in muscular tonus on two sides of the body. This difference in tonus forces them to go toward or away from the point of stimulation in a purely mechanical manner. Another example of forced movements in the electric current is found in Paramecia. When they are subjected to a galvanic current they move BOF, Loeb, The Dynamics of Living Matter, 1906, p. 145. 8 Pfliiger’s Archiv., 1893, Vol. 53, p. 493, Fide Loeb. * Quoted from Loeb, Comparative Physiology of the Brain, pp. 164-166. See also Loeb and Maxwell, “ Zur Theorie des Galvanotropismus,” P/liiger’s Archiv., 1896, Vol. LXVIII. TROPISMS 93 promptly tothe cathode. Reverse the current, and they move with machine-like regularity to the new negative pole. Examin- ing these infusoria under such conditions one finds that they are really attempting to swim in two directions at once, the anterior cilia pointing to the cathode, and the posterior to the anode. The point at which the reversal of the cilia takes place varies with the strength of the current. With a certain intensity of current the animals no longer progress in any one direction but swing about in an incoodrdinate fashion. With strong currents they move backwards to the anode.” In no other type of stimulus do we observe reactions that are in any way similar. If, however, all stimuli produced their tropisms in this fashion we should be able to detect some indi- eations of a change in tonus in the locomotor organs of the reacting organism. Bancroft*® criticized this argument of Jennings and pointed out that Euglena reacts to the electric current in the same way that it reacts to light. ‘‘It is evident,’’ he says, ‘‘ from this account, that the details of the galvanotropic orientation are identical with the heliotropic orientation as described by Mast, and which I ean confirm. Huglena has no more direct way of orienting than that employed in heliotropism. Jennings’ contrast between heli- otropic and galvanotropic orientation will not hold for this organ- ism.’’ (Pp. 413-414.) But to defend Loeb’s position one must show that all tropisms take place by the constrained movements that one observes in galvanotropism with the organs of locomotion forced to take up different positions in accordance with the direc- tion of the current. What is needed is evidence that in heliotrop- ism, and in all other tropisms, as well as in galvanotropism, a difference in tonus in the organs of locomotion exists and varies with the direction of the source of stimulation. To point out a valvanotropism which resembles heliotropism, but in which no differential tonus is observed, does not help Loeb’s theory in the slightest. BOF, Jennings’ Behavior of the Lower Organisms, 1906, p. 83 ff. 16“ Heliotropism, Differential Sensibility, and Galvanotropism in Euglena,” Journal of Experimental Zoology, 1913, XV, pp. 383-428. 94 STIMULUS AND RESPONSE Until this differential muscular tonus can be actually seen in the other tropisms we can only say that scientific observation has not confirmed Loeb’s ingenious speculations. It indicates, on the contrary, that tropisms take place because organisms react as individuals to conditions of irritation and sources of attrac- tion, until the irritation is removed or the object which attracts is attained. Irritation and attraction are to be understood in a physiological and not a psychological sense. It is not, however, possible to deny with certainty all psychological accompaniment to these physiological conditions. In fact, in many cases, espe- cially in the metazoa, arguments of analogy lead us to postulate the probable existence of psychological elements actually enter- ing as causal factors in the tropistic mechanism. Tropisms and Chemical Reactions.—Loeb argues that the ‘‘animal will’’ may be expressed in terms of photochemical reac- tions because both follow one and the same law—namely, the law of Bunsen and Roscoe—that the photochemical effect of light equals the product of the intensity of the light times the dura- tion of the illumination. He measured the time it takes for 50 per cent. of a number of young regenerating polyps of Huden- drium to turn to the source of illumination with various inten- sities of hight. He found a rough agreement between the observed times and those calculated by the Bunsen-Roscoe law. Blaauw showed the same law to hold for the heliotropic curvatures of the seedlings of Avena sativa. Loeb then argues as follows: ‘“ Tt is, therefore, obvious that blind instinct which forces ani- mals to go to the light, e.g., in the case of the moth, is identical with the instinct which makes a plant bend to the light and is a special case of the same law of Bunsen and Roscoe which also explains the photochemical effects in inanimate nature; or in other words, the will or tendency of an animal to move towards the light can be expressed in terms of the Bunsen-Roscoe law of photochemical reactions.’’+? A consideration of the evidence on which this spectatane is based raises an interesting problem in scientific logic. Loeb, The Organism as a Whole. TROPISMS, 95 Loeb started out with an experimental principle. All photo- chemical reactions obey a certain law. He then uses this prin- ciple as a criterion to find out whether or not certain other things are also photochemical reactions. And here he slips into a logical fallacy, for the use of this principle as a criterion to find out whether or not other things which obey the same law are photo- chemical reactions, implies a simple conversion of a universal affirmative proposition. If one can say, all things that obey law X are photochemical reactions, then all we have to do is to ascertain by appropriate experiments the fact of conformity to law X in order to show that the thing that conforms is a photochemical reaction. But this is not the starting point of Loeb’s argument, but the converse, viz., all photochemical reactions obey law X. But, granted that all photochemical reactions obey law X, it does not follow that everything that obeys law X is a photochemical reaction. All men are animals gives us no warrant for saying that every ani- mal is aman. All chemical compounds are by weight constant multiples of the units that compose them; but all things which are constant multiples by weight of the units that compose them are not chemical compounds. } There is only one case in which a universal affirmative propo- - sition may be simply converted, and that is where the proposition ‘is a definition so correctly expressing the nature or a property of the thing defined that the predicate agrees to this thing and this thing only. Thus the classic definition, all men are rational animals, may be simply converted to all rational animals are men. A definition which does not express genus and specific differ- ence, or a property which belongs exclusively to the thing de- fined, cannot be simply converted. Thus, one might describe gravity as a force whose intensity varies inversely as the square of the distance. One would not be justified in using this as a general criterion for detecting the force of gravity by simply converting it, and saying that every force whose intensity varies inversely as the square of the distance, is identical with the force of gravity. For the intensity of light varies inversely with the square of distance, and it is not clear without any 96 STIMULUS AND RESPONSE other evidence that there is no difference between the two forces. Modern physics may show relationship between the two or per- haps even identity; but the proof of this identity will demand something more than the logically fallacious method of Loeb. What, then, are we to say of the identity of the ‘‘animal will”’ with a photochemical reaction? That the conclusion based on agreement with the law of Bunsen and Roscoe is premature and rests on a logical fallacy—to say nothing of a lack of analysis of the concept of the ‘‘animal will.’’ The fact, however, that heliotropism in plants and in some animals seems to follow the law of photochemical reactions is a valuable piece of information. Analogy suggests the possibility and even the probability that a photochemical reaction is one. element in the chain of events which constitute the tropism. The following up of such analogies is the surest road to scientific discovery. But hasty generalizations built upon them lead usually to nothing but error and confusion. Tropisms in Human Life.—The role played by tropisms in human life is very limited. They are reactions by which organ- isms orientate themselves toward simple physical stimuli. In the general sense here given they do play a limited role in our life. In the strict sense of Loeb—that of forced movements to or from the source of stimulation—they are utterly unknown in human experience. Simple physical stimuli do, however, act upon us agreeably or disagreeably, and we avoid them or seek them without thinking or perhaps with deliberate intent and fore- thought. We do not have, however, any pronounced tendency to place our bodies in such a position that these stimuli act upon symmetrical areas. An example of such an orientation is per- haps human thermotropism to a fire. When a man goes to a fire to get warm he stands first with his face to the fire. If the front part of his body gets too warm, he faces full about and puts his back to the fire. He does not go to the fire and put first one side of his body and then the other towards the blaze; but he has a definite tendency to face the source of heat symmetrically. The probable reason for this is the fact that in man the anterior and posterior surfaces are larger than the lateral, and, consequently, TROPISMS 97 absorb more heat. There is no question of any forced movement. The orientation seems rather to depend on a maximum feeling of satisfaction. Physical stimuli, such as heat and light, are regarded as fun- damental requirements of modern life, not as ends in themselves, but as conditions for the enjoyment of other interests. They thus slip into the background. Human kinetic activity is not directed by such things; but rather by instinctive cravings and intellectual pursuits with which lght, heat, and electricity as such have little or nothing to do. i ae - w iy} dy ’, rail a y j rd i. a if ri : 4 wu o. aera Wm Va ‘ . rT lt é ey it & tA i ebide Bi, ‘oni roe? bn Atty ; a ane ld OVE iy PART III HUMAN EMOTIONAL LIFE CHAPTER I THE AFFECTIVE MENTAL STATES To ORDINARY unskilled interpretation there is a very clear distinction between our sensations and our ideas, on the one hand, and such states as we term feelings or sentiments, on the other hand. In the history of psychology there has been a great deal of discussion about the nature and validity of this distinc- tion. The opinions have varied from a denial of the distinction altogether up to the assertion of absolute independence for both classes of phenomena. It might be well to subdivide our dis- cussion of the various problems which arise in the study of the affective mental states into certain headings, pointing out as we go along the names and the historical interest attaching to each problem that thereby arises. I. In the first place, we may ask: Are there really any affec- tive mental states at all? The Stoics were perhaps the first who denied the existence of the feelings and emotions as something distinct from the representative mental processes. The Stoic definitions of emotions are all in terms of intellectual judgments, and allow no room for a mental state distinct from the representa- tive processes. Against this view may be urged, in the first place, the fact of introspection that, for instance, anger is not only an awareness of the fact that someone has done me an injury, but is a specific reaction over and above this intellectual judgment. In fact, we may say that the mind receives impressions and re- acts to the perceptions that it receives. The reception of impres- sions results in some kind of a mental copy or representation of the object. This mental copy or representation is the more or less complex group of sensations and images and concepts which are aroused and united into one organic unit—the perception of the object. Besides this passive reception the mind reacts to this perception in a definite way. It finds the reception, at times at least, agreeable or disagreeable. It accepts or rejects it with a display of mental phenomena which are distinct from the re- 101 102 HUMAN EMOTIONAL LIFE ception itself or mere intellectual judgment based upon this distinction. This display of mental phenomena is the group of affective mental processes. There is one peculiar characteristic of the affective mental states which distinguishes them very sharply from the representative mental states. This is the fact that the representative mental states may be very easily attended to as such; that attention to them brings them out all the more clearly and seems almost to increase their intensity. Attention, however, to an emotion or a feeling is scarcely possible. We may think of the cause of the emotion or of the feeling and there- by increase its intensity, but if we try to look at the emotion itself to, let us say, its peculiar pleasurable quality as distinct from the sensation, or try to analyze an emotion of anger in the midst of our rage, immediately the emotion dwindles and slips into the background of consciousness. The affective mental states cannot be attended to in the same way as the representative processes. We are, therefore, justified in dis- tinguishing these two classes of phenomena. This distinction points out to us the fact that in the interaction between the mind and its environment the mind receives impressions and reacts to them by peculiar characteristic processes with more or less bodily resonance accompanying them. The receptions of mind are the representative processes. The reactions of mind are, in part at least, the affective mental states. II. Are there two distinct forms of the affective mental states, one that we may term sensory feelings and the other that we may term emotions? A splitting up of the affective mental proc- esses into two groups came very early in the history of modern psychology as a logical result of certain principles of the Herbar- tian psychology. Strange to say, this distinction arose from cer- tain metaphysical principles. According to the Herbartians, we have many ideas. These ideas are known to us only as conditions. There must, therefore, be something which is conditioned by them, that is to say, they must have some underlying substrate. Furthermore, in every moment of self-observation we experience the fact of its unity, for all our ideas are referred to one unit of self-observation and not many. There is always one and the THE AFFECTIVE MENTAL STATES 103 same perceiving ego from moment to moment as well as in the present moment. Consequently, according to the Herbartians, there is one substrate of all our mental processes—the one simple mind or soul. The soul does not produce its own ideas, therefore other simple beings must exist. that act upon the soul and cause its states of consciousness. Besides the states of consciousness which arise from external influences there are others which are produced by the interaction of conscious processes. This gives rise to two sets of conscious processes, one resulting from the interaction between body and mind. These are sensations and sensations alone. They are the primitive conscious processes. The other set arises from the interaction between mental proc- esses. These are the feelings or derived conscious processes. It is evident, however, that many of our feelings come to us with the sensations themselves. They seem to be produced by the interaction between body and mind. The Herbartians were forced, therefore, to postulate a group of feelings distinct from their derived conscious processes, and this they did by recognizing sensations with a tone of feeling. They denied, however, that this tone of feeling was a genuine feeling since it did not arise from the interaction of ideas. It is, according to them, the inhibition or the stimulation of the organic activity of a living being. If it inhibits organic activity it is wnpleasant. If it supports it or stimulates it, it is pleasant. Much more recently Stumpf? maintained that ‘‘the sensory feelings are as a matter of fact nothing more nor less than sensations. They are a class of sen- sations which, perhaps, like every other class of sensations has its own specific peculiarities but which in all other essential charac- teristics and modes of behavior conducts itself like the other forms of sensations.’’ Wundt’s tridimensional theory of feeling distinguishes be- tween the simple feelings and the complex emotions; although in the earlier editions of his psychology he maintained that feeling was a tone of sensation just as intensity and quality are tones or attributes of sensation. *“ Ueber Gefiihlsempfindungen,” Zeitschrift fiir Psychol. und Physiol. der Sinnesorgane, 1907, XLIV, pp. 1-49. 8 104 HUMAN EMOTIONAL LIFE According to his later theory, subjective analysis points out three classes of simple feelings, one class embracing what we ordinarily recognize as pleasure and pain. Thus tastes are agree- able or disagreeable ; colors are pleasant or unpleasant, ete. The second class is what he terms excitement or restfulness (or de- pression). As an example of simple sensory excitement and rest- fulness, he points to the characteristic feeling that we have with the presentation of red and blue. A bright red would give an altogether different feeling to the observer than would a navy blue. This feeling would not be the sensation itself of redness or blueness, but something over and above the sensory characteristics. The effect of red on the bull is proverbial though called in question recently by Stratton.? In recent times it has been recognized that color affects the emotional states of depressed patients, and so in insane asylums we sometimes have red rooms and blue rooms. A third class consists of feelings of tension and relaxation. To experience an example of this in its simple sensory form one need but listen to the beats of a slowly moving metronome or to a clock that is beating seconds. As one waits for the tick to occur one experiences just before the moment of its occurrence a peculiar feeling of tension. After one hears the tick there is a slight feeling of relaxation. An example of all these feelings, along with much more complicated processes, might be taken from a game of baseball. Suppose a game tied in the twelfth inning with the bases full and two men out. A batter comes to the plate and drives out a fly which seems to be going way beyond the outermost fielder. Immediately there is a tremendous excitement for everybody and a high degree of pleasure on the side of the batter, but as they notice the fielder turn around and run there arises everywhere and becomes dominant a very marked degree of tension. This is something different from the excite- ment. When the fielder turns around, jumps into the air and catches the ball with one hand, the tension at once disappears, the critical moment is passed, there is the wildest excitement, but along with it there is a distinct feeling of relaxation, on the batter’s side especially, for the crisis has passed. There is deep 2° Red and the Anger of Cattle,’ Psychol. Rev., 1923, XXX, 321-325. THE AFFECTIVE MENTAL STATES 105 regret on his side, but intense joy on the other. Thus, we can see the distinction between these various forms of sensory feelings in a practical example. Wundt maintains that no other simple feelings beside these ean be found, and that all other feelings can be analyzed into them. All three relate to mental states. None of them can be localized like sensations nor can their objects be pointed out. Unlike sensations also, they are independent of any sense organ or any kind of stimulus. At the same time they have the funda- mental attributes of quality and intensity, and they have a charac- teristic peculiarity in their intensity, each group has two ex- tremes of intensity ; each extreme shades over to the other through a zero point of indifference. The simple feelings, according to Wundt, give rise to complex feelings by fusing and producing resultant feelings. These re- sultant feelings may fuse and produce resultants of a higher order, and these fuse, producing resultants of a still higher order, etc. One of the simplest of resultant feelings, according to Wundt, is the feeling of well-being. This comes from pleasur- able feelings and the lack of all unpleasant ones arising from conditions of the organism. Each emotion to which we have given a specific name, as joy, anger, etc., may be analyzed into curves of three dimensions, just as in analytical geometry we might analyze a tridimensional curve into three simple components. Thus, according to Wundt, there are two classes of affective states; one is simple and the other complex. No one will be inclined to doubt the distinction between simple sensory feelings and the complex emotional processes. The question arises, however, how many simple feelings we have. Wundt recognizes that every resultant feeling has its own spe- cific tone proper to the complex. There is no evidence which shows us conclusively that this specific tone (for instance, the tone of impatience in the emotion of anger, the peculiar delight in the emotion of joy) is a resultant feeling. It is a pretty theory to assume that it arises by the fusion of these simple feel- ings, but, for all we know, it may itself be a simple feeling. Can 106 HUMAN EMOTIONAL LIFE we analyze, for instance, the characteristic tone of feeling that one experiences in slight impatience into any simpler compon- ents? Is it something different from unpleasantness? It seems suit generis. It may be accompanied by unpleasantness, but at times, under different circumstances, one may experience the same unpleasantness but no feeling of impatience. Wundt’s theory merely raises the question: How many simple feelings do we experience? He names six. He points out furthermore, according to his own. interpretation, that there is a specific tone of feeling to every resultant feeling. Perhaps all of these specific tones are themselves simple feelings. The writer is inclined to believe that they are. There is no satisfactory classification for them as yet, just as there is no satisfactory classification of odors into definite groups. Our emotional life has a complexity of qualities similar in extent to the number of characteristic nuances that we recognize in sensations of smell. To sum up, we may say that we have a number of ‘‘simple’’ feelings. The exact number of these simple feelings is unknown. Pleasantness and unpleasantness are the simple feelings most commonly recognized. Tension and relaxation, excitement and depression as described by Wundt are also, in all probability, true feelings and not mere complexes of sensation. But besides these there may be many others. Impatience, for example, seems to be a specific elementary feeling. There are, perhaps, as many simple feelings as there are emotions. The emotion itself is a complex of its specific quality plus ideas, sensations and impulses. The question proposed in this section, therefore, is to be answered thus. There are two elementary forms of affective states, feelings and emotions. Emotions differ from feelings in that an emotion is: (1) Accompanied by a much more complex and extensive bodily resonance; (2) an emotion is a reaction to an intellectual insight and not to a mere sensation. We shall see below that emotions are reactions to intellectual insights. The specific feeling of an emotion, therefore, is not a reaction to the sensations of perception, but to the meaning of aperception. There are some simple feelings which are reactions, not to meanings but to mere sensations, e.g., pleasure and pain. THE AFFECTIVE MENTAL STATES 107 It is possible, therefore, to subdivide the affective mental states into two classes, (a) affections that arise in response to mere sensations, (b) affections that arise in response to meaning. Ill. Are the affective mental states attributes of sensation and not independent forms of mental life? The attribute or tone theory was propounded by Wundt in the first editions of his psychology. Lehmann traces it back to Kant, quoting the sentence, ‘‘The subjective element in an idea which can in no manner become a piece of knowledge, is the pleasure or pain that is united with it.’’* Kant, therefore, according to Lehmann, main- tains that feelings are: (1) Intimately united with ideas, and (2) Contrasted with them inasmuch as they cannot be con- sidered knowledge. According to Lehmann: * (1) ‘‘A pure emotional state does not exist. Pleasure and pain are always united with intellectual states.’’ (2) ‘‘By the emotional elements or tones of feeling we under- stand the psychological abstractions, pleasure and pain, conceived of as isolated from the intellectual states and characterized by their opposition to them.”’ (3) ‘‘By feelings we understand the real psychological states which contain both intellectual and emotional elements. ’’ There are, according to Lehmann, only two emotional elements, pleasure and pain. In all emotions one or both of these elements are present. One emotion, therefore, is distinguished from another not by its affective components but by its representative elements. This was once and perhaps still is the most widely accepted of psychological theories of the emotions. Against this view the following considerations may be urged: i, Feeling cannot be an attribute of sensation because it has itself the main attributes of sensation. It has, for instance, its own specific quality, its own degree of intensity, and its own duration. No attribute of sensation has these characteristics as *Cites Kritik der Urteilskraft, Kirschmann’s edition, p. 28. *Die Hauptgesetze des menschlichen Gefiihlseben, Leipzig, 1892, pp. 16-17. 108 HUMAN EMOTIONAL LIFE distinct from the sensation itself. Thus, no intensity of sensa- tion has an intensity, a quality, and duration of its own. ii. If any of the attributes of sensation are reduced to zero, the sensation itself is zero, but a sensation may lose entirely its feeling tone without disappearing. iii. All the attributes of a sensation have their counterpart in the stimulus. Thus, the intensity of a sensation of sound has its counterpart in the amplitude of the vibrations in the air by which it is produced. The pitch or quality of the tone has its counterpart in the number of vibrations per second, the duration of the sensation its counterpart in the length of time that the sounding body vibrates. Pleasure and pain, however, have no counterpart in the sensation. Thus, while all the recognized attributes of sensation have definite objective references, pleas- ure and pain have no objective references but an altogether sub- jective character. They are not, therefore, attributes of sensation. IV. Are the affective mental states sensations? This theory, as we have seen, is maintained by Stumpf for a group of feelings that are at least intimately connected with sensations. Others have gone so far as to maintain that all affective mental states are nothing more than sensations. Something akin to this is implied in the Lange-James position, to be criticised later, which holds that emotions consist in the perception of the sensations that constitute the bodily resonance. Against the view that affective states are a specific form of sensations we may urge the following considerations: (1) All other known sensations (except the supposed ‘‘sen- sation’’ of feeling) have their sense organs. There is no sense organ for pleasure and pain. A sensation without a sense organ seems something of a chimerical assumption. (2) Not only have pleasure and pain no sense organ, but they may be produced by the stimulation of any sense organ. But, sensations are specific. We are not justified in supposing the existence of a peculiar sensation so general in its character- istics that it may arise from the stimulation of any sense organ whatsoever. THE AFFECTIVE MENTAL STATES 109 (8) A sensation is produced directly by the external stimulus. A feeling, however, seems to be more indirectly produced by a conscious state on account of which one is affected in one way or another. It is our reaction to this conscious state or reaction to a sensation and not the sensation itself. (4) Sensations may be localized. Feelings as such cannot be. I may indeed have a painful sensation. This sensation may be localized, but I cannot say that my displeasure at the sensation is localized. | (5) Feelings are subjective; sensations objective. Thus, in knowing we distinguish the subject who knows and the object which is known. In feeling, however, we cannot make such a dis- tinction because there is no object of knowledge. Thus, I can say of a sensation that I see the bright blue sky, but I cannot say, ‘‘I am the bright blue sky.’’ On the other hand I say, ‘‘I am happy; I am sad, or I am angry,”’ etc.® V. To what extent do representative mental processes enter into the complexes of feeling that we term emotions? In our strong emotions of joy, of anger, etc., there is present something more than the mere sensation that gives rise to it. Thus, if one is slapped in the face, the painful sensation may be disagreeable and give rise therefore to a simple feeling of unpleasantness, but this in itself is not enough to produce anger. For instance, in play one might be slapped in the face, and there would be no anger whatsoever, but if a man slaps one as an expression of contempt, it produces an entirely different emotional state. This emotional state is dependent upon an insight into the situa- tion and knowledge of an external individual and his relation- ships to the one who experiences the emotion. Such an insight transcends completely the qualities of sense. It is an intel- lectual something and not sensory. So, also, with all our emotions. They are insights and memories of a very complex nature which lie at the root of the emotion and which rise and fall in consciousness during the emotional outbreak, giving rise to renewed intensity by their repeated occurrence. In his book, °Cf. Very excellent treatment of feeling in Frobes, J., Lehrbuch der experimentellen Psychologie. 110 “HUMAN EMOTIONAL LIFE Das Gemiith, Jungmann has brought out very clearly this ele- ment in the emotional complexity by the following example: ‘“As the prince of the Apostles denied his Master for the third time on the night of His passion—the cock crowed. And the Lord turned around and looked at Peter. And Peter remem- bered the word that the Lord had spoken to him, ‘Before the cock crows thou wilt deny Me thrice.’ And he went out and wept bitterly! In this case what was the object of the activity of the intellect that was followed by the emotion—the pain of the Apostle’s remorse? The Evangelist has indicated it clearly enough. Peter remembered the word that the Lord had spoken to him. He thought of his Master and the happy days he had spent at His side—of the words of salvation that he had heard from His mouth, of the sublime graces he had received from Him. Those last hours came up before his mind which belonged to this very night of his own infidelity and cowardice—those hours of tender farewell, of the divine love, of the incomprehensible con- descension, of the first unbloody sacrifice of the New Testament, of the trembling and the agony of approaching death and the bloody sweat. And when over against all this he held up his thrice-repeated sin, he felt deep down in his heart how unworthily he had acted, because he had been ashamed of his Master and his God, because he had been false to the fidelity he had sworn and had torn asunder the bond of his friendship and his love. These were the thoughts that filled his soul with so much bitterness. This was the evil, the idea of which sunk his soul in a sea of burning pain. These were the goods on account of whose loss the tears of remorse streamed from his eyes. That such thoughts the reasoning soul alone is capable of thinking, that of such goods sense has no intimation, that such an evil would not worry the lower self, all that certainly needs no proof.’’® Jungmann defines an emotion as ‘‘a simultaneous activity of both appetitive faculties—the higher and the lower—called forth by the actual knowledge of a good or evil, which as such reason alone can understand.’”” *Jungmann, Joseph, Das Gemiith, Freiburg, 1885, pp. 88-89. *Jungmann, Joseph, Das Gemiith, Freiburg, 1885, p. 92. THE AFFECTIVE MENTAL STATES 111 The presence of an intellectual element as the cause of an emotion over and above the sensation seems to be a necessary postulate. If this is so, animals probably have no emotions in the sense in which emotion applies to human affective reactions, for it appears from the data of animal psychology that dogs, eats, rats, etc., have no intellectual appreciation of the problems they are given to solve, but learn them by the development of habits of reaction without insight. Human emotion has as its cause and its root an intellectual insight. It is not, therefore, merely dependent upon sensation. VI. Is the bodily resonance the cause or the effect of the emotion? By bodily resonance is here understood the many phenomena which go to make up what is usually termed the expression of the emotion. That is to say, the activity of the facial muscles, the changes in the rate of heart-beat and of its intensity, the changes in respiration, the visceral effects, the glandular secretions, such as the beads of perspiration, or the paralysis of secretions, such as the dry throat, etc. These phe- nomena constitute bodily resonance. From the days of Aristotle, through medieval philosophy, down almost to the present, these phenomena have been looked upon as the effects of the emotion and not its cause—as the emotional expression and not its con- stituent elements. In the nineteenth century two men at approxi- mately the same time put forward the view that the ordinary interpretation of the situation is just the reverse of what it should be—that a perception produces a bodily resonance and this bodily resonance produces the emotion, or rather that the perception of the bodily resonance is the emotion. According to the traditional view, the perception produces the emotion and the emotion produces a bodily resonance. The new theory is named after the two men who first propounded it and is there- fore termed the Lange-James theory of the emotions. James states the theory as follows: ‘‘Our natural way of thinking about these coarser emotions is that the mental perception of some fact excites mental affec- tion called the emotion, and that this latter state of mind gives rise to the bodily expression. My theory, on the contrary, is 112 HUMAN EMOTIONAL LIFE that the bodily changes follow directly the perception of the exciting fact, and that our feeling of the same changes as they occur, is the emotion.’’ ® According to this view, therefore, it is more true to say that we are afraid because our hair stands on end rather than our hair stands on end because we are afraid; that we are sorry be- cause we cry rather than we cry because we are sorry. To put the matter in James’ own words: ‘‘Common sense says, we lose our fortune, we are sorry and weep ; we meet a bear, are frightened and run; we are insulted by a rival, are angry and strike. The hypothesis here to be defended says that this order of sequence is incorrect, that the one mental state is not immediately induced by the other, that the bodily manifestations must first be interposed between, and that the more rational statement is that we feel sorry because we ery, angry because we strike, afraid because we tremble; and not that we cry, strike, or tremble because we are sorry, angry, or fearful, as the case may be. Without the bodily states following on the perception, the latter could be purely cognitive in form, pale, colorless, destitute of emotional warmth. We might then see the bear and judge it best to run, receive the insult and deem it right to strike, but we should not actually feel afraid or angry. ‘<«Stated in this crude way, the hypothesis is pretty sure to meet with immediate disbelief. And yet neither many nor far-fetched considerations are required to mitigate its paradoxical character, and possibly to produce conviction of its truth.’’ ® James’ proof of his theory is developed in an argument which may be summed up in three fundamental statements: (1) *‘Objects do excite bodily changes . . . so indefinite, nu- merous, and subtle that the entire organism may be called a sounding board which every change of consciousness, however slight, may make reverberate.’’ 1° This statement is proved by the citation of numerous examples of the bodily resonance. * James, William, Psychology (Briefer Course), 1907, p. 375. ° James, William, Psychology (Briefer Course), 1907, pp. 375-376. * Principles of Psychology, Vol. II, Ch, xxxv, p. 450. THE AFFECTIVE MENTAL STATES 113 In order, however, to prove the Lange-James theory, it is not sufficient to cite the fact of bodily resonance, but it is necessary to show its position in the temporal sequence of perception, resonance, and emotion. Does the emotion commence prior to the bodily resonance or is it perceived only at the time the subject perceives the bodily resonance or somewhat afterward? The effect cannot precede its cause in a temporal sequenee of events. The all-important matter in deciding between the traditional and the new theory is precisely this temporal sequence. No mass- ing of citations which refer only to the fact of bodily resonance suffices to clear up the problem of temporal sequence. (2) ‘‘Kvery one of the bodily changes whatsoever wt be is felt, acutely or obscurely, the moment it occwrs.’’ James proves this by an appeal to introspection. Here again the fact is common property. According to the traditional view as well as the Lange-James theory, the bodily resonance is per- ceived. There is no dispute about the perception of the bodily resonance. Everybody admits this. What we want to find out is whether or not the perception of the bodily resonance causes the emotion or the emotion causes the bodily resonance which is then perceived as a further element in the affective complex. (3) “‘If we fancy some strong emotion and then try to ab- stract, from our consciousness of tt, all the feelings of its bodily symptoms, we have nothing left behind.”’ This James proves by an appeal to introspection: ‘‘What kind of an emotion of fear would be left if the feeling neither of quickened heart-beats nor of shallow breathing, neither of trembling lips nor of weakened limbs, neither of goose-flesh nor of visceral stirrings, were present, it is quite impossible for me to think. Can one fancy the state of rage and picture no ebullition in the chest, no flushing of the face, no dilation of the nostrils, no clenching of the teeth, no impulse to vigorous action, but in their stead limp muscles, calm breathing, and a placid face? The present writer, for one, certainly cannot. The rage is as completely evaporated as the sensation of its so-called manifesta- tions, and the only thing that can be supposed to take its place is some cold-blooded and dispassionate judicial sentence, confined 114 HUMAN EMOTIONAL LIFE entirely to the intellectual realm, to the effect that a certain per- son or persons merit chastisement for their sins. In like manner of grief, what would it be without its tears, its sobs, its suffocation of the heart, its pang in the breast-bone? A feelingless cognition that certain circumstances are deplorable, and nothing more. Every passion in turn tells the same story. A disembodied human emotion is a sheer nonenity.’’!? It is quite true that we cannot imagine an emotion without its bodily expression any more than we can imagine ourselves standing by a hot fire without getting warm. And still, when we stand by a hot fire, the fire is the cause of our warmth and not our warmth the cause of the fire. We cannot imagine a cause operating without producing its effect. If we attempt to rid our imagination of the picture of the effect we spirit away the cause. James has simply pointed out in this stage of his argument that there is a causal relation between the emotion and its resonance. Everybody admits this. The question is which is cause and which is effect. James’ argument does not help us to decide the point at issue. For even though I cannot imagine an emotion without its bodily expression, this does not prove that the emotion is the result of the bodily expression. For the reason why I cannot imagine myself in a great rage without certain bodily disturb- ances is that I cannot imagine a cause acting without producing its effect. James maintains that there has been no experimental test of his theory. This would require, he says, a patient who would be absolutely anzesthetic inside and out. He knew of only three such cases. In two, he said, there were no data as to the emo- tional states. The third, he said, seemed to have manifested some emotion. This he explains by the supposition that this patient’s emotional expressions may have been accompanied by a cold heart. It might be interesting, therefore, to examine what we know about the expression of the emotions in the light of the Lange-James theory. Are the emotions produced by the perception of the bodily resonance or is the bodily resonance the effect of an emotional 4 James, William, Psychology (Briefer Course), 1907, pp. 379-380. — THE AFFECTIVE MENTAL STATES 115 state? In the chapter that follows, we shall consider individually the various types of emotional expression, and we shall ask ourselves whether or not any one of these forms can possibly con- stitute the main element in the emotion. It is practically impos- sible to find a living human subject who is completely anesthetic both inside and out, as James admits, for the test of his theory. Such a patient, were the condition cerebral, would have to have a lesion completely separating the cortex from the subcortical ganglia. Such a patient would probably not live, and if he did live, he would be unable to tel! us anything about his emotions. Were the lesion lower down, it would have to be multiple and in- volve all the sensory cranial nerves, both cervical sympatheties, both vagi, as well asa cord lesion involving a complete sensory in- terruption. This would have to be below the origin of the phrenics in order that respiration might be maintained. A patient suffering from such multiple lesions would probably not live, and if he did, it is not likely that his vocal apparatus would be left intact and that his intelligence would remain unim- paired to give us a reliable account of his emotional states. It is very likely that most cases which have been reported of complete external and internal anesthesia are not organic but of an hys- terical nature. From an hysterical patient we might learn any- thing that our theory of emotions would suggest. Cases such as those reported by M. d’Allonnes” are evidently of an hysterical nature. The woman he speaks of complained of being unable to feel either good or evil, content or regret. She said that she was ‘‘just like a dressed-up broomstick.’’ His account of the ease and the physical examination indicate an hysterical condi- tion rather than an organic lesion. Only an organic loss of sen- sibility would suffice to test the Lange-James theory, because if one found a functional loss of sensibility and there accompanied it a loss of emotions, this also might be functional and due not to the loss of sensibility but to the factors which lay at the basis of the hysteria. ae d’Allonnes, R. G., “ Role des sensations internes dans les émotions et dans la perception de la durée,” Revue philosophique, 1905, IX, pp. 592-623. CHAPTER II THE EXPRESSION OF THE EMOTIONS I, Facial Expression.—One of the most characteristic expres- sions of emotion is afforded by the play of the facial musculature.* In 1807, Moreau (Traité de physionomie) divided emotions into convulsive, oppressive, and expansive. Convulsive emotions were supposed to cause a general action of all the muscles of the face; the oppressive emotions cause a loss of tonus in the muscles of the face and therefore a lengthening of the face such as we see in the depressions. The expansive emotions, according to Moreau, produced an increase of tonus in the facial muscles and therefore a widening of the face, as in joy, pleasure. In 1844, Charles Bell, in his Anatomy and Philosophy of Expression, put forward the view that the activity of the facial muscles is intimately connected with the action of the heart and lungs. The mouth and nose are organs of respiration. Respira- tion affects the movements of the mouth and the nose as well as the circulation. The circulation in turn affects respiration. Through the interplay of respiratory and circulatory functions the facial muscles are thrown into the activity of emotional expression. | In 1862, Duchenne of Boulogne published his Mechanisme de la physionomie humaine. This classical work put forward the view that each emotion has its typical expression. This expression is brought about by the activity of one or at most a few facial muscles. This view is demonstrated by photographs of facial expressions that were caused solely by electrical stimulation of the muscles involved. His subject was an elderly man who had lost pain sensibility in the face. The skin of the face could, therefore, be stimulated by a faradic current without causing *¥For a history of the theories of physiognomy, cf. Audibert, A. C. M., “Etude sur la physionomie,” Thése Bordeaus, 1892-3, No. 26, p. 120. 116 he yet i Frontalis 1 fl Corrugator supercilii 3 Orbicularis palpebrarum 4 5 Nasalis Zs~ Orbicularis oculi 4 H Levator labii superioris alagque nasi Yi, e : y_Lev. anguli oris 8 bi \ | Quadratus AA) 7 labii sup. ‘c oS 4 A. ! 9 Zygomaticus D HITS Zygomaticus 9 Masseter Risorius 11 10 Orbicularis hee M _Depressor anguli oris 12 Ve Ni) a Depr. labii inferioris 13 =j Ei Hi j } ! ify H~\evator menti 14 Ly Frontalis 1 \\ \\ \\ Orbicularis ocult Na) 4 ) Orb. palpebrarum YW Al i Quadr. labii sup. T / We \ Lev. labii sup. 6 Sern nasi wy Y ; SG fi Nasalis 5 W/m Vii YX \ $= Depressor septi Y Le No a opae W NSW Lev. anguli oris 8 YUN \ HAN Nts al AY 7 Occipitalis_\ \ Ne Z oma N \ Se ae “ae ba YZ, Orbicularis ) oris 10 \ Ge \\ — dl nas anguli oris 12 ( Risorius 11 \ Platysma Fic. 3—MUSCLES OF EXPRESSION. Depr. labiiting eo Levator menti 14 THE EXPRESSION OF THE EMOTIONS 117 pain. It was, therefore, possible to stimulate his facial muscles without any tendency to cloud the effect by the expression of pain due to the stimulation itself. Anyone who has examined the photographs that Duchenne has given will recognize what excellent imitations they are of real emotional expressions. Thus, he found that the muscle of attention is the frontalis; the muscle of reflection, the orbicularis oculi (superior portion) ; the muscle of pain, the corrugator supercilii; the muscle of aggression, the pyramidalis nasi; the muscle of lasciviousness, the transversalis nasi; the muscle of joy and benevolence, the inferior portion of the orbicularis oculi and the zygomaticus major, ete. According to Duchenne, stimulation of the nerve trunk of the facialis can cause only a grimace and not an emotional expres- sion. To obtain the emotional expression, one must stimulate definite muscles or groups of muscles at their points of election. If this is the case, and it seems likely that it is, the emotional expression must be elaborated somewhere within the encephalon. G. Dumas? attempted to show that any light stimulation of the facial nerve would cause a smile. He gives three photographs of the results obtained. Two of these would seem rather to bear out the view of Duchenne that stimulation of the facial nerve produces a grimace, but not an emotional expression. In only one of the photographs does the expression resemble a smile, and this he admits was the best he was able to obtain. The smile in this case is a sickly smile, lacking in the smile of the eyes. Duchenne pointed this out as characteristic of the artificial or society smile. Anyone can raise the corners of his lips when he pleases, but he cannot when he pleases produce the merry twinkle of the eyes which is caused by the contraction of the orbicularis oculi. It would seem, therefore, that Dumas’ theory, that any light stimulation of the facial nerve causes a smile, is unlikely. The emotional expression is elaborated in the central nervous system and is specific in character for each emo- tion. It is not the mere overflow of stimulation into motor chan- nels of outlet. 2“Te sourire,” Revue philosophique, 1904, LVIYI, pp. 1-23, 136-151. BA 118 HUMAN EMOTIONAL LIFE The experiments of Bechterew*® would indicate that the elaboration of the emotional expression is not in the cortex but probably in the optic thalamus and perhaps also in parts of the lenticular and caudate nuclei. Bechterew separated the cortex from the optic thalamus in animals and found that mimicry was still possible with them. This, he says, was so in spite of their loss of intelligence and emotional life. It is hard to see how Bechterew proved that emotions were not present in these animals. He points out that mimicry was still possible with them. That is to say, they acted and behaved like animals experiencing an emotion. How does he know that they did not experience it? He simply assumes that the emotion was absent because the cortex was separated from the whole central nervous system from the thalamus down. His argument for assuming that the emotional expressions in these animals is pure mimicry was, first, because the uninjured animal often makes them spontaneously without sensory or visceral stimulation, but the animal deprived of its hemispheres makes these movements solely in response to exter- nal stimuli. Secondly, the uninjured animal is capable of in- hibiting its facial movements in the presence of an external stimu- lus, but the thalamic animal is not. These considerations only show, however, that the cortex exercises an influence on facial expression. They do not show conclusively that the thalamic animal is absolutely devoid of emotional life. Something akin to Bechterew’s experiments with animals happens occasionally when a human being is afflicted with a thala- mic lesion. In such cases we do not have the thalamus separated from the cortex, but we have a state of hyperactivity in the thala- mus. Such patients, on wholly inadequate provocation, in spite of themselves, break out into spasmodic laughing or crying. To the observer, they seem to be affected by the most violent sorrow or hilarious joy. If the Lange-James theory is correct, these individuals should experience the emotion corresponding to the outward expression, but, as a matter of fact, when thalamic patients burst out into laughter or into sobbing and tears, the only emotion they experience is one of shame for making such * Fide d’Allonnes, Journal de psychologie, 1906, III, pp. 132-157. No action of facial muscles Sleep No twinkle 7 of eyes Lowering of jaw Sa Affected smile True smile Laugh Fie. 4.—MUSCLES OF EXPRESSION IN ACTION. Numbers are those of muscles shown in Fig. 3. Each emotion is associated with a specific group of tension areas in the skin, whose production is due to a definite kinetic unit (see Part VI, Ch. iv). The function of the emotional kinetic units is to manifest the sub- ject’s feelings to others, not to reveal them to himself. LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS THE EXPRESSION OF THE EMOTIONS 119 fools of themselves. They are neither gay nor sad, but are forced against their will to give forth the most violent expressions of intense sorrow or joy. Otto Spiegel reports: “‘The laughing is not the effect of mental abnormalities, but takes place without a happy idea and feeling of pleasure. Oppenheim has followed up this symptom carefully and has come to the conclusion that this laughter which takes place against the patient’s will is to be numbered among the common symptoms (of multiple sclerosis) and is often present early in the disease.’’ ‘‘But,’’ he continues, ‘‘the inclination to passionate, convulsive outbreaks is by no means always present. But this mimicry is called forth only more easily than in healthy days and without a corresponding occasion. Its duration and intensity are generally more or less reinforced. ‘*On the basis of the cases I have studied, I have come to the same conclusions. This forced laughing was present in seven eases (out of thirty-four) and was experienced by the patients as really painful. Thus, a patient told me that it cost him a great deal of trouble during the period of his military service to sup- press his laughter. And he designated this involuntary emotional expression as most tormenting.’” The pathological data of the phenomena of forced laughing and erying give negative evidence, therefore, against the Lange- James theory. Where one would expect to find confirmation of the theory, one discovers that the perception of bodily resonance does not constitute the emotion. We may now ask whether or not facial expression helps to give a specific character to the whole emotional complex. It seems that it may be one of the elements in determining the peculiar specific characteristic of a definite emotional complex. The facial expression certainly varies with every emotion. This expression is produced mainly by the activity of one muscle or a group of muscles. Other muscles act in a secondary manner, reinforcing the effect of the principals. It is also true that we are conscious, though only dimly conscious, of the tension of these facial muscles *Ueber psychischen Storungen bei der disseminierten Sklerose, Berlin, EBOL ALI, pe 27. 9 & 4 120 HUMAN EMOTIONAL LIFE —a tension which varies in its locality and distribution with every emotion. If we ask ourselves whether or not the emotion con- sists in the perception of this facial expression, it must seem to impartial introspection that the perception of this facial tension, so obscurely conscious, is a very small element in the complex experience of the emotion. It may help to specify that experience, but its aid is unimportant and almost negligible. Persons suffer- ing from a unilateral facial paralysis certainly do not have their emotional life reduced one-half by such a trauma, nor could we get rid of a depression or influence perceptibly a person’s normal emotional life by sectioning both facial nerves. We can- not hope, therefore, to get very far with the explanation of our emotional life by confining ourselves to a study of the tension of the facial muscles. II. Cardiovascular and Respiratory Changes.—The changes in respiration, increase in its frequency, variation in its depth or shallowness; variations in the rate and frequency of the heart- beat ; rise and fall of the blood pressure are phenomena which con- stitute a considerable portion of the bodily resonance of our emotions. It is possible for us to study them experimentally by two pieces of apparatus, the plethysmograph and the pneumo- eraph. The plethysmograph was first used by the Italian phys- iologist, Mosso. It consists of a glass cylinder. One end of the cylinder is closed except for a stop-cock through which water may be let in or out. The other end is open and provided with some kind of rubber cuff, or sleeve, into which the arm may be placed, and by means of which the water in the cylinder is prevented from escaping. From the top of the cylinder projects a small tube into which the water rises when the cylinder is somewhat overfilled with water. The column of water in this tube rises and falls with each beat of the heart. It also rises and falls with inerease and decrease in the volume of blood in the arm. This volume of blood in the arm is dependent upon the distribution of the blood in the rest of the body, which is again dependent upon the distribution of the vascular tension. This vascular ten- sion varies in emotional states. By this apparatus, therefore, we have a means of studying the cardiovascular changes present in (\ : VA : \ I ve WY NN \ Ny — IN NN ) NS a Courtesy Wundt's Elements of Physiological Psychology (Engelmann). Fic. 5.—Respiratory and volume-pulse curve during a weak pleasant-unpleasant emotional state. At (a) transition from pleasant to unpleasant mood. Courtesy Wundt’s Elements of Physiological Psychology (Engelmann). Fic. 6.—Respiratory and volume-pulse curve following an emotion of fear. ° ~~ oo a er ns ie bess ‘ Pat i > Dery a oa a ‘ on 7 baa 7 uBRARY. OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS mh ‘ ~ ) ‘ = a uh y gs % rt - » % | = 74 ‘ . r e Ay as < 7 +s = = S> Fs . ee ‘ J } = a ~ = Ca THE EXPRESSION OF THE EMOTIONS 121 the emotions. Joseph Herschel Coffin, An Analysis of the Action of Consciousness Based upon the Simple Reaction, Thesis, Cornell, 1907. °R. H. Wheeler, An Experimental Investigation of the Process of Choosing, University of Oregon Publications, 1920, Vol. I. ™« Fact and Inference in Raymond Wheeler’s Doctrine of Will and Self-activity,” Psyehol. Rev., 1921, XXVIII, pp. 356-374. 316 VOLITIONAL CONTROL tions coming from the muscles themselves.* (b) There is a moment of willing which sets off the mechanism that is made ready in the preliminary stages. It is not a sensation of the stimu- lus alone which discharges this mechanism, but the voluntary fiat.® It is thus seen that the analysis of the reaction-time experi- ment gives us evidence of specific voluntary control in the human mechanism. 4. In our emotional life we have another sphere of volitional control. It is true that we cannot increase or decrease the inten- sity of our feelings and emotions at will, just as we can directly influence the intensity of a muscular contraction. Nevertheless, there is some possibility of indirectly influencing our emotional life. This is done by the direction of attention. Emotions, as we have seen, are reactions to intellectual insights into a situation; if we go over and over again in our mind the meaning of an insult, and all that it implies, we certainly can intensify our anger and indignation. If we turn our attention to other things, the emotion is likely to die away more quickly. It is possible, however, to do more than this. If we attempt to make a psychological analysis of an emotion, to bring the emo- tion before the focus point of consciousness, not its cause but the emotion itself, it melts away like wax in front of a hot fire. Emotional states, as such, cannot be brought to the focus point of consciousness, and any attempt to do so makes them dwindle away at once. We have, therefore, a certain possibility of emotional control. Attend to the cause of the emotion and you strengthen it. Attend to the emotion itself, analyze it as such without reference to its cause, and you weaken it. It takes, however, considerable ingenu- ity in the pilot of the human mechanism to make a psychological analysis of any violent emotion, or to turn the mind away from ® Of. infra. °*The inadequacy of the energy of the stimulus to account for the actual reaction is pointed out by Woodrow who showed that the reaction time at the onset of a prolonged stimulus was the same as at the cessation of such a stimulus. There is no energy imparted to the organism by the cessation of the stimulus. Touching off the reaction, therefore, is not due to the stimulus but to internal conditions. Cf. above, p. 77. VOLUNTARY ACTION AND THE ACT OF WILL 317 a consideration of the facts that brought about the emotional outburst. What is it that exercises this control over the human mechanism when an attempt of this kind is made? Certainly it is not a kinesthetic sensation that exercises this control. It may result in kinesthetic sensations, but it is not possible to say that kinesthetic sensations are the forces that shuffle our ideas and turn our attention from one thing to another. 5. In the conflict of impulses and desires that we have con- sidered above, we have found evidence of a distinct power and force that has every right to be termed volitional in character. Impulses and desires drive to action. Nevertheless, they do not always result in action. The reason for their failure is not always that they are counterbalanced by other impulses and desires. There is an inhibitory mechanism which has its roots in our intellectual life. This brings up before the mind ideals of con- duct whose tendency is to inhibit the action to which the im- pulses and desires may drive. Experience shows, however, that the ideals of conduct in a conflict of this nature have a natural tendeney to steal away into the background of consciousness. Experience shows that there is an actual power and force to maintain them before the mind. What is it that is acting in this way? Is it a kinesthetic image? Is it a feeling of pleasure or of pain? No, it is a force that seems to flow from the personality itself that holds before the mind ideals that inhibit an activity that is contrary to their dictates. 6. When a person has some serious mental trouble so that his previous plan of life must be given up and a new one made, the pilot of the human mechanism has considerable trouble and diffi- culty in working out a readjustment to life and its problems. Some have a tendency, as we have seen, to slip away from the reality and to do nothing. One may fight against it, and by sheer force break the shell that surrounds him. One may have a ten- dency to brood mournfully over his unhappy lot. It takes an effort to do away with this useless melancholy, and to take up life’s duties and find interest and content in other lines. And after one has made a new plan of life it is not easy to adhere to it, however rational and reasonable it may be. It takes a power 318 VOLITIONAL CONTROL and force back of the personality to carry out the plan and come to a final and satisfactory readjustment to conditions as they are. Does a kinesthetic sensation coming from the twitching of the muscles of the shoulder or neck perform all of this for an indi- vidual? Is it done by feeling happy or feeling sad, tense or relaxed? No. It is a specific force or power that adjusts and readjusts the contrary and blind forces of human nature and makes them work harmoniously. If one considers these various points of evidence, one cannot escape the conclusion that there is something in our mental life to which we may give the term ‘‘voluntary control.’’ The next question that we have to take up is the analysis of what this voluntary control is. The Act of Will.—Psychologists are divided on the question of the simplicity of the act of will. Some recognize a simple, unitary act. Others point to the complexity of all voluntary action. To think clearly on this point one must distinguish be- tween voluntary action and an act of will. A voluntary action is acomplex affair. One voluntary action differs profoundly from another precisely because it is complex and the elements of which it is composed are not always the same. A reaction-time experi- ment is not the same thing as a readjustment of our whole life after some serious failure, and yet both are voluntary. The pro- found difference between voluntary actions does not, however, exclude the presence in all of them of some one unchanging and identical element. We may ask ourselves, is there any evidence to show that in all voluntary action there is one unit control of the various forms of mental activity? Several considerations urge this conclusion upon us. First of all, each human being is one living unit organism. Many human beings exhibit also in their mental life a unit plan, in virtue of which all activity is subordinated to one dominant ideal. The stronger the personality, the more complete the sub- jection of everything in the mental and even physical life to this dominant ideal. The weaker the personality, the less complete is the subjection of his various activities to a unit plan of life. Unity of action means unity of control. VOLUNTARY ACTION AND THE ACT OF WILL 319 Secondly, if we analyze our conscious experience in all of these forms of voluntary action, it seems to us that it is always one and the same ego that is active. There is a conscious unity of the personality that underlies all forms of voluntary action. It is the personality itself that accepts a task, that pays attention to one thing or another, that gives the fiat in reaction-time experi- ments, directs the attention in emotional control, maintains the ideals of conduct before the mind in any conflict of impulses and desires, and readjusts life to new conditions after painful disappointment, etc. It would thus seem that the act of will is a unit experience that enters into a complex, but is not in itself complex. Like all mental phenomena, it is an activity of the substrate of our mental life, of the ego, the psyche, the soul. It is an activity not of reception, but of reaction to stimuli and conditions. This re- action is not necessary as in a reflex action, or in pleasure or pain, but is perceived as different from any of these necessary reactions, and bears a characteristic peculiar to itself which we describe as that of an act of will. But, it may be said, if an act of will is a mental element, it must have its attributes that characterize it. It must have its quality, its intensity, its duration. Our next question, therefore, is, what are the attributes of will as a mental element? Attributes of Will as a Mental Element.—Each one of the elements of our mental life has some specific characteristic that distinguishes it from every other element. The sensation of red has that peculiar quality and characteristic that we term red- ness, differentiating it from other colors, distinguishing it from sounds, tastes, ete. If now an act of will is a mental element, it, too, must have its quality. This quality is precisely its voluntary character. Some acts in our mental life certainly do have this characteristic of being voluntary. All serious resolu- tions about important affairs appear to us as voluntary. Definite decisions as to actions are felt by us to be voluntary. Decisions as to truth, however, do not appear as voluntary. The proposi- tion that I perceive to be true forces its truth upon me. Not so with actions which I have done and perceive to be good or bad. 320 VOLITIONAL CONTROL No acts in our mental life, except those that are referred to the will, have this characteristic of being voluntary. Sensations, images, emotions, arise within us whether we will or no. We may produce them, and the act of choice by which we determine to seek them is voluntary. The sensations, the feclings, the images, in themselves, are not voluntary. Furthermore, all acts of will have degrees of intensity, rang- ing from mere velleities to absolute determinations to do some- thing, or to carry out a plan of action no matter what influences may contravene. Daily experience bears witness to the degrees of intensity of our acts of will. An act of will has also a certain duration. One must dis- tinguish the duration of the act of will itself from the persevera- tion of its effects. One may determine to do something at once or some time later. The time that it takes to determine, to make up one’s mind, is a short period, but not infinitesimal. The effects of this choice upon our mental life are perseverance in a reso- lution and endurance, but the duration of these effects is not the duration of the act of choice itself. The first attempt to measure the duration of the act of will was made by subtracting the time of reaction in which the subject was required to distin- guish between two stimuli from a compound reaction in which the subject had to make a choice. It was originally supposed that the remainder gave the duration of the act of will itself. It is probably not so. It, however, gives an upper limit. An act of will need not require longer than this interval, which was found to be sixty to eighty thousandths of a second.t® When one must choose between ten alternatives, this upper limit is raised to 400 thousandths of a second. It would thus seem that the act of will is a mental element with its own quality, intensity, and duration. Let us now inquire more closely into the mode of operation of a voluntary fiat. The sphere in which this is best known is that of voluntary movement. A study of voluntary movement will give us a deeper insight into the steering mechanism of a human organism. 9 Wundt, Grundziige der physiol, Psychol., fifth edition, ITI, p. 461. CHAPTER II VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT AND THE THEORY OF IDEOMOTOR ACTION In 1880, William James published in the Anniversary Memoirs of the Boston Society of Natural History, an essay on ‘‘The Feeling of Effort.’ In this essay, and in the chapter on ‘‘ Will’”’ in his Psychology, 1890, he maintained, but not without some ambiguity, that the immediate antecedent of a voluntary move- ment is an anticipatory kinesthetic image of the sensations in- volved in the execution of the movement itself. The main factor in the kinesthetie complex he regarded as sensations coming from the surfaces of the joints.2, He looked upon it as absolutely certain that ‘‘ Whether or no there be anything else in the mind at the moment when we consciously will a certain act, a mental conception made up of memory-images of these sensations, defin- ing which special act it is, must be there.’’® Further on* he modifies this reference to the sensations of movement and says that the mental cue for a movement may be either a resident kinesthetic image or a remote image, 1.€., one from some other sense organ. The necessity of resident kinesthetic images, says James, exists mainly at the commencement of the learning of a movement. The more practised we become in a movement, the more remote the antecedent imagery tends to be. And here slips in the ambiguity. The next step is to make it possible for the ‘‘idea of the end’’ to make itself function as all-sufficient, and so to do the work of the articular sensations. And then he goes on to cite examples in which the idea of the end is expressed in terms which at least bear a conceptual and non-sensory or non-imaginal interpretation. This ambiguity in James’ own mind is a witness to the insuffi- 1 Reprinted in his collected Hssays and Reviews, N. Y., 1920, pp. 151-219. ? Psychology, Vol. II, p. 489. 2 Op. cit., p. 492. *Op. cit., p. 518. 321 322 VOLITIONAL CONTROL ciency of the ideomotor concept. For, had James attempted an analysis of this ‘‘idea of the end,’’ he would have been led to recognize the value of the intellectual concept in every voluntary act. Leaving aside the ambiguity of the latter part of James’ dis- cussion, let us ask ourselves the question: What is the evidence that a kinesthetic sensation is the necessary antecedent or cause of a voluntary movement? For this position found wide accept- ance after the publication of James’ essay on ‘‘The Feeling of Effort.’’ Thorndike wrote, in 1913:° ‘‘The theory of ideomotor action has been, for a generation, one of the stock ‘laws’ of orthodox psychology.’’ It is, therefore, worth while analyzing its evidence. We may split the problem into two: (a) What is the evidence that the immediate cause of a volun- tary action is a kinesthetic image? (b) What is the evidence that every idea has a native tendency to realize itself in action? A. A KIN2ZSTHETIC IMAGE AS THE CAUSE OF A VoLUNTARY MOVEMENT If one analyzes the evidence brought forward by James for his conclusion that a voluntary action is initiated by a kines- thetic image, we find it is based on two groups of facts: 1. He cites several cases of anesthesia in which the patients had no control over their movements unless they could follow them with their eyes. 2. He points out that similar conditions may be produced in hypnotic subjects. He concludes, ‘‘ All these cases, whether spontaneous or ex- perimental, show the absolute need of guiding sensations of some kind for the successful carrying out of a concatenated series of movements.’’® . Having found out the necessity of guiding sensations during a 5 Psychol. Rev., XX, p. 91. ° Op. cit., p. 490. A foot note on page 491 points out that in some cases the movement cannot be started without the kinesthetic impression. THE THEORY OF IDEOMOTOR ACTION 323 movement, he then, without any further intermediary evidence, concludes that the memory- ees must be present in the moment of willing. Later evidence on this point comes from experiments such as those of Miss Downey on handwriting.“ Miss Downey attempted ‘‘to throw into relief the processes utilized in writing by eliminat- ing or embarrassing some particular control.’’ Thus, if a subject writes blindfolded, he no longer has the control of visual sensa- tions over his movements. If he writes with his left hand, the kin- esthetic control acquired by the right hand is eliminated. Copying an image seen in a mirror, or attempting to write upside down, introduces still further complications. She found that some subjects were very much embarrassed by a disturbance of the visual factor, and that these subjects were much more disturbed by writing under distractions such as silent or oral reading, ete. It thus would seem that the sensory cue for writing in some sub- jects may be visual; in others kinesthetic. In another set of experiments the subjects were required to count by ones or twos, etc., on up to thirteen, and at a given signal to write their name or a simple phrase. In the intervals of counting there is a wealth of imagery, its amount varying with the difficulty of the task, and consisting in recurrent cues, each one of which produces a nervous set of the musculature which dies out gradually and springs into existence again with the recurrence of the cue. In most of the cases the subject re- ported a sensory cue of some sort as initiating the movement of writing. ‘‘The test furnished absolutely no introspective evi- dence for a non-sensory meaning-consciousness.’’ (P. 180.) Unfor- tunately, however, no introspective reports are given, and it is impossible to check this conclusion. That the subjects were conscious of the task they were to perform, that they accepted it, goes without saying. This consciousness of the task, neglected in Miss Downey’s report, may be, and no doubt was, present at times as an auditory image that was wnderstood by the subject. Or if it was not represented in imaginal times at all, it was neverthe- ‘June E. Downey, “ Control Processes in Modified Handwriting: An Experimental Study,” Psychol. Monographs, 1908, Vol. IX, No. 1, p. 148. 324 VOLITIONAL CONTROL less present, dominating the whole situation, and was the prime factor in establishing the motor set of which she speaks. If one critically examines the evidence for the ideomotor theory of the origin of voluntary actions, one sees that James produced no evidence whatsoever in support of his position. Whatever evidence he produced merely tended to show that sen- sations of some kind are necessary for the awareness of a move- ment when it is going on, or for its proper execution. But this is not the problem. The question is whether or not a mental image, kinesthetic or visual, or any other kind, must be present in con- sciousness in order that the movement may be initiated. We shall see below that sensations from the moving member, or from the eyes, are necessary in order that a movement may be properly exe- cuted. But what about the image that starts the movement? There is no evidence in psychological literature to prove its necessity. But certain writers, without critically analyzing the evidence, have assumed that James has proved his point. Studies, such as Miss Downey’s involve another fallacy: That of supposing that the control involved in a new or unaccustomed movement must be found also in the acquired movement. When one is called upon, for example, to write his name upside down, it is necessary for him to develop some kind of an idea of how his name would look if turned upside down and write it in accord- ance with the geometry of the problem, or an inverted image if he has the power of inverting his imagery. But most subjects, though practised in copying sensations, have no practice in con- trolling their handwriting by the laws of geometry or inverted visual images. Or if one attempts the familar laboratory experi- ment of mirror-drawing, a very little introspection will show him the presence of a distinct kinesthetic cue in directing his movements under this new form of procedure. But he is now learning a distinctly new visual-motor control. One has, by com- mon human inheritance, a coordination between the eye and the muscles. This codrdination does not lead to the result in mirror- drawing. A new one must be acquired. Is it safe to assume that all the stages found in the execution of a new sensory-motor coordination are present in an habitual motor performance ? Habit may be pictured as involving a simplification of nervous THE THEORY OF IDEOMOTOR ACTION 325 pathways. If that is the case, experiments, such as Miss Downey’s, may not ‘‘throw into relief the control processes util- ized in writing,’’ but merely show us certain processes that come into play in learning new motor codrdinations whether or not they were ever present in the earlier days when we commenced the laborious task of learning how to write. B. WHATIS THE EVIDENCE THAT Every IDEA oF A MOVEMENT HAS A Native TENDENCY TO REALIZE ITSELF IN ACTION ? James maintains that ‘‘every representation of a movement awakens, in some degree, the actual movement which is its object ; and awakens it in a maximum degree whenever it is not kept from so doing by an antagonistic representation present simultane- ously to the mind.’’ The evidence on which he bases this conclusion is as follows: 1. If one analyzes his experience in a warm bed on a cold morning he will find that as soon as the idea comes to him, ‘‘ Hello! I must lie here no longer,’’ at a lucky moment when no contradic- tory suggestion is present, that it at once produces its appropri- ate motor effects. The problem, according to James, is not to explain how an idea produces its effects, but why it does not. It will flow over into action with mechanical necessity unless hin- dered by an antagonistic idea. 2. The popular games of mind-reading are in reality muscle reading, the idea expressing itself involuntarily in muscular contraction. Again we find the actual evidence that James brings forward far too slender to support the broad span of his sweeping generalization. Before examining the question further it is worth while not- ing that the ideomotor tendency of an idea is not essentially bound up with the problem of the necessity of a kinesthetic image for the initiating of a voluntary action. All ideas might have necessary motor tendencies and no voluntary action require a kineesthetie cue. Let us now attempt to go more thoroughly into the evidence for the motor tendency of ideas of action. ® Psychol., Vol. II, p. 526. 326 VOLITIONAL CONTROL Can we say that some ideas of action have no tendency, when we discount the effect of inhibitions, to realize themselves in action? I know of no experimental evidence to settle this problem. We are, therefore, left to the analysis of everyday experience. It can scarcely be doubted that the perception of an action gives us the idea of that action. When we pass along a crowded, busy thoroughfare, how many ideas of actions are impressed upon our minds. Some are walking in an opposite direction to our- selves. Some are getting on or off street cars. Some are standing on corners, others are entering stores. Newsboys are shouting the names of the daily papers, hucksters of their wares. Does the perception of these manifold movements produce tendencies in ourselves to get on and off the cars, to lean against the lamp- posts, to go into the stores, to shout the names of the evening papers or of the hucksters’ wares? The only answer we can give is that we are conscious of no such tendencies. But is there an unconscious tendency which remains uncon- scious because of our inhibitions? James might say that a per- son in polite society perceives no tendency to shout on the street, when he hears shouting, because of the inhibitions of his whole previous system of education and training. The tendencies are there, but they remain inhibited. They are inhibited also by present ideals and interests. I do not loiter when I see others loitering because I am walking with a definite end in view. The concept of inhibiting tendencies and the possibility that the ideo- motor effects may remain unconscious makes it very difficult to prove that there are even some ideas of action that have no motor resonance leading to their execution. Not only is this so, but when we look around for positive evi- dence that ideas of actions have motor effects, there is not a little to show that this is the case and, furthermore, it is perfectly clear that we are wholly unconscious of the motor resonance of some ideas. Let us turn first to experimental psychology. Storring, in 1906, published® a piece of work that can be evaluated in favor of the ideomotor theory of ideas. He had * “ Experimentelle Beitriige zur Lehre vom Gefiihl,” Archiv. fiir die ges. Psychol., VI, pp. 316-356. THE THEORY OF IDEOMOTOR ACTION 327 his subjects exert a maximal pressure on a dynamometer under the influence of three types of instruction: (a) Simple preparation: React with a maximum pressure on hearing the word ‘‘now’’ which followed two seconds after ‘‘oet ready.”’ (b) Sensory preparation: At the words ‘‘get ready’’ fixate the image of ‘‘now’’ with the thought in mind of reacting at once on hearing ‘‘now.’’ (c) Motor preparation: At the word ‘‘now’’ innervate the muscles to be used in the reaction. The results showed that the intensity of contraction for the sensory preparation was 21.6 per cent.; for the motor 71.2 per cent. greater than for the simple. Seeing that in both the sensory and motor preparation the idea of the movement was brought more vividly before the mind, its tendency to flow over into action is expressed by a stronger pressure on the dynamometer. His pupil, Rose, in 1918,!° working with a spring ergograph, obtained similar, but not such clear results for the influence of the idea on the intensity of contraction. He had four tasks: 1. Simple preparation—no definite instructions. 2. Sensory preparation: Pay attention mainly to the sound of the bell. 3. Motor preparation: Image clearly the movement about to be made. 4. Image the movement and at the same time innervate the muscles to be used. The third instruction is of the type requisite to test the ideomotor theory of ideas. It resulted in a clearly marked short- ening of the reaction time, but only a tendency to a stronger reaction was evident. Turning to pathology, we have certain phenomena which, though not thoroughly understood, would seem to bear out the ideomotor theory of ideas. I refer to the conditions known as echolalia and echopraxia, now assigned, under the influence of Kraepelin, to the syndrome of dementia precox. Certain pre- *“Der Einfluss der Unlustgefiihle auf den motorischen Effekt der Willenshandlungen,” Archiv. fiir die ges. Psychol., XXVIII, pp. 94-182. 22 328 VOLITIONAL CONTROL cox patients, when addressed a question, instead of answering it repeat the last words of what they have just heard. This would find an explanation, on the assumption of the ideomotor theory, that every idea of an action tends to reproduce itself in reality. Normally we do not perceive the tendency to say the words we hear because, owing to the inhibitions of present tendencies and past habits, the incipient motor impulse dies out before it can get to the conscious level. When, however, mental degeneration proceeds far enough, inhibitions crumble, normal interests fade, and the motor tendency realizes itself in action. Echopraxia seems even more to bear out the ideomotor theory of ideas than echolalia. Precox patients will imitate, in an apparently reflex manner, the action that another performs before them even though such a performance looks to be, and is, perfectly aimless and foolish. Clap your hands in front of them and they clap. Roll your forearms around each other and they will do the same, and once having started they will often continue with- out the apparent ability to stop a rhythmic movement they have begun. In these cases, to all external appearances at least, the patient gets from perception the idea of a movement and not only feels a tendency to perform it, but actually carries it into execution. That at least some ideas, all of which are not ideas of move- ment, express themselves in involuntary muscular contractions, was shown in the very ingenious study made by Pfungst of Clever Hans, a horse that attracted the attention of all Germany by his wonderful feats of addition, his apparent ability to read, to tell time, discriminate colors, ete. Pfungst, by an ingenious series of experiments, showed (1) that the actions of Hans were dependent on his questioner knowing the answer to the problem proposed; (2) that it depended on Hans being able to see his questioner, and finally, (8) he showed that the cue was given unintentionally by involuntary movements on the part of the questioner.*4 He then, in the laboratory, impersonated Hans and studied the involuntary movements expressive of certain simple ideas. pp. vi + 274. THE THEORY OF IDEOMOTOR ACTION 329 ‘‘Very slight involuntary movements of the head and eyes which showed but little individual variation, and always occurred when the subject began to fix upon the concept, were the signs which I used as cues. As in the case of the movements expressive of the release of tension, which I discussed above, these move- ments, too, occurred without the subject being aware of them (except in those rare cases in which they had once or twice been especially pronounced). Indeed, it was very difficult, and in some cases almost impossible, for those persons whom I had initiated into the secret, to inhibit them voluntarily. ‘Up’ and ‘down,’ ‘right’ and ‘left,’ were expressed by movements of head or eye in those directions; ‘forward’ by a forward movement of the head; ‘back’ by a corresponding movement. ‘Yes’ was accompanied by a slight nod of the head; ‘no’ by two to four rapid turnings of the head to either side. ‘Zero’ was expressed by a movement of the head describing an oval in the air. Indeed, it was even possible to discover whether the subject had con- ceived of a printed or a written zero, for the characteristics of both were revealed in the head movements. I was later able to verify this graphically. With Ch. as subject, I made 70 per cent. correct interpretations in a total of twenty tests; with von A. as subject, 72 per cent. in a total of twenty-five tests. And, finally, I was able to interpret the signs without any errors at all. It was not absolutely necessary to look directly at the subject’s face. Even though I focused a point quite to one side, so that the image of the subject’s face would fall upon a peripheral portion of the retina, I still was able to make 89 per cent. correct interpretations in a total of twenty tests. This is not astonishing after all, when we recall that the periphery of the retina possesses a relatively high sensitivity for movement im- pressions, although its chromatic sensitivity is very low.’’” Moreover, if an agreement is made that the observer will indicate ‘‘right’’ by moving his arm down, ‘‘left’’ by the opposite movement, the thinker, while commencing with the natural ex- pressive movements to right and left, gradually forsakes them for up and down movements of the eyes or head. » Op. cit., pp. 106-108. 330 VOLITIONAL CONTROL In a footnote, on page 107, the author very properly points out that these experiments do not conclusively prove that every thought process whatsoever is accompanied by some kind of muscular movement. Furthermore, it is well to note that the movements in question are movements of expression and not of execution. It is, however, very interesting to learn that a number of simple ideas have typical motor expressions, and that the sub- ject is not aware of the existence of the expressive movements. Some years ago, I carried out an experiment in which I tried to ouess what the subject was thinking about, whether spades, clubs, hearts or diamonds. The experiment was continued on different days for nearly a thousand guesses. When looking at the sub- ject’s face I was able to get a percentage of correct guesses that would not have occurred by chance more than once in a thousand times. But when not looking at the subject’s face my per- centage of correct guesses fell to about the probable ratio of one in four. The subject was not aware of any movements nor was I conscious of the basis of my own judgment, though I attrib- uted it at the time to the subconscious reading of involuntary hp movements. To sum up: The theory of ideomotor action as propounded by James involves two distinet elements. One, that a kinesthetic image must be the cause of voluntary movement. For this we found no evidence whatsoever. The second element is that the idea of a movement tends to realize itself in action. That this is universally true, is not demonstrated. It would, however, offer a satisfactory explanation of certain pathological phenomena if it were true. There is, moreover, strong evidence to show that some ideas have typical movements of expression, involuntary and unconscious, and common to a number of subjects. If, therefore, the ideomotor theory of ideas be limited to the statement that some ideas have characteristic motor expressions, and some and perhaps all ideas of movement have a definite ten- dency to flow over into action, it may be looked upon as the expression of the facts as now known to psychology. CHAPTER III VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT AND THE THEORY OF CONCEPTUAL CONTROL In 1906, Professor Woodworth, of Columbia, outlined a theory of the cause of a voluntary movement which we may term the theory of conceptual control. The conclusion of this study is that ‘‘a naked thought can perfectly well perform its func- tion of starting the motor machinery in action and determining the point and object of its application.’’ (P. 392.) Instead, therefore, of a kinesthetic image being required, he maintains that this naked thought or concept of what is to be done may be the immediate causal antecedent of a voluntary act. This is opposed to the position of James, at least as his view is ordinarily interpreted. The evidence on which Woodworth bases his conclusion is mainly the introspections of trained observers. He called upon his subjects to perform three classes of movements: (1) ‘‘Free movements, that is, such as communicated no motion to any external object, such as wagging the jaw, winking, opening the closed eyes, flexing or separating the fingers, and flexing the foot.’’? (L.c., p. 357.) (2) Instrumental movements, that is, such as involve the use of some instrument: Scissors, forceps, or dyna- mometer. (3) Choice of movements: Touch any object seen in the foreground, any part of the body, flex or extend the fingers, react to a sound with a movement of the hand or foot. The result of careful introspection was that, in a large por- tion of the cases, no imagery of any sort appeared in conscious- ness. It was perfectly possible to think of a movement without experiencing any kinesthetic image of it. He considered the question of verbal imagery as the possible antecedent. By this *“The Cause of a Voluntary Movement,” by Robert Sessions Woodworth, Studies in Philosophy and Psychology by Former Students of Charles Edward Garmam, Boston and New York, 1906, pp. 351-392. 331 332 VOLITIONAL CONTROL he means some kind of expression of the task in inner speech. He ruled this out as an adequate cause of the movement because he found such imagery, when present, too general to account for the particular individual movement made. ‘‘T intend to do a certain act; my intention is particularized ; if whatever imagery may be present is less particular than my intention and the act which results, then the image is not the ade- quate cue of the act.’’ (L.c., p. 388.) ‘‘In the instances in which verbal imagery was reported by my subjects, it was sometimes ludicrously inadequate as a distinguishing mark of the movement that was thought of. ‘I. am going to move the thing from here to there’ might apply to a thousand movements; the words cannot possibly have been the determinant of the particular movement made.’’ (L. c., p. 383.) The argument so far is negative: Imagery is not the ade- quate cause of a movement: First, because it is sometimes wholly lacking ; second, because when present for one reason or another it is inadequate, and, therefore, cannot fully account for the effect. What is the adequate cause? Woodworth maintains that it is twofold: (1) The thought of the movement to be made; (2) a set or adjustment or temporary disposition of the nervous sys- tem. The evidence that a thought is actually involved is not clearly brought out by Woodworth, but only stated. It lies, how- ever, implicitly in his data. Thus, if the only imagery one has in mind of the phrase ‘‘I am going to move the thing from here to there’’ is verbal, the understanding of this phrase must also be present in his mind. The understanding of the task is essential, and is often present as such, with nothing but verbal imagery as an accompaniment. I rather think it would often be present alone, as Woodworth implies later, when he speaks of a naked thought as sometimes the only antecedent cue. Verbal imagery without meaning would not determine anything. Express a task to a subject in an unknown language and let him repeat the words in parrot-like fashion, and it will not lead to the desired result. An understanding of what one is required to do is the essential prerequisite, and must be present in every case. This understanding or meaning or thought process must, THE THEORY OF CONCEPTUAL CONTROL — 333 therefore, be present in order that any movement at all may be determined. Over and above this Woodworth maintains that there must be a motor set. The introspective reports of his subjects recount the fading from consciousness not only of all imagery, but also of the thought process itself, just prior to the movement, the situation having resulted in an inner motor adjustment which is a partial determinant of the act that is to follow. I can confirm the presence of this motor set from my own introspections in reaction-time experiments. It is especially evi- dent in reaction experiments without a preparatory signal. It is a labile thing continually crumbling and being reformed under the determination to react in accordance with the task one has understood and accepted. It seems capable of being held in per- fect condition for only a brief period of time, and then falls apart to be built up again under the influence of the concept of the task which hovers often in the background of consciousness. It comes spontaneously to a point, as it were; and it seems to one that if the signal to react coincides with this point, that the reac- tion takes place promptly; but that if the signal to react comes when the set has crumbled, that a short building-up process takes place before one can react, and thus, the reaction time is delayed. The principal points of the theory of conceptual control are as follows: (1) Neither kinesthetic imagery nor any other kind of im- agery is necessary for the initiation of a voluntary movement. It may be present, but if so, it is a non-essential, or perhaps, use- less auxiliary. (2) The efficient cause of a voluntary movement is twofold: (a) The understanding of what is to be done. (b) A neuromuscular set, specific to the movement to be performed. (3) Guidance by sensations coming from the members of the body by which the movement is executed. We have not analyzed Woodworth’s evidence on this point because a section will be devoted to the problem later. To the two factors mentioned by Woodworth as elements in 334 VOLITIONAL CONTROL the efficient cause of a voluntary movement should be added a third, viz., volition itself. A task must not only be wnderstood, it must also be accepted in order that a human being may execute it. This acceptance is a piece of volition, a definite mental experi- ence, distinct from the understanding of the task and the result- ant motor set. To neglect it in a study of voluntary action is to try to play Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark. ANGELL’S CRITICISM OF THE THEORY OF CONCEPTUAL CONTROL Professor Angell objected to the theory of conceptual control on three grounds. 1. ‘‘All the movements examined were too well-mastered, too habitual, to throw fairly into the foreground the sensory- ideational elements emphasized in gaining control of. them.’’ ? This objection implies that one may study the cause of an habitual movement to better advantage by confining his atten- tion to non-habitual and unlearned movements. It assumes that all the factors present in learning a new motor coordination are also present in the well-learned and habitual movement, but have become unconscious. We have referred to this concept in dis- cussing the work of Miss Downey.* Angell’s assumption at all events is not to be admitted without demonstration. It seems likely that just as the supernumerary movements in performing a voluntary act dwindle with practice down to the bare essentials, so also the conscious elements in the initiation and control of a voluntary movement are simplified by frequent repetition. To find elements present in the learning of a movement would not guarantee their presence in the habitual performance. If then we are going to study the conscious antecedents of our ordinary everyday actions, it is necessary to study these actions themselves. And when we do, the causative influence of the kinesthetic image dwindles to vanishing proportions. Embryology tells us a great deal about the way our organs are formed, but it would not do to argue, for instance, that be- — cause the truncus arteriosus of the human embryo deploys into * Journal of Philos. Psychol. and Scientific Methods, 1906, III, p. 641. *Cf. supra, p. 323 ff, THE THEORY OF CONCEPTUAL CONTROL — 335 two ventral and two dorsal aorte with six pairs of connecting branches, that therefore, we should, by very careful dissection, be able to demonstrate all of these derivatives in the adult human being. 2. ‘‘The occasional inability to detect sensuous forerunners of the motor act,’’ says Angell, ‘‘did not mean that its only cause was a naked thought, but simply that the verbal imagery of the task was present, which is but one of the various forms in which the remote idea of a movement may be expressed.’’ Angell overlooks the consideration given by Woodworth to the inadequacy of the verbal image. ‘‘ Verbal imagery”’ is the refuge of sensationalists who attempt to explain all our mental life in pure sensory terms. When one is reading a book he may not have visual images accompanying every word, but who can deny the continuity of the flow of words? What are words but sounds, and what are sounds but sensations? Thus, they say, don’t you see how sensations account fully for our mental life? If this were only an adequate explanation, how fortunate the stu- dent would be, and how easy the acquisition of alanguage. Learn to pronounce it and you could read and understand. But alas! that is not the case. We can pronounce without understanding and understand without pronouncing. Verbal imagery, as a mere flatus vocis, accounts for nothing. If verbal imagery is present and the only sensory material present, we can be sure of two things: (1) The verbal imagery is understood. (2) The mean- ing of the verbal imagery is a non-sensuous mental state. By thus having recourse to the flatus vocis, Angell admits what he denies in the objection that follows: 3. ‘*The doctrine of naked thoughts is a psychological heresy. There are no such things as thoughts, and therefore, what is not cannot be the cause of that which is.”’ We shall answer this objection by pointing briefly to some of the evidence in favor of the existence of imageless mental concepts. Imageless Concepts.—Owing to the growth of their science out of physiology, psychologists inherited a certain timorousness that prevented them for many years from launching out into 336 VOLITIONAL CONTROL the sea of thought. They investigated the sensations so persis- tently and conscientiously that it became impossible for them to see anything but what absorbed their interest. And so, when some years after the rise of scientific psychology, such men as Kiilpe and Biihler and Woodworth commenced to talk of non- sensory mental content, the ears of the orthodox psychologists were offended by what they looked upon as a rash and unwar- ranted innovation. It will be impossible for us to outline here all the extensive literature that has appeared on this subject. But the sensationalists have experienced even more and more difficulty in attempting to encompass within the limits of their theory the facts that modern psychology has brought to light. They have dealt with the situation mainly by denial, as Angell does in the objection referred to above. Their method has been to make elaborate introspections of sensory experiences and point out that they can find no thought processes whatsoever, but many forms of imagery; and refer all evidence to the contrary to inadequate introspection and analysis. If one, however, examines one’s own reports, one finds the evidence of what one denies, or reports under a nondescript name, such as ‘‘mood.’’* There is no real disagreement as to the facts of introspection, when one brushes away the attempts of the sensationalists to cloud what they themselves have found. The question is not, however, merely one of introspection against introspection, but there is, as we shall see, experimental evidence on the point. Since the question before us now arises out of the problem of understanding the verbal instructions or the verbal imagery antecedent to a voluntary act, let us confine our attention to a few experiments on reading, on the understanding of proposi- tions and the perception of words. One of the earliest pieces of experimental work on this prob- lem was an investigation of the flow of thought in reading. It has long been a serious problem with logicians to account for *¥For instances of what is referred to here see T. V. Moore: “The Process of Abstraction,” University of California, Pub. in Psychol., Vol. I, No. 2. “Image and Meaning in Memory and Perception,” Psychol. Mono- graphs, 1919, Vol. XXVIT. THE THEORY OF CONCEPTUAL CONTROL — 337 the continuity of the thought processes in reading. The flow of thought in attentive reading is undoubtedly continuous. What is it that continues? I¢ is not the visual imagery. This appears here and there like the pictures in a more or less profusely illus- trated book. This was the object of the experiments just referred to. Taylor’ had his subjects read a passage and check the points where a visual image appeared. The sparseness of the checks made it evident that visual images could not constitute the con- tinuity of the thought processes. Furthermore, the more familiar one became with the meaning of the text by rereading, the fewer the number of checks, that is to say, the greater the reduction of the imagery. Erdmann does not shrink from the position that the continuity of the thought is merely the flow of words. But if this were so, there could be no difference between reading and under- standing. But there evidently is such a difference. English logicians have constructed two mental worlds, a psychological world of images, and a logical world of thoughts. But after all, there is only one mind that both images and thinks. It is, there- fore, with interest that one turns from the problem of reading to the problem of the understanding of sentences. This was thor- oughly investigated by Bihler.® Buhler gave his subjects such questions as the following to consider and answer by a simple yes or no: When Eucken speaks of a world-historical apperception, do you understand what he means? Was the Pythagorean maxim known to the Middle Ages? Can you go from here to Berlin in seven hours? Was Eucken right when he thought: Even the limitations of knowledge could not become conscious if man himself did not in some way reach out beyond them ? Can you calculate the velocity of a freely falling body ? His subjects reported to him what they experienced on read- °“Ueber das Verstehen von Worten und Sitzen,” Zeitschrift fii Psychologie, 1906, Vol. XL, pp. 225-251. *Karl Biihler, “Tatsachen und Probleme zu einer Psychologie der Denkvogiinge,” Archiv. fiir d. ges. Psychol., 1907, IX, pp. 297-365; 1908, XII, pp. 1-122. 338 VOLITIONAL CONTROL ing these sentences, and in arriving at their answer, yes or no. He then raised, first of all, the question: What are the con- stituent elements of our thought processes? We cannot answer such questions without thinking. What transpires in our mind when we think? There are first of all the sensations involved in reading; but this is by no means all. There are also sporadic images of the objects themselves or the words. There are various feelings and emotional phenomena and those peculiar mental experiences of doubt, astonishment, reflection, etc., to which Marbe gave the name Bewusstseinslagen. But over and above these, there are elements more constant, more essential to the thinking process, specific mental experiences without sensory qual- ity or intensity, but which have degrees of clearness, certainty, liveliness; and these are the thoughts themselves. The essential elements of thinking are thoughts. ‘‘ What enters consciousness | in such shreds, so sporadically and in such a wholly accidental manner, as images in our thinking, can never be regarded as the warp and woof of the well-knit, unbroken fabric of our thought.’’? Let the reader attempt to answer Biihler’s questions for him- self and see whether or not his conscious experience 1s made up of the muscular thrills of kinesthesis, the more or less faded colors of visual imagery, tones, smells, tastes, feelings of pleasure and pain, tension and relaxation, excitement and depression, mere doubt or wonder or attention to something in general; or whether or not, over and above all this, he thinks of specific meanings and their relations; in a word, is thinking really made up of thoughts? If one thinks that his whole experience is sensory, let him translate Buhler’s questions into pure sensory qualities, and try to make someone who has not seen the isl even understand the question. We do not, therefore, understand by imagining, but by thinking.’ "Archiv. f. d. ges. Psychol., TX, p. 317. *For a consideration of the apparently contradictory evidence from the Cornell laboratory see: T. V. Moore, “ Image and Meaning in Memory and Perception,” Psychol. Mon., Vol. XXVII, pp. 2, 242 ff. THE THEORY OF CONCEPTUAL CONTROL — 339 But words are simpler than complex propositions, and words representing concrete objects that may be seen and handled, would give perhaps results more favorable to the sensationalist’s position. With this in view, I measured the reaction time of subjects to the meaning of words such as lamp, scissors, axe, etc.? This reaction time, to the simple unanalyzed meaning, was compared with that to the visual image of the object, a kinesthetic image of the object and a concept of the object’s use. The average reaction time to meaning was less than that to a visual image and much less than that to a kinesthetic image. In general, the reac- tion time to the concept of use is less than to the kinesthetic image. In order to study verbal images, pictures were used, and the subjects had to react, now to the meaning of a picture, now to the name. The average reaction to the meaning was shorter than to the name. What one can react to must be a definite psychological experi- ence. It cannot be a nonentity as Angell maintains. It cannot be identified with the imagery that arises because it comes before the imagery. The meaning process, therefore, is a definite psy- chological experience non-sensory, swt generis. It has also been shown by Agnes McDonough” that a mean- ing can form one term of an association. It must, therefore, be a definite mental structure. For the bond of association unites definite structures, not a structure and a function, much less a structure and a psychological nonentity. What then is the nature of the ideas involved in voluntary action? To return to the verbal imagery, ‘‘ I am going to move the thing from here to there.’’ From the experiments we have reported it is evident that this ean be no mere flatus vocis. These words have a meaning. It is this non-sensory, conceptual mean- °T. V. Moore, “The Temporal Relations of Meaning and Imagery,” Psychol. Review, 1915, XXII, pp. 177-225. ‘“ Image and Meaning,” Psychol. Rev., 1917, XXIV, pp. 318-322. “Image and Meaning in Memory and Perception,” Psychol. Mon., XXVII, No. 2. «The Development of Meaning,” Psychol. Monographs, 1919, Vol. XXVII. 340 VOLITIONAL CONTROL ing which determines the act. I know what ‘‘here,’’ there’’ and ‘‘thing’’ mean in the present situation. This knowledge, plus the determination expressed by ‘‘I am going,’’ determines the act. And so in all voluntary actions the fundamental and essential thing is to know what one intends to do. The value of kinesthesis™ as an adjunct is problematical, but the knowledge is evidently essential. But how can an intellectual mental state be a determining factor in a concrete movement? It is not necessary to understand the how to be sure of the 1s. It is just as impossible for anyone to see how a kinesthetic image, which after all is something psychical, ean be the adequate or inadequate cause of a movement and it is not possible to show that it is. FURTHER EVIDENCE ON THE THEORY OF CONCEPTUAL CONTROL Burnett attempted’? a crucial test of what he termed the classical theory of volition. He found that he could execute movements much more rapidly than he could imagine their exe- cution in either visual or kinesthetic terms. Furthermore, the variation in rate from each other among the different kinds of movement is ten times greater for the actual than for the kines- thetically imaged movements. This latter fact would indicate that the kinaesthetic image cannot determine the rate of movement. Burnett’s conclusions are much weakened by the fact that he himself was his only subject. Angell also objected that ‘‘no defender of the ‘ classical theory ’’ has ever contended that a pre- monitory image definitely precedes each step in a series of well 1 The movements of the tongue and the kinesthesis arising therefrom, have been excluded as an essential or even an important subsidiary factor in the thought process by the experiments of Agnes Thorson, working under Lashley. “ The Relation of Tongue Movements to Internal Speech,” Journal of Experimental Psychology, 1925, VIII, pp. 1-32. She finds that internal speech or verbal thought often takes place without tongue move- ments, and when such movements do occur they correspond to movements in overt speech in only 4.4 per cent. of the cases. ™ Charles Theodore Burnett, “An Experimental Test of the Classical Theory of Volition,” Studies in Philos. and Psychol. by Former Students of Chas. Ed. Garman, Boston and New York, 1906, pp. 393-401 THE THEORY OF CONCEPTUAL CONTROL — 341 established codrdinations like tapping.’’!® If, however, the kines- thetic cue fully determines the movement, it should also deter- mine its rate. Burnett’s experiments would indicate that there can be no correlation between the rate of tapping and the rapidity of an imaged series of movements. If the kinesthetic image has anything to do with the rate, Angell, or any other supporter of the classical theory, would do a service to psychology by indica- ting how; and if it does not, what sensory cue adequately deter- mines the rate? Thorndike made two attempts‘ to extend still further the evidence for Woodworth’s theory of conceptual control. His discission unfortunately failed to hold clearly apart the two very distinct problems of the conceptual control of voluntary action and the tendency of an idea to flow over into appropriate motor channels. He brought forward, however, a couple of considerations that should be borne in mind by anyone who makes the attempt to decide between James and Woodworth. I. ‘‘If I say to one, ‘I shall name an act; when I name it, will to do it or will not to do it. Take a pencil and write your name,’ and then ask those who willed to write their names, ‘what was in your mind when you willed to write?’ I shall by some be told, ‘An image of myself writing my name,’ or ‘A visual image of my name as written.’ But I shall, on asking those who willed not to, what was in their minds when they will not to, be told by some of them also precisely the same thing.’’*® Thorndike argues from this that the image came as a conse- quence of the idea ‘‘write my name’’ rather than as a cause of the writing thereof. Assuming that the idea of a movement produces the appropriate kinesthesis of its execution, the test clearly shows that this kinesthesis does not necessarily result in the movement. Whether the idea is present in imaginal or 8 Journal of Philos. Psychol. and Sc. Methods, 1906, III, p. 643. “4 “Mental Antecedents of Voluntary Movements,” Journal of Philos. Psychol. and Sc. Methods, 1907, IV, pp. 40-42; ‘‘Indeomotor Action,” Psychol. Rev., 1913, XX, pp. 91-106. mb, ¢., 1907, p. 40. 342 VOLITIONAL CONTROL conceptual terms, nothing results without a fiat which deter- mines the action. II. We can will acts, the images of whose resident sensations are impossible. Most people do not know, and some years ago psychologists did not know, that the eye in reading moves across the page with a series of jerks. If you are told to read a line, turning your eye smoothly from right to left, you image a smooth movement, you execute a jerky one. No one really images his eye movements in reading. We conceive the end and execute it without being conscious of the necessary movements by any ade- quate sensory representation. SUMMARY The discussion so far has made it apparent that: (1) We have non-sensory mental states which may be termed concepts or thoughts. (2) These concepts or thoughts are necessary in the deter- mination of what we are going to do. We cannot perform volun- tary acts without knowing what we intend to do. (3) The concept or thought of an action is not sufficient of itself to bring it to execution. (4) The kinesthetic image does not appear in consciousness in the execution of many voluntary actions. Its value, therefore, is problematical, and demands a further study. (5) Besides the representation of an action there must be a fiat, an act of volition which is the final determinant of a— voluntary act. i (6) This fiat produces a neuromuscular codrdination which © may be maintained for a greater or less length of time in varying degrees of readiness for immediate execution, whenever the fiat involves a delay that is to be terminated at the giving of a pre- arranged signal. Let us now turn to the consideration of the neuromuscular | eodrdination and study how and in what way definite codrdina-— tions of this nature are at the disposal of the organism. CHAPTER IV KINETIC UNITS IN THE SERVICE OF VOLUNTARY ACTION Ir 1s clearly evident that by a simple fiat of the will one eannot put himself in equal readiness for every kind of action. If one, who has never learned to play the violin, be given that instrument and be told to be ready to strike out boldly when the piano has played a few preliminary bars, how different the result from the attitude struck by the trained violinist under the same instruction. The one has nothing to call upon, the other has a neuromuscular coordination at his disposal, built up by years of practice. This neuromuscular coordination may be termed more briefly a kinetic unit. There is one or more kinetic units of a more or less specific sort at the basis of every habitual action. Actions which are not in themselves habitual are made up of a number of such units that are thrown together to meet the immediate situation. Examples of such common units are walking, stand- ing, sitting, writing, grasping, lifting, bending, ete. The question now arises, what is the origin of these units? To what extent are they hereditary, and to what extent acquired? It is only recently that we have obtained definite and reliable information on this subject, due to the labors of Professor John B. Watson, formerly of Johns Hopkins University. Watson undertook the systematic observation of children born in the ma- ternity wards of Johns Hopkins Hospital. The results are pub- lished in an article by his student, Margaret Gray Blanton? and in a summary in the seventh chapter of Watson’s Psychology from the Standpoint of a Behaviorist. From the observations of Watson and Mrs. Blanton, it is clear that the child has at its disposal a number of ready-made 1“ The Behavior of the Human Infant during the First Thirty Days of Life,” Psychol. Review, 1917, XXIV, pp. 456-483. 23 343 344 VOLITIONAL CONTROL kinetic units at birth. From the moment the child is born, it reacts to certain stimuli; not with random movements, but with definite motor codrdinations. Leaving aside such reflexes as sneezing, hiccoughing, yawning, suckling, the child has, by common human inheritance, complicated motor codrdinations such as are used in the voluntary actions of later life. It does not have to acquire these kinetic units by the trial and error method of developing habits, but they are present at birth or develop somewhat later without any apparent labor of acquisition. Take, for instance, such a complicated motor coor- dination as following a light or a moving object with the eyes. © Though this coordination of the eye movements in some new- born infants was imperfect, this was not the rule. A large per- centage of the children observed would fixate a light at birth. ‘‘Subjects 8., A., M., F., and J., gazed at the light above the birth bed and also followed a moving hand. Subjects F. and K., neither of whom gazed at light or followed hand at birth, were seen to do both on the eighth day. Subject K., at eight days, subject R., at ten, and subject L., at twenty-six days focused first on one and then on another face. . . . A dim hght, moved slowly at half a metre, was followed by subjects eight hours, eighteen hours, thirty-six hours, and 3, 4, 5, 6, 14, 15, 21, and 30 days of age. Subjects which did not follow were aged 9 hours, 3, 5, and 14 days; seventeen in all were tested.’”? } Grasping is a coordinate movement. One child was seen at — birth to spread his fingers and close his hands four times in succession. We know no reason a priori why the fingers of a new- born child should act together rather than in a random incoor- — dinate manner. But they do not. Not only is the grasping movement a native endowment, but it has such strength that some children on the first day of their life will support their whole weight with one hand. It is interesting to note that this — reflex is more easily elicited from an angry child. The child does not have to learn to locate the spot of every — painful stimulus and how to get arm or leg to the point of irri- — tation in order to brush it away. | * Mrs. Blanton, l. c., p. 462. KINETIC UNITS OF VOLUNTARY ACTION 345 _ “Tf a baby hes on its back with legs extended, and the inner surface of one knee is lightly pinched, the opposite foot is brought up almost with the regularity seen in the reflex frog.’”® In most cases, however, preliminary movements are made, and it takes several seconds to locate the stimulus. In spite of the demands of the recapitulation theory, a baby lowered in water at body temperature makes no swimming move- ments, but gives violent expression of fear and makes uncoor- dinated slashing movements of the hands and feet. It is thus seen that a number of kinetic units are ready made at birth. Most, however, remain to be acquired. In his eighth _ chapter, on the ‘‘Genesis and Retention of Explicit Bodily Habits,’’ Watson gives us a very interesting account of the eye- hand-mouth reaction. Experiments were commenced on the eightieth day with a stick of candy dangling before a child’s eyes. When she did not take it, the candy was put into her mouth. The habit of grasping the candy and putting it into her mouth was acquired part by part. For fourteen days she never even grasped the candy. The candy was then put into her hand. She would put itin her mouth. On the 122d day, the candy was grasped for the first time and put into her mouth. On the 129th day, the candy was ‘‘worried’’ into her mouth. On the 150th day, the whole process required three seconds. On the 164th day, the last five tests took two seconds each. We thus see that such a simple kinetic unit as grasping an article of food and conveying it to the mouth requires a definite stage of development. It is hard to elicit the first performance, which seems to be followed by rather rapid improvement after the first success, and finally, the slight gain in time and dex- terity requisite for perfection demands a relatively long period of exercise. Once, however, such a unit is acquired, it has a generic value. It may be used, of course, not only for one article of food but for anything at all, and is used, as is well known, not for food only but also for everything that attracts the interest of the child. $ Watson, op. cit., p. 242. 346 VOLITIONAL CONTROL The fact that a coordination appears some time after birth does not mean that it is entirely an acquisition by trial and error. The development of walking is partly, perhaps fundamentally and essentially, the unfolding of a kinetic unit of man’s native endowment. This is witnessed by the sudden acquisition on the part of some children of the power of walking. Kirkpatrick gives the following account from a father who was unnecessarily worried because his child of seventeen months persisted in ecrawl- ing, and refused to make any attempt at walking. ‘* At last we referred the matter to a physician, who said: ‘It is a peculiar case, and I can hardly tell whether the difficulty is physical or mental. If there is no improvement in a short time, call me again.’ Shortly afterwards I came home one day at noon, and placing my cuffs on a table in the sitting-room, threw myself on a lounge to rest. Katherine happened to notice the cuffs from where she sat on the floor, and, crawling across the room, pulled herself up by the leg of the table, and reaching out with one hand while she held on to the table with the other, took a cuff from the table and slipped it.on, over her wrist. Of course, to do this she had to stand alone. I noticed it at once, and was surprised when she reached out her other hand for the other euff and slipped that on, and then stood looking in a very inter- ested way at the cuffs on both wrists. Then, to our great surprise, she turned towards me with a very pleased expression on her face and walked as confidently and as easily as any child could. Not only this, but she immediately ran across the room, through another room and around through the hallway, not simply walking, but running as rapidly as a child of four or five years would.’’* The child continued to walk and run after this, provided she was allowed to wear cuffs, otherwise she would make no attempt. Trettien® has collected a number of instances of children who acquired the power to walk suddenly. The habit depends, to a large extent, on the myelinization of the fibres of the motor tract. *“ The Development of Voluntary Movement,” Psychol. Rev., 1899, VI, pp. 76-7. > American Journal of Psychology, 1900, XII. KINETIC UNITS OF VOLUNTARY ACTION 347 Were children not urged to walk by their parents, the power would more often appear suddenly. Such a sudden appearance is not, after all, more remarkable than the codrdination of eye movements at birth or the scampering of the colt just after it is born. The adult individual possesses a large number of these kinetie units, some the result of the mere unfolding of native endow- ment, though perfected later by practice; others the result of the acquisition of codrdinations that did not exist in the original con- stitution of the neuromuscular system. Carmichael (Psychol. Rev., 1926, X XXIII, pp. 51-58) has shown that the embryos of Rana sylvatica and Amblyostoma punctatum, which he allowed to develop in a solution of chlore- tone, very rapidly (i. e. in less than forty-five minutes) mani- fested coordinated swimming movements when transferred to tap water, even though prior to this time they had been ‘absolutely inert’’ and unable to respond to stimulation. He takes the position that swimming movements are due only in part to the maturation of a neural mechanism. Heredity, however, provides the essentials of such a mechanism in the ordinary process of growth. This is then rapidly perfected when the animal comes into an appropriate environment. We may now approach the problem from the standpoint of pathology, which has made us familiar with a number of disturb- ances of voluntary action to which it has given the name aprazia. These apraxic disturbances may be conceived of as pathological influences which have in some manner destroyed the kinetic units. The kinetic units that are most frequently destroyed are those that were acquired by learning, such as the ability to make, on request, gestures, such as beckoning, threatening, ete., to make use of the arm in the movements habitual in one’s trade, to dress and undress, ete. Those kinetic units which are more fundamental, such as breathing, swallowing, eating, turning the eyes in the direc- tion of a stimulus, are usually preserved in apraxic conditions. Apraxia may affect one hand and leave the other free. This type is frequently associated with a lesion in the precentral or postcentral gyrus of the cerebral cortex, and seems to be mainly 348 VOLITIONAL CONTROL due to a disturbance of the motor elements in the kinetic unit in the former case, and the sensory in the latter. It may also be bilateral and may then be due to an inability to rightly interpret an. object to be used and relate the sensation of preception to the act to be performed. As when a man, when attempting to put on his trousers ‘‘first flattens them out, then picks them up at the wrong end, turns them this way and that, finally lays them down, shaking his head because this once familiar act will not succeed, and then attacks the problem again.’”® At other times it seems as if the ‘‘kinetic melody,’’ as Monakow terms it, were forgotten. The individual elements are preserved, but they cannot be put together in the right order, and when the patient wants to smoke he puts the match in his mouth and strikes the cigar on the match box. There must, therefore, be a number of delicate motor coor- dinations established in the brain which can be disturbed by the causes that bring on apraxia: Cerebral hemorrhage, tumors, sclerosis of cerebral arteries, tubercles, etc. It is very likely, however that there 1s no circumscribed area of the cortex which is alone involved in the mechanmsm of the kinetic units, but that the neurological mechanism of these wmts anvolves the whole cortex. ‘Tn all my cases,’’ says Monakow, ‘‘ where apraxia appeared as the result of a local cerebral injury and persisted as a lasting symptom until death, it involved, as we have seen, very large or multiple foci of injury. These were usually situated in the left hemisphere. Sometimes they were scattered through both hemis- pheres. Sometimes they were associated with diffuse, though irregularly scattered, pathological changes such as cerebral atrophy, perivascular sclerosis, severe circulary disorders of the cerebrum, brain tumors, causing general pressure, cerebral cedema, hydrocephalus, ete. In other words, in all the positive cases it was a question of a local disease or lesion of a brain that had suffered a general pathological disturbance either previously or at the onset of the local injury.’” ®*Monakow, Die Lokalisation im Grosshirn, Wiesbaden, 1914, p. 498. ™Op. cit., p. 548. CHAPTER V THE SENSATIONS INVOLVED IN VOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS WE HAVE seen that in voluntary movements concepts are necessary. We must know what we are going to do before we ean perform a voluntary action. We have seen, too, that mere knowledge is not sufficient. After knowing what we are to do, we must also decree that it shall be done. Besides knowledge, therefore, there is necessary also a specific fiat or act of will. Without an act of will, there is no voluntary movement. We have seen that imagery is of doubtful use as a precursor of volun- tary movement. The question that is to be taken up in this chapter is, to what extent sensations are necessary in the exe- cution of a voluntary movement. Note that the problem before us now is not voluntary action in general, but voluntary movement in particular, and it may be well to point out, too, that we are not discussing here the neces- sity of images, but the necessity of sensations for the execu- tion of a voluntary movement. There are several pathological cases that demonstrate beyond any question the necessity of some kind of sensation for the initiation and control of a voluntary movement. Perhaps the most remarkable case on record is one reported by Professor Schiippel in Tiibingen.? The case was that of a young man who *“The first mention of such impressions goes back, according to Sir William Hamilton, to a rather remote past. He tells us that two Italian physicians, Julius Cesar Scaliger, 1557, and Cesalpinus of Arezzo in 1569, quite independently of one another, were the first to recognize and definitely state that the exercise of our power of movement is the means whereby we are enabled to estimate degrees of ‘resistance,’ and that by a faculty of ‘active apprehension’ which was by them contrasted with touch as a ‘capacity of sensation or mere consciousness of passion.’ ” H. Charlton Bastian, “The Muscular Sense: Its Nature and Cortical Localization,” Brain, 1888, X, p. 8. 2“ in Fall von allegemeiner Aniisthesie,” Archiv der Heilkunde, 1874, XV, pp. 44-62. 349 350 VOLITIONAL CONTROL suffered from a complete anesthesia, except for a limited portion of the face, over the forehead, nose, eyes, lips, and chin. He also experienced pain in a few places of the body. Many cases of anexsthesia are hysterical in nature, and have no organic foundation. These hysterical cases are not good evidence in the — present problem because we do not know to what extent any lack of ability in movement would be due to the lack of sensa- tion or would itself be an hysterical phenomenon. If, therefore, we are going to find out what sensations are really necessary in the execution of a voluntary movement, we must have a real organic injury. There can be no question that Professor Schtippel’s patient had an organic loss of sensibility, for in the autopsy it was found that he had been suffering from what is known as syringomyelia. There was a canal in his spinal cord that extended from the first cortical root to the first lumbar, } widest from the fourth to the seventh cortical regions where the posterior columns also were destroyed. The pyramidal tracts were intact from the medulla to the second cortical, but below, more or less selerosed. In life, movement was possible to this 4 patient only under direction of the eyes. If he could not see his hands or his feet, he did not know where they were and could not move them. Thus, for instance, he made use only of his vest pockets, because he could see them and direct his hand to them. It was impossible for him to find the hip pocket because he could not see it. If during the night time the covers fell off of him in bed, in some way he experienced chilliness, perhaps through the ehilling of the blood, but he could not cover himself for two reasons: First, he could not find the covers; and, second, he eould not find himself. It is, therefore, clear that sensations of some kind are necessary in the execution of a volun- tary movement. Another classic case was reported by Striimpell.2 A man received a stab wound in the neck which penetrated the spinal cord. Striimpell, on the basis of the evidence, diagnosed a destruc- tion of the posterior horn and the outer fibres of the posterior columns. After some months had elapsed, allowing the in- flammatory extensions of the injury to subside, the patient’s right * Deutsche Zeitschrift f. Nerven Heilkunde, 1902, XXIII, pp. 1-38. _ SENSATIONS IN VOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS 351 arm could execute movements under control of the eyes, but not when they were closed. With his eyes closed he could not main- tain his arm in a given position, but it would gradually deviate without his being conscious of any movement taking place. Movement under visual control was intact, but both superficial and deep sensibility were gone. It is clear, therefore, that some of the sensations that were lacking are necessary in the normal execution and control of a voluntary movement. This conclusion is confirmed by the results of animal experi- ments. After cutting the sensory roots of one of the extremities of a monkey, Mott and Sherrington * found that movements of the part were seriously impaired. Since then the experiment has become a common laboratory exercise with the frog. It is clear, then, that sensations of some kind are necessary in the proper execution of voluntary movements. The will has no immediate control over the muscles, but indi- rectly, by way of the pyramidal cells of the cerebral cortex and the motor cells of the anterior horn of the gray matter of the spinal cord. Not only is this so, but the pathological cases and experiments we have just mentioned prove that sensations of some kind are necessary for the execution of a voluntary movement. Not only must nerve impulses pass from the brain to the muscles, but they must come back again from the muscles to the brain, that normal action may take place. The question now arises, what sensations are necessary, and whence do they come? The possible sources of sensations are as follows: The bones, the peri- osteum, the joint cartilages, the joint capsules, the subcutaneous tissues, the skin, the muscles and the tendons. The sources of evidence on the point may be grouped under the following head- ings: Anatomy, Psychological Experiment, and Pathology. As far as anatomy is concerned, all of the above possibilities are to be considered with the one exception of the joint ecarti- lages which are not supplied with nerves. They can, therefore, mediate no sensations whatsoever, but the bones, the periosteum, the joint capsule, the subcutaneous tissues, the skin, the muscles, * Proceedings of the Royal Society of London, 1894-5, LVII, pp. 481-488. An experiment originally done by Claude Bernard. Lecons sur la physi- ologie et pathologie du systéme nerveux, Paris, 1858. 352 VOLITIONAL CONTROL the tendons are all more or less richly supplied with sensory nerve endings. In the muscles and tendons there are peculiar nerve endings whose structure suggests that they must have something or other to do with the sense of muscular contraction or kinesthetic sen- sation. Their structure is so interesting and suggestive that it may be well to study these organs in detail. Anatomical Basis of Muscular Sensations.°—Prior to 1850, muscles were supposed to be pure motor organs lacking in sen- sation. In this year Koelliker® called attention to fibres he had discovered, and which he considered sensory because their struc- ture was different from that of the ordinary motor fibres. Since then, the sensory neuromuscular end organs have been made the subject of many anatomical and physiological studies. Various forms of nerve endings have been found. The most interesting of these are the ‘‘muscle spindles,’’ their interest arising from the fact that their structure suggests that they are ‘specially adapted to respond to the contractions of muscles in which they are imbedded. The muscle spindles are located in the muscle towards the tendon of insertion, or just before the point where the muscle fibres pass over into tendinous fibres. In the tissue of the tendon itself lie similar organs, the neurotendinous end organs of Golgi, in which tendinous fibres replace the special muscular fibres of the neuromuscular end organs. Though of various forms, simple and complex, a ‘‘muscle spindle’’ may be considered as being formed of the following elements: 1. Its outer limit consists of a capsule formed of two zones of tissue, (a) an outer layer of connective tissue which ties the 5 The best article on this subject is that of Regaud, Cl., and Favre, M., “Les terminaisons nerveuses et les organes nerveux sensitifs de lappareil locomoteur,” Premiére partie, Revue générale Whistologie, 1904, 1905, Vol. I, pp. 1-140. Deuxiéme partie, II, pp. 587-685. ®° Mikroskopische Anatomie II, also ‘“‘ Untersuchungen tiber athe letzten Endigungen der Nerven. 1. Abth. Ueber die Endigungen der Nerven in den Muskeln des Frosches,” Zeitschr. wiss. Zool., 1862, XII, pp. 149-164. Fide Regaud and Favre, I. c. Fia. 7—Upper right hand corner, cross section of muscle spindle from Sloth drawn from preparation loaned by Dr. George Wislocki. Below, semi-schematic drawing of muscle spindle. Corresponding structures in the two drawings have same lettering. a, nerve bundle; b, sensory fibres; c, motor fibres to muscle fibres in spindle; c’, to surrounding fibres of muscle; d, sensory endings in spindle; e, motor endings in spindle; e’ motor endings on surrounding muscle fibres; f, nuclei of spindle fibres; g, capsule; h, lumen of capsule; i, sur- rounding muscle fibres; j, intra capsular fibres (Fascicle of Weissmann). Muscle spindle drawn after schema of Regaud and Favre and drawings from nature by Rufini (Journal of Physiology, Volume XXIII, Plate II.) LIQRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS SENSATIONS IN VOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS — 353 muscle spindle to the interstitial connective tissue of the muscle ; (b) an inner layer—the true capsule formed of layers of amor- phous connective tissue with imbedded nuclei. These layers are separated from each other by endothelial cells. 2. Within the capsule filling its interstices, is a liquid of un- known composition, but probably of albuminous content. Golgi supposed that it was derived from the lymph vessels. Sherrington was able by injecting the lymph cells to fill the intracapsular space of the muscle spindles with Prussian blue. Regaud and Favre do not look upon Sherrington’s experiment as conclusive, but think that the space is probably hermetically sealed because of the fact that it is always present in every muscle spindle. Were it open, it should often be found collapsed. 3. The capsule is traversed from end to end by a fascicle of muscle fibres (fascicle of Weissmann). They are much smaller in the adult than the ordinary surrounding muscular fibres, though in the foetus they are almost one-third thicker than fibres that make up the body of the muscle. In the region of the inser- tion of the sensory nerve the muscular striz more or less com- pletely disappear, and a number of nuclei are crowded together. The signification of this remarkable structural peculiarity is unknown. 4. There are two kinds of nerves which enter the fibres. One type terminates in motor plates on the muscular fibre. The other, in typical cases, coils around the muscle fibre for a con- siderable distance. The motor fibre, which supplies the muscle fibre of the spindle, may not, however, terminate in the spindle but outside it. Similar structures exist in the tendons—the neurotendinous end organs. In these, tendinous fibres replace the intracapsular museular fibres. Demonstration of the Sensory Functions of the Muscle Spindles.—As early as 1874, Sachs’ demonstrated the presence of 7“ Physiologische und Anatomische Untersuchungen iiber die sensiblen Nerven der Muskeln,” Reichart und Du Bois-Reymond’s Arch. Anat. Physiol. und wiss. Med., 1874, pp. 175-195, 491-509, 645-678. Fide Regaud and Favre, l. c., p. 11 ff. 354 VOLITIONAL CONTROL sensory fibres in the muscles of the frog by a brilliant series of experiments. 1. He injected strychnine into a frog, thus enormously in- creasing the animal’s reflex excitability. He isolated and sec- tioned the nerve to the Sartorius muscle. He stimulated the central end of this nerve, producing a general convulsion. The nerve of this muscle must, therefore, contain fibres which bru Aare from the muscle to the cord. 2. If you leave the nerve intact and dissect out the muscle, the stimulation of the muscle at any point produces convulsions in the strychninized frog. 3. Cutting the anterior roots of the spinal nerves in a frog leaves some fibres undegenerated after six weeks. Cutting the posterior roots led to inconclusive results. 4, A thin muscle, such as the Sartorius, being exposed in the living frog under the microscope, Sachs found some fibres which caused muscular contractions when stimulated; others which caused no contraction. These experiments demonstrate the presence of afferent nerve fibres in the Sartorius muscle of the frog and its nerve of supply. They do not shew that the muscle spindles take up centripe- tal stimuli. Cattaneo® attempted to find out whether or not the similar neurotendinous end organs undergo Wallerian degeneration. Cattaneo sectioned the posterior spinal roots of a dog. He does not specify which ones, nor how many, nor whether above or below the spinal ganglion. It is likely that he cut them central to the ganglion. The result was an ataxic gait, but no degenera- tion of the musculotendinous end organs. Sectioning the anterior root also left the end organs intact. They degenerated, how- ever, on sectioning the sciatic nerve. He concluded that the neurofibrils are connected with centripetal fibres and are sensory in character. “Cattaneo, A., “Organes nerveux terminaux musculo-tendineux, leur condition normales et leur maniére de se comporter apres leur section des racines nerveux et des nervs spinaux,” Archiv Italiennes de Biologie, 1888, X, pp. 337-357. SENSATIONS IN VOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS — 355 Sherrington, in 1894,° confirmed the results of Cattaneo. Pathology teaches us the same lesson. The neuromuscular end organs are left intact in degenerations that affect the anterior horns of the spinal cord. Thus, Hisenlohr, seeing the muscle spindles in the degenerated muscles of patients who had suffered from infantile paralysis, thought that they were sclerotic areas.!° Pelliet*! and Batten’* found the muscle spindles intact in the degenerated muscles of infantile paralysis. Forster found" in a case of diffuse myelitis with destruction of the cord, but intact spinal ganglia, that the neuromuscular spindles were still preserved. The observers quoted by Regaud and Favre (l. c., p. 80) found the muscle spindles intact in tabes dorsalis. But Brazzola,* in a case where the disease had progressed very far, found them degenerated. Whenever tabes goes so far as to destroy the spinal ganglia, it cannot be doubted that the muscle spindles will degenerate. From all the above it is evident the muscle spindles send centripetal impulses to the cord, and probably thence to the brain. It is not, however, evident that they mediate for us conscious sensations. There are two theories as to their mode of action. Sherrington supposes that the pressure of the contracting fibres external to the capsule gives a mechanical stimulus to the intracapsular nerve fibres. He has even demonstrated that mere pressure or pulling on a muscle, dissected free from its tendon of insertion, causes a reflex contraction of the antagonists. Regaud and Favre,” however, believed that the normal phys- * Journal of Physiology, XVII, pp. 211-258. Fide Regaud and Favre. »“ Mittheilungen tiber anatomische Befunde bei spinaler Kinderlih- mung,” Tageblatt d, 59. Versamml. deutscher Naturforscher u. Aertzte, zu Hamburg, 1877. 4 Journal Anat. et Physiol., 1890, XXVI, pp. 602-616. ™ Brain, 1897, XX, pp. 138-179. Fide Regaud and Favre. #%“< Zur Kenntniss der Muskelspindeln,” Virch. Arch. Path. Anat., 1894, CXXXYVII, pp. 121-154. Fide Regaud and Favre. % Memorie della R. Accademia della Scienze dell instituto di Bologna, 1890, Serie V, Tomo., pp. 465-496. * Op. cit., p. 86. 356 VOLITIONAL CONTROL iological stimulus of the muscle spindle in the contraction of the intracapsular muscle fibres (fascicle of Weissmann) which stretches the nerve fibre coiled about them. These fibres are suppled by collaterals coming from the same nerve fibre that supply the extracapular muscle fibres. A part of the ecur- rent, therefore, that goes to the body of the muscle must go simultaneously to the muscle spindle. The histology of the mus- cle spindle strongly suggests the view of Regaud and Favre. But, if it is true of the muscle spindle, what is to be said of the analogous organs of Golgi in the tendons, where tendinous fibres take the place of the fascicle of Weissmann ? After careful consideration of the anatomical evidence, Regaud has suggested the following association between the various forms of nerve endings and specific forms of sensations coming from the organs and tissues involved in movement: I. KINASTHETIC SENSATIONS 1. Muscle spindles, end organs, whose chief function is to react to the degree of contraction of the muscles, and thereby give us information about the position of the members of the body. 2. Neurotendinous end organs. These terminations are espe- cially adapted to react to intense muscular effort and give infor- mation about the degree of resistance experienced. 3. Corpuscles of Ruffini. These are found about the tendons, the periosteum, the ligaments and capsules of the joints. These, according to Regaud, are specifically adapted to respond to ten- sion of the fibrous organs. 4, Paciniform corpuscles. These are located around the joint, and, according to Regaud, are specially adapted to respond to external pressure. II. PAIN SENSATIONS Regaud understands by this, various nuances of the sense of pain. He supposes that the free ends of the nerve fibres mediate for us sensations of pain." | Let us now turn to the experimental and pathological evidence. *C, L. Regaud, “ Les terminaisons nerveuses et les organes nerveux sensitifs de l’appareil locomoteur,” Deuxieme Partie, Revue générale 1907 @histelogie, II, fase. 7. SENSATIONS IN VOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS — 357 Joint Sensations.—That kinesthetic sensations are functions of articular motion was made evident by the experiments of von Frey.7 He enclosed the arm in a rigid sleeve and hung weights close to the joint and at some distance from it. With slow movements of lifting, those weights appeared equal that would be balanced by another force, acting at the other end of the lever; that is, they appeared equal when they had the same moment of rotation. Since now the force at the other end of the lever is the muscle attached by its tendons to the bone, it seems likely that the judgment of identity comes from sensations resi- dent in the motor organ, 7.e., muscles and tendons. If this is the ease, then the sensations may be spoken of as functions of articular motion, but need not be articular sensations themselves. This, indeed, was the conclusion drawn by von Frey. We may now ask ourselves: Could not the joint surfaces be the source of the sensation? Thus, the degree of pressure between the articu- lar cartilages must vary with the moment of rotation of the force acting on the arm. Could not this give rise to the sensations involved? ‘This is one of the earliest views of the kinesthetic sense. Oehrwall'® says it was first propounded by Lewinsky’® and is to-day generally accepted. Histological evidence and physiological experiment rule it out completely. There are no nerves in the joint cartilages or the cartilaginous disks found in some joints. Goldscheider®® himself, in his animal experiments, could obtain no reflexes by stimulating the articular cartilages, aza concluded that they acted as if they were without any sensa- tion whatsoever. Lennander”! made use of a patient with a cut that slit open 7M. v. Frey, “ Studien iiber den Kraftsinn,” Ztsch. fiir Biologie, 1914, LXIII, pp. 129-154. % Skandinavisches Archiv. fiir Physiologie, 1915, XXXII, p. 221. “Ueber den Kraftsinn,” Virchow’s Archiv., 1872, LXXVII, p. 14%. * Ges. Abh., II, 287. 2K. G. Lennander, “ Ueber lokale Aniisthesie und iiber Seusibilitiit in Organ und Gewebe,” Gesammelte Werke, I, pp. 138-142, Upsala, 1912, cited by H. Oerhwall, “ Der Sogenannte Muskelsinn,” Sk. Arch. f. Physi- ologie, 1915, XXXII, pp. 217-245. 358 VOLITIONAL CONTROL the knee-joint to test the articular cartilages for sensitivity to pressure and pain, but found them insensitive. In a student who had to undergo an amputation, he made more extensive experiments. He found the joint cartilages insensitive to touch, hard pressure, heat, and cold. (17°—60°.) Goldscheider?? thought that by passing a faradic current through a joint he could reduce the interior joint sensibility. As a matter of fact, when one does this, the power of discriminating passive movements is considerably decreased. But just what happens here is not immediately clear. The sensibility of the skin around the joint is reduced. Pillsbury,”* however, showed that the sensitivity of the joints is decreased by passing the cur- rent through other joints than those involved in the movement. It would thus seem that something besides sensation from the joint in motion is involved in the perception of movement. Von Frey*‘ found that by anesthetizing the skin in the neigh- borhood of a joint, one raised the threshold; but the same result was obtained by anzsthetizing the skin at a distal joint. Further- more, stretching the skin with adhesive-plaster lowers the thres- hold. He also obtained the same results with faradization, as did Pillsbury. He also experimented on a patient two months after he had undergone a resection of the elbow-joint, that is, an opera- tion involving the removal of the joint surfaces with a saw, and placing a strip of fascia lata between them. By analogy with the skin, one would not expect a notable return of sensibility at the end of two months. Von Frey found, however, that there was no diminution of sensibility to passive movement. He concluded that the perception of passive movement could not depend upon sensations originating in the joint.”° 2 Gesammelte Abhandlungen, 2 Vol., Leipzig, 1878. 3“ Toes the Sensation of Movement Originate in the Joints?” Am. J. of Psychol., 1901, XII, pp. 346-353. * Von Frey, M., and Meyer, O. B., “ Versuche tiber die Wahrnehmung gefiihrter Bewegungen,” Zeitsch. f. Biologie, 1917-1918, LXVIII, pp. 301-338. “Ueber Bewegungswahrnehmungen und Bewegungen in resezierten und in anesthetischen Gelenken,” Zeitsch. f. Biologie, LX VIII, pp. 339-350. Also, ‘ Weitere Beobachtungen tiber die Wahrnehmung von Bewegungen nach Gelenkresektion,” 7. ¢., 1919, LXIX, pp. 322-330. SENSATIONS IN VOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS — 359 From all of these experiments and observations it seems clearly evident that sensations from the joints are a minor, if not a negligible factor in the perception of passive movements. Sensations from the Skin.—Both von Frey and Pillsbury argue from the experiments we have just cited, that sensations from the skin must be involved in the perception of passive movements. But any sensations from the skin that may be in- volved cannot be ordinary touch sensations, for there are a num- ber of pathological cases which show that touch may be practi- eally normal and yet the sensation for passive movement and for the position of the members is profoundly disturbed.”® On the other hand, there are a number of cases where touch is more or less completely destroyed, and the sensation of move- ment is preserved.”’ Skin Pressure.—Schlesinger called attention to a mode of sensibility that he spoke of as skin pressure. He measured it by a pair of graduated spring forceps that clamped a fold of skin, and indicated the strength of squeezing that is necessary to give a feeling of pressure. He found, in some of his eases, that this sense might be lost, and the sense of deep pressure remain which is measured by placing a weight on the skin of the arm, hand, etc. It may also be present or lacking when the mere touch sensation of the skin is preserved or destroyed. This sense, however, can- not account for the sense of active or passive movements, for in two of his cases (No. 12 and No. 20), the superficial pressure sense was destroyed, and the sense of active and positive move- ments was preserved. In the same manner the deep pressure sense may be ruled out as the source of our perception of movement. 7% Ad. Schmidt. “ Auffiillende Stérung des Lokalisationsvermégen in einem Falle von Brown-Séquardescher Halblihmung,”’ Deutsch Zeitschrift f. Nervenheilkunde, 1904, XXVI, pp. 323-325. Also, Curschmann, Hans, ‘“‘ Ueber Syringomyelia dolorosa mit aussch- liesslich sensiblem Stérungen,” Berliner klinische Wochenschrift, 1920, LVII, pp. 1184-1187. Gilles de la Tourette, “Un cas de Syringomyelie,” Nouvelle Icono- graphie de la Salpétriére, 1889, II, pp. 311-317. 7 Die Syringomyelie: Eine Monographie von Dr. Herman Schlesinger, cue eon: Leipzig, 1902, Case 2, data, p. 445. 360 VOLITIONAL CONTROL We may, therefore, say that some form of sensibility which is not usually tested in our experimental studies is the source of our perception of active and passive movements. Sense of Tension.—Striimpell’s clinical insight has enabled him to pick out what is probably the form of sensation that is es- sential in the perception of movements. In his Lehruch der Speziellen Pathologie und Therapre,** he writes as follows: ‘‘Our judgment of the position of the members of the body and the passive movements that may be executed with them, does not depend exclusively on the sensibility of the mus- cles, but probably also on the sensibility of the joint surfaces, corpuscles and ligaments. All these parts, as well as the skin, are displaced and stretched in ever-changing degrees in various movements. Nevertheless, I believe that, as a matter of fact, the changing condition of tension in the muscles themselves and their tendons makes possible our Judgment concerning the posi- tion and movements of the members of the body. Many investi- gators have thought that the judgment concerning the degree: and direction of passive movements depends upon the sensibility of joint surfaces rubbed against each other. I do not believe it, because I have repeatedly examined patients with joint surfaces that have been completely resected, who, nevertheless, perceived the slightest passive movements in the parts concerned with abso- lute exactness and correctness.’’ It would thus seem that Striimpell lays chief stress upon what we may term our sense of tension. It is this sense of tension that is most likely responsible for the perception of movements. This does not mean that touch sensations are excluded in a normal individual. Thus, the rubbing of the clothes in any movement in practical life aids its perception and perhaps its control. Pres- sure upon the skin and the muscles themselves in extreme flexion are undoubtedly factors. It is likely, also, that one joint differs from another joint in the relative value of the various elements of the kinesthetic sense. But pathological cases show that joint sensations are not necessary, that touch is not necessary, that skin pressure and deep pressure are not necessary; but that there is - *Highteenth edition, 1912, Vol.2,p.272 = a SENSATIONS IN VOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS © 361 something over and above these that when destroyed makes the sense of passive movement impossible. Striimpell is, therefore, probably correct in attributing this to the sense of tension in the subcutaneous parts of the body. It is perhaps also possible that the skin itself has a tension sense different from the touch and pressure sense, although, so far as I know, the threshold of this tension sense has never been measured. Von Frey’s experi- ments, referred to above, in which he increased sensibility for passive movement by stretching the skin, would indicate that the tension sense is localized in part, at least, in the skin itself. We have seen, too, that Regaud suggests that there are two forms of end apparatus that may be involved in perception of movement—one the Pacini type of corpuscle, adapted to pressure; the other the Ruffini type of corpuscle, which seems more adapted to stretching. It is, therefore, likely that the sense of tension has its own end organ. Active and Passive Movements.—Wundt analyzes the kines- thetic sense into two components. If a movement is made, a weight of some kind is lifted by the moving member, and it is lifted to a certain height. The mass times the height is the measure of the work done. The mass is related to the energy expended by the mechanism of the muscles. The height is related to the position of the lever system that the bones constitute. If someone else moves my arm, that is to say, if a passive movement is executed, one of these components falls away. I can, therefore, no longer judge by any sensations which come to me from the expenditure of energy, but I am left to make a judgment purely on the basis of whatever sensations come to me from the position of the arm itself. Pathological conditions also make a distinction for us between the perception of active and of passive movements. For there are a number of cases on record in which the patient lost the sense of passive movement, but retained his perception of ac- tive movement.” Neurologists are wont to measure these two perceptions in the following way. Passive movement is measured by moving a finger of the hand, or the hand itself, or the forearm, or the leg, ® h. G. Schlesinger, op. cit., Case 5, Case 10, Case 17, Case 38. 362 VOLITIONAL CONTROL etc., and asking the patient to speak as soon as he perceives the movement. Normal patients perceive the slightest change in position of the members of their bodies. Active movement is measured by placing, e.g., one arm in a certain position of exten- sion or flexion and asking the patient, with eyes closed, to piace the other arm in a precisely similar position. To do this the patient must perceive the position of the one arm and be able actively to imitate this with the other arm. The perception of active movement must also be distinguished from the power of codrdinate movement. A patient may be able to copy exactly the position of one of his members by placing the other in a similar position, but still be unable to make a coordinate movement by which he would, e.g., touch his nose with the tip of his finger easily and without any wavering. From the disassociation between the perception of active and passive movements, present in a number of patients, we may argue that they do not depend upon the same factors. The loss of perception of active movement always involves a much greater disturbance than the loss of perception of passive movement. The perception of passive movement probably depends upon the tension sense of skin and subcutaneous tissues, muscles, tendons, ete. But what is it that gives us the power of feeling the move- ments that we make ourselves? The Feeling of Innervation.—J. Miller, in his Handbuch des Physiologie des Menschen,*® suggested that when the mus- cles are innervated there may be an accompanying central feel- —— ing of innervation. The authority of Miiller gained for this idea — a friendly acceptance in the scientific world, and the feeling of innervation was looked upon by many as a fairly well-established sense. William James attacked the idea in his essay on the feeling of effort (1880), and embodied the criticisms of that essay in the chapter on ‘‘Will’’ in his Psychology. Miiller and Schumann*! argued against the feeling of innervation on the basis of their experiments on the comparison of weights. They found that if a weight of 676 grams be compared with one of 826 it will always be perceived, at the outset, as lighter. If BOS... DOO! " Archiv. f. d. ges. Physiol. (Pfliiger), 1889, XLV, pp. 37-112. SENSATIONS IN VOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS _ 363 the 826 gram weight be now compared with one that is consider- ably heavier than it and then again compared with the standard of 676, in the second comparison, the heavier or 826 gram weight seems equal to, or even lighter than the standard of 676. They argued that this phenomenon cannot be explained by a feeling of innervation, for evidently, in view of having become accus- tomed to the heavier weight, the 826 gram is lifted with a stronger impulse than previously. If the strength of the impulse measured is indicative of the feeling of innervation, then the stronger im- pulse should make the weight feel heavier instead of lighter. They, therefore, concluded that there was no possibility of accounting for this illusion on the theory of innervation. If the feeling of innervation were the only factor in the per- ception of an active movement for the lifting of weights, it would be very difficult to account for the illusion studied by Miller and Schumann. If, however, the feeling of innervation is one factor in a complex in which sensations from the moving member are normally important parts, it is quite easy to see that when the stronger impulse is not associated with the expected sen- sations of resistance from the object lifted, that it would seem much lighter than it really is. Muller and Schumann’s exclusion of this explanation by saying that it is too complicated does not rule it out. In fact, their experiment with the lifted weights does not constitute a crucial test of the theory. On the other hand, those who favor the theory have appealed to illusions of patients with amputated arms and legs, who, when they intend to make a movement, feel that it actually occurs and are often capable of carrying out complicated movements with the phantom member. Though the feeling of innervation might account for these phenomena, they are capable of other explana- tions (e.g., mere kinesthetic imagery of the movement), and they do not constitute a crucial test or an absolute demonstration of the existence of the feeling of innervation.*? * Wundt’s analysis of illusions, obtained in patients suffering from external strabismus, is strong evidence of the feeling of innervation. He shows there that James, who makes use of the same phenomena, bases his argument on an incomplete representation of the facts. Grundziige der Physiologischen Psychelogie, fifth edition, Vol. II, p. 27 ff. 364 VOLITIONAL CONTROL Pathology gives clear evidence that when there are no sen- sations that come from the moving organ, the mind is neverthe- less capable of perceiving active movement. If this is the case, there must be something or other akin to a feeling of innervation. The above cases which we referred to, of the loss of the sensation of passive movement without that of active movement being at the same time destroyed, are evidences of this fact. The follow- ing case, however, carefully studied by Lashley,** is very strong evidence in favor of some kind of perception of muscular inner- vation. A man had a gunshot injury to the spinal cord, resulting in partial anesthesia of both legs and paralysis of the muscles below the knees. The region around the left knee was anesthetic to touch. Deep pressure was felt in this region only when a stimulus of from 2000 to 3000 grams was applied over an area of one-half inch in diameter. Flexion and extension were still pos- sible in the left knee-joint. Careful experiments showed that the patient had no sense of the position of his lee. He could not detect passive movements in a speed of less than twenty centi- metres per second. This, under the conditions of the experiment, would equal about 25° per second. He could not maintain the leg in a fixed position with the eyes closed.** The subject could not imitate a movement of flexion or exten- sion when a pattern was given by the experimenter moving the leg through a given angle. In such experiments he sometimes would flex the leg when the pattern called for an extension. Lashley tried to investigate the presence of afferent stimuli from the muscles and tendons. To do this he had the leg work against a spring and make a movement equal to three inches. The stronger the action of the spring, the shorter was the movement made by the subject. Under such conditions the subject per- ceived no difference between a movement of 33° flexion and 18° extension. It is to be noted, however, that the subject felt * Lashley, K. S., “The Accuracy of Voluntary Movement. in the Absence of Excitation from the Moving Organ,” American Journal of Physiology, 1917, Vol. 43, pp. 161-194. ** Lashley unfortunately does not say anything about the eyes, but leaves us to conclude that the eyes were closed in these experiments. He does not say whether a fixed position could be maintained under visual control. SENSATIONS IN VOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS 365 the resistanee. The subject’s sense of movement was so impaired that when his leg was forcibly extended during his attempts to flex it, it nevertheless seemed to him that he had executed the movement of flexation, or when the leg was held so that no move- ment was made, he nevertheless felt that the movement had actu- ally taken place. This illusion could be explained by a feeling of innervation. From this set of experiments Lashley concluded that there were no sensations from the actively moving limb sufficiently specific to give a clew to the nature of the movements. When, however, the subject was called upon to make a movement him- self, he never made an error of direction. He could also, when working without assistance, make a movement of 0.5° to 8° with about the same accuracy as a normal subject. The more quickly the subject executed a movement, the more accurate it was. When, however, the leg was working against a strain, the actual movements, judged as equal, grew progressively longer. ‘‘The progressive increase in the length of movements esti- mated as equal seems almost certainly the result of frequent repe- tition of the movement. From the subject’s statement it seems probable also that the increase resulted from some feeling of resistance or of increased effort necessary for the movement which led to an over-compensation.”’ Lashley also investigated the relation between the duration and extent of the movement and found ‘‘a degree of independence in the rate and extent of the movement which precludes the pos- sibility that the extent of the movement is determined merely by the control of the duration of the excitation of the motor pathways.’’ (P. 186.) Lashley concluded that in the absence of excitation from the moving organ, the accuracy of its voluntary movement cannot depend on reflexes originating in sensations resident in the organ itself. Control must be exercised by the brain. There must be a set of some kind prior to the execution of a movement which determines its direction and duration. We may ask ourselves whether or not this set is the voluntary fiat, the act of will itself, and nothing more. It cannot be doubted that ultimately the degree of movement depends upon the fiat. 366 VOLITIONAL CONTROL But is it possible that over and above the fiat and sensations from the moving organ, there is some other kind of perceptual data by means of which the type and degree of the movement may be dis- tinguished? This evidently must be the case. Thus, for instance, the muscles and nerves can themselves be normal and yet the feeling for active movement may be considerably disturbed.* There is also evidence to show that the mere thought of a movement brings about an activity in the motor area of the cerebral cortex that is accompanied by vascular reflexes leading to a change in blood pressure. The perception of these reflex changes, and perhaps other associated sensations, as Wundt suggests, may constitute the feeling of innervation. Ernst Weber,**® experimenting first on animals that he had eurarized,*’ found that stimulation of the motor cortex causes a rise of blood pressure in the carotid artery and at the same time a decrease in the blood volume of the viscera. Turning then to man, he made plethysmographic experiments, and found that voluntary movements, e.g., in the foot, caused an increase in blood volume of the arm due to a general rise in blood pressure which is accompanied by contraction of the vis- ceral blood vessels. This increase in blood volume of the arm may also be caused by hypnotizing a subject, and in the hypnotic state suggesting movement of some kind, e.g., running. Under such conditions an increase in blood volume in the arm is even more marked than that obtained by actual movements of the foot. If one attempts to will a movement and think of a movement with- out actually executing it, one obtains a similar increase in blood volume in the arm, but not so quickly, and after a longer length of time, and when it does occur, it is not so marked in intensity as in hypnosis or in actual voluntary movement. This increase in * Cf. E. G. Miiller, H. Franz, “Syringomyelia mit bulbiiren Sympto- men,” Deutsches Archiv fiir Klinische Medicin, 1894, LII, pp. 259-299. *°“ Das Verhiltniss von Bewegungenvorstellungen zu Bewegung bei ihren Kérperlichen Allgemeinwirkungen,” Monatschrift fiir Psychiatrie und Neurologie, 1906, XX, pp. 529-554. “Injection of the drug curare blocks nerve impulses to all voluntary muscles of the body, thus rendering it impossible to stimulate them by electric current. When therefore Weber stimulated the motor cortex of the brain, it could have no effect on the muscles themselves. Fia. 8.—Hypnotic suggestion of wrestling match given at each + and terminated at —. Upper curve, blood volume and pulse of arm; lower, respiration. Curve reads from right to left. (Weber |. c. in text.) trie” ate aoe let 2a Fic. 9.—Voluntary lively imagination of gripping hand. Subject awake. Start at +, cessation at —. Curve reads from right to left. Upper curve, blood volume and pulse of arm; lower, respiration. (Weber, l. c. in text.) LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS SENSATIONS IN VOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS — 367 blood volume during the hypnotic state does not take place if passive movements replace the active or suggested movements. Weber, therefore, concluded that the idea of movement causes in man the same phenomena as does the electric stimulation of the cortex in animals. These experiments suggest very strongly that thinking about a movement*®® brings about some kind of change in the Rolandic area of the brain, a change which results in vascular reflexes producing a change in blood pressure, and thereby bringing about many sensations that could perhaps be factors in the feeling of innervation that Precedes or accompanies the muscu- lar contraction. SUMMARY Let us now attempt to indicate, on the basis of the study we have just made, the nature and character of the sensations involved in voluntary movement. I. The sensations found in passive movement are, in all prob- ability, one element of the voluntary movement sensation com- plex, even though they may not be essential for the actual execution of the movement. The form of sensation essential to the perception of passive movements is the feeling of stretching that comes to us from the skin and subcutaneous tissues. Regaud and Favre’s ob- servations suggest as its anatomical end organ the corpuscles of Ruffini. II. The form of sensation essential to the voluntary direction of active movement is the feeling of effort. This is a complex which results from vascular reflexes giving rise to various organic sensations from increased blood pressure, and also from sensations coming, in normal individuals, from the muscles and tendons of the moving member. The end organs of these sensations are probably the muscle spindles and the neurotendinous end organs of Golgi. Visual sensations are capable of functioning in the place of sensations from the moving member itself. %8 Whether or not this thinking of the movement is in terms of thought or of kinesthetic imagery is not settled at all by Weber’s experiments, but is left entirely open. Whatever one normally does when he intends to make a movement brings about the reflexes that Weber has found. CHAPTER VI THE PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION PATHOLOGY is a scientific study of the abnormal conditions of the organism underlying specific forms of disease. If, there- fore, we are to study the pathology of voluntary action, we must assume that in the individual there may be definite abnormal conditions more or less constant in character that have something to do with the deviation of his behavior from the standard of normal conduct. That this may be the case will be evident on a little reflection. Voluntary action, as we have seen in our pre- vious analysis, involves more than the fiat of the will. Even ina simple piece of voluntary action, such as the willing of a move- ment, we must suppose, besides the fiat, the integrity of muscle, nerve, and central nervous system. When we come to consider the complex behavior of a human being in the practical affairs of life, and pause to consider the numerous psychological mechan- isms that are involved in conduct, we can readily conceive of a very extensive field for psychopathological study. The utility of such an investigation is at once apparent. Any thing that gives us a clearer insight into just what is going on in a patient’s mind in the course of his pathological conduct may help us not only to understand him, but may also, in many eases, enable us to modify his behavior. With this problem in view,’ I turned to the material in the files of my clinic and tried to study out the various conditions that present a kind of static background for abnormal behavior. To study all the conditions underlying pathological behavior would involve going over much of the ground we have already covered in the study of the unconscious, the conflict, and mental adjust- ments. Leaving these things aside, we may investigate certain other factors which, as more or less static or abiding conditions, profoundly influence conduct. 1 Birnbaum’s article referred to below, I found helpful as a preliminary orientation in this field. 368 THE PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION — 369 Thus, for instance, we may ask whether or not abnorma! behavior may be due to the fact that a person has inherited a constitution that is more difficult to manage than is usual, or which breaks down more readily under the stress and strain of life. A little experience with human nature will very quickly convince us that many individuals seem to have inherited some- thing abnormal or have failed to inherit traits that pertain to normal human beings and, in consequence, find the management of life and its problems much more difficult than others who have been blessed with a better hereditary endowment. On the other hand, pathological behavior seems, at times, to be due mainly to lack of proper training. At all events, it is con- ceivable that an individual may have an adequate hereditary endowment, but may, nevertheless, get into trouble because he has not been taught how to manage himself, and has not been shown the possibilities that life holds out for him. Again, patho- logical behavior might be due to a pure defect of volitional con- trol, or to abnormalities of the intellectual or emotional life, ete. Let us commence the study by first investigating cases which seem to be due to defects of training or heredity. Defect Present with Lack of Training.—In February, 1922, a woman came to see me about her son, Francis, the complaint being that he was lazy and could not be interested in anything. As a matter of fact, the principal of the school he attended said that though the boy was respectful and well behaved, he was a shirker and failed in every study. He had threatened to dismiss him in the midyear, but the boy asked to be retained, and so he was allowed to drag through the first year of high school. Mental examination showed that he was indeed dull, but not sufficiently so to explain his complete failure in everything. He was sixteen years and eleven months old, with a mental age, by the ‘‘Stanford Revtsion’’ of thirteen years and five months, and an intellectual quotient of eighty-four. Light is thrown on the young man’s condition by his early history, and particularly by the character of his mother. She obtained a divorcee from her husband, and when Francis was nine years old went into the moving pictures. Francis was 370 VOLITIONAL CONTROL himself put on the stage while still a child and had some success as a singer and dancer. His schooling was irregular, obtained first in one place, then in another, according to circumstances. An insight into his home life is given by the following report of a social worker who ealled on his mother. Francis is living with his mother in his grandmother’s apartment—two bedrooms, dining-room, kitchen. It is cheaply furnished, and dirty. Francis’ mother came to the door in an old — bathrobe and slippers, dirty and untidy. She was garrulous in her gratitude for the visit, and vituperative to her mother with — whom she had to live, calling her frequently ‘‘this brainless woman,’’ blaming her for her present condition in life and her early marriage, boasting that she is much finer than her family, and that they have continually dragged her down, ete., ete. She and her mother would both speak at once on the same or different topics. When the daughter became particularly abusive, the mother called her and all her children a lot of ‘‘bullheads’’—said she ‘‘never could teach them anything,”’ ete. Francis walked down the street with the social worker. He | told her that his mother got on his nerves. He has some affection, but no respect for his mother. There is some evidence that Francis’ mother is openly immoral. Francis gave the impression to several who have studied him that he is by no means hopeless in himself, but only in his pres- ent surroundings. It is very difficult to say in any case that a condition is wholly environmental or wholly hereditary. In fact, in all abnormal human conditions, we must take three things into consideration: (1) Heredity, (2) environment, (3) activity or will itself. The case of Francis appears on the surface as one in which the young man’s environment was inadequate, and he did not get the training that would have enabled him to develop into a normal human being. He himself may be, in part, responsi- ble for his own condition, and there may also be an hereditary fac- tor. But cases such as this point out the possibility of human lives being wrecked merely by inadequate surroundings. THE PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION — 371 Defect Present in Spite of Training.—When a young man, well above the upper limit of feebleminded intelligence, cannot be interested in making something out of himself, is lazy, and shirks work, it cannot be doubted that there is some kind of defect in the voluntary control of his life. There is present a defect of the will or of voluntary action. In the case just studied, the defect is due perhaps to lack of discipline being exercised by the boy’s mother and not to himself. A man may inherit a wonderful violin of the best make of the old masters, but unless he is taught how to use it he will never draw forth from it a single melody. A child may have fairly good native volitional ability, but unless someone trains him and implants ideals of conduct, it is not surprising if later on he does not manage himself and his affairs with ordinary prudence. On the other hand, some children have no lack of training, and, nevertheless, develop later on an habitually incorrigible eharacter. They do not merely slip occasionally into some delin- quency, but are constitutional psychopaths. I have in mind a young man who was probably fairly bright. He did some of the eighteen year old tests, and then refused to do anything more. His father is a man of good character, and has tried to be severe with the boy. His mother, who has been perhaps too kind, but seems a reasonable, refined lady, tells me that the boy is lazy, has a vile tongue, and will neither study nor work. He desires only to have a good time, plays pool, and smokes cigarettes and loiters on the street corners all day. When refused money he borrows it from dealers with whom his parents trade. When he cannot obtain it in this way, he tries to steal it at home. He has given his mother fair warning that he will steal any money she leaves around. My attempts to reason with him only met with a smiling defiance. Here is clearly a defect in the management of one’s personal affairs. Something is wrong with the steering mechanism in this young man’s mental life. It is hard to say whether this defect is due to an hereditary cerebral defect or one that was acquired early in life by some 372 VOLITIONAL CONTROL infectious disease, or that the mental condition was developed by repeated voluntary delinquencies. In his previous history, however, it is worth while noting that he had an infectious disease in infancy (fifteen months), diagnosed as whooping cough,” just about the time he was learning to walk and talk. After this dis- ease he stopped walking and talking, and at two years and three months could only say a few words and did not really commence to talk again until about three years of age. His father, though he never drank to excess, was a constant drinker. His mother’s father was a drunkard. It is perfectly true, however, that every attempt was made from childhood up to make this young man what he should be. He was sent to good schools; his father and mother were well above the ordinary mental and social level; his training was not neglected, though there may have been mistakes in it (an over- — tender mother, and a father who was perhaps inclined to be too severe) ; but on the whole, the young man has had far better opportunity to sueceed than most boys, in spite of which at pres- ent, he presents to us a complete failure. He has not responded to his training. It may be that he him- self is at fault, but there is definite indication in his history of organic defect, due to bad heredity and disease in infancy. He is perhaps a type of volitional defect that develops in spite of training. Pathology of Voluntary Action Due to Impairment of the Will Itself.—Ribot, in his Diseases of the Will, classifies impair- ments of the will as due to defect. of impulse and excess of im- pulse. If one studies the impairments he speaks of under the caption, ‘‘ Excess of Impulse,’’ one will see that in the termi- nology of this book they are not defects of the will itself, but are automatic actions, not truly volitional in character, or impulsive drives probably due to what we have termed above pathological associations. There is no such thing as a will that is pathologi- eally strong. A man can no more have a will that is pathologi- cally strong than a mind that is pathologically bright. Thus, ? Pertussis does at times leave disorders of the nervous system as serious complications. * THE PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION 373 for example, a man’s muscles can never be too strong to manage the horses he is driving. He may not know how to use his mus- eles, but the fault would not be in the strength of the muscles but in the way he makes use of them. Will is a mental force by means of which we control and regulate the impulsive drives of our nature. Impulse may some- times be pathologically strong, but the will never. As a matter of fact, the impulses themselves are seldom too strong but are merely poorly balanced. It is possible, however, that the will may be pathologically weak, and yet, when I come to study over my material, I can find no case of a pure defect of will without any other accompanying symptoms. It is very difficult to be sure that weakness of will is the only thing involved in abnormal volitional activity ; nevertheless, I think, the type of character that Birnbaum® speaks of really exists and is perhaps not so very rare. He refers to natures passive, but not dull, who, ‘‘in opposition to the indifferent, harbor lively desires; they really want what they desire to come about; but without their being obliged to do anything themselves, and because, as a general rule, this is not possible, they never get any further than wishing, and perhaps only a step further—to propose and resolve; but as far as carrying anything out that involves personal activity, the inner drive is lacking.’’ The following case suggests, how- ever, a will that was pathologically weak even though it had emotional difficulty to contend with: On May 16, 1916, a man of forty, an hotel waiter by trade, visited the clinic complaining of weak spells accompanied by dizziness and a feeling of flushing in the head. He had been troubled with these spells for about six years, and attributed their origin to a mild drinking spree during which he became dizzy and had a pain in his heart. These spells had recently worried him so much that he had given up work. His savings bank account had dwindled to seventy-nine cents. His wife was supporting the family by working asa washwoman. The home was neglected, 3 Birnbaum, Karl, “ Die Krankhafte Willensschwiiche und ihre Erschei- nungsformen,” 1, Grenefragen des Nerven und Seelenlebens, Wiesbaden, 1911, XII (Heft 79), p. 75. 374 VOLITIONAL CONTROL the children improperly clothed, and he spent the greater part — of the day in bed brooding over what might happen to him in one of his spells. Physical and mental examinations were negative. He had good muscles, and no reason could be found why he should not work. He was reassured as to his health, and the Social Service De- partment obtained employment for him in a hotel where he | | went to work in a borrowed suit of clothes. His wife was spoken ~ to and urged to cease scolding him and treat him affectionately — and cooperate in the policy of reassurance. He continued to have occasional pains. in the heart region, and about ten days after he had commenced work resigned his job in one of these spells and came to the clinic to have his heart examined. He was again reassured and given a note to his employer, and urged to start a savings bank account. He did not, however, present the note and returned on the next clinic day complaining of bladder pains. He was again reassured and urged to go back to work. This he did a few days later only to give up his job | less than a week later, complaining of the same old dizziness, and also of a heavy feeling in his throat. He was again reassured and his wife urged to be patient a little longer and not to scold. This time our efforts were crowned with success, and he remained at work, and in July, 1919, he came and proudly showed me his bank account in which the last deposit had raised his savings to a round one thousand dollars. And here the story might have happily ended. But in the course of the winter of 1919-20, during my absence from Wash- ington, he commenced again to vacillate between his bed and his job. A physician urged him to have his teeth pulled, which he did. He was very much frightened at the loss of blood and conceived the idea that his system was depleted beyond recovery. I was unable, in the fall of 1920, to persuade him again to go to work. He said it was too late, and only after much persuasion was his wife able to get him to visit the clinic in the automobile of afriend. He came and sat before me with a worried, anxious face, holding his pulse all during the interview and assuring me THE PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION = 375 that his heart had been seriously affected by the loss of blood experienced in the extraction of his teeth. I insisted that he go back in the street car, which feat he accomplished, but could not again be persuaded to visit the clinic. A complete collapse was prevented by a novel readjustment. His wife did not want the savings bank account to dwindle so she went out to work and he did the cooking and looked after the house. Here is a patient in whom one may say that there was a weakness of voluntary control. It was associated, however, with an abnormal anxiety about his physical condition, behind which, considering the final readjustment, there probably lurked a desire to be cared for by his wife. A normal will would have been able to cope with the con- flict. His was able to do so when bolstered up by assurances, and his wife’s petting for about three years, only to crumble again and accept a situation in which he became the dependent party and his wife became his supporter and protector. Such eases as this suggest, at least, that the will is itself weak in some individuals. For this patient did not have a serious conflict as compared with those of other men. Apparently his wife had a strong will. Whether or not this is so, or her weak will was effectively reinforced by the human impulse to save money, it is hard to say. It is likely, however, that a woman who was capable, in the first place, of restraining the very strong feminine tendency to scold a good-for-nothing husband, and then take things in her hands and save the family life by herself going out to work, had a power of will that was as much above normal as her husband’s was below. It is likely, therefore, that strength of will is subject to con- siderable variations in the many individuals that go to make up the species, homo sapiens. Pathology of Voluntary Action Due to Abnormality of the Intellectual Life-——Voluntary action has not only to do with isolated pieces of action, but also with the management of the individual’s whole life. Normal volitional activity means, there- fore, a normal life. A life cannot be normal unless it is useful and happy. A life, furthermore, cannot be happy unless it is 25 376 VOLITIONAL CONTROL useful. We cannot stop to demonstrate the truth of these state- ments for they would lead us too far outside the sphere of psy- chology. But if the reader will pause to consider the lives of men he knows in history or in his own experience, he will find that those who accomplish something worth while are happy, and those who waste life are unhappy. The converse in this case is also true, that those who are happy are those who accomplish something worth while. Life, therefore, must have a goal or an end, that the individual realizes and strives to attain. The end, too, must be worthy of a man. If it is not, pathological disturbances will be sure to make themselves manifest and lead, finally, to shipwreck and failure. If this is true, an adequate plan of life is necessary for nor- mal volitional activity. Seeing that such a plan of life is often missing, pathological volitional activity is a most common dis- order. I may give one example as a representative of a class whose name is legion. A man of thirty-one came to the clinic at the request of the Red Cross, who reported that he did not work and did not sup- port his wife. The patient himself complained that he was delli- cate and suffering a general nervous breakdown. He had spinal meningitis when nine years of age, and some kind of sickness that he termed ‘‘walking typhoid,’’ three or four years previous, during which he did not go to bed, but walked about out of his head, and finally cured himself by drink- ing whiskey and Peruvian bark. He went only to the fourth grade in school, but claims to have gotten, after that, ‘‘a good home education in engineering and chemistry.’’ His mental age was eleven years and six months, with an intelligence quotient of 72. He married at twenty-two and has three children. His first job was ‘‘jumping’’ on a bread wagon. He was then mes- senger boy for the Pennsylvania, and later in various telegraph offices, then clerk in the freight division, then call boy for the Pennsylvania Railroad. Then helper in R ’s bakery, then in C ’s bakery, then in W ’s bakery, then in H ’s, then THE PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION — 377 C ’s again, then G——’s. Then went to North Carolina as a mail clerk. Then took a fish wagon. Then in various bakeries and breweries. He gave up his jobs often because he wanted to move around, often because he would get in a quarrel and ‘‘smash’’ some fellow; but claims that he never acted so they would not take him back. At the time of his examination he was looking forward to being a brakeman on the Pennsyl- vania Railroad. In the meantime, his wife complains that he beats her, sits around the house, refuses to go out and work and eats up what she gets by work and charity for herself and the children. That this man has never conceived of a plan of life there ean be no doubt. At the same time, it will be admitted that if he had been capable of such a conception and had held it before his mind it would greatly have reduced his pathological tendency to wander from job to job, and would have made his behavior more normal in every respect. His life is certainly useless, but in spite of my theory of happi- ness and usefulness he maintains that he is happy. This claim is probably to be taken with a ‘‘grain of salt’’ or rather we should say, that a man who ‘‘smashes’’ his fellow-workers, beats his wife, and eats up his children’s food, does not know what happi- ness is. He may have a naturally cheerful disposition, but happy he certainly is not. His borderline mentality really spares him the misery that a normal mind would experience that had to look back on a failure such as his. Unfortunately, there are many normal minds who, having wasted their youth and accomplished nothing, become cynical, sour, discontented, or perhaps sink into a depression as their half century of life draws to a close. Abnormalities of voluntary action may result from something less fundamental than the absolute lack of any plan or aim or ideal in life. It often happens that people afflicted with some form of mental disorder falsely interpret the behavior of other men, or even animals, or of inanimate objects. They then feel violently impelled to do something about what they think they see, and so result the grossest abnormalities of behavior. 378 VOLITIONAL CONTROL Such false interpretations have their roots in normal mental life. Human nature is prone to be suspicious. To suspect others that may try to circumvent or overreach you is a normal, human impulse, intimately connected with the instinct of self-preser- vation. To feel sure that you yourself in particular are the object of particular scorn, the one person whom some one individual or a group is persecuting, this is already definitely abnormal. The larger the group to which your suspicion extends the more patho- logical it is likely to be. You must put it down as a general rule that suspicions are either exaggerated or wholly unfounded. When a young lady suspects that a gentleman who works at a table near her in the office is continually watching her she is very likely to be mistaken. JI remember one case of dementia preeox whose first pathological manifestations came in this way: She suddenly broke out before everyone in the office and told a young man that his behavior was ungentlemanly and unkind, that she would not stand him continually watching her, ete. The young man was really very much surprised and later humbly begged her pardon. The girl afterwards realized that her sus- picions were unfounded, felt very much ashamed of herself, resigned her position, and later was taken to an asylum as a well-developed case of dementia preecox. Faulty interpretations are not always so plausible in their © appearance. I remember one young man who came to me be- eause he had heard that I was a psychologist and would probably be able to illuminate him so that he could better understand the complicated action of the minds of other people on his own. I asked him how they acted on him; he said by concentration. ‘¢ And how do you know they concentrate?’’ ‘‘Why,’’ he says, ‘*it is just this way: As soon as I enter the street car on my way to work, every man in the car holds his newspaper in a particular way, and then I know they are concentrating. Before very long one of them coughs. A cough you know is a eall for help from other minds. He feels that my concentration is overpowering him; and then a number of people in the car cough, thereby sending out calls for help, because they see that otherwise I will be too strong for them.’’ The same thing happens at the office. THE PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION 379 He is not there long before someone coughs. He felt that this way of persecuting him should cease, and he was going to take the matter up, if necessary, with his congressman. A lady once complained to me about a fly that used i come and plant itself on the table before her. It would then take its front legs and rub them over its head exactly three times, and then its hind legs and rub them over its wings exactly five times and would then come back and do the same thing over, only the next time the number of rubbings would be different because communicating a different kind of message. These faulty interpretations lead, at times, to all kinds of misbehavior, violent scenes in public, visits to the White House, murder, ete. The actions committed are in a sense voluntary, but the individuals are not responsible. The locus of their psychic lesion is not in the will but in their thought processes. That a perfectly normal human act may take place, the individual must not only be able to choose, but also to understand. Given the pre- mises of the insane, their actions are perfectly logical, and fre- quently calculated, rather than the result of blind drives to unspeakable crimes. Pathology of Voluntary Action Due to Abnormalities of the Affective Life.—Abnormalities of the affective life may be due to the lack or dulness of emotion in situations where a nor- mal human being would be deeply moved, or to the fact that some emotion is present in excess and so interferes with nor- mal behavior. A girl of seventeen once came to the clinic at the request of a friend. When I asked her what was the matter, she said: (1) That she was indifferent about everything; (2) that she had spells of worry about the ordinary action of her daily life, but never about her sins; (3) that she was restless and never satisfied. Her mentality was good. She did all of the Stanford fourteen year old tests, all of the sixteen year old, till I came to the digit- span, and then refused to codperate further. She had been through the second year of high school. She left home about a year previous to her visit to the clinic, and lived with her aunt. 380 VOLITIONAL CONTROL She had been sending thirty dollars a month to her old and depen- dent father, but now felt that she ought to have the money for her- self, and saw no reason why she should be burdened with the ‘‘old man’s’’ support. She boasted of her flirtations and declared that she took great delight in ‘‘vamping’’ a man, and then running away and leaving him. She used to rob the mail boxes in apartment houses just to see what was in the letters. Often, when on a visit, she would steal money or valuables, just to be doing something wicked, feeling sure that her friends would not suspect her. She tried to kill her uncle because he was interfering with her free life. She got some rat poison from a cupboard and put it in his tea. She was afraid he would taste it and so put in too Little. When he did not die, but only got sick, she felt very angry. She says that she has made a league with the devil that if she gets something, she will always do his will. But still she has a hazy idea that she will fool him and end her life as a Magdalen. In fact, she is writing a novel in which the heroine is a prostitute who dies a Magdalen. She claims that she has never felt sorry for any bad act that she has ever done. I tried to get some information about the extent of her emo- tional resonance. Seeing people injured in an auto accident awakened in her curiosity, but no uncomfortable feelings, nor sympathy. She is often cruel to animals, and used to kick the little kittens about at home, just to see them suffer. She is proud that she has not vot what she termed ‘‘ soft, sloppy feelings.’’ She visited the elinie but twice, and then left town. I later received a letter from her from New Orleans, thanking me for trying to help her when she was in Washington. A ease of this kind approaches as closely to the psychiatric phantom, ‘‘moral insanity,’’ as anything I have ever met: Nor- mal intelligence and apparently no moral perception. But what we find is not a lack of perception of the difference between right and wrong, but a deficiency of the emotional life. She knows perfectly well that her life is wrong, believes in God, the devil and hell. But there is no emotional resonance in the presence of THE PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION — 381 human or animal suffering. She lacks a factor in the control of her conduct that is perhaps more potent in maintaining morality than the world in general realizes. What a tremendous ehange would be wrought in human behavior if, all of a sudden, sympathy and its emotional resonance could be blotted out from our mental life! This case is very instructive inasmuch as it shows how abnor- mal behavior may be due, in part, to a lack of inhibitions. This lack of inhibitions was due in its turn to the lack of the emotional resonance of sympathy. On the other hand, an emotion may be so intense that it will awaken inhibitions that the will is more or less powerless to overcome. In October, 1920, a man came to me complaining that he did not know what to do with time. He would awaken in the morning and would wonder how he would be able to live through the day. What could he do with the hours before him? He was, at the same time, sad and depressed. He had thoughts of suicide. He got rid of his pistol for fear he would not be able to resist the impulse to kill himself so as to get rid of time. But then he had to fight against the impulse to jump out of the window. He can no longer keep on at his business. If he goes to his office, in spite of the fact that his correspondence is before him, he still does not know what to do with time. If he goes to the moving pictures, he thinks that it will be so many minutes before it is over and feels that he cannot possibly sit through the whole thing. Mere existence seemed interminably slow and he was unable to carry on his former occupation. His condition was due to a paralytic stroke from which he had practically recovered as far as movement was concerned ; but it had worked a complete transformation of his character. His systolic blood pressure was 195. Here, then, we see a pathological condition due, psychologi- cally, to the slowing down of the stream of thought and, a sadness that took the zest out of normal mental activity. Though some improvement was obtained by regulating his diet and administer- ing nitroglycerin, reducing his blood pressure, and enabling him 382 VOLITIONAL CONTROL to attend to some of his correspondence, nevertheless, he remained unable to break through his depression and assume his nor- mal duties. Excitement, also, may interfere with voluntary action by the acceleration of the stream of thought so that normal insight into conduct, its purpose and its consequences is impaired and the will has not the opportunity to control the patient’s behavior. Anxiety, also, may limit or even destroy responsibility. The following letter indicates a state of mind in which the patient may readily be led to a course of action that will not be reason- able and not in accord with her own best interests: ‘‘T think my trouble was brought about by overfatigue, overanxiety, and apprehension about my brother; not allowing myself to rest in the morning. I think that just as one force can be changed into another, so one anxiety can be changed into another. I feared for him and that fear has been changed into the well-worn groove of another fear, namely, that I should see something sexual. Everything has become something that I must run away from. I don’t know how to handle myself at all. I ean’t look out the window, go into the garden or look at the servant maid. My head is filled with rushing sounds and pulling feelings at my neck, and my spine is in pain, particularly under- neath the shoulders, and I ache all over. At night I can’t go to sleep with the thought that I will be rested in the morning, because I fear the suffering that the next day will bring, and I notice that my thinking has become confused. Unless something occurs immediately to centre all my attention upon it, I know I shall lose my mind. Two years of freedom from this fear have given me such an increased horror of going through the same thing again, that I am worse than ever. My money is tied up here. My future is a blank. I cannot look to my mother for anything. I have so many physical symptoms that I am going through a complete breakdown. Feel that I should give up my position, sell my home, leave town and go far away where no one will know me.’’ Pathology of Voluntary Action Due to Abnormality of Impulses and Desires.—When emotional and intellectual life are THE PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION — 383 normal, I doubt that the will is ever inadequate to the task of controlling impulsive drives and blind desires. At least, I can remember no case in my Own experience where excess or defect of impulses and desires is the sole difficulty. Impulses are ten- dencies to exercise human abilities in the presence of stimuli; desires, cravings to make use of these abilities when the oppor- tunity is lacking. Given normal abilities, there is very likely to be a normal balance between them, and hence, native excess or defect of impulse and desire is not likely to be the sole cause of pathological behavior. Something akin to a pure conative disorder of will takes place in girls, less often, I believe, in boys, when sexual maturity ripens several years before the normal age of puberty. Healy records a number of these cases and I have had several in the clinic at Providence Hospital. When this happens, the drive of the sex impulse is out of all proportion stronger than the balancing factor of intellectual insight into the meaning of life and its ideals. The will, too, has probably not attained the full strength of adult development. No adequate control, therefore, is possible. It frequently happens, however, that under good custodial eare, the balancing factors develop, and develop sufficiently to enable such patients to manage their future life with prudence and success. In one of my patients I have suspected that the craving to treasure up the good things of this world was so abnormally developed that it was a factor in his pathological behavior. The patient is a Hebrew, forty-two years of age. He has had several spells of depression. Each one of these had come on when he had gone into business for himself. He commences his enterprises with great enthusiasm and high hopes that he will soon be among the wealthier classes. But after a few weeks becomes anxious and depressed, and finally, incapacitated to carry on his work and sells out at a loss. He then goes back to his trade as a cutter, becomes cheerful again as his wages roll in regularly. Saves money only to be driven on to amass more money by going into business for himself. 384 VOLITIONAL CONTROL The drive to make money is not in itself a unit impulse. But money satisfies many human impulses. This man’s craving is so strong that he can never long endure to contemplate the possi- bility of failure; and so he becomes depressed and tries to save what he can by sacrificing something of what he still possesses. Nor does reason exercise a control over his conduct even in the face of the object lesson of past failure. Pathology of Voluntary Action Due to Organic Cerebral Defect.—Let us recall again our simile of the ocean liner with its pilot and the mechanism of its steering-gear. The pilot may be perfectly normal and thoroughly acquainted with his business, but if the steering-gear breaks, he will not be able to bring the ship into harbor. So, also in man. The management of human life is dependent not only on normal piloting, but also on the intactness of the mechanism of the steering-gear itself, which, in this case, is the central nervous system. Whatever one may think of this distinction in human psychology between the pilot and the mechanism of the steering-gear, he will have to admit that the psychological disorders of the will that we have just considered are very different from the organic ones we are about to review. We have already seen that the use of the voluntary muscles depends on the intactness of the nerves going to the muscles and coming away from them. Voluntary movement, therefore, can become impossible because of defects in the peripheral nerves. Broadly speaking, pure nerve injuries pertain to the pathology of voluntary action. Nevertheless, we have been more or less accustomed to looking upon those things that affect the peripheral nervous system as not pertaining to our mental life. The effects of various toxins that are frequently taken into our system is to impair volitional activity. Thus, alcohol very quickly does away with normal voluntary action. The same is true of morphine. The after-effects of alcoholism on normal volitional activity are by no means so disastrous as are those of morphine. Morphine is said by psychiatrists to paralyze the will. The morphine addict never again becomes a normal man; he is a weakling. And should any difficulty arise, instead of THE PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION — 385 attempting to put up with it, as most people do, it seems to him unbearable, and he must take to his drug. Just how it is that morphine affects the cerebral mechanism so as to perma- nently impair voluntary activity, we do not know. Then there is the condition known as apraxia. All of its forms pertain, ordinarily speaking, to impairments of the will. But what Monakow terms the agnostic form of parapraxia, is a defect of voluntary movement which is due to the inability of certain patients clearly to understand and put together the various elements of a voluntary action. Thus, dressing is a daily perfor- mance whose elemental parts must be carried out in a certain order. One of my patients with a brain tumor manifested this form of apraxia, and it was this that first disturbed his wife about his condition. He tried to put his shirt on his legs and seemed to be very much worried because this feat was impossible. Here we have a form of disturbance of voluntary control dependent not on the will, but on correct apprehension. According to Monakow, when it occurs as a permanent mental defect, it is never due to a local injury, but always points to a cortex that has suffered general impairment. The disease recently recognized and termed encephalitis lethargica sometimes leads to abnormalities of behavior. One of my cases manifested a peculiar transformation of personality after the onset of this disease.* The patient, prior to his disease, was a quiet, bashful young man, who had never caused any trouble; was a good workman, reliable and trustworthy. After his disease, every symptom of bashfulness disappeared. For instance, in going into the Social Service Department one day he knelt down before the lady in charge and opened his arms and begged her to go with him to the moving pictures. He would walk up to girls in the street and speak to them. He was dis- charged several times because of his attempts to engage ladies in conversation at the places where he worked. He ruined valu- able plumbing materials that were given him to put up—some- thing that he had never done before his illness. He seemed *This case is reported by Donald McNeil in American Journal of Psychology, January, 1923. 386 VOLITIONAL CONTROL abnormally cheerful. He was thoroughly satisfied with himself. He addressed a public audience without any show of fear what- soever. His behavior, in short, was completély different from what it had been before. Encephalitis lethargica is a disease which affects the gray matter of the brain, and sometimes of the spinal cord. It is, therefore, certain that this peculiar transfor- mation of character was preceded by injury to the cerebral mechanism. His abnormalities of conduct, therefore, were due to an impaired cerebral mechanism. McNeil thus summarizes the changes that appeared and attempts to reduce them to one unit explanation of loss of control. ‘¢ Although many character traits have been noticed as having undergone transformation, it is not impossible that all of these may be reduced to one and the same factor, i.e., a paralysis of inhibitions. This paralysis of inhibitions was due, to a great extent, to the loss of intellectual insights into relations. He is not tactful because he does not see the relation of his conduct to ends that would be more readily perceived by a normal indi- vidual; he is forward and bold because he has lost due apprecia- tion of the meaning of conduct. Those things that have been built up by education, that act as a restraining influence upon conduct, have been paralyzed. His behavior resembles very much that of a man slightly under the influence of alcohol. He is clumsy with his tools; he is awkward in his manner; he is talkative; he is cheerful; he has lost all feeling of shame and restraint ; he comes late for his job, and has no appreciation of what this may mean; he does not care; he has no bashfulness; he has none of the finer sensibilities. The loss of all of these things and the appearance of others does not mean that his encephalitis lethargica has produced a change in many attributes of charac- ter, but only in one, 2.e., control. This control demands for its perfect exercise the perfect functioning of a very elaborate cere- bral mechanism. It is this cerebral mechanism that has been injured by the encephalitis lethargica, and because of its injury this peculiar transformation of character has taken place. Such an injury may happen in other ways, and frequently does appear as a transitory disturbance in alcoholism and epilepsy. Unfor- ’ THE PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION — 387 tunately, with encephalitis lethargica the injury is permanent. It is not likely that this patient’s character will ever again return to what it was before his sickness.’’ Volitional Training.—Most works that have to do with voli- tional training merely give general advice which could be im- parted by any honorable man with a fair insight into the prob- lems of life. Thus, Payot, in his little book on the Education of the Will, accentuates the necessity of avoiding day-dreaming and sensuality and companions who have ceased to make any effort to improve themselves; not to allow one’s self to be captivated by the sophisms of the indolent, e.g., ‘‘that it is impossible to do any real work,’’ ete. A suggestive article by Wittig,® on the basis of his experience as a teacher, suggests such things as the fol- lowing: Encouraging a child to speak aloud and not to whisper in asking questions. Use every opportunity to encourage a pupil by saying such things as, ‘‘See, you can do it, can’t you? ”’ Arouse disgust for dirtiness and associate impurity with unclean- liness. Encourage a child to read a book of instruction with no stories in it, all the way through. Ask the children to see who ean keep a piece of candy the longest without eating it. When out on a walk with the children on a hot day, and you pass a stream, ask who can walk on without drinking. In class, ask them who ean keep from turning around whenever the door opens, etc., ete. One can readily see that in such exercises as Wittig says, the personality of the teacher is the main thing. Barrett® has attempted to develop a technique of training the will itself by a system of exercises. He assumes that the will is a definite mental faculty, and concludes that if the will itself is to be strengthened, the exercises must be purely will exercises and have no intellectual or other value of any kind, but affect the will and the will alone. Thus, for instance, the student is to make a resolution like the following: Each day, for the next seven days, I will stand on a chair here in my room for ten con- secutive minutes, and I will try to do so contentedly. In carrying 5 Wittig, K., “ Willenstibungen,” Ztsch. f. d. Behandlung Schwachsin- niger, 1916, XXXVI, pp. 3-19. °K. Boyd Barrett, S. J., Strength of Will. 388 VOLITIONAL CONTROL out these exercises the student is urged to make careful introspec- tion of what goes on in his mind during the exercises, to try to pick out his will, as it were, in action and to study it. The follow- ing exercises for the curing of an impetus will give a good idea of the method: 1. To replace in a box, very slowly and deliberately, one hundred matches or bits of paper. 2. To write out, very slowly and carefully, fifty times the words, ‘‘ I will train my will.’’ 3. To turn over, slowly and quietly, all the leaves of a book (about 200 pages). 4. To stand for five minutes in as complete a condition of listlessness and lethargy as possible. 5. To swing the arms over the head slowly and delib- erately for five minutes. 6. To watch the movement of the second hand of a clock or watch, and to pronounce some word slowly at the completion of each minute. 7. To draw on a piece of paper, very slowly and pains- takingly, parallel lines for five minutes. . To count aloud, slowly, up to two hundred. 9. To put on and take off a pair of gloves (or brush a hat) very slowly and deliberately for five minutes. 10. To move a chair from one side of the room to the other, very slowly, for five minutes. I have not been sufficiently impressed with the method, or perhaps have not had the courage to give it a personal trial. I have, nevertheless, recommended it to several of my patients who felt that their wills were weak, and they have reported that they thought it helped them. I have been rather sceptical, pri- marily, because of the impression that in most individuals there is plenty of will energy, if there is anything to call it out. I have so often seen the apparently hopelessly languid awakened to new life and activity that I am inclined to believe that most human beings are equipped with will power essentially sufficient for the burdens placed upon it. Abnormalities of the will, in my experience, are more fre- o2) i) B, ; +f 4 . ¥ THE PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION — 389 quently due to other factors in the volitional complex than the power of will itself—to the lack of high ideals, to faulty inter- pretations, to disorders of the emotional life, ete. It is not likely that one will correct his ideals or his wrong points of view by standing on a chair for ten minutes every day. If, however, the difficulty with the individual is a pure lack of volitional strength, it is quite possible that Father Barrett’s exercises will be of real assistance to him. , On the basis of our analysis of the pathology of the will, we would suggest that volitional training could be attempted along the following lines: For the strengthening of the will itself, there should be exercises in the keeping of resolutions for definite periods of time; to do without something that one craves, such as tobacco, candy, etc.; to rise promptly every morning at a certain hour, etc. Such exercises have to do with real volitional problems and would probably be more effective than those suggested by Father Barrett, although his exercises might be a useful adjunct. Secondly, the development of a high, noble unit plan of life. This is by far the most important thing in volitional activity. It is the intellectual basis of the normal management of our whole life. One who has no plan of life, nothing that he wishes to accomplish, cannot hope to manage himself with ordinary pru- dence. It is here that religion enters and becomes a most powerful factor in the actual training of the will. Besides one’s general plan of life, he must have ideals and principles, a lofty conception of the virtues, truth, honesty, purity, etc.; principles of conduct, such, for instance, as Kant gives in his Categorical Imperative: Act always so that you will treat the personality of another always as an end and never as a means. There must be, also, an esthetic appreciation, of the beauty and the value of the moral life. One must develop the habit of looking at things from various points of view and beware of the fallacies that lead to false interpretation of the acts of others and abnormal con- duct upon one’s own part, based upon such false interpretations. For the control of the emotional disorders of the will, prophy- laxis is the only hope. This prophylaxis means a knowledge of one’s self, of one’s own complexes, of the pathological associa- 390 VOLITIONAL CONTROL tions that he has developed, so that he can see, on many occasions, the unreasonableness of his emotional outbursts, and — so be enabled, by the perception of his own folly, to avoid its consequences. Impulses are ineradicable, and it is vain for us to attempt to dominate them by uprooting them; but they can be balanced by other impulses. The great trouble with many people is the narrowness of their mental life. They know noth- ing but the pleasures of the senses. They have never allowed opportunity for the development of intellectual drives or esthetic appreciations. Few normal individuals, perhaps none at all, are incapable of any form of intellectual pursuit or artistic ex- pression. There is so much that is capable of captivating the human mind, that is high and noble and worthy, that it is not necessary for anyone to give himself up to any single impulsive drive. There are many things that can be done by the skilful and for which it is very difficult to lay down hard and fast rules. Volitional control is one of these. It will scarcely be possible ever to do more than analyze the psychological elements in vol- untary action and then leave it to the ingenuity of the individual, aided by his psychological insight, to manage the affairs of his own life with tact and prudence. This does not mean that knowl- edge is virtue. Voluntary power is something real in our mental life, but it cannot be exercised without intellectual insight. The study of the pathology of the will and the mechanisms of the mind is of distinctive value in supplying the depth of insight which is necessary for adequate volitional control. Volitional Tests.—June E. Downey,’ Professor of Psychology at the University of Wyoming, has attempted a scale for the measurement of volitional types. The scale purports to measure such characteristics as coordination of impulses, accuracy, tenacity, resistance, assurance, motor impulsion, speed of decision, flexibility, freedom from inertia, speed of movement, by giving the subject a mark for each of these characteristies, and erecting ordinates whose length corresponds with the score in each trait. Then by drawing a line across the top of these ordinates, one * University of Wyoming Bulletin, Vol. 16, November, 1919, No. 4-B, Department of Psychology, No. 3, second edition. THE PATHOLOGY OF VOLUNTARY ACTION — 391 obtains the individual’s will profile. Miss Downey found that judges who know an individual ean readily identify his profile in the midst of a group of other profiles.® It is quite likely that the will profile tests measure something. It is very difficult, however, to say just what they do measure or what is their value once the will profile has been obtained. It is, however, an encouraging commencement, and it is to be hoped that some day psychology may have a test of volitional ability.° ®“ Some Volitional Patterns Revealed by Will Profiles,’ Jowrnal of Experimental Psychology, 1920, III, pp. 280-301. ® An attempt by Norman C. Meier (Journal of Educational Psychology, 1923, XIV, pp. 385-395) to enquire into the validity and utility of the Downey tests resulted in an unfavorable verdict. 26 CHAPTER VII FREEDOM OF THE WILL Necessitas autem finis non repugnat voluntati, quando ad finem non potest pervenire nisi uno modo. Sicut ex voluntate transeundi mare sit necessitas in voluntate, ut velit navem. Similiter etiam nec necessitas naturalis repugnat voluntati, quinimmo necesse est quod sicut intellectus ex necessitate inheret primis principiis, ita voluntas ex necessitate inherent ultimo fini, qui est beatitudo. St. Thomas, Summa Theologica, I. Q. LX XXII, art. i, corpus. FREEDOM is the ability to conceive of an end of action, and will the means by which it may be attained. Therefore, no being ean be free in this sense of the word unless he is capable of the perception of an end and of the relation of the means to the end that is perceived. We may also say that, given the insight into means and end, if a creature can will at all, its will is, and must be, free. Intelligence, therefore, which is the perception of relations, is the foundation and the guarantee of freedom. Perfect indifference to one end rather than another does not con- stitute freedom. The possession of freedom does not exclude all necessity in voluntary choice. In fact, all human beings by neces- sity, seek their own happiness. We are not free to will or not to will our own happiness. Willing our happiness is forced upon us by nature. What constitutes happiness, however, is by no means perfectly clear. All sorts of things are apparently conducive to happiness. Wherefore, while necessitated by nature to seek to be happy, we are not necessitated by nature to seek happiness in any one way rather than another. Freedom, therefore, con- sists not in choosing to be happy, but in choosing the means that make us happy. One might think that this reduces freedom to a mere question of understanding, and does away with the will altogether. This is notso. For, as a matter of fact, in the actual pursuit of happiness, we are not confronted by a purely intellect- ual problem. Seeking happiness involves the management of desires and impulses driving to contrary ends. Happiness has so many forms, and human beings have so many desires, that 392 FREEDOM OF THE WILL 393 to know happiness and to seek it involves not only the power to understand ends and the relation of means to ends but the ability to drive the steeds in the chariot of human nature. St. Thomas Aquinas makes a comparison between axiomatic truths and plans of action. The intellect cannot refuse its assent to first principles, such as the whole is greater than any of its parts. Such truths necessitate the assent of the mind. If, how- ever, one attempts to lay down axiomatic truths and deduces one principle after another from them, as Spinoza did in his system of philosophy, one very soon comes to statements which no longer necessitate the assent of the mind, for their necessary connection with the first principles is no longer irresistibly evi- dent. In the same way there are certain courses of action which are evidently essential to happiness. Whenever this is so, the will chooses them by necessity, but may, nevertheless, be said to be truly free in the choosing. Thus, if a man, who earnestly desires to live longer and do something in this world, were in a burn- ing building, and an escape was open by one door but by no other, he would voluntarily, but also necessarily, choose to escape by that one door. In leaving by the door he would not be forced by any exterior power, his muscles would not be set in motion as they might be in a reflex action, but by the perception of the one means of escape which he would voluntarily choose. The end of human life should be the development of the will and intellect so that truth and goodness are so interwoven that the good is voluntarily chosen by necessity. In discussing the problem of freedom, the necessity which overhangs human life and activity has been considered from various points of view in different stages of mental development. Let us consider the various ways in which voluntary action might possibly be subject to one form of necessity or another. 1. Can a human being’s actions, or at any rate the general course of his life, be determined by forces outside of himself? The prephilosophiec speculations, as found in the writings of the Greek poets, answer the question in the affirmative. Man’s life and sometimes his very actions were attributed to the indelible decrees of fate. &dipus killed his father and married his 394 VOLITIONAL CONTROL mother, not in virtue of a voluntary choice, but because the fates had so decreed and it could not be otherwise. Nevertheless, one will find expressions in which even at this very early period the responsibility of human beings for their own acts is recognized. Thus, Zeus says in the Odyssey: ‘‘ Alas, how the mortals accuse the gods! They say that their evils come from us, when they themselves, by their own folly in violating destiny, bring misfor- tune upon themselves.’’ In modern times, the problem of the determination of human action by forces exterior to the individual has been transferred from the decrees of the fates to the fortunes and misfortunes of heredity. We may, therefore, ask ourselves: Does heredity deter- mine individual conduct? So far as we ean see, heredity never determines any specific thought or action. No thoughts or actions are in themselves inherited. Heredity does not even deter- mine specific diseases, such as tuberculosis, but, according to the best authorities, it may determine a constitution which will more easily succumb to a tubercular infection than another. There is considerable evidence to show that heredity may deter- mine types of character, but there is no evidence to show that the acts themselves of human beings are predetermined by a fatal heredity. We may say that the type of burden that a human being must bear, and to some extent its weight, is settled by his heredity. How far he shall bear it, the way in which he shall bear it, and what will happen to him on the way—these things are not determined by heredity, but by his own manage- ment of himself and the accidents of environment. 2. Are human beings subjected, by necessity, to forces in- herent in their own nature? Socrates was the first to attempt to answer this question. He turned the attention of men away from the decrees of the fates to the forces that were resident within themselves. He was the first to become interested in moral problems, the first to develop an ethical system, and therefore, he gave considerable attention to the inner life of man. He perceived, just as St. Thomas did, the importance of understanding in voluntary action. He maintained that there is a final cause of every intelligent action, an end, that is, towards which it tends. FREEDOM OF THE WILL 395 Some things are conceived of as good in themselves, others as useful to man. So far he and St. Thomas are in agreement. He raises the question, however, whether or not a man is bound to do what he perceives as merely better than something else. Must a man always choose what he thinks is better? Socrates says yes. It is here that he differs from the Thomistie view, which main- tains that the human will is necessitated only by what it perceives as absolutely and in all respects essential to happiness. Socrates pointed out that by intellectual training a man must attain to freedom. With him it was merely a question of knowledge. The virtue of temperance for Socrates does not exist. Everything is prudence, and knowledge determines action. Experience, how- ever, shows that those who can give advice are not always able to follow it, and that those who understand the wisdom of the advice that is given are not always able to take it. Knowledge does not determine. There are forces within our nature that place limits upon the ease with which we follow a line of action that the intellect dictates as the best. I once attempted to see whether or not the expectation of pain interfered with voluntary action, and contrived the following experiment: Subjects were asked to react with the quickest pos- sible movement on hearing the rap of a little hammer on an anvil. The movement was an outward rotation of the humerus with the forearm resting on a lever. As soon as the arm started to move, it sent a very painful shock from an induction coil through the leg of the subject. As soon as the subject completed an angle of 20° he turned off the current and thereby caused the pain of the stimulus to cease. The stimulus to react did not cause the shock, but the first movement produced the shock. This was explained to the subject and he was told that the quicker the movement the shorter the pain. Did the expectation of pain slow the reaction time? Did the idea that the quicker the movement the less the pain have a tendency to make the subject move with greater velocity through the given angle? The following results were obtained : In the accompanying table, No. refers to the number of ex- periments; R. Time, to the reaction time in five hundredths of VOLITIONAL CONTROL 396 gtt+ | Lzet Leg SSS 2°99 6 FIT “96 | ree | set | eos | tm || 6s | 99 9ST SPIT — |orl re | es | eve | ot || re L386 | 0°02 g°SIT oz- | ezit | 2e | oso | re | ese” eet e5 | a Guo | B8r Sere: Pol ee a eae 169 Sse hip = een ees oe ere le e'pe--| 1z-0 a S008 ee Tz | eee ee] a “oz | rez | ozt | greg | or rl un met a eee os | ese | ost | 2:89 es G0 le reel aeeat. | ou a eel ae eke SO Los. £709 e160 = rr | rer | est | ves | #1 0% LF oe | FZ0T Tat | gue | oe | ozs goss se pres ges 66 acl gest | Tort Steve! tl 5:16 1S __¢'t6 a st | oor | oo | 29 | tf Seeest ie = ee “fre [seo [oe [ous | oz |e [ee | ore | eae oo | 119 \-oer-| oss | et || 96 -| 22-| it =| eee. - Pees pe siSareal oer jose | er ||- sor: son -|seer | e00r Be riierlcoerte| — avsre| nos | ||) © Soe a. | eo eae oe Bee ee Ss Fare ee ees SE ar eae re eee ee eee Se Ss ee i ee ei er eres PS eaghee veo | *2 | 90°62 | 8 ost SCL gL 98 ‘Qw!] ‘au [AWM] CAT fourny] ON |] cAI fourpm | ‘AW | OMI, -‘Y Ts eT OOTY A OBBIIAB SOLIBG OT ey *AOIV) BSVIIAG BIIIBG 0Z Rese eas Pues ee AZOAGLT @BVIOAB S8lIBG ast ete ee oe ON --4etqng, ssopured nyured FREEDOM OF THE WILL 397 a second; M. V., to the mean variation; M. Time, to the move- ment time; R. D., to the difference between the reaction time followed by the painful stimulus and the reaction time which was unaccompanied by a painful stimulus; M. D., to the difference between the movement time accompanied by a painful stimulus and the movement time without any painful stimulus. The series were taken on different days, but always paired series painful and painless on the same day, but in different orders on different days. The reaction times and the movement times were both re- corded by a tuning fork vibrating five hundred times a second. The subjects were untrained in psychological experiment, with but one exception. From the averages given, we may conclude that there is a very definite tendency for the expectation of a painful stimulus to retard the movement of reaction by which the painful stimu- lus is inflicted. The expectation of the pain so paralyzes the motor mechanism in some subjects that they are unable to make the subsequent movement as rapidly as under normal conditions, even though they know that the quicker they make the movement the shorter will be the duration of the pain. This was the case, however, with only two of the seven subjects. The remaining five showed no marked difference in the movement time under the two conditions. Whether or not this represents individual differ- ences in voluntary control or sensibility to the faradic current cannot be determined from the present experiment. What would happen to voluntary control if the expected pain were much greater and the effects more lasting than in our experiments? We ean readily conceive such a condition as would seriously interfere with voluntary control. Perhaps, under certain conditions of fear, responsibility in some persons would be done away with. But between this extreme condition and the simple ones in our experiments there is a considerable field in which pain, though it may retard voluntary action, does not render it impossible or take away responsibility entirely. Our experiments seem also to indicate that there is a difference in the power of different individuals to overcome by voluntary effort the inhibitory effects of fear, though we cannot rule out 398 VOLITIONAL CONTROL entirely the possibility that the observed differences were due ~ in our experiments to differences in the sensibility of the skin. It is interesting to note that subjects who manifested a marked difference in their reaction time under the two conditions were often entirely unconscious of any influence of the pain- ful expectation. It is clear, from ordinary experience and introspections, that the pleasant and the disagreeable facilitate and inhibit voluntary action. But it is not clear from ordinary experience that pleas- ure and pain are the only factors in human action, or that vol- untary acts are absolutely determined by emotional factors and impulsive drives. 3. We may, therefore, ask the question: Is man, in any of his actions, ever truly the lord and master of his own will so that he is accountable for choosing one of the many roads to happiness rather than another? Here is the real crux of the problem of freedom. The question is one of fact and should not be deter- mined by metaphysical assumptions about the constitution of the world in general and human nature in particular. Leaving aside, therefore, all theory for the moment, let us consider the following facts: (a) Every man believes in his own responsibility. If a man by his own laziness and negligence should lose his position and his family come to want, he would not attribute their misfor- tune to the machinery of the cosmos, but would hold himself responsible for what had happened independent of any theory about the ultimate constitution of things. Every man believes in his own responsibility in regard to some things in his life, no matter what his metaphysical assumptions may be. (b) Every man holds other beings responsible for their actions. Law is built upon this belief in responsibility. If any- body injures you or those who are dear to you, you do not attribute the injury to the mechanism of the cosmos and let it vo at that; you hold him responsible for what he has done. (c) Every man believes in the power of his own initiative. If anyone wants a position he does not wait for the mechanism of the cosmos to pick him up and place him in the position that he seeks. He bestirs himself, and he believes that if he is active ee ee ee a ee ee ee ee ES FREEDOM OF THE WILL 399 and tries hard, he has a better chance of getting a position than if he leaves everything to the hidden forces of nature. Experi- ence demonstrates that idleness leads to nothing, and action brings success, and everyone is convinced in practical life of the value of personal initiative. If these things are so, if we live and act upon these principles, then we should be honest and believe in what they imply. Re- sponsibility for action and the power of initiative imply free- dom. No machine has any power of initiative. No machine is responsible. We are convinced, by practical experience, of our personal responsibility and the power of initiative. We should, therefore, be willing to admit everything that this implies. The implication is freedom. We may not be able to explain it. We may not be able to understand why. But this does not rule out the fact. We cannot explain gravity, but we do not doubt it. Why, therefore, should we doubt freedom because we cannot explain it? Doubt about our freedom comes not from facts, not from experience, but from metaphysics. One metaphysical ground which leads many to deny the plain fact of freedom is the mechanistic view of the world. Nothing exists, according to this view, except matter and material energy. Everything is subject to the push and pull of mechanical forces. Energy in the last analysis is nothing more or less than that which moves a mass with a given velocity. If, therefore, there is nothing in the world but energy and matter, naturally there can be no freedom. The great physical chemist, Ostwald, in 1894, pointed out certain considerations which he thought made it im- possible to apply the mechanical theory of energy to organic life and particularly the mental life of man. As the physicist, Hertz, has pointed out, an essential charac- teristic of the system of mechanical forces is their reversibility. One needs but to change the sign of velocity from plus to minus, wherever it may appear in the equations, and velocity is reversed *Ostwald, W., Chemische Theorie der Willensfreiheit. Berichte tiber den Verhandlungen der Koéniglich stchsischen Gesellschaft der Wissen- schaften zu Leipzig, XLIV, 1894, pp. 334-343. Jakob Hacks developed the same line of thought more fully in the Archiv fiw systematische Philosophie, 1899, V, pp. 202-214. 400 VOLITIONAL CONTROL and everything moves in opposite directions. Thus, if the velocity of the earth were suddenly changed, the sun instead of setting would go back to its position at dawn. As far as we can see, in mechanical things, it makes very Little difference whether they move in one direction or the reverse. But Ostwald points out that it is characteristic of vital operations that they are not reversible. For some reason it is impossible that an oak should reverse the velocity of its molecules and return again to the con- dition of an acorn. Such things may be represented to us in ~ the moving pictures by reversing the order of their presentation but involve, in reality, physical impossibilities. However that may be, it certainly makes an essential difference whether mental operations proceed in one way rather than another. If one listens to a speech, it is perfectly capable of being understood as delivered. If, however, the velocity of the movements of the speaker’s voice were to be reversed and the sounds should come to the hearer in reversed order, and his mental operations proceed from the end of the speech to the beginning, it certainly would make a much more profound difference than if the sun were to rise in the west and set in the east. Ostwald goes as far as to say: ““Tn terrestrial phenomena, on the contrary, non-reversibility is not only the rule, but is in every individual ease so clearly present that its proof offers no difficulties. And, conversely, special care must be observed whenever we have the problem of arranging almost reversible phenomena. In the face of such facts the mechanical hypothesis fails completely. It is precisely the characteristic peculiarity of actual events, their non-reversi- bility, that finds in pure mechanical phenomena no expression, and from that one can conclude with certainty that natural phenomena absolutely cannot be reversible.’’ At all events, such considerations as these should make one hesitate to blindly accept a mechanical view of the world which besides being doubtful from the scientific point of view cannot explain the facts of our mental life. Ostwald, in the same article, suggests an answer to a diffi- eulty which has been frequently urged against the freedom of the will. The difficulty may be expressed as follows: The sum total of energy is a constant. No energy is ever created and none FREEDOM OF THE WILL 401 is ever destroyed by any processes whatsoever that are known tomen. The law of energy holds not only in the physical world, but also in organic life. The energy of the food that a man consumes can be balanced with the amount of work that he performs. There is no place for the introduction of any energy into the cycle of events. If now, the will of man is free, and is going to influence the transformations of energy in the human organism, it is hard to see how this can be done without an in- fraction of the law of the conservation of energy. The will impulse, in order to change the parallelogram of forces, must itself enter as a force and cause a deviation in one way or another. It must either add to or subtract from the energy of the psychi-: eal forces involved. To do this would be against the law of the conservation of energy. There is, therefore, no place for the action of the will. James suggested, in answer to the difficulty, that a great change might be effected in the action of the organism by the nervous discharge of a single cell, just as at the watershed an infinitesimal force might determine whether a drop of water flows into the Atlantic or Pacific. Such a trivial addition to the energy of the universe is not excluded by any experiments that have hitherto been made. Ostwald suggests another answer. He points out that cata- lyzers accelerate chemical reactions without themselves entering into these reactions. Thus, a change is worked in the play of physical energy which may be most remarkable and yet there is no apparent expenditure of physical energy to produce the change. If, therefore, says Ostwald, man had a means of in- fluencing the catalytical activities that transpire in the chemical phenomena that are associated with the mental, then he would have the possibility of accelerating or retarding these phenomena according to circumstances. The action, therefore, of the will would be no more a violation of the law of conservation of energy than is the action of the catalyzers. Whatever may be said about this view, at least it shows that there need be no fundamental contradiction between the law of the conservation of energy and the fact of the freedom of the will. CONCLUSION THE SOUL THE CONCEPT of the soul is in ill repute, not only in physiology and in biology, but also in psychology itself, which, by name, professes to be the science of the soul. This ill repute is so marked and so general that it is worth while, at the outset, to inquire into its origin. It may be traced to several factors. 1. Descartes, who may be looked upon as the founder of modern philosophy, made the soul a spiritual thing that had no common qualities whatsoever with material substances. He gave it a definite location, suggesting that it might be in the pineal gland in the brain. This evidently is a wholly impossible concept. It likens the human organism to a machine. There are a series of cogwheels that represent the afferent circuit of impulses that come to the brain. There is another series of cogwheels that represent the efferent circuit that proceeds from the brain to the muscles, and the two series of cogwheels are connected by a spiritual cogwheel with no likeness whatsoever to anything material. From Descartes’ day until the present, no one has been able to see how such a machine could be main- tained in action. This idea of the soul was foisted on modern philosophy by Descartes and has become more or less the popu- lar concept in the minds of the people. Its impossibility leads naturally to its rejection, and so, from the Cartesian philosophy comes one reason why the soul concept is in disfavor. One may point out that the soul is incapable of localization. But one eannot look upon it merely on this account as an impossi- ble chimera. | In scholastic philosophy, not only was there no attempt made to localize the soul, but it was conceived of as existing everywhere in the body. This idea of the ubiquity of the soul in the body seems, at first sight, strange and impossible, and, nevertheless, it has its analogy in physical science, and no one regards the 402 THE SOUL 403 analogy as strange and impossible. Gravity is a force by means of which every particle of matter is said to attract every other particle of matter in inverse proportion to the square of the difference between them. Where is gravity? No one has ever attempted to localize gravity in any one of the planets. It is everywhere and anywhere. We recognize its existence and yet we do not know what it is nor how it produces its effect in the organization of the heavenly bodies into a system. What gravity is to the universe, the soul is to the human body. Conceived of in this way, there is no inherent contradiction in the soul con- cept, and the prejudice which is due to Descartes’ concept, lacks all foundation. 2. Van Helmont (1577-1644), the first chemical physiologist, attempted to explain certain physiological processes by the ac- tivity of a number of special spiritual forces, each one of which had a particular function to perform. He thought that in man there are a number of such forces, a hierarchy of powers, supreme among which was the rational soul. He invented two terms, one of which to-day we can count a part of our language, but the other, along with his soul concept, has fallen into disuse. The term ‘‘gas’’ comes from him, a fanciful word which he coined to signify the product of fermentation. In like manner, he for- mulated the word ‘‘blas’’ to designate those spiritual forces that were supposed to perform physiological functions. Physi- ology rightly rejected the concept of the ‘‘blas’’ performing the function of hydrochloric acid and pepsin in gastric digestion. Not only was every such concept rejected, but suspicion was transferred from the ‘‘blas’’ of van Helmont to every concept of spiritual power whatsoever that might be conceived of in the human organism. 3. Another source of prejudice against the concept of the soul is to be found in the result of metaphysical speculation in the first half of the nineteenth century. Philosophy, receiving a new impulse from the Kantian theory of knowledge, passed on from epistemology to cosmology and attempted to develop a purely metaphysical explanation of nature. German philosophy attempted to follow the whole course of nature by analyzing the 404 CONCLUSION concept of being. It ran its course, however, and accomplished nothing in the world of physics. In the meantime, experimental science made vast strides in its own field by empirical methods. The comparison between the bankruptey of philosophy that re- sulted from the wild speculations of German idealism and the solid and permanent successes of physical science, could not escape the observation of every man of thought. This resulted in a prejudice against all forms of philosophic speculation, a prejudice natural, but illogical. Philosophy became bankrupt by extending its speculations outside the field of its own investiga- tion. This led to prejudice against its concepts. The concept of the soul, therefore, fell into disrepute because it was a philo- sophie concept, not because any arguments were adduced to demonstrate its insufficiency. 4. The trend of thought which culminated in experimental psychology centred its interests in the states of mind themselves, above all, sensations and emotions. Psychology was accordingly defined as the science of mental processes, and psychologists studied states of mind and paid no further attention to the philo- sophical problem of the soul. Very soon it was said that psy- chology had gotten rid of the idea of the soul. And so it did, not by destructive criticism, but simply by neglect. From this survey of the history of the concept of the soul, the reason for prejudice is evident. The modern scientific mind fears lest metaphysics should supplant physics, and hence has resulted what might well be termed a psychophobia. It is time, however, to return to this neglected problem of the soul, discuss it on its merits and see whether or not the soul can have a place in the philosophy of the mind without encroaching upon the grounds of empirical science. How was it, we may ask, that man arrived at the concept of the soul in the first instance? It is very likely that primitive man’s argument for the existence of the soul was based upon the profound difference that exists between life and death. The dead body seems to lack something which the living body possesses; something apparently is not acting which was acting before. The chemical reaction of the tissue changes. The body digests THE SOUL 405 itself in its own ferments. It no longer resists the action of organisms of putrefaction. A profound change has come about which suggests to us, as it did to primitive man, that a principle of coordination has ceased to act. The heart evidently has ceased to beat. But is the circulatory system the sole source of codrdin- ation in the human organism, which involves not only physiologi- eal but also psychological processes? Primitive man jumped to the idea of the soul to account for the difference between life and death. There is nothing in science to show that this con- clusion is impossible. In fact, there are considerations to which the biologist, Driesch, in his Science and Philosophy of the Organism, has called our attention, which lead to the conclusion that there must be in the living organism a principle of coordina- tion. Driesch’s argument may be outlined as follows: 1. There are certain facts centring around the growth of the organism which cannot be explained without the assumption of a vital principle. First of all, there is the general fact of the erowth of every organism from one single fertilized ovum. The ova of the different species differ very little from one another. And, nevertheless, each one grows up and becomes a represen- tative that bears all the many characteristics of its species. What is it that causes this wonderful coordination of growth from the beginning to the end of development ? 2. Suppose that you cut off a salamander’s foreleg near the shoulder joint. What happens? It regenerates. The stump not only reproduces the upper arm, of which it is a fragment, but also the forearm with its radius and ulna and the hand with its carpus, metacarpus and phalanges. 3. Suppose, after the ovum of a marine organism has divided into two cells, we should shake them apart. What happens? Does each cell develop one half of the organism? No. Each cell develops a complete organism, smaller perhaps than nor- mal, but complete in all its parts. This result may be obtained not only by shaking, but much more easily by precipitating the calcium in the sea water. This acts just as if a cement substance were removed, the cells of the ova divide, but do not remain 406 CONCLUSION together. If now they be removed to normal sea water, each | fragment develops a complete embryo and not a part of an embryo, The question now arises, says Driesch, can these facts be ac- counted for by any mechanical factors of growth? He divides the possible factors of explanation into external and internal, analyzes them and rules out each in turn. 1. Internal Factors.—It has been pointed out that living mat- ter is forced to assume a cellular structure by the same laws of — surface tension that we see in activity in the formation of soap bubbles or the production of lather when one gets ready to shave — himself in the morning. Thus, it is maintained that cellular — structure is due to the phenomenon of surface tension. Cells divide when the size of the cell is such in relation to the surface tension of the fluid of which it is composed that it can no longer | exist as a unit, but mechanically divides in two. Granted that organic substance is a fluid, it must certainly follow the laws of © fluids. The size of its cells will vary with its viscosity. And so — the general law may account for its fundamental character of © cellular structure. It is easily seen, however, that what accounts ~ Si for cellular structure in general does not explain the architec-— ture of the species. It may show why all living organisms are — composed of cells. It does not show, however, why the ovum of — a starfish does not produce a mushroom, a toad, a lion or a man. — Surface tension no more accounts for specific architectural struc- — ture than the properties of clay can tell us why in one ease bricks © are put together to build a barn and in another form a bank, © a private dwelling or a church. The same thing may be said : of osmotic pressure or the unknown X which causes growth or — explains the peculiar phenomena associated with cell division. — All organisms grow, how and why we do not know; but over and © above what causes growth in general, there must be something : else that makes growth specific, leading in any given ovum — always to one and the same specific architectonic result. 2. External Factors.—There are a number of external fac- — tors that are necessary for growth. Without a certain degree of heat, without oxygen, without certain salts for germs that develop in sea water, normal growth cannot take place, or per- THE SOUL 407 haps is wholly impossible. It is evident, however, that these external factors are necessary conditions in formative causes. They no more explain specific structure than does the fact that a church cannot be built in zero weather when the mortar freezes, tells us why it develops into a Gothic cathedral rather than a Roman basilica. Driesch then asks whether or not there is any chemical means of directing these general external and internal factors so that they produce a specific structure. Could, for instance, a chemical substance, e.g., a specific protein, determine a struc- tural formation? Something akin to this seems to be the case in erystals, where simple geometric figures are involved. But even here we do not know the ultimate reason why a certain chemical substance always crystallizes into shapes which are definite and characteristic. In the simpler forms of such structures, we can understand why the fitting in of one form into another is deter- mined by the geometric arrangement of its surfaces. But no superposition of geometric elements could explain the struc- ture of any one bone of the human body, much less such an irregu- lar bone as the temporal with its petrous and squamous por- tions, its zygomatic, styloid, and mastoid processes, to say nothing of the semicircular canals and the small bones of the middle ear. Once growth is in progress, according to definite laws, a chemical substance may retard or accelerate it, thus, producing specific abnormalities as in cretinism and acromegaly. But, actu- ally to determine architectural structure is not the function of any chemical substance. And even though it were so, it would still remain a mystery how and why the stump of the humerus could determine not only its own regeneration, but also the re- growth of entirely different bones, such as the radius, the ulna, the carpus, metacarpus, and phalanges, with all their specific protuberances and cavities and irregularities. Driesch then asks whether or not some kind of machine located in the germ might be the cause of the product. This was the idea which lay at the root of Weissmann’s germinal Anlagen. What do we understand by a machine? Driesch defines it as follows: ‘¢A machine is a typical configuration of physical and chemi- 27 408 CONCLUSION cal constituents by the acting of which a typical effect is attained.”’ Suppose that such a machine exists in the fertilized ovum or-in the much more developed gastrula. If now you divide a gas- trula in two, the remaining halves do the work of the whole, and two complete organisms result. Or, if you shake the embryo apart in the two, four or eight cell stage, you get two, four or eight organisms. Must you assume that there are as many machines in the ovum as there are possible complete organisms that may be obtained by shaking apart the cells of the embryo? Can you break a machine in two and have the machine recon- struct itself and then reconstruct the organism? Such a possi- bility makes the assumption of a machine superfluous, and shows that there is something in the ovum of a non-mechanical nature which determines its growth and development. What, says Driesch, is this determining factor? He maintains that one is led by exclusion to conclude that there exists a non-mechanical vital principle. What shall we name it, he says? What it was first named in Greek philosophy by Aristotle, the first to con- ceive its function in clear terms? Aristotle called it an entelechy. This term was translated in scholastic philosophy as forma swb- stantialis, the equivalent of the modern word ‘‘soul.’’? urged from Morgan’s view of the localization of Mendelian determinants in the germ plasm. If one assumed that these determinants are definite chemical substances, one might argue that whatever theory might say about the possibility of a chemical substance determining structure, the fact remained that the chemical substances constituting the Mendelian deter- minants do determine the structures with which they are related. It is not certain, however, that the Mendelian determinants are definite chemical substances. Even dynamical elements are capable of localization. Further- more, some Mendelian characteristics are not so much qualitative as they are quantitative. Thus, for instance, long hair or short hair, kinky hair or straight hair, might be due to the quantity of a certain substance in the germ cells that would later be used in developing hair. Thus many Men- delian characteristics could be explained as quantitative and therefore due to some excess or defect of a certain substance in the germ plasm. And whatever might be the explanation of individual characteristics, the assem- bling of all the parts of an organism and the characteristics which modify these parts into one structural unit is itself a phenomenon of codrdination, that demands an explanation, THE SOUL 409 J. V. Uexkiill? divides the factors in the growth of an organism into archetectonic and mechanical. He recognizes the existence of a number of archetectonic impulses leading to growth and development of the different bodily tissues and organs. These archetectonic impulses may be said to make use of mechanical forces. The development of the embryo is compared by him to a melody progressing by the laws of harmony. But whence the melody?