The Principles of Psychology, Vols. 1 & 2 0674706250, 9780674706255

Table of contents :
Contents
Introduction George A. Miller
Preface
Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX*
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV’
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Index
Key to the Pagination of Editions

Citation preview

The Principles o f Psychol William James

H A R V A R D U N IV E R S IT Y PR ESS C am b rid ge, M assachusetts and Lo n d o n , E n glan d

C o p y rig h t© 1981, 1983 by the President and Fellows of H arvard College A ll rights reserved Printed in the United States of America 10

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L ib r a r y o f Congress C atalo gin g in Pu blicatio n D ata Jam es, W illiam , 18 4 2 -19 10 . T h e princip les o f psychology. (T h e W orks o f W illiam Jam es) Includes in d ex. 1. Psychology. I. T it le . I I . Series: Jam es, W illiam , 18 4 2 -19 10 . W orks. 1983. B F 1 2 1 .J 2 1983 150 83-8572 IS B N 0-6 74-70 6 25-0 (pbk.)

Publisher’s Note

T h e H arvard ed ition of Th e Principles of Psychology provides, for the first tim e, an au th o ritative text of this great w ork. It in ­ corporates the hundreds o f changes Ja m es m ade in the eight p rin t­ ings he supervised and also, o f key im portance, the revisions and n ew m aterial he inserted in his ow n annotated cop y—alterations and ad d ition s too exten sive to be m ade in the plates of the origin al book. T h e text thus com es as close as possible to rep resen tin g Ja m e s ’s final intentions. H is m any quotations, som etim es rendered from m em ory, have been checked and corrected, and his references to sources have been given fu ll and accurate citations. T h e o rig in a l ed ition o f the Principles was rep rin ted in n u m er­ ab le tim es o ver the years, alw ays w ith the same page n u m b e rin g regardless o f the publisher or the date; thus p rio r to 19 8 1 all refer­ ences by page n u m b er to passages in the book were to the origin al p agin ation . A t the end o f this volu m e a p agination key has been provid ed w hereby those citations can be read ily equated w ith the corresp on d in g pages in the present text. T h is edition was first published in hard covers in 19 8 1 as part o f T h e W o r k s o f W i l l i a m J a m e s , a d efin itive edition o f Ja m e s’s publish ed and u n p u b lish ed w ritin gs sponsored by the A m erican C o u n cil o f Learned Societies. T h e G en eral E d ito r is Fred erick B u rk h ard t; the T e x t u a l E d ito r is Fredson Bow ers. In the h ard­ cover edition the text is boun d in two volum es and a third volum e provides extensive annotations, appendixes, and textual in form a­ tion.

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Contents

In trod uction by G eorge A . M ille r

T h e Principles of Psychology

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In d e x

12 8 1

K ey to the P agin atio n o f E d ition s

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Introduction George A. Miller

T h e Principles of Psychology is one of the treasures of A m erican in tellectu al history, a p ion eerin g exploration o f the science o f m ental life prized for its literary q u ality as w ell as for its scientific content. W illia m Ja m e s possessed, in a m ore forth righ t style, m uch of his novelist bro th er H e n ry ’s gift of expression. A s L ew is M um ford put it, “ T h e r e is a hom ely elegance in Ja m e s’s w ritin g, a beauty in the presentation o f the th ou gh t.” 1 T h e Principles has su rvived since 1890, and w ill live on to charm new generations of readers, because there is art in it. A lth ou gh Ja m e s ’s prose speaks for itself, the historical role that the Principles played does not. H o w Ja m es helped to propel psy­ chology out o f its p h ilosop h ical arm ch air deserves an introductory account. M ost con tem porary psychologists know , because they have been told, that before ab ou t 1900 psychology was a branch of philosophy. T o understand w hat that allian ce im p lied —to understand w hat it m eant for psychology that scientific exp lan ation was not even an am b ition , m uch less a criterio n —takes an active im agination. A gen erally W h iggish attitud e tow ard history has m ade it easy for students of m odern psychology to assum e that psychologists before 1900 w ere sim ilar to psychologists today. 1 T h e G o ld e n D ay: A Study in A m erican E x p e rie n c e a n d C u ltu re (New Y o rk : N orton, 1933), p. 255.

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Introduction I f psychology is defined to in clu de every k in d o f speculative cu riosity ab out m ental states or processes, then it has a lon g history. A s a science, how ever, its history begins in the nin eteenth century. It begins aroun d m id cen tury w hen a few alert and am b itiou s men tried to extend to psychology some of the techniques o f e x p e ri­ m entation that w ere p ro v in g so successful in physiology. Its b e g in ­ n in g is usu ally dated from the tim e those first attem pts w ere collated and system atized: in G erm an y in W ilh e lm W u n d t’s Grundzüge der physiologischen Psychologie (18 7 4 ); in A m erica in W illiam Ja m e s ’s Principles of Psychology (1890). T h e official birthdate o f scientific psychology is often taken to be 1879, the year that the first psychological laboratory was founded by W u n d t at the U n iv ersity of L eip zig , although W u n d t and Ja m e s both had demonstrational laboratories as early as 1875. W hy this d o u b le b irth was necessary is itself an in terestin g story. T h e two founders represent two distinct, often contesting, view s o f m an, two schools o f thought whose differences have n ever been resolved. In the seventeenth cen tury the Fren ch philosopher and m athem atician R e n é Descartes rejected the m edieval scholastics’ ap p eal to au th ority as the basis of all kn ow ledge and proposed an in tu itive source instead. Scientific laws, lik e m athem atical theo­ rem s, w ere to be d erived by reason alon e; reason was said to be in n ately eq u ip p ed to com prehend the w orld. T o w a rd the end o f the seventeenth cen tu ry the E n g lish p h ilosop her Jo h n Lock e follow ed D escartes’s lead in rejectin g scholasticism , b u t objected to innate ideas. Lock e claim ed that at birth there is n o th in g in a b a b y ’s in in d , that all kn ow ledge comes through sensory ex p e ri­ ence—a claim that was to becom e central to B ritish em piricism . T h e G erm an philosopher and m athem atician G o ttfried L eib n iz responded that there is n oth in g in the m ind at birth b u t the m ind itself, and that is a great deal. L eib n iz saw the m ind as an active, ration al u n ity—a view that becam e central to G erm an rationalism . W u n d t stands in the ration alist trad ition o f Leib n iz, Ja m es in the em piricist trad ition o f L ocke. W u n d t’s system atization o f the new psychology shows the influence o f Spinoza, K an t, H u m bold t, H egel, Schopenhauer. Ja m e s’s im p licit m entors are H artley, H u m e, Jam es and John Stu art M ill, C o n d illac, C ondorcet. N eith er trad i­ tion could accept a scientific psychology in corp oratin g the p h ilo­ sophical presuppositions of the other. Each had to w ork out the significance o f the new experim en tation in its own terms.

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Introduction From the begin n in g, therefore, scientific psychology had p h ilo­ sophical skeletons in its closet. O f course, they w ere not skeletons to W u n d t and Jam es, whose interest in psychology was seen as interest in philosophy. W h at they w rote was in evitab ly ju d g ed by the p revailin g standards of systematic philosophy; th eir aspiration to be judged also against standards o f scientific explan ation and p roof was a novel and rath er d a rin g d ep artu re from the dogm a o f the day, a dogm a supported by cen turies of precedent. T h e separation o f psychology from philosophy—the creation o f separate academ ic departm ents, separate professional societies, separate jou rn als and textbooks— was not com plete u n til w ell into the tw entieth century. T o d a y you n g psychologists, you n g A m erican psychologists at any rate, are educated to th in k o f psychology as a d iscip lin e in ­ dependent of philosophy, w ith its own p roblem s and m ethods. E ven w hen w restlin g w ith questions that also concern philosophers, psychologists are lik ely to w ork alone, ap p aren tly on the assum p­ tion that you can ignore the skeletons as lon g as you d o n ’t open the closet. B u t som etim es the bones rattle. T h e y rattle w hen em piricist and n ativist hypotheses com pete. T h e y rattle w hen behaviorists ignore m ental processes, or w hen cogn itive psychologists try to investigate m ental representations of know ledge. T h e y rattle w hen psychologists assum e that their w o rk in g concepts can be (or cannot be) reduced to neuroph ysiological or biochem ical m echanisms. T h e re is so m uch rattlin g, in fact, that some psychologists, secure at last in th eir independence, have begun to open the closet ju st w ide enough for a p hilosophical peek. W illiam Ja m e s was born in N ew Y o rk C ity, Ja n u a ry 1 1 , 1842, to M ary and H en ry Jam es. T h re e brothers and a sister follow ed, the youngest o n ly six years youn ger than W illiam . A fortun ate investm ent in the E rie C an al left the Jam eses w ealthy enough for W illia m ’s father to devote him self to theologi­ cal argum en tation and w ritin g, to conversation and correspon ­ dence with the lead in g A m erican and B ritish thinkers of his day, and to the in tellectu al and sp iritu al d evelop m en t o f his talented children . A s a result, W illia m ’s education was intense, varied, n ou rish ing, and defin itely unusual. T h e early tu to rin g o f W illia m and his bro th er H en ry was en­ trusted to a series of w om en, but, dissatisfied with w hat H en ry

Introduction later called the “ educative ladies,” th eir father sent them n ext to a series o f establishm ents that endeavored to teach them foreign languages, introduce them to arithm etic, and gen erally uncover th eir yo u n g talents. T h e n between 18 5 5 anc^ i86o W illiam (often w ith H enry) attended schools in E n glan d , France, Sw itzerland, and G erm an y. Since the eld er Ja m e s was not easily satisfied, the d om in an t characteristic o f th eir form al education was co n tin u al change. T h e Ja m e s fam ily found few things m ore interestin g than them ­ selves. T h e ir lives and thoughts, and those o f their friends, are preserved in vo lu m in o u s letters and books. T h o se sources leave a strong im pression that one of the m ost im portan t educational influences on the you n g Jam eses m ust have been the spirited dis­ course at th eir fath er’s d in n er table. E . L . G o d k in conveys a feelin g for it: T h ere could not be a more entertaining treat than dinner at the Jam es house, when all the young people were at home. T h ey were full of stories of the oddest kind, and discussed questions of morals or taste or literature with a vociferous vigor so great as sometimes to lead the young men to leave their seats and gesticulate on the floor. I remember, in some of these heated discussions, it was not unusual for the sons to invoke humorous curses on their parent, one o f which was, that “ his mashed potatoes might always have lumps in them !” 2 In the au tu m n o f 18 6 1, w hile other you n g A m erican s were go in g to w ar, W illiam Ja m e s w ent to H arvard , to the L aw ren ce Scientific School—physical frailty left him unfit for m ilitary service. A fter stu dying chem istry un d er C h arles W illia m E lio t, he found his interests sh iftin g; he turned n ext to com parative anatom y and p hysiology un d er Je ffrie s W ym an, w ho seems to have im parted to him his ow n scientific conscience and devotion to truth. In 1864 he transferred to the H arvard M edical School, w here his studies were sporadic. A n ill-fated year w ith L o u is Agassiz on an exp ed i­ tion up the Am azon R iv e r exposed him to sm allp ox and he suffered a “ sensitiveness” o f the eyes that bothered him in term itten tly for the rest of his life. Ill health and an avow ed desire to study physiology in G erm an y sent him off to E u ro p e again in 1867. H e took baths for his back, 2 Q uoted in R a lp h B arton P erry, T h e T h o u g h t a n d Character o f W illiam Jam es (Cam bridge, M ass.: H arvard U n iversity Press, 1948), p. 23.

Introduction studied little physiology b u t read w idely, toyed w ith thoughts o f suicide, and poured out his hom esickness in a flood of correspon­ dence. O ne letter to H en ry B o w d itch 3 m entions an intention to go to H e id elb erg because H elm holtz was there “ and a m an nam ed W u n d t,” from w hom he hoped to learn som ething o f sensory phys­ iology, but his hopes w ere thw arted by con tinu ed ill health. In N ovem ber 1868 Ja m e s return ed to H arvard and in Ju n e 1869 he took his m edical degree. B u t his health con tinu ed to decline u n til the sp rin g o f 1870 found him in deep m elancholy. H is b iograp hers have speculated on the significance o f this period in his life, for it seems that in these dark m onths he began to b u ild a personal philosophy that w ould sustain him against despair. W hen some essays by C h arles R e n o u v ie r convinced him that the m in d affects the body in ways that can be con trolled by d elib erate choice, he w rote in his d iary, “ M y first act o f free w ill shall be to believe in free w ill.” 4 H e b elieved he cou ld cure him self by sheer belief. Ja m e s ’s con dition then began to im prove, which fact p er­ suaded him that his personal difficulties had been overcom e by philosop hical insight. B y 18 72 he had recovered sufficiently to accept an offer from P resid en t E lio t to teach physiology to H arvard undergraduates. Ja m e s enjoyed revivin g his interest in p hysiology; h avin g a jo b to do turned him away from m orbid self-exam ination. In 18 7 5 -7 6 he offered a course entitled “ T h e R elatio n s betw een Physiology and P sych ology” d ea lin g w ith the new exp erim en tal psychology. A n d in 1878 he agreed to w rite a textbook on psychology for H en ry H o lt, w hich he hoped to finish in two years. T h a t book turned out to be T h e Principles of Psychology and it took, not two, b u t twelve years o f intense w ork.5 Psychology carried Ja m e s into the D epartm ent o f P hilosophy, w here he was to rem ain. It m ust be rem em bered, how ever, that the au th or of the Principles held posts in physiology (18 7 2 -18 8 0 ), psychology (18 8 9 -18 9 7 ), and philosophy (18 8 0 -19 0 7 ); all three d iscip lin es found th eir w ay into its pages. 3 T h e Selected L etters o f W illiam Ja m es, ed. Elizabeth H ardw ick (Boston: Godine,

1980). p. 57. 4 Q uoted in Perry, T h o u g h t a n d Character, p. 1 2 1. 5 A detailed and fascin atin g account o f the interactions between Jan ies and the tenacious H olt is given in volum e I II o f the H arvard hardcover editio n : Frederick B u rk h ard t, Fredson Bow ers, and Ignas K . Skrupskelis, eds., T h e P rin cip les o f Psy­ chology (C am bridge, M ass.: H arvard U n iversity Press, 19 8 1), p p . 15 3 2 -15 7 9 .

Introduction Ja m e s ’s m arriage to A lic e H ow e G ib b o n s in 1878 was follow ed by fu rth er im p rovem en t in his health; although his health was never really good, for the n ext thirty years he was ab le to lead an intensely active life as a teacher, author, and p u b lic lectu rer. H is w ork d id not suffer even in 1882 when, w ith in a span o f ten m onths, both of his parents died, a loss that m ust have been p ro­ foun d ly felt in so close a fam ily. H e had learned how to live w ith his feelings, w ith grie f as w ell as w ith depression. T h e loss of his parents m ay have helped to shape Ja m e s ’s muchdebated theory of em otion, w hich was p ublish ed in 1884 and later developed as C h ap ter x x v of the Principles. A cco rd in g to the 1884 p aper: W histling to keep up courage is no mere figure of speech. On the other hand, sit all day in a moping posture, sigh, and reply to everything in a dismal voice, and your melancholy lingers. There is no more valuable precept in moral education than this, as all who have experience know: if we wish to conquer undesirable emotional tendencies in ourselves, we must assiduously, and in the first instance cold-bloodedly, go through the outward motions of those contrary dispositions we prefer to cultivate. T h e reward of persistency will infallibly come, in the fading out of the sullenness or depression, and the advent of real cheer­ fulness and kindliness in their stead.6 A s one scholar com m ents: “ T h e w ritin g of the article m ay thus have been in part an effort in self-discipline at this critical m om ent of his life .” 7 It is p ro b ab ly no accid ent that C h ap ter x x v o f the Principles begins w ith a con sideration o f grief. A fte r 1890 Ja m e s devoted most of his thought to philosophy, though he n ever stopped b e in g a psychologist. In 1907 he resigned his professorship at H arvard . H e died at his hom e in C hocorua, N ew H am psh ire, on A u gu st 26, 19 10 , at the age of sixty-eight. Ja m e s ’s person ality has fascinated his biographers, perhaps be­ cause his u n iq u e com bination o f innocence and sophistication is so elusive. R alp h B arto n P erry distinguished three W iliam Ja m e s­ es: the n eurasthenic Jam es, unstable, som etim es m orb id ly im agin a­ tive, m oody, and averse to in tellectu al rigo r; the rad ian t Jam es, vivid , generous, loving, and sensitive; and a third Ja m e s “ in w hom 6 “ W liat Is an Em otio n ?" M in d , g (1884), 198. 7 .S aul Rosenzweig, “ T h e Jam eses’ Stream o f Consciousness," C ontem porary Psy­

chology, 3 (1958). 250-257.

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Introduction the second o f these is deepened and enriched through b ein g un ited w ith the first.” 8 In a letter to his w ife some m onths after their m arriage he w rote som ethin g that his son H en ry called “ an u n u sual b it o f selfanalysis” : I have often thought that the best way to define a m an’s character would be to seek out the particular mental or moral attitude in which, when it came upon him, he felt himself most deeply and intensely active and alive. A t such moments there is a voice inside which speaks and says: “ This is the real m e!” . . . Now as well as I can describe it, this characteristic attitude in me always involves an element of active tension, of holding my own, as it were, and trusting outward things to perform their part so as to make it a full harmony, but without any guaranty that they will. Make it a guaranty — and the attitude im­ mediately becomes to my consciousness stagnant and stingless. T ake away the guaranty, and I feel (provided I am überhaupt in vigorous condition) a sort of deep enthusiastic bliss, of bitter willingness to do and suffer anything, which translates itself physically by a kind of stinging pain inside my breast-bone (don’t smile at this — it is to me an essential element of the whole thing!), and which, although it is a mere mood or emotion to which I can give no form in words, authenti­ cates itself to me as the deepest principle o f all active and theoretic determination which I possess.9 T a k e a man who is at his best un d er the tension o f active u n ­ certainty and sign him to a contract to w rite an in troductory text­ book. W hat w ill he do? W ill he m erely update the con ven tion al text of his day? W ill he accept the gu arantee of a successful list o f topics and ord er of presentation? W ill he sim ply try to phrase m ore felicitou sly the generalizations already reached by others? N o t W illia m Jam es. Such a m an m ust put his personal stam p on every chapter, or there is no challen ge to it, no stin gin g pain inside the breastbone. T h e Principles was an in tellectu al ad ven ­ ture, and the sp irit of a d eeply and intensely active and alive W il­ liam Ja m e s still shines through. N o t on ly d id Ja m e s su rvive his depression d u rin g the 1870s, but som e o f his fun d am ental psychological and philosophical ideas began to take shape. T h o se w ere the years of the M etaphysical 8 Perry, T h o u g h t a nd Character, p. 385. 9 Selected Letters, p. 109.

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Introduction C lu b , founded by C h arles Sanders P eirce in 18 7 1. In ad d ition to P eirce and Jam es, the gro u p in clu d ed C h au n cey W rig h t, O liver W en d ell H olm es, N ich olas St. Jo h n G reen , and several other de­ fiant yo u n g intellectuals aro un d H arvard . Pragm atism , the char­ acteristically A m eric an version o f em p iricist philosophy, origin ated in a p ap er that P eirce read to the M etaphysical C lu b in 18 72. In 18 59 the E n glish p h ilosop her A le x a n d e r B a in defined b e lie f as “ an attitud e o r d isposition o f preparedness to act.” 10 P eirce later w rote that “ F ro m this d efinition, pragm atism is scarce m ore than a co ro llary; so that I am disposed to th in k of him as the gran d ­ father o f p ragm atism .” 11 T o believe that an object is hard, for exam p le, is to b e p rep ared to operate on that ob ject in ways char­ acteristic o f such objects. T h e fun ction o f belief, P eirce in ferred , is to establish habits o f action. In P e irc e ’s paper, w hich was not p ublish ed u n til 1878, the con­ nection betw een b e lie f and action was developed in to a m ethod for gettin g at the m ean in g o f o u r ideas. W h at a th in g m eans is sim ply the set of habitual actions it prom pts. F o r exam ple, w hat does “ T h is block is h ard ” m ean? P eirce said it m eans that if you operate w ith the block in such and such ways, such and such ex­ periences w ill ensue. T h e w hole o f o u r conception of hardness is o u r conception of its practical effects. A concept w ith no practical effects is m eaningless. It was W illia m Jam es, not C . S. P eirce, who popularized pragm a­ tism. In 1898, tw enty-six years after P eirce exp lain ed his theory o f m ean in g to the M etaphysical C lu b , Jam es, in an address on “ P h ilosop h ical C onception s and P ractical R e su lts,” announced the doctrin e p u b licly, id en tify in g it as the m ethod that B ritish em piricists had follow ed in stinctively. H e developed it fu rth er in a series o f eight p u b lic lectures in 1906, p ublish ed as a book, Prag­ matism, in 1907. T o P eirce’s pragm atic theory of m eaning Ja m e s added a pragm at­ ic theory o f truth. W h at is the m ean in g o f “ ‘T h is b lock is h ard ’ is tru e” ? Does it m ean an yth in g m ore than “ T h is block is h a rd ” ? 10 T h e E m otions a nd the W ill (185;)), quoted in Israel Scheffler, F o u r Pragm atists: A C ritical In tro d u ctio n to P eirce, Ja m es, M ead , and D ew ey (New Y o rk : H um anities

Press, 1974), p. 58. 11 C harles H artshorn e and P a u l W eiss, ed s„ Co llected P a pers o f C harles Sanders P e irc e (C am bridge, M ass.: H arvard U n iversity Press, 19 3 1-19 5 8 ), vol. V , p ara. 12.

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Introduction F o llo w in g P e irc e ’s lead, the statem ent should be translated: I f one acts in the characteristic way, such and such consequences w ill be experienced. B u t how can this translation be made? Ja m e s argued that b e lie v in g is lik e acting, that to tell som eone “ p is true” is to tell him to believe p. B u t that is on ly h a lf the ru le : “ I f you believe p, then . . T h e n what? W hat experien ces should ensue? Su rely n o th in g bad can follow from b e liev in g p if p is true. T h u s the com ­ plete ru le is: “ p is tru e” m eans that “ I f you b e liev e p, the effects w ill be satisfactory.” Ja m e s ’s theory of truth provoked vio len t controversy. Peirce im m ed iately ob jected that Ja m e s m ade truth a personal m atter— w hat one person ju d g es satisfactory m ay not satisfy an other—w here­ as the truth that science needs is in terpersonal. Y ears later an astute student o f Ja m e s ’s w ritin gs pointed out that “ Ja m e s ’s references to satisfaction seem to allo w for a broad as w ell as a n arrow in terp reta­ tion. On the n arrow in terpretation , a b e lie f fun ction s satisfactorily when it is satisfied or confirm ed by experien ce. On the broad in ­ terpretation , it is not sim ply a m atter of w hether the b e lie f is satis­ fied, i.e., confirm ed, b u t also a m atter of w hether the b eliever derives satisfaction consequent upon his b e lie v in g the p roposition in q u estio n .” 12 Jam es guarded against m isuse o f the broad in ter­ pretation, b u t m any o f his critics claim ed that he was saying, “ A n y ­ th in g that pleases you is true for y o u .” A lth o u gh the earliest form u lation s o f Ja m e s’s p ragm atic theory of truth date back to 18 8 5, the storm that b ro ke m uch later need not concern readers of the Principles. T h e Principles does, how ever, ex p lo it the pragm atic p rin c ip le that m ean in g depends on practical effects. In C h ap ter vi, for exam p le, Ja m e s opposes the view that p eop le are conscious autom atons (w here conciousness has no m e­ chanical function) by arg u in g that consciousness evolved because it is efficacious, because it serves a selective fun ction (p. 14 2)—that is to say, because consciousness has “ practical effects.” A lth o u gh Ja m e s d id not in voke P e iic e ’s m axim explictly, this in strum ental conception of the m ind, often called D arw in ian , follow s from the sam e fun dam ental assum ptions. C h ap ter vn , w hich treats the “ m ind-stuff th eory,” is eq u ally an exercise in pragm atic criticism . W hen Ja m es takes off in these p u rely p hilosophical directions, 12 Israel Schelfler, F o u r Pragm atists, p. 105.

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Introduction the argum en t falls strangely on ears educated to scientific psychol­ ogy. In o th er places, how ever, he becomes p u rely physiological, or p u rely psychological. W atch in g the m aster w eave these strands together adds pleasure to the reading. Each chap ter o f the Principles is a separate essay that can stand on its own. It alm ost seems as if the sequence w ere arb itrary, but closer consideration reveals that the book is m uch m ore system atic than a glance at the table o f contents m ight suggest. Because Ja m es does not insist on one view as true and p referab le to all others but tries to ask questions fairly, assem ble facts even han dedly, and leave the answ ers open, psychologists of very differen t schools have been w illin g to cite him a th eir in tellectu al ancestor. B u t m ore psy­ chologists have cited the Principles than have read it from start to finish. A lth o u gh the book can be sam pled w ith profit in bits and pieces, the full scope o f Ja m e s’s psychology can be appreciated only by a reader w illin g to fo llo w chap ter by chap ter as the story unfolds. A fte r a short essay on the scope o f psychology, Ja m es launches his m asterpiece w ith two chapters on the b rain , follow ed by a physiologically based theory o f habit. T h is w ay o f in tro d u cin g psychology was unusual and aroused con sid erable com m ent. In those days a standard text w ould begin w ith elem en tary sensations o f vision , hearing, taste, sm ell, and touch, com pound those sensa­ tions in to com p lex ideas o f objects, then com pound successive ideas by laws o f association, and so gra d u a lly b u ild u p larger m ental structures from the sm aller. Ja m e s objected to that approach, in part, no doubt, because it was the accepted w ay; in part because he d islik ed sensory psycho­ physics; in part because he felt psychology should b u ild from a base in b io logy; b u t m ost o f all because it destroyed the u n ity o f conscious experience. In 1900, in his preface to the Italian edition, Ja m e s w rote: So instead of starting with the m ind’s supposed elements (which are always abstractions) and gradually building-up, I have tried to keep the reader in contact throughout as many chapters as possible, with the actual conscious unity which each of us at all times feels himself to be. T h is unity is what the classic spiritualism has always fought for against the associationist doctrine that the mind is a mere collection of ‘ideas.’ But as I wished to disentangle psychology as far as possible from any close alliance with ultimate questions of metaphysics, I have

x v iii

Introduction limited my contention of unity to what is em pirically verifiable, namely to the unity of each passing wave or field of consciousness.13 T h e Principles starts w ith the b rain . H a v in g opened in his phys­ iological voice, however, Ja m e s im m ed iately faces a need to dis­ tinguish physiology from psychology, that is to say, to treat those ancient and un answ erable questions about the relation s o f brain and m ind. So the p hilosophical voice d om inates the n ext few chap­ ters, u n til finally the psychological voice breaks through, alm ost im p atien tly: “ T h e psychologist’s attitude towards cognition . . . is a thoroughgoing dualism. It supposes two elem ents, m in d know ­ in g and th in g know n, and treats them as irred u cib le” (p. 214). B u t Ja m e s the philosopher is n ever really satisfied w ith dualism . In C h ap ter x v i, fo r exam p le, after Ja m e s the psychologist review s the experim en tal w ork on m em ory and Ja m e s the physiologist adds that m em ory is an im p ortan t fun ction o f the brain , Ja m e s the philosopher has the last w ord: According to the assumptions of this book, thoughts accompany the brain’s workings, and those thoughts are cognitive of realities. T h e whole relation is one which we can only write down empirically, con­ fessing that no glimmer of explanation of it is yet in sight. T h at brains should give rise to a knowing consciousness at all, this is the one mys­ tery which returns, no matter what sort the consciousness and of what sort the knowledge may be. (p. 647) Such p hilosophical caveats are scattered through the book. Ja m es the philosopher seems to be ru m m agin g through all the pockets o f psychology, searching for some decisive criterion to distinguish the m ental from the physical—and not fin d in g it. T h e Principles is b u ilt of physiology and clin ical n eurology, w ith some evolu tion ary biology throw n in ; it is b u ilt of introspec­ tive, experim en tal, and clin ical psychology; it is b u ilt of philosophy en livened by occasional lay serm ons. T h e gaps and tensions am ong these sources m igh t have discouraged another m an, b u t they stim ulated Jam es. T h e Principles does not in clu d e any discussion of in d ivid u al differences, any serious account of the cogn itive or em otional developm ent o f ch ildren , or any real appreciation of the social and cu ltu ral dim ensions of m ental life. T h e first two o f these gaps w ere 13 R ep ro d uced in volum e I II of P rin c ip les (see note 5 above), p. 1483.

X IX

Introduction in evitab le: d ifferen tial and d evelop m en tal psychology d id not exist in 1890. T h e third is m ore interesting. It is not that Ja m e s ign ored social relations, but that, for such an enorm ously social and sociable person, his view o f them seems cu riou sly restricted. H is theory o f truth, for exam ple, speaks of truth for the in d iv id u a l, not a socially shared truth. T h e lim itation is illu strated by a fam ous passage (p. 12 5) in w hich he calls habit the enorm ous flyw heel of society, a con servative agent that keeps us all on ou r in d iv id u a l paths; we becom e caught in some p ursu it early on and habit freezes us there. O ne scholar has com m ented that Ja m e s “ seems to fall short of a gen u in ely social perspective. F o r the n otion that possibilities are open or closed to m en not sim ply as a function o f in creasin g personal rig id ity but as a function of social organization is one that Ja m e s never seems to en visage.” 14 T h is social gap in Ja m e s ’s psychology is all the m ore rem arkable because, as G eo rge H erb ert M ead and Jo h n D ew ey w ou ld soon show, Ja m e s ’s p ragm atic philosophy was w ell suited for the develop­ m ent o f social psychology and for theories o f social reconstruction and reform . It rem ain ed for the C h icago school o f philosophy and psychology to d evelop m any o f the im p lication s o f Ja m e s’s ideas. A s p hilos­ ophers, they w ere pragm atists; as psychologists, they w ere func­ tionalists. A lth o u gh the Principles p rovid ed the in spiration, it was Jo h n D ew ey w ho instigated the w ork of fun ction al psychology, w hich soon em erged as the m ajor rival o f W u n d tian psychology. W hereas W u n d tian s w ere concerned w ith the structure o f the m ind, A m erican psychologists un der D ew ey’s leadersh ip w ere co n ­ cern ed w ith the functions it served. Fu n ction al psychologists in h erited a p ragm atic preoccupation with practical effects, and the practical effect o f the m in d is to gu id e behavior. B ro ad en in g the defin ition o f psychology to in clu d e be­ h avioral as w ell as m ental phenom ena enabled fun ction alism to absorb behavioral observations o f anim als, o f ch ildren , o f the in ­ sane or m entally retarded, o f social groups. M ental tests w ere seen as beh avior samples. B y the tim e o f W u n d t’s death in 19 20 the in trospective science he had foun ded in L e ip z ig had been o v er­ taken and overshadow ed by the broader, pragm atic A m erican science. l^Scheflier, F o u r Pragm atists, p. 124.

XX

Introduction T h e fu n ction alists’ attention to beh avior was so successful, in fact, that the su b jective aspect of psychology cam e to seem u n ­ necessary. In 1 9 1 3 Jo h n B . W atson foun ded a school o f psychology concerned solely w ith beh avior: all m ental phenom ena w ere re­ placed by the behavioral evidence from which they w ere in ferred . T h e ap p aren t o b jectivity of this approach was so attractive that behaviorism becam e a m ajo r influence on psychological thought in the U n ited States. It is iron ic that Ja m e s ’s pragm atic philosophy proved so con gen ial to these m aterialistic ideas, since a psychology w ith out consciousness is a psychology w ith out need for Ja m e s ’s rem arkable introspective talent. B e g in n in g in the m id-1950s, how ever, m any A m erican psycholo­ gists reaffirm ed th eir interest in consciousness and the cogn itive represen tation o f reality, and m any of the rebels against behavior­ ism turn ed back to W illiam Ja m e s for support. T h e y thum bed the Principles ragged to find quotation s that len t cred ib ility to a rev iv ­ al o f m entalism . A n d so it has happened that, even as the very d efin itio n o f scien­ tific psychology sw ung violen tly from fun ction alism to behaviorism and back to cogn itivism , W illiam Ja m e s’s Principles of Psychology has con tinu ed to hold a liv in g place in everyon e’s th in kin g. Such is the genius o f the m an, and of his w ork.

xxi

The Principles of Psychology

To m y dear frien d F r a n ç o is P il l o n ,

as a token o f affection, and an acknow ledgm en t o f w hat I owe to the C ritiq u e P h ilo so p h iq u e

Preface

T h e treatise w hich follow s has in the m ain grow n u p in connec­ tion w ith the au th o r’s class-room instruction in Psychology, a l­ though it is true that some o f the chapters are m ore ‘m etap hysical,’ and others fu lle r o f detail, than is su itab le for students w ho are g o in g over the subject for the first tim e. T h e consequence of this is that, in spite of the exclu sion o f the im p ortan t subjects o f p le a ­ sure and pain, and m oral and aesthetic feelings and judgm en ts, the w ork has grow n to a length w hich no one can regret m ore than the w riter him self. T h e m an m ust indeed be sanguine who, in this crow ded age, can hope to have m any readers for fourteen hu n dred con tin u ou s pages from his pen. B u t wer vieles bringt, wird manchem etwas bringen; and, by ju d icio u sly sk ip p in g accord in g to their several needs, I am sure that m any sorts of readers, even those w ho are ju st b e g in n in g the study of the subject, w ill find m y book of use. Since the b egin ners are most in need of gu idan ce, I suggest for th eir behoof that they om it altogether on a first rea d in g chapters 6, 7, 8, 10 (from page 3 1 4 to page 350), 12 , 13 , 15 , 17 , 20, 2 1, and 28. T h e better to aw aken the n eop hyte’s interest, it is possible that the w ise ord er w ou ld be to pass d irectly from chap ter 4 to chapters 23, 24, 25, and 26, and thence to return to the first volu m e again. C h a p ­ ter 20, on Space-perception, is a terrib le thing, w hich, unless w rit­ ten w ith all that detail, cou ld not be fairly treated at all. A n ab rid gm en t o f it, called “ T h e Spatial Q u a le,” w hich appeared in

5

Preface the Journal of Speculative Philosophy, vol. x iii, p. 64, m ay be fou n d by some persons a useful substitute for the en tire chapter. I have kept close to the poin t o f view o f n atu ral science th rou gh ­ out the book. E very n atu ral science assumes certain data u n criti­ cally, and declin es to ch allen ge the elem ents betw een w hich its ow n ‘law s’ obtain , and from w hich its own deduction s are carried on. Psychology, the science o f finite in d iv id u a l m inds, assumes as its data (1) thoughts and feelings, and (2) a physical world in tim e and space w ith w hich they coexist and w hich (3) they know. O f course these data them selves are discussable; but the discussion of them (as of other elem ents) is called m etaphysics and falls outside the p rovin ce o f this book. T h is book, assum ing that thoughts and feelin gs exist and are vehicles o f kn ow ledge, thereu pon contends that psychology w hen she has ascertained the em p irical correlation o f the various sorts of thought or fe e lin g w ith defin ite conditions o f the brain, can go no farth er—can go no farther, that is, as a nat­ u ral science. I f she goes farth er she becom es m etaphysical. A ll at­ tem pts to explain ou r p h en om en ally given thoughts as products of deeper-lyin g en tities (w hether the latter be nam ed S o u l,’ ‘T r a n ­ scendental E g o ,’ Id eas,’ or ‘E lem en tary U n its o f Consciousness’) are m etaphysical. T h is book con sequen tly rejects both the associationist and the sp iritu alist theories; and in this strictly positivistic p oin t of view consists the on ly featu re of it for w hich I feel tem pted to claim o rig in ality. O f course this poin t of view is an yth in g but u ltim ate. M en m ust keep th in kin g; and the data assum ed by psy­ chology, ju st lik e those assum ed by physics and the other n atural sciences, m ust som e tim e be overh au led . T h e effort to overh au l them clearly and th orou gh ly is m etaphysics; but m etaphysics can on ly perform her task w ell w hen distin ctly conscious o f its great extent. M etaphysics fragm entary, irrespon sible, and half-aw ake, and unconscious that she is m etaphysical, spoils two good things w hen she in jects h erself into a n atu ral science. A n d it seems to me that the theories both of a sp iritu al agent and of associated ‘ideas’ are, as they figure in the psychology-books, ju st such m etaphysics as this. E ven if their results be true, it w ou ld be as w ell to keep them , as thus presented, out of psychology as it is to keep the re­ sults o f idealism ou t o f physics. I have th erefore treated o u r passing thoughts as integers, and re­ garded the m ere laws o f th eir coexistence w ith brain-states as the u ltim ate law s for ou r science. T h e read er w ill in vain seek for any

6

Preface closed system in the book. It is m ain ly a mass o f d escrip tive details, ru n n in g out into q u eries w hich on ly a m etaphysics a liv e to the w eigh t o f her task can hope successfully to deal w ith. T h a t w ill perhaps be cen tu ries hence; and m ean w h ile the best m ark o f health that a science can show is this unfinished-seem ing front. T h e com pletion o f the book has been so slow that several chap­ ters have been p u blish ed successively in M ind, the Journal of Speculative Philosophy, the Popular Science M onthly, and Scrib­ ner’s Magazine. A ck n o w led gm en t is m ade in the p rop er places. T h e b ib lio g rap h y, I regret to say, is q u ite unsystem atic. I have h a b itu ally given m y au th ority for special exp erim en tal facts; but beyond that I have aim ed m ain ly to cite books that w ou ld p robably be actu ally used by the o rd in ary A m erican college-student in his collateral read ing. T h e b ib lio g rap h y in W . V olkm an n von V olkm a r’s Lehrbuch der Psychologie (18 7 5 ) is so com plete, u p to its date, that there is no need o f an in fe rio r du plicate. A n d for m ore recent references, S u lly ’s Outlines, D ew ey’s Psychology, and B a ld ­ w in ’s Handbook of Psychology m ay be advantageously used. F in ally , w here one owes to so m any, it seems absurd to single out p a rticu lar creditors; yet I cannot resist the tem ptation at the end o f m y first literary ven tu re to record m y gratitu d e for the in ­ sp iration I have got from the w ritin gs o f J . S. M ill, Lotze, R en ouvier, H odgson, and W un dt, and from the in tellectu al com p an ion ­ ship (to nam e only five names) of C h au n cey W rig h t and C h arles P eirce in old times, and m ore recen tly o f Stanley H a ll, Ja m e s P u t­ nam , and Jo sia h R oyce. H

arvard

U

n iv e r sit y ,

A u gu st 1 8 9 0

7

Contents Volume I Chapter I T h e Scope of Psychology

15

M ental M anifestations depend on C erebral C onditions. P u rsu it o f ends and choice are the m arks o f M in d ’s presence.

Chapter II T h e Functions of the Brain

25

R eflex, sem i-reflex, and volu n tary acts. T h e F ro g ’s nerve-centres. G en eral notion o f the hem ispheres. T h e ir E d u catio n —the M eynert scheme. T h e p hren ological con­ trasted with the physiological conception. T h e localization o f function in the hem ispheres. T h e m otor zone. M otor A p h asia. T h e sight-centre. M ental blindness. T h e hearing-centre. Sensory A p h asia. Centres for sm ell and taste. T h e touch-centre. M an ’s Consciousness lim ited to the hem ispheres. T h e restitu tion of function. F in al correction o f the M eynert schem e. Conclusions.

Chapter III On Some General Conditions of Brain-Activity

88

T h e sum m ation o f Stim uli. Reaction-tim e. C ereb ral blood-su pply. C erebral T h e r ­ m om etry. Phosphorus and T h o u gh t.

Chapter IV H abit

log

D ue to p lasticity o f neural m atter. Produces ease o f action. D im inishes attention. Concatenated perform ances. E th ical im plications and pedagogic m axim s.

Chapter V T h e Autom aton-Theory

132

T h e theory described. Reasons fo r it. Reasons again st it.

Chapter VI T h e Mind-Stuff Theory

148

Evo lu tio n ary Psychology dem ands a M ind-dust. Some alleged proofs that it exists. R e fu tatio n o f these proofs. Self-com pounding o f m ental facts is inadm issible. C an states o f m ind be unconscious? R efu tatio n o f alleged proofs o f unconscious thought. Difficulty o f statin g the connection betw een m ind and b rain . 'T h e So u l’ is logically the least ob jection ab le hypothesis. Conclusion.

Chapter VII T h e Methods and Snares of Psychology

183

Psychology is a n a tu ra l Science. Introspection. E x p erim en t. Sources o f error. T h e ‘ Psychologist’s fa llacy.’

9

Contents Chapter V III T h e Relations of M inds to Other Things

197

T im e relations: lapses o f Consciousness—Locke v. Descartes. T h e ‘ unconsciousness’ o f hysterics not genuine. M inds m ay sp lit into dissociated parts. Space-relations: the Seat o f the Soul. C o gnitive relations. T h e Psychologist’s p o in t o f view . T w o kinds o f know ledge, acquaintance and know ledge-about.

Chapter I X T h e Stream of Thought

219

Consciousness tends to the personal form . It is in constant change. It is sensibly con­ tinuous. 'Su b stan tive’ and 'tran sitiv e’ p arts o f Consciousness. Feelings o f relation. Feelings o f tendency. T h e ‘ frin ge’ o f the object. T h e feelin g o f rational sequence. T h o u g h t possible in an y k in d o f m ental m aterial. T h o u g h t and langu age. Conscious­ ness is cognitive. T h e w ord O bject. E v ery cognition is due to one in tegral p u lse o f thought. D iagram s o f T h o u g h t’s stream . T h o u g h t is alw ays selective.

Chapter X T h e Consciousness of Self

279

T h e E m p irica l Self o r M e. Its constituents. T h e m aterial self. T h e Social Self. T h e S p iritu al Self. D ifficulty o f ap preh en d in g T h o u g h t as a p u rely sp iritu al activity. E m o ­ tions o f Self. R iv a lr y and conflict o f o ne’s differen t selves. T h eii: h ierarch y. W h at S e lf we love in 'Self-lo ve.’ T h e Pu re Ego. T h e verifiable ground o f the sense o f p er­ sonal iden tity. T h e passing T h o u g h t is the o n ly T h in k e r which Psychology requires. T h eo ries o f Self-consciousness: 1) T h e theory o f the So u l; a) T h e Associationist theory; 3) T h e T raijscen d en talist theory. T h e m utations o f the Self. Insane delusions. A ltern a tin g selves. M edium ships or possessions. Sum m ary.

Chapter X I Attention

380

Its neglect b y E n g lish psychologists. D escription o f it. T o how m an y things can we attend at once? W u n d t’s exp erim en ts on displacem ent o f d ate o f im pressions sim ultan eou sly attended to. Personal eq uatio n . T h e varieties o f atten tion . Passive atten tion . V o lu n tary atten tion . A tten tio n ’s effects on sensation;— on discrim in atio n ;— on recollection ;—on reaction-tim e. T h e neural process in atten tion ; 1) A ccom m oda­ tion o f sense-organ; a) Preperceptio n. Is vo lu n tary atten tion a resu ltan t o r a force? T h e effort to attend can be conceived as a resultant. Conclusion. A cqu ired In atten tion .

Chapter X I I Conception

434

T h e sense o f sameness. C onception defined. Conceptions are unchangeable. A b ­ stract ideas. U n iversais. T h e conception ‘o f the sam e’ is not the ‘sam e state’ o f m ind.

Chapter X I I I Discrimination and Comparison

457

Locke on discrim ination. M artineau d itto. Sim ultaneous sensations o rig in ally fuse into one object. T h e p rin cip le o f m ediate com parison. N o t all differences are differ-

IO

Contents ences o f com position. T h e conditions o f discrim ination. T h e sensation of difference. T h e transcendentalist theory o f the perception o f differences uncalled for. T h e p ro ­ cess o f analysis. T h e process o f abstraction. T h e im provem ent o f d iscrim ination by practice. Its two causes. P ractical interests lim it o u r d iscrim inatio n. Reaction-tim e after d iscrim in atio n . T h e perception o f likeness. T h e m agnitu de o f differences. T h e m easurem ent of d iscrim in ative sen sib ility: W eber’s law . F ech n er’s in terp retatio n of this as the psycho-physic law. C riticism thereof.

Chapter X IV Association

519

T h e pro b lem o f the connection o f o u r thoughts. I t depends on m echanical con di­ tions. Association is o f objects thought-of, not o f 'id eas.’ T h e rap id ity o f association. T h e 'law of con tigu ity.’ T h e elem entary law o f association. Im p a rtia l redintegration O rd in ary or m ixed association. T h e law o f interest. Association b y sim ilarity. E le ­ m entary expression o f the difference betw een the three kinds o f association. Associa­ tion in volu n tary thought. S im ilarity no elem entary law. H istory of the doctrine of association.

Chapter X V T h e Perception of T im e

570

T h e sensible present. Its d u ratio n is the p rim itive tim e-perception. A ccuracy of our estim ate o f short du rations. W e have no sense for em p ty tim e. V ariation s o f our tim e-estim ate. T h e feelin g o f past tim e is a present feelin g. Its cerebral process.

Chapter X V I Memory

605

P rim ary m em ory. A n alysis o f the phenom enon o f m em ory. R eten tio n and rep ro ­ duction are both caused b y paths o f association in the b rain . T h e conditions of goodness in m em ory. N ative retentiveness is unchan geable. A ll im provem ent of m em ory consists in better th in k in g . O ther conditions o f good m em ory. R ecognition, or the sense o f fa m ilia rity . E x act m easurem ents o f m em ory. Fo rgettin g. Pathological cases. Professor L a d d criticised.

Volume II Chapter X V II Sensation

651

Its distinction from perception. Its cognitive fu n ctio n —acqu aintance with q u a li­ ties. No p u re sensations after the first days o f life. T h e 're la tiv ity o f know ledge.’ T h e law o f contrast. T h e psychological an d the p hysiological theories o f it. H erin g ’s ex ­ perim ents. T h e ‘eccentric p ro jectio n ’ o f sensations.

Chapter X V III Im agination

690

O ur im ages are u su ally vague. V agu e im ages not necessarily gen eral notions. In ­ d ivid u als d iffer in im agin ation ; G a lto n ’s researches. T h e ‘v isile’ type. T h e ‘a u d ile ’ type. T h e ‘ m otile’ type. T a c tile images. T h e neural process o f im agination . Its re la ­ tions to that o f sensation.

11

Contents Chapter X I X T h e Perception of ‘T h ings’

722

Perception and sensation. Perception is o f definite and pro bable things. Illu sio n s:— o f the first typ e;—o f the second type. T h e neural process in perception. 'A p p ercep ­ tion.’ Is perception an unconscious inference? H allu cin atio n s. T h e neural process in h allu cin ation . B in e t’s theory. 'P erceptio n -tim e.’

Chapter X X T h e Perception of Space

776

T h e feelin g o f crude extensity. T h e perception o f spatial order. Sp ace-'relations.’ T h e m eaning o f localization. ‘Local sign s.’ T h e construction o f ‘re a l’ space. T h e su b ­ division o f the o rigin al sense-spaces. T h e sensation o f m otion over surfaces. T h e m easurem ent o f the sense-spaces by each other. T h e ir sum m ation. Feelings o f m ove­ m ent in jo in ts. Feelings o f m u scu lar contraction. Su m m ary so far. H ow the b lin d perceive space. V isu al space. H elm holtz and R e id on the test o f a sensation. T h e theory o f iden tical points. T h e theory o f projection . A m b igu ity o f retin al im pres­ sions;—o f eye-m ovem ents. T h e choice o f the visu al reality. Sensations which we ignore. Sensations which seem suppressed. Discussion o f W u n d t’s and H elm h oltz’s reasons for den yin g th at retin al sensations are o f extension. Sum m ary. H isto rical rem arks.

Chapter X X I T h e Perception of R eality

9 13

B e lie f and its opposites. T h e various orders o f reality . ‘ P ractical’ realities. T h e sense o f o u r own b o d ily existence is the nucleus o f all reality. T h e param ou n t reality o f sensations. T h e influence o f em otion and active im pulse on belief. B e lie f in theories. D oubt. R elatio n s o f b elief and w ill.

Chapter X X I I Reasoning

952

‘ R ecep ts.’ In reasoning, we pick out essential q u alities. W h at is m eant by a m ode o f conceiving. W h at is involved in the existence o f gen eral propositions. T h e two factors o f reasoning. Sagacity. T h e p art played by association by sim ilarity. T h e in ­ tellectual contrast betw een b ru te and m an : association by sim ilarity the fu n dam en tal hu m an distinction. D ifferen t orders o f hu m an genius.

Chapter X X I I I T h e Production of Movement

994

T h e d iffusive wave. E very sensation produces reflex effects on the w hole organism .

Chapter X X I V Instinct

1004

Its defin ition . Instincts not alw ays b lin d or in variab le. T w o p rin cip les o f n o n ­ u n ifo rm ity in instincts: 1) T h e ir in h ib itio n by habits; 2) T h e ir transitoriness. M an

12

Contents has m ore instincts than any other m am m al. R eflex im pulses. Im itatio n . E m u latio n . Pu gn acity. Sym pathy. T h e h u n tin g instinct. F e ar. Acquisitiveness. Constructiveness. Play. C u rio sity. Sociability and shyness. Secretiveness. C leanliness. Sham e. Love. M atern al love.

Chapter X X V T h e Emotions

1058

Instinctive reaction and em otional expression shade im perceptib ly inlo each other. T h e expression o f g rief; o f fear; o f hatred . E m otio n is a consequence, not the cause, o f the b o dily expression. Difficulty o f testing this view . O bjections to it discussed. T h e subtler em otions. No special brain-centres for em otion. Em otio n al differences betw een in d ivid u als. T h e genesis o f the various em otions.

Chapter X X V I W ill

1098

V o lu n tary m ovem ents: they presuppose a m em ory o f in volu n tary movements. Kinassthetic im pressions. N o need to assum e feelings o f inn ervation. T h e ‘ m ental cue’ for a m ovem ent m ay be an im age o f its visu al o r au d ito ry effects as w ell as an im age o f the way it feels. Ideo-m otor action. A ction after d elib eratio n . F iv e types of decision. T h e feelin g o f effort. U nhealthiness o f w ill: 1) T h e exp lo sive type; 2) T h e obstructed type. Pleasure and p a in are not the o n ly springs o f action. A ll conscious­ ness is im pu lsive. W h at we w ill depends on w h at idea dom inates in our m ind. T h e idea’ s outw ard effects follow from the cerebral m achinery. E ffo rt o f attention to a n a tu ra lly repu gn an t idea is the essential featu re o f w illin g. T h e free-w ill controversy. Psychology, as a science, can safely postulate determ inism , even if free-w ill be true. T h e education o f the W ill. H ypo thetical brain-schem es.

Chapter X X V II Hypnotism

1194

M odes o f o p eratin g and susceptibility. T h eo ries abo u t the hypnotic state. T h e sym ptom s o f the trance.

Chapter X X V III Necessary T ruths and the Effects of Experience

12 15

Program m e o f the chapter. Elem en tary feelings are innate. T h e question refers to th eir com binations. W h at is m eant by ‘ exp erien ce.’ Spencer on ancestral experience. T w o ways in which new cerebral structu re arises: the ‘back-door’ and the ‘frontdo o r’ way. T h e genesis o f the elem entary m en tal categories. T h e genesis o f the natu ral sciences. Scientific conceptions arise as accidental variation s. T h e genesis of the p u re sciences. Series o f evenly increasing terms. T h e p rin c ip le of m ediate com ­ parison . T h a t o f skipped interm ediaries. Classification. P red ication. Fo rm al logic. M ath em atical propositions. A rithm etic. G eom etry. O ur doctrin e is the sam e as L o ck e’s. R e latio n s o f ideas v. cou plin gs of things. T h e n atu ral sciences are inw ard ideal schemes w ith which the order o f n ature proves congruent. M etaphysical p r in ­ ciples are p ro p erly only postulates. ^Esthetic and m oral princip les are q u ite incongruen t with the order o f nature. Sum m ary o f w h at precedes. T h e o rigin of instincts. Insufficiency o f p ro o f for the transm ission to the next gen eration of acqu ired habits. W eism ann’s view s. Conclusion.

Index

13

1281

Chapter I The Scope of Psychology

Psychology is the Science o f M en tal L ife , both of its phenom ena and o f their conditions. T h e p henom ena are such things as w e call feelings, desires, cognitions, reasonings, decisions, and the lik e; and, sup erficially considered, their variety and co m p lexity is such as to leave a chaotic im pression on the observer. T h e most n atu ral and con sequen tly the earliest w ay o f u n ify in g the m aterial was, first, to classify it as w ell as m ight be, and, secondly, to affiliate the diverse m ental m odes thus found, upon a sim ple entity, the p er­ sonal Sou l, o f w hich they are taken to be so m any facu ltative m an i­ festations. N ow , for instance, the Soul m anifests its faculty o f M em ­ ory, now o f R easo n in g, now of V o litio n , or again its Im agin ation or its A p p etite. T h is is the orth od ox ‘sp iritu alistic’ theory o f scho­ lasticism and o f com m on-sense. A n o th er and a less ob vious w ay of u n ify in g the chaos is to seek com m on elem ents in the d ivers m ental facts rath er than a com m on agent beh in d them , and to exp lain them con structively by the vario u s form s o f arran gem en t o f these elem ents, as one ex p lain s houses by stones and bricks. T h e ‘association ist’ schools o f H erb art in G erm an y, and o f H u m e, the M ills and B a in in B rita in , have thus constructed a psychology without a soul by takin g discrete ‘ideas,’ fain t or v ivid , and show in g how, by their cohesions, repulsion s, and form s o f succession, such things as rem iniscences, perceptions, em otions, volitio n s, passions, theories, and all the other fu rn ish in gs o f an in d iv id u a l’s m in d m ay be en­ gendered. T h e very S elf or ego o f the in d iv id u a l com es in this w ay

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology to be view ed no lon ger as the pre-existin g source of the represen ta­ tions, but rath er as their last and most com p licated fruit. N ow , if w e strive rigo rou sly to sim p lify the p henom ena in either o f these w ays, w e soon becom e aw are o f inad equ acies in ou r m eth­ od. A n y p articu lar cogn ition , for exam p le, or reco llectio n , is ac­ cou n ted for on the soul-theory by b ein g referred to the sp iritu al facu lties o f C o gn itio n or o f M em ory. T h e se facu lties them selves are thought o f as absolute p rop erties o f the soul; that is, to take the case o f m em ory, no reason is given w hy w e should rem em b er a fact as it happen ed, excep t that so to rem em b er it constitutes the es­ sence of ou r R eco lle ctiv e P ow er. W e m ay, as sp iritu alists, try to e x ­ p lain o u r m em ory’s failu res and blu n d ers by secondary causes. B u t its successes can in voke no factors save the existen ce o f certain o b ­ jective things to be rem em b ered on the one hand, and o f ou r fac­ ulty o f m em ory on the other. W hen , for instance, I recall my graduation-day, and d rag all its incidents and em otions u p from d eath ’s dateless night, no m echanical cause can e x p lain this pro­ cess, n or can any analysis red u ce it to low er term s or m ake its nature seem other than an u ltim ate datum, w hich, w hether we rebel or not at its m ysteriousness, m ust sim ply be taken for gran ted if we are to psychologize at all. H o w ever the associationist m ay rep re­ sent the present ideas as th ro n gin g and arra n gin g them selves, still, the sp iritu alist insists, he has in the end to ad m it that something, be it brain , be it ‘id eas,’ be it ‘association,’ knows past tim e as past, and fills it out w ith this or that event. A n d w hen the sp iritu alist calls m em ory an ‘irred u cib le fac u lty,’ he says no m ore than this adm ission o f the associationist already grants. A n d yet the adm ission is far from b ein g a satisfactory sim plifica­ tion o f the concrete facts. F o r w hy should this absolute god-given F acu lty retain so m uch .better the events o f yesterday than those o f last year, and, best of all, those o f an h o u r ago? W hy, again, in old age should its grasp o f ch ild h o o d ’s events seem firmest? W hy should illness and exhau stion en feeb le it? W h y should rep ea tin g an e x ­ p erien ce strengthen ou r reco llectio n of it? W hy should drugs, fe­ vers, asphyxia, and excitem en t resuscitate things lon g since for­ gotten? I f w e con ten t ou rselves w ith m erely affirm ing that the facu lty o f m em ory is so p ecu liarly constituted by n ature as to e x ­ h ib it ju st these oddities, w e seem little the better for h avin g in ­ voked it, for ou r exp lan atio n becom es as com plicated as that o f the cru d e facts w ith w hich w e started. M oreo ver there is som ething

16

T h e Scope of Psychology grotesque and irratio n al in the supposition that the soul is eq u ip p ed w ith elem en tary pow ers o f such an in gen iou sly in tricate sort. W hy should o u r m em ory c lin g m ore easily to the n ear than the rem ote? W hy should it lose its grasp o f p rop er sooner than of abstract nam es? Such p ecu liarities seem q u ite fantastic; and m ight, for au gh t w e can see a priori, be the precise opposites o f w h at they are. E vid en tly, then, the faculty does not exist absolutely, but works under conditions', and the quest of the conditions becom es the psy­ chologist’s most in terestin g task. H o w ever firm ly he m ay hold to the soul and her rem em b erin g faculty, he m ust acknow ledge that she n ever exerts the latter w ith ­ out a cue, and that som ethin g m ust alw ays precede and remind us o f w hatever w e are to recollect. “ A n ideal” says the associationist, “ an idea associated w ith the rem em b ered thin g; and this exp lain s also w hy things rep eatedly m et w ith are m ore easily recollected, fo r th eir associates on the various occasions furn ish so m any distinct avenues o f re c a ll.” B u t this does not ex p lain the effects o f fever, exhau stion, hypnotism , old age, and the like. A n d in general, the p u re associationist’s account o f ou r m ental life is alm ost as be­ w ild e rin g as that o f the p u re sp iritu alist. T h is m u ltitu d e o f ideas, existin g absolutely, yet clin g in g together, and w eavin g an endless carpet o f them selves, lik e dom inoes in ceaseless change, or the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope,—w hence do they get their fantastic laws o f clin g in g , and w hy do they clin g in ju st the shapes they do? For this the associationist m ust in trod uce the order o f e x p e ri­ ence in the outer w orld . T h e dance o f the ideas is a copy, som ew hat m u tilated and altered, o f the o rd er o f phenom ena. B u t the slightest reflection shows that p henom ena have absolutely no pow er to in­ fluence o u r ideas u n til they have first im pressed ou r senses and our b rain. T h e bare existen ce o f a past fact is no gro u n d for ou r re­ m em b erin g it. U nless w e have seen it, or som ehow undergone it, w e shall n ever kn ow o f its h avin g been. T h e experien ces of the body are thus one of the con dition s o f the faculty o f m em ory b ein g w hat it is. A n d a very sm all am ount o f reflection on facts shows that one p art o f the body, nam ely, the brain , is the p art w hose e x p e ri­ ences are d irectly concerned. I f the nervous com m u nication be cut off betw een the brain and other parts, the experien ces o f those other parts are non-existent for the m in d. T h e eye is b lin d, the ear deaf, the hand insensible and m otionless. A n d conversely, if the brain be in ju red , consciousness is abolished or altered, even al­

17

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology though every other organ in the body be ready to p la y its n orm al part. A blow on the head, a sudden subtraction o f blood, the pres­ sure o f an apoplectic hem orrhage, m ay have the first effect; w hilst a very few ounces o f alcohol or grain s o f op iu m or hasheesh, or a w h iff of ch loro fo rm or n itro u s o x id e gas, are sure to have the sec­ ond. T h e d eliriu m o f fever, the altered self of insanity, are all due to foreign m atters circ u latin g through the brain, or to pathological changes in that org an ’s substance. T h e fact that the brain is the one im m ediate bo d ily con dition o f the m ental operation s is indeed so u n iversally ad m itted now adays that I need spend no m ore tim e in illu stratin g it, but w ill sim ply postulate it and pass on. T h e w hole rem ain d er o f the book w ill be m ore or less of a p roof that the pos­ tulate was correct. B o d ily experien ces, therefore, and m ore p articu larly brainexperien ces, m ust take a place am ongst those con dition s o f the m ental life o f w hich Psychology need take account. T h e spiritualist and the associationist must both be 'cerebralists,’ to the ex ten t at least o f ad m ittin g that certain p ecu liarities in the way o f w o rk in g o f their ow n favorite p rin c ip les are ex p lic a b le only by the fact that the brain law s are a cod eterm in ant o f the result. O ur first conclusion, then, is that a certain am ount o f brainphysiology m ust be presupposed or in clu d ed in P sych ology.1 In still another way the psychologist is forced to be som ething o f a nerve-physiologist. M en tal phenom ena are not only co n d i­ tioned a parte ante by bo d ily processes; but they lead to them a parte post. T h a t they lead to acts is o f course the most fam iliar of truths, but I do not m erely m ean acts in the sense of volu n tary and d elib erate m uscu lar perform ances. M ental states occasion also changes in the c alib re o f blood-vessels, or alteration in the heart­ beats, or processes m ore sub tle still, in glan ds and viscera. I f these are taken in to account, as w ell as acts w hich follow at some remote period because the m ental state was once there, it w ill be safe to lay dow n the general law that no mental modification ever occurs which is not accompanied or followed by a bodily change. T h e ideas and feelings, e.g., w hich these present p rin ted characters e x ­ cite in the rea d er’s m in d not only occasion m ovem ents o f his eyes and nascent m ovem ents o f articu lation in him , b u t w ill some day 1

1« .

C f. George T . L ad d : E lem en ts o f P hysio lo gical Psychology (1887), pt. in , chap. §§

9.

> 2-

18

T h e Scope of Psychology m ake him speak, or take sides in a discussion, or give advice, or choose a book to read, d ifferen tly from w hat w o u ld have been the case had they n ever im pressed his retin a. O ur psychology m ust therefore take account not only o f the con dition s antecedent to m ental states, b u t of their resu ltan t consequences as w ell. B u t actions o rig in a lly prom pted by conscious in telligen ce m ay grow so autom atic by din t o f h ab it as to be ap p aren tly unconscious­ ly perform ed . Standing, w alkin g, b u tton in g and un b u tton in g, pian o-playin g, talking, even saying o n e ’s prayers, m ay be done w hen the m in d is absorbed in other things. T h e perform an ces o f an im al instinct seem sem i-autom atic, and the reflex acts o f selfpreservation certain ly are so. Y et they resem ble in telligen t acts in b rin g in g ab out the same ends at w hich the an im als’ consciousness, on other occasions, d elib erately aim s. Shall the study o f such m achine-like yet p u rp osive acts as these be in clu d ed in Psychology? T h e boun d ary-lin e o f the m ental is certain ly vague. It is better not to be pedantic, but to let the science be as vague as its subject, and in clude such p henom ena as these i f by so d o in g w e can throw any ligh t on the m ain business in hand. It w ill ere lon g be seen, I trust, that w e can; and that w e gain m uch m ore by a broad than by a n arrow conception o f o u r subject. A t a certain stage in the de­ velop m en t o f every science a degree o f vagueness is w hat best con ­ sists w ith fertility. On the w hole, few recent form u las have done m ore real service of a rough sort in psychology than the Spencerian one that the essence o f m ental life and of bo d ily life are one, nam e­ ly, ‘the ad ju stm en t o f in ner to ou ter relatio n s.’ Such a form u la is vagueness in carn ate; but because it takes into account the fact that m inds in h ab it en viron m en ts w hich act on them and on w hich they in turn react; because, in short, it takes m in d in the m idst o f all its concrete relations, it is im m ensely m ore fertile than the oldfashioned ‘ration al psych ology,’ w hich treated the soul as a de­ tached existent, sufficient unto itself, and assum ed to con sider only its n atu re and properties. I shall th erefore feel free to m ake any sallies in to zoology or into p u re nerve-physiology w hich m ay seem in stru ctive for o u r purposes, but otherw ise shall leave those sci­ ences to the physiologists. C an w e state m ore d istin ctly still the m an n er in w hich the m en­ tal life seems to in terven e betw een im pressions m ade from w ith ou t

>9

T h e P rinciples of Psychology upon the body, and reactions o f the body upon the ou ter w orld again? L e t us look at a few facts. I f som e iron filings be sp rin k led on a table and a m agnet brough t n ear them , they w ill fly through the air for a certain distance and stick to its surface. A savage seeing the phenom enon exp lain s it as the resu lt o f an attraction or love betw een the m agnet and the fil­ ings. B u t let a card cover the poles o f the m agnet, and the filings w ill press forever against its surface w ith o u t its ever occu rrin g to them to pass aro u n d its sides and thus com e in to m ore d irect con­ tact w ith the ob ject o f th eir love. B lo w b u b b les through a tube into the bottom o f a p ail o f w ater, they w ill rise to the surface and m in gle w ith the air. T h e ir action m ay again be p oetically in ter­ p reted as du e to a lo n g in g to recom b in e w ith the mother-atm osphere above the surface. B u t if you in vert a ja r fu ll o f w ater o ver the p ail, they w ill rise and rem ain lodged beneath its bottom , shut in from the ou ter air, alth ou gh a slight deflection from th eir course at the outset, or a re-descent tow ards the rim o f the ja r w hen they fou n d th eir u p w ard course im peded, w o u ld easily have set them free. I f now w e pass from such actions as these to those o f liv in g things, w e notice a strik in g difference. R o m eo w ants Ju lie t as the filings w an t the m agnet; and if no obstacles in terven e he m oves tow ards her by as straight a lin e as they. B u t R o m eo and Ju lie t , if a w all be b u ilt betw een them , do not rem ain id io tically pressing th eir faces against its opposite sides lik e the m agnet and the filings w ith the card. R o m eo soon finds a circu itou s w ay, by scaling the w all or otherw ise, o f touch in g J u li e t ’s lips d irectly. W ith the filin gs the path is fixed ; w hether it reaches the end depends on accidents. W ith the lover it is the end w hich is fixed, the path m ay be m od i­ fied indefin itely. Suppose a liv in g frog in the position in w hich w e placed ou r bu bbles of air, nam ely, at the bottom o f a jar o f w ater. T h e w ant of breath w ill soon m ake him also lon g to rejo in the m other-atm osphere, and he w ill take the shortest path to his end by sw im m in g straight upw ards. B u t if a ja r fu ll o f w ater be in verted over him , he w ill not, lik e the bubbles, p erp etu ally press his nose against its u n y ield in g roof, but w ill restlessly ex p lo re the n eigh borh ood u n til by re-descending again he has discovered a path rou n d its b rim to the goal o f his desires. A g ain the fixed end, the vary in g means! Such contrasts betw een liv in g and in an im ate p erform an ces end

20

T h e Scope of Psychology by lead in g m en to deny that in the physical w o rld final purposes exist at all. Lo ves and desires are to-day no lo n ger im p uted to p ar­ ticles o f iron or o f air. N o one supposes now that the end o f any activity w hich they m ay d isp lay is an ideal p urpose p resid in g over the activity from its outset and so licitin g or d ra w in g it in to bein g by a sort o f vis a fronte. T h e end, on the con trary, is deem ed a m ere passive result, pushed in to b ein g a tergo, h a vin g had, so to speak, no voice in its own p rod u ction . A lte r the p re-existing conditions, and w ith in organ ic m aterials you b rin g forth each tim e a differen t ap p aren t end. B u t w ith in telligen t agents, alte rin g the conditions changes the activity displayed, but not the end reached; for here the idea o f the yet u n realized end co-operates w ith the conditions to determ in e w hat the activities shall be. T h e pursuance of future ends and the choice of means for their attainment are thus the mark and criterion of the presence of men­ tality in a phenom enon. W e all use this test to d iscrim in ate betw een an in telligen t and a m echanical perform an ce. W e im p u te no m en­ tality to sticks and stones, because they n ever seem to m ove for the sake of anyth ing, b u t alw ays w hen pushed, and then in differen tly and w ith no sign o f choice. So w e un h esitatin gly call them senseless. Ju s t so w e form o u r decision upon the deepest o f all philosophic problem s: Is the Kosm os an expression o f in telligen ce ration al in its in w ard n ature, or a bru te ex tern a l fact p u re and sim ple? I f w e find ourselves, in con tem p latin g it, u n ab le to banish the im pression that it is a realm o f final purposes, that it exists fo r the sake o f som ething, w e place in telligen ce at the heart o f it and have a re­ ligio n . If, on the con trary, in su rveyin g its irrem ed iab le flux, we can th in k o f the present on ly as so m uch m ere m echanical sprout­ in g from the past, occu rrin g w ith no referen ce to the fu tu re, w e are atheists and m aterialists. In the len gth y discussions w hich psychologists have carried on ab out the am oun t o f in telligen ce disp layed by low er m am m als, or the am oun t of consciousness in volved in the fun ction s o f the nervecentres o f reptiles, the sam e test has alw ays been ap p lied : Is the character o f the actions such that w e m ust believe them to b e p er­ form ed for the sake o f th eir result? T h e resu lt in question , as w e shall h ereafter ab u n d an tly see, is as a ru le a usefu l one,—the an im al is, on the w hole, safer u n d er the circum stances for b rin g in g it forth. So far the action has a teleological character; b u t such m ere ou t­

21

T h e P rinciples of Psychology w ard teleology as this m igh t still be the b lin d resu lt o f vis a tergo. T h e grow th and m ovem ents o f plants, the processes o f d evelop ­ m ent, digestion, secretion, etc., in anim als, sup p ly in n u m erab le in ­ stances o f p erform ances useful to the in d iv id u a l w hich m ay n ever­ theless be, and by most o f us are supposed to be, produ ced by autom atic m echanism . T h e p hysiologist does not confidently assert conscious in telligen ce in the fro g ’s spinal cord u n til he has shown that the useful result w hich the n ervou s m ach inery brin gs forth u n d er a given irritatio n remains the same when the machinery is altered. If, to take the stock-instance, the righ t knee o f a headless fro g be irritated w ith acid , the righ t foot w ill w ip e it off. W hen, how ever, this foot is am putated, the an im al w ill often raise the left foot to the spot and w ip e the o ffen d in g m aterial away. P fliiger and L ew es reason from such facts in the fo llo w in g w ay: I f the first reaction w ere the result o f m ere m achinery, they say; if that irrita te d portion o f the skin discharged the righ t leg as a trigger discharges its ow n barrel o f a shotgun; then am p u tatin g the righ t foot w ou ld indeed frustrate the w ip in g , b u t w ou ld not m ake the left leg m ove. It w o u ld sim ply result in the righ t stum p m ovin g through the em pty a ir (w hich is in fact the phenom enon som etim es observed). T h e righ t trigger m akes no effort to discharge the left barrel if the righ t one be u n load ed ; n or does an electrical m achine ever get restless because it can o n ly em it sparks, and not hem pillow -cases lik e a sew ing-m achine. If, on the contrary, the righ t leg o rig in a lly m oved for the pur­ pose o f w ip in g the acid, then n o th in g is m ore n atural than that, w hen the easiest m eans of effecting that purpose p rove fruitless, other m eans should be tried. E ve ry fa ilu re m ust keep the an im al in a state o f d isap p oin tm ent w hich w ill lead to all sorts o f new trials and devices; and tra n q u illity w ill not ensue till one of these, by a happy stroke, achieves the w ished-for end. In a sim ilar w ay G oltz ascribes in telligen ce to the fro g ’s optic lobes an d cereb ellu m . W e allu d ed above to the m an n er in w hich a sound frog im p rison ed in w ater w ill discover an ou tlet to the at­ m osphere. G oltz fou n d that frogs d ep rived o f their cereb ral h em i­ spheres w ou ld often e x h ib it a lik e in gen u ity. Such a frog, after risin g from the bottom and fin d in g his farth er u p w ard progress checked by the glass bell w hich has been in verted o ver him , w ill not persist in b u ttin g his nose against the obstacle u n til dead of suffocation, b u t w ill often re-descend and em erge from u n d er its

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T h e Scope of Psychology rim as if, not a defin ite m echanical prop ulsion upw ards, but rath er a conscious desire to reach the air by hook or crook w ere the m ain ­ sp rin g o f his activity. G oltz con clud ed from this that the h em i­ spheres are not the seat o f in tellectu al p ow er in frogs. H e m ade the sam e in feren ce from ob servin g that a brainless fro g w ill turn over from his back to his belly w hen one o f his legs is sewed up, a l­ though the m ovem ents req u ired are then very d ifferen t from those excited un d er n orm al circum stances by the sam e an n oyin g posi­ tion. T h e y seem determ in ed, consequently, not m erely by the ante­ cedent irritan t, b u t by the final end,—though the irrita n t o f course is w hat m akes the end desired. A n o th er b rillia n t G erm an author, L ie b m a n n ,2 argues against the b ra in ’s m echanism accoun tin g for m ental action, by very sim i­ lar considerations. A m achine as such, he says, w ill b rin g forth righ t results w hen it is in good order, and w ron g results if out o f rep air. B u t both kin ds o f result flow w ith eq u a lly fatal necessity from their conditions. W e cannot suppose the clock-w ork whose structure fatally determ in es it to a certain rate o f speed, n oticin g that this speed is too slow or too fast and v ain ly tryin g to correct it. Its con­ science, if it have any, should be as good as that o f the best chro­ nom eter, for both alike obey eq u a lly w ell the sam e eternal m e­ ch an ical law s—law s from behin d. B u t if the brain be out o f order and the m an says “ T w ic e fo u r are tw o,” instead of “ T w ic e fo u r are eig h t," or else “ I m ust go to the coal to bu y the w h a rf,” instead of “ I m ust go to the w h arf to bu y the co a l,” in stantly there arises a consciousness of error. T h e w ron g perform an ce, though it obey the sam e m echanical law as the righ t, is nevertheless condem ned,—con­ dem n ed as co n trad ictin g the in n er law —the law from in front, the purpose or ideal for w hich the brain should act, w h eth er it do so or not. W e need not discuss here w hether these w riters in d ra w in g their con clusion have done ju stice to all the prem ises in volved in the cases they treat of. W e q uote th eir argum ents on ly to show how they appeal to the p rin c ip le that no actions but such as are done for an end, and show a choice of means, can be called indubitable expressions of M ind. I shall then adopt this as the criterion by w hich to circu m scribe the subject-m atter o f this w ork so far as action enters in to it. M an y n ervou s p erform ances w ill therefore be un m en tion ed, as b ein g 2 Z u r A nalysis d er W irklich k eit, p. 489.

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology p u re ly p h ysiolo gical. N o r w ill the anatom y o f the n ervou s system and organs of sense be d escribed anew . T h e reader w ill find in H . N . M a rtin ’s H um an Body, in G . T . L a d d ’s Physiological Psychology, an d in all the other standard A n atom ies and Physiologies, a mass o f in fo rm ation w hich w e m ust regard as p relim in a ry and take for gran ted in the present w o rk .3 O f the fun ction s o f the cereb ral h em i­ spheres, how ever, since they d irectly subserve consciousness, it w ill be w ell to g iv e som e little account. * N o th in g is easier than to fam iliarize o n e’s self w ith the m am m alian brain . G et a sh eep ’s head, a sm all saw, chisel, scalpel and forceps (all three can best be had from a surgical-instru m en t m aker), and u nravel its parts eith er by the aid o f a hum an dissecting book, such as H o ld e n ’s M a n u a l o f A n atom y, o r by the specific directions a d hoc given in such books as Foster and L an g ley’s P ractical P h ysiology (M acm illan) or M o rrell's C o m p a ra tive A n atom y, and G u id e to D issection (Longm an & Co.).

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Chapter I I The Functions of the Brain

I f I begin ch o p p in g the foot o f a tree, its branches are unm oved by my act, and its leaves m u rm u r as p eacefu lly as ever in the w ind. If, on the con trary, I do violen ce to the foot of a fellow -m an, the rest o f his body in stantly responds to the aggression by m ovem ents of alarm or defence. T h e reason o f this difference is that the man has a n ervou s system, w h ilst the tree has non e; and the function o f the nervous system is to b rin g each part in to harm on ious co­ op eration w ith every other. T h e afferent nerves, w hen excited by some physical irritan t, be this as gross in its m ode o f operation as a ch o p p in g axe or as subtle as the w aves o f ligh t, convey the e x ­ citem ent to the n ervou s centres. T h e com m otion set up in the cen­ tres does not stop there, but discharges itself, if at all strong, through the efferent nerves into m uscles and glands, ex citin g m ove­ m ents o f the lim bs and viscera, or acts o f secretion, w hich vary w ith the an im al and w ith the irrita n t ap p lied . T h e se acts of response have usu ally the com m on character o f b ein g of service. T h e y w ard off the n o xio u s stim ulus and sup p ort the beneficial one; w hilst if, in itself in d ifferen t, the stim ulus be a sign o f some distant circu m ­ stance o f practical im portance, the an im al's acts are addressed to this circum stance so as to avoid its perils or secure its benefits, as the case m ay be. T o take a com m on exam p le, if I hear the con­ d u cto r c allin g “ A ll a b o a rd !” as I enter the depot, m y heart first stops, then palpitates, and m y legs respond to the air-w aves fallin g on m y tym panum by q u ick e n in g th eir m ovem ents. I f I stum ble as

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology I ru n , the sensation o f fa llin g provokes a m ovem ent o f the hands tow ards the direction o f the fall, the effect o f w hich is to shield the body from too sudden a shock. I f a cin d er enter my eye, its lids close fo rcib ly and a copious flow o f tears tends to w ash it out. T h e se three responses to a sensational stim ulus differ, how ever, in m any respects. T h e closure o f the eye and the lachrym ation are q u ite in volu n tary, and so is the d isturbance of the heart. Such in ­ vo lu n tary responses w e know as ‘re fle x ’ acts. T h e m otion o f the arm s to break the shock o f fa llin g m ay also be called reflex, since it occurs too q u ic k ly to be d elib erately intended. W h eth er it be in ­ stinctive or w h ether it result from the pedestrian education of ch ild h o od m ay be d o u b tfu l; it is, at any rate, less autom atic than the p reviou s acts, for a m an m ight by conscious effort learn to per­ form it m ore sk ilfu lly, or even to suppress it altogether. A ction s of this kind, into w hich instinct and vo litio n enter upon equal terms, have been called ‘sem i-reflex.’ T h e act o f ru n n in g tow ards the train, on the other hand, has no in stin ctive elem ent ab out it. It is p u rely the resu lt of education, and is preceded by a consciousness o f the purpose to be attained and a distin ct m andate o f the w ill. It is a ‘vo lu n tary act.’ T h u s the an im al’s reflex and vo lu n tary p erfo r­ m ances shade into each other grad u ally, b ein g connected by acts w hich m ay often occur autom atically, b u t m ay also be m odified by conscious in telligence. A n outside observer, u n ab le to perceive the accom pan yin g consciousness, m igh t be w h olly at a loss to d iscrim in ate betw een the autom atic acts and those w hich vo litio n escorted. B u t if the criterion o f m in d ’s existence be the choice o f the p ro p er m eans for the attain m en t of a supposed end, a ll the acts seem to be in spired by in telligen ce, for appropriateness characterizes them all alike. T h is fact, now , has led to two q u ite opposite theories ab out the re­ lation to consciousness o f the n ervou s functions. Som e authors, fin d in g that the h igh er v o lu n tary ones seem to req u ire the g u id ­ ance o f feeling, con clud e that o ver the low est reflexes som e such feelin g also presides, though it m ay be a feelin g o f w hich we re­ m ain unconscious. O thers, fin d in g that reflex and sem i-autom atic acts may, n otw ith stan d in g th eir appropriateness, take place w ith an unconsciousness ap p aren tly com plete, fly to the opposite e x ­ trem e and m ain tain that the appropriaten ess even o f vo lu n tary ac­ tions owes n oth in g to the fact that consciousness attends them. T h e y are, accordin g to these w riters, results o f physiological m echa­

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T h e Functions of the B rain nism p u re and sim ple. In a n ear chapter w e shall retu rn to this controversy again. L e t us now look a little m ore closely at the brain and at the ways in w hich its states m ay be supposed to con dition those o f the m ind. T H E F R O G ’S N E R V E -C E N T R E S

B o th the m in u te anatom y and the d etailed physiology o f the brain are ach ievem en ts o f the present generation , or rather w e m ay say (b egin n in g w ith M eynert) o f the past tw enty years. M an y points are still obscure and subject to controversy; bu t a general w ay o f co n ceivin g the organ has been reached on all hands w hich in its m ain featu re seems not u n lik ely to stand, and w hich even gives a most p lau sib le schem e o f the w ay in w hich cereb ral and m ental operation s go hand in hand. T h e best w ay to en ter the subject w ill be to take a low er creature, lik e a frog, and study by the vivisectio n al m ethod the fun ction s o f his d ifferen t nerve-centres. T h e fro g ’s nerve-centres are figured in

Fig. i .—C H , C erebral H em is­ pheres; O T h , O ptic T h a la m i; O / , O ptic Lobes; C b, C ere ­ bellu m ; M O, M edu lla O b ­ longata; S C, Sp in al Cord.

the accom pan yin g diagram , w hich needs no fu rth er exp lan ation . I w ill first proceed to state w hat happens w hen vario u s am ounts o f the an terio r parts are rem oved, in differen t frogs, in the w ay in w hich an o rd in ary student rem oves them —that is, w ith no extrem e p recautions as to the p u rity of the operation . W e shall in this w ay reach a very sim ple conception of the fun ction s o f the various cen­ tres, in v o lv in g the strongest possible contrast betw een the cerebral

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T h e P rinciples of Psychology hem ispheres and the low er lobes, T h is sharp conception w ill have didactic advantages, for it is often very in stru ctive to start w ith too sim ple a fo rm u la and correct it later on. O u r first form ula, as w e shall later see, w ill have to be softened dow n som ew hat by the results o f m ore carefu l experim en tation both on frogs and birds, and by those o f the most recent observations on dogs, m onkeys, an d m an. B u t it w ill p u t us, from the outset, in clear possession o f som e fun dam ental notions and d istinctions w hich we cou ld other­ w ise not gain so w ell, and none of w hich the later m ore com pleted view w ill overturn . If, then, w e redu ce the fro g ’s n ervou s system to the spinal cord alone, by m ak in g a section behin d the base o f the skull, betw een the spinal cord and the m edu lla oblongata, thereby cu ttin g off the brain from all connection w ith the rest o f the body, the frog w ill still con tin u e to live, b u t w ith a very p ecu liarly m odified activity. It ceases to breathe or sw allow ; it lies flat on its belly, and does not, lik e a n orm al frog, sit up on its fore-paws, though its hind-legs are kept, as usual, folded against its body and im m ediately resum e this position if draw n out. I f throw n on its back it lies there q u ietly, w ith ou t tu rn in g over lik e a n orm al frog. Loco m otio n and voice seem en tirely abolished. I f w e suspend it by the nose, and irritate differen t portions o f its skin by acid, it p erform s a set o f rem arkab le ‘d efen sive’ m ovem ents calcu lated to w ipe aw ay the irritan t. T h u s, if the breast be touched, both fore-paw s w ill ru b it vigo rou sly; if w e touch the ou ter side o f the elbow , the hind-foot o f the sam e side w ill rise d irectly to the spot and w ipe it. T h e back o f the foot w ill ru b the kn ee if that be attacked, w hilst if the foot be cu t away, the stum p w ill m ake in effectual m ovem ents, and then, in m any frogs, a pause w ill com e, as if for d elib eratio n , succeeded by a rap id pas­ sage of the opposite u n m u tilated foot to the acid ulated spot. T h e most strik in g character o f all these m ovem ents, after their teleological appropriateness, is th eir precision. T h e y vary, in sensi­ tive frogs and w ith a p rop er am oun t of irritatio n , so little as alm ost to resem ble in their m achine-like reg u larity the p erform ances of a ju m p in g-jack, whose legs m ust twitch w h en ever you p u ll the string. T h e spinal cord of the fro g thus contains arrangem ents o f cells and fibres fitted to con vert skin -irritation s into m ovem ents o f defence. W e m ay call it the centre for defensive movements in this anim al. W e m ay in d eed go farth er than this, and by cu ttin g the spinal cord in vario u s places find that its separate segm ents are in dep en den t

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T h e Functions of the B rain m echanism s, for ap p ro p riate activities of the head and of the arm s and legs respectively. T h e segm ent g o v ern in g the arm s is especially active, in m ale frogs, in the b reed in g season; and these m em bers alon e w ith the breast and back ap p ertain in g to them, everyth in g else b e in g cu t aw ay, w ill then actively grasp a finger placed betw een them and rem ain h an gin g to it fo r a con sid erable time. T h e spinal cord in other an im als has analogous powers. E ven in m an it m akes m ovem ents o f defence. P arap legics draw u p their legs w hen tickled; and R o b in , on tick lin g the breast of a crim in al an h o u r after decap itation , saw the arm and hand m ove tow ards the spot. O f the low er fun ction s o f the m am m alian cord, studied so ab ly by G oltz and others, this is not the place to speak. If, in a second an im al, the cut be m ade ju st behin d the optic lobes so that the cereb ellu m and m ed u lla oblon gata rem ain at­ tached to the cord, then sw allow ing, breath in g, craw lin g, and a rather en feebled ju m p in g and sw im m in g are added to the m ove­ m ents p reviou sly ob served .1 T h e r e are other reflexes too. T h e an i­ m al, throw n on his back, im m ed iately turns over to his belly. P laced in a shallow bowl, w hich is floated on w ater and m ade to rotate, he responds to the rotation by first tu rn in g his head and then w altzing aro u n d w ith his en tire body, in the opposite d irec­ tion to the w h irlin g o f the bow l. I f his su p p ort be tilted so that his head points dow nw ards, he p oints it up ; he points it dow n if it be p ointed upw ards, to the righ t if it be poin ted to the left, etc. B u t his reactions do not go farth er than these m ovem ents o f the head. H e w ill not, lik e frogs whose thalam i are preserved, clim b u p a bo ard if the latter be tilted, but w ill slid e off it to the ground. I f the cut be m ade on an other frog betw een the thalam i and the optic lobes, the locom otion both on lan d and w ater becom es q u ite n orm al, and, in ad dition to the reflexes alread y shown by the low er centres, he croaks reg u larly w h en ever he is pinched u n d er the arm s. H e com pensates rotations, etc., by m ovem ents o f the head, and turns over from his back; but still drops off his tilted board. A s his optic nerves are destroyed by the usual op eration , it is im ­ possible to say w hether he w ill avoid obstacles placed in his path. W hen , finally, a fro g ’s cereb ral hem ispheres alon e are cu t off by a section betw een them and the thalam i w hich preserves the latter, an un practised observer w ou ld not at first suspect an yth in g abnor1 It should be said that this p a rticu lar cut com m only proves fatal. T h e text refers to the rare cases which survive.

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology m al ab ou t the an im al. N ot o n ly is he capable, on prop er instiga­ tion, o f all the acts alread y described, b u t he guides h im self by sight, so that if an obstacle be set up betw een him and the light, and he be forced to m ove forw ard, he eith er ju m p s over it or swerves to one side. H e m anifests sexual passion at the p ro p er sea­ son, and, u n lik e an alto geth er brainless frog, w hich em braces any­ thin g placed betw een his arms, postpones this reflex act u n til a fe­ m ale o f his ow n species is provid ed . T h u s far, as aforesaid, a person u n fa m ilia r w ith frogs m igh t not suspect a m u tilatio n ; b u t even such a person w ou ld soon rem ark the alm ost en tire absence o f spontaneous m otion —that is, m otion u n p rovok ed by any present in citation o f sense. T h e con tinu ed m ovem ents o f sw im m ing, p er­ form ed by the creatu re in the w ater, seem to be the fatal result of the contact o f that fluid w ith its skin. T h e y cease w hen a stick, for exam p le, touches his hands. T h is is a sensible irrita n t tow ards w hich the feet are au to m atically d raw n by reflex action, an d on w hich the an im al rem ains sitting. H e m anifests no hun ger, and w ill suffer a fly to craw l over his nose unsnapped at. Fear, too, seems to have deserted him . In a w ord, he is an extrem ely com p lex m achine whose actions, so far as they go, tend to self-preservation; bu t still a machine, in this sense—that it seems to contain no in ­ calcu lab le elem ent. B y ap p lyin g the righ t sensory stim u lu s to him w e are alm ost as certain o f gettin g a fixed response as an organist is o f h earin g a certain tone w hen he p u lls out a certain stop. B u t now if to the low er centres w e add the cereb ral hem ispheres, or if, in other words, w e m ake an intact an im al the subject o f ou r observations, all this is changed. In ad dition to the p reviou s re­ sponses to present incitem ents o f sense, o u r fro g now goes through lon g and com p lex acts o f locom otion spontaneously, or as if m oved by w hat in ourselves we should call an idea. H is reactions to ou t­ w ard stim u li vary th eir form , too. Instead o f m ak in g sim ple d e­ fensive m ovem ents w ith his hind-legs, lik e a headless frog, if touched; or of g iv in g one or two leaps and then sittin g still lik e a hem isphereless one, he m akes persistent and varied efforts at escape, as if, not the m ere contact of the physiologist’s hand, b u t the notion o f dan ger suggested by it w ere now his spur. L e d by the feelin g o f hun ger, too, he goes in search o f insects, fish, or sm aller frogs, and varies his procedure w ith each species o f victim . T h e physiologist cannot by m an ip u latin g him elicit croakin g, craw lin g u p a board, sw im m in g or stopping, at w ill. H is conduct has becom e in calcu la­

3°

T h e Functions of the B rain b le —we can no lon ger foretell it exactly. E ffort to escape is his d om in an t reaction , b u t he may do an yth in g else, even sw ell u p and becom e p erfectly passive in ou r hands. Such are the phenom ena com m only observed, and such the im ­ pressions w hich one n atu ra lly receives. C ertain general conclusions follow irresistibly. F irst of all the follow in g: T h e acts of all the centres involve the use of the same muscles. W hen a headless fro g ’s hind-leg w ipes the acid, he calls into play all the leg-m uscles w hich a frog w ith his fu ll m ed u lla oblongata and cereb ellu m uses w hen he turns from his back to his belly. T h e ir contractions are, how ever, combined d ifferen tly in the two cases, so that the results vary w idely. W e m ust con sequen tly conclude that specific arrangem ents of cells and fibres exist in the cord for w ip in g , in the m ed u lla for tu rn in g over, etc. S im ila rly they exist in the thalam i for ju m p in g over seen obstacles and for b alan cin g the m oved body; in the optic lobes for creep in g backw ards, or w hat not. B u t in the hem ispheres, since the presence o f these organs brings no new elementary form of movement w ith it, but on ly determines differently the occasions on w hich the m ovem ents shall occur, m ak in g the usual stim u li less fatal and m achine-like; we need suppose no such m ach inery directly co-ordinative o f m uscular contractions to exist. W e m ay rather assum e, w hen the m andate for a w ipin g-m ovem en t is sent forth by the hem ispheres, that a cu rren t goes straight to the w ipin g-arran gem ent in the spinal cord, excitin g this arran gem en t as a w hole. S im ila rly , if an intact fro g w ishes to ju m p over a stone w hich he sees, all he need do is to excite from the hem ispheres the ju m p in g-cen tre in the thalam i or w h erever it m ay be, and the latter w ill p rovid e for the details o f the execution. It is lik e a general o rd e rin g a colonel to m ake ai certain m ovem ent, b u t not tellin g him how it shall be d on e.2 T h e same muscle, then, is repeatedly represented at different heights-, and at each it enters into a differen t com b ination w ith other m uscles to co-operate in some special form o f concerted m ovem ent. At each height the movement is discharged by some particular form of sensorial stimulus. T h u s in the cord, the skin alon e occasions m ovem ents; in the u p p er part of the optic lobes, 2 1 confine m yself to the frog for sim p licity’s sake. In higher anim als, especially the ape and m an, it w ould seem as if not o n ly determ inate com binations o f muscles, b u t lim ited groups or even single muscles could be innervated from the hem ispheres.

T h e P rinciples of Psychology the eyes are ad ded ; in the thalam i, the sem i-circular canals w ould seem to p lay a p art; w hilst the stim u li w hich discharge the h em i­ spheres w ou ld seem not so m uch to be elem en tary sorts o f sensa­ tion, as group s o f sensations fo rm in g d eterm in ate objects or things. Prey is not p ursued n or are enemies shunned by o rd in ary hemisphereless frogs. T h o se reaction s upon com p lex circum stances w hich we call instin ctive rather than reflex, are already in this an i­ m al d ep en d en t on the b ra in ’s highest lobes, and still m ore is this the case w ith an im als h ig h er in the zoological scale. T h e results are ju st the sam e if, instead o f a frog, we take a pigeon, and cut out his hem ispheres as they are o rd in a rily cut out for a lecture-room d em onstration. T h e r e is not a m ovem ent n atural to him w hich this brainless b ird cannot perform if expressly e x ­ cited thereto; on ly the in n er p rom p tin gs seem deficient, and w hen left to h im self he spends most of his tim e crouched on the gro u n d w ith his head sunk betw een his shoulders as if asleep.

G E N E R A L N O TIO N O F H E M IS P H E R E S

A ll these facts lead us, w hen w e thin k ab out them , to som e such exp lan ato ry conception as this: T h e lower centres act from present sensational stimuli alone; the hemispheres act from perceptions and considerations, the sensations w hich they m ay receive servin g o n ly as suggesters o f these. B u t w hat are perceptions but sensations gro u p ed together? and w hat are con siderations but expectations, in the fancy, of sensations w hich w ill be felt one w ay or an other accord in g as action takes this course or that? I f I step aside on see­ in g a rattlesnake, from con sid erin g how dangerous an an im al he is, the m ental m aterials w hich constitute m y p ru d en tial reflection are im ages m ore or less v iv id o f the m ovem ent o f his head, o f a sudden pain in m y leg, o f a state o f terror, a sw ellin g o f the lim b , a ch ill, d eliriu m , unconsciousness, etc., etc., and the ru in of m y hopes. B u t all these im ages are constructed out o f m y past e x p e ri­ ences. T h e y are reproductions o f w hat I have felt or witnessed. T h e y are, in short, remote sensations; and the difference between the hemisphereless animal and the whole one m ay be concisely e x ­ pressed by saying that the one obeys absent, the other only present, objects. T h e hem ispheres w ou ld then seem to be the seat of memory. V estiges o f past exp erien ce m ust in som e w ay be stored u p in them,

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T h e Functions of the B rain and m ust, w hen aroused by present stim u li, first ap p ear as rep re­ sentations of distant goods and evils; and then m ust discharge into the ap p ro p riate m otor channels for w ard in g off the evil and secur­ in g the benefits of the good. I f we liken the n ervous cu rren ts to electric currents, w e can com pare the nervous system, C, below the hem ispheres to a d irect circu it from sense-organ to m uscle alon g the lin e 5 . . . C . . . M o f F ig. 2. T h e hem isphere, H , adds the lon g

Fic. 2.

circu it or loop-lin e through w hich the cu rren t m ay pass w hen for any reason the d irect lin e is not used. T h u s , a tired w ayfarer on a hot day throws h im self on the dam p earth beneath a m aple-tree. T h e sensations o f d eliciou s rest and coolness p o u rin g them selves through the d irect lin e w ou ld n atu ral­ ly discharge into the m uscles of com plete exten sion : he w ou ld aban don h im self to the dangerous repose. B u t the loop-line b ein g open, p art o f the cu rren t is d rafted alon g it, an d aw akens rheum atic or catarrh al rem iniscences, w hich p revail over the in stigations o f sense, and m ake the m an arise and p ursu e his w ay to w h ere he m ay en jo y his rest m ore safely. Presen tly w e shall exam in e the m anner in w hich the hem isp heric loop-line m ay be supposed to serve as a reservo ir for such rem iniscences as these. M ean w h ile I w ill ask the reader to notice som e coro llaries o f its b e in g such a reservoir. F irst, n o an im al w ith out it can d eliberate, pause, postpone, n icely w eigh one m otive against another, or com pare. P rudence, in a w ord, is for such a creatu re an im possible virtu e. A cco rd in gly w e see that n atu re rem oves those fun ction s in the exercise o f w hich p ru d en ce is a v irtu e from the low er centres and hands them over to the cerebrum . W h erever a creatu re has to deal w ith com p lex features of the en viron m en t, p rud ence is a v irtu e. T h e h igh er an i­ m als have so to d eal; and the m ore com p lex the features, the h igher

T h e P rinciples of Psychology w e call the anim als. T h e few er of his acts, then, can such an an im al p erform w ith o u t the help o f the organs in question . In the frog m any acts d evo lve w h olly on the low er centres; in the b ird few er; in the rodent few er still; in the dog very few in deed; and in apes and m en h ard ly any at all. T h e advantages o f this are obvious. T a k e the p rehension o f food as an exam p le and suppose it to be a reflex p erform an ce o f the low ­ er centres. T h e an im al w ill be condem ned fatally and irresistib ly to snap at it w h en ever presented, no m atter w hat the circum stances m ay be; he can no m ore d isobey this p ro m p tin g than w ater can refuse to boil w hen a fire is kin d led un der the pot. H is life w ill again and again pay the fo rfeit o f his glutton y. E xp o su re to re­ taliatio n , to other enem ies, to traps, to poisons, to the dangers of rep letion, m ust be reg u lar parts of his existence. H is lack o f all thought by w hich to w eigh the d an ger against the attractiveness o f the bait, and o f all v o litio n to rem ain h u n gry a little w h ile longer, is the d irect m easure o f his lowness in the m ental scale. A n d those fishes w hich, lik e ou r cu n n ers and sculpins, are no sooner throw n back from the hook in to the w ater than they au to m atically seize the hook again, w ou ld soon exp iate the d egradation of their in ­ telligen ce by the extin ction o f th eir type, d id not th eir exaggerated fecun dity aton e for th eir im prud en ce. A p p etite and the acts it prom pts have con sequen tly becom e in all h ig h er vertebrates fu n c­ tions o f the cerebrum . T h e y d isap p ear w hen the physiologist’s k n ife has left the su b ord in ate centres alon e in place. T h e brainless pigeon w ill starve though left on a corn-heap. T a k e again the sexual fun ction . In birds this d evolves exclu sive­ ly upon the hem ispheres. W hen these are shorn aw ay the pigeon pays no attention to the b illin g s and cooings o f its m ate. A n d G oltz foun d that a bitch in heat w ou ld excite no em otion in m ale dogs w ho had suffered large loss of cereb ral tissue. T h o se w ho have read D a rw in ’s Descent of M an know w hat im m ense im portan ce in the am elioratio n o f the breed in birds this au th or ascribes to the m ere fact o f sexual selection. T h e sexual act is not p erform ed u n til every con d ition o f circum stance and sentim ent is fu lfilled , u n til time, place, and p artn er all are fit. B u t in frogs and toads this passion de­ volves on the low er centres. T h e y show con sequen tly a m ach ine­ like obedien ce to the present in citem en t of sense, and an alm ost total exclu sion o f the pow er o f choice. C o p u latio n occurs per fas aut nefas, occasionally betw een m ales, often w ith dead fem ales, in

34

T h e Functions of the B rain pudd les exposed on the highw ay, and the m ale m ay be cu t in two w ith ou t lettin g go his hold. E ve ry sp rin g an im m ense sacrifice of batrachian life takes place from these causes alone. N o one need be told how depen den t all h u m an social eleva­ tion is upon the p revalen ce of chastity. H a rd ly an y factor m easures m ore than this the d ifferen ce betw een civilization and barbarism . P h ysio lo gically in terpreted , chastity m eans n oth in g m ore than the fact that present solicitation s o f sense are overp ow ered by sugges­ tions o f aesthetic and m oral fitness w hich the circum stances aw aken in the cereb ru m ; and that upon the in h ib ito ry or p erm issive in ­ fluence o f these alo n e action d irectly depends. W ith in the psychic life due to the cereb rum itself the sam e gen ­ eral distin ction obtains, betw een considerations o f the m ore im ­ m ediate and con siderations o f the m ore rem ote. In all ages the man w hose d eterm in ation s are swayed by referen ce to the most distant ends has been h eld to possess the highest in telligen ce. T h e tram p w ho lives from h o u r to h o u r; the bohem ian whose engagem ents are from day to day; the bachelor w ho bu ild s but for a single life; the father w ho acts for an other gen eration ; the patriot w ho thinks o f a w hole com m u n ity and m any gen eration s; and, finally, the p h ilosop h er and saint whose cares are for h u m an ity and for etern i­ ty,—these ran ge them selves in an u n b roken h ierarch y, w herein each successive grade results from an increased m an ifestation of the special form o f action by w hich the cereb ral centres are dis­ tinguished from all below them. In the ‘loop -lin e’ alon g w hich the m em ories and ideas of the dis­ tant are supposed to lie, the action, so far as it is a physical process, m ust be in terpreted after the type of the action in the low er cen­ tres. I f regarded h ere as a reflex process, it m ust be reflex there as w ell. T h e cu rren t in both places ru n s out into the m uscles on ly after it has first ru n in; but w hilst the path by w hich it run s out is d eterm in ed in the low er centres by reflections few and fixed am ongst the cell-arrangem ents, in the hem ispheres the reflections are m any and instable. T h is , it w ill be seen, is on ly a differen ce of degree and not o f kin d, and does not change the reflex type. T h e conception o f all action as co n fo rm in g to this type is the fu n d a­ m ental conception o f m odern nerve-physiology. So m uch for ou r general p relim in a ry conception of the nerve-centres! L e t us define it m ore d istin ctly before we see how w ell physiological observation w ill bear it out in detail.

T h e P rinciples of Psychology T H E E D U C A T IO N O F T H E H E M IS P H E R E S

N erve-currents run in through sense-organs, and w hilst p rovok­ in g reflex acts in the low er centres, they arouse ideas in the h em i­ spheres, w hich eith er p erm it the reflexes in question , check them, or substitute others for them . A ll ideas b ein g in the last resort rem iniscences, the question to answ er is: H ow can processes be­ come organized in the hemispheres which correspond to reminis­ cences in the m ind? 3 N o th in g is easier than to conceive a possible w ay in w hich this m igh t be done, p rovid ed fo u r assum ptions be granted. T h e se as­ sum ptions (w hich after all are in evitab le in any event) are: 1) T h e sam e cereb ral process w hich, w hen aroused from w ith out by a sense-organ, gives the p erception of an object, w ill g ive an idea o f the sam e ob ject w hen aroused by oth er cereb ral processes from w ith in. 2) I f processes 1, 2, 3, 4 have once been aroused together or in im m ediate succession, any subsequen t arousal of any one of them (w hether from w ith ou t or w ith in) w ill tend to arouse the others in the o rig in a l order. [T h is is the so-called law o f association.] 3) E ve ry sensorial excitem en t propagated to a low er centre tends to spread up w ard s and arouse an idea. 4) E ve ry idea tends u ltim ately eith er to p roduce a m ovem ent or to check one w hich otherw ise w ou ld be produced. Suppose now (these assum ptions b ein g granted) that w e have a baby before us w ho sees a candle-flam e for the first tim e, and, by v irtu e of a reflex tendency com m on in babies o f a certain age, e x ­ tends his hand to grasp it, so that his fingers get b u rn ed. So far we have two reflex cu rren ts in play: first, from the eye to the extension m ovem ent, alon g the lin e 1 — 1 —1 — 1 of F ig. 3; and second, from the 3 1 hope th at the reader w ill take no um brage at m y so m ixin g the physical and m ental, and talkin g o f reflex acts a n d hem ispheres and rem iniscences in the same breath, as if they were hom ogeneous q u an tities and factors o f one causal chain. I have done so delib e rately; for alth o ugh I ad m it that from the rad ically physical p o in t o f view it is easy to conceive o f the chain o f events am ongst the cells and fibres as com plete in itself, and that w h ilst so conceiving it one need m ake no m en­ tion o f ‘ ideas,’ I yet suspect that p o in t o f view o f being an unreal abstraction. R e ­ flexes in centres m ay take place even w here accom panying feelings or ideas guide them. In an other chapter I shall try to show reasons for not ab an d o n in g this common^sense position; m eanw h ile language lends itself so much more easily to the m ixed w ay o f describing, th at I w ill continue to em ploy the latter. T h e m ore radicalm inded reader can alw ays read ‘ ideational process’ for ‘id ea.’

36

T h e Functions of the B rain finger to the m ovem ent of d raw in g back the hand, alon g the lin e 2—2—2—2. I f this w ere the b a b y ’s w h ole n ervous system, and if the reflexes w ere once for all organic, w e should have no alteration in his behavior, no m atter how often the exp erien ce recu rred. T h e retin al im age o f the flam e w o u ld alw ays m ake the arm shoot for­ w ard, the b u rn in g o f the finger w ou ld alw ays send it back. B u t we know that ‘the b u rn t ch ild dreads the fire,’ and that one exp erien ce u su ally protects the fingers forever. T h e p oin t is to see how the hem ispheres m ay b rin g this resu lt to pass.

F ic. 4.—T h e dotted lines stand for a f­ ferent paths, the broken lines for paths betw een the centres; the en ­ tire lines for efferent paths.

Fic. 3.

W e m ust com plicate o u r d iagram (see F ig. 4). L et the cu rren t 1 —1, from the eye, discharge up w ard s as w ell as dow nw ards w hen it reaches the low er centre for vision , and arouse the p erceptional process 51 in the hem ispheres; let the feelin g o f the a rm ’s extension also send u p a cu rren t w hich leaves a trace o f itself, m 1; let the b u rn t finger leave an an alogous trace, 52; an d let the m ovem ent of retraction leave m2. T h e se fo u r processes w ill now , by v irtu e o f as­ sum ption 2), be associated together by the path s1—m 1—s2—m2, ru n ­ n in g from the first to the last, so that if an yth in g touches off s1, ideas o f the extension, o f the b u rn t finger, and of the retraction w ill pass in rap id succession throu gh the m in d. T h e effect on the c h ild ’s conduct w hen the candle-flam e is n ext presented is easy to im agine. O f course the sight of it arouses the g rasp in g reflex; b u t it arouses sim ultaneously the idea thereof, together w ith that o f the consequent pain , and o f the final retraction o f the hand; and if these cereb ral processes p rev ail in strength over the im m ediate sensation in the centres below , the last idea w ill be the cue by w hich

37

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology the final action is discharged. T h e grasp in g w ill be arrested in m id ­ career, the hand d raw n back, and the c h ild ’s fingers saved. In all this we assum e that the hem ispheres do n ot natively cou p le an y p a rticu lar sense-im pression w ith any special m otor discharge. T h e y o n ly register, and preserve traces of, such cou p lin gs as are al­ ready organized in the reflex centres below . B u t this brin gs it in ­ evitab ly ab out that, w hen a chain o f experien ces has been already registered and the first lin k is im pressed once again from w ithout, the last lin k w ill often be aw akened in idea lon g before it can exist in fact. A n d if this last link w ere p reviou sly cou p led w ith a m otion, that m otion m ay now com e from the m ere ideal suggestion w ith ­ out w aitin g for the actual im pression to arise. T h u s an an im al w ith hem ispheres acts in anticipation o f fu tu re things; or, to use ou r previou s form ula, he acts from considerations of distant good and ill. I f w e g iv e the nam e o f partners to the o rig in a l co u p lin gs o f im ­ pressions w ith m otions in a reflex way, then w e m ay say that the fun ction o f the hem ispheres is sim ply to b rin g ab out exchanges among the partners. M ovem ent mn, w hich n atively is sensation j n’s p artner, becom es through the hem ispheres the partn er o f sen­ sation j 1, s2 or s3. It is lik e the great com m u tatin g sw itch-board at a central teleph on e station. N o n ew elem en tary process is in volved; no im pression n or any m otion p ecu liar to the hem ispheres; but any n u m b er o f com binations im possible to the low er m ach inery taken alone, an d an endless consequent increase in the p ossibilities of beh avio r on the creatu re’s part. A ll this, as a m ere schem e,4 is so clear and so con cordan t w ith the general look o f the facts as alm ost to im pose itself on o u r b elief; but it is an yth in g but clear in d etail. T h e brain-physiology o f late years has w ith great effort sought to w ork ou t the paths by w hich these cou p lin gs of sensations w ith m ovem ents take place, both in the hem ispheres and in the centres below . So we m ust n ext test o u r schem e by the facts discovered in this d irection . W e shall conclude, I think, after takin g them all into * I sh all call it h ereafter for shortness ‘ the M eynert schem e’; for the child-andflam e exam ple, as w ell as the w hole gen eral notion that the hem ispheres are a su p er­ num erary surface for the projection and association of sensations and movements natively coupled in the centres below , is due to T h eo d o r M eynert, the A u strian anatom ist. For a p o p u lar account o f his view s, see his pam p h let Z u r M ech an ik des G eh irn b a u es, V ienn a, 1874. H is most recent developm ent of them is em bodied in his P sych ia try: A C lin ica l T rea tise on Diseases o f the F o re -B ra in , translated by B . Sachs, N ew Y o rk , 1885.

38

T h e Functions of the B rain account, that the schem e p rob ab ly m akes the low er centres too m achine-like and the hem ispheres not q u ite m achine-like enough, an d m ust consequently be softened dow n a little. So m uch I may say in advance. M eanw hile, before p lu n g in g into the details w hich aw ait us, it w ill som ew hat clear o u r ideas if w e contrast the m odern w ay o f lookin g at the m atter w ith the phrenological conception w hich but lately preceded it.

T H E P H R E N O L O G IC A L C O N C E P T IO N

In a certain sense G a ll was the first to seek to exp lain in detail how the brain cou ld subserve ou r m ental operations. H is w ay of proceeding was only too sim ple. H e took the faculty-psychology as his ultim atu m on the m ental side, and he m ade no farth er psycho­ logical analysis. W h erever he foun d an in d ivid u a l w ith some strongly-m arked trait o f character he exam in ed his head; and if he foun d the latter p rom in en t in a certain region , he said w ith out m ore ado that that region was the ‘o rg an ’ o f the trait or facu lty in question. T h e traits w ere of very diverse constitution, some bein g sim ple sen sibilities lik e ‘w eigh t’ or ‘c o lo r’ ; some b ein g instin ctive tendencies lik e ‘alim en tiven ess’ or ‘am ativeness’ ; and others, again, b ein g com p lex resultants lik e ‘conscientiousness,’ ‘in d iv id u a lity .’ P h ren ology fell p rom p tly into d isrep ute am ong scientific m en be­ cause observation seem ed to show that large facu lties and large ‘bu m ps’ m ight fail to coexist; because the scheme of G a ll was so vast as hardly to ad m it of accurate d eterm in ation at a ll—w ho of us can say even o f his ow n brothers w hether their perceptions o f weight and o f time are w ell developed or not?—because the fo llo w ­ ers of G all and Spurzheim w ere u n ab le to reform these errors in any ap p reciab le degree; and, finally, because the w hole analysis of faculties was vague and erroneous from a psychologic p oin t o f view . P o p u lar professors of the lore have nevertheless con tinu ed to com m and the ad m iration o f p o p u lar audiences; and there seems n o d ou bt that P h ren ology, how ever little it satisfy o u r scientific cu riosity ab ou t the fun ction s o f d ifferen t portions o f the brain, m ay still be, in the hands o f in telligen t practitioners, a useful help in the art o f read in g character. A hooked nose and a firm ja w are usu­ a lly signs o f practical energy; soft, d elicate hands are signs of re­ fined sen sibility. E ven so m ay a p rom in en t eye be a sign of pow er over language, and a bull-neck a sign of sensuality. B u t the brain

39

T h e P rinciples of Psychology b eh in d the eye and neck n eed no m ore be the organ o f the signified facu lty than the ja w is the organ o f the w ill or the hand the organ o f refinem ent. T h e se correlation s betw een m in d and body are, how ever, so freq u en t that the ‘characters’ given by phrenologists are often rem arkab le for know ingness and insight. P hren ology hard ly does m ore than restate the problem . T o an­ sw er the question, “ W hy do I like ch ild ren ?” by saying, “ Because you have a large organ o f p h ilop rogen itiven ess,” but renam es the phenom enon to be exp lain ed . W h at is m y philoprogen itiven ess? O f w hat m ental elem ents does it consist? A n d how can a part o f the brain be its organ? A science o f the m in d m ust redu ce such com ­ p lex m anifestations as ‘p h ilo p ro gen itiven ess’ to their elements. A science of the b rain m ust poin t out the fun ction s of its elem ents. A science o f the relation s of m in d and brain m ust show how the elem en tary ingredients o f the form er correspond to the elem en tary fun ction s of the latter. B u t phren ology, excep t by occasional coin­ cidence, takes no account o f elem ents at all. Its ‘facu lties,’ as a rule, are fu lly eq u ip p ed persons in a p articu lar m ental attitude. T a k e , for exam p le, the ‘facu lty ’ o f language. It in volves in reality a host o f distin ct powers. W e m ust first have im ages o f concrete things and ideas o f abstract q u alities and relation s; w e m ust n ext have the m em ory o f w ords and then the capacity so to associate each idea or im age w ith a p articu lar w ord that, w hen the w ord is heard, the idea shall forth w ith en ter o u r m in d. W e m ust conversely, as soon as the idea arises in o u r m ind, associate w ith it a m ental im age of the w ord, an d by m eans o f this im age we m ust in n ervate o u r articu la­ tory apparatu s so as to rep rod u ce the w ord as physical sound. T o read or to w rite a lan gu age other elem ents still m ust be introduced. B u t it is p lain that the faculty of spoken lan guage alone is so com ­ plicated as to call into play alm ost a ll the elem en tary pow ers w hich the m in d possesses, m em ory, im agin atio n , association, ju d gm en t, and vo litio n . A portion of the brain com petent to be the adequate seat o f such a faculty w ou ld needs be an en tire brain in m in iatu re,— ju st as the facu lty itself is really a specification o f the en tire m an, a sort o f hom un culus. Y et ju st such h o m u n cu li are for the m ost part the phren ological organs. A s L an g e says: “ We have a parliam ent of little men together, each one of whom, as happens also in a real parliament, possesses but a single idea which he

40

T h e Functions of the B rain ceaselessly strives to make prevail” —benevolence, firmness, hope, and the rest. “ Instead of one soul, phrenology gives us forty, each alone as enigmatic as the full aggregate psychic life can be. Instead of dividing the latter into effective elements, she divides it into personal beings of peculiar ch aracter.. . . ‘H err Pastor, sure there be a horse inside,’ called out the peasants to X after their spiritual shepherd had spent hours in explaining to them the construction of the locomotive. W ith a horse inside truly everything becomes clear, even though it be a queer enough sort of horse—the horse itself calls for no explanation! Phrenology takes a start to get beyond the point of view of the ghost like soul en­ tity, but she ends by populating the whole skull with ghosts of the same order.” 5 M od ern Science conceives o f the m atter in a very differen t way. Brain and mind alike consist of simple elements, sensory and mo­ tor. “ A ll n ervous centres,” says D r. J . H u gh lin gs Ja ck so n ,6 “ from the low est to the very highest (the substrata of consciousness), are m ade up of n o th in g else than n ervous arrangem ents rep resen ting im pressions and m ovem ents. . . . I do n ot see o f w hat other ‘m a­ terials’ the rest o f the brain can be m ade.” M eyn ert represents the m atter sim ilarly w hen he calls the cortex of the hem ispheres the surface o f p rojection for every m uscle and every sensitive p oin t of the body. T h e m uscles and the sensitive points are represented each by a cortical point, and the brain is n o th in g bu t the sum o f all these cortical points, to w hich, on the m ental side, as m any ideas correspond. Ideas of sensation, ideas of motion are, on the other hand, the elementary factors out of which the mind is built up by the associationists in psychology. T h e r e is a com plete p arallelism betw een the two analyses, the sam e d iagram o f little dots, circles, or trian gles jo in ed by lines sym bolizes eq u ally w ell the cerebral and m ental processes: the dots stand for cells or ideas, the lines for fibres or associations. W e shall have later to criticise this analysis so far as it relates to the m in d ; b u t there is no d ou bt that it is a m ost con ven ien t, and has been a most usefu l, hypothesis, fo rm u lat­ in g the facts in an extrem ely n atu ral way. If, then, w e gran t that m otor and sensory ideas vario usly associ­ ated are the m aterials o f the m ind, all w e need do to get a com plete d iagram o f the m in d ’s an d the b ra in ’s relation s should be to ascer­ tain w hich sensory idea corresponds to w hich sensational surface 5 G eschichte des M aterialism u s, 2d ed., I I , p. 344. * West R id in g A sylu m R ep o rts, 1876, p. 267.

41

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology o f p rojection , and w hich m otor idea to w hich m uscular surface of p rojection . T h e associations w ou ld then correspond to the fibrous connections betw een the vario u s surfaces. T h is distin ct cerebral localization o f the vario u s elem en tary sorts o f idea has been treated as a ‘ postulate’ by m any physiologists (e.g., M u n k ); and the most stirrin g controversy in n erve-physiology w hich the present gen era­ tion has seen has been the localization-question.

T H E L O C A L IZ A T IO N O F F U N C T IO N S IN T H E H E M IS P H E R E S

U p to 1870, the op in ion w hich p rev ailed was that w hich the e x ­ p erim en ts of F lo u ren s on p igeons’ brain s had m ade p lau sib le, n am ely, that the d ifferen t fun ction s o f the hem ispheres w ere not locally separated, b u t carried on each by the aid o f the w hole organ. H itzig in 18 70 showed, how ever, that in a d o g ’s brain h igh ly special­ ized m ovem ents cou ld be p roduced by electric irrita tio n o f de­ term inate regions o f the cortex; and F e rrie r and M u n k, h a lf a dozen years later, seem ed to prove, eith er by irritatio n s or excisions or both, that there w ere eq u a lly determ in ate regions connected w ith the senses o f sight, touch, h earin g, and sm ell. M u n k ’s special sensorial localizations, how ever, disagreed w ith F e rrie r’s; and G oltz, from his extirp ation -exp erim en ts, cam e to a conclusion a d ­ verse to strict localization o f any kin d . T h e con troversy is not yet over. I w ill not pretend to say an yth in g m ore o f it h istorically, but give a b rie f account o f the con dition in w hich m atters at present stand. T h e one th in g w hich is perfectly w ell established is this, that the ‘cen tral’ con volution s, on eith er side o f the fissure o f R o la n d o , and (at least in the m onkey) the calloso-m arginal con volu tion (w hich is con tinu ou s w ith them on the m esial surface w here one h em i­ sphere is ap p lied against the other), form the region by w hich all the m otor incitations w hich leave the cortex pass out, on their way to those execu tive centres in the region o f the pons, m edu lla, and spinal cord from w hich the m uscu lar contractions are discharged in the last resort. T h e existence o f this so-called ‘m otor zone’ is established by the lines o f eviden ce successively given below : (1) Cortical Irritations. E lectrical cu rren ts o f sm all in tensity ap ­ p lied to the surface o f the said con volution s in dogs, m onkeys, and other anim als, p roduce w ell-defined m ovem ents in face, fore-lim b, hin d-lim b, tail, or trun k, accord in g as one p oin t or an other o f the

42

T h e Functions of the B rain surface is irritated . T h e se m ovem ents affect alm ost in v a ria b ly the side opposite to the brain irritatio n s: I f the left hem isphere be e x ­ cited, the m ovem ent is o f the righ t leg, side o f face, etc. A ll the objection s at first raised against the v alid ity o f these experim en ts have been overcom e. T h e m ovem ents are certain ly n ot due to ir r i­ tations of the base o f the b rain by the d ow n w ard spread o f the cu r­ rent, for: a) m echanical irritatio n s w ill p roduce them , though less easily than electrical; b) sh iftin g the electrodes to a p oin t close by on the surface changes the m ovem ent in ways q u ite in exp licab le by changed physical con duction of the cu rren t; c) if the cortical ‘cen tre’ for a certain m ovem ent be cu t u n d er w ith a sharp k n ife but left in situ, alth ou gh the electric con d u ctivity is p hysically u n ­ altered by the op eration , the physiological con du ctivity is gone and cu rren ts o f the sam e strength no lon ger produce the m ove­ m ents w hich they d id ; d) the tim e-interval betw een the ap p lication of the electric stim u lu s to the cortex and the resu ltan t m ovem ent is w hat it w ou ld be if the cortex acted ph ysiologically and not m erely physically in tran sm ittin g the irritatio n . It is n am ely a wellknow n fact that w hen a n erve-current has to pass through the spinal cord to excite a m uscle by reflex action, the tim e is lon ger than if it passes d irectly dow n the m otor n erve: the cells o f the cord take a certain tim e to discharge. S im ila rly , w hen a stim u lu s is ap p lied directly to the cortex the m uscle contracts two or three hu n dredths o f a second later than it does w hen the place on the cortex is cut aw ay and the electrodes are ap p lied to the w hite fibres below .7 (2) Cortical Ablations. W hen the cortical spot w hich is foun d to p roduce a m ovem ent o f the fore-leg, in a dog, is excised (see spot 5 in F ig. 5), the leg in question becom es p ecu liarly affected. A t first it seems paralyzed. Soon, how ever, it is used w ith the other legs, but badly. T h e an im al does not bear his w eigh t on it, allow s it to rest on its dorsal surface, stands w ith it crossing the oth er leg, does not rem ove it if it hangs over the edge o f a table, can no longer 7 For a thorough discussion o f the various objections, see Ferrier's F u n ctio n s of the B ra in , 2d ed „ pp. 227-234, and Fraru ois Franck's Leçons su r les fonctions m otrices

du cerveau (1887), Leçon 3 1 . T h e most m inu tely accurate experim en ts on irritatio n o f cortical points are those o f Paneth, in P fliiger’s A rc h iv fu r P h y sio lo gie, vol. 37, p p . 5 23 -6 1 .—R ecen tly the skull has been fearlessly opened by surgeons, and o p era­ tions upon the hum an brain perform ed, som etim es with the happiest results. In some o f these operations the cortex has been electrically excited for the purpose of more exactly localizing the spot, and the m ovem ents first observed in dogs and monkeys have then been verified in men.

43

T h e P rinciples of Psychology

Fig. 5 .—L e ft H em isphere o f D og’s B rain , a fter F errier. A , the fissure o f Sylvius. B , the crucial sulcus. O, the o lfactory bu lb. I, II , I I I , IV , indicate the first, second, th ird, and fourth extern al convolutions respectively. (1), (4), and (5) are on the sigm oid gyrus,

‘g iv e the p aw ’ at w ord of com m and if ab le to do so before the op era­ tion, does n ot use it for scratching the gro u n d , or h o ld in g a bone as form erly, lets it slip out w hen ru n n in g on a sm ooth surface or w hen shakin g him self, etc., etc. Sen sib ility of all kin ds seems d i­ m in ish ed as w ell as m otility, but ot this I shall speak later on. M o re­ o ver the d og tends in v o lu n tary m ovem ents to sw erve tow ards the side of the brain-lesion instead o f g o in g straight forw ard. A ll these sym ptom s gra d u a lly decrease, so that even w ith a very severe brainlesion the d og m ay be ou tw ard ly in d istin gu ish ab le from a w ell dog after eight or ten weeks. S till, a slight ch loro fo rm ization w ill rep rod u ce the disturbances, even then. T h e r e is a certain ap p ear­ an ce o f ataxic in coord in ation in the m ovem ents—the dog lifts his fore-feet high and brin gs them dow n w ith m ore strength than usu­ al, and yet the tro u b le is n ot o rd in ary lack o f co-ordination. N eith er is there paralysis. T h e strength o f w hatever m ovem ents are m ade is as great as ever—dogs w ith exten sive destruction o f the m otor zone can ju m p as high and b ite as hard as ever they d id, but they seem less easily moved to do anything w ith the affected parts. D r. L o eb , w ho has studied the m otor disturbances o f dogs m ore care­ fu lly than anyone, conceives o f them en masse as effects o f an in ­ creased in ertia in all the processes o f in n ervation tow ards the side opposed to the lesion. A ll such m ovem ents re q u ire an un w on ted effort for th eir ex ecu tio n ; and w hen on ly the n o rm ally usual effort is m ade they fall beh in d in effectiveness.8 8 J . L o e b : ‘ ‘ B eitrage zur Physiologie des G rosshirn s,” P fliiger’s A rc h iv , x x x ix , 293. I sim p lify the au thor's statem ent.

44

T h e Functions of the B rain E ven w hen the en tire m otor zone o f a dog is rem oved, there is no perm an en t paralysis o f an y part, b u t o n ly this cu rious sort o f relative in ertia w hen the two sides of the body are com pared; and this itself becom es h a rd ly n oticeab le after a n u m b e r o f weeks have elapsed. P rof. G oltz has d escribed a dog whose en tire left h em i­ sphere was destroyed, and w ho retain ed on ly a slight m otor in ertia on the righ t h a lf of the body. In p articu lar he cou ld use his righ t paw fo r h o ld in g a bone w h ilst gn a w in g it, o r for reach in g after a piece o f m eat. H ad he been taught to g iv e his paw before the op­ erations, it w ou ld have been cu rious to see w hether that facu lty also cam e back. H is tactile sen sibility was p erm an en tly d im in ish ed on the righ t side.9 In monkeys a g e n u in e paralysis follow s upon ablation s o f the cortex in the m otor region . T h is paralysis affects parts o f the body w hich vary w ith the brain-parts rem oved. T h e m on key’s opposite arm or leg hangs flaccid, or at most takes a sm all part in associated m ovem ents. W hen the en tire region is rem oved

Fig. 6 .—Left Hemisphere of Monkey’s Brain. Outer Surface.

there is a g en u in e and p erm an en t h em ip legia in w hich the arm is m ore affected than the leg; and this is follow ed m onths later by con tracture o f the m uscles, as in m an after in veterate h em ip legia.10 A cco rd in g to Schäfer and H orsley, the trunk-m uscles also becom e paralyzed after destruction o f the marginal con volution on both 9 G oltz: P flü g e rs A rc h iv,

x l ii,

419.

10 ‘H em iplegia’ means one-sided palsy.

45

T h e Principles of Psychology

sides (see Fig. 7). These differences between dogs and monkeys show the danger of drawing general conclusions from experim ents done on any one sort of animal. I subjoin the figures given by the last-named authors of the motor regions in the m onkey’s brain.11

In man we are necessarily reduced to the observation post­ mortem of cortical ablations produced by accident or disease (tu­

mor, hemorrhage, softening, etc.). W hat results during life from such conditions is either localized spasm, or palsy of certain mus­ cles of the opposite side. T h e cortical regions which invariably produce these results are homologous with those which we have just been studying in the dog, cat, ape, etc. Figs. 8 and 9 show the result of 167 cases carefully studied by Exner. T h e parts shaded are regions where lesions produced no motor disturbance. Those left white were, on the contrary, never injured without motor dis­ turbances of some sort. W here the injury to the cortical substance is profound in man, the paralysis is perm anent and is succeeded by muscular rigidity in the paralyzed parts, just as it may be in the monkey. (3) D escending degenerations show the intimate connection of the rolandic regions of the cortex with the motor tracts of the cord. 11

Philosophical Transactions of the R oyal Society (B), vol. 179, pp. 6, 10 (1888).

In a later p aper (ibid., p. 205) Messrs. B eevor and H orsley go into the localization still m ore m inu tely, show ing spots from which single muscles or sin gle digits can be m ade to contract.

46

T h e Functions of the Brain

Fic. 9.—R ig h t H em isphere o f H um an B ra in . M esial Surface.

W hen, either in man or in the lower animals, these regions are destroyed, a peculiar degenerative change known as secondary scle­ rosis is found to extend downwards through the white fibrous sub­ stance of the brain in a perfectly definite manner, affecting °rtain distinct strands which pass through the inner capsule, crura, and pons, into the anterior pyramids of the m edulla oblongata, and from thence (partly crossing to the other side) downwards into the anterior (direct) and lateral (crossed) columns of the spinal cord.

47

T h e Principles of Psychology

(4) A n atom ical p ro o f of the continuity of the rolandic regions with these motor columns of the cord is also clearly given. Flechsig’s ‘Pyram idenbahn’ forms an uninterrupted strand (distinctly traceable in human embryos, before its fibres have acquired their white ‘m edullary sheath’) passing upwards from the pyramids of the medulla, and traversing the internal capsule and corona radiata to the convolutions in question (Fig. 10). N one of the inferior gray matter of the brain seems to have any connection with this

Fic. 10.—Schem atic T ran sve rse Section o f B ra in show ing M otor Strand.— A fter Ed in ger.

48

T h e Functions of the Brain

im portant fibrous strand. It passes directly from the cortex to the motor arrangements in the cord, depending for its proper nutri­ tion (as the facts of degeneration show) on the influence of the cortical cells, just as motor nerves depend for their nutrition on that of the cells of the spinal cord. Electrical stimulation of this motor strand in any accessible part of its course has been shown in dogs to produce movements analogous to those which excitement of the cortical surface calls forth. One of the most instructive proofs of motor localization in the cortex is that furnished by the disease now called aphemia, or m otor Aphasia. M otor aphasia is neither loss of voice nor paralysis of the tongue or lips. T h e patient’s voice is as strong as ever, and all the innervations of his hypoglossal and facial nerves, except those necessary for speaking, may go on perfectly well. H e can laugh and cry, and even sing; but he either is unable to utter any words at all; or a few meaningless stock phrases form his only speech; or else he speaks incoherently and confusedly, mispro­ nouncing, misplacing, and misusing his words in various degrees. Sometimes his speech is a mere broth of unintelligible syllables. In cases of pure motor aphasia the patient recognizes his mistakes and suffers acutely from them. N ow whenever a patient dies in such a condition as this, and an exam ination of his brain is permitted, it is found that the lowest frontal gyrus (see Fig. 11) is the seat of

F ic . l i . —Schem atic Profile o f L e ft H em isphere, w ith the parts shaded whose destruction causes m otor (‘ B ro ca’) and sensory (‘W ern icke’) A phasia.

49

T h e Principles of Psychology

injury. Broca first noticed this fact in 18 6 1, and since then the gyrus has gone by the name of Broca’s convolution. T h e injury in right-handed people is found'on the left hemisphere, and in lefthanded people on the right hemisphere. Most people, in fact, are left-brained, that is, all their delicate and specialized movements are handed over to the charge of the left hemisphere. T h e ordinary right-handedness for such movements is only a consequence of that fact, a consequence which shows outwardly on account of that ex­ tensive decussation of the fibres whereby most of those from the left hemisphere pass to the right half of the body only. B u t the leftbrainedness m ight exist in equal measure and not show outwardly. T h is would happen wherever organs on both sides of the body could be governed by the left hemisphere; and just such a case seems offered by the vocal organs, in that highly delicate and spe­ cial motor service which we call speech. Either hemisphere can innervate them bilaterally, just as either seems able to innervate bilaterally the muscles of the trunk, ribs, and diaphragm. O f the special movements of speech, however, it would appear (from the facts of aphasia) that the left hemisphere in most persons habitually takes exclusive charge. W ith that hemisphere thrown out of gear, speech is undone; even though the opposite hemisphere still be there for the performance of less specialized acts, such as the various movements required in eating. It w ill be noticed that Broca’s region is homologous with the parts ascertained to produce movements of the lips, tongue, and larynx when excited by electric currents in apes (cf. Fig. 6, p. 45). T h e evidence is therefore as complete as it well can be that the motor incitations to these organs leave the brain by the lower frontal region. Victims of motor aphasia generally have other disorders. One which interests us in this connection has been called agraphia: they have lost the power to write. T h ey can read w riting and un­ derstand it; but either cannot use the pen at all or make egregious mistakes with it. T h e seat of the lesion here is less well determined, owing to an insufficient num ber of good cases to conclude from .12 T h ere is no doubt, however, that it is (in right-handed people) on the left side, and little doubt that it consists of elements of the hand-and-arm region specialized for that service. T h e symptom 12 N othn agel und N au n y n : V ber die Localisation der Gehirnkrankheiten (W ies­ baden, 1887), p. 34.

T h e Functions of the Brain

may exist when there is little or no disability in the hand for other uses. If it does not get well, the patient usually educates his right hemisphere, i.e., learns to write with his left hand. In other cases of which we shall say m ore a few pages later on, the patient can w rite both spontaneously and at dictation, but cannot read even what he has him self written! A ll these phenomena are now quite clearly explained by separate brain-centres for the various feelings and movements and tracts for associating these together. But their m inute discussion belongs to m edicine rather than to general psy­ chology, and I can only use them here to illustrate the principles of motor localization.13 Under the heads of sight and hearing I shall have a little more to say. T h e different lines of proof which I have taken up establish con­ clusively the proposition that all the m otor im pulses w hich leave the cortex pass out, in healthy animals, from the convolutions about the fissure of R olando.

W hen, however, it comes to defining precisely what is involved in a motor impulse leaving the cortex, things grow more obscure. Does the impulse start independently from the convolutions in question, or does it start elsewhere and m erely flow through? And to what particular phase of psychic activity does the activity of these centres correspond? O pinions and authorities here divide; but it w ill be better, before entering into these deeper aspects of the problem, to cast a glance at the facts which have been made out concerning the relations of the cortex to sight, hearing, and smell. Sight

Ferrier was the first in the field here. H e found, when the angu­ lar convolution (that lying between the ‘intra parietal’ and ‘ex­

ternal occipital’ fissures, and bending round the top of the fissure of Sylvius, in Fig. 6) was excited in the monkey, that movements of the eyes and head as if for vision occurred; and that when it was extirpated, what he supposed to be total and permanent blind­ ness of the opposite eye followed. M unk almost im m ediately de­ clared total and permanent blindness to follow from destruction of the occipital lobe in monkeys as well as dogs, and said that the angular gyrus had nothing to do with sight, but was only the cen13 A n accessible account o f the history o f o u r knowledge o f m otor ap h asia is in W . A. H am m o n d ’s Treatise on the Diseases of the Nervous System, chapter vn.

T h e Principles of Psychology

tre for tactile sensibility of the eyeball. M un k’s absolute tone about his observations and his theoretic arrogance have led to his ruin as an authority. But he did two things of permanent value. H e was the first to distinguish in these vivisections between sensorial and psychic blindness, and to describe the phenomenon of restitution of the visual function after its first im pairm ent by an operation; and the first to notice the h em iop ic character of the visual distur­ bances which result when only one hemisphere is injured. Sensorial blindness is absolute insensibility to light; psychic blindness is in­ ability to recognize the m eaning of the optical impressions, as when we see a page of Chinese print but it suggests nothing to us. A hem iopic disturbance of vision is one in which neither retina is affected in its totality, but in which, for exam ple, the left portion of each retina is blind, so that the animal sees nothing situated in space towards its right. Later observations have corroborated this hem iopic character of all the disturbances of sight from injury to a single hemisphere in the higher animals; and the question whether an an im al’s apparent blindness is sensorial or only psychic has, since M un k’s first publications, been the most urgent one to an­ swer, in all observations relative to the function of sight. Goltz almost simultaneously with Ferrier and M unk reported experim ents which led him to deny that the visual function was essentially bound up with any one localized portion of the hem i­ spheres. Other divergent results soon came in from many quarters, so that, without going into the history of the matter any more, I may report the existing state of the case as follow s:14 In fishes, frogs, and lizards vision persists when the hemispheres are entirely removed. T h is is admitted for frogs and fishes even by M unk, who denies it for birds. A ll of M un k’s birds seemed totally blind (blind sensorially) after removal of the hemispheres by his operation. T h e follow ing of a candle by the head and w inking at a threatened blow, which are ordinarily held to prove the retention of crude optical sensations by the lower centres in supposed hemisphereless pigeons, are by M unk ascribed to vestiges of the visual sphere of the cortex left behind by the imperfection of the operation. But Schrader, who operated after M unk and with every apparent guarantee of com­ pleteness, found that all his pigeons saw after two or three weeks 14

T h e history up to 1885 m ay be found in A. C h ristia n i: Zur Physiologie des

Gehirnes (B erlin , 1885).

T h e Functions of the Brain

had elapsed, and the inhibitions resulting from the wound had passed away. T h ey invariably avoided even the slightest obstacles, flew very regularly towards certain perches, etc., differing toto ccelo in these respects with certain simply blin d ed pigeons who were kept with them for comparison. T h ey did not pick up food strewn on the ground, however. Schrader found that they would do this if even a small part of the frontal region of the hemispheres was left, and ascribes their non-self-feeding when deprived of their occipital cerebrum not to a visual, but to a motor, defect, a sort of alim entary aphasia.15 In presence of such discord as that between M unk and his op­ ponents one must carefully note how differently significant is loss, from preservation, of a function after an operation on the brain. T h e loss of the function does not necessarily show that it is depen­ dent on the part cut out; but its preservation does show that it is not dependent: and this is true though the loss should be observed ninety-nine times and the preservation only once in a hundred similar excisions. T h a t birds and mammals can be blinded by cor­ tical ablation is undoubted; the only question is, must they be so? Only then can the cortex be certainly called the ‘seat of sight.’ T h e blindness may always be due to one of those remote effects of the wound on distant parts, inhibitions, extensions of inflammation,— interferences, in a word,—upon which Brown-Sequard and Goltz have rightly insisted, and the importance of which becomes more manifest every day. Such effects are transient; whereas the sym p­ toms of deprivation (A u sfallserscheinungen, as Goltz calls them) which come from the actual loss of the cut-out region must from the nature of the case be permanent. Blindness in the pigeons, so far as it passes away, cannot possibly be charged to their seat of vision being lost, but only to some influence which tem porarily depresses the activity of that seat. T h e same is true mutatis m utan­ dis of all the other effects of operations, and as we pass to mammals we shall see still more the importance of the remark. In rabbits loss of the entire cortex seems com patible with the preservation of enough sight to guide the poor anim als’ move­ ments, and enable them to avoid obstacles. C hristiani’s observa­ tions and discussions seem conclusively to have established this, al­ ls Pfltiger’s Archiv, vol. 44, pp . 175 -2 38 . M un k (B erlin A cadem y Sitzungsberichte, 1889, x x x i) returns to the charge, den yin g the extirpation s o f Schrader to be com ­ p lete: "M icro sco pic portions o f the Sehsphare m ust rem ain .”

53

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though M unk found that all his animals were made totally blin d.16 In dogs also M unk found absolute stone-blindness after ablation of the occipital lobes. H e went farther and mapped out determinate portions of the cortex thereupon, which he considered correlated with definite segments of the two retinae, so that destruction of given portions of the cortex produces blindness of the retinal cen­ tre, top, bottom, or right or left side, of the same or opposite eye. T h ere seems little doubt that this definite correlation is m ythologi­ cal. Other observers, Hitzig, Goltz, Luciani, Loeb, Exner, etc., find, whatever part of the cortex may be ablated on one side, that there usually results a hem iopic disturbance of both eyes, slight and tran­ sient when the anterior lobes are the parts attacked, grave when an occipital lobe is the seat of injury, and lasting in proportion to the latter’s extent. According to Loeb, the defect is a dimness of vision (‘hem iam blyopia’) in which (however severe) the centres remain the best seeing portions of the retina, just as they are in norm al dogs. T h e lateral or temporal part of each retina seems to be in ex­ clusive connection with the cortex of its own side. T h e centre and nasal part of each seems, on the contrary, to be connected with the cortex of the opposite hemispheres. Loeb, who takes broader views than anyone, conceives the hem iam blyopia as he conceives the motor disturbances, namely, as the expression of an increased iftertia in the whole optical machinery, of which the result is to make the anim al respond with greater effort to impressions com ing from the half of space opposed to the side of the lesion. If a dog has right hemiamblyopia, say, and two pieces of meat are hung before him at once, he invariably turns first to the one on his left. But if the lesion be a slight one, shaking slightly the piece of meat on his right (this makes of it a stronger stimulus) makes him seize upon it first. If only one piece of meat be offered, he takes it, on which­ ever side it be. W hen both occipital lobes are extensively destroyed total blind­ ness may result. M unk maps out his ‘Sehsphare’ definitely, and says that blindness must result when the entire shaded part, m arked A , A , in Figs. 12 and 13, is involved in the lesion. Discrepant reports of other observations he explains as due to incomplete ablation. Luciani, Goltz, and Lannegrace, however, contend that they have made complete bilateral extirpations of M unk’s Sehsphare more 16 A . C h ristia n i: Zur Physiologie des Gehirnes (B erlin , 1885), chaps. 11, 111, M un k: B erlin Academ y Sitzungsberichte , 1884, x x iv .

54

iv

.

H.

T h e Functions of the Brain

F ig . 12.

F ig . 13 .

T h e D og’s visual centre according to M un k, the en tire striated region, A , A , being the exclu sive seat o f vision , and the dark central circle, A ', being correlated with the retin al centre o f the opposite eye.

than once, and found a sort of crude indiscrim inating sight of ob­ jects to return in a few weeks.17 T h e question whether a dog is blind or not is harder to solve than would at first appear; for sim­ ply blinded dogs, in places to which they are accustomed, show little of their loss and avoid all obstacles; whilst dogs whose occip­ ital lobes are gone may run against things frequently and yet see notwithstanding. T h e best proof that they may see is that which Goltz’s dogs furnished: they carefully avoided, as it seemed, strips of sunshine or paper on the floor, as if they were solid obstacles. T h is no really blind dog would do. L ucian i tested his dogs when hungry (a condition which sharpens their attention) by strewing pieces of meat and pieces of cork before them. If they went straight at them, they saw ; and if they chose the meat and left the cork, they saw discrim inatingly. T h e quarrel is very acrimonious; indeed the subject of localization of functions in the brain seems to have a peculiar effect on the temper of those who cultivate it experim en­ tally. T h e amount of preserved vision which Goltz and Luciani report seems hardly to be worth considering, on the one hand; and on the other, M unk admits in his penultim ate paper that out of 85 dogs he only ‘succeeded’ 4 times in his operation of producing com­ plete blindness by complete extirpation of his ‘Sehsphare.’ 18 T h e 17 L u cian i und S e p p illi: D ie Functions-Localisation au f der Grosshirnrinde (Deutsch von Fraenkel), Leipzig, 1886, Dogs M , N , and S. G oltz in Pfliiger’s Archiv, vol. 34, pp. 490-6; vol. 42, p. 454. C f. also M un k: B erlin Academ y Sitzungsberichte, 1886, vn (pp. 1 1 3 - 1 2 1 ) , vni (pp. 179 -18 8 ), and L oeb : Pfliiger's Archiv, vol. 39, p. 337. 1 8 B erlin A cadem y Sitzungsberichte, 1886, vn, p. 124.

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safe conclusion for us is that L u cian i’s diagram , Fig. 14, represents something like the truth. T h e occipital lobes are far more im por­ tant for vision than any other part of the cortex, so that their com­ plete destruction makes the animal almost blind. As for the crude sensibility to light which may then remain, nothing exact is known either about its nature or its seat.

F ig . 14 .—D istrib u tio n o f the V isu al Fun ction in the C o rtex, according to L u cian i.

In the m onkey, doctors also disagree. T h e truth seems, however, to be that the occipital lobes in this animal also are the part con­ nected most intim ately with the visual function. T h e function would seem to go on when very small portions of them are left, for Ferrier found no ‘appreciable im pairm ent’ of it after almost com­ plete destruction of them on both sides. On the other hand, he found complete and permanent blindness to ensue when they and the angular gyri in addition were destroyed on both sides. M unk, as w ell as Brown and Schafer, found no disturbance of sight from destroying the angular gyri alone, although Ferrier found blind­ ness to ensue. T h is blindness was probably due to inhibitions ex­ erted in distans, or to cutting of the white optical fibres passing under the angular gyri on their way to the occipital lobes. Brown and Schafer got complete and permanent blindness in one monkey from total destruction of both occipital lobes. L ucian i and Seppilli, perform ing this operation on two monkeys, found that the animals were only mentally, not sensorially, blind. A fter some weeks they saw their food, but could not distinguish by sight be­ tween figs and pieces of cork. L ucian i and Seppilli seem, however, not to have extirpated the entire lobes. W hen one lobe only is in­ jured the affection of sight is hem iopic in monkeys: in this all ob­

T h e Functions of the Brain

servers agree. On the whole, then, M un k’s original location of vi­ sion in the occipital lobes is confirmed by the later evidence.19 In man we have m ore exact results, since we are not driven to interpret the vision from the outward conduct. On the other hand, however, we cannot vivisect, but must wait for pathological lesions to turn up. T h e pathologists who have discussed these (the litera­ ture is tedious ad libitum ) conclude that the occipital lobes are the indispensable part for vision in man. Hem iopic disturbance in both eyes comes from lesion of either one of them, and total blind­ ness, sensorial as well as psychic, from destruction of both. H em iopia may also result from lesion in other parts, especially the neighboring angular and supra-marginal gyri, and it may ac­ company extensive injury in the m otor region of the cortex. In these cases it seems probable that it is due to an actio in distans, probably to the interruption of fibres proceeding from the occipital lobe. T h e re seem to be a few cases on record where there was in­ ju ry to the occipital lobes without visual defect. Ferrier has col­ lected as many as possible to prove his localization in the angular gyrus.20 A strict application of logical principles would make one of these cases outweigh one hundred contrary ones. And yet, re­ m em bering how im perfect observations may be, and how indi­ vidual brains may vary, it would certainly be rash for their sake to throw away the enormous amount of positive evidence for the occipital lobes. Individual variability is always a possible explana­ tion of an anomalous case. T h ere is no more prom inent anatomical fact than that of the ‘decussation of the pyramids,’ nor any more usual pathological fact than its consequence, that left-handed hem­ orrhages into the m otor region produce right-handed paralyses. A nd yet the decussation is variable in amount, and seems some­ times to be absent altogether.21 If, in such a case as this last, the 19 H . M un k: Über die Functionen der Grosshirnrinde (B erlin , 18 8 1), pp. 36-40. F e rrie r: Functions, etc., ad ed., chap. IX , pt. 1. B row n and Schäfer: Philosophical Transactions (B), vol. 179, p. 3 2 1. L u cian i und S e p p illi: op. cit., pp. 1 3 1 - 1 3 8 . Lannegrace found traces o f sight w ith both occipital lobes destroyed, and in one m onkey even when an gu lar gyri and occipital lobes were destroyed altogether. H is p ap er is in the Archives de M édecine Expérim entale for Ja n u a r y and M arch, 1889. I only know it from the abstract in the N eurologisches Centralblatt, 1889, pp. 10 8 -10 , 420 22. T h e reporter doubts the evidence o f vision in the m onkey. It appears to have con­ sisted in avoid in g obstacles and in em otional disturbance in the presence o f men. 20 Localisation of Cerebral Disease (1878), pp. 1 17 - 8 . 21 Fo r cases see Flech sig: D ie Leitungsbahnen in G ehirn und Rückenm ark (Leipzig, 1876), pp. 1 1 2 , 272; E x n e r ’s Untersuchungen über die Localisation der Functionen

57

T h e Principles of Psychology

left brain were to become the seat of apoplexy, the left and not the right h alf of the body would be the one to suffer paralysis. T h e schem a on this page, copied from Dr. Seguin, expresses, on the whole, the probable truth about the regions concerned in vi­ sion. N ot the entire occipital lobes, but the so-called cunei, and the first convolutions, are the cortical parts most intim ately con­ cerned. Nothnagel agrees with Seguin in this lim itation of the

Fig. 15 .— Schem e o f the m echanism o f vision, after Seguin. T h e cuneus convolution (Cu) o f the righ t occipital lobe is supposed to be in ju red , and all the parts which lead to it are d ark ly shaded to show that they fa il to exert th eir fu n ction. F. O. are the intra-hem ispheric o ptical fibres. P. O. C. is the region o f the low er optic cen­ tres (corpora gen icu lata and q u ad rigem in a). T . O. D. is the righ t optic tract; C, the chiasm a; F. L . D. are the fibres goin g to the la teral o r tem poral h a lf T o f the righ t retin a; and F. C. S. are those goin g to the central o r nasal h a lf o f the left retina. O. D. is the rig h t, and O. S. the left eyeb all. T h e righ tw ard h a lf o f each is therefore b lin d ; in o th er w ords, the righ t nasal field, R . N . F „ an d the left tem ­ p o ral field, L . T. F., have becom e in visib le to the subject w ith the lesion at Cu.

in der Grosshirnrinde des M enschen, p p . 83, 8 8 -12 5 ; F e rrie r’s Localisation, etc., p. 1 1 ; Fran çois-Fran ck’s Fonctions motrices du cerveau, p. 63, note.

T h e Functions of the Brain

essential tracts.22 Henschen (Brain, 1893, p. 177) lim its it to the cortex of the calcarine fissure. Vitzou: A rch iv es de Physiologie, Oct. 1893, finds perm anent blindness from loss of both occipital lobes in dogs. A most interesting effect of cortical disorder is mental blindness. T h is consists not so much in insensibility to optical impressions, as in inability to understand them. Psychologically it is interpret­ able as loss of associations between optical sensations and what they signify; and any interruption of the paths between the optic cen­ tres and the centres for other ideas ought to b rin g it about. T hus, printed letters of the alphabet, or words, signify certain sounds and certain articulatory movements. If the connection between the articulating or auditory centres, on the one hand, and the visual centres on the other, be ruptured, we ought a p rio ri to expect that the sight of words would fail to awaken the idea of their sound, or of the movement for pronouncing them. W e ought, in short, to have alexia, or inability to read: and this is just what we do have in many cases of extensive injury about the fronto-temporal regions, as a com plication of aphasic disease. Nothnagel suggests that whilst the cuneus is the seat of optical sensations, the other parts of the occipital lobe may be the field of optical m em ories and ideas, from the loss of which mental blindness should ensue. In fact, all the medical authors speak of mental blindness as if it must consist in the loss of visual images from the memory. It seems to me, how­ ever, that this is a psychological misapprehension. A man whose power of visual im agination has decayed (no unusual phenomenon in its lighter grades) is not m entally blind in the least, for he rec­ ognizes perfectly all that he sees. On the other hand, he may be mentally blind, with his optical im agination well preserved; as in the interesting case published by W ilbrand in 1887.23 In the still more interesting case of mental blindness recently published by Lissauer,24 though the patient made the most ludicrous mistakes, calling for instance a clothes-brush a pair of spectacles, an um brella a plant with flowers, an apple a portrait of a lady, etc. etc., he 22 E . C. Seguin: "H em ian o p sia o f C en tral O rigin ,” in Jou rn al o f Nervous and M ental Disease, vol. x m , p. 30. N othn agel und N au nyn: Ober die Localisation der G ehirnkrankheiten (W iesbaden, 1887), p. 10. 23 D ie Seelenblindheit, etc., p. 51 ff. T h e m en tal blindness was in this w om an’s case m oderate in degree. 24 A rchiv fu r Psychiatrie, vol. 2 1, p. 222.

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T h e Principles of Psychology

seemed, according to the reporter, to have his mental images fairly well preserved. It is in fact the m omentary loss of our non-optical images which makes us m entally blind, just as it is that of our nonauditory images which makes us m entally deaf. I am m entally deaf if, hearing a bell, I can’t recall how it looks', and mentally blind if, seeing it, I can’t recall its sound or its name. As a matter of fact, I should have to be not m erely m entally blind, but stone-blind, if all my visual images were lost. For although I am blind to the right half of the field of view if my left occipital region is injured, and to the left half if my right region is injured, such hemianopsia does not deprive me of visual images, experience seeming to show that the unaffected hemisphere is always sufficient for production of these. T o abolish them entirely I should have to be deprived of both occipital lobes, and that would deprive me not only of my inward images of sight, but of my sight altogether.25 Recent patho­ logical annals seem to offer a few such cases.26 M eanwhile there are a num ber of cases of mental blindness, especially for written lan­ guage, coupled with hemianopsia, usually of the rightward field of view. T hese are all explicable by the breaking down, through dis­ ease, of the connecting tracts between the occipital lobes and other parts of the brain, especially those which go to the centres for speech in the frontal and temporal regions of the left hemisphere. T h e y are to be classed among disturbances of conduction or of association; and nowhere can I find any fact which should force us to believe that optical images need27 be lost in mental blindness, or that the cerebral centres for such images are locally distinct from those for direct sensations from the eyes.28 25 N othn agel ( loc. cit., p. 22) says: “ Dies trifft aber nicht zu.” H e gives, how ever, no case in support o f his o p in ion th at double-sided cortical lesion m ay m ake one stoneb lin d and yet not destroy one's visual im ages; so that I do not know w h ether it is an observation o f fact or an a priori assum ption. 20 In a case pu b lished by C. S. F reu n d : A rchiv fü r Psychiatrie, vol. x x , the occipital lobes were in ju red , b u t th eir cortex was not destroyed, on both sides. T h e re was still vision. Cf. pp. 2 9 1-5 . 27 I say ‘ need,’ for I do not o f course deny the possible coexistence o f the two sym ptom s. M any a brain-lesion m igh t block o ptical associations and at the same time im p air o ptical im agination , w ithou t en tirely stoppin g vision. Such a case seems to have been the rem arkable one from C harcot which I shall give rath er fu lly in the

chapter on Im agin ation . 28F reu n d (in the article cited above “ Ü ber optische A p h asie und Seelen b lin d h eit” ) and B ru ns (“ E in F a ll von A le x ie .” etc., in the Neurologisches Centralblatt for 1888, pp. 4 81, 509) e xp lain th eir cases by brokendow n conduction. W ilb ran d , whose p a in s­ taking m onograph on m ental blindness was referred to a m om ent ago, gives none

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T h e Functions of the Brain

W here an object fails to be recognized by sight, it often happens that the patient w ill recognize and name it as soon as he touches it with his hand. T h is shows in an interesting way how numerous the associative paths are which all end by running out of the brain through the channel of speech. T h e hand-path is open, though the eye-path be closed. W hen mental blindness is most complete, nei­ ther sight, touch, nor sound avails to steer the patient, and a sort of dementia which has been called asym bolia or apraxia is the re­ sult. T h e commonest articles are not understood. T h e patient will put his breeches on one shoulder and his hat upon the other, will bite into the soap and lay his shoes on the table, or take his food into his hand and throw it down again, not knowing what to do with it, etc. Such disorder can only come from extensive braininjury.29 T h e m ethod of degeneration corroborates the other evidence localizing the tracts of vision. In young animals one gets secondary degeneration of the occipital regions from destroying an eyeball, and, vice versa , degeneration of the optic nerves from destroying the occipital regions. T h e corpora geniculata, thalami, and subcortical fibres leading to the occipital lobes are also found atro­ phied in these cases. T h e phenomena are not uniform , but are indisputable;30 so that, taking all lines of evidence together, the special connection of vision with the occipital lobes is perfectly made out. It should be added that the occipital lobes have fre­ quently been found shrunken in cases of inveterate blindness in man. H ea rin g

H earing is hardly as definitely localized as sight. In the dog, L u cian i’s diagram w ill show the regions which directly or indi­ rectly affect it for the worse when injured. As with sight, one-sided but a priori reasons for his b elief that the o ptical E rin n eru n g sfeld ’ m ust be locally distinct from the W ahrnehm un gsfeld (cf. p p . 84, 93). T h e a priori reasons arc really the other way. M au thn er ( Gehirn und Auge (18 8 1), p. 487 ff.) tries to show th at the ’m ental blindness’ o f M u n k ’s clogs and apes after occipital m u tilation was not such, but real dimness o f sight. T h e best case o f m ental blindness yet reported is that by L issau er, as above. T h e reader w ill also do well to read B ern ard : De l’aphasie (1885), chap. v; B allet: Le Langage intérieur (1886), chap. vin; and Jam es Ross's little book,

On Aphasia (1887), p. 74. See also B in et in R evue Philosophique, x x v i, 481. 29Fo r a case see W ern icke’s Lehrbuch der Gehirnkrankheiten, vol. 111, p. 554 (1883). 30 T h e latest account o f them is the paper “ Ü ber die optischen Centren und B ah n e n " by von M onakow in the Archiv fü r Psychiatrie, vol. xx , p. 7 14 ,

6l

T h e Principles of Psychology

lesions produce symptoms on both sides. T h e m ixture of black dots and gray dots in the diagram is meant to represent this m ixture of ‘crossed’ and ‘uncrossed’ connections, though of course no topo­ graphical exactitude is aimed at. O f all the region, the temporal lobe is the most im portant part; yet perm anent absolute deafness did not result in a dog of L u cian i’s, even from bilateral destruction of both temporal lobes in their entirety.31

F ig . 16.—L u c ia n i’s H earin g R egion.

In the m onkey, Ferrier and Yeo once found perm anent deafness to follow destruction of the upper temporal convolution (the one just below the fissure of Sylvius in Fig. 6) on both sides. Brown and Schäfer found, on the contrary, that in several monkeys this operation failed to noticeably affect the hearing. In one animal, indeed, both entire temporal lobes were destroyed. A fter a week or two of depression of the mental faculties this beast recovered and became one of the brightest monkeys possible, dom ineering over all his mates, and admitted by all who saw him to have all his senses, including hearing, ‘perfectly acute.’ 32 T e rrib le recrim ina­ tions have, as usual, ensued between the investigators, Ferrier de­ nying that Brown and Schafer’s ablations were complete,33 Schäfer that F errier’s monkey was really deaf.34 In this unsatisfactory con­ dition the subject must be left, although there seems no reason to doubt that Brown and Schäfer s observation is the more important of the two. In man the temporal lobe is unquestionably the seat of the hear­ ing function, and the superior convolution adjacent to the sylvian 31 D ie Functions-Localisation, etc.. D og X ; see also p. 16 1. 32 Philosophical Transactions (B), vol. 179, p. 3 12 , 33 Brain, vol. x i, p, 10. 34 Ibid., p. 145.

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fissure is its most important part. T h e phenomena of aphasia show this. W e studied motor aphasia a few pages back; we must now consider sensory aphasia. O ur knowledge of this disease has had three stages: we may talk of the period of Broca, the period of W ernicke, and the period of Charcot. W hat Broca’s discovery was we have seen. W ernicke was the first to discriminate those cases in which the patient can not even understand speech from those in which he can understand, only not talk; and to ascribe the former condition to lesion of the temporal lobe.35 T h e condition in ques­ tion is word-deafness, and the disease is auditory aphasia. T h e latest statistical survey of the subject is that by Dr. M. Allen Starr.36 In the seven cases of p u re word-deafness which he has collected (cases in which the patient could read, talk, and write, but not under­ stand what was said to him), the lesion was lim ited to the first and second temporal convolutions in their posterior two thirds. T h e lesion (in right-handed, i.e., left-brained, persons) is always on the left side, like the lesion in motor aphasia. Crude hearing would not be abolished, even were the left centre for it utterly destroyed; the right centre would still provide for that. But the linguistic use of hearing appears bound up with the integrity of the left centre more or less exclusively. H ere it must be that words heard enter into association with the things which they represent, on the one hand, and with the movements necessary for pronouncing them, on the other. In a large m ajority of Dr. Starr’s fifty cases, the power either to name objects or to talk coherently was impaired. T h is shows that in most of us (as W ernicke said) speech must go on from auditory cues; that is, it must be that our ideas do not innervate our motor centres directly, but only after first arousing the mental sound of the words. T h is is the immediate stimulus to articula­ tion; and where the possibility of this is abolished by the destruc­ tion of its usual channel in the left temporal lobe, the articulation must suffer. In the few cases in which the channel is abolished with no bad effect on speech we must suppose an idiosyncrasy. T h e pa­ tient must innervate his speech-organs either from the correspond­ ing portion of the other hemisphere or directly from the centres of ideation, those, namely, of vision, touch, etc., without leaning on the auditory region. It is the m inuter analysis of the facts in the 35 D er aphasische Symptomencomplex (1874). See in Fig. 11 the convolution m arked W e r n ic k e .

36 " T h e Pathology o f Sensory A p h asia,” Brain, Ju ly , 1889.

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light of such individual differences as these which constitutes Char­ cot's contribution towards clearing up the subject. Every namable thing, act, or relation has numerous properties, qualities, or aspects. In our minds the properties of each thing, to­ gether with its name, form an associated group. If different parts of the brain are severally concerned with the several properties, and a farther part with the hearing, arid still another with the ut­ tering, of the name, there must inevitably be brought about (through the law of association which we shall later study) such a dynam ic connection amongst all these brain-parts that the activity of any one of them w ill be likely to awaken the activity of all the rest. W hen we are talking as we think, the ultimate process is that of utterance. If the brain-part for that be injured, speech is impos­ sible or disorderly, even though all the other brain-parts be intact: and this is just the condition of things which, on page 49, we found to be brought about by lim ited lesion of the left inferior frontal convolution. But back of that last act various orders of succession are possible in the associations of a talking man's ideas. T h e more usual order seems to be from the tactile, visual, or other properties of the things thought-about to the sound of their names, and then to the latter’s utterance. But if in a certain individual the thought of the look of an object or of the look of its printed name be the process which habitually precedes articulation, then the loss of the hearing centre w ill pro tanto not affect that ind ivid u al’s speech. H e w ill be mentally deaf, i.e., his understanding of speech w ill suf­ fer, but he w ill not be aphasic. In this way it is possible to explain the seven cases of p u re word-deafness which figure in Dr. Starr’s table. If this order of association be ingrained and habitual in that in­ dividual, injury to his visual centres will make him not only wordblind, but aphasic as well. His speech w ill become confused in con­ sequence of an occipital lesion. Naunyn, consequently, plotting out on a diagram of the hemisphere the 7 1 irreproachably reported cases of aphasia which he was able to collect, finds that the lesions concentrate themselves in three places: first, on Broca’s centre; sec­ ond, on W ernicke's; third, on the supra-marginal and angular gyri under which those fibres pass which connect the visual centres with the rest of the brain37 (see Fig. 17). W ith this result Dr. Starr’s analysis of purely sensory cases agrees. 37 N othn agel und N au n yn : op. cit., plates.

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In a later chapter we shall again return to these differences in the effectiveness of the sensory spheres in different individuals. M eanwhile few things show more beautifully than the history of our knowledge of aphasia how the sagacity and patience of many banded workers are in time certain to analyze the darkest confu­ sion into an orderly display.38 T h ere is no ‘centre of Speech’ in the brain any more than there is a faculty’ of Speech in the mind. T h e entire brain, more or less, is at work in a man who uses language. T h e subjoined diagram , from Ross, shows the four parts most critically concerned, and, in the light of our text, needs no farther explanation (see Fig. 18). S m ell

Everything conspires to point to the median descending part of the temporal lobes as being the organs of smell. Even Ferrier and M unk agree on the hippocampal gyrus, though Ferrier restricts olfaction, as M unk does not, to the lobule or uncinate process of the convolution, reserving the rest of it for touch. Anatom y and pathology also point to the hippocampal gyrus; but as the m atter is less interesting from the point of view of human psychology than 38 B allet's and B ern ard's works cited on p. 61 are the most accessible docum ents o f C harcot’s school. B astian ’s book on the Brain as an Organ of M ind (last three ch ap ­ ters) is also good.

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were sight and hearing, I w ill say no more, but simply add Luciani and Sep p illi’s diagram of the dog’s smell-centre.39 Of

Taste

we know little that is definite. W hat little there is points to the lower temporal regions again. Consult Ferrier as above. 39 For details, see F e rrie r’s Functions, chap. ix, pt. 111, and Charles K . M ills: Trans­ actions of the Congress of American Physicians and Surgeons, 1889, vol. I, p. 278.

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Interesting problems arise with regard to the seat of tactile and m uscular sensibility. Hitzig, whose experim ents on dogs’ brains fifteen years ago opened the entire subject which we are discussing, ascribed the disorders of m otility observed after ablations of the motor region to a loss of what he called m uscular consciousness. T h e animals do not notice eccentric positions of their limbs, w ill stand with their legs crossed, with the affected paw resting on its back or hanging over a table’s edge, etc.; and do not resist our bending and stretching of it as they resist with the unaffected paw. Goltz, M unk, Schiff, Herzen, and others prom ptly ascertained an equal defect of cutaneous sensibility to pain, touch, and cold. T h e paw is not withdrawn when pinched, remains standing in cold water, etc. Ferrier m eanwhile denied that there was any true anaes­ thesia produced by ablations in the motor zone, and explains the appearance of it as an effect of the sluggish m otor responses of the affected side.40 M unk41 and Schiff,42 on the contrary, conceive of the ‘motor zone’ as essentially sensory, and in different ways ex­ plain the m otor disorders as secondary results of the anaesthesia which is always there. M unk calls the motor zone the Fiihlsphare of the anim al’s limbs, etc., and makes it coordinate with the Sehsphare, the Horsphare, etc., the entire cortex being, according to him, nothing but a projection-surface for sensations, with no ex­ clusively or essentially motor part. Such a view would be important if true, through its bearings on the psychology of volition. W hat is the truth? As regards the fact of cutaneous anaesthesia from motorzone ablations, all other observers are against Ferrier, so that he is probably wrong in denying it. On the other hand, M unk and Schiff are wrong in m aking the motor symptoms d ep en d on the anaes­ thesia, for in certain rare cases they have been observed to exist not only without insensibility, but with actual hyperaesthesia of the parts.43 T h e motor and sensory symptoms seem, therefore, to be independent variables. Functions of the Brain, chap. x, § 14. 41 Ober die Functionen der Grosshirnrinde (18 8 1), p. 50.

42 Lezioni di fisiologia sperim entale sul sistema nervoso encefalico (1873), p. 527 ff. Also Brain, vol. ix, p. 289. 7 So th at we m ight say, by a sort o f bad pun , "o n ly a connected w orld can be known as disconnected.” I say bad pun , because the p o in t o f view shifts between the con­ nectedness and the disconnectedness. T h e disconnectedness is o f the realities known; the connectedness is o f the know ledge o f them ; and reality and know ledge o f it are, from the psychological point o f view held fast to in these pages, two different facts.

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been no yesterday, or, at any rate, no self of yesterday; or, if there were, the sameness predicated might not obtain, or might be predi­ cated on insufficient grounds. In either case the personal identity would not exist as a fact; but it would exist as a feelin g all the same; the consciousness of it by the thought would be there, and the psy­ chologist would still have to analyze that, and show where its il­ lusoriness lay. Let us now be the psychologist and see whether it be right or wrong when it says, I am the same self that I was yesterday. We may immediately call it right and intelligible so far as it posits a past time with past thoughts or selves contained therein— these were data which we assumed at the outset of the book. Right also and intelligible so far as it thinks of a present self—that present self we have just studied in its various forms. T he only question for us is as to what the consciousness may mean when it calls the present self the same with one of the past selves which it has in mind. We spoke a moment since of warmth and intimacy. This leads us to the answer sought. For, whatever the thought we are criticis­ ing may think about its present self, that self comes to its acquaint­ ance, or is actually felt, with warmth and intimacy. Of course this is the case with the bodily part of it; we feel the whole cubic mass of our body all the while, it gives us an unceasing sense of personal existence. Equally do we feel the inner ‘nucleus of the spiritual self,’ either in the shape of yon faint physiological adjustments, or (adopting the universal psychological belief), in that of the pure activity of our thought taking place as such. Our remoter spiritual, material, and social selves, so far as they are realized, come also with a glow and a warmth; for the thought of them infallibly brings some degree of organic emotion in the shape of quickened heart-beats, oppressed breathing, or some other alteration, even though it be a slight one, in the general bodily tone. T he character of ‘warmth,’ then, in the present self, reduces itself to either of two things,—something in the feeling which we have of the thought itself, as thinking, or else the feeling of the body’s actual existence at the moment,—or finally to both. We cannot realize our present self without simultaneously feeling one or other of these two things. Any other fact which brings these two things with it into con­ sciousness will be thought with a warmth and an intimacy like those which cling to the present self.

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Any distant self which fulfils this condition will be thought with such warmth and intimacy. But which distant selves do fulfil the condition, when represented? Obviously those, and only those, which fulfilled it when they were alive. T h e m we shall imagine with the animal warmth upon them; to them may possibly cling the aroma, the echo of the think­ ing taken in the act. And by a natural consequence, we shall assimi­ late them to each other and to the warm and intimate self we now feel within us as we think, and separate them as a collection from whatever selves have not this mark, much as out of a herd of cattle let loose for the winter on some wide Western prairie the owner picks out and sorts together, when the time for the round-up comes in the spring, all the beasts on which he finds his own particular brand. T he various members of the collection thus set apart are felt to belong with each other whenever they are thought at all. T he animal warmth, etc., is their herd-mark, the brand from which they can never more escape. It runs through them all like a thread through a chaplet and makes them into a whole, which we treat as a unit, no matter how much in other ways the parts may differ inter se. Add to this character the farther one that the distant selves ap­ pear to our thought as having for hours of time been continuous with each other, and the most recent ones of them continuous with the Self of the present moment, melting into it by slow degrees; and we get a still stronger bond of union. As we think we see an identical bodily thing when, in spite of changes of structure, it exists continuously before our eyes, or when, however interrupted its presence, its quality returns unchanged; so here we think we ex­ perience an identical Self when it appears to us in an analogous way. Continuity makes us unite what dissimilarity might otherwise separate; similarity makes us unite what discontinuity might hold apart. And thus it is, finally, that Peter, awakening in the same bed with Paul, and recalling what both had in mind before they went to sleep, reidentifies and appropriates the ‘warm’ ideas as his, and is never tempted to confuse them with those cold and pale-appear­ ing ones which he ascribes to Paul. As well might he confound Paul’s body, which he only sees, with his own body, which he sees but also feels. Each of us when he awakens says, Here’s the same old self again, just as he says, Here’s the same old bed, the same old room, the same old world.

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T h e Principles of Psychology T h e sense of our own personal identity, then, is exactly like any one of our other perceptions of sameness am ong phenom ena. It is a conclusion grounded either on the resem blance in a fundam ental respect, or on the continuity before the m in d , of the phenom ena com pared.

And it must not be taken to mean more than these grounds war­ rant, or treated as a sort of metaphysical or absolute Unity in which all differences are overwhelmed. T he past and present selves com­ pared are the same just so far as they are the same, and no farther. A uniform feeling of ‘warmth,’ of bodily existence (or an equally uniform feeling of pure psychic energy?) pervades them all; and this is what gives them a generic unity, and makes them the same in kind. But this generic unity coexists with generic differences just as real as the unity. And if from the one point of view they are one self, from others they are as truly not one but many selves. And similarly of the attribute of continuity; it gives its own kind of unity to the self—that of mere connectedness, or unbrokenness, a perfectly definite phenomenal thing—but it gives not a jot or tittle more. And this unbrokenness in the stream of selves, like the un­ brokenness in an exhibition of ‘dissolving views,’ in no wise im­ plies any farther unity or contradicts any amount of plurality in other respects. And accordingly we find that, where the resemblance and the continuity are no longer felt, the sense of personal identity goes too. We hear from our parents various anecdotes about our infant years, but we do not appropriate them as we do our own memories. Those breaches of decorum awaken no blush, those bright sayings no self-complacency. That child is a foreign creature with which our present self is no more identified in feeling than it is with some stranger’s living child to-day. Why? Partly because great time-gaps break up all these early years—we cannot ascend to them by con­ tinuous memories; and partly because no representation of how the child felt comes up with the stories. We know what he said and did; but no sentiment of his little body, of his emotions, of his psychic strivings as they felt to him, comes up to contribute an ele­ ment of warmth and intimacy to the narrative we hear, and the main bond of union with our present self thus disappears. It is the same with certain of our dimly-recollected experiences. We hardly know whether to appropriate them or to disown them as fancies, or things read or heard and not lived through. T heir animal heat

T h e Consciousness of Self

has evaporated; the feelings that accompanied them are so lacking in the recall, or so different from those we now enjoy, that no judg­ ment of identity can be decisively cast. R esem blance am ong the parts of a continuum of feelings (espe­ cially bodily feelings) experienced along with things widely differ­ ent in all other regards, thus constitutes the real and verifiable ‘personal identity’ which we feel. There is no other identity than this in the ‘stream’ of subjective consciousness which we described in the last chapter. Its parts differ, but under all their differences they are knit in these two ways; and if either way of knitting dis­ appears, the sense of unity departs. If a man wakes up some fine day unable to recall any of his past experiences, so that he has to learn his biography afresh, or if he only recalls the facts of it in a cold abstract way as things that he is sure once happened; or if, without this loss of memory, his bodily and spiritual habits all change during the night, each organ giving a different tone, and the act of thought becoming aware of itself in a different way; he feels, and he says, that he is a changed person. He disowns his for­ mer me, gives himself a new name, identifies his present life with nothing from out of the older time. Such cases are not rare in men­ tal pathology; but, as we still have some reasoning to do, we had better give no concrete account of them until the end of the chapter. This description of personal identity will be recognized by the instructed reader as the ordinary doctrine professed by the em­ pirical school. Associationists in England and France, Herbartians in Germany, all describe the Self as an aggregate of which each part, as to its being, is a separate fact. So far so good, then; thus much is true whatever farther things may be true; and it is to the imperishable glory of Hume and Herbart and their successors to have taken so much of the meaning of personal identity out of the clouds and made of the Self an empirical and verifiable thing. But in leaving the matter here, and saying that this sum of pass­ ing things is all, these writers have neglected certain more subtle aspects of the Unity of Consciousness, to which we next must turn. Our recent simile of the herd of cattle will help us. It will be remembered that the beasts were brought together into one herd because their owner found on each of them his brand. T he ‘owner’ symbolizes here that ‘section’ of consciousness, or pulse of thought, which we have all along represented as the vehicle of the judgment

3*9

T h e Principles of Psychology

of identity; and the ‘brand’ symbolizes the characters of warmth and continuity, by reason of which the judgment is made. There is found a se//-brand, just as there is found a herd-brand. Each brand, so far, is the mark, or cause of our knowing, that certain things belong-together. But if the brand is the ratio cognoscendi of the belonging, the belonging, in the case of the herd, is in turn the ratio existendi of the brand. No beast would be so branded unless he belonged to the owner of the herd. They are not his be­ cause they are branded; they are branded because they are his. So that it seems as if our description of the belonging-together of the various selves, as a belonging-together which is merely represented, in a later pulse of thought, had knocked the bottom out of the matter, and omitted the most characteristic one of all the features found in the herd—a feature which common-sense finds in the phenomenon of personal identity as well, and for our omission of which she will hold us to a strict account. For common-sense insists that the unity of all the selves is not a mere appearance of similari­ ty or continuity, ascertained after the fact. She is sure that it in­ volves a real belonging to a real Owner, to a pure spiritual entity of some kind. Relation to this entity is what makes the self’s con­ stituents stick together as they do for thought. T he individual beasts do not stick together, for all that they wear the same brand. Each wanders with whatever accidental mates it finds. T he herd’s unity is only potential, its centre ideal, like the ‘centre of gravity’ in physics, until the herdsman or owner comes. He furnishes a real centre of accretion to which the beasts are driven and by which they are held. T he beasts stick together by sticking severally to him. Just so, common-sense insists, there must be a real proprietor in the case of the selves, or else their actual accretion into a ‘personal consciousness’ would never have taken place. T o the usual em­ piricist explanation of personal consciousness this is a formidable reproof, because all the individual thoughts and feelings which have succeeded each other ‘up to date’ are represented by ordinary Associationism as in some inscrutable way ‘integrating’ or gum­ ming themselves together on their own account, and thus fusing into a stream. A ll the incomprehensibilities which in Chapter VI we saw to attach to the idea of things fusing without a m edium apply to the empiricist description of personal identity. But in our own account the medium is fully assigned, the herds­ man is there, in the shape of something not among the things col­

3 20

T h e Consciousness of Self

lected, but superior to them all, namely, the real, present onlooking, remembering, ‘judging thought’ or identifying ‘section’ of the stream. This is what collects,—‘owns’ some of the past facts which it surveys, and disowns the rest,—and so makes a unity that is ac­ tualized and anchored and does not merely float in the blue air of possibility. And the reality of such pulses of thought, with their function of knowing, it will be remembered that we did not seek to deduce or explain, but simply assumed them as the ultimate kind of fact that the psychologist must admit to exist. But this assumption, though it yields much, still does not yield all that common-sense demands. T he unity into which the Thought —as I shall for a time proceed to call, with a capital T , the present mental state—binds the individual past facts with each other and with itself, does not exist until the Thought is there. It is as if wild cattle were lassoed by a newly-created settler and then owned for the first time. But the essence of the matter to common-sense is that the past thoughts never were wild cattle, they were always owned. T he Thought does not capture them, but as soon as it comes into existence it finds them already its own. How is this pos­ sible unless the Thought have a substantial identity with a former owner,—not a mere continuity or a resemblance, as in our account, but a real unity} Common-sense in fact would drive us to admit what we may for the moment call an Arch-Ego, dominating the entire stream of thought and all the selves that may be represented in it, as the ever self-same and changeless principle implied in their union. T he ‘Soul’ of Metaphysics and the ‘Transcendental Ego’ of the Kantian Philosophy, are, as we shall soon see, but attempts to satisfy this urgent demand of common-sense. But, for a time at least, we can still express without any such hypotheses that appear­ ance of never-lapsing ownership for which common-sense contends. For how would it be if the Thought, the present judging Thought, instead of being in any way substantially or transcendentally identical with the former owner of the past self, merely inherited his ‘title,’ and thus stood as his legal representative now? It would then, if its birth coincided exactly with the death of an­ other owner, find the past self already its own as soon as it found it at all, and the past self would thus never be wild, but always owned, by a title that never lapsed. We can imagine a long suc­ cession of herdsmen coming rapidly into possession of the same cattle by transmission of an original title by bequest. May not the

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‘title’ of a collective self be passed from one Thought to another in some analogous way? It is a patent fact of consciousness that a transmission like this actually occurs. Each pulse of cognitive consciousness, each Thought, dies away and is replaced by another. T he other, among the things it knows, knows its own predecessor, and finding it ‘warm,’ in the way we have described, greets it, saying: “ Thou art m ine, and part of the same self with me.” Each later Thought, knowing and including thus the Thoughts which went before, is the final receptacle—and appropriating them is the final owner— of all that they contain and own. Each Thought is thus born an owner, and dies owned, transmitting whatever it realized as its Self to its own later proprietor. As Kant says, it is as if elastic balls were to have not only motion but knowledge of it, and a first ball were to transmit both its motion and its consciousness to a second, which took both up into its consciousness and passed them to a third, until the last ball held all that the other balls had held, and realized it as its own. It is this trick which the nascent thought has of immediately taking up the expiring thought and ‘adopting’ it, which is the foundation of the appropriation of most of the remoter constituents of the self. Who owns the last self owns the self before the last, for what possesses the possessor pos­ sesses the possessed. It is impossible to discover any verifiable features in personal identity which this sketch does not contain, impossible to imagine how any transcendent non-phenomenal sort of an Arch-Ego, were he there, could shape matters to any other result, or be known in time by any other fruit, than just this production of a stream of consciousness each ‘section’ of which should know, and knowing, hug to itself and adopt, all those that went before,—thus standing as the representative of the entire past stream; and which should similarly adopt the objects already adopted by any portion of this spiritual stream. Such standing-as-representative, and such adopt­ ing, are perfectly clear phenomenal relations. T he Thought which, whilst it knows another Thought and the Object of that Other, appropriates the Other and the Object which the Other appro­ priated, is still a perfectly distinct phenomenon from that Other; it may hardly resemble it; it may be far removed from it in space and time.

T h e Consciousness of Self

T he only point that is obscure is the act of appropriation itself. Already in enumerating the constituents of the self and their rival­ ry, I had to use the word appropriate. And the quick-witted reader probably noticed at the time, in hearing how one constituent was let drop and disowned and another one held fast to and espoused, that the phrase was meaningless unless the constituents were ob­ jects in the hands of something else. A thing cannot appropriate itself; it is itself; and still less can it disown itself. There must be an agent of the appropriating and disowning; but that agent we have already named. It is the Thought to whom the various ‘con­ stituents’ are known. T hat Thought is a vehicle of choice as well as of cognition; and among the choices it makes are these appro­ priations, or repudiations, of its ‘own.’ But the Thought never is an object in its own hands, it never appropriates or disowns itself. It appropriates to itself, it is the actual focus of accretion, the hook from which the chain of past selves dangles, planted firmly in the Present, which alone passes for real, and thus keeping the chain from being a purely ideal thing. Anon the hook itself will drop into the past with all it carries, and then be treated as an object and appropriated by a new Thought in the new present which will serve as living hook in turn. T he present moment of consciousness is thus, as Mr. Hodgson says, the darkest in the whole series. It may feel its own immediate existence—we have all along admitted the possibility of this, hard as it is by direct introspection to ascertain the fact—but nothing can be known about it till it be dead and gone. Its appropriations are therefore less to itself than to the most intimately felt part of its present O bject, the body, and the central adjustments, which accompany the act of thinking, in the head. T h ese are the real nucleus of our personal identity, and it is their actual existence, realized as a solid present fact, which makes us say ‘as sure as I exist, those past facts were part of myself.’ They are the kernel to which the represented parts of the Self are assimilated, accreted, and knit on; and even were Thought entirely uncon­ scious of itself in the act of thinking, these ‘warm’ parts of its pres­ ent object would be a firm basis on which the consciousness of personal identity would rest.18 Such consciousness, then, as a psycho*8 Some subtle reader w ill object th at the T h o u g h t cannot call any p a rt o f its O bject ‘ I ’ and knit other parts on to it, w ithout first k n ittin g that p a rt on to Itself, and th at it cannot knit it on to Itself w ithou t know ing Its e lf;—so that o u r supposition (above, pp . 290-291) that the T h o u g h t m ay conceivably have no im m ediate know ledge

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logic fact, can be fully described without supposing any other agent than a succession of perishing thoughts, endowed with the func­ tions of appropriation and rejection, and of which some can know and appropriate or reject objects already known, appropriated, or rejected by the rest. T o illustrate by diagram, let A, B, and C stand for three succes­

Fir.. 34.

sive thoughts, each with its object inside of it. If B ’s object be A, and C ’s object be B; then A, B, and C would stand for three pulses in a consciousness of personal identity. Each pulse would be some­ thing different from the others; but B would know and adopt A, and C would know and adopt A and B. Three successive states of the same brain, on which each experience in passing leaves its mark, might very well engender thoughts differing from each other in just such a way as this. T he passing Thought then seems to be the Thinker; and though there may be another non-phenomenal Thinker behind that, so far we do not seem to need him to express the facts. But we cannot definitively make up our mind about him until we have heard the reasons that have historically been used to prove his reality. T H E P U R E S E L F OR IN N E R P R IN C IP L E O F P E R S O N A L U N IT Y

T o a brief survey of the theories of the Ego let us then next pro­ ceed. They are three in number, as follows: o f Itself is thus overthrow n. T o which the rep ly is that wc m ust take care not to be du ped by words. T h e words / and me sign ify nothin g m ysterious and u n exam pled— they are at bottom o n ly names o f em ph asin and T h o u g h t is alw ays em phasizing som ething. W ith in a tract of space which it cognizes, it contrasts a here with a there ; w ith in a tract o f tim e a now w ith a then: o f a p a ir o f things it calls one this, the o th er that. I and thou, I and it, are distinctions exa ctly on a p a r w ith these,—distin c­ tions possible in an exclu sively objective field o f knowledge, the ‘I ’ m eaning for the T h o u g h t nothin g b u t the bo dily life which it m om en tarily feels. T h e sense o f m y b odily existence, however obscurely recognized as such, may then be the absolute o rigin al o f m y conscious selfhood, the fundam ental perception that / am. A ll a p ­ p ro priation s may be m ade to it, by a T h o u g h t not at the m om ent im m ed iately cog­ nized by itself. W heth er these are not o n ly logical possibilities but actual facts is som ething not yet do gm atically decided in the text.

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1) T he Spiritualist theory; 2) T he Associationist theory; 3) T he Transcendentalist theory. T h e T h e o ry of the Soul

In Chapter V I we were led ourselves to the spiritualist theory of the ‘Soul,’ as a means of escape from the unintelligibilities of mindstuff ‘integrating’ with itself, and from the physiological improb­ ability of a material monad, with thought attached to it, in the brain. But at the end of the chapter we said we should examine the ‘Soul’ critically in a later place, to see whether it had any other advantages as a theory over the simple phenomenal notion of a stream of thought accompanying a stream of cerebral activity, by a law yet unexplained. T he theory of the Soul is the theory of popular philosophy and of scholasticism, which is only popular philosophy made systemat­ ic. It declares that the principle of individuality within us must be substantial, for psychic phenomena are activities, and there can be no activity without a concrete agent. T his substantial agent can­ not be the brain but must be something immaterial-, for its activity, thought, is both immaterial, and takes cognizance of immaterial things, and of material things in general and intelligible, as well as in particular and sensible ways,—all which powers are incom­ patible with the nature of matter, of which the brain is composed. Thought moreover is simple, whilst the activities of the brain are compounded of the elementary activities of each of its parts. Fur­ thermore, thought is spontaneous or free, whilst all material ac­ tivity is determined ab extra ; and the will can turn itself against all corporeal goods and appetites, which would be impossible were it a corporeal function. For these objective reasons the principle of psychic life must be both immaterial and simple as well as sub­ stantial, must be what is called a Soul. T he same consequence fol­ lows from subjective reasons. Our consciousness of personal iden­ tity assures us of our essential simplicity: the owner of the various constituents of the self, as we have seen them, the hypothetical Arch-Ego whom we provisionally conceived as possible, is a real entity of whose existence self-consciousness makes us directly aware. No material agent could thus turn round and grasp itself— material activities always grasp something else than the agent. And

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if a brain could grasp itself and be self-conscious, it would be con­ scious of itself as a brain and not as something of an altogether dif­ ferent kind. T he Soul then exists as a simple spiritual substance in which the various psychic faculties, operations, and affections inhere. If we ask what a Substance is, the only answer is that it is a selfexistent being, or one which needs no other subject in which to inhere. At bottom its only positive determination is Being, and this is something whose meaning we all realize even though we find it hard to explain. T he Soul is moreover an in d ivid u a l being, and if we ask what that is, we are told to look in upon our Self, and we shall learn by direct intuition better than through any abstract reply. Our direct perception of our own inward being is in fact by many deemed to be the original prototype out of which our notion of simple active substance in general is fashioned. T he conse­ quences of the simplicity and substantiality of the Soul are its in­ corruptibility and natural im m ortality—nothing but God’s direct fiat can annihilate it—and its responsibility at all times for what­ ever it may have ever done. This substantialist view of the soul was essentially the view of Plato and of Aristotle. It received its completely formal elabora­ tion in the middle ages. It was believed in by Hobbes, Descartes, Locke, Leibnitz, Wolff, Berkeley, and is now defended by the en­ tire modern dualistic or spiritualistic or common-sense school. Kant held to it while denying its fruitfulness as a premise for de­ ducing consequences verifiable here below. Kant’s successors, the absolute idealists, profess to have discarded it,—how that may be we shall inquire ere long. Let us make up our minds what to think of it ourselves. It is at all events needless fo r expressing the actual subjective phenom ena of consciousness as they appear. We have formulated

them all without its aid, by the supposition of a stream of thoughts, each substantially different from the rest, but cognitive of the rest and ‘appropriative’ of each other’s content. At least, if I have not already succeeded in making this plausible to the reader, I am hopeless of convincing him by anything I could add now. T he unity, the identity, the individuality, and the immateriality that appear in the psychic life are thus accounted for as phenomenal and temporal facts exclusively, and with no need of reference to any more simple or substantial agent than the present Thought or

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‘section’ of the stream. We have seen it to be single and unique in the sense of having no separable parts (above, p. 233 ff.)—perhaps that is the only kind of simplicity meant to be predicated of the soul. T he present Thought also has being,—at least all believers in the Soul believe so—and if there be no other Being in which it ‘in­ heres,’ it ought itself to be a ‘substance.’ If this kind of simplicity and substantiality were all that is predicated of the Soul, then it might appear that we had been talking of the soul all along, with­ out knowing it, when we treated the present Thought as an agent, an owner, and the like. But the Thought is a perishing and not an immortal or incorruptible thing. Its successors may continuously succeed to it, resemble it, and appropriate it, but they are not it, whereas the Soul-Substance is supposed to be a fixed unchanging thing. By the Soul is always meant something b eh ind the present Thought, another kind of substance, existing on a non-phenomenal plane. When we brought in the Soul at the end of Chapter VI, as an entity which the various brain-processes were supposed to affect simultaneously, and which responded to their combined influence by single pulses of its thought, it was to escape integrated mindstuff on the one hand, and an improbable cerebral monad on the other. But when (as now, after all we have been through since that earlier passage) we take the two formulations, first of a brain to whose processes pulses of thought sim ply correspond, and second, of a brain to whose processes pulses of thought in a Sou l corre­ spond, and compare them together, we see that at bottom the sec­ ond formulation is only a more roundabout way than the first, of expressing the same bald fact. That bald fact is that w hen the brain acts, a thought occurs. T he spiritualistic formulation says that the brain-processes knock the thought, so to speak, out of a Soul which stands there to receive their influence. T he simpler formulation says that the thought simply comes. But what positive meaning has the Soul, when scrutinized, but the ground of possibility of the thought? And what is the ‘knocking’ but the d eterm ining of the possibility to actuality ? And what is this after all but giving a sort of concreted form to one’s belief that the coming of the thought, when the brain-processes occur, has some sort of ground in the na­ ture of things? If the word Soul be understood merely to express that claim, it is a good word to use. But if it be held to do more, to gratify the claim,—for instance, to connect rationally the thought

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which comes, with the processes which occur, and to mediate intel­ ligibly between their two disparate natures,—then it is an illusory term. It is, in fact, with the word Soul as with the word Substance in general. T o say that phenomena inhere in a Substance is at bot­ tom only to record one’s protest against the notion that the bare existence of the phenomena is the total truth. A phenomenon would not itself be, we insist, unless there were something more than the phenomenon. T o the more we give the provisional name of Substance. So, in the present instance, we ought certainly to ad­ mit that there is more than the bare fact of coexistence of a passing thought with a passing brain-state. But we do not answer the ques­ tion ‘What is that more?’ when we say that it is a ‘Soul’ which the brain-state affects. This kind of more explains nothing; and when we are once trying metaphysical explanations we are foolish not to go as far as we can. For my own part I confess that the moment I become metaphysical and try to define the more, I find the notion of some sort of an anim a m u n di thinking in all of us to be a more promising hypothesis, in spite of all its difficulties, than that of a lot of absolutely individual souls. Meanwhile, as psychologists, we need not be metaphysical at all. T he phenomena are enough, the passing Thought itself is the only verifiable thinker, and its em­ pirical connection with the brain-process is the ultimate known law. T o the other arguments which would prove the need of a soul, we may also turn a deaf ear. T he argument from free-will can con­ vince only those who believe in free-will; and even they will have to admit that spontaneity is just as possible, to say the least, in a temporary spiritual agent like our ‘Thought’ as in a permanent one like the supposed Soul. T he same is true of the argument from the kinds of things cognized. Even if the brain could not cognize universais, immaterials, or its ‘Self,’ still the ‘Thought’ which we have relied upon in our account is not the brain, closely as it seems connected with it; and after all, if the brain could cognize at all, one does not well see why it might not cognize one sort of thing as well as another. T he great difficulty is in seeing how a thing can cognize anything. T his difficulty is not in the least removed by giv­ ing to the thing that cognizes the name of Soul. T he Spiritualists do not deduce any of the properties of the mental life from other­ wise known properties of the soul. They simply find various char­ acters ready-made in the mental life, and these they clap into the

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Soul, saying, “ Lo! behold the source from whence they flow!’’ The merely verbal character of this ‘explanation’ is obvious. T he Soul invoked, far from making the phenomena more intelligible, can only be made intelligible itself by borrowing their form,—it must be represented, if at all, as a transcendent stream of consciousness duplicating the one we know. Altogether, the Soul is an outbirth of that sort of philosophizing whose great maxim, according to Dr. Hodgson, is: “ Whatever you are totally ignorant of, assert to be the explanation of everything else.” Locke and Kant, whilst still believing in the soul, began the work of undermining the notion that we know anything about it. Most modern writers of the mitigated spiritualistic or dualistic philosophy—the Scotch school, as it is often called among us—are forward to proclaim this ignorance, and to attend exclusively to the verifiable phenomena of self-consciousness, as we have laid them down. Dr. Wayland, for example, begins his E lem ents of I n ­ tellectual P h iloso ph y with the phrase “ Of the essence of Mind we know nothing,” and goes on: “A ll that we are able to affirm of it is, that it is som ething which perceives, reflects, remembers, imagines, and wills; but what that something is, which exerts these energies, we know not. It is only as we are conscious of the action of these energies that we are conscious of the existence of mind. It is only by the exertion of its own powers that the mind becomes cognizant of their existence. T he cognizance of its powers, however, gives us no knowledge of that essence of which they are predicated. In these respects, our knowledge of mind is precisely analogous to our knowledge of matter.” This analogy of our two ignorances is a favorite remark in the Scotch school. It is but a step to lump them together into a single ignorance, that of the ‘Unknowable’ to which anyone fond of superfluities in philosophy may accord the hospitality of his belief, if it so please him, but which anyone else may as freely ignore and reject. T he Soul-theory is, then, a complete superfluity, so far as ac­ counting for the actually verified facts of conscious experience goes. So far, no one can be compelled to subscribe to it for definite scientific reasons. T he case would rest here, and the reader be left free to make his choice, were it not for other demands of a more practical kind.

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T he first of these is Im m ortality, for which the simplicity and substantiality of the Soul seem to offer a solid guarantee. A ‘stream’ of thought, for aught that we see to be contained in its essence, may come to a full stop at any moment; but a simple substance is incorruptible and will, by its own inertia, persist in Being so long as the Creator does not by a direct miracle snuff it out. Unquestion­ ably this is the stronghold of the spiritualistic belief,—as indeed the popular touchstone for all philosophies is the question, “ What is their bearing on a future life?” The Soul, however, when closely scrutinized, guarantees no im­ mortality of a sort we care for. T he enjoyment of the atom-like simplicity of their substance in scecula sceculorum would not to most people seem a consummation devoutly to be wished. The substance must give rise to a stream of consciousness continuous with the present stream, in order to arouse our hope, but of this the mere persistence of the substance p er se offers no guarantee. Moreover, in the general advance of our moral ideas, there has come to be something ridiculous in the way our forefathers had of grounding their hopes of immortality on the simplicity of their substance. T he demand for immortality is nowadays essentially teleological. We believe ourselves immortal because we believe ourselves fit for immortality. A substance’ ought surely to perish, we think, if not worthy to survive; and an insubstantial ‘stream’ to prolong itself provided it be worthy, if the nature of Things is organized in the rational way in which we trust it is. Substance or no substance, soul or ‘stream,’ what Lotze says of immortality is about all that human wisdom can say: “ We have no other principle for deciding it than this general ideal­ istic belief: that every created thing will continue whose continuance belongs to the meaning of the world, and so long as it does so belong; whilst everyone will pass away whose reality is justified only in a tran­ sitory phase of the world’s course. That this principle admits of no further application in human hands need hardly be said. We surely know not the merits which may give to one being a claim on eternity, nor the defects which would cut others off.” 19 19

M etaph ysik, § 2 | -, fin. T h is w riter, who in his early work, the M edicinisch e

Psychologie, was (to m y reading) a strong defender o f the Soul-Substance theory, has

w ritten in §§ 243-5 ° f his M etaphysik the most b eau tifu l criticism o f this theory which exists.

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A second alleged necessity for a soul-substance is our forensic responsibility before God. Locke caused an uproar when he said that the unity of consciousness made a man the same person, wheth­ er supported by the same substance or no, and that God would not, in the great day, make a person answer for what he remembered nothing of. It was supposed scandalous that our forgetfulness might thus deprive God of the chance of certain retributions, which otherwise would have enhanced his ‘glory.’ T his is certainly a good speculative ground for retaining the Soul—at least for those who demand a plenitude of retribution. T he mere stream of con­ sciousness, with its lapses of memory, cannot possibly be as ‘re­ sponsible’ as a soul which is at the judgment day all that it ever was. T o modern readers, however, who are less insatiate for retri­ bution than their grandfathers, this argument will hardly be as convincing as it seems once to have been. One great use of the Soul has always been to account for, and at the same time to guarantee, the closed individuality of each per­ sonal consciousness. T he thoughts of one soul must unite into one self, it was supposed, and must be eternally insulated from those of every other soul. But we have already begun to see that, al­ though unity is the rule of each man’s consciousness, yet in some individuals, at least, thoughts may split away from the others and form separate selves. As for insulation, it would be rash, in view of the phenomena of thought-transference, mesmeric influence and spirit-control, which are being alleged nowadays on better authori­ ty than ever before, to be too sure about that point either. The definitively closed nature of our personal consciousness is probably an average statistical resultant of many conditions, but not an elementary force or fact; so that, if one wishes to preserve the Soul, the less he draws his arguments from that quarter the better. So long as our self, on the whole, makes itself good and practically maintains itself as a closed individual, why, as Lotze says, is not that enough? And why is the i»emg-an-individual in some inaccessi­ ble metaphysical way so much prouder an achievement?20 My final conclusion, then, about the substantial Soul is that it explains nothing and guarantees nothing. Its successive thoughts 20

On the em p irical and transcendental conceptions o f the self's unity, see Lotze:

M etaphysic, § 244.

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are the only intelligible and verifiable things about it, and definite­ ly to ascertain the correlations of these with brain-processes is as much as psychology can empirically do. From the metaphysical point of view, it is true that one may claim that the correlations have a rational ground; and if the word Soul could be taken to mean merely some such vague problematic ground, it would be unob­ jectionable. But the trouble is that it professes to give the ground in positive terms of a very dubiously credible sort. I therefore feel entirely free to discard the word Soul from the rest of this book. If I ever use it, it will be in the vaguest and most popular way. T he reader who finds any comfort in the idea of the Soul, is, however, perfectly free to continue to believe in it; for our reasonings have not established the non-existence of the Soul; they have only proved its superfluity for scientific purposes. T he next theory of the pure Self to which we pass is T h e Associationist T h e o ry

Locke paved the way for it by the hypothesis he suggested of the same substance having two successive consciousnesses, or of the same consciousness being supported by more than one substance. He made his readers feel that the im portant unity of the Self was its verifiable and felt unity, and that a metaphysical or absolute unity would be insignificant, so long as a consciousness of diversity might be there. Hume showed how great the consciousness of diversity actually was. In the famous chapter on Personal Identity, in his Treatise of H u m a n N a tu re , he writes as follows: “ There are some philosophers, who imagine we are every moment intimately conscious of what we call our S e l f ; that we feel its exist­ ence and its continuance in existence; and are certain, beyond the evi­ dence of a demonstration, both of its perfect identity and simplicity. . . . Unluckily all these positive assertions are contrary to that very ex­ perience, which is pleaded for them, nor have we any idea of self, after the manner it is here explain’d. . . . It must be some one impression, that gives rise to every real idea. . . . If any impression gives rise to the idea of self, that impression must continue invariably the same, thro’ the whole course of our lives; since self is suppos’d to exist after that manner. But there is no impression constant and invariable. Pain and pleasure, grief and joy, passions and sensations succeed each other, and

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never all exist at the same time. . . . For my part, when I enter most intimately into what I call myself, I always stumble on some particular perception or other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, pain or pleasure. I never can catch myself at any time without a perception, and never can observe any thing but the perception. When my percep­ tions are remov’d for any time, as by sound sleep; so long am I insensi­ ble of myself, and may truly be said not to exist. And were all my per­ ceptions remov’d by death, and cou’d I neither think, nor feel, nor see, nor love, nor hate after the dissolution of my body, I shou’d be entirely annihilated, nor do I conceive what is farther requisite to make me a perfect non-entity. If any one, upon serious and unprejudic’d reflec­ tion, thinks he has a different notion of himself, I must confess I can reason no longer with him. All I can allow him is, that he may be in the right as well as I, and that we are essentially different in this par­ ticular. He may, perhaps, perceive something simple and continu’d, which he calls himself; tho’ I am certain there is no such principle in me. “ But setting aside some metaphysicians of this kind, I may venture to affirm of the rest of mankind, that they are nothing but a bundle or collection of different perceptions, which succeed each other with an inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement. Our eyes cannot turn in their sockets without varying our perceptions. Our thought is still more variable than our sight; and all our other senses and faculties contribute to this change; nor is there any single power of the soul, which remains unalterably the same, perhaps for one moment. The mind is a kind of theatre, where several perceptions successively make their appearance: pass, re-pass, glide away, and mingle in an in­ finite variety of postures and situations. There is properly no simplicity in it at one time, nor identity in different; whatever natural propension we may have to imagine that simplicity and identity. The comparison of the theatre must not mislead us. They are the successive perceptions only, that constitute the mind; nor have we the most distant notion of the place, where these scenes are represented, or of the materials of which it is compos’d.” But Hume, after doing this good piece of introspective work, proceeds to pour out the child with the bath, and to fly to as great an extreme as the substantialist philosophers. As they say the Self is nothing but Unity, unity abstract and absolute, so Hume says it is nothing but Diversity, diversity abstract and absolute; whereas in truth it is that mixture of unity and diversity which we our­ selves have already found so easy to pick apart. We found among

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the objects of the stream certain feelings that hardly changed, that stood out warm and vivid in the past just as the present feeling does now; and we found the present feeling to be the centre of accretion to which, de proche en proche, these other feelings are, by the ju d g in g T h o u gh t, felt to cling. Hume says nothing of the judging Thought; and he denies this thread of resemblance, this core of sameness running through the ingredients of the Self, to exist even as a phenomenal thing. T o him there is no tertium q u id between pure unity and pure separateness. A succession of ideas “ connected by a close relation affords to an accurate view as perfect a notion of diversity as if there was no m anner of relation” at all. “ All our distinct perceptions are distinct existences, and the mind never perceives any real connexion among distinct existences. Did our perceptions either inhere in something simple and individual, or did the mind perceive some real connexion among them, there wou’d be no difficulty in the case. For my part, I must plead the privilege of a sceptic, and confess, that this difficulty is too hard for my understand­ ing. I pretend not, however, to pronounce it insuperable. Others, per­ haps, . . . may discover some hypothesis, that will reconcile these con­ tradictions.” 21 Hume is at bottom as much of a metaphysician as Thomas Aquinas. No wonder he can discover no ‘hypothesis.’ The unity of the parts of the stream is just as ‘real’ a connection as their diversi­ ty is a real separation; both connection and separation are ways in which the past thoughts appear to the present Thought;—unlike each other in respect of date and certain qualities—this is the sep­ aration; alike in other qualities, and continuous in time—this is the connection. In demanding a more ‘real’ connection than this obvious and verifiable likeness and continuity, Hume seeks ‘the world behind the looking-glass,’ and gives a striking example of that Absolutism which is the great disease of philosophic Thought. The chain of distinct existences into which Hume thus chopped up our ‘stream’ was adopted by all of his successors as a complete inventory of the facts. The associationist Philosophy was founded. Somehow, out of ‘ideas,’ each separate, each ignorant of its mates, but sticking together and calling each other up according to certain laws, all the higher forms of consciousness were to be explained, 21 A p p e n d ix

to book I o f H u m e’s Treatise of H u m a n N ature.

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and among them the consciousness of our personal identity. The task was a hard one, in which what we called the psycholo­ gist’s fallacy (p. 195 ff.) bore the brunt of the work. T w o ideas, one of ‘A ,’ succeeded by another of ‘B ,’ were transmuted into a third idea of ‘B after A . ’ An idea from last year returning now was taken to be an idea of last year; two similar ideas stood for an idea of sim ilarity, and the like; palpable confusions, in which certain facts about the ideas, possible only to an outside knower of them, were put into the place of the ideas’ own proper and limited deliverance and content. Out of such recurrences and resemblances in a series of discrete ideas and feelings a knowledge was somehow supposed to be engendered in each feeling that it was recurrent and resem­ bling, and that it helped to form a series to whose unity the name / came to be joined. In the same way, substantially, Herbart,22 in Germany, tried to show how a conflict of ideas would fuse into a m anner of representing itself for which / was the consecrated name.23 The defect of all these attempts is that the conclusion asserted to follow from certain premises is by no means rationally involved in the premises. A feeling of any kind, if it simply returns, ought to be nothing else than what it was at first. If memory of previous ex­ istence and all sorts of other cognitive functions are attributed to it when it returns, it is no longer the same, but a widely different feeling, and ought to be so described. W e have so described it with the greatest explicitness. We have said that feelings never do return. We have not pretended to explain this; we have recorded it as an empirically ascertained law, analogous to certain laws of brain-physiology; and, seeking to define the way in which new feelings do differ from the old, we have found them to be cognizant and appropriative of the old, whereas the old were always cogni­ zant and appropriative of something else. Once more, this account pretended to be nothing more than a complete description of the facts. It explained them no more than the associationist account explains them. But the latter both assumes to explain them and in the same breath falsifies them, and for each reason stands con­ demned. It is but just to say that the associationist writers as a rule seem 22 H erb art believed in the Soul, too; but for him the ‘Self' o f which we are ‘con­ scious’ is the em pirical Self—not the soul. 23 C o m pare again the rem arks on pp . 16 0-16 4 above.

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to have a lurking bad conscience about the Self; and that although they are explicit enough about what it is, namely, a train of feel­ ings or thoughts, they are very shy about openly tackling the prob­ lem of how it comes to be aware of itself. Neither Bain nor Spencer, for example, directly touches this problem. As a rule, associationist writers keep talking about ‘the mind’ and about what ‘we’ do; and so, smuggling in surreptitiously what they ought avowedly to have postulated in the form of a present ‘judging Thought,’ they either trade upon their reader’s lack of discernment or are undiscerning themselves. Mr. D. G. Thompson is the only associationist writer I know who perfectly escapes this confusion, and postulates openly what he needs. “ All States of Consciousness,” he says, “ imply and pos­ tulate a subject Ego, whose substance is unknown and unknow­ able, to which [why not say by which?] States of Consciousness are referred as attributes but which in the process of reference becomes objectified and becomes itself an attribute of a subject Ego which lies still beyond, and which ever eludes cognition though ever pos­ tulated for cognition.” 24 This is exactly our judging and remem­ bering present ‘Thought,’ described in less simple terms. After Mr. Thompson, M. Taine and the two Mills deserve credit for seeking to be as clear as they can. Taine tells us in the first volume of his Intelligence what the Ego i s —a continuous web of conscious events no more really distinct from each other25 than rhomboids, triangles, and squares marked with chalk on a plank are really distinct, for the plank itself is one. In the second volume he says all these parts have a common character embedded in them, that of being internal [this is our character of ‘warmness,’ other­ wise named]. This character is abstracted and isolated by a mental fiction, and is what we are conscious of as our self—‘this stable w ithin is what each of us calls / or m e .’ Obviously M. Taine forgets to tell us what this ‘each of us’ is, which suddenly starts up and per­ forms the abstraction and ‘calls’ its product I or me. T he character does not abstract itself. Taine means by ‘each of us’ merely the present ‘judging Thought’ with its memory and tendency to ap­ propriate, but he does not name it distinctly enough, and lapses 24 System of Psychology (1884), vol. 1, p. 114 . 25 ‘ D istinct only to observation ,' he adds. T o whose observation? the outside psy­ chologist's, the E go ’s, th eir ow n, or the plank's? D arauf kom m t es an!

T h e Consciousness of Self

into the fiction that the entire series of thoughts, the entire ‘plank,’ is the reflecting psychologist. James Mill, after defining Memory as a train of associated ideas beginning with that of my past self and ending with that of my present self, defines my Self as a train of ideas of which Memory declares the first to be continuously connected with the last. The successive associated ideas ‘run, as it were, into a single point of consciousness.’26 John Mill, annotating this account, says: “ The phenomenon of Self and that of Memory are merely two sides of the same fact, or two different modes of viewing the same fact. We may, as psychologists, set out from either of them, and refer the other to it. . . . But it is hardly allowable to do both. At least it must be said, that by doing so we explain neither. We only show that the two things are essentially the same; that my memory of having ascended Skiddaw on a given day, and my consciousness of being the same person who ascended Skiddaw on that day, are two modes of stating the same fact: a fact which psychology has as yet failed to resolve into anything more elementary. In analysing the complex phenomena of consciousness, we must come to something ultimate; and we seem to have reached two elements which have a good prima facie claim to that title. There is, first, . . . the difference between a fact, and the Thought of that fact: a distinction which we are able to cognize in the past, and which then constitutes Memory, and in the future, when it constitutes Expecta­ tion; but in neither case can we give any account of it except that it exists . . . . Secondly, in addition to this, and setting out from the belief . . . that the idea I now have was derived from a previous sensation . . . there is the further conviction that this sensation . . . was my own; that it happened to myself. In other words, I am aware of a long and unin­ terrupted succession of past feelings going as far back as memory reaches, and terminating with the sensations I have at the present mo­ ment, all of which are connected by an inexplicable tie, that distin­ guishes them not only from any succession or combination in mere thought, but also from the parallel successions of feelings which I be­ lieve, on satisfactory evidence, to have happened to each of the other beings, shaped like myself, whom I perceive around me. This succes­ sion of feelings, which I call my memory of the past, is that by which I distinguish my Self. Myself is the person who had that series of feelings, and I know nothing of myself, by direct knowledge, except that I had 26 A nalysis, etc., J . S. M ill’s E d itio n , vol. 1, p. 3 3 1. T h e ‘as it w ere’ is d e lig h tfu lly characteristic o f the school.

T h e Principles of Psychology

them. But there is a bond of some sort among all the parts of the series, which makes me say that they were feelings of a person who was the same person throughout [according to us this is their ‘warmth’ and resemblance to the ‘central spiritual self’ now actually felt], and a different person from those who had any of the parallel successions of feelings; and this bond, to me, constitutes my Ego. Here, I think, the question must rest, until some psychologist succeeds better than any one has yet done in shewing a mode in which the analysis can be carried further.” 27 The reader must judge of our own success in carrying the analy­ sis farther. The various distinctions we have made are all parts of an endeavor so to do. John Mill himself, in a later-written passage, so far from advancing in the line of analysis, seems to fall back upon something perilously near to the Soul. He says: “ The fact of recognising a sensation, . . . remembering that it has been felt before, is the simplest and most elementary fact of memory: and the inexplicable tie . . . which connects the present consciousness with the past one, of which it reminds me, is as near as I think we can get to a positive conception of Self. That there is something real in this tie, real as the sensations themselves, and not a mere product of the laws of thought without any fact corresponding to it, I hold to be in­ dubitable. . . . This original element, . . . to which we cannot give any name but its own peculiar one without implying some false or un­ grounded theory, is the Ego, or Self. As such, I ascribe a reality to the Ego—to my own Mind—different from that real existence as a Perma­ nent Possibility, which is the only reality I acknowledge in Matter. . . . We are forced to apprehend every part of the series as linked with the other parts by something in common, which is not the feelings them­ selves, any more than the succession of the feelings is the feelings them­ selves: and as that which is the same in the first as in the second, in the second as in the third, in the third as in the fourth, and so on, must be the same in the first and in the fiftieth, this common element is a per­ manent element. But beyond this, we can affirm nothing of it except the states of consciousness themselves. The feelings or consciousnesses which belong or have belonged to it, and its possibilities of having more, are the only facts there are to be asserted of Self—the only posi­ tive attributes, except permanence, which we can ascribe to it.” 28 Mr. M ill’s habitual method of philosophizing was to affirm bold­ ly some general doctrine derived from his father, and then make 27

J . M ill's A nalysis, vol. u, p. 174. 4th ed., p. 262.

28 E xam in ation o f H am ilton ,

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so many concessions of detail to its enemies as practically to aban­ don it altogether.29 In this place the concessions amount, so far as 29 H is chapter on the Psychological T h eo ry o f M atter is a b eau tifu l case in point, and his concessions there have becom e so celebrated th at they m ust be quoted for the read er’s benefit. H e ends the chapter w ith these words (loc. cit., p. 247): “ T h e theory, therefore, which resolves M ind into a series o f feelings, with a background o f possi­ b ilities o f feeling, can effectually w ithstand the most invid iou s of the argum ents d i­ rected again st it. B u t, groundless as are the extrin sic objections, the theory has in ­ trinsic difficulties which we have not yet set forth, and which it seems to m e beyond the pow er o f m etaphysical analysis to rem ove. . . . T h e thread o f consciousness which composes the m ind's p h en o m en al life, consists not o n ly o f present sensations, but likew ise, in p art, o f m em ories and expectations. N ow w hat are these? In them selves, they are present feelin gs, states of present consciousness, and in that respect not dis­ tinguished from sensations. T h e y a ll, m oreover, resem ble some given sensations or feelings, o f which we have previously had experience. B u t they are attended with the p ecu liarity, that each o f them involves a b elief in m ore than its own present existence. A sensation involves o n ly this: but a rem em brance o f sensation, even if not referred to any p articu lar date, involves the suggestion and b elief that a sensation, o f which it is a copy o r representation, actu ally existed in the past: and an expectation involves the b elief, m ore o r less positive, that a sensation or other feelin g to which it directly refers, w ill exist in the fu tu re. N or can the pha?nomena involved in these two states o f consciousness be adequ ately expressed, w ithout saying that the b elief they include is, that I m yself fo rm erly had, o r that I m yself, and no other, shall h ereafter have, the sensations rem em bered o r expected. T h e fact believed is, th at the sensations did actu ally form , or w ill h ereafter form , part o f th e self-sam e series o f states, o r thread o f consciousness, o f which the rem em brance o r expectation o f those sensations is the p a rt now present. If, therefore, we speak o f the M ind as a series o f feelings, we are ob liged to com plete the statem ent by callin g it a serids o f feelings which is aw are of itself as past and fu tu re; and we are reduced to the altern ative o f believin g that the M in d, or Ego, is som ething different from any series o f feelings, or possibilities of them , o r o f accepting the paradox th at som ething which ex hypothesi is but a series o f feelings, can be aw are o f itself as a series. “ T h e truth is, th at we are here face to face with that final in exp lica b ility, at w hich, as Sir W . H am ilton observes, we in evitab ly arrive when we reach u ltim ate facts; and in general, one m ode o f stating it only appears m ore incom prehensible than an ­ other, because the w hole o f hum an language is accom m odated to the one, and is so incongruous with the other, th at it cannot be expressed in any terms which do not deny its truth. T h e real stu m blin g block is perhaps not in an y theory o f the fact, but in the fact itself. T h e true incom prehensibility perhaps is, th at som ething which has ceased, or is not yet in existence, can still be, in a m anner, present: that a series o f feelings, the infinitely greater part o f which is past or fu tu re, can be gathered up, as it were, into a single present conception, accom panied by a b elief o f reality. I think, by far th e wisest th in g we can do, is to accept the in exp lica b le fact, w ithout any theory o f how it takes place; and when we are obliged to speak o f it in terms which assum e a theory, to use them with a reservation as to th eir m ean in g.” In a later place in the sam e book (p. 561) M ill, speaking of w hat m ay righ tly be dem anded o f a theorist, says: “ H e is not en titled to fram e a theory from one class of p h e n o m en a, extend it to another class which it does not fit, and excuse him self by saying that if we cannot m ake it fit, it is because u ltim ate facts are in e x p lica b le ." T h e class o f phenom ena which the associationist school takes to fram e its theory o f the

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they are intelligible, to the admission of something very like the Soul. This ‘inexplicable tie’ which connects the feelings, this ‘something in common’ by which they are linked and which is not the passing feelings themselves, but something ‘permanent,’ of which we can ‘affirm nothing’ save its attributes and its perma­ nence, what is it but metaphysical Substance come again to life? Much as one must respect the fairness of M ill’s temper, quite as much must one regret his failure of acumen at this point. At bot­ tom he makes the same blunder as Hume: the sensations p er se, he thinks, have no ‘tie.’ T he tie of resemblance and continuity which the remembering Thought finds among them is not a ‘real tie’ but ‘a mere product of the laws of thought’ ; and the fact that the present Thought ‘appropriates’ them is also no real tie. But whereas Hume was contented to say that there might after all be no ‘real tie,’ Mill, unwilling to admit this possibility, is driven, like any scholastic, to place it in a non-phenomenal world. John M ill’s concessions may be regarded as the definitive bank­ ruptcy of the associationist description of the consciousness of self, starting, as it does, with the best intentions, and dimly conscious of the path, but ‘perplexed in the extreme’ at last with the inade­ quacy of those ‘simple feelings,’ non-cognitive, non-transcendent of themselves, which were the only baggage it was willing to take along. One must beg memory, knowledge on the part of the feel­ ings of something outside themselves. That granted, every other true thing follows naturally, and it is hard to go astray. T he knowl­ edge the present feeling has of the past ones is a real tie between them, so is their resemblance; so is their continuity; so is the one’s ‘appropriation’ of the other: all are real ties, realized in the judg­ ing Thought of every moment, the only place where disconnec­ tions could be realized, did they exist. Hume and Mill both imply that a disconnection can be realized there, whilst a tie cannot. But the ties and the disconnections are exactly on a par, in this matter of self-consciousness. The way in which the present Thought apEgo are feelings unaw are o f each other. T h e class of phenom ena the Ego presents are feelings o f which the later ones arc intensely aw are o f those that went before. T h e two classes do not ‘fit.' and no exercise o f ingen uity can ever m ake them fit. N o shuffling o f u naw are feelings can m ake them aw are. T o get the aw areness we m ust o p en ly beg it by po stu latin g a new feelin g which has it. T h is new feelin g is no ‘T h e o ry ’ o f the phenom ena, but a sim ple statem ent o f them : and as such 1 postulate in the text the present passing T h o u g h t as a psychic integer, with its know ledge o f so m uch th at has gone before.

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propriates the past is a real way, so long as no other owner appro­ priates it in a more real way, and so long as the Thought has no grounds for repudiating it stronger than those which lead to its appropriation. But no other owner ever does in point of fact pre­ sent himself for my past; and the grounds which I perceive for ap­ propriating it—viz., continuity and resemblance with the present— outweigh those I perceive for disowning it—viz., distance in time. My present Thought stands thus in the plenitude of ownership of the train of my past selves, is owner not only de facto, but de jure, the most real owner there can be, and all without the supposition of any ‘inexplicable tie,’ but in a perfectly verifiable and phenome­ nal way. Turn we now to what we may call T H E T R A N S C E N D E N T A L IS T T H E O R Y

which owes its origin to Kant. Kant’s own statements are too lengthy and obscure for verbatim quotation here, so I must give their substance only. Kant starts, as I understand him, from a view of the O bject essentially like our own description of it on p. 265 ff., that is, it is a system of things, qualities or facts in relation. “ O bject is that in the knowledge (Begriff) of which the Manifold of a giv­ en Perception is connected.” 30 But whereas we simply begged the vehicle of this connected knowledge in the shape of what we call the present Thought, or section of the Stream of Consciousness (which we declared to be the ultimate fact for psychology), Kant denies this to be an ultimate fact and insists on analyzing it into a large number of distinct, though equally essential, elements. T he ‘Manifoldness’ of the Object is due to Sensibility, which per se is chaotic, and the unity is due to the synthetic handling which this Manifold receives from the higher faculties of Intuition, Appre­ hension, Imagination, Understanding, and Apperception. It is the one essential spontaneity of the Understanding which, under these different names, brings unity into the manifold of sense. “ T h e U nderstanding is, in fact, nothing more than the faculty o f bin ding together a priori, and of bringing the M an ifold o f given ideas under the unity o f Apperception, which consequently is the supreme principle in all hum an knowledge” (§ 16). 30 K ritik d er reinen Vernunft,

2te A u fl., § 17.

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T he material connected must be given by lower faculties to the Understanding, for the latter is not an intuitive faculty, but by nature ‘empty.’ And the bringing of this material ‘under the unity of Apperception’ is explained by Kant to mean the thinking it always so that, whatever its other determinations be, it may be known as thought by m e .31Though this consciousness, that 1 think it, need not be at every moment explicitly realized, it is always capable of being realized. For if an object incapable of being com­ bined with the idea of a thinker were there, how could it be known, how related to other objects, how form part of ‘experience’ at all? The awareness that I think is therefore implied in all experi­ ence. No connected consciousness of anything without that of Self as its presupposition and ‘transcendental’ condition! All things, then, so far as they are intelligible at all, are so through combina­ tion with pure consciousness of Self, and apart from this, at least potential, combination nothing is knowable to us at all. But this self, whose consciousness Kant thus established deduc­ tively as a conditio sine qua non of experience, is in the same breath denied by him to have any positive attributes. Although Kant’s name for it—the ‘original transcendental synthetic Unity of A p­ perception’—is so long, our consciousness about it is, according to him, short enough. Self-consciousness of this ‘transcendental’ sort tells us, ‘not how we appear, not how we inwardly are, but only that we are’ (§ 25). At the basis of our knowledge of our selves there lies only “ the simple and utterly empty idea: /; of which we cannot even say we have a notion, but only a consciousness which accom­ panies all notions. In this /, or he or it (the thing) which thinks, nothing more is represented than the bare transcendental Subject of the knowledge = x , which is only recognized by the thoughts which are its predicates, and of which, taken by itself, we cannot form the least conception” (ibid., ‘Paralogisms’). The pure Ego of 31 I t m ust be noticed, in ju stice to what was said above on page 264 ff., that neither K an t nor his successors anyw here discrim inate between the presence o f the apperceiving Ego to the com bined object, and the awareness by that Ego o f its own pres­ ence and o f its distinctness from w hat it apperceives. T h a t the O bject m ust be known to som ething which thinks , and that it m ust be known to som ething which thinks that it thinks, are treated by them as identical necessities,—by w h at logic, does not ap p ear. K an t tries to soften the ju m p in the reasoning by saying the thought of itself on the part o f the Ego need o n ly be p oten tial—“ the ‘I th in k ’ m ust be capable of accom panying all other know ledge” —but a thought which is o n ly potential is actu ally no thought at all, which practically gives up the case.

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all apperception is thus for Kant not the soul, but only that ‘Sub­ ject’ which is the necessary correlate of the Object in all knowl­ edge. There is a soul, Kant thinks, but this mere ego-form of our consciousness tells us nothing about it, neither whether it be sub­ stantial, nor whether it be immaterial, nor whether it be simple, nor whether it be permanent. These declarations on Kant’s part of the utter barrenness of the consciousness of the pure Self, and of the consequent impossibility of any deductive or rational’ psychology, are what, more than anything else, earned for him the title of the ‘all-destroyer.’ The only self we know anything positive about, he thinks, is the empirical me, not the pure I ; the self which is an ob­ ject among other objects and the ‘constituents’ of which we our­ selves have seen, and recognized to be phenomenal things appear­ ing in the form of space as well as time. This, for our purposes, is a sufficient account of the ‘transcen­ dental’ Ego. Those purposes go no farther than to ascertain whether anything in Kant’s conception ought to make us give up our own, of a re­ membering and appropriating Thought incessantly renewed. In many respects Kant’s meaning is obscure, but it will not be neces­ sary for us to squeeze the texts in order to make sure what it ac­ tually and historically was. If we can define clearly two or three things which it may possibly have been, that will help us just as much to clear our own ideas. On the whole, a defensible interpretation of Kant’s view would take somewhat the following shape. Like ourselves he believes in a Reality outside the mind of which he writes, but the critic who vouches for that reality does so on grounds of faith, for it is not a verifiable phenomenal thing. Neither is it manifold. The ‘ Mani­ fold’ which the intellectual functions combine is a mental mani­ fold altogether, which thus stands between the Ego of Appercep­ tion and the outer Reality, but still stands inside the mind. In the function of knowing there is a multiplicity to be connected, and Kant brings this multiplicity inside the mind. The Reality be­ comes a mere empty locus, or unknowable, the so-called Noumenon; the manifold phenomenon is in the mind. We, on the con­ trary, put the Multiplicity with the Reality outside, and leave the mind simple. Both of us deal with the same elements—thought and object—the only question is in which of them the multiplicity shall be lodged. Wherever it is lodged it must be ‘synthetized’ when it

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comes to be thought. And that particular way of lodging it will be the better, which, in addition to describing the facts naturally, makes the ‘mystery of synthesis’ least hard to understand. Well, Kant’s way of describing the facts is mythological. The notion of our thought being this sort of an elaborate internal ma­ chine-shop stands condemned by all we said in favor of its sim­ plicity on pages 266 ff. Our Thought is not composed of parts, however so composed its objects may be. There is no originally chaotic manifold in it to be reduced to order. There is something almost shocking in the notion of so chaste a function carrying this Kantian hurly-burly in her womb. If we are to have a dualism of Thought and Reality at all, the multiplicity should be lodged in the latter and not in the former member of the couple of related terms. T he parts and their relations surely belong less to the knower than to what is known. But even were all the mythology true, the process of synthesis would in no whit be explained by calling the inside of the mind its seat. No mystery would be made lighter by such means. It is just as much a puzzle how the ‘Ego’ can employ the productive Imagi­ nation to make the Understanding use the categories to combine the data which Recognition, Association, and Apprehension re­ ceive from sensible Intuition, as how the Thought can combine the objective facts. Phrase it as one may, the difficulty is always the same: the M a n y know n by the O ne. Or does one seriously think he understands better how the knower ‘connects’ its objects, when one calls the former a transcendental Ego and the latter a ‘ Manifold of Intuition’ than when one calls them Thought and Things re­ spectively? Knowing must have a vehicle. Call the vehicle Ego, or call it Thought, Psychosis, Soul, Intelligence, Consciousness, Mind, Reason, Feeling,—what you like—it must know . T he best gram­ matical subject for the verb know would, if possible, be one from whose other properties the knowing could be deduced. And if there be no such subject, the best one would be that with the few­ est ambiguities and the least pretentious name. By Kant’s confes­ sion, the transcendental Ego has no properties, and from it nothing can be deduced. Its name is pretentious, and, as we shall presently see, has its meaning ambiguously mixed up with that of the sub­ stantial soul. So on every possible account we are excused from using it instead of our own term of the present passing ‘Thought,’ as the principle by which the Many is simultaneously known.

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T he am biguity referred to in the meaning of the transcendental Ego is as to whether Kant signified by it an A gent, and by the Ex­ perience it helps to constitute, an operation; or whether the ex­ perience is an event prod u ced in an unassigned way, and the Ego a mere indwelling elem ent therein contained. If an operation be meant, then Ego and Manifold must both be existent prior to that collision which results in the experience of one by the other. If a mere analysis is meant, there is no such prior existence, and the elements only are in so far as they are in union. Now Kant’s tone and language are everywhere the very words of one who is talking of operations and the agents by which they are performed.32 And yet there is reason to think that at bottom he may have had nothing of the sort in mind.33 In this uncertainty we need again do no more than decide what to think of his transcendental Ego if it be an agent. Well, if it be so, Transcendentalism is only Substantialism grown shame-faced, and the Ego only a ‘cheap and nasty’ edition of the soul. A ll our reasons for preferring the ‘Thought’ to the ‘Soul’ apply with redoubled force when the Soul is shrunk to this estate. T he Soul truly explained nothing; the ‘syntheses,’ which she per­ formed, were simply taken ready-made and clapped on to her as expressions of her nature taken after the fact; but at least she had some semblance of nobility and outlook. She was called active; might select; was responsible, and permanent in her way. The Ego is simply n o th in g : as ineffectual and windy an abortion as Philoso­ phy can show. It would indeed be one of Reason’s tragedies if the good Kant, with all his honesty and strenuous pains, should have deemed this conception an important outbirth of his thought. But we have seen that Kant deemed it of next to no importance at all. It was reserved for his Fichtean and Hegelian successors to call it the first Principle of Philosophy, to spell its name in capitals and pronounce it with adoration, to act, in short, as if they were going up in a balloon, whenever the notion of it crossed their mind. Here again, however, I am uncertain of the facts of history, 32 “ As regards the soul, now, o r the ‘I ,' the ‘th in k er,’ the w h ole d r ift o f K an t's advance upon H um e and sensational psychology is tow ard the dem onstration that the subject o f know ledge is an A g e n t." (G. S. M orris: K an t’s C ritiq u e, etc. (Chicago, 1882), p. 224.) 33 “ In K a n t’s Prolegom en a,” says H . C ohen,—I do not m yself find the passage,—“ it is expressly said that the problem is not to show how exp erien ce arises (ensteht), b u t o f w h at it consists (besteht).” (Kants T h e o rie d er E rja h ru n g (18 7 1), p .138.)

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and know that I may not read my authors aright. T h e whole lesson of Kantian and post-Kantian speculation is, it seems to me, the lesson of simplicity. W ith Kant, complication both of thought and statement was an inborn infirmity, enhanced by the musty aca­ demicism of his Königsberg existence. W ith Hegel it was a raging fever. T erribly, therefore, do the sour grapes which these fathers of philosophy have eaten set our teeth on edge. W e have in Eng­ land and America, however, a contemporary continuation of H egel­ ism from which, fortunately, somewhat simpler deliverances come; and, unable to find any definite psychology in what Hegel, Rosen­ kranz, or Erdmann tells us of the Ego, I turn to Caird and Green. T h e great difference, practically, between these authors and Kant is their complete abstraction from the onlooking Psychologist and from the Reality he thinks he knows; or rather it is the ab­ sorption of both of these outlying terms into the proper topic of Psychology, viz., the mental experience of the mind under observa­ tion. T h e Reality coalesces with the connected Manifold, the Psy­ chologist with the Ego, knowing becomes ‘connecting,’ and there results no longer a finite or criticisable, but an ‘absolute’ Experi­ ence, of which the Object and the Subject are always the same. Our finite ‘T h o u gh t’ is virtually and potentially this eternal (or rather this ‘timeless’), absolute Ego, and only provisionally and speciously the limited thing which it seems primd facie to be. T h e later ‘sec­ tions’ of our ‘Stream,’ which come and appropriate the earlier ones, are those earlier ones, just as in substantialism the Soul is through­ out all time the same.34 T h is ‘solipsistic’ character of an Experi34

T h e c o n tra st b e tw e e n th e M o n ism th u s re a ch e d an d o u r o w n p sy ch o lo g ica l p o in t

o f v iew can be e x h ib ite d sc h e m a tic a lly th u s, th e term s in sq u ares sta n d in g fo r w h a t, for us, are th e u ltim a te irr e d u c ib le d ata o f p sy c h o lo g ica l scien ce, a n d th e v in cu la a b o v e it sy m b o liz in g th e re d u ctio n s w h ich p o s t-K a n tia n id e a lism p erfo rm s: A b s o lu te Self-con sciousn ess R ea son o r E x p e rie n c e T r a n s c e n d e n ta l E go

P sy ch o lo g ist

W o rld

Thought

T h o u g h t ’s O b je c t

P sy ch o lo g ist’s R e a lity

P sy c h o lo g ist’s O b je c t T h e s e re d u c tio n s a c co u n t fo r th e u b iq u ito u sn e ss o f th e ‘ p sy ch o lo g ist’s fa lla c y ’ (bk. 11, ch. l, p. 32) in th e m o d e rn m o n istic w ritin g s. F o r us it is an u n p a r d o n a b le lo g ica l

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ence conceived as absolute really annihilates psychology as a dis­ tinct body of science. Psychology is a natural science, an account of particular finite streams of thought, coexisting and succeeding in time. It is of course conceivable (though far from clearly so) that in the last metaphysical resort all these streams of thought may be thought by one universal All-thinker. But in this metaphysical notion there is no profit for psychology; for grant that one T h in ker does think in all of us, still what He thinks in me and what in you can never be deduced from the bare idea of Him. T h e idea of Him seems even to exert a positively paralyzing effect on the mind. T h e ex­ istence of finite thoughts is suppressed altogether. T h o u g h t’s char­ acteristics, as Professor Green says, are “ n o t to be so u gh t in the in cid en ts o f in d iv id u a l lives w h ich last b u t for a day. . . . N o k n o w led g e, n or a n y m en ta l act in v o lv e d in k n o w led ge, can p r o p e r ly be ca lled a ‘p h e n o m e n o n o f consciousness.' . . . F o r a p h e ­ n o m en on is a sensible even t, related in the w ay o f an teced en ce an d co n seq uen ce to o th er sensible even ts; b u t th e consciousness w h ich co n ­ stitutes a k n o w le d g e . . . is n o t an even t so related nor m ad e u p o f such eve n ts.”

Again, if “ w e ex a m in e th e co n stitu en ts Of an y p erceived o b je c t . . . w e shall find a lik e th a t it is o n ly for consciousness th a t th ey can exist, a n d th a t the consciousness for w h ich th ey th u s exist ca n n o t be m erely a series o f p h en o m en a or a succession o f states. . . . It th en becom es clear th a t there is a fu n c tio n o f consciousness, as exercised in the m ost r u d im e n ta r y e x ­ p erien ce [nam ely, th e fu n c tio n o f synthesis ], . . . w h ich is in co m p a tib le w ith th e d efin itio n o f consciousness as an y sort o f succession o f a n y sort o f p h e n o m e n a .” 35

W ere we to follow these remarks, we should have to abandon our notion of the ‘T h o u g h t’ (perennially renewed in time, but al­ ways cognitive thereof), and to espouse instead of it an entity copied from thought in all essential respects, but differing from it in be­ sin , w h en ta lk in g o f a t h o u g h t’s k n o w led g e (e ith e r o f an o b je c t o r o f itself), to ch an ge th e term s w ith o u t w a r n in g , a n d , s u b s titu tin g th e p sy c h o lo g ist’s k n o w le d g e th erefo re , s till m ak e as if w e w ere c o n tin u in g to ta lk o f th e sam e th in g . F o r m o n istic id ealism , this is th e very e n fra n c h ise m e n t o f p h ilo so p h y , a n d o f course c a n n o t be to o m u ch in d u lg e d in . 35T . H . G re e n : P ro leg o m en a to E th ic s, §§ 57, 6 1, 6 j.

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ing ‘out of time. W hat psychology can gain by this barter would be hard to divine. Moreover this resemblance of the timeless Ego to the Soul is completed by other resemblances still. T h e monism of the post-Kantian idealists seems always lapsing into a regular old-fashioned spiritualistic dualism. T h ey incessantly talk as if, like the Soul, their All-thinker were an Agent, operating on de­ tached materials of sense. T h is may come from the accidental fact that the English writings of the school have been more polemic than constructive, and that a reader may often take for a positive profession a statement ad hom inem meant as part of a reduction to the absurd, or mistake the analysis of a bit of knowledge into elements for a dramatic myth about its creation. But I think the matter has profounder roots. Professor Green constantly talks of the ‘activity’ of Self as a condition' of knowledge taking place. Facts are said to become incorporated with other facts only through the ‘action of a com bining self-consciousness upon data of sensa­ tion.’ “E v e r y o b je c t w e perceive . . . req uires in ord er to its presen tation th e action o f a p r in c ip le o f consciousness, n o t itself su b ject to co n d i­ tion s o f tim e, u p o n successive app earan ces, such a c tio n as m a y h o l d the appearances together, w ith o u t fu sion , in an a p p re h e n d e d fa ct.” 36

It is needless to repeat that the connection of things in our knowl­ edge is in no whit explained by making it the deed of an agent whose essence is self-identity and who is out of time. T h e agency of phenomenal thought coming and going in time is just as easy to understand. And when it is furthermore said that the agent that combines is the same ‘self-distinguishing subject’ which ‘in another mode of its activity’ presents the manifold object to itself, the un­ intelligibilities become quite paroxysmal, and we are forced to confess that the entire school of thought in question, in spite of occasional glimpses of something more refined, still dwells habit­ ually in that mythological stage of thought where phenomena are explained as results of dramas enacted by entities which but re­ duplicate the characters of the phenomena themselves. T h e self must not only know its object,—that is too bald and dead a relation to be written down and left in its static state. T h e knowing must be painted as a ‘famous victory’ in which the object’s distinctness is in some way ‘overcome.’ 36 h o c . cit., g 64.

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“ The self exists as one self only as it opposes itself, as object, to itself, as subject, and immediately denies and transcends that opposition. Only because it is such a concrete unity, which has in itself a resolved contradiction, can the intelligence cope with all the nianifoldness and division of the mighty universe, and hope to master its secrets. As the lightning sleeps in the dew-drop, so in the simple and transparent unity of self-consciousness there is held in equilibrium that vital an­ tagonism of opposites, which . . . seems to rend the world asunder. The intelligence is able to understand the world, or, in other words, to break down the barrier between itself and things, and find itself in them, just because its own existence is implicitly the solution of all the division and conflict of things.” 37 T h is dynamic (I had almost written dynamitic) way of repre­ senting knowledge has the merit of not being tame. T o turn from it to our own psychological formulation is like turning from the fireworks, trap-doors, and transformations of the pantomime into the insipidity of the midnight, where “ghastly through the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day.” 38 And yet turn we must, with the confession that our ‘T h o u gh t’—a cognitive phenomenal event in time—is, if it exist at all, itself the only T hinker which the facts require. T h e only service that tran­ scendental egoism has done to psychology has been by its protests against H um e’s ‘bundle’-theory of mind. But this service has been ill-performed; for the Egoists themselves, let them say what they will, believe in the bundle, and in their own system merely tie it up, with their special transcendental string, invented for that use alone. Besides, they talk as if, with this miraculous tying or ‘relat­ ing,’ the Ego’s duties were done. O f its far more important duty of choosing some of the things it ties and appropriating them, to 37 E . C a ird : H e g e l (1883), p . 149. 38 O n e is a lm o st te m p te d to b e lie v e th a t th e p a n to m im e-sta te o f m in d a n d th a t o f th e h e g e lia n d ia le c tic s a re, e m o tio n a lly co n sid e re d , on e a n d th e sam e th in g . In the p a n to m im e a ll co m m o n th in g s a re re p resen te d to h a p p e n in im p o ssib le w ays, p e o p le ju m p d o w n each o t h e r ’s th ro ats, houses tu rn in sid e o u t, o ld w om en b eco m e y o u n g m en , e v e ry th in g 'passes in to its o p p o s ite ’ w ith in c o n c e iv a b le c e le rity an d sk ill; a n d th is, so fa r from p r o d u c in g p e r p le x ity , b rin gs ra p tu re to th e b e h o ld e r's m in d . A n d so in th e h e g e lia n lo g ic, re la tio n s else w h ere reco gn ized u n d e r th e in sip id n am e o f d is­ tin ctio n s (such as th a t b e tw e e n k n o w e r a n d o b je c t, m a n y a n d on e) m u st first b e tra n s­ la te d in to im p o ssib ilities a n d co n tra d ictio n s, th en ‘ tra n sce n d e d ’ an d id e n tifie d b y m ira cle , ere th e p ro p e r te m p e r is in d u ced fo r th o ro u g h ly e n jo y in g th e sp e cta cle th ey sh ow .

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the exclusion of the rest, they tell us never a word. T o sum up, then, my own opinion of the transcendentalist school, it is (what­ ever ulterior metaphysical truth it may divine) a school in which psychology at least has naught to learn, and whose deliverances about the Ego in particular in no wise oblige us to revise our own formulation of the Stream of T hought.39 W ith this, all possible rival formulations have been discussed. T h e literature of the Self is large, but all its authors may be classed as radical or mitigated representatives of the three schools we have named, substantialism, associationism, or transcendentalism. Our own opinion must be classed apart, although it incorporates essen­ tial elements from all three schools. T h ere need never have been a quarrel between associationism and its rivals if the form er had adm itted the indecom posable unity of every pulse of thought, and the latter been w illing to allow that ‘perishing ’ pulses of thought m ight recollect and know.

W e may sum up by saying that personality implies the incessant presence of two elements, an objective person, known by a passing subjective T hought and recognized as continuing in time. H ere­ after let us use the words m e and I for the em pirical person and the judging T h ou ght. 39

T h e re a d e r w ill p le a se u n d e rsta n d th a t I am q u ite w illin g to le a v e th e h yp o th esis

o f th e tra n sce n d e n ta l E go as a s u b stitu te fo r th e p assin g T h o u g h t o p e n to d iscu ssion o n general sp e cu la tiv e gro u n d s. O n ly in this b ook I p r e fe r to stick b y th e com m on sense a ssu m p tio n th a t w e h av e successive con scious states, b ecau se a ll psych olog ists m ak e it, and b ecau se o n e does n o t see h ow th ere can b e a P sy ch o lo g y w ritte n w h ich does n o t p o s tu la te su ch th o u g h ts as its u ltim a te d a ta . T h e d a ta o f a ll n a tu ra l sciences b eco m e in tu rn su b je cts o f a c ritic a l tre a tm e n t m o re refin ed th an th a t w h ich th e sciences th em selves a ccord ; a n d so it m ay fare in th e en d w ith o u r p a ssin g T h o u g h t . W e h av e o u rselv es seen (p p . 286-291) th a t th e sen sib le c e rta in ty o f its e x isten ce is less stro n g th an is u su a lly assu m ed . M y q u a rr e l w ith th e tra n sce n d e n ta l E goists is m a in ly a b o u t th e ir grou n ds fo r th e ir b e lie f. D id th e y co n siste n tly p ro p o se it as a s u b stitu te fo r th e p a ssin g T h o u g h t , d id th ey co n siste n tly d en y th e la tter ’s ex iste n ce , I sh o u ld resp ect th e ir p o sitio n m ore. B u t so fa r as I can u n d ersta n d th em , th ey h a b itu a lly b e lie v e in th e p a ssin g T h o u g h t also . T h e y seem even to b e lie v e in th e L o c k ia n stream o f se p a ra te ideas, fo r th e c h ie f g lo r y o f th e E go in th e ir p ages is a lw ays its p o w e r to ‘o v erc o m e ’ th is separaten ess an d u n ite th e n a tu r a lly d isu n ite d , ‘ sy n th etizin g ,' ‘ c o n ­ n ectin g ,' o r ‘rela tin g ' th e ideas to g e th er b e in g used as syn on ym s, b y tra n sce n d e n ta list w rite rs, fo r k n o w in g various o b jects at o n ce. N o t th e b e in g con scious a t a ll, b u t the b e in g con sciou s o f m any thin gs to g e th er is h eld to b e th e d ifficu lt th in g , in o u r p sy ch ic life , w h ic h o n ly th e w o n d e r-w o rk in g E go can p e rfo rm . B u t on w h a t s lip p e ry g ro u n d d oes o n e g e t th e m o m e n t o n e ch an ges th e d e fin ite n o tio n o f k n o w in g an o b je c t in to th e a lto g e th e r v a g u e o n e o f u n itin g o r s y n th etiz in g th e ideas o f its v ario u s p a rts!— In th e c h a p te r on S en sation w e sh a ll com e u p o n a ll this a gain .

35 °

T h e Consciousness of Self Certain vicissitudes in the me demand our notice.

In the first place, although its changes are gradual, they become in time great. T h e central part of the me is the feeling of the body and of the adjustments in the head; and in the feeling of the body should be included that of the general emotional tones and ten­ dencies, for at bottom these are but the habits in which organic activities and sensibilities run. W ell, from infancy to old age, this assemblage of feelings, most constant of all, is yet a prey to slow mutation. Our powers, bodily and mental, change at least as fast.40 Our possessions notoriously are perishable facts. T h e identity which the / discovers, as it surveys this long proces­ so “ W h e n

w e co m p a re th e listless in a c tiv ity o f th e in fa n t, s lu m b e rin g , from th e

m o m e n t a t w h ic h h e takes his m ilk y foo d , to th e m o m e n t a t w h ich h e a w akes to re q u ire it a g a in , w ith th e restless en ergie s o f th a t m ig h ty b e in g w h ich h e is to b e ­ com e, in his m a tu re r years, p o u rin g tru th a fte r tru th in ra p id a n d d a z z lin g p ro fu sio n u p o n th e w o rld , o r g ra sp in g in his sin g le h a n d th e d e stin y o f e m p ires, h ow few are th e circu m stan ces o f rese m b lan ce w h ic h w e can trace, o f a ll th a t in te llig e n c e w h ich is a fte rw a rd s to be d isp la y e d ; h ow little m ore is seen, th an w h a t serves to g iv e fe eb le m o tio n to th e m ere m a c h in e ry o f life . . . . E ve ry a g e ,— if w e m ay speak o f m a n y ages, in th e few years o f h u m a n life ,—seem s to b e m ark ed w ith a d istin ct ch a ra cte r. E ach has its p e c u lia r o b je c ts, th a t e x c ite liv e ly affectio n s; a n d in e a ch , e x e r tio n is e x c ite d by affection s, w h ic h , in o th e r p e rio d s, te rm in a te , w ith o u t in d u c in g a c tiv e d esire . T h e b o y finds a w o rld in less space th an th a t w h ich b o u n d s his v isib le h o rizo n ; h e w a n ­ d ers o v e r his ra n ge o f field , a n d e x h a u sts h is stre n g th in p u rs u it o f o b je cts, w h ich , in th e years th a t fo llo w , are seen o n ly to b e n eglected ; w h ile , to h im , th e o b jects, th a t are a fte rw a rd s to a b so rb his w h o le so u l, are as in d iffe re n t as th e o b je cts o f his p resen t passion s a re d estin e d th en to a p p e a r . . . . H o w m an y m e la n c h o ly o p p o rtu n itie s m u st e v e ry o n e h av e h ad o f w itn essin g th e progress o f in te lle c tu a l d ecay, a n d the coldness th a t steals u p o n th e o n ce b e n e v o le n t h eart! W e q u it o u r co u n try , p e rh a p s, a t an e a r ly p e rio d o f life , a n d , a fte r an absen ce o f m an y years, w e re tu rn , w ith a ll the re m em b ra n ce s o f past p le a su re , w h ich g ro w m ore te n d e r as w e a p p ro a ch th e ir o b jects. W e e a g e rly seek h im , to w h ose p a te rn a l voice w e h av e b een accu sto m ed to listen , w ith th e sam e re v ere n ce as if its p red ic tio n s h ad possessed o ra c u la r ce rta in ty ,—w h o first led us in to k n o w led g e , a n d w h ose im age h as b een c o n sta n tly jo in e d , in o u r m in d , w ith a ll th a t v en e ra tio n w h ich does n o t fo rb id lo v e . W e fin d h im su n k , p e rh a p s in th e im b e c ility o f id io tism , u n a b le to reco gn ize us— ig n o ra n t a lik e o f th e p a st a n d o f th e fu tu re , a n d liv in g o n ly in th e se n sib ility o f a n im a l g ra tific a tio n . W e seek th e fa v o u rite c o m p a n io n o f o u r c h ild h o o d , w h ose gen tlen ess o f h e a rt, etc. . . . W e find h im h ard e n e d in to m an , m e e tin g us sca rcely w ith th e c o ld h yp o crisy o f d issem b led fr ie n d s h ip — in his g e n e ra l re la tio n s to th e w o rld , careless o f th e m isery w h ich h e is n o t to feel . . . . W h e n w e o b serve a ll th is, . . . d o w e use o n ly a m e ta p h o r o f little m ea n in g , w h en w e say o f h im , th a t h e is b eco m e a d iffe re n t p erson, a n d th a t his m in d a n d ch a ra c te r a re ch an ged ? In w h a t does th e id e n tity consist? . . . T h e su p p o sed test o f id e n tity , w h en a p p lie d to th e m in d in th ese cases, c o m p le te ly fa ils. It n e ith e r a ffects, n o r is affected , in th e sam e m a n n er, in th e sam e circu m stan ces. It, th erefo re , if th e test b e a ju st on e, is n o t th e sam e id e n tic a l m in d .” ( T . B ro w n : L e ctu res on th e P h ilo s o p h y o f th e H u m a n M in d , “ O n M en ta l I d e n tity .” )

T h e Principles of Psychology

sion, can only be a relative identity, that of a slow shifting in which there is always some common ingredient retained.41 T h e com­ monest element of all, the most uniform, is the possession of the same memories. However different the man may be from the youth, both look back on the same childhood, and call it their own. T h u s the identity found by the / in its me is only a loosely con­ strued thing, an identity ‘on the whole,’ just like that which any outside observer m ight find in the same assemblage of facts. W e often say of a man he is so changed one would not know him ’; and so does a man, less often, speak of himself. These changes in the me, recognized by the I, or by outside observers, may be grave or slight. T h ey deserve some notice here. T H E M U T A T IO N S O F T H E S E L F

may be divided into two main classes: 1. Alterations of memory; and 2. Alterations in the present bodily and spiritual selves. 1. A lterations of memory are either losses or false recollections. In either case the me is changed. Should a man be punished for what he did in his childhood and no longer remembers? Should he be punished for crimes enacted in post-epileptic unconsciousness, somnambulism, or in any involuntarily induced state of which no recollection is retained? Law, in accord with common-sense, says: “ No; he is not the same person forensically now which he was then.” These losses of memory are a normal incident of extreme old age, and the person’s me shrinks in the ratio of the facts that have disappeared. In dreams we forget our waking experiences; they are as if they were not. And the converse is also true. As a rule, no memory is retained during the waking state of what has happened during mesmeric trance, although when again entranced the person may 4 ! “ S ir John C u tle r h ad a p a ir o f b la c k w o rsted stock in gs, w h ich his m a id d a rn e d

so o fte n w ith silk , th a t th ey b e cam e a t la st a p a ir o f silk sto ck in gs. N o w , su p p o sin g th ose sto ck in gs o f S ir J o h n ’s e n d u e d w ith som e d eg re e o f con sciousn ess a t e v e ry p a r ­ tic u la r d a rn in g , th ey w o u ld h av e b een se n sib le , th a t th e y w e re th e sam e in d iv id u a l p a ir o f stock in gs b o th b e fo re a n d a fte r th e d a rn in g : a n d th is sen satio n w o u ld h ave c o n tin u e d in th em th ro u g h a ll th e succession o f d a rn in g s; a n d ye t a fte r th e la st o f a ll, th ere w as n o t p e rh a p s o n e th re a d le ft o f th e first p a ir o f stock in gs; b u t th e y w ere gro w n to b e silk stock in gs, as w as said b e fo r e .” (P o p e ’s M a rtin u s Scribleru s, q u o te d b y B ro w n , ib id .)

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remember it distinctly, and may then forget facts belonging to the waking state. W e thus have, within the bounds of healthy mental life, an approach to an alternation of m e’s. False memories are by no means rare occurrences in most of us, and whenever they occur they distort the consciousness of the me. Most people, probably, are in doubt about certain matters ascribed to their past. T h ey may have seen them, may have said them, done them, or they may only have dreamed or imagined they did so. T h e content of a dream will oftentimes insert itself into the stream of real life in a most perplexing way. T h e most frequent source of false memory is the accounts we give to others of our experiences. Such accounts we almost always make both more simple and more interesting than the truth. W e quote what we should have said or done, rather than what we really said or did; and in the first telling we may be fully aware of the distinction. But ere long the fiction expels the reality from memory and reigns in its stead alone. T h is is one great source of the fallibility of testimony meant to be quite honest. Especially where the marvellous is concerned, the story takes a tilt that way, and the memory follows the story. Dr. Carpen­ ter quotes from Miss Cobbe the following, as an instance of a very common sort: “ It h a p p e n e d on ce to th e w riter to hear a m ost scru p u lo u sly co n ­ scien tio u s frien d narrate an in cid e n t o f ta b le -tu r n in g , to w h ich she a p ­ p e n d e d th e assurance th a t th e ta b le r a p p e d w hen n o b o d y was w ith in a

yard of it. T h e w riter was c o n fo u n d e d b y th is la tter fact, th e la d y was fu lly satisfied o f its accu racy, b u t p rom ised to lo o k a t th e n ote she h a d m ade, ten years ago, o f the tran saction . T h e n ote w as e x a m in ed , a n d it w as fo u n d to c o n ta in the d istin ct statem ent, th a t th e ta b le r a p p e d w h en

the ha nds of six persons rested on it\ N o th in g c o u ld be m ore in stru c­ tive, for th e la d y ’s m em ory in a ll oth er p o in ts beside this on e p ro ved to be strictly correct a n d in this p o in t she h a d erred in en tire g o o d fa ith .” 42

It is next to impossible to get a story of this sort accurate in all its details, although it is the inessential details that suffer most change.43 Dickens and Balzac were said to have constantly mingled 42 H o u rs o f W ork an d P la y , p. 100.

43 F o r a c a re fu l stu d y o f th e erro rs in n a rra tiv e s, see E . G u rn e y : P ha n tasm s o f the L iv in g , v o l. I, p p . 126 -158 . In th e P ro ceed in g s o f th e Society fo r P sy ch ica l R esea rch fo r M ay 1887 M r. R ic h a rd H o d g so n show s b y an e x tr a o rd in a ry a rra y o f in stan ces h ow u tte r ly in a c c u ra te e v e ry o n e ’s d esc rip tio n from m em o ry o f a ra p id series o f even ts is certa in to be.

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their fictions with their real experiences. Everyone must have known som e specimen of our mortal dust so intoxicated with the thought of his own person and the sound of his own voice as never to be able even to think the truth when his autobiography was in question. Am iable, harmless, radiant J. V.! mayst thou ne’er wake to the difference between thy real and thy fondly-imagined self!44 2. W hen we pass beyond alterations of memory to abnormal al­ terations in the présent self we have still graver disturbances. These alterations are of three main types, from the descriptive point of view. But certain cases unite features of two or more types; and our knowledge of the elements and causes of these changes of personali­ ty is so slight that the division into types must not be regarded as having any profound significance. T h e types are: (1) Insane delusions; (2) Alternating selves; (3) Mediumships or possessions. 1) In insanity we often have delusions projected into the past, which are melancholic or sanguine according to the character of the disease. But the worst alterations of the self come from present perversions of sensibility and impulse which leave the past undis­ turbed, but induce the patient to think that the present m e is an altogether new personage. Something of this sort happens normal­ ly in the rapid expansion of the whole character, intellectual as well as volitional, which takes place after the time of puberty. T h e pathological cases are curious enough to merit longer notice. T h e basis of our personality, as M. R ibot says, is that feeling of our vitality which, because it is so perpetually present, remains in the background of our consciousness. “ I t is the basis because, alw ays present, alw ays actin g, w ith o u t peace or rest, it kn ow s n eith er sleep nor fa in tin g , a n d lasts as lo n g as life it­ self, o f w h ich it is on e form . It serves as a s u p p o rt to th at self-conscious

m e w h ich m em ory con stitutes, it is the m e d iu m o f association a m o n g its o th e r parts. . . . S u p p ose n ow th a t it w ere possib le at on ce to ch an ge o u r b o d y a n d p u t a n o th er in to its place: skeleton , vessels, viscera, m us­ cles, skin, e v e r y th in g m ad e new , e x c e p t the n ervou s system w ith its stored-u p m em ory o f th e past. T h e r e can b e n o d o u b t th at in such a 44

See Jo siah R o y c e (M in d , v o l. 13, p . 244, an d P ro ceed in g s o f th e A m erica n Society

fo r P sy ch ica l R esea rch , vo l. 1, p. 366), fo r e v id e n c e th a t a ce rta in so rt o f h a llu c in a tio n o f m em o ry w h ic h h e c a lls ‘ p se u d o -p re se n tim e n t’ is no u n co m m o n p h e n o m e n o n .

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case the afflux of unaccustomed vital sensations would produce the gravest disorders. Between the old sense of existence engraved on the nervous system, and the new one acting with all the intensity of its re­ ality and novelty, there would be irreconcilable contradiction.” 45 W ith the beginnings of cerebral disease there often happens something quite comparable to this: “ Masses of new sensation, hitherto foreign to the individual, im­ pulses and ideas of the same inexperienced kind, for example terrors, representations of enacted crime, of enemies pursuing one, etc. At the outset, these stand in contrast with the old familiar me, as a strange, often astonishing and abhorrent thou ,46 Often their invasion into the former circle of feelings is felt as if the old self were being taken pos­ session of by a dark overpowering might, and the fact of such ‘posses­ sion’ is described in fantastic images. Always this doubleness, this strug­ gle of the old self against the new discordant forms of experience, is accompanied with painful mental conflict, with passion, with violent emotional excitement. This is in great part the reason for the common experience, that the first stage in the immense majority of cases of men­ tal disease is an emotional alteration particularly of a melancholic sort. If now the brain-affection, which is the immediate cause of the new ab­ normal train of ideas, be not relieved, the latter becomes confirmed. It may gradually contract associations with the trains of ideas which char­ acterized the old self, or portions of the latter may be extinguished and lost in the progress of the cerebral malady, so that little by little the opposition of the two conscious me’s abates, and the emotional storms are calmed. But by that time the old me itself has been falsified and 45 M ala dies

d e la m ém o ire, p . 85. T h e lit t le th at w o u ld b e le ft o f p e rso n a l co n ­

sciousness if a ll o u r senses sto p p e d th e ir w o rk is in g e n u o u s ly sh ow n in th e re m ark o f th e e x tr a o rd in a ry anaesthetic y o u th w h o se case P ro fessor S trü m p e ll re p o rts (in th e D eu tsch es A r c h iv fü r k lin is c h e M e d ic in , x x il, 347, 1878). T h is b o y , w h o m w e sh a ll la te r find in stru c tiv e in m a n y con n ectio n s, w as to ta lly anaesthetic w ith o u t a n d (so fa r as c o u ld b e tested) w ith in , sa ve fo r th e sig h t o f o n e eye a n d th e h e a rin g o f on e ear. W h e n his eye w as closed, h e said : “ W en n ich n ic h t seh en k a n n , d a n n

b in

ich gar

n ic h t— I n o lo n g e r am ." 46 “ O n e C4fl co m p a re th e sta te o f th e p a tie n t to n o th in g so w e ll as to th a t o f a c a te r p illa r, w h ic h , k e e p in g a ll its c a te r p illa r ’s ideas a n d rem em b ra n ces, sh o u ld su d ­ d e n ly b eco m e a b u tte rfly w ith a b u tte r fly ’s senses a n d sen satio n s. B e tw ee n th e o ld

and the new state, between the first self, th at o f the caterpillar, and the second self, th a t o f th e b u tte rfly , th ere is a d ee p scission , a c o m p le te ru p tu re . T h e n ew feelin gs find no a n te rio r series to w h ich th ey can k n it th em selves on ; th e p a tie n t can n e ith e r in te rp re t n o r use th em ; h e d o es n o t re co gn ize th em ; th ey are u n k n o w n . H e n c e tw o con clu sio n s, th e first w h ic h consists in his sa y in g , I n o lo n g er am; th e secon d , so m e ­ w h a t la te r, w h ic h consists in his sa yin g, I am a n o th e r p er s o n ." (H . T a in e : D e l'in t e lli­ gence, 3m e e d itio n (1878), v o l. 11, p . 462.)

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of the abnormal elements of feeling and of will. The patient may again be quiet, and his thought sometimes logically correct, but in it the mor­ bid erroneous ideas are always present, with the adhesions they have contracted, as uncontrollable premises, and the man is no longer the same, but a really new person, his old self transformed.” 47 But the patient himself rarely continues to describe the change in just these terms unless new bodily sensations in him or the loss of old ones play a predominant part. Mere perversions of sight and hearing, or even of impulse, soon cease to be felt as contradictions of the unity of the me. W hat the particular perversions of the bodily sensibility may be which give rise to these contradictions is, for the most part, impos­ sible for a sound-minded person to conceive. One patient has an­ other self that repeats all his thoughts for him. Others, amongst whom are some of the first characters in history, have familiar daemons who speak with them, and are replied to. In another some­ one ‘makes’ his thoughts for him. Another has two bodies, lying in different beds. Some patients feel as if they had lost parts of their bodies, teeth, brain, stomach, etc. In some it is made of wood, glass, butter, etc. In some it does not exist any longer, or is dead, or is a foreign object quite separate from the speaker’s self. Occasionally, parts of the body lose their connection for consciousness with the rest, and are treated as belonging to another person and moved by a hostile will. T h u s the right hand may fight with the left as with an enemy.48 Or the cries of the patient himself are assigned to an­ other person with whom the patient expresses sympathy. T h e lit­ erature of insanity is filled with narratives of such illusions as these. M. T ain e quotes from a patient of Dr. Krishaber an account of sufferings, from which it will be seen how completely aloof from what is normal a man’s experience may suddenly become: “After the first or second day it was for some weeks impossible to ob­ serve or analyze myself. The suffering—angina pectoris—was too over­ whelming. It was not till the first days of January that I could give an account to myself of what I experienced. . . . Here is the first thing of which I retain a clear remembrance. I was alone, and already a prey to *1 YV. G rie s in g e r: D ie P a th o lo g ie u n d T h e r a p ie d er p sy ch isch en K r a n k h e ite n , § 29. 48 See th e in te re stin g case o f ‘o ld S tu m p ' in th e P ro ceed in g s o f th e A m erica n Society

fo r P sy ch ica l R esea rch , p. 552.

T h e Consciousness of Self

permanent visual trouble, when I was suddenly seized with a visual trouble infinitely more pronounced. Objects grew small and receded to infinite distances—men and things together. I was myself immeasurably far away. I looked about me with terror and astonishment; the world was escaping from me. . . . I remarked at the same time that my voice was extremely far away from me, that it sounded no longer as if mine. I struck the ground with my foot, and perceived its resistance; but this resistance seemed illusory—not that the soil was soft, but that the weight of my body was reduced to almost nothing. . . . I had the feeling of be­ ing without weight. . . In addition to being so distant, “objects ap­ peared to me fiat. When I spoke with anyone, I saw him like an image cut out of paper with no relief. . . . This sensation lasted intermittently for two years. . . . Constantly it seemed as if my legs did not belong to me. It was almost as bad with my arms. As for my head, it seemed no longer to exist. . . . I appeared to myself to act automatically, by an im­ pulsion foreign to myself. .. . There was inside of me a new being, and another part of myself, the old being, which took no interest in the new-comer. I distinctly remember saying to myself that the sufferings of this new being were to me indifferent. I was never really dupe of these illusions, but my mind grew often tired of incessantly correcting the new impressions, and I let myself go and live the unhappy life of this new entity. I had an ardent desire to see my old world again, to get back to my old self. This desire kept me from killing myself. . . . I was another, and I hated, I despised this other; he was perfectly odious to me; it was certainly another who had taken my form and assumed my functions.” 49 In cases similar to this, it is as certain that the / is unaltered as that the me is changed. T h a t is to say, the present T h o u gh t of the patient is cognitive of both the old me and the new, so long as its memory holds good. Only, within that objective sphere which for­ merly lent itself so simply to the judgm ent of recognition and of egoistic appropriation, strange perplexities have arisen. T h e pres­ ent and the past, both seen therein, will not unite. W here is my old me? W hat is this new one? Are they the same? Or have I two? Such questions, answered by whatever theory the patient is able to con­ jure up as plausible, form the beginning of his insane life.50 *9 D e

l ’in te llig e n c e , 3m e é d itio n (1878), v o l. 11, p . 461, n o te. K r is h a b e r ’s b o o k (D e la

n év ro p a th ie céréb ro-card iaqu e, 1873) is fu ll o f sim ila r o b serv atio n s. 50

S u dd en a lte r a tio n s in o u tw a rd fo rtu n e o fte n p ro d u ce su ch a c h a n g e in th e e m ­

p ir ic a l m e as a lm o st to a m o u n t to a p a th o lo g ic a l d istu rb a n c e o f self-con sciou sn ess. W h e n a p o o r m an d raw s th e b ig p rize in a lo tte ry , o r u n e x p e c te d ly in h e rits a n estate; w h en a m an h igh in fa m e is p u b lic ly d isgra ced , a m illio n a ire b ecom es a p a u p e r, o r a

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A case with which I am acquainted through Dr. C. I. Fisher of Tew ksbury has possibly its origin in this way. T h e woman, Bridget F., “ has been in san e for m an y years a n d . . . alw a ys speaks o f her su pposed self as ‘ the r a t’ a sk in g m e to ‘b u ry the litt le rat,’ etc. H e r real self she speaks o f in the th ird person as ‘ the g o o d w o m a n ,’ sayin g, ‘T h e good w o m an k n e w D r. F. a n d used to w o rk for h im ,’ etc. S om etim es she sad ly asks ‘D o y o u th in k the g o o d w o m an w ill ever com e b ack ?’ . . . She w orks— n eed le w ork, k n ittin g , la u n d ry etc. a n d shows her w ork a n d says ‘Isn ’ t th a t g o o d for o n ly a rat?’ She has d u r in g period s o f depression h id her­ self u n d er b u ild in g s, a n d cra w led in to h oles a n d u n d er boxes. ‘She was o n ly a rat a n d w an ts to d ie ’ she w o u ld say w h en w e fo u n d h er.”

2. T h e phenomenon of alternating personality in its simplest phases seems based on lapses of memory. Any man becomes, as we say, inconsistent with himself if he forgets his engagements, pledges, knowledges, and habits; and it is merely a question of degree at what point we shall say that his personality is changed. In the pathological cases known as those of double or alternate personali­ ty the lapse of memory is abrupt, and is usually preceded by a pe­ riod of unconsciousness or syncope lasting a variable length of time. In the hypnotic trance we can easily produce an alteration of the personality, either by telling the subject to forget all that has happened to him since such or such a date, in which case he becomes (it may be) a child again, or by telling him he is another altogether imaginary personage, in which case all facts about him­ self seem for the time being to lapse from out his mind, and he throws himself into the new character with a vivacity proportionate to the amount of histrionic imagination which he possesses.51 But in the pathological cases the transformation is spontaneous. T h e most famous case, perhaps, on record is that of Félida X ., reported by Dr. Azam of Bordeaux.52 A t the age of fourteen this woman be­ gan to pass into a ‘secondary’ state characterized by a change in her lo v in g h u sb a n d an d fa th e r sees his fa m ily p e rish a t o n e fe ll sw o o p , th ere is te m p o ra rily such a ru p tu r e b e tw e e n a ll p a st h a b its, w h e th e r o f a n a c tiv e o r a p assive k in d , and th e e x ig e n c ie s an d p o s sib ilitie s o f th e n ew s itu a tio n , th a t th e in d iv id u a l m ay find n o m ed iu m o f c o n tin u ity o r asso cia tio n to ca rry h im o v e r from th e o n e p h ase to th e o t h e r o f his life . U n d e r these c o n d itio n s m e n ta l d e ra n g e m e n t is no u n fr e q u e n t re su lt. 51 T h e n u m b e r o f su b je cts w h o can d o th is w ith a n y fe r tility a n d e x u b e ra n c e is

r e la tiv e ly q u ite sm all. 52 F irst in th e R e v u e S c ie n tifiq u e fo r M a y 20, 1876, th e n in his b o o k , H y p n o tism e , d o u b le co n scien ce et altération s d e la p er so n n a lité (P aris, 1887).

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general disposition and character, as if certain ‘inhibitions,’ pre­ viously existing, were suddenly removed. D uring the secondary state she remembered the first state, but on emerging from it into the first state she remembered nothing of the second. A t the age of forty-four the duration of the secondary state (which was on the whole superior in quality to the original state) had gained upon the latter so much as to occupy most of her time. D uring it she remem­ bers the events belonging to the original state, but her complete oblivion of the secondary state when the original state recurs is often very distressing to her, as, for example, when the transition takes place in a carriage on her way to a funeral, and she hasn’t the least idea which one of her friends may be dead. She actually be­ came pregnant during one of her early secondary states, and during her first state had no knowledge of how it had come to pass. Her distress at these blanks of memory is sometimes intense and once drove her to attempt suicide. T o take another example, Dr. Rieger gives an account53 of an epileptic man who for seventeen years had passed his life alternate­ ly free, in prisons, or in asylums, his character being orderly enough in the normal state, but alternating with periods, during which he would leave his home for several weeks, leading the life of a thief and vagabond, being sent to jail, having epileptic fits and excite­ ment, being accused of malingering, etc., etc., and with never a memory of the abnormal conditions which were to blame for all his wretchedness. “ I h a v e n ever g o t from a n y o n e ,” says D r. R ieg er, “ so sin g u lar an im pression as from this m an, o f w h o m it c o u ld n o t be said th a t h e h a d a n y p ro p erly conscious past at all. . . . I t is really im possible to th in k o n e ’s self in to such a state o f m in d . H is last larcen y h a d been p erform ed in N ü r n b e r g , h e kn ew n o th in g o f it, a n d saw h im s e lf b efore the cou rt a n d th e n in th e h osp ita l, b u t w ith o u t in the least u n d e r sta n d in g the reason w hy. T h a t h e h a d e p ile p tic attacks, h e kn ew . B u t it was im pos­ sib le to co n vin ce h im th a t for hours to geth er h e raved a n d acted in an a b n o rm a l w a y .”

Another remarkable case is that of Mary Reynolds, lately repub­ lished again by Dr. W eir M itchell.54 T h is dull and melancholy young woman, inhabiting the Pennsylvania wilderness in 1811, 53 D e r H y p n o tism u s (1884), p p . 10 9-15. 54 T ra n sactions o f th e C o lle g e o f P hy sicia n s o f P h ila d e lp h ia , A p r il 4, 1888. A lso , less

co m p le te , b y th e R e v . W illia m S. P lu m e r in H a r p e r ’s M aga zin e, M a y i860.

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“ was found one morning, long after her habitual time for rising, in a profound sleep from which it was impossible to arouse her. After eigh­ teen or twenty hours of sleeping she awakened, but in a state of un­ natural consciousness. Memory had fled. T o all intents and purposes she was as a being for the first time ushered into the world. ‘All of the past that remained to her was the faculty of pronouncing a few words, and this seems to have been as purely instinctive as the wailings of an infant; for at first the words which she uttered were connected with no ideas in her mind.’ Until she was taught their significance they were unmeaning sounds. “ ‘Her eyes were virtually for the first time opened upon the world. Old things had passed away; all things had become new.’ Her parents, brothers, sisters, friends, were not recognized or acknowledged as such by her. She had never seen them before,—never known them,—was not aware that such persons had been. Now for the first time she was intro­ duced to their company and acquaintance. T o the scenes by which she was surrounded she was a perfect stranger. The house, the fields, the forest, the hills, the vales, the streams,—all were novelties. The beauties of the landscape were all unexplored. “She had not the slightest consciousness that she had ever existed previous to the moment in which she awoke from that mysterious slumber. ‘In a word, she was an infant, just born, yet born in a state of maturity with a capacity for relishing the rich, sublime, luxuriant won­ ders of created nature.’ “The first lesson in her education was to teach her by what ties she was bound to those by whom she was surrounded, and the duties de­ volving upon her accordingly. This she was very slow to learn, and, ‘indeed, never did learn, or, at least, never would acknowledge the ties of consanguinity, or scarcely those of friendship. She considered those she had once known as for the most part strangers and enemies, among whom she was, by some remarkable and unaccountable means, transplanted, though from what region or state of existence was a prob­ lem unsolved.’ “The next lesson was to re-teach her the arts of reading and writing. She was apt enough, and made such rapid progress in both, that in a few weeks she had readily re-learned to read and write. In copying her name which her brother had written for her as a first lesson, she took her pen in a very awkward manner and began to copy from right to left in the Hebrew mode, as though she had been transplanted from an Eastern soil. . . . “The next thing that is noteworthy is the change which took place in her disposition. Instead of being melancholy she was now cheerful to extremity. Instead of being reserved she was buoyant and social.

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Formerly taciturn and retiring, she was now merry and jocose. Her dis­ position was totally and absolutely changed. While she was, in this sec­ ond state, extravagantly fond of company, she was much more en­ amored of nature’s works, as exhibited in the forests, hills, vales, and water-courses. She used to start in the morning, either on foot or horse­ back, and ramble until nightfall over the whole country; nor was she at all particular whether she were on a path or in the trackless forest. Her predilection for this manner of life may have been occasioned by the restraint necessarily imposed upon her by her friends, which caused her to consider them her enemies, and not companions, and she was glad to keep out of their way. “She knew no fear, and as bears and panthers were numerous in the woods, and rattlesnakes and copperheads abounded everywhere, her friends told her of the danger to which she exposed herself, but it pro­ duced no other effect than to draw forth a contemptuous laugh, as she said, ‘I know you only want to frighten me and keep me at home, but you miss it, for I often see your bears and I am perfectly convinced that they are nothing more than black hogs.’ “One evening, after her return from her daily excursion, she told the following incident: ‘As I was riding to-day along a narrow path a great black hog came out of the woods and stopped before me. I never saw such an impudent black hog before. It stood up on its hind feet and grinned and gnashed its teeth at me. I could not make the horse go on. I told him he was a fool to be frightened at a hog, and tried to whip him past, but he would not go and wanted to turn back. I told the hog to get out of the way, but he did not mind me. “Well,” said I, “ if you won't for words, I’ll try blows;” so I got off and took a stick and walked up toward it. When I got pretty close by, it got down on all fours and walked away slowly and sullenly, stopping every few steps and looking back and grinning and growling. Then I got on my horse and rode on.’ . . . “Thus it continued for five weeks, when one morning, after a pro­ tracted sleep, she awoke and was herself again. She recognized the parental, the brotherly, and sisterly ties as though nothing had h ap pened, and immediately went about the performance of duties incum­ bent upon her, and which she had planned five weeks previously. Great was her surprise at the change which one night (as she supposed) had produced. Nature bore a different aspect. Not a trace was left in her mind of the giddy scenes through which she had passed. Her ramblings through the forest, her tricks and humor, all were faded from her mem­ ory, and not a shadow left behind. Her parents saw their child; her brothers and sisters saw their sister. She now had all the knowledge that she had possessed in her first state previous to the change, still

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fresh and in as vigorous exercise as though no change had been. But any new acquisitions she had made, and any new ideas she had ob­ tained, were lost to her now—yet not lost, but laid up out of sight in safe keeping for future use. O f course her natural disposition returned; her melancholy was deepened by the information of what had occurred. All went on in the old-fashioned way, and it was fondly hoped that the mysterious occurrences of those five weeks would never be repeated, but these anticipations were not to be realized. After the lapse of a few weeks she fell into a profound sleep, and awoke in her second state, taking up her new life again precisely where she had left it when she before passed from that state. She was not now a daughter nor a sister. All the knowledge she possessed was that acquired during the few weeks of her former period of second consciousness. She knew nothing of the intervening time. Two periods widely separated were brought into con­ tact. She thought it was but one night. “ In this state she came to understand perfectly the facts of her case, not from memory, but from information. Yet her buoyancy of spirits was so great that no depression was produced. On the contrary, it added to her cheerfulness, and was made the foundation, as was everything else, of mirth. “These alternations from one state to another continued at intervals of varying length for fifteen or sixteen years, but finally ceased when she attained the age of thirty-five or thirty-six, leaving her permanently in her second state. In this she remained without change for the last quarter of a century of her life.” T h e emotional opposition of the two states seems, however, to have become gradually effaced in Mary Reynolds: “T he change from a gay, hysterical, mischievous woman, fond of jests and subject to absurd beliefs or delusive convictions, to one re­ taining the joyousness and love of society, but sobered down to levels of practical usefulness, was gradual. The most of the twenty-five years which followed she was as different from her melancholy, morbid self as from the hilarious condition of the early years of her second state. Some of her family spoke of it as her third state. She is described as be­ coming rational, industrious, and very cheerful, yet reasonably serious; possessed of a well-balanced temperament and not having the slightest indication of an injured or disturbed mind. For some years she taught school, and in that capacity was both useful and acceptable, being a general favorite with old and young. “ During these last twenty-five years she lived in the same house with the Rev. Dr. John V. Reynolds, her nephew, part of that time keeping

362

T h e Consciousness of S elf hou se for him , sh o w in g a sou n d ju d g m e n t a n d a th o r o u g h a c q u a in t­ an ce w ith the d u ties o f her po sitio n . “ D r. R e yn o ld s, w h o is still liv in g in M e a d v ille ,” says D r. M itc h e ll, “ a n d w h o has m ost k in d ly p la ced the facts a t m y d isposal, states in his letter to m e o f J a n u a r y 4, 1888, th a t a t a later p erio d o f her life she said she d id som etim es seem to h a ve a d im , d ream y idea o f a sh ad ow y past, w h ich she c o u ld n o t fu lly grasp, a n d co u ld n o t be certain w h eth er it o r ig in a te d in a p a r tia lly restored m em o ry or in th e statem ents o f the even ts b y others d u r in g h er ab n o rm a l state. “ M iss R e y n o ld s d ied in Ja n u ary , 1854, a t the a g e o f sixty-on e. O n th e m o r n in g o f the d a y o f her d e a th she rose in her usual h ea lth , ate her breakfast, a n d su p erin ten d ed h o u seh o ld d u ties. W h ile thu s em ­ p lo y ed , she su d d en ly raised her h an d s to her h ead a n d e x c la im e d ‘O h ! I w on d er w h a t is the m a tter w ith m y h e a d !’ an d im m e d ia te ly fell to th e floor. W h e n carried to a sofa she gasp ed on ce or tw ice a n d d ie d .”

In such cases as the preceding, in which the secondary character is superior to the first, there seems reason to think that the first one is the m o r b i d one. T h e word in h ib ition describes its dulness and melancholy. Felida X .’s original character was dull and melancholy in comparison with that which she later acquired, and the change may be regarded as the removal of inhibitions which had main­ tained themselves from earlier years. Such inhibitions we all know temporarily, when we cannot recollect or in some other way com­ mand our mental resources. T h e systematized amnesias (losses of memory) of hypnotic subjects ordered to forget all nouns, or all verbs, or a particular letter of the alphabet, or all that is relative to a certain person, are inhibitions of the sort on a more extensive scale. T h ey sometimes occur spontaneously as symptoms of dis­ ease.55 Now M. Pierre Janet has shown that such inhibitions when they bear on a certain class of sensations (making the subject anaes­ thetic thereto) and also on the memory of such sensations, are the basis of changes of personality. T h e anaesthetic and ‘amnesic’ hys­ teric is one person; but when you restore her inhibited sensibilities and memories by plunging her into the hypnotic trance—in other words, when you rescue them from their ‘dissociated’ and split-off condition, and make them rejoin the other sensibilities and mem­ ories—she is a different person. As said above (p. 201), the hypnotic 55

C f. R i b o t ’s Diseases o f M em o ry fo r cases. See a lso a la rg e n u m b e r o f th em in

F orb es W in s lo w ’s O n O b scu re Diseases o f th e B ra in , an d D isorders o f th e M in d , c h a p ­ ters

X III-X V II.

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trance is one method of restoring sensibility in hysterics. But one day when the hysteric anaesthetic named Lucie was already in the hypnotic trance, M. Janet for a certain reason continued to make passes over her for a full half-hour as if she were not already asleep. T h e result was to throw her into a sort of syncope from which, after half an hour, she revived in a second somnambulic condition entirely unlike that which had characterized her thitherto—differ­ ent sensibilities, a different memory, a different person, in short. In the waking state the poor young woman was anaesthetic all over, nearly deaf, and with a badly contracted field of vision. Bad as it was, however, sight was her best sense, and she used it as a guide in all her movements. W ith her eyes bandaged she became entirely helpless, and like other persons of a similar sort whose cases have been recorded, she almost immediately fell asleep in consequence of the withdrawal of her last sensorial stimulus. M. Janet calls this waking or primary (one can hardly in such a connection say ‘nor­ mal’) state by the name of Lucie 1. In Lucie 2, her first sort of hypnotic trance, the anaesthesias were diminished but not removed. In the deeper trance, ‘Lucie 3,’ brought about as just described, no trace of them remained. Her sensibility became perfect, and in­ stead of being an extreme example of the ‘visual’ type, she was transformed into what in Prof. Charcot’s terminology is known as a motor. T h a t is to say, that whereas when awake she had thought in visual terms exclusively, and could imagine things only by re­ membering how they looked, now in this deeper trance her thoughts and memories seemed to M. Janet to be largely composed of images of movement and of touch. H aving discovered this deeper trance and change of personality in Lucie, M. Janet naturally became eager to find it in his other subjects. He found it in Rose, in Marie, and in Leonie; and his brother, Dr. Jules Janet, who was interne at the Salpetriere Hos­ pital, found it in the celebrated subject W itt. . . . whose trances had been studied for years by the various doctors of that institution without any of them having happened to awaken this very peculiar individuality.56 W ith the return of all the sensibilities in the deeper trance, these subjects turned, as it were, into normal persons. T h e ir memories in particular grew more extensive, and hereupon M. Janet spins a 56

See th e in te re stin g a cc o u n t b y M . J. J a n e t in th e R e v u e S cien tifiq u e, M a y 19,

1888.

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theoretic generalization. W hen a certain kind of sensation, he says, is abolished in an hysteric patient, there is also abolished along with it all recollection of past sensations of that kind. If, for ex­ ample, hearing be the anaesthetic sense, the patient becomes un­ able even to imagine sounds and voices, and has to speak (when speech is still possible) by means of motor or articulatory cues. If the motor sense be abolished, the patient must w ill the movements of his limbs by first defining them to his mind in visual terms, and must innervate his voice by premonitory ideas of the way in which the words are going to sound. T h e practical consequences of this law would be great, for all experiences belonging to a sphere of sensibility which afterwards became anaesthetic, as, for example, touch, would have been stored away and remembered in tactile terms, and would be incontinently forgotten as soon as the cuta­ neous and muscular sensibility should come to be cut out in the course of disease. Memory of them would be restored again, on the other hand, so soon as the sense of touch came back. Now, in the hysteric subjects on whom M. Janet experimented, touch did come back in the state of trance. T h e result was that all sorts of memo­ ries, absent in the ordinary condition, came back too, and they could then go back and explain the origin of many otherwise in­ explicable things in their life. One stage in the great convulsive crisis of hystero-epilepsy, for example, is what French writers call the phase des attitudes passionelles, in which the patient, without speaking or giving any account of herself, w ill go through the out­ ward movements of fear, anger, or some other emotional state of mind. Usually this phase is, with each patient, a thing so stereo­ typed as to seem automatic, and doubts have even been expressed as to whether any consciousness exists whilst it lasts. When, how­ ever, the patient Lucie’s tactile sensibility came back in the deeper trance, she explained the origin of her hysteric crisis in a great fright which she had had when a child, on a day when certain men, hid behind the curtains, had jum ped out upon her; she told how she went through this scene again in all her crises; she told of her sleep-walking fits through the house when a child, and how for sev­ eral months she had been shut in a dark room because of a disorder of the eyes. A ll these were things of which she recollected nothing when awake, because they were records of experiences mainly of motion and of touch. But M. Janet’s subject Leonie is interesting, and shows best how

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with the sensibilities and motor impulses the memories and char­ acter w ill change. “ This woman, whose life sounds more like an improbable romance than a genuine history, has had attacks of natural somnambulism since the age of three years. She has been hypnotized constantly by all sorts of persons from the age of sixteen upwards, and she is now forty-five. Whilst her normal life developed in one way in the midst of her poor country surroundings, her second life was passed in drawing-rooms and doctors’ offices, and naturally took an entirely different direction. T o ­ day, when in her normal state, this poor peasant woman is a serious and rather sad person, calm and slow, very mild with everyone, and extremely timid: to look at her one would never suspect the personage which she contains. But hardly is she put to sleep hypnotically when a metamorphosis occurs. Her face is no longer the same. She keeps her eyes closed, it is true, but the acuteness of her other senses supplies their place. She is gay, noisy, restless, sometimes insupportably so. She remains good-natured, but has acquired a singular tendency to irony and sharp jesting. Nothing is more curious than to hear her after a sitting when she has received a visit from strangers who wished to see her asleep. She gives a word-portrait of them, apes their manners, pre­ tends to know their little ridiculous aspects and passions, and for each invents a romance. T o this character must be added the possession of an enormous number of recollections, whose existence she does not even suspect when awake, for her amnesia is then complete. . . . She refuses the name of Lionie and takes that of Liontine (Lionie 2) to which her first magnetizers had accustomed her. ‘That good woman is not myself,’ she says, ‘she is too stupid!’ T o herself, Ltontine or Lionie 2, she attributes all the sensations and all the actions, in a word all the conscious experiences, which she has undergone in somnambulism, and knits them together to make the history of her already long life. T o Leonie 1 [as M. Janet calls the waking woman], on the other hand, she exclusively ascribes the events lived through in waking hours. I was at first struck by an important exception to the rule, and was disposed to think that there might be something arbitrary in this partition of her recollections. In the normal state Leonie has a husband and children; but Leonie 2, the somnambulist, whilst acknowledging the children as her own, attributes the husband to ‘the other.’ This choice was perhaps explicable, but it followed no rule. It was not till later that I learned that her magnetizers in early days, as audacious as certain hypnotizers of recent date, had somnambulized her for her first accouchements, and that she had lapsed into that state spontaneously in the later ones.

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2

was thus q u ite r ig h t in ascrib in g to herself the ch ild r e n — it

was she w h o h a d h a d them , an d the ru le th a t her first trance-state form s a d ifferen t p erso n a lity was n o t broken. B u t it is the sam e w ith her sec­ o n d or deepest state o f trance. W h e n after the ren ew ed passes, syncope, etc., she reaches the c o n d itio n w h ich I h a ve ca lled L é o n ie 3, she is a n ­ o th er person still. Serious an d grave, in stead o f b e in g a restless ch ild , she speaks slo w ly a n d m oves b u t little . A g a in she separates h erself from the w a k in g L é o n ie 1. ‘A g o o d b u t rath er stu p id w o m a n ,’ she says, ‘an d n o t m e.’ A n d she also separates herself from L é o n ie

2:

‘ H o w can you

see a n y th in g o f m e in th a t crazy creature?’ she says. ‘F o r tu n a te ly I am n o th in g for h er.’ ”

Léonie 1 knows only of herself; Léonie 2, of herself and of Léonie 1; Léonie 3 knows of herself and of both the others. Léonie 1 has a visual consciousness; Léonie 2 has one both visual and audi­ tory; in Léonie 3 it is at once visual, auditory, and tactile. Prof. Janet thought at first that he was Léonie 3’s discoverer. But she told him that she had been frequently in that condition before. A former magnetizer had hit upon her just as M. Janet had, in seek­ ing by means of passes to deepen the sleep of Léonie 2. “ T h i s resurrection o f a so m n a m b u lic personage w h o h a d been e x ­ tin ct for tw e n ty years is cu riou s en o u g h ; an d in s p ea k in g to L é o n ie 3, I n a tu r a lly n ow a d o p t the n am e o f L é o n o re w h ich was g iv e n her b y her first m aster.”

T h e most carefully studied case of m ultiple personality is that of the hysteric youth Louis V. about whom MM. Bourru and Burot have written a book.57 T h e symptoms are too intricate to be re­ produced here with detail. Suffice it that Louis V. had led an ir­ regular life, in the army, in hospitals, and in houses of correction, and had had numerous hysteric anaesthesias, paralyses, and con­ tractures attacking him differently at different times and when he lived at different places. A t eighteen, at an agricultural House of Correction he was bitten by a viper, which brought on a convulsive crisis and left both of his legs paralyzed for three years. During this condition he was gentle, moral, and industrious. But suddenly at last, after a long convulsive seizure, his paralysis disappeared, and with it his memory for all the time during which it had en57 Variations d e la p er s o n n a lité (P a ris, 1888).

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dured. His character also changed: he became quarrelsome, glut­ tonous, impolite, stealing his comrades’ wine, and money from an attendant, and finally escaped from the establishment and fought furiously when he was overtaken and caught. Later, when he first fell under the observation of the authors, his right side was half paralyzed and insensible, and his character intolerable; the appli­ cation of metals transferred the paralysis to the left side, abolished his recollections of the other condition, and carried him psychical­ ly back to the hospital of Bicêtre where he had been treated for a similar physical condition. His character, opinions, education, all underwent a concomitant transformation. He was no longer the personage of the moment before. It appeared ere long that any present nervous disorder in him could be temporarily removed by metals, magnets, electric or other baths, etc.; and that any past disorder could be brought back by hypnotic suggestion. He also went through a rapid spontaneous repetition of his series of past disorders after each of the convulsive attacks which occurred in him at intervals. It was observed that each physical state in which he found himself, excluded certain memories and brought with it a definite modification of character. “ T h e law o f these ch an ges,” say the authors, “ is q u ite clear. T h e r e exist precise, con stant, an d necessary relatio n s betw een th e b o d ily an d th e m e n ta l state, such th a t it is im p o ssib le to m o d ify the o n e w ith o u t m o d ify in g the o th er in a p a ra lle l fa sh io n .” 58

T h e case of this proteiform individual would seem, then, nicely to corroborate M. P. Janet’s law that anaesthesias and gaps in mem­ ory go together. C oupling Janet’s law with Locke’s that changes of memory bring changes of personality, we should have an ap­ parent explanation of some cases at least of alternate personality. But mere anaesthesia does not sufficiently explain the changes of disposition, which are probably due to modifications in the per­ viousness of motor and associative paths, co-ordinate with those of the sensorial paths rather than consecutive upon them. A nd in­ deed a glance at other cases than M. Janet’s own, suffices to show us that sensibility and memory are not coupled in any invariable 58

O p . cit., p . 84. In th is w o rk a n d in D r. A z a m ’s (cited o n a p r e v io u s p a ge), as w e ll

as in P ro f. T h é o d u le R ib o t ’s M a la d ies d e la p er s o n n a lité (1885), th e re a d e r w ill find in fo r m a tio n a n d re fe re n ce s r e la tiv e to th e o th e r k n o w n cases o f th e k in d .

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way.59 M. Janet’s law, true of his own cases, does not seem to hold good in all. O f course it is mere guesswork to speculate on what may be the cause of the amnesias which lie at the bottom of changes in the Self. Changes of blood-supply have naturally been invoked. A lter­ nate action of the two hemispheres was long ago proposed by Dr. W igan in his book on the D uality of the M in d . I shall revert to this explanation after considering the third class of alterations of the Self, those, namely, which I have called ‘possessions.’ I have myself become quite recently acquainted with the sub­ ject of a case of alternate personality of the ‘ambulatory’ sort, who has given me permission to name him in these pages.60 The Rev. Ansel Bourne, of Greene, R. I., was brought up to the trade of a carpenter; but, in consequence of a sudden temporary loss of sight and hearing under very peculiar circumstances, he became converted from Atheism to Christianity just before his thirtieth year, and has since that time for the most part lived the life of an itinerant preacher. He has been subject to headaches and temporary fits of depression of spirits during most of his life, and has had a few fits of unconsciousness lasting an hour or less. He also has a region of somewhat diminished cutaneous sensibility on the left thigh. Otherwise his health is good, and his mus­ cular strength and endurance excellent. He is of a firm and self-reliant disposition, a man whose yea is yea and his nay, nay; and his character for uprightness is such in the community that no person who knows him will for a moment admit the possibility of his case not being perfectly genuine. On January 17, 1887, he drew 551 dollars from a bank in Providence with which to pay for a certain lot of land in Greene, paid certain bills, and got into a Pawtucket horse-car. This is the last incident which he 5» H is o w n b r o th e r ’s su b je c t W it t ...........a lth o u g h in h er anaesthetic w a k in g stage she

re co llecte d n o th in g o f e ith e r o f h er tran ces, y et re m em b e re d h e r d e e p e r tra n ce (in w h ich h er se n sib ilitie s b e cam e p e rfe c t—see a b o v e , p . 205) w h e n she w as in h e r lig h te r tra n ce. N e ve rth e le ss in th e la tte r sh e w as as a n e s th e tic as w h e n a w a k e . (L o c. cit., p. 6 19 .)— I t d oes n o t a p p e a r th a t th ere w as a n y im p o rta n t d iffe re n ce in th e s e n sib ility o f F ilid a X . b e tw e e n h er tw o states—as fa r as o n e can ju d g e fro m M . A z a m ’s a cco u n t she w as to som e d e g re e anaesthetic in b o th (op. cit., p p . 7 1 , 96).— In th e case o f d o u b le p e rs o n a lity re p o rte d b y M . D u fa y (R e v u e S c ien tifiq u e, v o l. x v m , p . 69), th e m em o ry seem s to h av e b een best in th e m o re anaesthetic c o n d itio n .— H y p n o tic su b je cts m ade b lin d d o n o t n e ce ssarily lo se th e ir v is u a l id eas. I t a p p e a rs, th en , b o th th a t am n esias m ay o cc u r w ith o u t anaesthesias, and an;esth esias w ith o u t a m n esias, th o u g h th e y m ay a lso o ccu r in c o m b in a tio n . H y p n o tic su b je cts m ad e b lin d b y su ggestion w ill te ll you th a t th e y c le a rly im a g in e th e th in g s w h ic h th e y can n o lo n g e r see. 6# A f u ll a c co u n t o f th e case, b y M r. R . H o d gso n , w ill be fo u n d in th e P ro ceedin gs o f th e Society fo r P sy ch ica l R esea rch fo r 1891.

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remembers. He did not return home that day, and nothing was heard o£ him for two months. He was published in the papers as missing, and foul play being suspected, the police sought in vain his whereabouts. On the morning of March 14th, however, at Norristown, Pennsylvania, a man calling himself A. J. Brown, who had rented a small shop six weeks previously, stocked it with stationery, confectionery, fruit and small ar­ ticles, and carried on his quiet trade without seeming to anyone un­ natural or eccentric, woke up in a fright and called in the people of the house to tell him where he was. He said that his name was Ansel Bourne, that he was entirely ignorant of Norristown, that he knew nothing of shop-keeping, and that the last thing he remembered—it seemed only yesterday—was drawing the money from the bank, etc., in Providence. He would not believe that two months had elapsed. The people of the house thought him insane; and so, at first, did Dr. Louis H. Read, whom they called in to see him. But on telegraphing to Providence, confirma­ tory messages came, and presently his nephew, Mr. Andrew Harris, ar­ rived upon the scene, made everything straight, and took him home. He was very weak, having lost apparently over twenty pounds of flesh during his escapade, and had such a horror of the idea of the candy-store that he refused to set foot in it again. The first two weeks of the period remained unaccounted for, as he had no memory, after he had once resumed his normal personality, of any part of the time, and no one who knew him seems to have seen him after he left home. The remarkable part of the change is, of course, the peculiar occupation which the so-called Brown indulged in. Mr. Bourne has never in his life had the slightest contact with trade. ‘Brown’ was described by the neighbors as taciturn, orderly in his habits, and in no way queer. He went to Philadelphia several times; replenished his stock; cooked for himself in the back shop, where he also slept; went regularly to church; and once at a prayer-meeting made what was considered by the hearers a good address, in the course of which he related an incident which he had witnessed in his natural state of Bourne. This was all that was known of the case up to June 1890, when I in­ duced Mr. Bourne to submit to hypnotism, so as to see whether, in the hypnotic trance, his ‘Brown’ memory would not come back. It did so with surprising readiness; so much so indeed that it proved quite im­ possible to make him whilst in the hypnosis remember any of the facts of his normal life. He had heard of Ansel Bourne, but “didn’t know as he had ever met the man.” When confronted with Mrs. Bourne he said that he had “never seen the woman before,” etc. On the other hand, he told of his peregrinations during the lost fortnight,61 and gave all sorts 61

H e h ad sp e n t an a fte rn o o n in B o sto n , a n ig h t in N e w Y o rk , an a fte rn o o n in

N e w a rk , and ten d ay s o r m ore in P h ila d e lp h ia , first in a ce rta in h o te l a n d n e x t in

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of details about the Norristown episode. The whole thing was prosaic enough; and the Brown-personality seems to be nothing but a rather shrunken, dejected, and amnesic extract of Mr. Bourne himself. He gives no motive for the wandering except that there was ‘trouble back there’ and he ‘wanted rest.’ During the trance he looks old, the corners of his mouth are drawn down, his voice is slow and weak, and he sits screening his eyes and trying vainly to remember what lay before and after the two months of the Brown experience. “I’m all hedged in,” he says: “I can’t get out at either end. I don’t know what set me down in that Pawtucket horse-car, and I don’t know how I ever left that store, or what became of it.” His eyes are practically normal, and all his sensibili­ ties (save for tardier response) about the same in hypnosis as in waking. I had hoped by suggestion, etc., to run the two personalities into one, and make the memories continuous, but no artifice would avail to ac­ complish this, and Mr. Bourne’s skull to-day still covers two distinct per­ sonal selves. The case (whether it contain an epileptic element or not) should ap­ parently be classed as one of spontaneous hypnotic trance, persisting for two months. T he peculiarity of it is that nothing else like it ever occurred in the man’s life, and that no eccentricity of character came out. In most similar cases, the attacks recur, and the sensibilities and conduct markedly change.62 3. In ‘m edium ships’ or ‘possessions’ the invasion and the passing away of the secondary state are both relatively abrupt, and the duration of the state is usually short—i.e., from a few minutes to a few hours. W henever the secondary state is well developed no memory for aught that happened during it remains after the pri­ mary consciousness comes back. T h e subject during the secondary consciousness speaks, writes, or acts as if animated by a foreign per­ son, and often names this foreign person and gives his history. In old times the foreign ‘control’ was usually a demon, and is so now in communities which favor that belief. W ith us he gives himself a ce rta in b o a rd in g -h o u se , m a k in g n o a c q u a in ta n c e s, ‘ re stin g ,’ re a d in g , a n d ‘ lo o k in g ro u n d .’ I h a v e u n fo r tu n a te ly been u n a b le to g e t in d e p e n d e n t co rro b o ra tio n o f these d eta ils, as th e h o te l registers a re d estro y e d , and th e b o a rd in g -h o u se n am ed b y h im has b een p u lle d d o w n . H e fo rge ts th e n am e o f th e tw o la d ies w h o k e p t it. T h e Indies w ere traced la te r b y D r . N e w b o ld a n d fu ll c o rr o b o ra tio n o b ta in e d o f th e b o a r d in g ­ h ou se ep isod e. 62

T h e d eta ils o f th e case, it w ill b e seen, are a ll c o m p a tib le w ith sim u la tio n . I can

o n ly say o f th a t, th a t n o o n e w h o has e x a m in e d M r. B o u rn e (in c lu d in g D r . R e a d , D r . W e ir M itc h e ll, D r . G u y H in sd a le , a n d M r. R . H o d gso n ) p r a c tic a lly d o u b ts his in g ra in e d h o n esty , n o r, so fa r as I can d isco v er, d o a n y o f his p e rso n a l a cq u a in ta n ce s in d u lg e in a sce p tic a l v ie w .

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out at the worst for an Indian or other grotesquely speaking but harmless personage. Usually he purports to be the spirit of a dead person known or unknown to those present, and the subject is then what we call a ‘m edium .’ Mediumistic possession in all its grades seems to form a perfectly natural special type of alternate person­ ality, and the susceptibility to it in some form is by no means an uncommon gift, in persons who have no other obvious nervous anomaly. T h e phenomena are very intricate, and are only just be­ ginning to be studied in a proper scientific way. T h e lowest phase of mediumship is automatic writing, and the lowest grade of that is where the Subject knows what words are coming, but feels im­ pelled to write them as if from without. T h en comes w riting un­ consciously, even whilst engaged in reading or talk. Inspirational speaking, playing on musical instruments, etc., also belong to the relatively lower phases of possession, in which the normal self is not excluded from conscious participation in the performance, though their initiative seems to come from elsewhere. In the high­ est phase the trance is complete, the voice, language, and every­ thing are changed, and there is no after-memory whatever until the next trance comes. One curious thing about trance-utterances is their generic similarity in different individuals. T h e ‘control’ here in Am erica is either a grotesque, slangy, and flippant per­ sonage (‘Indian’ controls, calling the ladies ‘squaws,’ the men ‘braves,’ the house a ‘wigwam ,’ etc., etc., are excessively common); or, if he ventures on higher intellectual flights, he abounds in a curiously vague optimistic philosophy-and-water, in which phrases about spirit, harmony, beauty, law, progression, development, etc., keep recurring. It seems exactly as if one author composed more than half of the trance-messages, no matter by whom they are uttered. W hether all sub-conscious selves are peculiarly susceptible to a certain stratum of the Zeitgeist, and get their inspiration from it, I know not; but this is obviously the case with the secondary selves which become ‘developed’ in spiritualist circles. T here the beginnings of the medium trance are indistinguishable from effects of hypnotic suggestion. T h e subject assumes the role of a medium simply because opinion expects it of him under the conditions which are present; and carries it out with a feebleness or a vivacity proportionate to his histrionic gifts. But the odd thing is that per­ sons unexposed to spiritualist traditions will so often act in the same way when they become entranced, speak in the name of the

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departed, go through the motions of their several death-agonies, send messages about their happy home in the summer-land, and describe the ailments of those present. I have no theory to publish of these cases, several of which I have personally seen. As an example of the automatic writing performances I will quote from an account of his own case kindly furnished me by Mr. Sidney Dean of Warren, R. I., member of Congress from C on­ necticut from 1855 to 1859, who has been all his life a robust and active journalist, author, and man of affairs. He has for many years been a writing subject, and has a large collection of manuscript automatically produced. “Some of it,” he writes us, “is in hieroglyph, or strange compounded arbitrary characters, each series possessing a seeming unity in general design or character, followed by what purports to be a translation or rendering into mother English. I never attempted the seemingly impos­ sible feat of copying the characters. They were cut with the precision of a graver’s tool, and generally with a single rapid stroke of the pencil. Many languages, some obsolete and passed from history, are professedly given. T o see them would satisfy you that no one could copy them ex­ cept by tracing. “These, however, are but a small part of the phenomena. T he ‘auto­ matic’ has given place to the impressionai, and when the work is in progress I am in the normal condition, and seemingly two minds, intel­ ligences, persons, are practically engaged. The writing is in my own hand but the dictation not of my own mind and will, but that of an­ other, upon subjects of which I can have no knowledge and hardly a theory; and I, myself, consciously criticise the thought, fact, mode of expressing it, etc., while the hand is recording the subject-matter and even the words impressed to be written. If / refuse to write the sentence, or even the word, the impression instantly ceases, and my willingness must be mentally expressed before the work is resumed, and it is re­ sumed at the point of cessation, even if it should be in the middle of a sentence. Sentences are commenced without knowledge of mine as to their subject or ending. In fact, I have never known in advance the sub­ ject of disquisition. “There is in progress now, at uncertain times, not subject to my will, a series of twenty-four chapters upon the scientific features of life, moral, spiritual, eternal. Seven have already been written in the man­ ner indicated. These were preceded by twenty-four chapters relating generally to the life beyond material death, its characteristics, etc. Each chapter is signed by the name of some person who has lived on e a rth some with whom I have been personally acquainted, others known in

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history. . . . I know nothing of the alleged authorship of any chapter until it is completed and the name impressed and appended. . . . I am interested not only in the reputed authorship,—of which I have nothing corroborative,—but in the philosophy taught, of which I was in ig­ norance until these chapters appeared. From my standpoint of life— which has been that of biblical orthodoxy—the philosophy is new, seems to be reasonable, and is logically put. I confess to an inability to successfully controvert it to my own satisfaction. “It is an intelligent ego who writes, or else the influence assumes individuality, which practically makes of the influence a personality. It is not myself; of that I am conscious at every step of the process. I have also traversed the whole field of the claims of ‘unconscious cerebration,’ so called, so far as I am competent to critically examine it, and it fails, as a theory, in numberless points, when applied to this strange work through me. It would be far more reasonable and satisfactory for me to accept the silly hypothesis of re-incarnation,—the old doctrine of metempsychosis,—as taught by some spiritualists to-day, and to believe that I lived a former life here, and that once in a while it dominates my intellectual powers, and writes chapters upon the philosophy of life, or opens a post-office for spirits to drop their effusions, and have them put into English script. No; the easiest and most natural solution to me is to admit the claim made, i.e., that it is a decarnated intelligence who writes. But who ? that is the question. The names of scholars and thinkers who once lived are affixed to the most ungrammatical and weakest of b osh .. . . “ It seems reasonable to me—upon the hypothesis that it is a person using another’s mind or brain—that there must be more or less of that other’s style or tone incorporated in the message, and that to the un­ seen personality, i.e., the power which impresses, the thought, the fact, or the philosophy, and not the style or tone, belongs. For instance, while the influence is impressing my brain with the greatest force and rapidity, so that my pencil fairly flies over the paper to record the thoughts, I am conscious that, in many cases, the vehicle of the thought, i.e., the language, is very natural and familiar to me, as if, somehow, my personality as a writer was getting mixed up with the message. And, again, the style, language, everything, is entirely foreign to my own style.” I am myself persuaded by abundant acquaintance with the trances of one medium that the ‘control’ may be altogether differ­ ent from any possible waking self of the person. In the case I have in mind, it professes to be a certain departed French doctor; and is, I am convinced, acquainted with facts about the circumstances,

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and the living and dead relatives and acquaintances, of numberless sitters whom the medium never met before, and of whom she has never heard the names. I record my bare opinion here unsupported by the evidence, not, of course, in order to convert anyone to my view, but because I am persuaded that a serious study of these trance-phenomena is one of the greatest needs of psychology, and think that my personal confession may possibly draw a reader or two into a field which the soi-disant ‘scientist’ usually refuses to explore. Many persons have found evidence conclusive to their minds that in some cases the control is really the departed spirit whom it pretends to be. T h e phenomena shade off so gradually into cases where this is obviously absurd, that the presumption (quite apart from a priori ‘scientific’ prejudice) is great against its being true. T h e case of Lurancy Vennum is perhaps as extreme a case of ‘pos­ session’ of the modern sort as one can find.63 Lurancy was a young girl of fourteen, living with her parents at Watseka, 111., who (after various distressing hysterical disorders and spontaneous trances, during which she was possessed by departed spirits of a more or less grotesque sort) finally declared herself to be animated by the spirit of Mary Roff (a neighbor’s daughter, who had died in an in­ sane asylum twelve years before) and insisted on being sent ‘hom e’ to Mr. Roff’s house. A fter a week of ‘homesickness’ and im portuni­ ty on her part, her parents agreed, and the Roffs, who pitied her, and who were spiritualists into the bargain, took her in. Once there, she seems to have convinced the family that their dead Mary had exchanged habitations with Lurancy. Lurancy was said to be temporarily in heaven, and Mary’s spirit now controlled her organ­ ism, and lived again in her former earthly home. “ T h e g ir l n o w in her n ew hom e, seem ed p erfectly h a p p y a n d co n ten t, k n o w in g every person a n d e v e r y th in g th a t M a r y kn ew w h en in her o r ig i­ n a l bod y, tw e lv e to tw enty-five years ago, reco g n izin g an d c a llin g by n am e those w h o w ere friends a n d n eigh bors o f th e fa m ily from 1852 to 1865, w h en M a r y died, c a llin g a tte n tio n to scores, yes, hu n d red s o f in c i­ d en ts th a t transpired d u r in g her n a tu ra l life. D u r in g a ll th e p erio d o f her so jo u rn at M r. R o ff’s she h a d n o k n o w le d g e of, a n d d id n o t re co g ­ n ize an y o f M r. V e n n u m ’s fam ily, th eir frien d s or neighbors, yet M r. 63

T h e W atseka W o n d er, b y E . W . Stevens. C h ic a g o , R e lig io -P h ilo s o p h ic a l P u b lis h ­

in g H o u se , 1887.

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and Mrs. Vennum and their children visited her and Mr. Roff’s people, she being introduced to them as to any strangers. After frequent visits, and hearing them often and favorably spoken of, she learned to love them as acquaintances, and visited them with Mrs. Roff three times. From day to day she appeared natural, easy, affable and industrious, attending diligently and faithfully to her household duties, assisting in the general work of the family as a faithful, prudent daughter might be supposed to do, singing, reading or conversing as opportunity offered, upon all matters of private or general interest to the family.” T h e so-called Mary whilst at the Roffs’ would sometimes ‘go back to heaven,’ and leave the body in a ‘quiet trance,’ i.e., without the original personality of Lurancy returning. A fter eight or nine weeks, however, the memory and manner of Lurancy would some­ times partially, but not entirely, return for a few minutes. Once Lurancy seems to have taken full possession for a short time. A t last, after some fourteen weeks, conformably to the prophecy which ‘Mary’ had made when she first assumed ‘control,’ she departed definitively and the Lurancy-consciousness came back for good. Mr. Roff writes: “She wanted me to take her home, which I did. She called me Mr. Roff, and talked with me as a young girl would, not being acquainted. I asked her how things appeared to her—if they seemed natural. She said it seemed like a dream to her. She met her parents and brothers in a very affectionate manner, hugging and kissing each one in tears of gladness. She clasped her arms around her father’s neck a long time, fairly smoth­ ering him with kisses. I saw her father just now (eleven o’clock). He says she has been perfectly natural, and seems entirely well.” Lurancy’s mother writes, a couple of months later, that she was “ perfectly and entirely well, and natural. For two or three weeks after her return home, she seemed a little strange to what she had been before she was taken sick last summer, but only, perhaps, the natural change that had taken place with the girl, and except it seemed to her as though she had been dreaming or sleeping, etc. Lurancy has been smarter, more intelligent, more industrious, more womanly and more polite than before. We give the credit of her complete cure and restora­ tion to her family, to Dr. E. W. Stevens and Mr. and Mrs. Roff, by their obtaining her removal to Mr. Roff’s, where her cure was perfected. We firmly believe that had she remained at home, she would have died, or we would have been obliged to send her to the insane asylum, and

■ 57 6

T h e Consciousness of Self i f so, th a t she w o u ld h a ve d ie d there, a n d fu rther, th a t I co u ld n o t h a ve liv e d b u t a short tim e w ith th e care a n d tr o u b le d e v o lv in g o n me. S everal o f th e re latives o f L u r a n cy , in c lu d in g ourselves, n ow b eliev e she w as cu red b y sp irit pow er, a n d th a t M a r y R o ff co n tro lle d th e g ir l.”

Eight years later, Lurancy was reported to be married and a mother, and in good health. She had apparently outgrown the mediumistic phase of her existence.64 On the condition of the sensibility during these invasions, few observations have been made. I have found the hands of two auto­ matic writers anaesthetic during the act. In two others I have found this not to be the case. Autom atic writing is usually preceded by shooting pains along the arm-nerves and irregular contractions of the arm-muscles. I have found one m edium ’s tongue and lips ap­ parently insensible to pin-pricks during her (speaking) trance. If we speculate on the brain-condition during all these different perversions of personality, we see that it must be supposed capable of successively changing all its modes of action, and abandoning the use for the time being of whole sets of well organized association-paths. In no other way can we explain the loss of memory in passing from one alternating condition to another. A nd not only this, but we must admit that organized systems of paths can be thrown out of gear with others, so that the processes in one system give rise to one consciousness, and those of another system to an­ other sim ultaneously existing consciousness. T h u s only can we un­ derstand the facts of automatic writing, etc., whilst the patient is out of trance, and the false anaesthesias and amnesias of the hys­ teric type. But just what sort of dissociation the phrase ‘thrown out of gear’ may stand for, we cannot even conjecture; only I think we ought not to talk of the doubling of the self as if it consisted in the failure to combine on the part of certain systems of ideas which usually do so. It is better to talk of objects usually combined, and which are now divided between the two ‘selves,’ in the hysteric and automatic cases in question. Each of the selves is due to a system of M M y fr ie n d M r. R . H o d g so n in fo rm s m e th a t h e v isite d W a tse k a in A p r il 1890, an d cro ss-e x am in e d th e p r in c ip a l w itn esses o f th is case. H is co n fid en ce in th e o rig in a l n a r ra tiv e w as stre n g th e n e d b y w h a t h e le a rn ed ; a n d v a rio u s u n p u b lis h e d facts w ere a sce rta in e d , w h ic h in crea sed th e p la u s ib ilit y o f th e sp ir itu a lis tic in te rp re ta tio n o f th e phenom enon.

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cerebral paths acting by itself. If the brain acted normally, and the dissociated systems came together again, we should get a new affection of consciousness in the form of a third ‘Self’ different from the other two, but knowing their objects together, as the result.— A fter all I have said in the last chapter, this hardly needs further remark. Some peculiarities in the lower automatic performances suggest that the systems thrown out of gear with each other are contained one in the right and the other in the left hemisphere. T h e subjects, e.g., often write backwards, or they transpose letters, or they write mirror-script. A ll these are symptoms of agraphic disease. T h e left hand, if left to its natural impulse, w ill in most people write m ir­ ror-script more easily than natural script. Mr. F. W . H. Myers has laid stress on these analogies.65 He has also called attention to the usual inferior moral tone of ordinary planchette writing. On Hughlings Jackson’s principles, the left hemisphere, being the more evolved organ, at ordinary times inhibits the activity of the right one; but Mr. Myers suggests that during the automatic per­ formances the usual inhibition may be removed and the right hemisphere set free to act all by itself. T h is is very likely to some extent to be the case. But the crude explanation of ‘two’ selves by ‘two’ hemispheres is of course far from Mr. Myers’s thought. T h e selves may be more than two, and the brain-systems severally used for each must be conceived as interpenetrating each other in very minute ways. SU M M ARY

T o sum up now this long chapter. T h e consciousness of Self in­ volves a stream of thought, each part of which as ‘I’ can 1) remem­ ber those which went before, and know the things they knew; and 2) emphasize and care paramountly for certain ones among them as ‘m e,’ and appropriate to these the rest. T h e nucleus of the ‘m e’ is always the bodily existence felt to be present at the time. W hat­ ever remembered-past-feelings resem ble this present feeling are deemed to belong to the same me with it. W hatever other things are perceived to be associated with this feeling are deemed to form 65 See his h ig h ly im p o rta n t series o f a rtic le s on A u to m a tic W r it in g , etc., in th e

P ro ceed in g s o f th e Society fo r P sy c h ic a l R e sea r ch , e sp e cia lly A r t ic le 11 (M a y 1885). C o m p a re also D r. M a u d sle y 's in s tru c tiv e a rtic le in M in d , v o l. x iv , p . 161, an d L u ys's essay, “ Su r le d é d o u b le m e n t,” etc., in L 'E n c é p h a le fo r 1888. A lso B ro w n -S éq u a rd : F o r u m , A u g u s t 1890.

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T h e Consciousness of Self

part of that m e’s experience; and of them certain ones (which fluc­ tuate more or less) are reckoned to be themselves constituents of the me in a larger sense,—such are the clothes, the material posses­ sions, the friends, the honors and esteem which the person receives or may receive. T h is me is an empirical aggregate of things objec­ tively known. T h e I which knows them cannot itself be an aggre­ gate; neither for psychological purposes need it be considered to be an unchanging metaphysical entity like the Soul, or a principle like the pure Ego, viewed as ‘out of tim e.’ It is a T h ou g h t, at each moment different from that of the last moment, but appropriative of the latter, together with all that the latter called its own. A ll the experiential facts find their place in this description, unencum­ bered with any hypothesis save that of the existence of passing thoughts or states of mind. T h e same brain may subserve many conscious selves, either alternate or coexisting; but by what modi­ fications in its action, or whether ultra-cerebral conditions may in­ tervene, are questions which cannot now be answered. If anyone urge that I assign no reason why the successive passing thoughts should inherit each other’s possessions, or why they and the brain-states should be functions (in the mathematical sense) of each other, I reply that the reason, if there be any, must lie where all real reasons lie, in the total sense or meaning of the world. If there be such a meaning, or any approach to it (as we are bound to trust there is), it alone can make clear to us why such finite human streams of thought are called into existence in such functional de­ pendence upon brains. T h is is as much as to say that the special natural science of psychology must stop with the mere functional formula. I f the passing thought be the directly verifiable existent which no school has hitherto doubted it to be, then that thought is itself the thinker, and psychology need not look beyond. T h e only

pathway that I can discover for bringing in a more transcendental thinker would be to deny that we have any direct knowledge of the thought as such. T h e latter’s existence would then be reduced to a postulate, an assertion that there must be a know er correlative to all this known; and the problem who that knower is would have become a metaphysical problem. W ith the question once stated in these terms, the spiritualist and transcendentalist solutions must be considered as prim a facie on a par with our own psychological one, and discussed impartially. But that carries us beyond the psy­ chological or naturalistic point of view.

379

Chapter X I Attention

Strange to say, so patent a fact as the perpetual presence of se­ lective attention has received hardly any notice from psychologists of the English empiricist school. T h e Germans have explicitly treated of it, either as a faculty or as a resultant, but in the pages of such writers as Locke, Hume, Hartley, the Mills, and Spencer the word hardly occurs, or if it does so, it is parenthetically and as if by inadvertence.1 T h e motive of this ignoring of the phenomenon of attention is obvious enough. These writers are bent on showing how the higher faculties of the mind are pure products of ‘experi­ ence’; and experience is supposed to be of something simply given. Attention, im plying a degree of reactive spontaneity, would seem to break through the circle of pure receptivity which constitutes ‘experience,’ and hence must not be spoken of under penalty of interfering with the smoothness of the tale. But the moment one thinks of the matter, one sees how false a notion of experience that is which would make it tantamount to the mere presence to the senses of an outward order. M illions of items of the outward order are present to my senses which never properly enter into my experience. Why? Because they have no interest for me. M y experience is what I agree to attend to. O nly those items 1

B a in m en tio n s a tte n tio n in th e Senses an d th e I n te lle c t, p . 558, an d even gives a

th e o ry o f it o n p p . 370-374 o f th e E m o tio n s an d th e W ill. I sh a ll re cu r to th is th eory la te r o n .

_ ‘}8o

A tten tion

which I notice shape my m ind—without selective interest, experi­ ence is an utter chaos. Interest alone gives accent and emphasis, light and shade, background and foreground—intelligible perspec­ tive, in a word. It varies in every creature, but without it the con­ sciousness of every creature would be a gray chaotic indiscriminate­ ness, impossible for us even to conceive. Such an empiricist writer as Mr. Spencer, for example, regards the creature as absolutely pas­ sive clay, upon which ‘experience’ rains down. T h e clay w ill be impressed most deeply where the drops fall thickest, and so the final shape of the mind is moulded. G ive time enough, and all sentient things ought, at this rate, to end by assuming an identical mental constitution—for ‘experience,’ the sole shaper, is a constant fact, and the order of its items must end by being exactly reflected by the passive mirror which we call the sentient organism. If such an account were true, a race of dogs bred for generations, say in the Vatican, with characters of visual shape, sculptured in marble, pre­ sented to their eyes, in every variety of form and combination, ought to discriminate before long the finest shades of these peculiar characters. In a word, they ought to become, if time were given, accomplished connoisseurs of sculpture. Anyone may judge of the probability of this consummation. Surely an eternity of experience of the statues would leave the dog as inartistic as he was at first, for the lack of an original interest to knit his discriminations on to. Meanwhile the odors at the bases of the pedestals would have or­ ganized themselves in the consciousness of this breed of dogs into a system of ‘correspondences’ to which the most hereditary caste of custodi would never approximate, merely because to them, as hu­ man beings, the dog’s interest in those smells would for ever be an inscrutable mystery. T hese writers have, then, utterly ignored the glaring fact that subjective interest may, by laying its weighty indexfinger on particular items of experience, so accent them as to give to the least frequent associations far more power to shape our thought than the most frequent ones possess. T h e interest itself, though its genesis is doubtless perfectly natural, makes experience more than it is made by it. Everyone knows what attention is. It is the taking possession by the mind, in clear and vivid form, of one out of what seem several simultaneously possible objects or trains of thought. Focalization,

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concentration, of consciousness are of its essence. It implies with­ drawal from some things in order to deal effectively with others, and is a condition which has a real opposite in the confused, dazed, scatterbrained state which in French is called distraction, and Zerstreutheit in German. W e all know this latter state, even in its extreme degree. Most people probably fall several times a day into a fit of something like this: T h e eyes are fixed on vacancy, the sounds of the world melt into confused unity, the attention is dispersed so that the whole body is felt, as it were, at once, and the foreground of consciousness is filled, if by anything, by a sort of solemn sense of surrender to the empty passing of time. In the dim background of our mind we know meanwhile what we ought to be doing: getting up, dressing ourselves, answering the person who has spoken to us, trying to make the next step in our reasoning. But somehow we cannot start; the pensée de derrière la tête fails to pierce the shell of lethargy that wraps our state about. Every moment we expect the spell to break, for we know no reason why it should continue. But it does continue, pulse after pulse, and we float with it, until—also without reason that we can discover—an energy is given, something—we know not what—enables us to gather ourselves together, we wink our eyes, we shake our heads, the background-ideas becom£ effec­ tive, and the wheels of life go round again. T h is curious state of inhibition can for a few moments be pro­ duced at will by fixing the eyes on vacancy. Some persons can voluntarily empty their minds and think of nothing.’ W ith many, as Professor Exner remarks of himself, this is the most efficacious means of falling asleep. It is difficult not to suppose something like this scattered condition of mind to be the usual state of brutes when not actively engaged in some pursuit. Fatigue, monotonous me­ chanical occupations that end by being automatically carried on, tend to produce it in men. It is not sleep; and yet when aroused from such a state, a person will often hardly be able to say what he has been thinking about. Subjects of the hypnotic trance seem to lapse into it when left to themselves; asked what they are think­ ing of, they reply, ‘of nothing particular’ !2 2

" T h e first a n d m ost im p o rta n t, b u t also th e m ost d ifficu lt, task a t th e o u tse t o f an

e d u c a tio n is to o v erco m e g r a d u a lly th e in a tte n tiv e d isp e rsio n o f m in d w h ich show s its e lf w h e re v e r th e o rg a n ic life p re p o n d e ra te s o v e r th e in te lle c tu a l. T h e tr a in in g o f a n im a ls . . . m u st b e in th e first in stan ce based on th e a w a k e n in g o f a tte n tio n (cf.

A tten tio n

T h e abolition of this condition is what we call the awakening of the attention. One principal object comes then into the focus of consciousness, others are temporarily suppressed. T h e awaken­ ing may come about either by reason of a stimulus from without, or in consequence of some unknown inner alteration; and the change it brings with it amounts to a concentration upon one single object with exclusion of aught besides, or to a condition anywhere between this and the completely dispersed state. T O H O W M A N Y T H IN G S C A N W E A T T E N D A T O N C E ?

T h e question of the ‘span’ of consciousness has often been asked and answered—sometimes a priori, sometimes by experiment. T h is seems the proper place for us to touch upon it; and our answer, according to the principles laid down in Chapter IX, w ill not be difficult. T h e num ber of things we may attend to is altogether indefinite, depending on the power of the individual intellect, on the form of the apprehension, and on what the things are. W hen ap­ prehended conceptually as a connected system, their number may be very large. But however numerous the things, they can only be known in a single pulse of consciousness for which they form one complex ‘object’ (p. 266 ff.), so that properly speaking there is before the mind at no time a plurality of ideas, properly so called. T h e ‘unity of the soul’ has been supposed by many philosophers, who also believed in the distinct atomic nature of ‘ideas,’ to pre­ clude the presence to it of more than one objective fact, manifested in one idea, at a time. Even Dugald Stewart opines that every m in i­ m um visibile of a pictured figure “ con stitutes ju st as d istin ct an o b je ct o f a tte n tio n to the m in d , as i f it w ere separated b y an in terval o f e m p ty space from th e rest. . . .

I t is

im p o ssib le for th e m in d to a tten d to m ore th an one o f these poin ts at once; a n d as the p ercep tio n o f th e figure im p lies a k n o w led g e o f the

A d rie n L e o n a rd : Essai su r l'éd u ca tio n des a n im a u x, L ille , 1 8 j 2); th a t is to say, w e m u st seek to m ak e th em g r a d u a lly p e rc e iv e se p a ra te ly th in g s w h ic h , if le ft to th e m ­ selves, w o u ld n o t be a tte n d e d to, b ecau se th e y w o u ld fuse w ith a g re a t sum o f o th e r sen sorial stim u li to a co n fu sed to ta l im pression o f w h ich each sep a ra te item o n ly d ark e n s an d in te rfe re s w ith th e rest. S im ila r ly a t first w ith th e h u m an ch ild . T h e e n o rm o u s d ifficu lties o f d ea f-m u te - an d e sp e c ia lly o f id io t-in stru ctio n is p r in c ip a lly d u e to th e slo w a n d p a in fu l m an n er in w h ich w e succeed in b r in g in g o u t from th e g e n e ra l co n fu sio n

o f p e rc e p tio n

sin g le

item s w ith

su fficient sh arp n e ss.”

L e h r b u c h d er P sy ch o lo g ie als N a lu rw issen sch a jl, p. 631.)

(W aitz:

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology

relative situation of the different points with respect to each other, we must conclude, that the perception of figure by the eye, is the result of a number of different acts of attention. These acts of attention, how­ ever, are performed with such rapidity, that the effect, with respect to us, is the same as if the perception were instantaneous.” 3 Such glaringly artificial views can only come from fantastic metaphysics or from the am biguity of the word ‘idea,’ which, stand­ ing sometimes for mental state and sometimes for thing known, leads men to ascribe to the thing, not only the unity which belongs to the mental state, but even the simplicity which is thought to re­ side in the Soul. W hen the things are apprehended by the senses, the number of them that can be attended to at once is small, “ P lu rib u s intentus, m inor est ad singula sensus.”

“ By Charles Bonnet the Mind is allowed to have a distinct notion of six objects at once; by Abraham Tucker the number is limited to four; while Destutt de Tracy again amplifies it to six. T he opinion of the first and last of these philosophers,” [continues Sir William Hamilton] “ap­ pears to me correct. You can easily make the experiment for yourselves, but you must beware of grouping the objects into classes. If you throw a handful of marbles on the floor, you will find it difficult to view at once more than six, or seven at most, without confusion; but if you group them into twos, or threes, or fives, you can comprehend as many groups as you can units; because the mind considers these groups only as units,—it views them as wholes, and throws their parts out of con­ sideration.” 4 Professor Jevons, repeating this observation, by counting instan­ taneously beans thrown into a box, found that the num ber 6 was guessed correctly 120 times out of 147, 5 correctly 102 times out of 107, and 4 and 3 always right.5 It is obvious that such observations decide nothing at all about our attention, properly so called. T hey rather measure in part the distinctness of our vision—especially of the primary-memory-image6—in part the amount of association 3 E lem en ts o f th e P h ilo s o p h y o f th e H u m a n M in d , p a rt l, ch a p . 11, fin.

* L e c tu r es on M eta p h y sics, le c tu re x iv. 5 N a tu r e, v o l. ill, p . 281 (18 71).

e I f a lo t o f dots o r strokes on a p ie c e o f p a p e r b e e x h ib ite d fo r a m o m e n t to a p e r ­ son in n o rm a l c o n d itio n , w ith th e re q u est th a t h e say h ow m a n y are th ere, h e w ill find th a t th e y b re ak in to g ro u p s in his m in d ’s eye, an d th a t w h ils t h e is a n a ly z in g and c o u n tin g o n e g ro u p in his m e m o ry th e o th ers d issolve. In sh o rt, th e im p re ssio n m ad e

384

A tten tio n

in the individual between seen arrangements and the names of numbers.7 Each number-name is a way of grasping the beans as one total object. In such a total object, all the parts converge harmoniously to the one resultant concept; no single bean has special discrepant associations of its own; and so, with practice, they may grow quite numerous ere we fail to estimate them aright. But where the ‘ob­ ject’ before us breaks into parts disconnected with each other, and forming each as it were a separate object or system, not conceivable in union with the rest, it becomes harder to apprehend all these parts at once, and the mind tends to let go of one whilst it attends to another. Still, within limits this can be done. M. Paulhan has experimented carefully on the matter by declaim ing one poem aloud whilst he repeated a different one mentally, or by writing one sentence whilst speaking another, or by perform ing calculations on paper whilst reciting poetry.8 He found that “ the most favorable condition for the doubling of the mind was its simultaneous application to two easy and heterogeneous operations. b y th e dots ch an ges r a p id ly in to s o m e th in g else. In th e tra n ce-su b ject, on th e co n tra ry , it seem s to stick-, I fin d th a t p ersons in th e h y p n o tic sta te e a s ily co u n t th e d ots in th e m in d ’s eye so lo n g as th e y d o n o t m u ch e x c ee d tw e n ty in n u m b e r. 7 M r. C a tte ll m ad e J e v o n s’s e x p e rim e n t in a m u ch m ore p recise w a y (P h ilo so p h isc h e S tu d ie n , 111, 121 ff.). C a rd s w ere ru le d w ith sh o rt lin es, v a r y in g in n u m b e r fro m fo u r to fifteen , a n d e x p o se d to th e eye fo r a h u n d re d th o f a secon d . W h e n th e n u m b e r w as b u t fo u r o r five, no m istak es as a ru le w e re m ad e. F o r h ig h e r n u m b e rs th e te n d e n cy w as to u n d e r- r a th e r th an to o v er-e stim ate . S im ila r e x p e rim e n ts w e re trie d w ith letters a n d figu res, an d g a v e th e sam e re su lt. W h e n th e le tte rs fo rm e d fa m ilia r w ord s, th re e tim es as m a n y o f th em c o u ld be n am ed as w h en th e ir c o m b in a tio n w as m ea n in gless. I f th e w o rd s fo rm ed a sen ten ce, tw ice as m a n y o f th em c o u ld be c a u g h t as w h en th ey h ad no co n n e c tio n . " T h e sen ten ce w as th en a p p re h e n d e d as a w h o le . I f n o t appreh e n d e d th u s, a lm o st n o th in g is a p p re h e n d e d o f th e several w ords; b u t i f th e sen ten ce as a w h o le is a p p re h e n d e d , th en th e w ord s a p p e a r v e r y d is tin c t.” — W u n d t an d his p u p il D ie tze h ad trie d sim ila r e x p e rim e n ts on r a p id ly re p e a te d strokes o f sou n d . W u n d t m ad e th em fo llo w each o th e r in g ro u p s, a n d fo u n d th a t g ro u p s o f tw elve strok es a t m ost c o u ld be reco gn ized a n d id e n tifie d w h en th e y su cceed ed e ach o th e r at th e m ost fa v o ra b le ra te, n a m e ly , fro m th re e to five ten th s o f a secon d (P h y sio lo g isch e P sy ch o lo g ie, 2d ed., 11, 215). D ie tze fo u n d th a t b y m e n ta lly s u b d iv id in g th e gro u p s in to su b -g ro u p s as o n e liste n e d , as m a n y as fo r ty strokes c o u ld be id e n tifie d as a w h o le . T h e y w e re th en gra sp ed as e ig h t su b -g ro u p s o f five, o r as five o f e ig h t strokes ea ch . (P h ilo s o p h is c h e S tu d ie n , 11, 362.)— L a te r in W u n d t ’s L a b o ra to ry , B e ch te re w m ad e o b se rv a tio n s on tw o sim u lta n eo u sly e la p sin g series o f m etro n o m e strokes, o f w h ich o n e co n ta in e d o n e stro k e m o re th an th e o th e r. T h e m ost fa v o r a b le ra te o f succession w as 0.3 sec., a n d he th en d isc rim in a te d a g ro u p o f 18 fro m o n e o f 18 + a p p a re n tly . (N eu ro lo g isch es C e n tr a lb la tt, 1889, 272.)

8 R e v u e S c ie n tifiq u e , vol. 39, p . 684 (M a y 28, 1887).

1,

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology

Tw o operations of the same sort, two multiplications, two recitations, or the reciting one poem and writing another, render the process more uncertain and difficult.” T h e attention often, but not always, oscillates during these per­ formances; and sometimes a word from one part of the task slips into another. I myself find when I try to simultaneously recite one thing and write another that the beginning of each word or segment of a phrase is what requires the attention. Once started, my pen runs on for a word or two as if by its own momentum. M. Paulhan compared the time occupied by the same two operations done si­ multaneously or in succession, and found that there was often a considerable gain of time from doing them simultaneously. For instance: “ I w rite the first fo u r verses o f A th a lie , w h ilst r e c itin g eleven of M usset.

The

w h o le

perform an ce

occu pies

40 seconds.

B u t recitin g

alo n e takes 22 an d w r itin g alon e 31, or 53 alto g eth er, so th at there is a d ifferen ce in favor o f the sim u ltan eo u s o p eratio n s.”

O r again: “ I m u lt ip ly 421 312 212 b y 2; the o p era tio n takes 6 seconds; th e reci­ ta tio n o f

4

verses also takes

6

seconds. B u t the tw o o p eratio n s d o n e at

on ce o n ly take 6 seconds, so th at there is n o loss o f tim e from co m b in ­ in g th em .”

O f course these time-measurements lack precision. W ith three systems of object (writing with each hand whilst reciting) the opera­ tion became much more difficult. If, then, by the original question, how many ideas or things can we attend to at once, be meant how many entirely disconnected systems or processes of conception can go on simultaneously, the answer is, not easily more than one, unless the processes are very habitual; but then two, or even three, without very much oscilla­ tion of the attention. Where, however, the processes are less auto­ matic, as in the story of Julius Caesar dictating four letters whilst he writes a fifth,9 there must be a rapid oscillation of the mind from one to the next, and no consequent gain of time. W ithin any one 9

C f. C h r is tia n W o lff: Psy cho lo gia E m p ir ic a , § 245. W o lff’s a cco u n t o f th e p h e n o m e ­

na o f a tte n tio n is in g e n e ra l e x c e lle n t.

386

A tten tion

of the systems the parts may be numberless, but we attend to them collectively when we conceive the whole which they form. W hen the things to be attended to are small sensations, and when the effort is to be exact in noting them, it is found that attention to one interferes a good deal with the perception of the other. A good deal of fine work has been done in this field, of which I must give some account. It has long been noticed, when expectant attention is concen­ trated upon one of two sensations, that the other one is apt to be displaced from consciousness for a moment and to appear subse­ quent; although in reality the two may have been contemporane­ ous events. Thus, to use the stock example of the books, the surgeon would sometimes see the blood flow from the arm of the patient whom he was bleeding, before he saw the instrument penetrate the skin. Similarly the smith may see the sparks fly before he sees the hammer smite the iron, etc. T here is thus a certain difficulty in per­ ceiving the exact date of two impressions when they do not interest our attention equally, and when they are of a disparate sort. Professor Exner, whose experiments on the m inim al perceptible succession in time of two sensations we shall have to quote in an­ other chapter, makes some noteworthy remarks about the way in which the attention must be set to catch the interval and the right order of the sensations, when the time is exceeding small. T h e point was to tell whether two signals were simultaneous or suc­ cessive; and, if successive, which one of them came first. T h e first way of attending which he found himself to fall into, was when the signals did not differ greatly—when, e.g., they were similar sounds heard each by a different ear. Here he lay in wait for the first signal, whichever it might be, and identified it the next moment in memory. T h e second, which could then always be known by default, was often not clearly distinguished in itself. W hen the time was too short, the first could not be isolated from the second at all. T h e second way was to accommodate the attention for a certain sort of signal, and the next moment to become aware in memory of whether it came before or after its mate. “ T h is w a y brings g r e a t u n c e r ta in ty w ith it. T h e im pression nQt pre­ pared for com es to us in the m em ory m ore w eak th an the other, obscure

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T h e P rin cip les of Psychology

as it were, badly fixed in time. We tend to take the subjectively stronger stimulus, that which we were intent upon, for the first, just as we are apt to take an objectively stronger stimulus to be the first. Still, it may happen otherwise. In the experiments from touch to sight it often seemed to me as if the impression for which the attention was not pre­ pared were there already when the other came.” Exner found himself em ploying this method oftenest when the impressions differed strongly.10 In such observations (which must not be confounded with those where the two signals were identical and their successiveness known as mere doubleness, without distinction of which came first), it is obvious that each signal must combine stably in our perception with a different instant of time. It is the simplest possible case of two discrepant concepts simultaneously occupying the mind. Now the case of the signals being sim ultaneous seems of a different sort. W e must turn to W undt for observations fit to cast a nearer light thereon. T h e reader w ill remember the reaction-time experiments of which we treated in Chapter III. It happened occasionally in W u ndt’s experiments that the reaction-time was reduced to zero or even assumed a negative value, which, being translated into com­ mon speech, means that the observer was sometimes so intent upon the signal that his reaction actually coincided in tim e with it, or even preceded it, instead of coming a fraction of a second after it, as in the nature of things it should. More w ill be said of these re­ sults anon. Meanwhile Wundt, in explaining them, says this: “ In general we have a very exact fee lin g o f th e sim ulta neity o f two stim u li, if they do not differ much in strength. And in a series of ex­

periments in which a warning precedes, at a fixed interval, the stimulus, we involuntarily try to react, not only as promptly as possible, but also in such wise that our movement may coincide with the stimulus itself. We seek to make our own feelings of touch and innervation [muscular contraction] objectively c o n te m p o r a n eo u s with th e signal which we hear; and experience shows that in many cases we approximately succeed. In these cases we have a distinct consciousness of hearing the signal, reacting upon it, and feeling our reaction take place,—all at one and the same moment.” 11 10 P flu g e r’s A r c h iv , x i, 429-31. 11 P h y sio lo g isch e P sy ch o lo g ie, 2d ed., 11, p . 240.

A tten tio n

In another place, W undt adds: “The difficulty of these observations and the comparative infrequency with which the reaction-time can be made thus to disappear shows how hard it is, when our attention is intense, to keep it fixed even on two different ideas at once. Note besides that when this happens, one always tries to bring the ideas into a certain connection, to grasp them as components of a certain complex representation. Thus in the experi­ ments in question, it has often seemed to me that I produced by my own recording movement the sound which the ball made in dropping on the board.” 12 T h e ‘difficulty,’ in the cases of which W undt speaks, is that of forcing two non-simultaneous events into apparent combination with the same instant of time. T h ere is no difficulty, as he admits, in so dividing our attention between two really simultaneous impres­ sions as to feel them to be such. T h e cases he describes are really cases of anachronistic perception, of subjective time-displacement, to use his own term. Still more curious cases of it have been most carefully studied by him. T h ey carry us a step farther in our re­ search, so I w ill quote them, using as far as possible his exact words: “The conditions become more complicated when we receive a series of impressions separated by distinct intervals, into the midst of which a heterogeneous impression is suddenly brought. Then comes the ques­ tion, with which member of the series do we perceive the additional impression to coincide? with that member with whose presence it really coexists, or is there some aberration? . . . If the additional stimulus be­ longs to a different sense very considerable aberrations may occur. “ The best way to experiment is with a number of visual impressions (which one can easily get from a moving object) for the series, and with a sound as the disparate impression. Let, e.g., an index-hand move over a circular scale with uniform and sufficiently slow velocity, so that the impressions it gives will not fuse, but permit its position at any instant to be distinctly seen. Let the clockwork which turns it have an arrange­ ment which rings a bell once in every revolution, but at a point which can be varied, so that the observer need never know in advance just when the bell-stroke takes place. In such observations three cases are possible. The bell-stroke can be perceived either exactly at the moment to which the index points when it sounds—in this case there will be no 12

ibid.,

p . 262.

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time-displacement; or we can combine it with a later position of the index— . . . positive time-displacement, as we shall call it; or finally we can combine it with a position of the index earlier than that at which the sound occurred—and this we will call a negative displacement. The most natural displacement would apparently be the positive, since for apperception a certain time is always required.. . . But experience shows that the opposite is the case: it happens most frequently that the sound appears earlier than its real date—far less often coincident with it, or later. It should be observed that in all these experiments it takes some time to get a distinctly perceived combination of the sound with a par­ ticular position of the index, and that a single revolution of the latter is never enough for the purpose. The motion must go on long enough for the sounds themselves to form a regular series—the outcome being a simultaneous perception of two distinct series of events, of which either may by changes in its rapidity modify the result. The first thing one remarks is that the sound belongs in a certain region of the scale; only gradually is it perceived to combine with a particular position of the index. But even a result gained by observation of many revolutions may be deficient in certainty, for accidental combinations of attention have a great influence upon it. If we deliberately try to combine the bellstroke with an arbitrarily chosen position of the index, we succeed with­ out difficulty, provided this position be not too remote from the true one. If, again, we cover the whole scale, except a single division over which we may see the index pass, we have a strong tendency to combine the bell-stroke with this actually seen position; and in so doing may easily overlook more than 14 of a second of time. Results, therefore, to be of any value, must be drawn from long-continued and very nu­ merous observations, in which such irregular oscillations of the atten­ tion neutralize each other according to the law of great numbers, and allow the true laws to appear. Although my own experiments extend over many years (with interruptions), they are not even yet numerous enough to exhaust the subject—still, they bring out the principal laws which the attention follows under such conditions.” 13 W undt accordingly distinguishes the direction from the am ount of the apparent displacement in time of the bell-stroke. T h e direc­ tion depends on the rapidity of the movement of the index and (consequently) on that of the succession of the bell-strokes. T h e moment at which the bell struck was estimated by him with the least tendency to error, when the revolutions took place once in a second. Faster than this, positive errors began to prevail; slower, negative !3 P h y sio lo g isch e P sy ch o lo g ie, 2d e d „ 11, 264-6.

A tten tio n

ones almost always were present. On the other hand, if the rapidity went quickening, errors became negative; if slowing, positive. T h e amount of error is, in general, the greater the slower the speed and its alterations. Finally, individual differences prevail, as well as dif­ ferences in the same individual at different times.14 W undt’s pupil von Tschisch has carried out these experiments on a still more elaborate scale,15 using, not only the single bell-stroke, but 2, 3, 4, or 5 simultaneous impressions, so that the attention had to note the place of the index at the moment when a whole group of things was happening. T h e single bell-stroke was always heard too early by von Tschisch—the displacement was invariably ‘nega­ tive.’ As the other simultaneous impressions were added, the dis14

T h is w as th e o rig in a l 'p e rso n a l e q u a tio n ’ o b se rv a tio n o f Bessel. A n ob server

lo o k e d th ro u g h his e q u a to ria l telesco p e to n o te th e m o m e n t a t w h ich a star crossed th e m e rid ia n , th e la tte r b e in g m ark ed in th e te le sco p ic field o f v iew b y a v isib le th re ad , besid e w h ich o th e r e q u id ista n t th re ad s a p p e a r. “ B e fo re th e sta r rea ch ed th e th re a d h e lo o k e d a t th e clo ck , a n d th en , w ith e y e a t telescope, co u n ted th e seconds b y th e b e a t o f th e p e n d u lu m . Since th e star seld om passed th e m e rid ia n a t th e e x a ct

'i

I

FiC. 35. m o m en t o f a b eat, th e ob se rv e r, in o rd e r to e stim a te fractio n s, h ad to n o te its p o sitio n a t th e strok e b e fo re a n d at th e stro k e a fte r th e passage, an d to d iv id e th e tim e as th e m e r id ia n -lin e seem ed to d iv id e th e space. If, e.g., o n e h ad co u n ted 20 seconds, a n d a t th e 21st th e sta r seem ed re m o ved b y ac from th e m e rid ia n -th re a d c, w h ilst at th e 22d it w as a t th e d ista n c e bc\ th en , if ac : be :: 1 : 2, th e sta r w o u ld h av e passed a t 211/3 seconds. T h e c o n d itio n s resem b le th ose in o u r e x p e rim e n t: th e star is th e in d ex h an d , th e th read s a re th e scale; a n d a tim e -d isp la c e m e n t is to be e x p e c te d , w h ich w ith h ig h ra p id itie s m ay be p o s itiv e , a n d n e g a tiv e w ith lo w . T h e a stro n o m ic o b se rv atio n s d o n ot p e rm it us to m ea su re its a b so lu te a m o u n t; b u t th a t it e xists is m ad e certa in b y th e fa ct th a t a fte r a ll o th e r p o ssib le errors are e lim in a te d , th ere still rem ain s b e ­ tw een d iffe re n t ob servers a p erson a l d iffe re n ce w h ich is o fte n m u ch la rg e r th an th a t b e tw e e n m ere re a ctio n -tim es, a m o u n tin g . . . som etim es to m ore th an a se co n d ." (O p . cit., p. 26g.) 15 P h ilo s o p h is c h e S tu d ie n , 11, no. 4, 603.

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placement first became zero and finally positive, i.e., the impres­ sions were connected with a position of the index that was too late. T h is retardation was greater when the simultaneous impressions were disparate (electric tactile stimuli on different places, simple touch-stimuli, different sounds) than when they were all of the same sort. T h e increment of retardation became relatively less with each additional impression, so that it is probable that six impres­ sions would have given almost the same result as five, which was the maximum num ber used by Herr von T . W undt explains all these results by his previous observation that a reaction sometimes antedates the signal (see above, p. 390). T h e mind, he supposes, is so intent upon the bell-strokes that its ‘apper­ ception’ keeps ripening periodically after each stroke in anticipation of the next. Its most natural rate of ripening may be faster or slower than the rate at which the strokes come. If faster, then it hears the stroke too early; if slower, it hears it too late. T h e position of the index on the scale, meanwhile, is noted at the moment, early or late, at which the bell-stroke is subjectively heard. Substituting several impressions for the single bell-stroke makes the ripening of the perception slower, and the index is seen too late. So, at least, do I understand the explanations which Herren W undt and von Tschisch give.16 T h is is all I have to say about the difficulty of having two dis­ 16

P h y sio lo g isch e P sy ch o lo g ic, 2d ed., n, 273-4; 3d e d ., 11, 339; P h ilo s o p h is c h e S tu d ie n ,

11, 621 fF.—I k n o w th a t I a m s tu p id , b u t I confess I find these th e o re tica l sta te m e n ts, e sp e c ia lly W u n d t's , a lit t le h azy. H e r r von T s c h is c h con sid ers it im p o ssib le t h a t th e p e rc e p tio n o f th e in d ex 's p o sitio n sh o u ld co m e in too la te, a n d says it d em a n d s no p a r tic u la r a tte n tio n (p . 622). It seem s, h o w ev e r, th a t th is can h a r d ly b e th e case. B o th o b servers speak o f th e d iffic u lty o f se e in g th e in d e x a t th e rig h t m o m en t. T h e case is q u ite d iffe re n t fro m th a t o f d is tr ib u tin g th e a tte n tio n im p a r tia lly o v e r s im u lta ­ n eou s m o m e n ta ry sen satio n s. T h e b e ll o r o th e r sig n a l gives a m o m e n ta ry se n satio n , th e in d e x a c o n tin u o u s o n e, o f m o tio n . T o n o te a n y o n e p o sitio n o f th e la tte r is to in te r r u p t th is sen sa tio n o f m o tio n a n d to s u b stitu te an e n tir e ly d iffe re n t p e rc e p t—on e, n a m e ly , o f p o s itio n — fo r it, d u r in g a tim e h o w ev e r b rie f. T h is in vo lve s a su d d e n ch an g e in th e m a n n e r o f a tte n d in g to th e re v o lu tio n s o f th e in d e x ; w h ich ch an g e o u g h t to tak e p la c e n e ith e r so on er n o r la te r th an th e m o m e n ta ry im p ression , a n d fix th e in d e x as it is th en a n d th ere v is ib le . N ow this is n o t a case o f sim p ly g e ttin g tw o sen satio n s a t o n c e a n d so fe e lin g th e m — w h ic h w o u ld b e an h a rm o n io u s act; b u t o f sto p p in g o n e a n d c h a n g in g it in to a n o th e r, w h ilst w e sim u lta n e o u sly g e t a th ird . T w o o f th ese acts a re d isc re p a n t, a n d th e w h o le th re e r a th e r in te rfe re w ith e ach o th e r. It becom es h a rd to 'fix ’ th e in d e x a t th e v e r y in sta n t th a t w e catch th e m o m e n ta ry im p ressio n ; so w e fa ll in to a w a y o f fix in g it e ith e r a t th e la st p o ssib le m o m e n t b e ­ fore, o r a t th e first p o ssib le m o m e n t a fte r, th e im p ressio n com es. T h is a t least seem s to m e th e m o re p r o b a b le sta te o f a ffa irs. I f w e fix th e in d e x b e fo re

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crepant concepts together, and about the num ber of things to which we can simultaneously attend. T H E V A R IE T IE S O F A T T E N T IO N

T h e things to which we attend are said to interest us. O ur interest in them is supposed to be the cause of our attending. W hat makes an object interesting we shall see presently; and later inquire in what sense interest may cause attention. Meanwhile Attention may be divided into kinds in various ways. It is either to a) Objects of sense (sensorial attention); or to b) Ideal or represented objects (intellectual attention). It is either c ) Immediate; or d) Derived: immediate, when the topic or stimulus is interesting in itself, without relation to anything else; derived, when it owes its interest to association with some other immediately interesting thing. W hat I call derived attention has been named ‘apperceptive’ attention. Furthermore, Attention may be either th e im p ressio n r e a lly com es, th a t m ean s th a t w e p e rc e iv e it too la te. B u t w h y d o w e fix it b efo re w h en th e im p ressio n s com e slow a n d sim p le , a n d a fter w h en th e y com e r a p id an d co m p le x ? A n d w h y u n d e r c e rta in c o n d itio n s is th ere no d isp la ce m e n t at all? T h e a n sw e r w h ic h suggests its e lf is th a t w h en th e r e is ju s t e n o u g h le isu re b e tw e e n th e im p ression s fo r th e a tte n tio n to a d a p t itse lf c o m fo rta b ly b o th to th em a n d to th e in d e x (on e secon d in W .’s e x p e rim e n ts) it carries on th e tw o processes a t on ce; w h en th e le isu re is exc essive, th e a tte n tio n , fo llo w in g its o w n law s o f r ip e n in g , an d b e in g ready to n o te th e in d e x b e fo re th e o th e r im p ressio n com es, notes it th e n , sin ce th a t is th e m o m e n t o f easiest a c tio n , w h ils t th e im p ressio n , w h ich com es a m o m e n t la te r, in te rfe re s w ith n o tin g it a g a in ; a n d fin a lly , th a t w h en th e le isu re is in su fficien t, th e m o m e n ta ry im pression s, b e in g th e m o re fixed d a ta , a re a tte n d e d to first, a n d th e in d e x is fix e d a lit t le la te r o n . T h e n o tin g o f th e in d e x a t too e a r ly a m o m e n t w o u ld b e th e n o tin g o f a re a l fact, w ith its a n a lo g u e in m a n y o th e r r h y th m ic a l e x p e rie n ces. In rea c tio n -tim e e x p e rim e n ts, fo r e x a m p le , w h en , in a r e g u la r ly re c u rrin g series, th e s tim u ­ lu s is o n ce in a w h ile o m itte d , th e o b se rv e r som etim es reacts as if it cam e. H e re , as W u n d t so m e w h e re ob serves, w e catch o u rselv es a c tin g m e re ly b ecau se o u r in w ard p re p a ra tio n is c o m p le te . T h e 'fix in g ’ o f th e in d e x is a so rt o f a ctio n ; so th a t m y in te rp re ta tio n ta llie s w ith facts re co gn ize d elsew h ere; b u t W u n d t ’s e x p la n a tio n (if I u n d e rs ta n d it) o f th e e x p e rim e n ts re q u ire s u s to b e lie v e th a t a n o b se rv e r lik e v o n T s c h is c h s h a ll s te a d ily an d w ith o u t e x c e p tio n g e t an h a llu c in a tio n o f a b e ll-stro k e b e fo re th e la tte r o ccu rs, a n d n ot hea r th e real b ell-stro k e afterw ards. I d o u b t w h e th e r this is p o ssib le , a n d I can th in k o f no a n a lo g u e to it in th e rest o f o u r e x p e rie n ce . T h e w h o le su b je c t d eserves to be g o n e o v e r a g a in . T o W u n d t is d u e th e h ig h e s t cre d it fo r his p a tie n c e in w o rk in g o u t th e facts. H is e x p la n a tio n o f th em in his e a r lie r w o rk ( V orlesu n g en ü b e r M en sch en - u n d T h ie r s e e le , 1, 37-42 , 3 6 5 -371) con sisted m e re ly in th e a p p e a l to th e u n ity o f con sciou sn ess, a n d m ay b e c o n sid e re d q u ite cru d e.

393

T h e Principles o f Psychology e) Passive, reflex, non-voluntary, effortless; or f) Active and voluntary. Voluntary attention is always derived.-, we never make an effort to attend to an object except for the sake o f some rem ote interest

which the effort will serve. But both sensorial and intellectual at­ tention may be either passive or voluntary. In passive im m ediate sensorial attention the stimulus is a senseimpression, either very intense, voluminous, or sudden,—in which case it makes no difference what its nature may be, whether sight, sound, smell, blow, or inner pain,—or else it is an instinctive stimu­ lus, a perception which, by reason of its nature rather than its mere force, appeals to some one of our normal congenital impulses and has a directly exciting quality. In the chapter on Instinct we shall see how these stimuli differ from one animal to another, and what most of them are in man: strange things, moving things, wild ani­ mals, bright things, pretty things, metallic things, words, blows, blood, etc., etc., etc. Sensitiveness to immediately exciting sensorial stimuli charac­ terizes the attention of childhood and youth. In mature age we have generally selected those stimuli which are connected with one or more so-called permanent interests, and our attention has grown irresponsive to the rest.17 But childhood is characterized by great active energy, and has few organized interests by which to meet new impressions and decide whether they are worthy of notice or not, and the consequence is that extreme m obility of the attention with which we are all familiar in children, and which makes their first lessons such rough affairs. A n y strong sensation whatever produces accommodation of the organs which perceive it, and absolute ob­ livion, for the time being, of the task in hand. T h is reflex and passive character of the attention which, as a French writer says, makes the child seem to belong less to himself than to every object which happens to catch his notice, is the first thing which the teacher must overcome. It never is overcome in some people, whose work, to the end of life, gets done in the interstices of their mindwandering. T h e passive sensorial attention is derived when the impression, without being either strong or of an instinctively exciting nature, is connected by previous experience and education with things that 1? N o te th a t th e p e rm a n e n t in terests a re th em selv es g ro u n d e d

a n d re la tio n s in w h ic h o u r in te re st is im m e d ia te a n d in stin ctive .

in ce rta in o b jects

A tten tio n

are so. These things may be called the m otives of the attention. T h e impression draws an interest from them, or perhaps it even fuses into a single complex object with them; the result is that it is brought into the focus of the mind. A faint tap per se is not an interesting sound; it may well escape being discriminated from the general rumor of the world. But when it is a signal, as that of a lover on the window-pane, it w ill hardly go unperceived. Herbart writes: “How a bit of bad grammar wounds the ear of the purist! How a false note hurts the musician! or an offence against good manners the man of the world! How rapid is progress in a science when its first principles have been so well impressed upon us that we reproduce them mentally with perfect distinctness and ease! How slow and uncertain, on the other hand, is our learning of the principles themselves, when familiarity with the still more elementary percepts connected with the subject has not given us an adequate predisposition!—Apperceptive at­ tention may be plainly observed in very small children when, hearing the speech of their elders, as yet unintelligible to them, they suddenly catch a single known word here and there, and repeat it to themselves; yes! even in the dog who looks round at us when we speak of him and pronounce his name. Not far removed is the talent which mind-wander­ ing school boys display during the hours of instruction, of noticing every moment in which the teacher tells a story. I remember classes in which, instruction being uninteresting, and discipline relaxed, a buzzing murmur was always to be heard, which invariably stopped for as long a time as an anecdote lasted. How could the boys, since they seemed to hear nothing, notice when the anecdote began? Doubtless most of them always heard something of the teacher’s talk; but most of it had no connection with their previous knowledge and occupations, and therefore the separate words no sooner entered their consciousness than they fell out of it again; but, on the other hand, no sooner did the words awaken old thoughts, forming strongly-connected series with which the new impression easily combined, than out of new and old together a total interest resulted which drove the vagrant ideas below the threshold of consciousness, and brought for a while settled atten­ tion into their place.” 18 Passive intellectua l attention is immediate when we follow in thought a train of images exciting or interesting per se; derived, when the images are interesting only as means to a remote end, or 18 H erbaj-t: P sy ch o lo g ic als JVissenschaft, § 128.

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merely because they are associated with something which makes them dear. O w ing to the way in which immense numbers of real things become integrated into single objects of thought for us, there is no clear line to be drawn between immediate and derived attention of an intellectual sort. W hen absorbed in intellectual attention we may become so inattentive to outer things as to be ‘absent-minded,’ ‘abstracted,’ or ‘distraits.’ A ll revery or concen­ trated meditation is apt to throw us into this state. “Archimedes, it is well known, was so absorbed in a geometrical meditation, that he was first aware of the storming of Syracuse by his own death-wound, and his exclamation on the entrance of Roman sol­ diers was,—N oli turbare circulos meos. In like manner, Joseph Scaliger, the most learned of men, when a Protestant student in Paris, was so engrossed in the study of Homer, that he became aware of the massacre of St Bartholomew, and of his own escape, only on the day subsequent to the catastrophe. The philosopher Carneades was habitually liable to fits of meditation so profound, that, to prevent him sinking from inani­ tion, his maid found it necessary to feed him like a child. And it is reported of Newton, that, while engaged in his mathematical researches, he sometimes forgot to dine. Cardan, one of the most illustrious of philosophers and mathematicians, was once, upon a journey, so lost in thought, that he forgot both his way and the object of his journey. T o the questions of his driver whither he should proceed, he made no answer; and when he came to himself at nightfall, he was surprised to find the carriage at a stand-still, and directly under a gallows. The mathematician Vieta was sometimes so buried in meditation, that for hours he bore more resemblance to a dead person than to a living, and was then wholly unconscious of everything going on around him. On the day of his marriage, the great Budaeus forgot everything in his philological speculations, and he was only awakened to the affairs of the external world by a tardy embassy from the marriage-party, who found him absorbed in the composition of his Commentarii.” 19 T h e absorption may be so deep as not only to banish ordinary sensations, but even the severest pain. Pascal, Wesley, Robert Hall, are said to have had this capacity. Dr. Carpenter says of himself that “ he has frequently begun a lecture, whilst suffering neuralgic pain so severe as to make him apprehend that he would find it impossible to 19 S ir W illia m H a m ilto n : M eta p h y s ics, le c tu re x iv .

A tten tio n proceed ; yet n o sooner has he, b y a d eterm in ed effort, fa ir ly la u n ch e d h im self in to th e stream o f th o u g h t, th a n he has fo u n d h im self con ­ tin u o u sly bo rn e a lo n g w ith o u t th e least d istraction , u n til th e en d has com e, a n d th e a tte n tio n has been released; w h en th e p a in has recurred w ith a force th a t has over-m astered a ll resistance, m a k in g h im w o n d er how h e co u ld h a ve ever ceased to feel it.” 20

Dr. Carpenter speaks of launching himself by a determined effort. T h is effort characterizes what we called active or voluntary attention. It is a feeling which everyone knows, but which most

people would call quite indescribable. W e get it in the sensorial sphere whenever we seek to catch an impression of extreme fain t­ ness, be it of sight, hearing, taste, smell, or touch; we get it when­ ever we seek to discrim inate a sensation merged in a mass of others that are similar; we get it whenever we resist the attractions of more potent stimuli and keep our mind occupied with some object that is naturally unimpressive. W e get it in the intellectual sphere under exactly similar conditions: as when we strive to sharpen and make distinct an idea which we but vaguely seem to have; or painfully discriminate a shade of meaning from its similars; or resolutely hold fast to a thought so discordant with our impulses that, if left un­ aided, it would quickly yield place to images of an exciting and impassioned kind. A ll forms of attentive effort would be exercised at once by one whom we might suppose at a dinner-party resolutely to listen to a neighbor giving him insipid and unwelcome advice in a low voice, whilst all around the guests were loudly laughing and talking about exciting and interesting things. T h e r e is no such thing as voluntary attention sustained for more than a few seconds at a tim e. W hat is called sustained voluntary

attention is a repetition of successive efforts which bring back the topic to the mind.21 T h e topic once brought back, if a congenial one, develops ; and if its development is interesting it engages the attention passively for a time. Dr. Carpenter, a moment back, de­ scribed the stream of thought, once entered, as ‘bearing him along.’ T h is passive interest may be short or long. As soon as it flags, the 20 M e n ta l P h y sio lo g y , § 124. T h e o ft-cite d case o f sold iers n o t p e rc e iv in g th a t th ey are w o u n d e d is o f an a n a lo g o u s sort. 21 P r o f. J. M . C a tte ll m ad e e x p e rim e n ts to w h ich w e sh a ll r e fe r fu rth e r on , on the d eg re e to w h ic h re a ctio n -tim es m ig h t be sh o rte n e d b y d istra c tin g o r v o lu n ta r ily c o n c e n tr a tin g th e a tte n tio n . H e says o f th e la tte r series th a t “ th e a verages sh ow th a t th e a tte n tio n can be h e ld stra in e d , th a t is, th e cen tres k e p t in a sta te o f u n sta b le e q u ilib r iu m fo r o n e se c o n d ” (M in d , x i, 240).

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attention is diverted by some irrelevant thing, and then a voluntary effort may bring it back to the topic again; and so on, under favor­ able conditions, for hours together. D uring all this time, however, note that it is not an identical object in the psychological sense (p. 265), but a succession of m utually related objects form ing an iden­ tical topic only, upon which the attention is fixed. N o one can possibly attend continuously to an object that does not change.

N ow there are always some objects that for the time being w ill not develop. T h e y simply go out; and to keep the mind upon any­ thing related to them requires such incessantly renewed effort that the most resolute W ill ere long gives out and lets its thoughts fol­ low the more stimulating solicitations after it has withstood them for what length of time it can. T h ere are topics known to every man from which he shies like a frightened horse, and which to get a glimpse of is to shun. Such are his ebbing assets to the spend­ thrift in full career. But why single out the spendthrift when to every man actuated by passion the thought of interests which negate the passion can hardly for more than a fleeting instant stay before the mind? It is like ‘memento m ori’ in the heyday of the pride of life. Nature rises at such suggestions, and excludes them from the view :—How long, O healthy reader, can you now continue think­ ing of your tomb?—In m ilder instances the difficulty is as great, especially when the brain is fagged. One snatches at any and every passing pretext, no matter how trivial or external, to escape from the odiousness of the matter in hand. I know a person, for example, who will poke the fire, set chairs straight, pick dust-specks from the floor, arrange his table, snatch up the newspaper, take down any book which catches his eye, trim his nails, waste the morning anyhow, in short, and all without premeditation,—simply because the only thing he ought to attend to is the preparation of a noon­ day lesson in formal logic which he detests. Anything but thatl Once more, the object must change. W hen it is one of sight, it w ill actually become invisible; when of hearing, inaudible,—if we attend to it too unmovingly. Helmholtz, who has put his sensorial attention to the severest tests, by using his eyes on objects which in common life are expressly overlooked, makes some interesting re­ marks on this point in his chapter on retinal rivalry.22 T h e phe­ nomenon called by that name is this, that if we look with each eye upon a different picture (as in the annexed stereoscopic slide), 22 P h y sio lo g isc h e O p tik , § 32.

398

A tten tio n

sometimes one picture, sometimes the other, or parts of both, will come to consciousness, but hardly ever both combined. Helm­ holtz now says: “I find that I am able to attend voluntarily, now to one and now to the other system of lines; and that then this system remains visible alone for a certain time, whilst the other completely vanishes. This happens, for example, whenever I try to count the lines first of one and then of the other system. . . . But it is extremely hard to chain the attention down to one of the systems for long, unless we associate with our looking some distinct purpose which keeps the activity of the at­ tention perpetually renewed. Such a one is counting the lines, compar­ ing their intervals, or the like. An equilibrium of the attention, persis­ tent for any length of time, is under no circumstances attainable. The natural tendency of attention when left to itself is to wander to ever new things; and so soon as the interest of its object is over, so soon as nothing new is to be noticed there, it passes, in spite of our will, to something else. If we wish to keep it upon one and the same object, we must seek constantly to find out something new about the latter, espe­ cially if other powerful impressions are attracting us away.” A nd again criticising an author who had treated of attention as an activity absolutely subject to the conscious will, Helmholtz writes: “This is only restrictedly true. We move our eyes by our will; but one without training cannot so easily execute the intention of making them converge. At any moment, however, he can execute that of look­ ing at a near object, in which act convergence is involved. Now just as little can we carry out our purpose to keep our attention steadily fixed upon a certain object, when our interest in the object is exhausted,

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and the purpose is inwardly formulated in this abstract way. But we can set ourselves new questions about the object, so that a new interest in it arises, and then the attention will remain riveted. The relation of attention to will is, then, less one of immediate than of mediate control.” T hese words of Helmholtz are of fundamental importance. And if true of sensorial attention, how much more true are they of the intellectual variety! T h e con ditio sine qua non of sustained atten­ tion to a given topic of thought is that we should roll it over and over incessantly and consider different aspects and relations of it in turn. O nly in pathological states will a fixed and ever monoto­ nously recurring idea possess the mind. A nd now we can see why it is that what is called sustained atten­ tion is the easier, the richer in acquisitions and the fresher and more original the mind. In such minds, subjects bud and sprout and grow. A t every moment, they please by a new consequence and rivet the attention afresh. But an intellect unfurnished with ma­ terials, stagnant, unoriginal, will hardly be likely to consider any subject long. A glance exhausts its possibilities of interest. Geniuses are commonly believed to excel other men in their power of sus­ tained attention.23 In most of them, it is to be feared, the so-called ‘power’ is of the passive sort. T h e ir ideas coruscate, every subject branches infinitely before their fertile minds, and so for hours they may be rapt. B u t it is their genius m aking them attentive, not their attention m aking geniuses of them . And, when we come down to the root of the matter, we see that they differ from ordinary men less in the character of their attention than in the nature of the objects upon which it is successively bestowed. In the genius, these form a concatenated series, suggesting each other m utually by some rational law. T herefore we call the attention ‘sustained’ and the topic of meditation for hours ‘the same.’ In the common man the 2 3 “ ‘ G e n iu s,’ says H e lv c tiu s , 'is n o th in g b u t a c o n tin u e d a tte n tio n ,’ (u n e a tten tio n

su ivie). ‘ G e n iu s,’ says B u ffo n , ‘ is o n ly a p r o tr a c te d p a tie n c e ,’ (u n e lo n g u e p a tie n ce ). ‘In th e e x a c t sciences, a t le a st,’ says C u v ie r , 'it is th e p a tie n c e o f a sou n d in te lle ct, w h e n in v in c ib le , w h ic h tr u ly co n stitu tes g e n iu s.’ A n d C h e ste rfie ld has a lso o b served , th a t ‘ th e p o w e r o f a p p ly in g an a tte n tio n , ste a d y a n d u n d issip a te d , to a sin g le o b je ct, is th e su re m ark o f a s u p e rio r g e n iu s.’ ” ( H a m ilto n : L e ctu r es on M eta p h y sics, le ctu re x lv.)

400

A tten tio n

series is for the most part incoherent, the objects have no rational bond, and we call the attention wandering and unfixed. It is probable that genius tends actually to prevent a man from acquiring habits of voluntary attention, and that moderate intel­ lectual endowments are the soil in which we may best expect, here as elsewhere, the virtues of the will, strictly so called, to thrive. But, whether the attention come by grace of genius or by dint of will, the longer one does attend to a topic the more mastery of it one has. A nd the faculty of voluntarily bringing back a wandering attention, over and over again, is the very root of judgment, character, and will. No one is com pos sui if he have it not. A n education which should improve this faculty would be the education par excellence. But it is easier to define this ideal than to give practical directions for bringing it about. T h e only general pedagogic maxim bearing on attention is that the more interest the child has in advance in the subject, the better he will attend. Induct him therefore in such a way as to knit each new thing on to some acquisition already there; and if possible awaken curiosity, so that the new thing shall seem to come as an answer, or part of an answer, to a question pre­ existing in his mind. A t present having described the varieties, let us turn to T H E E F F E C T S O F A T T E N T IO N

Its remote effects are too incalculable to be recorded. T h e prac­ tical and theoretical life of whole species, as well as of individual beings, results from the selection which the habitual direction of their attention involves. In Chapters X IV and X V some of these consequences will come to light. Suffice it meanwhile that each of us literally chooses, by his ways of attending to things, what sort of a universe he shall appear to himself to inhabit. T h e immediate effects of attention are to make us: a) perceive— b) conceive— c) distinguish­ ed remember— better than otherwise we could—both more successive things and each thing more clearly. It also e) shortens ‘reaction-time.’

401

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology a and b. Most people would say that a sensation attended to be­ comes stronger than it otherwise would be. T h is point is, however, not quite plain, and has occasioned some discussion.24 From the strength or intensity of a sensation must be distinguished its clear­ ness; and to increase this is, for some psychologists, the utmost that attention can do. W hen the facts are surveyed, however, it must be admitted that to some extent the relative intensity of two sen­ sations may be changed when one of them is attended to and the other not. Every artist knows how he can make a scene before his eyes appear warmer or colder in color, according to the way he sets his attention. If for warm, he soon begins to see the red color start out of everything; if for cold, the blue. Similarly in listening for certain notes in a chord, or overtones in a musical sound, the one we attend to sounds probably a little more loud as well as more em­ phatic than it did before. W hen we mentally break a series of mo­ notonous strokes into a rhythm, by accentuating every second or third one, etc., the stroke on which the stress of attention is laid seems to become stronger as well as more emphatic. T h e increased visibility of optical after-images and of double images, which close attention brings about, can hardly be interpreted otherwise than as a real strengthening of the retinal sensations themselves. A nd this view is rendered particularly probable by the fact that an imagined visual object may, if attention be concentrated upon it long enough, acquire before the mind's eye almost the brilliancy of reality, and (in the case of certain exceptionally gifted observers) leave a nega­ tive after-image of itself when it passes away (see Chapter X V III). Confident expectation of a certain intensity or quality of impression will often make us sensibly see or hear it in an object which really falls far short of it. In face of such facts it is rash to say that attention cannot make a sense-impression more intense. But, on the other hand, the intensification which may be brought about seems never to lead the judgm ent astray. As we rightly per­ ceive and name the same color under various lights, the same sound at various distances; so we seem to make an analogous sort of allow­ ance for the varying amounts of attention with which objects are viewed; and whatever changes of feeling the attention may bring 24 See, e.g., U lr ic i: L e ib u n d S eele, 11, 28; L o tz e : M eta p h y sic, § 273; F e ch n e r: R e v isio n

d er H a u p tp u n c te d e r P sy ch o p h y sik , x ix ; G . E . M u lle r: Z u r T h e o r ie d e r sin n lic h e n A u jm e r k s a m k e it, § 1; S tu m p f: T o n p s y c h o lo g ie , 1, 7 1 .

402

A tten tio n

we charge, as it were, to the attention’s account, and still perceive and conceive the object as the same. “A gray paper appears to us no lighter, the pendulum-beat of a clock no louder, no matter how much we increase the strain of our at­ tention upon them. No one, by doing this, can make the gray paper look white, or the stroke of the pendulum sound like the blow of a strong hammer,—everyone, on the contrary, feels the increase as that of his own conscious activity turned upon the thing.” 25 W ere it otherwise, we should not be able to note intensities by attending to them. W eak impressions would, as Stumpf says,26 be­ come stronger by the very fact of being observed. “I should not be able to observe faint sounds at all, but only such as appeared to me of maximal strength, or at least of a strength that increased with the amount of my observation. In reality, however, I can, with steadily increasing attention, follow a diminuendo perfectly well.” T h e subject is one which would well repay exact experiment, if methods could be devised. M eanwhile there is no question what­ ever that attention augments the clearness of all that we perceive or conceive by its aid. But what is meant by clearness here? c. Clearness, so far as attention produces it, means distinction from other things and internal analysis or subdivision. T hese are essentially products of intellectual discrim ination, involving com­

parison, memory, and perception of various relations. T h e atten­ tion per se does not distinguish and analyze and relate. T h e most we can say is that it is a condition of our doing so. A nd as these processes are to be described later, the clearness they produce had better not be farther discussed here. T h e important point to notice here is that it is not attention’s im m ediate fruit.27 d. W hatever future conclusion we may reach as to this, we can­ not deny that an object once attended to w ill remain in the memory, 2 5 F e c h n e r: o p . cit., p . 271. 26 T o n p sy c h o lo g ie, 1, p . 71.

27 C o m p a re , on clearn ess as th e essen tial fr u it o f a tte n tio n , L o tz e ’s M e ta p h y s ic , § * 73 -

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whilst one inattentively allowed to pass w ill leave no traces behind. Already in Chapter V I (see pp. 165 ff.) we discussed whether certain states of mind were ‘unconscious,’ or whether they were not rather states to which no attention had been paid, and of whose passage recollection could afterwards find no vestiges. D ugald Stewart says:28 “ T h e connexion between attention and memory has been remarked by many authors.” He quotes Quintilian, Locke, and Helvetius; and goes on at great length to explain the phenomena of ‘secondary au­ tomatism’ (see above, p. 119 ff.) by the presence of a mental action grown so inattentive as to preserve no memory of itself. In our chap­ ter on Memory, later on, the point will come up again. e. Under this head, the shortening of reaction-time, there is a good deal to be said of A ttention’s effects. Since W undt has prob­ ably worked over the subject more thoroughly than any other in­ vestigator and made it peculiarly his own, what follows had better, as far as possible, be in his words. T h e reader w ill remember the method and results of experimentation on ‘reaction-time,’ as given in Chapter III. T h e facts I proceed to quote may also be taken as a supplement to that chapter. W undt writes:

“ When we wait with strained attention for a stimulus, it will often happen that instead of registering the stimulus, we react upon some entirely different impression,—and this not through confounding the one with the other. On the contrary, we are perfectly well aware at the moment of making the movement that we respond to the wrong stimulus. Sometimes even, though not so often, the latter may be an­ other kind of sensation altogether,—one may, for example, in experi­ menting with sound, register a flash of light, produced either by acci­ dent or design. We cannot well explain these results otherwise than by assuming that the strain of the attention towards the impression we expect coexists with a preparatory innervation of the motor centre for the reaction, which innervation the slightest shock then suffices to turn into an actual discharge. This shock may be given by any chance im­ pression, even by one to which we never intended to respond. When the preparatory innervation has once reached this pitch of intensity, the time that intervenes between the stimulus and the contraction of the muscles which react, may become vanishingly small.” 29 28 E le m e n ts , p a r t i, c h a p . n. 29 P h y sio lo g isc h e P sy ch o lo g ie, 2d ed., 11, 226.

404

A tten tio n

“T he perception of an impression is facilitated when the impression is preceded by a warning which announces beforehand that it is about to occur. This case is realized whenever several stimuli follow each other at equal intervals,—when, e.g., we note pendulum movements by the eye, or pendulum-strokes by the ear. Each single stroke forms here the signal for the next, which is thus met by a fully prepared at­ tention. T he same thing happens when the stimulus to be perceived is preceded, at a certain interval, by a single warning: the time is always notably shortened. . . . I have made comparative observations on reac­ tion-time with and without a warning signal. T he impression to be reacted on was the sound made by the dropping of a ball on the board of the ‘drop apparatus.’ . . . In a first series no warning preceded the stroke of the ball; in the second, the noise made by the apparatus in liberating the ball served as a signal. . . . Here are the averages of two series of such experiments: H e ig h t o f F a ll

A v e ra g e

0.266 0.175

M ea n E rro r

N o .o f E x p t s .

0.051 0.060

13 17

0.036

14 !7

“ . . . In a long series of experiments (the interval between warning and stimulus remaining the same), the reaction-time grows less and less, and it is possible occasionally to reduce it to a vanishing quantity (a few thousandths of a second), to zero, or even to a negative value.30 . . . The only ground that we can assign for this phenomenon is the preparation (vorbereitende Spannung) of the attention. It is easy to understand that the reaction-time should be shortened by this means; but that it should sometimes sink to zero and even assume negative values, may appear surprising. Nevertheless this latter case is also explained by what happens in the simple reaction-time experiments” just referred to, in which, “when the strain of the attention has reached its climax, the movement we stand ready to execute escapes from the control of our will, and we register a wrong signal. In these other ex­ periments, in which a warning foretells the moment of the stimulus, it is also plain that attention accommodates itself so exactly to the latter’s reception that no sooner is it objectively given than it is fully apperceived, and with the apperception the motor discharge coin­ cides.”31 30 B y a n e g a tiv e v a lu e o f th e re a c tio n -tim e W u n d t m ean s th e case o f th e re a ctive

m o v e m e n t o c c u rrin g b efo re th e stim u lu s. 31 O p . cit., ii, 239.

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T h e Principles of Psychology

Usually, when the impression is fully anticipated, attention pre­ pares the motor centres so completely for both stimulus and reaction that the only time lost is that of the physiological conduction down­ wards. But even this interval may disappear, i.e., the stimulus and reaction may become objectively contemporaneous; or more re­ markable still, the reaction may be discharged before the stimulus has actually occurred.32 Wundt, as we saw some pages back (p. 388), explains this by the effort of the mind so to react that we may feel our own movement and the signal which prompts it, both at the same instant. As the execution of the movement must precede our feeling of it, so it must also precede the stimulus, if that and our movement are to be felt at once. T he peculiar theoretic interest of these experiments lies in their show ing expectant attention and sensation to be continuous or id en ­ tical processes, since they may have identical m otor effects. Although

other exceptional observations show them likewise to be continuous subjectively, W undt’s experiments do not: he seems never, at the

moment of reacting prematurely, to have been misled into the belief that the real stimulus was there. As concentrated attention accelerates perception, so, conversely, perception of a stimulus is retarded by anything w hich either baffles or distracts the attention with which we await it. “ If, e.g., we make reactions on a sound in such a way that weak and strong stimuli irregularly alternate so that the observer can never expect a determinate strength with any certainty, the reaction-time for all the various signals is increased,—and so is the average error. I ap­ pend two examples.. . . In Series I a strong and a weak sound alternated regularly, so that the intensity was each time known in advance. In II they came irregularly. I. Regular Alternation A verage T im e

............................... 0.116" Strong sound Weak sound . . . . ............................... 0.127" II. Irregular Alternation Strong sound . . ............................... 0.189" Weak sound . . . . ............................... 0.298"

A verage E rro r No. o f E xp ts.

0.010" 0.012" 0.038" 0.076"

18 9 9

15

32 T h e reader m ust not suppose this phenom enon to be o f frequen t occurrence. E xperien ced observers, like E xn e r and C attell, deny h avin g m et w ith it in their per­ sonal experience.

406

Attention

“Still greater is the increase of the time when, unexpeo J y into a series of strong impressions, a weak one is interpolated, or vice versa. In this way I have seen the time of reaction upon a sound so weak as to be barely perceived rise to 0.4" or 0.5", and for a strong sound to 0.25". It is also matter of general experience that a stimulus expected in a general way, but for whose intensity attention cannot be adapted in advance, demands a longer reaction-time. In such cases . . . the reason for the difference can only lie in the fact that wherever a prepa­ ration of the attention is impossible, the time of both perception and volition is prolonged. Perhaps also the conspicuously large reactiontimes which are got with stimuli so faint as to be just perceptible may be explained by the attention tending always to adapt itself for some­ thing more than this minimal amount of stimulus, so that a state ensues similar to that in the case of unexpected stimuli. . . . Still more than by previously unknown stimuli is the reaction-time prolonged by wholly unexpected impressions. This is sometimes accidentally brought about, when the observer's attention, instead of being concentrated on the coming signal, is dispersed. It can be realized purposely by suddenly thrusting into a long series of equidistant stimuli a much shorter inter­ val which the observer does not expect. The mental effect here is like that of being startled;—often the startling is outwardly visible. The time of reaction may then easily be lengthened to one quarter of a second with strong signals, or with weak ones to a half-second. Slighter, but still very noticeable, is the retardation when the experiment is so ar­ ranged that the observer, ignorant whether the stimulus is to be an impression of light, sound, or touch, cannot keep his attention turned to any particular sense-organ in advance. One notices then at the same time a peculiar unrest, as the feeling of strain which accompanies the attention keeps vacillating between the several senses. “ Complications of another sort arise when what is registered is an impression anticipated both in point of quality and strength, but ac­ companied by other stimuli which make the concentration of the atten­ tion difficult. The reaction-time is here always more or less prolonged. The simplest case of the sort is where a momentary impression is regis­ tered in the midst of another, and continuous, sensorial-stimulation of considerable strength. The continuous stimulus may belong to the same sense as the stimulus to be reacted on, or to another. When it is of the same sense, the retardation it causes may be partly due to the distraction of the attention by it, but partly also to the fact that the stimulus to be reacted on stands out less strongly than if alone, and practically becomes a less intense sensation. But other factors in reality are present; for we find the reaction-time more prolonged by the con­ comitant stimulation when the stimulus is weak than when it is strong. I made experiments in which the principal impression, or signal for re­

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T h e Principles of Psychology

action, was a bell-stroke whose strength could be graduated by a spring against the hammer with a movable counterpoise. Each set of obser­ vations comprised two series; in one of which the bell-stroke was regis­ tered in the ordinary way, whilst in the other a toothed wheel belong­ ing to the chronometric apparatus made during the entire experiment a steady noise against a metal spring. In one half of the latter series (A) the bell-stroke was only moderately strong, so that the accompanying noise diminished it considerably, without, however, making it indistin­ guishable. In the other half (B) the bell-sound was so loud as to be heard with perfect distinctness above the noise. M ean

A (Bell-stroke moderate) B (Bell-stroke loud)

M axim u m M in im um

No. o f E xp ts.

Without noise

0.189

O.244

0.156

21

With noise.........

O.313

°-499

0.183

16

. 0.158

0.206

0 13 3

20

0.203

O.295

0.140

!9

Without noise With noise..........

“ Since, in these experiments, the sound B even with noise made a considerably stronger impression than the sound A without, we must see in the figures a direct influence of the disturbing noise on the pro­ cess of reaction. This influence is freed from mixture with other factors when the momentary stimulus and the concomitant disturbance appeal to different senses. I chose, to test this, sight and hearing. The momen­ tary signal was an induction-spark leaping from one platinum point to another against a dark background. The steady stimulation was the noise above described. Spark

M ean

M axim u m

Without n o ise................... 0.222 With n o ise......................... 0.300

0.284 0-390

M in im um N o .o fE x p t s .

0.158 0.250

20 18

“When one reflects that in the experiments with one and the same sense the relative intensity of the signal is always depressed [which by itself is a retarding condition] the amount of retardation in these last observations makes it probable that the disturbing influence upon atten­ tion is greater when the stimuli are disparate than when they belong to the same sense. One does not, in fact, find it particularly hard to

register immediately, when the bell rings in the midst of the noise; but when the spark is the signal one has a feeling of being coerced, as one turns away from the noise towards it. This fact is immediately con­ nected with other properties of our attention. The effort of the latter

408

Attention

is accompanied by various corporeal sensations, according to the sense which is engaged. The innervation which exists during the effort of attention is therefore probably a different one for each sense-organ.” 33 Wundt then, after some theoretical remarks which we need not quote now, gives a table of retardations, as follows: R etard atio n

1. Unexpected strength of impression: a) Unexpectedly strong sound..................................... 0.073 b ) Unexpectedly weak sound......................................... o. 171 2. Interference by like stimulus (sound by sound)........... 0.04534 3. Interference by unlike stimulus (light by sound)........... 0.078 It seems probable, from these results obtained with elementary processes of mind, that all processes, even the higher ones of remi­ niscence, reasoning, etc., whenever attention is concentrated upon them instead of being diffused and languid, are thereby more rapidly performed.35 Still more interesting reaction-time observations have been made by Münsterberg. T he reader will recollect the fact noted in Chap­ ter III (p. 99) that reaction-time is shorter when one concentrates his attention on the expected movement than when one concen­ trates it on the expected signal. Herr Münsterberg found that this is equally the case when the reaction is no simple reflex, but can take place only after an intellectual operation. In a series of experiments the five fingers were used to react with, and the reader had to use a different finger according as the signal was of one sort or another. T hus when a word in the nominative case was called out he used 33 O p. cit., p p . 2 4 1-5 . 3 4 I t should be added that M r. J . M . C attell (M in d , x i, 233) found, on repeatin g W u n d t’s exp erim en ts w ith a d istu rb in g noise upon two practised observers, th at the sim ple reaction-tim e either for ligh t o r sound was h ard ly p ercep tib ly increased. M ak ­ ing strong vo lu n tary concentration o f atten tion shortened it by abo u t 0 .0 13 seconds on an average (p. 240). P erfo rm in g m ental additions w h ilst w aitin g for the stim ulus lengthened it m ore than an yth in g, ap p aren tly. For other, less carefu l, observations, com pare O bersteiner, in B ra in , 1, 439. C a tte ll’s negative results show how far some persons can abstract th eir atten tion from stim u li by w hich others w ou ld be disturbed. —A. B ertels (Versuche ü b er die A b le n k u n g der A ufm erksam keit, D orpat, 1889) found that a stim ulus to one eye som etim es prevented, som etim es im proved, the perception o f a q u ick ly en suing very fain t stim ulus to the other. 35 C f. W u n d t: Ph ysiologische Psychologie, ist ed., p . 794.

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T h e Principles of Psychology

the thumb, for the dative he used another finger; similarly adjec­ tives, substantives, pronouns, numerals, etc., or, again, towns, riv­ ers, beasts, plants, elements; or poets, musicians, philosophers, etc., were co-ordinated each with its finger, so that when a word belong­ ing to either of these classes was mentioned, a particular finger and no other had to perform the reaction. In a second series of experi­ ments the reaction consisted in the utterance of a word in answer to a question, such as “ name an edible fish,” etc.; or “ name the first drama of Schiller,” etc.; or “ which is greater, Hume or Kant?” etc.; or (first naming apples and cherries, and several other fruits) “ which do you prefer, apples or cherries?” etc.; or “ which is Goethe’s finest drama?” etc.; or “ which letter comes the later in the alphabet, the letter L or the first letter of the most beautiful tree?” etc.; or “ which is less, 15 or 20 m inus 8?” 36 etc. etc. etc. Even in this series of re­ actions the tim e was m uch q u icker w hen the re a d e r turned his at­ tention in advance towards the answer than w hen he turned it to­ wards the question. T he shorter reaction-time was seldom more than

one fifth of a second; the longer, from four to eight times as long. T o understand such results, one must bear in mind that in these experiments the reader always knew in advance in a general way the k in d of question which he was to receive, and consequently the sphere w ithin w hich his possible answer lay.37 In turning his atten­ tion, therefore, from the outset towards the answer, those brainprocesses in him which were connected with this entire ‘sphere’ were kept sub-excited, and the question could then discharge with a minimum amount of lost time that particular answer out of the ‘sphere’ which belonged especially to it. When, on the contrary, the attention was kept looking towards the question exclusively and averted from the possible reply, all this preliminary sub-excitement of motor tracts failed to occur, and the entire process of answering had to be gone through with after the question was heard. No won­ der that the time was prolonged. It is a beautiful example of the summation of stimulations, and of the way in which expectant atten­ tion, even when not very strongly focalized, will prepare the motor centres, and shorten the work which a stimulus has to perform on them, in order to produce a given effect when it comes. 36 B eiträge zur exp erim en tellen Psychologie, H eft l, p p . 7 3 -10 6 (1889).

37 T o say the very least, he alw ays brou ght his articu lato ry inn ervation close to the dischargin g point. H e rr M . describes a tightening o f the head muscles as charac­ teristic o f the attitu de o f atten tion to the reply.

4 10

Attention T H E IN T IM A T E N A T U R E O F T H E A T T E N T IV E PR O C ESS

We have now a sufficient number of facts to warrant our consider­ ing this more recondite question. And two physiological processes, of which we have got a glimpse, immediately suggest themselves as possibly forming in combination a complete reply. I mean l. T h e accom m odation or adjustm ent of the sensory organs ; and 2- T h e anticipatory preparation from w ithin of the ideational centres concerned with the object to w hich the attention is paid.

i. T he sense-organs and the bodily muscles which favor their exercise are adjusted most energetically in sensorial attention, whether immediate and reflex, or derived. But there are good grounds for believing that even intellectual attention, attention to the idea of a sensible object, is also accompanied with some degree of excitement of the sense-organs to which the object appeals. T he preparation of the ideational centres exists, on the other hand, wherever our interest in the object—be it sensible or ideal—is de­ rived from, or in any way connected with, other interests, or the presence of other objects, in the mind. It exists as well when the at­ tention thus derived is classed as passive as when it is classed as voluntary. So that on the whole we may confidently conclude—since in mature life we never attend to anything without our interest in it being in some degree derived from its connection with other ob­ jects—that the two processes of sensorial adjustm ent and ideational preparation probably coexist in all o ur concrete attentive acts.

T he two points must now be proved in more detail. First, as re­ spects the sensorial adjustment. T hat it is present when we attend to sensible things is obvious. When we look or listen we accommodate our eyes and ears involun­ tarily, and we turn our head and body as well; when we taste or smell we adjust the tongue, lips, and respiration to the object; in feeling a surface we move the palpatory organ in a suitable way; in all these acts, besides making involuntary muscular contractions of a positive sort, we inhibit others which might interfere with the result—we close the eyes in tasting, suspend the respiration in lis­ tening, etc. T he result is a more or less massive organic feeling that attention is going on. This organic feeling comes, in the way de­ scribed on page 289, to be contrasted with that of the objects which it accompanies, and regarded as peculiarly ours, whilst the objects form the not-me. We treat it as a sense of our ow n activity, although it comes in to us from our organs after they are accommo­

4 11

T h e Principles of Psychology

dated, just as the feeling of any object does. Any object, if im m edi­ ately exciting, causes a reflex accommodation of the sense-organ, and this has two results—first, the object’s increase in clearness; and sec­ ond, the feeling of activity in question. Both are sensations of an ‘afferent’ sort. But in intellectual attention, as we have already seen (p. 287), similar feelings of activity occur. Fechner was the first, I believe, to analyze these feelings, and discriminate them from the stronger ones just named. He writes: “When we transfer the attention from objects of one sense to those of another, we have an indescribable feeling (though at the same time one perfectly determinate, and reproducible at pleasure), of altered direction or differently localized tension (Spannung ). We feel a strain forwards in the eyes, one directed sidewise in the ears, increasing with the degree of our attention, and changing according as we look at an object carefully, or listen to something attentively; and we speak ac­ cordingly of straining the attention. The difference is most plainly felt when the attention oscillates rapidly between eye and ear; and the feeling localizes itself with most decided difference in regard to the various sense-organs, according as we wish to discriminate a thing deli­ cately by touch, taste, or smell. “ But now I have, when I try to vividly recall a picture of memory or fancy, a feeling perfectly analogous to that which I experience when I seek to apprehend a thing keenly by eye or ear; and this analogous feel­ ing is very differently localized. While in sharpest possible attention to real objects (as well as to after-images) the strain is plainly forwards, and (when the attention changes from one sense to another) only alters its direction between the several external sense-organs, leaving the rest of the head free from strain, the case is different in memory or fancy, for here the feeling withdraws entirely from the external sense-organs, and seems rather to take refuge in that part of the head which the brain fills. If I wish, for example, to recall a place or person it will arise be­ fore me with vividness, not according as I strain my attention forwards, but rather in proportion as I, so to speak, retract it backwards.” 38 In myself the ‘backward retraction’ which is felt during attention to ideas of memory, etc., seems to be principally constituted by the feeling of an actual rolling outwards and upwards of the eyeballs, such as occurs in sleep, and is the exact opposite of their behavior when we look at a physical thing. I have already spoken of this feel38 Psych ophysik, B d . H, pp. 475-6.

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Attention

ing on page 287.39 The reader who doubts the presence of these organic feelings is requested to read the whole of that passage again. It has been said, however, that we may attend to an object on the periphery of the visual field and yet not accommodate the eye for it. Teachers thus notice the acts of children in the school room at whom they appear not to be looking. Women in general train their peripheral visual attention more than men. T his would be an ob­ jection to the invariable and universal presence of movements of adjustment as ingredients of the attentive process. Usually, as is well known, no object lying in the marginal portions of the field of vision can catch our attention without at the same time ‘catch­ ing our eye’—that is, fatally provoking such movements of rotation and accommodation as will focus its image on the fovea, or point of greatest sensibility. Practice, however, enables us, with effort, to attend to a marginal object whilst keeping the eyes immovable. The object under these circumstances never becomes perfectly distinct—the place of its image on the retina makes distinctness im39 I m ust say that I am w h olly unconscious o f the pecu liar feelings in the scalp which Fechner goes on to describe. “ T h e feelin g o f strained atten tion in the different sense-organs seems to be o n ly a m uscular one produced in using these various organs by setting in m otion, by a sort o f reflex action, the muscles w hich belong to them. O ne can ask, then, w ith w h at p a rticu lar m u scu lar contraction the sense o f strained atten tion in the effort to recall som ething is associated? On this question m y own feelin g gives m e a decided answ er; it comes to me distinctly, not as a sensation o f tension in the inside o f the head, but as a feelin g o f strain and contraction in the scalp w ith & pressure from w ithou t inw ards over the w hole cran ium , und ou bted ly caused by a contraction o f the muscles o f the scalp. T h is harm onizes very w ell w ith the G erm an p o p u la r expression den K o p f zusam m ennehm en, etc., etc. In a form er illness, in which I could not endure the slightest effort o f continuous thought, and had no theoretical bias on this question, the muscles o f the scalp, especially those o f the occiput, assum ed a fa irly m orbid degree o f sensibility w henever I tried to th in k ." (Ib id ., pp. 490-491.) In an early w ritin g by Professor M ach, after speaking of the w ay in which by atten ­ tion we decompose com plex m usical sounds into their elem ents, this investigator

continues; “ I t is m ore than a figure o f speech w hen one says that we ‘search’ am ong the sounds. T h is h earkenin g search is very observably a bodily activity, ju st like a t­ tentive looking in the case o f the eye. If, o beyin g the d rift o f physiology, we u n d er­ stand by attention nothin g m ystical, bu t a bodily disposition, it is most n atu ral to seek it in the v ariab le tension o f the muscles o f the ear. Ju s t so, w h at com m on m en call atten tive looking reduces itself m ain ly to accom m odating and setting o f the optic axes. . . . A ccordin g to this, it seems to m e a very p lau sib le view that qu ite gen era lly A ttention has its seat in the m echanism o f the body. I f nervous work is being done through certain channels, that by itself is a m echanical groun d for other channels being closed.” (W ien, Silzungsberichle, m athem atisch-naturw issenschaftliche Classe,

x lv iii,

pt. 3, 297, 1863.)

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possible—but (as anyone can satisfy himself by trying) we become more vividly conscious of it than we were before the effort was made. Helmholtz states the fact so strikingly that I will quote his observa­ tion in full. He was trying to combine in a single solid percept pairs of stereoscopic pictures illuminated instantaneously by the electric spark. The pictures were in a dark box which the spark from time to time lighted up; and, to keep the eyes from wandering betweenwhiles, a pin-hole was pricked through the middle of each picture, through which the light of the room came, so that each eye had presented to it during the dark intervals a single bright point. With parallel optical axes the points combined into a single image; and the slightest movement of the eyeballs was betrayed by this image at once becoming double. Helmholtz now found that simple linear figures could, when the eyes were thus kept immovable, be per­ ceived as solids at a single flash of the spark. But when the figures were complicated photographs, many successive flashes were re­ quired to grasp their totality. “ Now it is interesting,” he says, “ to find that, although we keep steadily fixating the pin-holes and never allow their combined image to break into two, we can, nevertheless, before the spark comes, keep our attention voluntarily turned to any particular portion we please of the dark field, so as then, when the spark comes, to receive an impression only from such parts of the picture as lie in this region. In this respect, then, our attention is quite independent of the position and accommo­ dation of the eyes, and of any known alteration in these organs, and free to direct itself by a conscious and voluntary effort upon any selected portion of a dark and undifferenced field of view. This is one of the most important observations for a future theory of attention.” 40 Hering, however, adds the following detail: “Whilst attending to the marginal object we must always,” he says, "attend at the same time to the object directly fixated. If even for a

single instant we let the latter slip out of our mind, our eye moves towards the former, as may be easily recognized by the after-images produced, or by the muscular sounds heard. The case is then less properly to be called one of translocation, than one of unusually wide dispersion, of the attention, in which dispersion the largest share still falls upon the thing directly looked at,” 41 *0 Physiologische O ptik, p. 7 4 1.

41 H erm an n ’s H a n d b u c h , 111, 1, 548.

4 14

Attention

and consequently directly accommodated for. Accommodation exists here, then, as it does elsewhere, and without it we should lose a part of our sense of attentive activity. In fact, the strain of that activity (which is remarkably great in the experiment) is due in part to unusually strong contractions of the muscles needed to keep the eyeballs still, which produce unwonted feelings of pressure in those organs. 2. But if the peripheral part of the picture in this experiment be not physically accommodated for, what is meant by its sharing our attention? What happens when we ‘distribute’ or ‘disperse’ the latter upon a thing for which we remain unwilling to ‘adjust’? This leads us to that second feature in the process, the 'ideational preparation’ of which we spoke. T h e effort to attend to the margi­ nal region of the picture consists in nothing more nor less than the effort to form as clear an idea as is possible of what is there portrayed.

T he idea is to come to the help of the sensation and make it more distinct. It comes with effort, and such a mode of coming is the remaining part of what we know as our attention’s ‘strain’ under the circumstances. Let us show how universally present in our acts of attention this reinforcing imagination, this inward reproduction, this anticipatory thinking of the thing we attend to, is. It must as a matter of course be present when the attention is of the intellectual variety, for the thing attended to then is noth­ ing but an idea, an inward reproduction or conception. If then we prove ideal construction of the object to be present in sensorial at­ tention, it will be present everywhere. When, however, sensorial attention is at its height, it is impossible to tell how much of the percept comes from without and how much from within; but if we find that the preparation we make for it always partly consists of the creation of an imaginary duplicate of the object in the mind, which shall stand ready to receive the outward impression as if in a matrix, that will be quite enough to establish the point in dispute. In Wundt’s and Exner’s experiments quoted above, the lying in wait for the impressions, and the preparation to react, consist of nothing but the anticipatory imagination of what the impressions or the reactions are to be. Where the stimulus is unknown and the reaction undetermined, time is lost, because no stable image can under such circumstances be formed in advance. But where both nature and time of signal and reaction are foretold, so completely does the expectant attention consist in premonitory imagination

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that, as we have seen (pp. 392, note, 404-406, 410), it may mimic the intensity of reality, or at any rate produce reality’s motor effects. It is impossible to read W undt’s and Exner’s pages of description and not to interpret the 'A p p e rcep tio n and 'Sp an n u n g and other terms as equivalents of im agination. With Wundt, in particular, the word A p p ercep tio n (which he sets great store by) is quite inter­ changeable with both imagination and attention. A ll three are names for the excitement from within of ideational brain-centres, for which Mr. Lewes’s name of preperception seems the best pos­ sible designation. Where the impression to be caught is very weak, the way not to miss it is to sharpen our attention for it by preliminary contact with it in a stronger form. “ If we wish to begin to observe overtones, it is advisable, just before the sound which is to be analyzed, to sound very softly the note of which we are in search . . . . The piano and harmonium are well fitted for this use, as both give overtones that are strong. Strike upon the piano first the g ' [of a certain musical example previously given in the text]; then, when its vibrations have objectively ceased, strike powerfully the note c, in whose sound g' is the third overtone, and keep your attention steadily bent upon the pitch of the just heard g'-, you will now hear this tone sounding in the midst of the c. . . . If you place the resonator which corresponds to a certain overtone, for example g ' of the sound c, against your ear, and then make the note c sound, you will hear g ' much strengthened by the resonator. . . . This strengthening by the resonator can be used to make the naked ear attentive to the sound which it is to catch. For when the resonator is gradually removed, the g' grows weaker; but the attention, once directed to it, holds it now more easily fast, and the observer hears the tone g' now in the natural unaltered sound of the note with his unaided ear.” 42 Wundt, commenting on experiences of this sort, says that “ on carefully observing, one will always find that one tries first to re­ call the image in memory of the tone to be heard, and that then one hears it in the total sound. The same thing is to be noticed in weak or fugitive visual impressions. Illuminate a drawing by electric sparks separated by considerable intervals, and after the first, and often after the second and third spark, hardly anything will be recognized. But 42 H elm holtz: T o n e m p fin d u n g en , 3d ed,, 85-9 (English tr., 2d ed., 50, 5 1 ; see also pp . 6 0 -1).

4 16

Attention

the confused image is held fast in memory; each successive illumination completes it; and so at last we attain to a clearer perception. The pri­ mary motive to this inward activity proceeds usually from the outer impression itself. We hear a sound in which, from certain associations, we suspect a certain overtone; the next thing is to recall the overtone in memory; and finally we catch it in the sound we hear. Or perhaps we see some mineral substance we have met before; the impression awakens the memory-image, which again more or less completely melts with the impression itself. In this way every idea takes a certain time to penetrate to the focus of consciousness. And during this time we always find in ourselves the peculiar feeling of attention. . . . The phenomena show that an adaptation of attention to the impression takes place. The surprise which unexpected impressions give us is due essen­ tially to the fact that our attention, at the moment when the impression occurs, is not accommodated for it. The accommodation itself is of the double sort, relating as it does to the intensity as well as to the quality of the stimulus. Different qualities of impression require disparate adaptations. And we remark that our feeling of the strain of our in­ ward attentiveness increases with every increase in the strength of the impressions on whose perception we are intent.” 43 The natural way of conceiving all this is under the symbolic form of a brain-cell played upon from two directions. Whilst the object excites it from without, other brain-cells, or perhaps spiritual forces, arouse it from within. The latter influence is the ‘adaptation of the attention.’ T h e plenary energy of the brain-cell dem ands the co­ operation of both factors: not when merely present, but when both present and attended to, is the object fully perceived. A few additional experiences will now be perfectly clear. Helm­ holtz, for instance, adds this observation to the passage we quoted a while ago concerning the stereoscopic pictures lit by the electric spark. “These experiments,” he says, “ are interesting as regards the part which attention plays in the matter of double images.. . . For in pictures so simple that it is relatively difficult for me to see them double, I can succeed in seeing them double, even when the illumination is only instantaneous, the moment I strive to imagine in a lively way how they ought then to look. The influence of attention is here pure; for all eye movements are shut out.” 44 43 Physiologische Psychologies 2nd ed., 11, 208. 44 Physiologische O ptik, 741.

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In another place45 the same writer says: “When I have before my eyes a pair of stereoscopic drawings which are hard to combine, it is difficult to bring the lines and points that correspond, to cover each other, and with every little motion of the eyes they glide apart. But if / chance to gain a lively mental image (Anschauungsbild) of the represented solid form (a thing that often occurs by lucky chance), I then move my two eyes with perfect certainty over the figure without the picture separating again.” Again, writing of retinal rivalry, Helmholtz says: “ It is not a trial of strength between two sensations, but depends upon our fixing or failing to fix the attention. Indeed there is scarcely any phenomenon so well fitted for the study of the causes which are capable of determining the attention. It is not enough to form the conscious intention of seeing first with one eye and then with the other; we must form as clear a notion as possible of what we expect to see. Then it will actually appear .” 46

In figures 37 and 38, where the result is ambiguous, we can make the change from one apparent form to the other by imagining strongly in advance the form we wish to see. Similarly in those puz­ zles where certain lines in a picture form by their combination an object that has no connection with what the picture ostensibly rep­ resents; or indeed in every case where an object is inconspicuous and hard to discern from the background; we may not be able to

F ig . 37.

F ig . 38.

see it for a long time; but, having once seen it, we can attend to it again whenever we like, on account of the mental duplicate of it 45 p. 728. 46 P o p u la r Lectures on Scientific Subjects, E n g. T ra n s., p. 294.

4 18

Attention

which our imagination now bears. In the meaningless French words ‘pas de lieu R h ô n e q u e nous,’ who can recognize immediately the English ‘paddle your own canoe'?47 But who that has once noticed the identity can fail to have it arrest his attention again? When watching for the distant clock to strike, our mind is so filled with its image that at every moment we think we hear the longed-for or dreaded sound. So of an awaited footstep. Every stir in the wood is for the hunter his game; for the fugitive his pursuers. Every bonnet in the street is momentarily taken by the lover to enshroud the head of his idol. T he image in the mind is the attention; the p rep ercep ­ tion, as Mr. Lewes calls it, is half of the perception of the lookedfor thing.48 47 Sim ilarly in the verses w hich som eone tried to puzzle m e with the other day: " G u i n'a beau dit, q u i sabot d it, n id a beau dit elle? ”

48 I cannot refrain from referrin g in a note to an ad d ition al set o f facts instanced by Lotze in. his M edicinisch e Psychologie, § 4 3 1, alth o ugh I am not satisfied w ith the exp lan atio n , fatigu e o f the sense-organ, which he gives. “ In q u ietly lyin g and con tem platin g a w all-p ap er pattern , som etim es it is the groun d, sometimes the design, w hich is clearer and consequently comes nearer. . . . A rabesques o f m onochrom ic m any-convoluted lines now strike us as com posed o f one, now o f an other connected lin e ar system , and a ll w ithou t any intention on our p art. [T h is is b e au tifu lly seen in M oorish p attern s; b u t a sim ple d iagram like Fig. 39 also shows it w e ll. W e see it

som etimes as two large triangles superposed, som etim es as a hexagon w ith angles span n in g its sides, som etim es as six sm all triangles stuck together at th eir corners.] . . . O ften it happens in revery that w hen we stare at a pictu re, suddenly some one of its features w ill be lit up w ith especial clearness, although neith er its o ptical character nor its m eaning discloses any m otive for such an arousal o f the atten tion . . . . T o one in process o f becom ing drowsy the surroundings altern ately fade into darkness and ab ru p tly brigh ten up. T h e talk o f the bystanders seems now to come from indefinite distances; b u t at the n ext m om ent it startles us by its th reatenin g loudness at our

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T h e Principles of Psychology

It is for this reason that men have no eyes but for those aspects of things which they have already been taught to discern. Any one of us can notice a phenomenon after it has once been pointed out, which not one in ten thousand could ever have discovered for him­ self. Even in poetry and the arts, someone has to come and tell us what aspects we may single out, and what effects we may admire, before our aesthetic nature can dilate’ to its full extent and never ‘with the wrong emotion.’ In kindergarten-instruction one of the exercises is to make the children see how many features they can point out in such an object as a flower or a stuffed bird. They readily name the features they know already, such as leaves, tail, bill, feet. But they may look for hours without distinguishing nostrils, claws, scales, etc., until their attention is called to these details; thereafter, however, they see them every time. In short, the only things w hich we com m only see are those which we p reperceive, and the only things which we preperceive are those which have been labelled for us, and the labels stamped into our mind. If we lost our stock of labels we should be intellectually lost in the midst of the world. Organic adjustment, then, and ideational preparation or pre­ perception are concerned in all attentive acts. An interesting theory is defended by no less authorities than Professors B ain 49 and Ribot,50 and still more ably advocated by Mr. N. Lange,51 who will have it that the ideational preparation itself is a consequence of muscular adjustment, so that the latter may be called the essence of the attentive process throughout. T his at least is what the theory of these authors practically amounts to, though the former two do not state it in just these terms. T he proof consists in the exhibition of cases of intellectual attention which organic adjustment accom­ panies, or of objects in thinking which we have to execute a move­ ment. Thus Lange says that when he tries to imagine a certain colvery e a r,” etc. T h e se variatio n s, w hich everyone w ill have noticed, are, it seems to me, easily e xp licab le by the very unstable eq u ilib riu m o f o u r ideation al centres, o f which constant change is the law . W e conceive one set o f lines as object, the other as back­ grou n d, and fo rth w ith the first set becomes the set we see. T h e r e need be no logical m otive for the conceptual change, the irrad iation s o f brain-tracts by each other, ac­ cord in g to accidents o f n u tritio n , ‘like sparks in b u rn t-up p a p e r,’ suffice. T h e changes d u rin g drowsiness are still m ore obvio usly due to this cause. 49 T h e Em otions an d the W ill, 3d ed., p. 370. 50 Psychologie de iatten tio n (1889), p. 32 ff. 5 1 P h iloso ph isch e Studien , i v , 4 1 3 ff .

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ored circle, he finds himself first making with his eyes the movement to which the circle corresponds, and then imagining the color, etc., as a consequence of the movement. “ Let my reader,” he adds, “ close his eyes and think of an extended object, for instance a pencil. He will easily notice that he first makes a slight movement [of the eyes] corresponding to the straight line, and that he often gets a weak feeling of innervation of the hand as if touch­ ing the pencil’s surface. So, in thinking of a certain sound, we turn towards its direction or repeat muscularly its rhythm, or articulate an imitation of it.” 52 But it is one thing to point out the presence of muscular con­ tractions as constant concomitants of our thoughts, and another thing to say, with Herr Lange, that thought is m ade possible by muscular contraction alone. It may well be that where the object of thought consists of two parts, one perceived by movement and another not, the part perceived by movement is habitually called up first and fixed in the mind by the movement’s execution, whilst the other part comes secondarily as the movement’s mere associate. But even were this the rule with all men (which I doubt53), it would only be a practical habit, not an ultimate necessity. In the chapter on the W ill we shall learn that movements themselves are results of images coming before the mind, images sometimes of feelings in the moving part, sometimes of the movement’s effects on eye and ear, and sometimes (if the movement be originally reflex or instinc­ tive), of its natural stimulus or exciting cause. It is, in truth, con­ trary to all wider and deeper analogies to deny that any quality of feeling whatever can directly rise up in the form of an idea, and to assert that only ideas of movement can call other ideas to the mind. So much for adjustment and preperception. T he only third process I can think of as always present is the inhibition of irrele­ 52 See L an g e : loc. cit., p. 4 17 , for an other p ro of o f his view , draw n from the p h e­ nom enon o f retinal rivalry. 53 M any o f m y students have at m y request exp erim en ted w ith im agined letters

of the alp h ab et and syllables, and they tell m e th at they can see them in w ard ly as total colored pictures w ithou t fo llow in g th eir outlines w ith the eye. I am m yself a bad visualizer, and m ake m ovem ents all the w h ile.—M . L . M arillier, in an article o f em inent introspective pow er which ap peared after m y text was w ritten (“ Rem arqu es sur le m écanism e de l ’atten tion ,” in R e v u e P h ilo so p h iq u e, vol. x x v n , p. 566), has contended again st R ib o t and others fo r the non-dependence o f sensory upon m otor images in th eir relations to attention. I am glad to cite him as an ally.

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T h e Principles of Psychology

vant movements and ideas. T his seems, however, to be a feature in­ cidental to voluntary attention rather than the essential feature of attention at large,54 and need not concern us particularly now. Noting merely the intimate connection which our account so far establishes between attention, on the one hand, and imagination, discrimination, and memory, on the other, let us draw a couple of practical inferences, and then pass to the more speculative problem that remains. T he practical inferences are pedagogic. First, to strengthen atten­ tion in children who care nothing for the subject they are studying

and let their wits go wool-gathering. T he interest here must be de­ rived’ from something that the teacher associates with the task, a reward or a punishment if nothing less external comes to mind. Prof. Ribot says: “A child refuses to read; he is incapable of keeping his mind fixed on the letters, which have no attraction for him; but he looks with avidity upon the pictures contained in a book. ‘What do they mean?’ he asks. The father replies: ‘When you can read, the book will tell you.’ After several colloquies like this, the child resigns himself and falls to work, first slackly, then the habit grows, and finally he shows an ardor which has to be restrained. This is a case of the genesis of voluntary attention. An artificial and indirect desire has to be grafted on a natu­ ral and direct one. Reading has no immediate attractiveness, but it has a borrowed one, and that is enough. The child is caught in the wheelwork, the first step is made.” I take another example, from M. B. Perez:55 “A child of six years, habitually prone to mind-wandering, sat down one day to the piano of his own accord to repeat an air by which his mother had been charmed. His exercises lasted an hour. The same 54 Drs. F e rrier (Functions of the B ra in (1876), (§§ 102-3) an35-

844

T h e Perception of Space

in ourselves. He, for example, can have no notion of what we mean by objects appearing smaller as they move away, because he must always conceive of them as of their constant tactile size. Nor, what­ ever analogy the two extensions involve, should we expect that a blind man receiving sight for the first time should recognize his new-given optical objects by their familiar tactile names. Molyneux wrote to Locke: “ ‘Suppose a man born blind, and now adult, and taught by his touch to distinguish between a cube and a sphere . . . so as to tell, when he felt one and the other, which is the cube, which the sphere. Suppose then the cube and sphere placed on a table, and the blind man to be made to see; query, Whether by his sight, before he touched them, he could now distinguish and tell which is the globe, which the cube?’ ” T h is has remained in literature as ‘M olyneux’s query.’ Molyneux answered ‘N o.’ And Locke says:68 ‘‘I agree with this thinking gentleman, whom I am proud to call my friend . . . and am of opinion, that the blind man, at first sight, would not be able to say which was the globe, which the cube, whilst he only saw them; though he could unerringly name them by his touch, and certainly distinguish them by the difference of their figures felt.” T h is opinion has not lacked experimental confirmation. From Cheselden’s case downwards, patients operated for congenital cata­ ract have been unable to name at first the things they saw. “ So, puss! I shall know you another time,” said Cheselden’s patient, after catching the cat, looking at her steadfastly, and setting her down. Some of this incapacity is unquestionably due to general mental confusion at the new experience, and to the excessively un­ favorable conditions for perception which an eye with its lens just extirpated affords. T h a t the analogy of inner nature between the retinal and tactile sensations goes beyond mere extensity is proved by the cases where the patients were the most intelligent, as in the young man operated on by Dr. Franz, who named circular, triangu­ lar, and quadrangular figures at first sight.69 68 Essay C o n cern in g H u m a n U n d ersta n d in g , bk.

11,

chap.

IX,

§ 8.

T o u c h there is a good discussion of these cases. O bviously, positive cases are of more im portance than negative. An under-witted peasant, Noé M., whose case is described by Dr. D ufou r o f Lausanne (G u ériso n d ’ un a v eu g le-n é, 1876) is m uch made of by M M . N aville and D unan; bu t it seems to me only to show how little som e people can deal with new experiences in which others find themselves quickly at home. T h is 69 P h ilo s o p h ic a l

T ra n saction s, 1841. In T . K. A b b o tt’s Sight a n d

845

T h e Principles of Psychology V ISU A L SPA C E

It is when we come to analyze m inutely the conditions of visual perception that difficulties arise which have made psychologists ap­ peal to new and quasi-mythica\ mental powers. But I firmly believe that even here exact investigation w ill yield the same verdict as in the cases studied hitherto. T h is subject w ill close our survey of the facts; and if it give the result I foretell, we shall be in the best of positions for a few final pages of critically historical review. If a common person is asked how he is enabled to see things as they are, he w ill simply reply, by opening his eyes and looking. T h is innocent answer has, however, long since been impossible for science. T here are various paradoxes and irregularities about what we appear to perceive under seemingly identical optical condi­ tions, which immediately raise questions. T o say nothing now of the time-honored conundrums of why we see upright with an in­ verted retinal picture, and why we do not see double; and to leave aside the whole field of color-contrasts and ambiguities, as not di­ rectly relevant to the space-problem,—it is certain that the same retinal image makes us see quite differently-sized and differentlyshaped objects at different times, and it is equally certain that the same ocular movement varies in its perceptive import. It ought to be possible, were the act of perception completely and simply in­ telligible, to assign for every distinct judgment of size, shape, and position a distinct optical modification of some kind as its occasion. And the connection between the two ought to be so constant that, given the same modification, we should always have the same judg­ ment. But if we study the facts closely we soon find no such constant connection between either ju dg m ent and retinal m odification, or ju dg m ent and muscular m odification, to exist. T h e judgm ent seems

to result frcm the combination of retinal, muscular and intellec­ tual factors with each other; and any one of them may occasionally overpower the rest in a way which seems to leave the matter sub­ ject to no simple law. T h e scientific study of the subject, if we omit Descartes, began with Berkeley, and the particular perception he analyzed in his N ew Theory of Vision was that of distance or depth. Starting with the physical assumption that a difference in the distance of a point man could not even tell w hether one of his first objects o f sight m oved or stood still (p. 9).

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can make no difference in the nature of its retinal image, since “ dis­ tance being a line directed endwise to the eye, it projects only one point in the fund of the eye—which point remains invariably the same, whether the distance be longer or shorter,” he concluded that distance could not possibly be a visual sensation, but must be an intellectual ‘suggestion’ from ‘custom’ of some non-visual experi­ ence. According to Berkeley this experience was tactile. His whole treatment of the subject was excessively vague—no shame to him, as a breaker of fresh ground—but as it has been adopted and en­ thusiastically hugged in all its vagueness by nearly the whole line of British psychologists who have succeeded him, it will be well for us to begin our study of vision by refuting his notion that depth cannot possibly be perceived in terms of purely visual feeling. T h e T h ird D im ension

Berkeleyans unanimously assume that no retinal sensation can prim itively be of volume; if it be of extension at all (which they are barely disposed to admit), it can be only of two-, not of three-, dimensional extension. A t the beginning of the present chapter we denied this, and adduced facts to show that all objects of sensation are voluminous in three dimensions (cf. p. 778 ff.). It is impossible to lie on one’s back on a hill, to let the empty abyss of blue fill one’s whole visual field, and to sink deeper and deeper into the merely sensational mode of consciousness regarding it, without feeling that an indeterminate, palpitating, circling depth is as indefeasibly one of its attributes as its breadth. W e may artificially exaggerate this sensation of depth. Rise and look from the hill-top at the dis­ tant view; represent to yourself as vividly as possible the distance of the uttermost horizon; and then with inverted head look at the same. T h ere will be a startling increase in the perspective, a most sensible recession of the maximum distance; and as you raise the head you can actually see the horizon-line again draw near.70 70 W h a t may be the physiological process connected w ith this increased sensation o f depth is hard to discover. It seems to have nothing to do w ith the parts o f the retina affected, since the mere inversion of the picture (by mirrors, reflecting prisms,

etc.), w ithout inverting the head, does not seem to bring it about; nothing with sym pathetic axial rotation of the eyes, which m ight enhance the perspective through exaggerated disparity o f the two retinal images (see J. J. M üller; "R ad d reh u n g und T iefen d im en sion ,” Leip zig Academ y B e r ic h te , 1871, page 125), for one-eyed persons get it as strongly as those with two eyes. I cannot find it to be connected w ith any alteration in the p u p il or with any ascertainable strain in the muscles o f the eye.

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Mind, I say nothing as yet about our estimate of the ‘real’ amount of this depth or distance. I only want to confirm its existence as a natural and inevitable optical consort of the two other optical di­ mensions. T h e field of view is always a volum e- unit. W hatever be supposed to be its absolute and ‘real’ size, the relative sizes of its dimensions are functions of each other. Indeed, it happens perhaps most often that the breadth- and height-feeling take their absolute measure from the depth-feeling. If we plunge our head into a wash­ basin, the felt nearness of the bottom makes us feel the lateral ex­ panse to be small. If, on the contrary, we are on a mountain-top, the distance of the horizon carries with it in our judgm ent a pro­ portionate height and length in the mountain-chains that bound it to our view. But as aforesaid, let us not consider the question of absolute size now,—it must later be taken up in a thorough way. Let us confine ourselves to the way in which the three dimensions which are seen, get their values fixed relatively to each other. Reid, in his Inquiry into the H um an M in d , has a section “ O f the Geometry of Visibles,” in which he assumes to trace what the perceptions would be of a race of ‘Idomenians’ reduced to the sole sense of sight. Agreeing with Berkeley that sight alone can give no knowledge of the third dimension, he humorously deduces various ingenious absurdities in their interpretations of the material ap­ pearances before their eyes. Now I firmly believe, on the contrary, that one of R eid ’s Idome­ nians would frame precisely the same conception of the external world that we do, if he had our intellectual powers.71 Even were sym pathizing w ith those of the body. T h e exaggeration of distance is even greater when we throw the head over backwards and contract our superior recti in getting the view, than when we bend forwards and contract the inferior recti. M aking the eyes diverge slightly by weak prism atic glasses has no such effect. T o me, and to all whom I have asked to repeat the observation, the result is so m arked that I do not well understand how such an observer as H elm holtz, who has carefully exam ined vision w ith inverted head, can have overlooked it. (See his P h y sio lo g isch e O p tik , pp. 433, 723, 724, 772.) I cannot help thinking that anyone who can explain the exaggeration of the depth-sensation in this case w ill at the same tim e throw much ligh t on its norm al constitution. 71 “ In F ro riep ’s N o tiz en (1838, July), No. 133, is to be found a detailed account, with a picture, of an Esthonian girl, Eva Lauk, then fourteen years old, born with n either arms nor legs, which concludes with the follow ing words: ‘According to the m other, her in tellect developed qu ite as fast as that o f her brother and sisters; in particular, she cam e as quickly to a right jud gm en t of the size and distance of visible ohjects, although, of course, she had no use o f hands.’ ” (Schopenhauer: W elt als W ille , 11, 44.)

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his very eyeballs fixed and not movable like ours, that would only retard, not frustrate, his education. For the same object, by alter­ nately covering in its lateral movements different parts of his retina, would determine the mutual equivalencies of the first two dimen­ sions of the field of view; and by exciting the physiological cause of his perception of depth in various degrees, it would establish a scale of equivalency between the first two and the third. First of all, one of the sensations given by the object is chosen to represent its ‘real’ size and shape, in accordance with the principles laid down on pp. 816 and 817. O n e sensation measures the ‘ thing’ present, and the ‘ th in g then measures the other sensations. T h e peripheral parts of the retina are equated with the central by re­ ceiving the image of the same object. T h is needs no elucidation in case the object does not change its distance or its front. But sup­ pose, to take a more complicated case, that the object is a stick, seen first in its whole length, and then rotated round one of its ends; let this fixed end be the one near the eye. In this movement the stick’s image w ill grow progressively shorter; its farther end will appear less and less separated laterally from its fixed near end; soon it w ill be screened by the latter, and then reappear on the op­ posite side, and finally on that side resume its original length. Sup­ pose this movement to become a familiar experience; the mind w ill presumably react upon it after its usual fashion (which is that of unifying all data which it is in any way possible to unify), and consider it the movement of a constant object rather than the trans­ formation of a fluctuating one. Now, the sensation of depth which it receives during the experience is awakened more by the far than by the near end of the object. But how much depth? W hat shall measure its amount? Why, at the moment the far end is ready to be eclipsed, the difference of its distance from the near end’s distance must be judged equal to the stick’s whole length; but that length has already been judged equal to a certain optical sensation of breadth. T h u s we find that given amounts of the visual depthfeelin g becom e signs of fixed amounts of the visual breadth-feeling. T h e measurem ent of distance is, as Berkeley truly said, a result of suggestion and experience. B u t visual exp erience alone is adequate to produce it, and this he erroneously denied.

Suppose a colonel in front of his regiment at dress-parade, and suppose he walks at right angles towards the midmost man of the line. As he advances, and surveys the line in either direction, he

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looks more and more down it and less and less at it, until, when abreast of the midmost man, he feels the end men to be most dis­ tant; then when the line casts hardly any lateral image on his retina at all, what distance shall he judge to be that of the end men? W hy, half the length of the regiment as it was originally seen, of course; but this length was a moment ago a retinal object spread out lat­ erally before his sight. He has now merely equated a retinal depthfeeling with a retinal breadth-feeling. If the regiment moved, and the colonel stood still, the result would be the same. In such ways as these a creature endowed with eyes alone could hardly fail of measuring out all three dimensions of the space he inhabited. And we ourselves, I think, although we may often ‘realize’ distance in locomotor terms (as Berkeley says we must always do), yet do so no less often in terms of our retinal map, and always in this way the more spontaneously. W ere this not so, the three visual dimensions could not possibly feel to us as homogeneous as they do, nor as com­ mensurable inter se. L e t us then adm it distance to be at least as genuinely optical a content of consciousness as either height or breadth. T h e question im m ediately returns, Can any of them be said in any strictness to be optical sensations? W e have contended all along for the affirmative

reply to this question, but must now cope with difficulties greater than any that have assailed us hitherto. H elm h o ltz and R eid on Sensations

A sensation is, as we have seen in Chapter X V II, the mental af­ fection that follows most immediately upon the stimulation of the sense-tract. Its antecedent is directly physical, no psychic links, no acts of memory, inference, or association intervening. Accordingly, if we suppose the nexus between neural process in the sense-organ, on the one hand, and conscious affection, on the other, to be by nature uniform, the same process ought always to give the same sensation ; and conversely, if what seems to be a sensation varies whilst the process in the sense-organ remains unchanged, the rea­ son is presumably that it is really not a sensation but a higher m en­ tal product, w hereof the variations depend on events occurring in the system of higher cerebral centres. Now the size of the field of view varies enormously in all three

dimensions, without our being able to assign with any definiteness the process in the visual tract on which the variation depends. W e

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just saw how impossible such assignment was in the case where turning down the head produces the enlargement. In general, the maximum feeling of depth or distance seems to take the lead in determ ining the apparent magnitude of the whole field, and the two other dimensions seem to follow. If, to use the former instance, I look close into a wash-basin, the lateral extent of the field shrinks proportionately to its nearness. If I look from a mountain, the things seen are vast in height and breadth, in proportion to the farness of the horizon. But when we ask what changes in the eye determ ine how great this m axim um feelin g of depth or distance (which is undoubtedly felt as a unitary vastness) shall be, we find ourselves unable to p oint to any one of them as being its absolutely regular concom itant. Convergence, accommodation, double and

disparate images, differences in the parallactic displacement when we move our head, faintness of tint, dimness of outline, and small­ ness of the retinal image of objects named and known, are all pro­ cesses that have som ething to do with the perception of ‘far’ and of ‘near’; but the effect of each and any one of them in determ ining such a perception at one moment may at another moment be re­ versed by the presence of some other sensible quality in the object, that makes us, evidently by rem inding us of past experience, judge it to be at a different distance and of another shape. If we paint the inside of a pasteboard-mask like the outside, and look at it with one eye, the accommodation- and parallax-feelings are there, but fail to make us see it hollow, as it is. O ur mental knowledge of the fact that human faces are always convex overpowers them, and we di­ rectly perceive the nose to be nearer to us than the cheek instead of farther off. T h e other organic tokens of farness and nearness are proved by similar experiments (of which we shall ere long speak more in de­ tail) to have an equally fluctuating import. T h ey lose all their value whenever the collateral circumstances favor a strong intel­ lectual conviction that the object presented to the gaze is im prob­ able—cannot be either what or where they would make us perceive it to be. Now the query immediately arises: Can the feelings of these pro­ cesses in the eye, since they are so easily neutralized and reversed by intellectua l suggestions, ever have been direct sensations of dis­ tance at all? O ught we not rather to assume, since the distances which we see in spite of them are conclusions from past experience,

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that the distances which we see by means of them are equally such conclusions? O ught we not, in short, to say unhesitatingly that dis­ tance must be an intellectual and not a sensible content of con­ sciousness? and that each of these eye-feelings serves as a mere signal to awaken this content, our intellect being so framed that sometimes it notices one signal more readily and sometimes an­ other? R eid long ago (In q u iry , Ch. V I, sec. 17) said: “ I t m ay be tak en for a g en era l rule, T h a t th in g s w h ich are prod u ced b y custom , m a y be u n d o n e or ch a n ged b y disuse, or b y a con trary cus­ tom . O n th e o th e r h an d , it is a stron g arg u m en t, th a t an effect is n ot o w in g to custom , b u t to th e c o n stitu tio n o f n ature, w h e n a con trary cu stom is fo u n d n eith er to ch a n ge n or to w eak en it.”

More briefly, a way of seeing things that can be unlearned was presumably learned, and only what we cannot unlearn is instinc­ tive. T h is seems to be H elm holtz’s view, for he confirms R eid ’s maxim by saying in emphatic print: “ N o elem ents in o u r p ercep tio n can be sensational w h ich m a y be overco m e or reversed b y factors o f d em o n strab ly e xp erim en ta l origin. W h a te v e r can be overcom e by su ggestion s o f exp erien ce m u st be re­ ga rd e d as itself a p r o d u c t o f e xp erien ce a n d cu stom . I f w e fo llo w this ru le it w ill a p p e a r th a t o n ly q ualities are sensational, w h ilst alm ost all

spatial a ttrib u te s are results o f h a b it a n d exp erien ce.” 72

T h is passage of Helm holtz’s has obtained, it seems to me, an almost deplorable celebrity. T h e reader will please observe its very radical import. N ot only would he, and does he, for the reasons we have just been ourselves considering, deny distance to be an opti­ cal sensation; but, extending the same method of criticism to judg­ ments of size, shape, and direction, and finding no single retinal or muscular process in the eyes to be indissolubly linked with any one of these, he goes so far as to say that all optical space-perceptions whatsoever must have an intellectual origin, and a content that no items of visual sensibility can account for.73 7“ P h y sio lo g isclie O p tik , p. 438. H elm holtz’s reservation of ‘q u alities’ is incon­ sistent. O u r judgm ents of ligh t and color vary as much as ou r judgm ents of size,

shape, and place, and ought by parity of reasoning to be called intellectual products and not sensations. In other places he docs treat color as if it were an intellectual product. 73 It is needless at this point to consider w h at H elm holtz’s views of the nature

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As W undt and others agree with Helmholtz here, and as their conclusions, if true, are irreconcilable with all the sensationalism which I have been teaching hitherto, it clearly devolves upon me to defend my position against this new attack. But as this chapter on Space is already so overgrown with episodes and details, I think it best to reserve the refutation of their general principle for the next chapter, and simply to assume at this point its untenability. T h is has of course an arrogant look; but if the reader w ill bear with me for not very many pages more, I shall hope to appease his mind. Meanwhile I affirm confidently that the same outer objects actually f e e l different to us according as our brain reacts on them in one way or another by m aking us perceive them as this or as that sort of thing. So true is this that one may well, with Stumpf,74 re­

verse Helmholtz’s query, and ask: “ W hat would become of our sense-perceptions in case experience were not able so to transform them?” Stumpf adds: “A ll wrong perceptions that depend on pe­ culiarities in the organs are more or less perfectly corrected by the influence of imagination following the guidance of experience.” If, therefore, among the facts of optical space-perception (which we must now proceed to consider in more detail) we find instances of an identical organic eye-process, giving us different perceptions at different times, in consequence of different collateral circum­ stances suggesting different objective facts to our imagination, we must not hastily conclude, with the school of Helmholtz and W undt, that the organic eye-process pure and simple, without the collateral circumstances, is incapable of giving us any sensation of a spatial kind at all. W e must rather seek to discover by what means the circumstances can so have transformed a space-sensation, which, but for their presence, would probably have been felt in its natural purity. And I may as well say now in advance that we shall find the means to be nothing more or less than association—the suggestion to the m ind of optical objects not actually present, but more ha­ bitually associated with the ‘collateral circumstances’ than the sen­ sation which they now displace and being imagined now with a quasi-hallucinatory strength. But before this conclusion emerges, it will be necessary to have reviewed the most im portant facts o f optical space-perception, in relation to the organic conditions on o f the intellectual space-yielding process may be. H e vacillates— we shall later see how. O p . cit., p. 214.

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which they depend. Readers acquainted with German optics will excuse what is already familiar to them in the following section.75 75 Before em barking on this new topic it w ill be w ell to shelve, once for all, the problem of w hat is the physiological process that underlies the distance-feeling. Since one-eyed people have it, and are inferior to the two-eyed only in m easuring its gradations, it can have no exclusive connection w ith the double and disparate images produced by binocular parallax. Since people w ith closed eyes, looking at an after-im age, do not usually see it draw near or recede w ith varyin g convergence, it cannot be sim ply constituted by the convergence-feeling. For the same reason it w ould appear non-identical w ith the feeling of accom m odation. T h e differences of apparent p arallactic m ovem ent between far and near objects as we move ou r head cannot constitute the distance-sensation, for such differences may be easily repro­ duced experim en tally (in the movements of visible spots against a background) w ithout engendering any illusion of perspective. F inally, it is obvious that visible faintness, dimness, and smallness are not p e r se the feelin g of visible distance, however m uch in the case of well-known objects they may serve as signs to sug­ gest it. A certain m axim um distance-value, however, being given to the field o f view

of the m om ent, w hatever it be, the feelings that accom pany the processes just enum erated become so m any lo ca l signs of the gradation of distances w ithin this m axim um depth. T h e y help us to subdivide and measure it. Itself, however, is felt as a unit, a total distance-value, determ inin g the vastness of the w hole field of view, which accordingly appears as an abyss of a certain volum e. A nd the question still persists, w hat neural process is it that underlies the sense of this distance-value? H ering, w ho has tried to exp lain the gradations w ithin it by the interaction of certain native distance-values belonging to each point of the two retinae, seems w illin g to adm it that the a b so lu te scale of the space-volum e w ithin w hich the natively fixed relative distances shall appear is n o t fixed, but determ ined each time by ‘experience in the widest sense of the w ord’ (B eiträg e, p , 344). W h a t he calls the K e r n p u n k t of this space-volum e is the p oin t we are m om entarily fixating. T h e ab ­ solute scale of the w hole volum e depends on the absolute distance at which this K e r n p u n k t is judged to lie from the person of the looker, “ By an alteration of the localization of the K e r n p u n k t, the in n er relations of the seen space are no wise altered; this space in its totality is as a fixed unit, so to speak, displaced w ith respect to the self of the looker” (p, 345). B u t what constitutes the localization of the K e r n p u n k t itself at any given tim e, except ‘E xperience,’ i.e., higher cerebral and intellectual processes, involving m emory, H ering does not seek to define. Stum pf, the other sensationalist w riter w ho has best realized the difficulties of the problem , thinks that the prim itive sensation of distance must have an im m ediate physical antecedent, either in the shape of “ an organic alteration accom panying the process of accom m odation, or else given directly in the specific energy of the optic nerve.” In contrast w ith H ering, however, he thinks that it is the a b so lu te distance of the spot fixated which is thus prim itively, im m ediately, and physiolog­ ically given, and not the relative distances o f other things abou t this spot. T h ese, he thinks, are origin ally seen in what, broadly speaking, m ay be term ed one plane with it. W heth er the distance of this plane, considered as a phenom enon of our p rim itive sensibility, be an invariable datum , or susceptible of fluctuation, he does not, if I understand him rightly, undertake dogm atically to decide, but inclines to the form er view. For him then, as for H ering, higher cerebral processes o f association,

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Let us begin the long and rather tedious inquiry by the most important case. Physiologists have long sought for a simple law by which to connect the seen direction and distance of objects with the retinal impressions they produce. T w o principal theories have been held of this matter, the ‘theory of identical points,’ and the under the nam e of ‘Experience,’ are the authors of fully one-half part of the distance-perceptions which we at any given tim e may have. H ering's and Stum pf’s theories are reported for the English reader by Mr. Sully (in M in d , in, pp. 172-6). M r. A bbott, in his Sight a n d T o u c h (pp. 96-8), gives a theory which is to me so obscure that I only refer the reader to its place, adding that it seems to make of distance a fixed function of retinal sensation as modified by focal adjustm ent. Besides these three authors I am ignorant of any, except Panum , who may have attem pted to define distance as in any degree an im m ediate sensation. And w ith them the direct sensational share is reduced to a very small proportional part, in ou r com pleted distance judgm ents. Professor Lipps, in his singularly acute P sy ch o lo g isch e S tu d ie n (p. 69 ff.), argues, as Ferrier, in his review of Berkeley (P h ilo s o p h ic a l R em a in s, 11, 330 ff.), had argued before him , that it is logically im p o ssib le we should perceive the distance of any­ th in g from the eye by sight; for a seen distance can only be between seen term ini; and one of the term ini, in the case of distance from the eye, is the eye itself, which is not seen. Sim ilarly of the distance of two points behind each other: the near one h id es the far one, no space is seen between them. For the space between two objects to be seen, both must appear beside each other, then the space in question w ill be v isib le. On no other condition is its visibility possible. T h e conclusion is that things can properly be seen only in w hat Lipp s calls a surface, and that ou r knowledge o f the third dim ension must needs be conceptual, not sensational or visually in ­ tuitive. But no argum ents in the w orld can prove a feeling which actually exists to be impossible. T h e feeling of depth or distance, of farness or awayness, does actually exist as a fact of ou r visual sensibility. A ll that Professor L ipp s’s reasonings prove concerning it is that it is not linear in its character, or in its im m ediacy fu lly ho­ mogeneous and consubstantial w ith the feeling of lateral distance between two seen term ini; in short, that there are tw o sorts of optical sensation, each inexplicably due to a pecu liar neural process. T h e neural process is easily discovered, in the case of lateral extension or spreadoutness, to be the num ber of retinal nerve-ends affected by the ligh t; in the case of protension or mere farness it is m ore com p li­ cated and, as we have concluded, is still to seek. T h e two sensible qualities unite in the prim itive visual bigness. T h e measurement of their various am ounts against each other obeys the general laws of all such measurements. W e discover their equivalencies by means of objects, apply the same units to both, and translate them into each other so habitually that at last they get to seem to us even qu ite sim ilar in kind. T h is final appearance of hom ogeneity may perhaps be facilitated by the fact that in binocular vision two points situated on the prolongation of the optical axis of o n e of the eyes, so that the near one hides the far one, are by the o th e r eye seen laterally apart. Each eye has in fact a foreshortened lateral view of the o th er’s line of sight. In the London T im e s for Feb. 8, 1884, is an interesting letter by J. D. D ougall, who tries to explain by this reason w hy two-eyed rifle-shooting has such advantages over shooting w ith one eye closed.

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‘theory of projection,’—each incompatible with the other, and each beyond certain limits becoming inconsistent with the facts. T h e Theory of Identica l Points

T h is theory starts from the truth that on both retinae an impres­ sion on the upper half makes us perceive an object as below, on the lower half as above, the horizon; and on the right half an object

F ic. 54.

to the left, on the left half one to the right, of the median line. T hus each quadrant of one retina corresponds as a whole to the sim ilar quadrant of the other; and within two similar quadrants, al and ar for example, there should, if the correspondence were consistently carried out, be geometrically similar points which, if impressed at the same time by light emitted from the same object, should cause that object to appear in the same direction to either eye. Experiment verifies this surmise. If we look at the starry vault with parallel eyes, the stars all seem single; and the laws of perspec­ tive show that under the circumstances the parallel light-rays com­ ing from each star must impinge on points within either retina which are geometrically similar to each other. T h e same result may be more artificially obtained. If we take two exactly similar pic­ tures, smaller, or at least no larger, than those on an ordinary stereoscopic slide, and if we look at them as stereoscopic slides are looked at, that is, at one with each eye (a median partition con­ fining the view of either eye to the picture opposite it), we shall see but one flat picture, all of whose parts appear sharp and single.76 76 Just so, a p air of spectacles held an inch or so from the eyes seem like one large m edian glass. T h e faculty of seeing stereoscopic slides single w ithout an instrum ent is of the utm ost u tility to the student of physiological optics, and persons with strong eyes can easily acquire it. T h e only difficulty lies in dissociating the degree of accom m odation from the degree of convergence which it usually accompanies. If the right picture is focussed by the right eye, the left by the left eye, the optic axes must either be parallel or converge upon an im aginary p oin t some distance

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Identical points being impressed, both eyes see their object in the same direction, and the two objects consequently coalesce into one. T h e same thing may be shown in still another way. W ith fixed head converge the eyes upon some conspicuous objective point be­ hind a pane of glass; then close either eye alternately and make a little ink-mark on the glass, ‘covering’ the object as seen by the eye which is momentarily open. On looking now with both eyes the ink-marks will seem single, and in the same direction as the objec­ tive point. Conversely, let the eyes converge on a single ink-spot on the glass, and then by alternate shutting of them let it be noted what objects behind the glass the spot covers to the right and left eye respectively. Now with both eyes open, both these objects and the spot will appear in the same place, one or other of the three becoming more distinct according to the fluctuations of retinal attention.77 Now what is the direction of this common place? T h e only way of defining the direction of an object is by p o in tin g to it. Most peo­ ple, if asked to look at an object over the horizontal edge of a sheet of paper which conceals their hand and arm, and then to point their finger at it (raising the hand gradually so that at last a finger­ tip will appear above the sheet of paper), are found to place the finger not between either eye and the object, but between the latter and the root of the nose, and this whether both eyes or either alone be used. H ering and Helmholtz express this by saying that we judge of the direction of objects as they would appear to an imagi­ nary cyclopean eye, situated between our two real eyes, and with its optical axis bisecting the angle of convergence of the latter. Our two retinae act, according to Hering, as if they were superposed in the place of this imaginary double-eye; we see by the correspond­ ing points of each, situated far asunder as they really are, just as we should see if they were superposed and could both be excited to­ gether. T h e judgm ent of objective singleness and that of identical dibehind the plane of the pictures, according to the size and distance apart of the pictures. T h e accom m odation, however, has to be m ade for the plane of the pic­ tures itself, and a near accom m odation w ith a far-off convergence is som ething which the ordinary use of ou r eyes never teaches us to effect. T h ese two observations prove the law of identical direction only for objects which excite the foveæ or lie in the line of direct looking. Observers skilled in in ­ direct vision can, however, more or less easily verify the law for ou tlyin g retinal points.

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rection seem to hang necessarily together. A nd that of identical d i­ rection seems to carry with it the necessity of a common origin, between the eyes or elsewhere, from which all the directions felt may seem to be estimated. T h is is why the cyclopean eye is really a fundamental part of the formulation of the theory of identical retinal points, and why Hering, the greatest champion of this the­ ory, lays so much stress upon it. It is an im m ediate consequence of the law of identical projection of images on geom etrically sim ilar points that images which fall upon geom etrically d i s p a r a t e p oints of the two retin a should be projected in d i s p a r a t e directions, and that their objects should consequently appear in t w o places, or l o o k d o u b l e . T ak e the

parallel rays from a star falling upon two eyes which converge upon a near object, O, instead of being parallel, as in the previously in­ stanced case. If SL and SR. in Fig. 55 be the parallel rays, each of them will fall upon the nasal half of the retina which it strikes.

But the two nasal halves are disparate, geometrically sym metri­ cal, not geometrically similar. T h e image on the left one will there­ fore appear as if lying in a direction leftwards of the cyclopean eye’s line of sight; the image of the right one will appear far to the right of the same direction. T h e star will, in short, be seen double,— ‘homonymously’ double.

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Conversely, if the star be looked at directly with parallel axes, O will be seen double, because its images will affect the outer or cheek halves of the two retinae, instead of one outer and one nasal half. T h e position of the images will here be reversed from that of the previous case. T h e right eye’s image will now appear to the left, the left eye’s to the right—the double images will be ‘heterony­ mous.’ T h e same reasoning and the same result ought to apply where the object’s place with respect to the direction of the two optic axes is such as to make its images fall not on non-similar retinal halves, but on non-similar parts of similar halves. Here, of course, the directions of projection will be less widely disparate than in the other case, and the double images will appear to lie less widely apart. Careful experiments made by many observers according to the so-called haploscopic method confirm this law, and show that cor­ responding points, of single visual direction, exist upon the two retinae. For the detail of these one must consult the special treatises. Note now an important consequence. If we take a stationary ob­ ject and allow the eyes to vary their direction and convergence, a purely geometrical study will show that there w ill be some posi­ tions in which its two images impress corresponding retinal points, but more in which they impress disparate points. T h e former con­ stitute the so-called horopter, and their discovery has been attended with great mathematical difficulty. Objects or parts of objects which lie in the eyes’ horopter at any given time cannot appear double. O bjects lying out of the horopter w ould seem, if the theory of iden­ tical points were strictly true, necessarily and always to appear double.

Here comes the first great conflict of the identity-theory with ex­ perience. W ere the theory true, we ought all to have an intuitive knowledge of the horopter as the line of distinctest vision. Objects placed elsewhere ought to seem, if not actually double, at least blurred. A nd yet no living man makes any such distinction between the parts of his field of vision. T o most of us the whole field appears single, and it is only by rare accident or by special education that we ever catch a glimpse of a double image. In 1838, Wheatstone, in his truly classical memoir on binocular vision and the stereo­ scope,78 showed that the disparateness of the points on which the 78 T h is essay, publish ed in the P h ilo s o p h ic a l T ra n sactio n s, contains the germ of

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two images of an object fall does not within certain limits affect its seen singleness at all, but rather the distance at which it shall ap­ pear. Wheatstone made an observation, moreover, which subse­ quently became the bone of much hot contention, in which he strove to show that not only m ight disparate images fuse, but im­ ages on corresponding or identical points m ight be seen double.79 I am unfortunately prevented by the weakness of my own eyes from experim enting enough to form a decided personal opinion on the matter. It seems to me, however, that the balance of evi­ dence is against the Wheatstonian interpretation, and that dis­ parate points may fuse, without identical points for that reason ever giving double images. T h e two questions, “ Can we see single with disparate points?” and “ Can we see double with identical points?” although at the first blush they may appear, as to H elm ­ holtz they appear, to be but two modes of expressing the same in­ quiry, are in reality distinct. T h e first may quite well be answered affirmatively and the second negatively. Add to this that the experiment quoted from Helmholtz above by no means always succeeds, but that many individuals place their finger between the object and one of their eyes, oftenest the right;80 finally, observe that the identity-theory, with its Cyclopean starting point for all lines of direction, gives by itself no ground for the distance on any line at which an object shall appear, and has to be helped out in this respect by subsidiary hypotheses, which, in the hands of H ering and others, have become so complex as easily to almost all the methods app lied since to the study of optical perception. It seems a pity that England, leading off so b rillian tly the modern epoch of this study, should so qu ickly have dropped out of the field. Alm ost all subsequent progress has been made in G erm any, H olland, and, lo n g o in terv a llo , Am erica. 79 T h is is no place to report this controversy, but a few bibliographic references may not be inappropriate. W heatstone's own experim en t is in section 12 of his m em oir. In favor of his interpretation see H elm holtz: P h y sio lo g isch e O p tik , pp. 736-9; W un dt: P h y sio lo g isch e P sy ch o lo g ie, 2te Aufl., 11, p. 144; N agel: Das S ehen m it zw ei A u g e n , pp. 78-82. A gainst W heatstone see V olkm ann: A r c h iv fü r O p h th a l­ m o lo g ie, v, 2-74, and U n ter su ch u n g e n , p. 266; H ering: B eiträ g e zur P h y sio lo g ie, §§ 29-45, also ill H erm ann’s H a n d b u c h d e r P h y sio lo g ie, Bd. 111, 1 T h ., p. 435: Aubert: P h y sio lo g ie d er N e tz h a u t, p. 322; Schoen: A r c h iv fü r O p h th a lm o lo g ie , xxiv, 1, pp. 56-65; and D onders: ib id ., x m , 1, p. 15 and note. so W hen we see the finger the w hole tim e, wc usually p u t it in the line join in g object and left eye if it be the left finger, join in g object and right eye if it be the right finger. Microscopists, marksmen, or persons one of whose eyes is much better than the other, almost always refer directions to a single eye, as may be seen by the position of the shadow on th eir face when they p oin t at a candle-flam e.

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fall a prey to critical attacks; and it will soon seem as if the law of identical seen directions by corresponding points, although a sim ple form ula for expressing concisely many fundam ental p h e ­ nom ena, is by no means an adequate account of the w hole matter of retinal percep tion ,81 T h e Projection-T heory

Does the theory of projection fare any better? T h is theory ad­ mits that each eye sees the object in a different direction from the other, along the line, namely, passing from the object through the middle of the pupil to the retina. A point directly fixated is thus seen on the optical axes of both eyes. T here is only one point, how­ ever, which these two optical axes have in common, and that is the point to which they converge. Everything directly looked at is seen at this point, and is thus seen both single and at its proper distance. It is easy to show the incompatibility of this theory with the theory of identity. T ake an objective point (like O in Fig. 55, when the star is looked at) casting its images R ' and L ' on geometrically dis­ similar parts of the two retinae and affecting the outer half of each eye. On the identity-theory it ought necessarily to appear double, whilst on the projection-theory there is no reason whatever why it should not appear single, provided only it be located by the judg­ ment on each line of visible direction, neither nearer nor farther than its point of intersection with the other line. Every point in the field of view ought, in truth, if the projectiontheory were uniform ly valid, to appear single, entirely irrespective

of the varying positions of the eyes, for from every point of space two lines of visible direction pass to the two retinae; and at the in­ tersection of these lines, or just where the point is, there, according to the theory, it should appear. T h e objection to this theory is thus precisely the reverse of the objection to the identity-theory. I f the latter ruled, we ought to see most things d ou ble all the time. I f the *1 Professor Joseph Le Conte, who believes strongly in the identity-theory, has em bodied the latter in a p air of laws of the relation between positions seen single and double, near or far, on th e one hand, and convergences and retinal impressions, on the other, which, though com plicated, seems to me by far the best descriptive form ulation yet m ade of the norm al facts of vision. His account is easily accessible to the reader in his volum e S ig ht in the International Scientific Series, bk. 11, c. 3, so I say no more about it now, except that it does not solve any of the difficulties we are noting in the identity-theory, nor account for the other fluctuating perceptions of which we go on to treat.

861

T h e Principles of Psychology projection-theory ruled, we ought never to see anything double. A s a matter of fact we get too few dou ble images for the identitytheory, and too many for the projection-theory.

T h e partisans of the projection-theory, beginning with Aguilonius, have always explained double images as the result of an er­ roneous judgm ent of the distance of the object, the images of the latter being projected by the imagination along the two lines of visible direction either nearer or farther than the point of intersec­ tion of the latter. A diagram will make this clear.

Let O be the point looked at, M an object farther, and N an object nearer, than it. T h en M and N will send the lines of visible direction M M and N N to the two retinae. If N be judged as far as O, it must necessarily lie where the two lines of visible direction N N intersect the plane of the arrow, or in two places, at N ' and at N ". If M be judged as near as O, it must for the same reason form two images at M ' and M ". It is, as a matter of fact, true that we often misjudge the distance in the way alleged. If the reader w ill hold his forefingers, one be­ yond the other, in the median line, and fixate them alternately, he w ill see the one not looked at, double; and he will also notice that

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it appears nearer to the plane of the one looked at, whichever the latter may be, than it really is. Its changes of apparent size, as the convergence of the eyes alters, also prove the change of apparent distance. T h e distance at which the axes converge seems, in fact, to exert a sort of attraction upon objects situated elsewhere. Being the distance of which we are most acutely sensible, it invades, so to speak, the whole field of our perception. If two half-dollars be laid on the table an inch or two apart, and the eyes fixate steadily the point of a pen held in the median line at varying distances be­ tween the coins and the face, there will come a distance at which the pen stands between the left half-dollar and the right eye, and the right half-dollar and the left eye. T h e two half-dollars will then coalesce into one; and this one will show its apparent approach to the pen-point by seeming suddenly much reduced in size.82 Yet, in spite of this tendency to inaccuracy, we are never actually mistaken about the half-dollar being behind the pen-point. It may not seem far enough off, but still it is farther than the point. In general it may be said that where the objects are known to us, no such illusion of distance occurs in any one as the theory would re­ quire. A nd in some observers, H ering for example, it seems hardly to occur at all. If I look into infinite distance and get my finger in double images, they do not seem infinitely far off. T o make objects at different distances seem equidistant, careful precautions must be taken to have them alike in appearance, and to exclude all out­ ward reasons for ascribing to the one a different location from that ascribed to the other. T h u s Donders tries to prove the law of pro­ jection by taking two similar electric sparks, one behind the other on a dark ground, one seen double; or an iron rod placed so near to the eyes that its double images seem as broad as that of a fixated stove-pipe, the top and bottom of the objects being cut off by screens, so as to prevent all suggestions of perspective, etc. T h e three objects in each experiment seem in the same plane.83 Add to this the impossibility, recognized by all observers, of ever seeing double with the fovea, and the fact that authorities as able as those quoted in the note on Wheatstone’s observation deny that they can see double then with identical points, and we are forced 83 N atu rally it takes a sm aller object at a less distance to cover by its image a constant am ount of retinal surface. 83 A r c h iv /lir O p h th a lm o lo g ie , Bd. xvn, Abth. 2, pp. 44-6 (1877).

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology

to conclude that the projection-theory, lik e its predecessor, breaks down. N eith er form ulates exactly or exhaustively a law for all our perceptions. A m bigu ity of R etin a l Impressions W hat does each theory try to do? T o make of seen location a fixed fu n ction of retinal impression. O ther facts may be brought forwards to show how far from fixed are the perceptive fu nctions of retinal impressions. W e alluded a while ago to the extraordinary

am biguity of the retinal image as a revealer of magnitude. Produce an after-image of the sun and look at your finger-tip: it w ill be smaller than your nail. Project it on the table, and it will be as big as a strawberry; on the wall, as large as a plate; on yonder moun­ tain, bigger than a house. And yet it is an unchanged retinal im­ pression. Prepare a sheet with the figures shown in Fig. 57 strongly marked upon it, and get by direct fixation a distinct after-image of each.

Project the after-image of the cross upon the upper left-hand part of the wall, it will appear as in Fig. 58; on the upper right-hand it w ill appear as in Fig. 59. T h e circle similarly projected will be

F ic. 58.

Fic. 59.

distorted into two different ellipses. If the two parallel lines be projected upon the ceiling or floor far in front, the farther ends w ill diverge; and if the three parallel lines be thrown on the same surfaces, the upper pair w ill seem farther apart than the lower.

864

T h e P erception of Space

Adding certain lines to others has the same distorting effect. In what is known as Zollner’s pattern (Fig. 60), the long parallels tip towards each other the moment we draw the short slanting lines

////y w ' /

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

F ic. 60.

over them yet their retinal images are the same they always were. A similar distortion of parallels appears in Fig. 61.

Drawing a square inside the circle (Fig. 62) gives to the outline of the latter an indented appearance where the square’s corners touch it. Drawing the radii inside of one of the right angles in the same figure makes it seem larger than the other. In Fig. 63, the retinal image of the space between the extreme dots is in all three lines the same, yet it seems much larger the moment it is filled up with other dots. In the stereoscope certain pairs of lines which look single under

865

T h e Principles of Psychology

F ic. 62.

Fic. 63.

ordinary circumstances immediately seem double when we add certain other lines to them.84 A m bigu ous Im port of Eye-movem ents

These facts show the indeterminateness of the space-import of various retinal impressions. T ak e now the eye’s movements, and we find a similar vacillation. W hen we follow a moving object with our gaze, the motion is ‘voluntary’; when our eyes oscillate to and fro after we have made ourselves dizzy by spinning around, it is ‘reflex’; and when the eyeball is pushed with the finger, it is ‘pas­ sive.’ Now, in all three of these cases we get a feeling from the movement as it effects itself. But the objective perceptions to which the feeling assists us are by no means the same. In the first case we may see a stationary field of view with one moving object in it; in the second, the total field swimming more or less steadily in one direction; in the third, a sudden jum p or twist of the same total field. 84

A. W . Volkm ann: Untersuchungen, p. 253.

866

T h e P erception of Space T h e feelings of convergence of the eyeballs permit of the same ambiguous interpretation. W hen objects are near we converge strongly upon them in order to see them; when far, we set our optic axes parallel. But the exact degree of convergence fails to be felt; or rather, being felt, fails to tell us the absolute distance of the object we are regarding. Wheatstone arranged his stereoscope in such a way that the size of the retinal images might change without the convergence altering; or conversely, the convergence might change without the retinal image altering. Under these circum­ stances, he says,85 the object seemed to approach or recede in the first case, without altering its size; in the second, to change its size without altering its distance—just the reverse of what m ight have been expected. Wheatstone adds, however, that ‘fixing the atten­ tion’ converted each of these perceptions into its opposite. T h e same perplexity occurs in looking through prismatic glasses, which alter the eyes’ convergence. W e cannot decide whether the object has come nearer, or grown larger, or both, or neither; and our judg­ ment vacillates in the most surprising way. W e may even make our eyes diverge, and the object w ill none the less appear at a finite distance. W hen we look through the stereoscope, the picture seems at no determinate distance. These and other facts have led H elm ­ holtz to deny that the feeling of convergence has any very exact value as a distance-measurer.86 W ith the feelings of accom m odation it is very much the same. Donders has shown87 that the apparent m agnifying power of spec­ tacles of moderate convexity hardly depends at all upon their en­ largement of the retinal image, but rather on the relaxation they permit of the muscle of accommodation. T h is suggests an object farther off, and consequently a much larger one, since its retinal size rather increases than diminishes. But in this case the s^me vac­ illation of judgm ent as in the previously mentioned case of con­ vergence takes place. T h e recession made the object seem larger, but the apparent growth in size of the object now makes it look as if it came nearer instead of receding. T h e effect thus contradicts its own cause. Everyone is conscious, on first putting on a pair of 85 P h ilo s o p h ic a l T ra n sa ctio n s, 1852, p. 4. 80

P h y sio lo g isch e O p tik , 649-664. Later this author is led to value convergence

more highly. A r c h iv fu r (A n a to m ie u n d ) P h y sio lo g ie (1878), p. 322. 87

O n th e A n o m a lie s o f A cco m m o d a tio n an d R e fr a ctio n o f th e E ye (New Syden­

ham Socicty T ran slation , London, 1864), p. 155.

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spectacles, of a doubt whether the field of view draws near or re­ treats.88 T here is still another deception, occurring in persons who have had one eye-muscle suddenly paralyzed. T h is deception has led W undt to affirm that the eyeball-feeling proper, the incoming sen­ sation of effected rotation, tells us only of the direction of our eyemovements, but not of their whole extent.89 For this reason, and because not only W undt, but many other authors, think the phe­ nomena in these partial paralyses demonstrate the existence of a feeling of innervation, a feeling of the outgoing nervous current, opposed to every afferent sensation whatever, it seems proper to note the facts with a certain degree of detail. Suppose a man wakes up some m orning with the external rectus muscle of his right eye half paralyzed, what w ill be the result? He w ill be enabled only with great effort to rotate the eye so as to look at objects lying far off to the right. Something in the effort he makes w ill make him feel as if the object lay much farther to the right than it really is. If the left and sound eye be closed, and he be asked to touch rapidly with his finger an object situated towards his right, he w ill point the finger to the right of it. T h e current explanation of the ‘something’ in the effort which causes this deception is that it is the sensation of the outgoing discharge from the nervous cen­ tres, the ‘feeling of innervation,’ to use W u ndt’s expression, req­ uisite for bringing the open eye with its weakened muscle to bear upon the object to be touched. If that object be situated 20 degrees to the right, the patient has now to innervate as powerfully to turn the eye those 20 degrees as formerly he did to turn the eye 30 de­ grees. H e consequently believes as before that he has turned it 30 degrees; until, by a newly-acquired custom, he learns the altered spatial import of all the discharges his brain makes into his right abducens nerve. T h e ‘feeling of innervation,’ maintained to exist by this and other observations, plays an immense part in the spacetheories of certain philosophers, especially W undt. I shall else88 T h ese strange contradictions have been cnlled by tions o f judgm ent. See G ru n d zü g e d er p h y sio lo g isch en 601, 615, 627. O ne of the best exam ples o f them is the first seen through a telescope. It is larger and brighter,

A u b ert ‘ secondary’ decep­ O p tik (Leipzig, 1876), pp.

small size o f the moon as so we see its details more

distinctly and jud ge it nearer. B ut because we jud ge it so much nearer we think it must have grown sm aller. C f. C harpen tier in Ja h resb e rich te ü b er d ie F o rtsch ritte d e r A n a to m ie u n d P h y sio lo g ie, x, 430. 89 R e v u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , vi, p. 220.

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where try to show that the observations by no means warrant the conclusions drawn from them, and that the feeling in question is probably a wholly fictitious entity.90 Meanwhile it suffices to point out that even those who set most store by it are compelled, by the readiness with which the translocation of the field of view becomes corrected and further errors avoided, to admit that the precise space-import of the supposed sensation of outgoing energy is as am biguous and indeterm inate as that of any other of the eyefeelings we have considered hitherto.

I have now given what no one w ill call an understatement of the facts and arguments by which it is sought to banish the credit of directly revealing space from each and every kind of eye-sensation taken by itself. T h e reader w ill confess that they make a very plaus­ ible show, and most likely wonder whether my own theory of the matter can rally from their damaging evidence. But the case is far from being hopeless; and the introduction of a discrimination hitherto unmade will, if I mistake not, easily vindicate the view adopted in these pages, whilst at the same time it makes ungrudg­ ing allowance for all the ambiguity and illusion on which so much stress is laid by the advocates of the intellectualist-theory. T h e C hoice of the Visual Reality

W e have native and fixed optical space-sensations; but experi­ ence leads us to select certain ones from among them to be the e x ­ clusive bearers of reality : the rest becom e mere signs and suggesters of these. T h e factor of selection, on which we have already laid so much stress, here as elsewhere is the solving word of the enigma. If Helmholtz, W undt, and the rest, with an ambiguous retinal sen­ sation before them, meaning now one size and distance, and now another, had not contented themselves with merely saying:—T h e size and distance are not this sensation, they are something beyond it which it merely calls up, and whose own birthplace is afar—in ‘synthesis’ (Wundt) or in ‘experience’ (Helmholtz) as the case may be; if they had gone on definitely to ask and definitely to answer the question, W hat are the size and distance in their proper selves? they would not only have escaped the present deplorable vague­ ness of their space-theories, but they would have seen that the objective spatial attributes ‘signified’ are simply and solely certain 9« See C hapter X X V I.

869

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology other optical sensations now absent, but which the present sensa­ tions suggest. W hat, for example, is the slant-legged cross which we think we see on the wall when we project the rectangular after-image high up towards our right or left (Figs. 58 and 59)? Is it not in very sooth a retinal sensation itself? An imagined sensation, not a felt one, it is true, but none the less essentially and originally sensational or retinal for that,—the sensation, namely, which we should re­ ceive if a ‘real’ slant-legged cross stood on the wall in front of us and threw its image on our eye. T h a t image is not the one our retina now holds. O ur retina now holds the image which a cross of square shape throws when in front, but which a cross of the slant­ legged pattern w ould throw, provided it were actually on the wall in the distant place at which we look. Call this actual retinal image the ‘square’ image. T h e square image is then one of the innumer­ able images the slant-legged cross can throw. W hy should another one, and that an absent one, of those innumerable images be picked out to represent exclusively the slant-legged cross’s ‘true’ shape? W hy should that absent and imagined slant-legged image displace the present and felt square image from our mind? W hy, when the objective cross gives us so many shapes, as it varies its position, should we think we feel the true shape only when the cross is di­ rectly in front? And when that question is answered, how can the absent and represented feeling of a slant-legged figure so successful­ ly intrude itself into the place of a presented square one? Before answering either question, let us be doubly sure about our facts, and see how true it is that in our dealings with objects we always do p ick out one of the visual images they yield, to con­ stitute the real form or size.

T h e matter of size has been already touched upon, so that no more need be said of it here. As regards shape, almost all the retinal shapes that objects throw are perspective ‘distortions.’ Square table-tops constantly present two acute and two obtuse angles; circles drawn on our wall-papers, our carpets, or on sheets of paper, usually show like ellipses; parallels approach as they recede; hu­ man bodies are foreshortened; and the transitions from one to an­ other of these altering forms are infinite and continual. O ut of the flux, however, one phase always stands prominent. It is the form the object has when we see it easiest and best: and that is when our eyes and the object both are in what may be called the normal p o ­

870

T h e P erception of Space sition. In this position our head is upright and our optic axes either

parallel or symmetrically convergent; the plane of the object is per­ pendicular to the visual plane; and if the object is one containing many lines it is turned so as to make them, as far as possible, either parallel or perpendicular to the visual plane. In this situation it is that we compare all shapes with each other; here every exact mea­ surement and decision is made.91 It is very easy to see why the normal situation should have this extraordinary pre-em inence. First, it is the position in which we

easiest hold anything we are exam ining in our hands; second, it is a turning-point between all right- and all left-hand perspective views of a given object; third, it is the only position in which sym­ metrical figures seem symmetrical and equal angles seem equal; fourth, it is often that starting point of movements from which the eye is least troubled by axial rotations, by which superposition92 of the retinal images of different lines and different parts of the same line is easiest produced, and consequently by which the eye can make the best comparative measurements in its sweeps. A ll these merits single the normal position out to be chosen. N o other point of view offers so many esthetic and practical advantages. Here we believe we see the object as it is; elsewhere, only as it seems. Experience and custom soon teach us, however, that the seeming appearance passes into the real one by continuous grada­ tions. T h ey teach us, moreover, that seeming and being may be strangely interchanged. Now a real circle may slide into a seeming ellipse; now an ellipse may, by sliding in the same direction, be­ come a seeming circle; now a rectangular cross grows slant-legged; now a slant-legged one grows rectangular. Almost any form in oblique vision may be thus a derivative of almost any other in ‘primary’ vision; and we must learn, when we get one of the former appearances, to translate it into the appro­ priate one of the latter class; we must learn of what optical ‘reality’ it is one of the optical signs. H aving learned this, we do but obey that law of economy or simplification which dominates our whole psychic life, when we attend exclusively to the ‘reality’ and ignore as much as our consciousness w ill let us the ‘sign’ by which we cam e 91 T h e only exception seems to be when we expressly wish to abstract from par­ ticulars, and to ju d ge of the general ‘effect.’ W itness ladies trying on new dresses w ith their heads inclined and their eyes askance; or painters in the same attitude ju d gin g o f the ‘values’ in their pictures. 92 T h e im portance of Superposition w ill appear later on.

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T h e Principles of Psychology

to apprehend it. T h e signs of each probable real thing being m ul­ tiple and the thing itself one and fixed, we gain the same mental relief by abandoning the former for the latter that we do when we abandon mental images, with all their fluctuating characters, for the definite and unchangeable names which they suggest. T h e se­ lection of the several ‘norm al’ appearances from out of the jungle of our optical experiences, to serve as the real sights of which we shall think, is psychologically a parallel phenomenon to the habit of thinking in words, and has a like use. Both are-substitutions of terms few and fixed for terms manifold and vague. Sensations w hich we Ignore

T h is service of sensations as mere signs, to be ignored when they have evoked the other sensations which are their significates, was noticed first by Berkeley and remarked in many passages, as the following: “Signs, being little considered in themselves, or for their own sake, but only in their relative capacity, and for the sake of those things whereof they are signs, it comes to pass that the mind overlooks them, so as to carry its attention immediately on to the things signified . . . which, in truth and strictness, are not seen, but only suggested and ap­ prehended by means of the proper objects of sight, which alone are seen.” (A lciphron: Or, the M inute Philosopher, Fourth Dialogue, § 12.) Berkeley of course erred in supposing that the thing suggested was not even originally an object of sight, as the sign now is which calls it up. R eid expressed Berkeley’s principle in yet clearer lan­ guage: “The visible appearances of objects are intended by nature only as signs or indications; and the mind passes instantly to the things sig­ nified, without making the least reflection upon the sign, or even per­ ceiving that there is any such thing. . . . The mind has acquired a con­ firmed and inveterate habit of inattention to them [the signs]; for they no sooner appear, than quick as lightning the thing signified succeeds, and engrosses all our regard. They have no name in language; and, although we are conscious of them when they pass through the mind, yet their passage is so quick and so familiar, that it is absolutely un­ heeded; nor do they 'leave any footsteps of themselves, either in the memory or imagination.” (Inquiry, chap. vi, §§ 2, 3.)

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If we review the facts we shall find every grade of non-attention between the extreme form of overlooking mentioned by Reid (or forms even more extreme still) and complete conscious perception of the sensation present. Sometimes it is literally impossible to be­ come aware of the latter. Sometimes a little artifice or effort easily leads us to discern it together, or in alternation, with the ‘object’ it reveals. Sometimes the present sensation is held to be the object or to reproduce its features in undistorted shape, and then, of course, it receives the m ind’s full glare. T h e deepest inattention is to subjective optical sensations, strict­ ly so called, or those which are not signs of outer objects at all. H elm holtz’s treatment of these phenomena, muscce volitantes, negative after-images, double images, etc., is very satisfactory. He says: “We only attend with any ease and exactness to our sensations in so far forth as they can be utilized for the knowledge of outward things; and we are accustomed to neglect all those portions of them which have no significance as regards the external world. So much is this the case that for the most part special artifices and practice are required for the observation of these latter more subjective feelings. Although it might seem that nothing should be easier than to be conscious of one’s own sensations, experience nevertheless shows that often enough either a special talent like that showed in eminent degree by Purkinje, or acci­ dent or theoretic speculation, is a necessary condition for the discovery of subjective phenomena. Thus, for example, the blind spot on the retina was discovered by Mariotte by the theoretic way; similarly by me the existence of ‘summation’-tones in acoustics. In the majority of cases accident is what first led observers whose attention was espe­ cially exercised on subjective phenomena to discover this one or that; only where the subjective appearances are so intense that they inter­ fere with the perception of objects are they noticed by all men alike. But if they have once been discovered it is for the most part easy for subsequent observers who place themselves in proper conditions and bend their attention in the right direction to perceive them. But in many cases—for example, in the phenomena of the blind spot, in the discrimination of over-tones and combination-tones from the groundtone of musical sounds, etc.—such a strain of the attention is required, even with appropriate instrumental aids, that most persons fail. The very after-images of bright objects are by most men perceived only under exceptionally favorable conditions, and it takes steady practice

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to see the fainter images of this kind. It is a commonly recurring ex­ perience that persons smitten with some eye-disease which impairs vision suddenly remark for the first time the muscat volitantes which all through life their vitreous humor has contained, but which they now firmly believe to have arisen since their malady; the truth being that the latter has only made them more observant of all their visual sensa­ tions. There are also cases where one eye has gradually grown blind, and the patient lived for an indefinite time without knowing it, until, through the accidental closure of the healthy eye alone, the blindness of the other was brought to attention. “Most people, when first made aware of binocular double images, are uncommonly astonished that they should never have noticed them before, although all through their life they had been in the habit of see­ ing singly only those few objects which were about equally distant with the point of fixation, and the rest, those nearer and farther, which con­ stitute the great majority, had always been double. “We must then learn to turn our attention to our particular sensa­ tions, and we learn this commonly only for such sensations as are means of cognition of the outer world. Only so far as they serve this end have our sensations any importance for us in ordinary life. Subjective feel­ ings are mostly interesting only to scientific investigators; were they remarked in the ordinary use of the senses, they could only cause dis­ turbance. Whilst, therefore, we reach an extraordinary degree of firm­ ness and security in objective observation, we not only do not reach this where subjective phenomena are concerned, but we actually attain in a high degree the faculty of overlooking these altogether, and keeping ourselves independent of their influence in judging of objects, even in cases where their strength might lead them easily to attract our atten­ tion.” (Physiologische Optik, pp. 431-2.) Even where the sensation is not merely subjective, as in the cases of which Helmholtz speaks, but is a sign of something out­ ward, we are also liable, as Reid says, to overlook its intrinsic quality and attend exclusively to the image of the ‘thing’ it sug­ gests. But here everyone can easily notice the sensation itself if he will. Usually we see a sheet of paper as uniform ly white, although a part of it may be in shadow. But we can in an instant, if we please, notice the shadow as local color. A man walking towards us does not usually seem to alter his size; but we can, by setting our attention in a peculiar way, make him appear to do so. T h e whole education of the artist consists in his learning to see the presented signs as well as the represented things. No matter what the field of view means, he sees it also as it feels —that is, as a collection of

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patches of color bounded by lines—the whole form ing an optical diagram of whose intrinsic proportions one who is not an artist has hardly a conscious inkling. T h e ordinary man’s attention passes over them to their import; the artist’s turns back and dwells upon them for their own sake. “ D on’t draw the thing as it is, but as it looksV’ is the endless advice of every teacher to his pupil; forgetting that what it ‘is’ is what it would also ‘look,’ provided it were placed in what we have called the ‘norm al’ situation for vision. In this situation the sensation as ‘sign’ and the sensation as ‘object’ co­ alesce into one, and there is no contrast between them. Sensations w hich seem Suppressed

But a great difficulty has been made of certain peculiar cases which we must now turn to consider. T h ey are cases in which a present sensation, whose existence is supposed to be proved by its outward conditions being there, seems absolutely suppressed or changed by the image of the ‘ th in g it suggests.

T h is matter carries us back to what was said on p. 852. T h e pas­ sage there quoted from Helmholtz refers to these cases. He thinks they conclusively disprove the original and intrinsic spatiality of any of our retinal sensations; for if such a one, actually present, had an immanent and essential space-determination of its own, that m ight well be added to and overlaid or even momentarily eclipsed by suggestions of its signification, but how could it pos­ sibly be altered or completely suppressed thereby? O f actually pres­ ent sensations, he says, being suppressed by suggestions of experi­ ence— “We have not a single well-attested example. In all those illusions which are provoked by sensations in the absence of their usually excit­ ing objects, the mistake never vanishes by the better understanding of the object really present, and by insight into the cause of deception. Phosphenes provoked by pressure on the eyeball, by traction on the en­ trance of the optic nerve, after-images, etc., remain projected into their apparent place in the field of vision, just as the image projected from a mirror’s surface continues to be seen behind the mirror, although we know that to all these appearances no outward reality corresponds. True enough, we can remove our attention, and keep it removed, from sensations that have no reference to the outer world, those, e.g., of the weaker after-images, and of entoptic objects, etc. . . . But what would become of our perceptions at all if we had the power not only of ignor­

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ing, but of transforming into their opposites, any part of them that differed from that outward experience, the image of which, as that of a present reality, accompanies them in the mind?” 93 And again: “On the analogy of all other experience, we should expect that the conquered feelings would persist to our perception, even if only in the shape of recognized illusions. But this is not the case. One does not see how the assumption of originally spatial sensations can explain our optical cognitions, when in the last resort those who believe in these very sensations find themselves obliged to assume that they are over­ come by our better judgment, based on experience.” These words, coming from such a quarter, necessarily carry great weight. But the authority even of a Helmholtz ought not to shake one’s critical composure. A nd the moment one abandons abstract generalities and comes to close quarters with the particulars, I think one easily sees that no such conclusions as those we have quoted follow from the latter. But profitably to conduct the dis­ cussion we must divide the alleged instances into groups. (a) W ith Helmholtz, color-perception is equally with spaceperception an intellectual affair. T h e so-called simultaneous colorcontrast, by which one color modifies another alongside of which it is laid, is explained by him as an unconscious inference. In Chap­ ter X V II we discussed the color-contrast problem; the principles which applied to its solution will prove also applicable to part of the present problem. In my opinion, H ering has definitively proved that, when one color is laid beside another, it modifies the sensa­ tion of the latter, not by virtue of any mere mental suggestion, as Helmholtz would have it, but by actually exciting a new nerveprocess, to which the modified feeling of color immediately cor­ responds. T h e explanation is physiological, not psychological. T h e transformation of the original color by the inducing color is due to the disappearance of the physiological conditions under which the first color was produced, and to the induction, under the new conditions, of a genuine new sensation, with which the ‘suggestions of experience’ have naught to do. T h a t processes in the visual apparatus propagate themselves lat­ erally, if one may so express it, is also shown by the phenom ena of 93 P h y sio lo g isch e O p tik , p. 817.

876

T h e P erception of Space contrast w hich occur after looking upon m otions of various kinds.

Here are a few examples. If, over the rail of a moving vessel, we look at the water rushing along the side, and then transfer our gaze to the deck, a band of planks w ill appear to us, moving in the op­ posite direction to that in which, a moment previously, we had been seeing the water move, whilst on either side of this band an­ other band of planks will move as the water did. Looking at a waterfall, or at the road from out of a car-window in a moving train, produces the same illusion, which may be easily verified in the laboratory by a simple piece of apparatus. A board with a win-

F ic . 64.

dow five or six inches wide and of any convenient length is sup­ ported upright on two feet. On the back side of the board, above and below the window, are two rollers, one of which is provided with a crank. A n endless band of any figured stuff is passed over these rollers (one of which can be so adjusted on its bearings as to

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keep the stuff always taut and not liable to slip), and the surface of the front board is also covered with stuff or paper of a nature to catch the eye. T u rn in g the crank now sets the central band in con­ tinuous motion, whilst the margins of the field remain really at rest, but after a while appear moving in the contrary way. Stopping the crank results in an illusory appearance of motion in reverse directions all over the field. A disk with an Archimedean spiral drawn upon it, whirled round on an ordinary rotating machine, produces still more startling effects.

Fic. 65.

“ If the revolution is in the direction in which the spiral line ap­ proaches the centre of the disk the entire surface of the latter seems to expand during revolution and to contract after it has ceased; and vice versa if the movement of revolution is in the opposite direction. If in the former case the eyes of the observers are turned from the rotating disk towards any familiar object, e.g., the face of a friend, the latter seems to contract or recede in a somewhat striking manner, and to ex­ pand or approach after the opposite motion of the spiral.” 94 94 B ow ditch and H all, in J o u rn a l o f P h y sio lo g y , vol. m , p. 299. H elm holtz tries to exp lain this phenom enon by unconscious rotations o f the eyeball. B ut movements of the eyeball can only exp lain such appearances o f m ovem ent as are the same over the w hole field. In the w indow ed board one p art o f the field seems to m ove in one way, another part in another. T h e same is true when we turn from the spiral to look at the w all— the cen tre of the field alone swells ou t or contracts, the m argin does the reverse or rem ains at rest. Dvordk has beau tifu lly proved the im possibility of eye-rotations in this case (S itzu n g sb erich te der W ien er Akadem ie, Bd. lx i). See also B ow ditch and H a ll’s paper as above, p. 300.

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An elementary form of these motor illusions seems to be the one described by Helmholtz on pp. 568-571 of his O p tik. T h e mo­ tion of anything in the field of vision along an acute angle towards a straight line sensibly distorts that line. T h u s in Fig. 66: Let A B

9-

_______ JO______ ...................................... O

-------------

F ic. 66.

be a line drawn on paper, C D E the tracing made over this line by the point of a compass steadily followed by the eye, as it moves. As the compass-point passes from C to D, the line appears to move downwards; as it passes from D to E, the line appears to move up­ wards; at the same time the whole line seems to incline itself in the direction F G during the first half of the compass’s movement; and in the direction H I during its last half; the change from one incli­ nation to another being quite distinct as the compass-point passes over D. A ny line across which we draw a pencil-point appears to be ani­ mated by a rapid movement of its own towards the pencil-point. T h is apparent movement of both of two things in relative motion to each other, even when one of them is absolutely still, reminds us of the instances quoted from Vierordt on page 811, and seems to take us back to a prim itive stage of perception, in which the discriminations we now make when we feel a movement have not yet been made. If we draw the point of a pencil through ‘Zollner’s pattern’ (Fig. 60, p. 865), and follow it with the eye, the whole figure becomes the scene of the most singular apparent unrest, of which Helmholtz has very carefully noted the conditions. T h e il­ lusion of Zollner’s figure vanishes entirely, or almost so, with most people, if they steadily look at one point of it with an unmoving eye; and the same is the case with many other illusions. N ow all these facts taken together seem to show— vaguely it is true, but certainly—that present excitem ents and after-effects of form er excitem ents may alter the result of processes occurring sim ultaneously at a distance from them in the retina or other por­

tions of the apparatus for optical sensation. In the cases last con­ sidered, the m oving eye, as it sweeps the fovea over certain parts

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of the figure, seems thereby to determine a modification in the feeling which the other parts confer, which modification is the fig­ ure’s ‘distortion.’ It is true that this statement explains nothing. It only keeps the cases to which it applies from being explained spuri­ ously. T h e spurious account of these illusions is that they are in­ tellectual, not sensational, that they are secondary, not primary, m ental facts. T h e distorted figure is said to be one which the mind is led to imagine, by falsely drawing an unconscious inference from

certain premises of which it is not distinctly aware. A nd the imag­ ined figure is supposed to be strong enough to suppress the per­ ception of whatever real sensations there may be. But Helmholtz, W undt, Delbœuf, Zôllner, and all the advocates of unconscious in­ ference are at variance with each other when it comes to the ques­ tion what these unconscious premises and inferences may be. T h at small angles look proportionally larger than larger ones is, in brief, the fundamental illusion to which almost all authors would reduce the peculiarity of Fig. 67, as of Figs. 60, 61, 62 (pp. 865, 866). T h is peculiarity of small angles is by W undt treated as

the case of a filled space seeming larger than an empty one, as in Fig. 68; and this, according to both Delbceuf and W undt, is owing

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n

i

e

a

b

c

F ig . 68 .

to the fact that more muscular innervation is needed for the eye to traverse a filled space than an empty one, because the points and lines in the filled space inevitably arrest and constrain the eye, and this makes us feel as if it were doing more work, i.e., traversing a longer distance.95 W hen, however, we recollect that muscular move­ ments are positively proved to have no share in the waterfall and revolving-spiral illusions, and that it is hard to see how W u ndt’s and D elbœ uf’s particular form of muscle-explanation can possibly apply to the compass-point illusion considered a moment ago, we must conclude that these writers have probably exaggerated, to say the least, the reach of their muscle-explanation in the case of the subdivided angles and lines. Never do we get such strong muscular feelings as when, against the course of nature, we oblige our eyes to be still; but fixing the eyes on one point of the figure, so far from making that part of the latter seem larger, dispels, in most persons, the illusion of these diagrams altogether. As for Helmholtz, he invokes, to explain the enlargement of small angles,98 what he calls a ‘ law of contrast’ between directions and distances of lines, analogous to that between colors and inten­ sities of light. Lines cutting another line make the latter seem more inclined away from them than it really is. Moreover, clearly rec­ ognizable magnitudes appear greater than equal magnitudes which we but vaguely apprehend. But this is surely a sensationalistic law, a native function of our seeing-apparatus. Quite as little as the negative after-image of the revolving spiral could such contrast be deduced from any association of ideas or recall of past objects. T h e principle of contrast is criticised by W undt,97 who says that by it small spaces ought to appear to us smaller, and not larger, than they really are. Helmholtz might have retorted (had not the retort been as fatal to the uniform ity of his own principle as to W u n dt’s) that if the muscle-explanation were true, it ought not to give rise #5 B u lle tin d e VA ca d é m ie d e B e lg iq u e , x ix, 2; R e v u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , vi, pp. 2235; P h y sio lo g isch e P sy ch o lo g ie, 2te Aufl., Bd. 11. p. 103. Com pare M iinsterberg’s views, B eitra g e, H eft 2, p. 174. 96 P h y sio lo g isch e O p tik , pp. 562-71. #7 P h y sio lo g isch e P sy ch o lo g ie, 2nd éd., vol. 11, pp. 107-8.

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to just the opposite illusions in the skin. W e saw on p. 783 that sub­ divided spaces appear shorter than empty ones upon the skin. T o the instances there given add this: Divide a line on paper into equal halves, puncture the extremities, and make punctures all along one of the halves; then, with the finger-tip on the opposite side of the paper, follow the line of punctures; the empty half will seem much longer than the punctured half. T h is seems to bring things back to unanalyzable laws, by reason of which our feeling of size is determined differently in the skin and in the retina, even when the objective conditions are the same. H ering’s explanation of Zollner’s figure is to be found in Herm ann’s H an db u ch der Physiologie, III, 1, p. 579. Lipps98 gives another reason why lines cutting another line make the latter seem to bend away from them more than is really the case. If, he says, we draw (Fig. 69) the line pm upon the line ab, and follow the latter with our eye, we shall,

on reaching the point m, tend for a moment to slip off ab and to follow mp, without distinctly realizing that we are not still on the main line. T h is makes us feel as if the remainder mb of the main line were bent a little away from its original direction. T h e illusion is apparent in the shape of a seeming approach of the ends b, b, of the two main lines. T h is to my mind would be a more satisfactory explanation of this class of illusions than any of those given by previous authors, were it not again for what happens in the skin. Considering all the circumstances, I feel justified in discarding this entire batch of illusions as irrelevant to our present inquiry.

W hatever they may prove, they do not prove that our visual per­ cepts of form and movement may not be sensations strictly so called. T h e y much more probably fall into line with the phenome98 G ru n d ta tsa ch en d es S e e le n le b e n s, pp. 526-30.

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na of irradiation and of color-contrast, and with V ierordt’s prim i­ tive illusions of movement. T h e y show us, if anything, a realm of sensations in which our habitual experience has not yet made traces, and which persist in spite of our better knowledge, urasuggestive of those other space-sensations which we all the time know from extrinsic evidence to constitute the real space-determinations of the diagram. Very likely, if these sensations were as frequent and as practically important as they now are insignificant and rare, we should end by substituting their significates—the real space-values of the diagrams—for them. These latter we should then seem to see directly, and the illusions would disappear like that of the size of a tooth-socket when the tooth has been out a week. (b )

A n o th er batch of cases w hich we may discard is that of d ou ble

images. A thoroughgoing anti-sensationalist ought to deny all na­

tive tendency to see double images when disparate retinal points are stimulated, because, he should say, most people never get them, but see all things single which experience has led them to believe to be single. “ Can a doubleness, so easily neutralized by our knowl­ edge, ever be a datum of sensation at all?” such an anti-sensationalist m ight ask. T o which the answer is that it is a datum of sensation, but a da­ tum which, like many other data, must first be discrim inated. As a rule, no sensible qualities are discriminated without a m otive." And those that later we learn to discriminate were originally felt confused. As well pretend that a voice, or an odor, which we have learned to pick out, is no sensation now. One may easily acquire skill in discriminating double images, though, as H ering some­ where says, it is an art of which one cannot become master in one year or in two. For masters like H ering himself, or Le Conte, the ordinary stereoscopic diagrams are of little use. Instead of com bin­ ing into one solid appearance, they simply cross each other with their doubled lines. Volkm ann has shown a great variety of ways in which the addition of secondary lines, differing in the two fields, helps us to see the primary lines double. T h e effect is analogous to that shown in the cases which we despatched a moment ago, where given lines have their space-value changed by the addition of new lines, without our being able to say why, except that a certain mu­ 89 Cf. su pra, p. 487 ff.

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tual adhesion of the lines and modification of the resultant feeling takes place by psychophysiological laws. T hus, if in Fig. 70, I and r be crossed by an horizontal line at the same level, and viewed stereoscopically, they appear as a single pair of lines, s, in space. But if the horizontal be at different levels, as in I', r', three lines appear, as in j'.100

F ig . 70 .

L et us then say no more about double images. A ll that the facts prove is what Volkm ann says,101 that, although there may be sets of retinal fibres so organized as to give an impression of two separate spots, yet the excitement of other retinal fibres may inhibit the effect of the first excitement, and prevent us from actually making the discrimination. Still farther retinal processes may, however, bring the doubleness to the eye of attention; and, once there, it is as genuine a sensation as any that our life affords.103 (c) T h ese groups of illusions being elim inated, either as cases of defective discrimination, or as changes of one space-sensation into another when the total retinal process changes, there remain but two other groups to puzzle us. T h e first is that of the after-images distorted by projection on to oblique planes; the second relates to the instability of our judgments of relative distance and size by the 100 See A r c h iv ju r O p h th a lm o lo g ie , vol. v, pt. 2, 1 (1859), where m any m ore e x ­ am ples are given. 101 U n ter su c h u n g e n , p. 250; see also p. 242. 1021 pass over certain difficulties abou t double images, drawn from the percep­ tions o f a few squinters (e.g., by Schweigger: K lin is c h e U n tersu ch u n g e n iib e r das S c h ie le n , B erlin, 1881; by Javal: A n n a les d ’ O c u lis tiq u e , l x x x v , p. 217), because the

facts are exceptional at best and very difficult of interpretation. In favor of the sensationalistic or n ativistic view o f one such case, see the im portant p aper by von Kries: A r c h iv ju r O p h th a lm o lo g ie , xxiv , 4, p. 117.

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eye, and includes especially what are known as pseudoscopic illu­ sions. T h e phenomena of the first group were described on page 864. A. W . Volkmann has studied them with his accustomed clearness and care.103 Even an imaginarily inclined wall, in a picture, will, if an after-image be thrown upon it, distort the shape thereof, and make us see a form of which our after-image would be the natural projection on the retina, were that form laid upon the wall. T hus a signboard is painted in perspective on a screen, and the eye, after steadily looking at a rectangular cross, is turned to the painted sign­ board. T h e after-image appears as an oblique-legged cross upon the signboard. It is the converse phenomenon of a perspective drawing

like Fig. 71, in which really oblique-legged figures are seen as rec­ tangular crosses. T h e unstable judgments of relative distance and size were also mentioned on pp. 864-865. W hatever the size may be of the retinal image which an object makes, the object is seen as of its own nor­ mal size. A man moving towards us is not sensibly perceived to grow, for example; and my finger, of which a single joint may more than conceal him from my view, is nevertheless seen as a much smaller object than the man. As for distances, it is often possible to make the farther part of an object seem near and the nearer part far. A human profile in intaglio, looked at steadily with one eye, or even both, soon appears irresistibly as a bas-relief. T h e in­ side of a common pasteboard mask, painted like the outside, and viewed with one eye in a direct light, also looks convex instead of 103 p h y sio lo g isch e U n ter su ch u n g e n im G e b ie te d e r O p tik , v.

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hollow. So strong is the illusion, after long fixation, that a friend who painted such a mask for me told me it soon became difficult to see how to apply the brush. Bend a visiting-card across the m id­ dle, so that its halves form an angle of 90° more or less; set it up­ right on the table, as in Fig. 72, and view it with one eye. Y ou can

F ig . 72 .

make it appear either as if it opened towards you or away from you. In the former case, the angle ab lies upon the table, b being nearer to you than a; in the latter case ab seems vertical to the table—as indeed it really is—with a nearer to you than b.10* Again, look, with either one or two eyes, at the opening of a wine-glass or tumbler (Fig. 73), held either above or below the eye’s level. T h e retinal

F ig . 73.

104 C f. E . M a c h : B eiträ g e z u r A n a ly se d e r E m p fin d u n g e n , p . 87.

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image of the opening is an oval, but we can see the oval in either of two ways,—as if it were the perspective view of a circle whose edge b were farther from us than its edge a (in which case we should seem to be looking down on the circle), or as if its edge a were the more distant edge (in which case we should be looking up at it through the b side of the glass). As the manner of seeing the edge changes, the glass itself alters its form in space and looks straight or seems bent towards or from the eye,105 according as the latter is placed beneath or above it. Plane diagrams also can be conceived as solids, and that in more than one way. Figs. 74, 75, 76, for example, are ambiguous per-

spective projections, and may each of them remind us of two differ­ ent natural objects. W hichever of these objects we conceive clearly at the moment of looking at the figure, we seem to see in all its solidity before us. A little practice w ill enable us to flap the figures, so to speak, backwards and forwards from one object to the other 10s Cf. V . Egger: R e v u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , x x , 488.

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at will. W e need only attend to one of the angles represented, and imagine it either solid or hollow—pulled towards us out of the plane of the paper, or pushed back behind the same—and the whole figure obeys the cue and is instantaneously transformed beneath our gaze.106 T h e peculiarity of all these cases is the am biguity of the percep­ tion to which the fixed retinal impression gives rise. W ith our retina excited in exactly the same way, whether by after-image, mask or diagram, we see now this object and now that, as if the retinal image p e r se had no essential space-import. Surely if form and length were originally retinal sensations, retinal rectangles ought not to become acute or obtuse, and lines ought not to alter their relative lengths as they do. If r e lie f were an optical feeling, it ought not to flap to and fro, with every optical condition un­ changed. Here, if anywhere, the deniers of space-sensation ought to be able to make their final stand.107 It must be confessed that their plea is plausible at first sight. But it is one thing to throw out retinal sensibility altogether as a spaceyielding function the moment we find an am biguity in its deliver­ ances, and another thing to examine candidly the conditions which may have brought the am biguity about. T h e former way is cheap, wholesale, shallow; the latter difficult and complicated, but full of instruction in the end. Let us try it for ourselves. In the case of the diagrams 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, the real object, lines meeting or crossing each other on a plane, is replaced by an im ag­ in e d so lid w hich we d escrib e as seen . R ea lly it is n o t seen b u t only so v iv id ly co n ceiv ed as to approach a vision o f reality. W e feel all

the while, however, that the solid suggested is not solidly there. T h e reason why one solid may seem more easily suggested than an­ other, and why it is easier in g en era l to p er ceiv e th e diagram so lid 106 Loeb (Pfliiger’s A r c h iv , x l , 274) has proved that m uscular changes of adap ta­ tion in the eye for near and far distance are w hat determ ine the form of the relief. 107 T h e strongest passage in H elm holtz’s argum ent against sensations of space

is relative to these fluctuations o f seen relief: “ O u gh t one not to conclude that if sensations of relief exist at all, they must be so fain t and vague as to have no influence com pared w ith that of past experience? O u gh t we not to believe that the perception of the third dim ension m ay have arisen w ith o u t them , since we now see it taking place as well against them as w ith them?” (P h y sio lo g isch e O p tik , p. 817.)

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T h e P erception of Space than flat, seem s d u e to p r o b a b ility .10* Those lines have countless

times in our past experience been drawn on our retina by solids for once that we have seen them flat on paper. And hundreds of times we have looked down upon the upper surface of parallelopipeds, stairs and glasses, for once that we have looked upwards at their bottom—hence we see the solids easiest as if from above. H abit or probability seems also to govern the illusion of the in­ taglio profile, and of the hollow mask. W e have n ev er seen a hu­ man face except in relief—hence the ease with which the present sensation is overpowered. Hence, too, the obstinacy with which human faces and forms, and other extremely familiar convex ob­ jects, refuse to appear hollow when viewed through W heatstone’s pseudoscope. O ur perception seems wedded to certain total ways of seeing certain objects. T h e moment the object is suggested at all, it takes possession of the mind in the fulness of its stereotyped habitual form. T h is explains the suddenness of the transformations when the perceptions change. T h e object shoots back and forth completely from this to that familiar thing, and doubtful, inde­ terminate, and composite things are excluded, apparently because we are u n u sed to their existence. W hen we turn from the diagrams to the actual folded visitingcard and to the real glass, the imagined form seems fully as real as the correct one. T h e card flaps over; the glass rim tilts this way or that, as if some inward spring suddenly became released in our eye. In these changes the actual retinal image receives different com ­ p le m e n ts from th e m in d . But the remarkable thing is that the com­ plement and the image combine so completely that the twain are one flesh, as it were, and cannot be discriminated in the result. If the complement be, as we have called it (on pp. 869-870), a set of imaginary absent eye-sensations, they seem no whit less vividly there than the sensation which the eye now receives from without. T h e case of the after-images distorted by projection upon an oblique plane is even more strange, for the imagined perspective figure, lying in the plane, seems less to combine with the one a moment previously seen by the eye than to suppress it and take its place.109 T h e point needing explanation, then, in all this, is how it 108 Cf. E. M ach: B eiträ g e, etc., p. 90, and the preceding chapter o f the present work, p. 731 ff. 1091 ou gh t to say that I seem always able to see the cross rectangular at w ill.

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comes to pass that, when imagined sensations are usually so in­ ferior in vivacity to real ones, they should in these few experiences prove to be almost or quite their match. T h e mystery is solved when we note the class to which all these experiences belong. T h e y are ‘perceptions' of definite ‘things,’ defi­ nitely situated in tridimensional space. T h e mind uniform ly uses its sensations to id e n tify th in g s by. T h e sensation is invariably apperceived by the idea, name, or ‘normal’ aspect (p. 870) of the th in g . T h e peculiarity of the o p tica l signs of things is their ex­ traordinary mutability. A ‘thing’ which we follow with the eye, never doubting of its physical identity, will change its retinal image incessantly. A cross, a ring, waved about in the air, will pass through every conceivable angular and elliptical form. A ll the while, however, as we look at them, we hold fast to the perception of their ‘real’ shape, by mentally com bining the pictures momen­ tarily received with the notion of peculiar positions in space. It is not the cross and ring pure and simple which we perceive, but the cross so h eld , the ring so h eld . From the day of our birth we have sought every hour of our lives to correct the apparent form of things, and translate it into the real form by keeping note of the way they are placed or held. In no other class of sensations does this incessant correction occur. W hat wonder, then, that the notion ‘so placed’ should invincibly exert its habitual corrective effect, even when the object with which it combines is only an after-image, and make us perceive the latter under a changed but more ‘real’ form? T h e ‘real’ form is also a sensation conjured up by memory; but it is one so p r o b a b le, so h a b itu a lly conjured up when we have just this combination of optical experiences, that it partakes of the invincible freshness of reality, and seems to break through that law which elsewhere condemns reproductive processes to being so much fainter than sensations. Once more, these cases form an extrem e. S o m ew h ere, in th e list o f o u r im ag in ation s o f absent feelin g s, th ere m u st be fo u n d the v iv id est o f all. T h e s e o p tica l rep ro d u ctio n s o f real form are the B ut this appears to come from an im perfect absorption of the rectangular after­ im age by the inclined plane at which the eyes look. T h e cross, w ith me. is apt to detach itself from this and then look square. I get the illusion better from the circle, whose after-im age becomes in various ways ellip tical on bein g projected upon the different surfaces of the room, and cannot then be easily m ade to look circular again.

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T h e P erception of Space v iv id est o f all. It is foolish to reason from cases lower in the scale,

to prove that the scale can contain no such extreme cases as these; and particularly foolish since we can definitely see why these imagi­ nations ought to be more vivid than any others, whenever they re­ call the forms of habitual and probable things. These latter, by incessantly repeated presence and reproduction, w ill plough deep grooves in the nervous system. T h ere will be developed, to cor­ respond to them, paths of least resistance, of unstable equilibrium , liable to become active in their totality when any point is touched off. Even when the objective stimulus is imperfect, we shall still see the full convexity of a human face, the correct inclination of an angle or sweep of a curve, or the distance of two lines. O ur mind w ill be like a polyhedron, whose facets are the attitudes of percep­ tion in which it can most easily rest. These are worn upon it by h a b itu a l objects, and from one of these it can pass only by tum bling over into another.110 H ering has well accounted for the sensationally vivid character of these habitually reproduced forms. He says, after rem inding us that every visual sensation is correlated to a physical process in the nervous apparatus: “If this psychophysical process is aroused, as usually happens, by light-rays impinging on the retina, its form depends not only on the na­ ture of these rays, but on the constitution of the entire nervous appa­ ratus which is connected with the organ of vision, and on the state in which it finds itself. The same stimulus may excite widely different sensations according to this state. “The constitution of the nervous apparatus depends naturally in part upon innate predisposition; but the ensem ble of effects wrought by stimuli upon it in the course of life, whether these come through the eyes or from elsewhere, is a cò-factor of its development. T o express it otherwise, involuntary and voluntary experience and exercise assist in determining the material structure of the nervous organ of vision, and hence the ways in which it may react on a retinal image as an outward stimulus. That experience and exercise should be possible at all in vision is a consequence of the reproductive power, or memory, of its nerve-substance. Every particular activity of the organ makes it more suited to a repetition of the same; ever slighter touches are required to 110 In C hap ter X V III, p. 720, I gave a reason w hy im aginations o u g h t not to be as v ivid as sensations. It should be borne in m ind that that reason does not apply to these com plem entai im aginings of the real shape of things actually before our eyes.

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make the repetition occur. The organ habituates itself to the repeated activity. . .. “ Suppose now that, in the first experience of a complex sensation produced by a particular retinal image, certain portions were made the special objects of attention. In a repetition of the sensible experience it will happen that notwithstanding the identity of the outward stimu­ lus these portions will be more easily and strongly reproduced; and when this happens a hundred times the inequality with which the various constituents of the complex sensation appeal to consciousness grows ever greater. “Now in the present state of our knowledge we cannot assert that in both the first and the last occurrence of the retinal image in question the same pure sensation is provoked, but that the mind interprets it differently the last time in consequence of experience; for the only given things we know are on the one hand the retinal image which is both times the same, and on the other the mental percept which is both times different; of a third thing, such as a pure sensation, interpolated between image and percept, we know nothing. We ought, therefore, if we wish to avoid hypotheses, simply to say that the nervous apparatus reacts the last time differently from the first, and gives us in conse­ quence a different group of sensations. “But not only by repetition of the same retinal image, but by that of similar ones, will the law obtain. Portions of the image common to the successive experiences will awaken, as it were, a stronger echo in the nervous apparatus than other portions. Hence it results that repro­ duction is usually elective: the more strongly reverberating parts of the picture yield stronger feelings than the rest. This may result in the latter being quite overlooked and, as it were, eliminated from percep­ tion. It may even come to pass that instead of these parts eliminated by election a feeling of entirely different elements comes to consciousness— elements not objectively contained in the stimulus. A group of sensa­ tions, namely, for which a strong tendency to reproduction has become, by frequent repetition, ingrained in the nervous system will easily re­ vive as a whole when, not its whole retinal image, but only an essential part thereof, returns. In this case we get some sensations to which no adequate stimulus exists in the retinal image, and which owe their being solely to the reproductive power of the nervous apparatus. This is complementary (ergänzende) reproduction. “Thus a few points and disconnected strokes are sufficient to make us see a human face, and without specially directed attention we fail to note that we see much that really is not drawn on the paper. Attention will show that the outlines were deficient in spots where we thought

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them complete. . . . The portions of the percept supplied by comple­ mentary reproduction depend, however, just as much as its other por­ tions, on the reaction of the nervous apparatus upon the retinal image, indirect though this reaction may, in the case of the supplied portions, be. And so long as they are present, we have a perfect right to call them sensations, for they differ in no wise from such sensations as correspond to an actual stimulus in the retina. Often, however, they are not per­ sistent; many of them may be expelled by more close observation, but this is not proved to be the case with all. . . . In vision with one eye . . . the distribution of parts within the third dimension is essentially the work of this complementary reproduction, i.e., of former experience. . . . When a certain way of localizing a particular group of sensations has become with us a second nature, our better knowledge, our judg­ ment, our logic, are of no avail. . . . Things actually diverse may give similar or almost identical retinal images; e.g., an object extended in three dimensions, and its flat perspective picture. In such cases it often depends on small accidents, and especially on our will, whether the one or the other group of sensations shall be excited. . . . We can see a relief hollow, as a mould, or vice versa; for a relief illuminated from the left can look just like its mould illuminated from the right. Re­ flecting upon this, one may infer from the direction of the shadows that one has a relief before one, and the idea of the relief will guide the nerve-processes into the right path, so that the feeling of the relief is suddenly aroused. . . . Whenever the retinal image is of such a nature that two diverse modes of reaction on the part of the nervous apparatus are, so to speak, equally, or nearly equally, imminent, it must depend on small accidents whether the one or the other reaction is realized. In these cases our previous knowledge often has a decisive effect, and helps the correct perception to victory. The bare idea of the right object is itself a feeble reproduction which with the help of the proper retinal picture develops into clear and lively sensation. But if there be not al­ ready in the nervous apparatus a disposition to the production of that percept which our judgment tells us is right, our knowledge strives in vain to conjure up the feeling of it; we then know that we see some­ thing to which no reality corresponds, but we see it all the same.” 111 N o te that n o o b je ct n o t p ro b a b le , n o o b je ct w h ich we are n o t in ­ cessantly practised in rep ro d u cin g , can a cq u ire this v iv id n ess in im agin ation. Objective corners are ever changing their angles to the eyes, spaces their apparent size, lines their distance. But by no transmutation of position in space does an objective straight line m H erm ann’s H a n d b u c h d er P liy sio lo g ie , in, 1, p. 565-71.

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appear bent, and only in one position out of an infinity does a broken line look straight. Accordingly, it is impossible by project­ ing the after-image of a straight line upon two surfaces which make a solid angle with each other to give the line itself a sensible ‘kink.’ Look with it at the corner of your room: the after-image, which may overlap all three surfaces of the corner, still continues straight. Volkmann constructed a complicated surface of projection like that drawn in Fig. 77, but he found it impossible so to throw a straight after-image upon it as to alter its visible form.

A

B

C

D F ig . 77.

One of the situations in which we oftenest see things is spread out on the ground before us. W e are incessantly drilled in making allowance for th is perspective, and reducing things to their real form in spite of optical foreshortening. Hence if the preceding ex­ planations are true, we ought to find this habit inveterate. T h e low er half of the retina, which habitually sees the fa rther half of things spread out on the ground, ought to have acquired a habit of enlarging its pictures by imagination, so as to make them more than equal to those which fall on the upper retinal surface; and this habit ought to be hard to escape from, even when both halves of the object are equidistant from the eye, as in a vertical line on paper. Delbceuf has found, accordingly, that if we try to bisect such

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a line we place the point of division about % 6 of its length too high.112 Similarly, a square cross, or a square, drawn on paper, should look higher than it is broad. A nd that this is actually the case, the reader may verify by a glance at Fig. 78. For analogous reasons the

F ig . 78.

upper and lower halves of the letter S, or of the figure 8, hardly seem to differ. But when turned upside down, as S, 8. the upper half looks much the larger.113 H ering has tried to explain our exaggeration of small angles in the same way. W e have more to do with right angles than with any others: right angles, in fact, have an altogether unique sort of in­ terest for the human mind. Nature almost never begets them, but we think space by means of them and put them everywhere. Con­ sequently obtuse and acute ones, liable always to be the images of right ones foreshortened, particularly easily revive right ones in memory. It is hard to look at such figures as a, b, c, in Fig. 79, with­ out seeing them in perspective, as approximations, at least, to fore­ shortened rectangular forms.114

2

11 B u lle t in d e VA c a d é m ie d e B e lg iq u e , 2me Série, x ix, 2. 113 W u n d t seeks to explain all these illusions by the relatively stronger ‘ feeling

o f in nervation ’ needed to move the eyeballs upwards,— a careful study of the muscles concerned is taken to prove this,— and a consequently greater estimate o f the distance traversed, it suffices to rem ark, however, w ith Lipps, that were the innervation all, a colum n of S’s placed on top of each other should look each larger than the one below it, and a weather-cock on a steeple gigantic, neither of w hich is the case. O n ly the halves of th e sam e o b je c t look different in size, because the custom ary correction for foreshortening bears only on the relations of the parts o f special th in g s spread out before us. C f. W undt: P h y sio lo g isch e P sy ch o lo g ie, 2te Aufl., 11, 96-8: T h e o d o r Lipps: G r u n d ta tsa c h en , etc., p. 535. 114 H erin g w ould p artly solve in this way the mystery o f Figs. 60, 61, and 67. No d oub t the explan ation partly applies; bu t the strange cessation of the illusion when w e fix the gaze fails to be accounted for thereby.

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a

/

/

6

F ig , 79.

C

X

A t the same time the genuine sensational form of the lines before us can, in all the cases of distortion by suggested perspective, be felt correctly by a mind able to abstract from the notion of perspec­ tive altogether. Individuals differ in this abstracting power. Artistic training improves it, so that after a little while errors in vertical bisection, in estimating height relatively to breadth, etc., become impossible. In other words, we learn to take the optical sensation before us p u r e .115 W e may th en su m u p o u r study o f illu s io n s by saying that they in n o w ise u n d e r m in e o u r view that every spatial d eterm in a tio n o f thing s is originally g iv en in th e shape o f a sen sation o f th e eyes.

T h ey only show how very potent certain im ag in ed sensations of the eyes may become. These sensations, so far as they bring definite forms to the mind, appear to be retinal exclusively. T h e movements of the eyeballs play a great part in educating our perception, it is true; but they have nothing to do with c o n stitu tin g any one feeling of form. T h eir function is limited to e x c itin g the various feelings of form, by tracing retinal streaks; and to com pa rin g them, and m easuring u s H elm holtz has sought (P h y sio lo g isch e O p tik , p. 715) to explain the divergence of the apparent vertical m eridians of the two retinae, by the m anner in which an identical line drawn on the ground before us in the m edian plane w ill throw its images on the two eyes respectively. T h e m atter is too technical for description here; the unlearned reader may be referred for it to J. L e C on te’s S ig h t in the I n ­ ternational Scientific Series, p. 198 ff. B ut, for the benefit of those to whom verb u m sat, I cannot help saying that it seems to me that the exa ctn ess of the relation of the two m eridians— w hether divergent or not, for their divergence differs in in divid­ uals and often in one in dividual at diverse times— precludes its bein g due to the m ere habitual falling-off of the image of one objective line on both. Le Conte, e.g., measures their position down to a sixth of a degree, others to tenths. T h is indicates an organic identity in the sensations o f the two retinae, which the experience of m edian perspective horizontals may roughly have agreed w ith, bu t hard ly can have engendered. W un dt explains the divergence as usual, by the In n erv a tio n sg efiih l (op. cit., li, 99 ff.).

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them off against each other, by applying different parts of the ret­ inal surface to the same objective thing. Helm holtz’s analysis of the facts of our 'm ea su rem en t o f th e fie ld o f v iew ’ is, bating a lapse or two, masterly, and seems to prove that the movements of the eye have had some part in bringing our sense of retinal equivalencies about—eq u iv a len cie s, mind, of different retinal forms and sizes, not forms and sizes themselves. S u p e rp o sitio n is the way in which the eye-movements accomplish this result. An object traces the line A B on a peripheral tract of the retina. Q uickly we move the eye so that the same object traces the line ab on a central tract. Forthwith, to our mind, A B and ab are judged equivalent. But, as Helmholtz admits, the equivalence-judgment is independent of the way in which we may feel the form and length of the several retinal pic­ tures themselves: “ The retina is like a pair of compasses, whose points we apply in succession to the ends of several lines to see whether they agree or not in length. All we need know meanwhile about the compasses is that the distance of their points remains unchanged. What that distance is, and what is the shape of the compasses, is a matter of no account.” 118 M ea su rem e n t im p lie s a stu ff to m easure. R e tin a l sensations give th e stuff; o b je c tiv e th in g s form th e y a r d stick ; m o tio n d oes the m easu ring operation ; which can, of course, be well performed only

where it is possible to make the same object fall on many retinal tracts. T h is is practically impossible where the tracts make a wide angle with each other. But there are certain directions in the field of view, certain retinal lines, along which it is particularly easy to make the image of an object slide. T h e object then becomes a ‘ruler’ for these lines, as Helmholtz puts it,117 making them seem 116 P h y sio lo g isch e O p tik , p. 547. 117 “ W e can w ith a short ruler draw a line as long as we please on a plane surface by first draw ing one as long as the ru ler perm its, and then sliding the ru ler some­ what along the draw n line and draw ing again, etc. If the ru ler is exactly straight, we get in this way a straight lin e. If it is som ewhat curved we get a circle. Now, instead of the sliding ruler we use in the field of sight the central spot of distinctest

vision impressed with a linear sensation o f sight, which at times m ay be intensified till it becomes an after im age. W e follow, in looking, the direction o f this line, and in so doing we slide the line along itself and get a prolongation o f its length. O n a plane surface we can carry on this procedure on any sort o f a straight or curved ruler, but in the field o f vision there is for each direction and m ovem ent o f the eye on ly one sort o f line which it is possible for us to slide alon g in its own direction con tin ually.” T h ese are w hat H elm h oltz calls the ‘circles o f d irectio n ’ of

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straight throughout if the object looked straight to us in that part of them at which it was most distinctly seen. But all this need of superposition shows how devoid of exact space-import the feelings of movement are p e r se. As we compare the space-value of two retinal tracts by superposing them succes­ sively upon the same objective line, so we also have to compare the space-value of objective angles and lines by superposing them on the same retinal tract. Neither procedure would be required if our eye-movements were apprehended immediately, by pure muscular feeling or innervation, for example, as distinct lengths and direc­ tions in space. T o compare retinal tracts, it would then suffice simply to notice how it feels to move any image over them. And two objective lines could be compared as well by moving different retinal tracts along them as by laying them along the same. It would be as easy to compare non-parallel figures as it now is to judge of those which are parallel.118 Those which it took the same amount of movement to traverse would be equal, in whatever di­ rection the movement occurred. GENERAL SU M M AR Y

W ith this we may end our long and, I fear to many readers, tediously minute survey. T h e facts of vision form a jungle of in­ tricacy; and those who penetrate deeply into physiological optics w ill be more struck by our omissions than by our abundance of detail. But for students who may have lost sight of the forest for the trees, I w ill recapitulate briefly the points of our whole argu­ ment from the beginning, and then proceed to a short historical survey, which w ill set them in relief. A ll our sensations are positively and inexplicably extensive wholes. T h e sensations contributing to space-p ercep tion seem exclusive­ ly to be the surface of skin, retina, and joints. ‘Muscular’ feelings play no appreciable part in the generation of our feelings of form, direction, etc. T h e total bigness of a cutaneous or retinal feeling soon becomes subdivided by discriminative attention. the visual field— lines which he has studied with his usual care. Cf. P h y sio lo g isch e O p tik , p. 548 ff. 118 C f. H erin g in H erm ann’s H a n d b u c h d er P h y sio lo g ie, 111, 1, pp. 553-4.

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T h e P erception of Space M o v e m e n ts assist this discrimination by reason of the peculiarly

exciting quality of the sensations which stimuli moving over sur­ faces arouse. Subdivisions, once discriminated, acquire definite relations of position towards each other within the total space. These ‘relations’ are themselves feelings of the subdivisions that intervene. W hen these subdivisions are not the seat of stimuli, the relations are only reproduced in imaginary form. T h e various sense-spaces are, in the first instance, incoherent with each other; and prim itively both they and their subdivisions are but vaguely comparable in point of bulk and form. T h e ed u ca tio n of our space-perception consists largely of two processes—reducing the various sense-feelings to a common m ea­ sure, and a d d in g th em tog eth er into the single all-including space of the real world. Both the measuring and the adding are performed by the aid of things.

T h e imagined aggregate of positions occupied by all the actual or possible, moving or stationary, things which we know, is our notion of ‘real’ space—a very incomplete and vague conception in all minds. T h e m easu ring of our space-feelings against each other mainly comes about through the successive arousal of different ones by the same th in g , by our selection of certain ones as feelings of its real size and shape, and by the degradation of others to the status of being merely signs of these. For the successive application of the same thing to different spacegiving surfaces motion is indispensable, and hence plays a great part in our space education, especially in that of the eye. Abstractly considered, the motion of the object over the sensitive surface would educate us quite as well as that of the surface over the ob­ ject. But the self-mobility of the organ carrying the surface ac­ celerates immensely the result. In completely educated space-perception, the present sensation is usually just what Helmholtz (P h y siolog isch e O p tik , p. 797) calls it, “ a sign, the interpretation of whose meaning is left to the un­ derstanding.” But the understanding is exclusively reproductive and never productive in the process; and its function is limited to the recall of previous space-sensations with which the present one

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has been associated and which may be judged more real than it. Finally, this reproduction may in the case of certain visual forms be as vivid, or almost so, as actual sensation is. T h e third dimension forms an original element of all our spacesensations. In the eye it is subdivided by various discriminations. T h e more distant subdivisions are often shut out altogether, and, in being suppressed, have the effect of dim inishing the absolute space-value of the total field of view.119 H IST O R IC A L

Let us now close with a brief historical survey. T h e first achieve­ ment of note in the study of space-perception was Berkeley’s theory of vision. T h is undertook to establish two points, first that distance was not a visual but a tactile form of consciousness, suggested by visual signs; secondly, that there is no one quality or ‘idea’ com­ mon to the sensations of touch and sight, such that prior to experi­ ence one might possibly anticipate from the look of an object any­ thing about its felt size, shape, or position, or from the touch of it anything about its look. In other words, that prim itively chaotic or semi-chaotic condi­ tion of our various sense-spaces which we have demonstrated, was established for good by Berkeley; and he bequeathed to psychology the problem of describing the manner in which the deliverances are harmonized so as all to refer to one and the same extended world. His disciples in Great Britain have solved this problem after Berkeley’s own fashion, and to a great extent as we have done our­ selves, by the ideas of the various senses suggesting each other in consequence of Association. But, either because they were intoxi­ cated with the principle of association, or because in the number of details they lost their general bearings, they have forgotten, as a rule, to state u n d er w hat sen sib le form th e p r im itiv e spatial e x p e r i­ ences are fo n n d which later became associated with so many other sensible signs. Heedless of their master Locke’s precept, that the U 9 T h is shrinkage and expansion of the absolute space-value o f the total optical sensation remains to my m ind the most obscure part o f the w hole subject. It is a real optical sensation, seeming introspectively to have nothin g to do w ith locom otor or other suggestions. It is easy to say that ‘ the Intellect produces it,’ but w hat does that mean? T h e investigator who w ill throw ligh t on this one point will probably clear up other difficulties as well.

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mind can frame unto itself no one new simple idea, they seem for the most part to be trying to ex p la in th e ex te n siv e q u a lity itself, account for it, and evolve it, by the mere association together of feelings which originally possessed it not. T h ey first evaporate the nature of extension by making it tantamount to mere ‘coexistence,’ and then they explain coexistence as being the same thing as su c­ cession, provided it be an extremely rapid or a reversible succes­ sion. Space-perception thus emerges without being anywhere pos­ tulated. T h e only things postulated are unextended feelings and time. Says Thomas Brown (lecture xxm ): “ I am inclined to re­ verse exactly the process commonly supposed; and, instead of de­ riving the measure of time from extension, to derive the knowledge and the original measure of extension from tim e.” Brown and both the M ills think that retinal sensations, colors, in their primitive condition, are felt with no extension and that the latter merely becomes inseparably associated with them. John M ill says: “W hat­ ever may be the retinal impression conveyed by a line which bounds two colours, I see no ground for thinking that by the eye alone we could acquire the conception of what we now mean when we say that one of the colours is outside [beside] the other.” 120 W hence does the extension come which gets so inseparably as­ sociated with these non-extended colored sensations? From the ‘sweep and movements’ of the eye—from muscular feelings. But, as Prof. Bain says, if movement-feelings give us any property of things, “ it would seem to be not space, but time.” 121 And John M ill says that “ the idea of space is, at bottom, one of time.” 122 Space, then, is not to be found in any elementary sensation, but, in Bain’s words, “ as a quality, it has no other origin and no other meaning than the association of these different [non-spatial] sensitive and motor effects.” 123 T h is phrase is mystical-sounding enough to one who understands association as p r o d u c in g nothing, but only as knitting together things already produced in separate ways. T h e truth is that the English Associationist school, in trying to show how much their principle can accomplish, have altogether overshot the m ark and espoused a kind of theory in respect to space-perception which the 120 E x a m in a tio n o f H a m ilto n , 4th ed., p. 295. 121 Senses a n d th e I n te lle c t, 3d ed., p. 183. 1*2 E x a m in a tio n o f H a m ilto n , 4th ed., p. 283. 123 Senses an d th e I n te lle c t, p. 372.

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general tenor of their philosophy should lead them to abhor. Real­ ly there are but three possible kinds of theory concerning space. Either (1) there is no spatial q u a lity of sensation at all, and space is a mere symbol of succession; or (2) there is an ex te n siv e q u a lity g iv en immediately in certain particular sensations; or, finally, (3) there is a q u a lity p r o d u c e d out of the inward resources of the mind, to envelop sensations which, as given originally, are not spatial, but which, on being cast into the spatial form, become united and orderly. T h is last is the Kantian view. Stumpf admirably designates it as the ‘psychic stimulus’ theory, the crude sensations being con­ sidered as goads to the mind to put forth its slumbering power. Brown, the Mills, and Bain, amid these possibilities, seem to have gone astray like lost sheep. W ith the ‘mental chemistry’ of which the M ills speak—precisely the same thing as the ‘psychical synthesis’ of W undt, which, as we shall soon see, is a principle ex­ pressly intended to do what Association can never perform —they hold the third view, but again in other places imply the first. And, between the impossibility of getting from mere association any­ thing not contained in the sensations associated and the dislike to allow spontaneous mental productivity, they flounder in a dismal dilemma. Mr. Sully joins them there in what I must call a vague and vacillating way. Mr. Spencer of course is bound to pretend to ‘evolve’ all mental qualities out of antecedents different from them­ selves, so that we need perhaps not wonder at his refusal to accord the spatial quality to any of the several elementary sensations out of which our space-perception grows. T h u s (P sy ch olog y , II, 168, 172, 218): “No idea of extension can arise from a sim ultaneous excitation” of a multitude of nerve-terminations like those of the skin or the retina, since this would imply a “ knowledge of their relative positions”—that is, “a pre-existent idea of a special extension: which is absurd.” “No relation between successive states of consciousness gives in itself any idea of extension.” “The muscular sensations accompanying motion are quite distinct from the notions of space and time associated with them.” Mr. Spencer none the less inveighs vociferously against the Kan­ tian position that space is produced by the m ind’s own resources. A nd yet he nowhere denies space to be a specific affection of con­ sciousness different from time!

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Such incoherency is pitiful. T h e fact is that, at bottom, all these authors are really ‘psychical stimulists,’ or Kantists. T h e space they speak of is a super-sensational mental product. T h is position ap­ pears to me thoroughly mythological. But let us see how it is held by those who know more definitely what they mean. Schopenhauer expresses the Kantian view with more vigor and clearness than anyone else. H e says: “A man must be forsaken by all the gods to dream that the world we see outside of us, filling space in its three dimensions, moving down the inexorable stream of time, governed at each step by Causality’s invari­ able law,—but in all this only following rules which we may prescribe for it in advance of all experience,—to dream, I say, that such a world should stand there outside of us, quite objectively real with no com­ plicity of ours, and thereupon by a subsequent act, through the instru­ mentality of mere sensation, that it should enter our head and recon­ struct a duplicate of itself as it was outside. For what a poverty-stricken thing is this mere sensation! Even in the noblest organs of sense it is nothing more than a local and specific feeling, susceptible within its kind of a few variations, but always strictly subjective and containing in itself nothing objective, nothing resembling a perception. For sensa­ tion of every sort is and remains a process in the organism itself. As such it is limited to the territory inside the skin and can never, accordingly, per se contain anything that lies outside the skin or outside ourselves. . . . Only when the Understanding . . . is roused to activity and brings its sole and only form, the law of Causality, into play, only then does the mighty transformation take place which makes out of subjective sensation objective intuition. The Understanding, namely, grasps by means of its innate, a priori, ante-experiential form, the given sensation of the body as an effect which as such must necessarily have a cause. At the same time the Understanding summons to its aid the form of the outer sense which similarly lies already preformed in the intellect (or brain), and which is Space, in order to locate that cause outside of the organism. . . . In this process the Understanding, as I shall soon show, takes note of the most minute peculiarities of the given sensation in order to construct in the outer space a cause which shall completely ac­ count for them. This operation of the Understanding is, however, not one that takes place discursively, reflectively, in abstracto, by means of words and concepts; but is intuitive and immediate. . . . Thus the Un­ derstanding must first create the objective world; never can the latter, already complete in se, simply promenade into our heads through the senses and organic apertures. For the senses yield us nothing further than the raw material which must be first elaborated into the objective

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conception of an orderly physical world-system by means of the afore­ said simple forms of Space, Time, and Causality. . . . Let me show the great chasm between sensation and perception by showing how raw the material is out of which the fair structure is upreared. Only two senses serve objective perception: touch and sight. They alone furnish the data on the basis whereof the Understanding, by the process indicated, erects the objective world. . . . These data in themselves are still no perception; that is the Understanding’s work. If I press with my hand against the table, the sensation I receive has no analogy with the idea of the firm cohesion of the parts of this mass: only when my Under­ standing passes from the sensation to its cause does it create for itself a body with the properties of solidity, impenetrability, and hardness. When in the dark I lay my hand on a surface, or grasp a ball of three inches diameter, in either case the same parts of the hand receive the impression: but out of the different contraction of the hand in the two cases my Understanding constructs the form of the body whose contact caused the feeling, and confirms its construction by leading me to move my hand over the body. If one born blind handles a cubical body, the sensations of his hand are quite uniform on all sides and in all direc­ tions,—only the corners press upon a smaller part of his skin. In these sensations, as such, there is nothing whatever analogous to a cube. But from the felt resistance his Understanding infers immediately and in­ tuitively a cause thereof, which now presents itself as a solid body; and from the movements of exploration which the arms made whilst the feelings of the hands remained constant he constructs, in the space known to him a priori, the body’s cubical shape. Did he not bring with him ready-made the idea of a cause and of a space, with the laws there­ of, there never could arise, out of those successive feelings in his hand, the image of a cube. If we let a string run through our closed hand, we immediately construct as the cause of the friction and its duration in such an attitude of the hand, a long cylindrical body moving uniformly in one direction. But never out of the pure sensation in the hand could the idea of movement, that is, of change of position in space by means of time, arise: such a content can never lie in sensation, nor come out of it. Our Intellect, antecedently to all experience, must bear in itself the intuitions of Space and Time, and therewithal of the possibility of motion, and no less the idea of Causality, to pass from the empirically given feeling to its cause, and to construct the latter as a so moving body of the designated shape. For how great is the abyss between the mere sensation in the hand and the ideas of causality, materiality, and movement through Space, occurring in Time! The feeling in the hand, even with different contacts and positions, is something far too uni­

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T h e P erception of Space

form and poor in content for it to be possible to construct out of it the idea of Space with its three dimensions, of the action of bodies on each other, with the properties of extension, impenetrability, cohesion, shape, hardness, softness, rest, and motion—in short, the foundations of the objective world. This is only possible through Space, Time, and Causality . . . being preformed in the Intellect itself . . . from whence it again follows that the perception of the external world is essentially an intellectual process, a work of the Understanding, to which sensa­ tion furnishes merely the occasion, and the data to be interpreted in each particular case.” 124 I call this view mythological, because I am conscious of no such Kantian machine-shop in my mind, and feel no call to disparage the powers of poor sensation in this merciless way. I have no intro­ spective experience of mentally producing or creating space. My space-intuitions occur not in two times but in one. T here is not one moment of passive inextensive sensation, succeeded by another of active extensive perception, but the form I see is as immediately felt as the color which fills it out. T h a t the higher parts of the mind come in, who can deny? T h e y add and subtract, they com­ pare and measure, they reproduce and abstract. T h ey inweave the space-sensations with intellectual relations; but these relations are the same when they obtain between the elements of the spacesystem as when they obtain between any of the other elements of which the world is made. T h e essence of the Kantian contention is that there are not spaces, but Space —one infinite continuous U n it —and that our knowledge of th is cannot be a piecemeal sensational affair, pro­ duced by summation and abstraction. T o which the obvious reply is that, if any known thing bears on its front the appearance of piecemeal construction and abstraction, it is this very notion of the infinite unitary space of the world. It is a n o tio n , if ever there was one; and no intuition. Most of us apprehend it in the barest symbolic abridgment: and if perchance we ever do try to make it more adequate, we just add one image of sensible extension to an­ other until we are tired. Most of us are obliged to turn round and drop the thought of the space in front of us when we think of that behind. And the space represented as near to us seems more m i­ nutely subdivisible than that we think of as lying far away. 124 V ierfa ch e W u rzel des Satzes v o m z u r e ich en d e n G r u n d e , pp. 52-7.

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T h e other prominent German writers on space are also ‘psychi­ cal stimulists.’ Herbart, whose influence has been widest, says “ the resting eye sees no space,” 125 and ascribes visual extension to the influence of movements com bining with the non-spatial retinal feelings so as to form gradated series of the latter. A given sensa­ tion of such a series reproduces the idea of its associates in regular order, and its idea is similarly reproduced by any one of them with the order reversed. O ut of the fusion of these two contrasted re­ productions comes the form of space126—Heaven knows how. T h e obvious objection is that mere serial order is a genus, and space-order a very peculiar species of that g e n u s; and that, if the terms of reversible series became by that fact coexistent terms in space, the musical scale, the degrees of warmth and cold, and all other ideally graded series ought to appear to us in the shape of ex­ tended corporeal aggregates,—which they notoriously do not, though we may of course sy m b o lize their order by a spatial scheme. W . Volkm ann von Volkmar, the Herbartian, takes the bull here by the horns, and says the musical scale is spatially extended, though he admits that its space does not belong to the real world.127 I am unacquainted with any other Herbartian so bold. T o Lotze we owe the much-used term ‘local sign.’ He insisted that space could not emigrate directly into the mind from without, but must be reco n stru cted by the soul; and he seemed to think that the first reconstructions of it by the soul must be super-sensational. But why sensations themselves m ight not be the soul’s orig ina l spatial reconstructive acts Lotze fails to explain. W undt has all his life devoted himself to the elaboration of a space-theory, of which the neatest and most final expression is to be found in his L o g ik (I, 457-60). He says: “In the eye, space-perception has certain constant peculiarities which prove that no single optical sensation by itself possesses the ex­ tensive form, but that everywhere in our perception of space heteroge­ neous feelings combine. If we simply suppose that luminous sensations 125 P sy ch o lo g ie als W issen schaft, § 111. 126 P sy c h o lo g ie als W issen schaft, § 113. 127 L e h r b u c h d er P sy ch o lo g ie, 2te A uflage, Bd. 11, p. 66. V olkm ann ’s fifth chapter contains a really precious collection of historical notices concerning space-perception

theories.

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T h e P erception of Space per se feel extensive, our supposition is shattered by that influence of

movement in vision which is so clearly to be traced in many normal errors in the measurement of the field of view. If we assume, on the other hand, that the movements and their feelings are alone possessed of the extensive quality, we make an unjustified hypothesis, for the phenomena compel us, it is true, to accord an influence to movement, but give us no right to call the retinal sensations indifferent, for there are no visual ideas without retinal sensations. If then we wish rigor­ ously to express the given facts, we can ascribe a spatial constitution only to com binations of retinal sensations with those of movement.” T h u s W undt, dividing theories into ‘nativistic’ and ‘genetic,’ calls his own a genetic theory. T o distinguish it from other theories of the same class, he names it a ‘theory of complex local signs.’ “ It supposes two systems of local signs, whose relations—taking the eye as an example—we may think as . . . the measuring of the mani­ fold local-sign system of the retina by the simple local-sign system of the movements. In its psychological nature this is a process of associa­ tive synthesis: it consists in the fusion of both groups of sensations into a product, whose elementary components are no longer separable from each other in idea. In melting wholly away into the product which they create they become consciously undistinguishable, and the mind ap­ prehends only their resultant, the intuition of space. Thus there ob­ tains a certain analogy between this psychic synthesis and that chemical synthesis which out of simple bodies generates a compound that ap­ pears to our immediate perception as a homogeneous whole with new properties.” Now let no modest reader think that if this sounds obscure to him it is because he does not know the full context; and that if a wise professor like W undt can talk so fluently and plausibly about ‘com bination’ and ‘psychic synthesis,’ it must surely be because those words convey a so much greater fulness of positive meaning to the scholarly than to the unlearned mind. Really it is quite the reverse; a ll the virtue of the phrase lies in its mere sound and skin. Learning does but make one the more sensible of its inward unin­ telligibility. W u n d t’s ‘theory’ is the flimsiest thing in the world. It starts by an untrue assumption, and then corrects it by an unmean­ ing phrase. Retinal sensations are spatial; and were they not, no amount of ‘synthesis’ with equally spaceless motor sensations could intelligibly make them so. W u ndt’s theory is, in short, but an avowal of impotence, and an appeal to the inscrutable powers of

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the soul.128 It confesses that we cannot analyze the constitution or give the genesis of the spatial quality in consciousness. But at the same time it says the a n teced en ts thereof are psychical and not cerebral facts. In calling the quality in question a sen sation al quali­ ty, our own account equally disclaimed ability to analyze it, but said its antecedents were cerebral, not psychical—in other words, that it was a first psychical thing. T h is is merely a question of prob­ able fact, which the reader may decide. And now what shall be said of Helmholtz? Can I find fault with a book which, on the whole, I imagine to be one of the four or five greatest monuments of human genius in the scientific line? If truth impels I must fain try, and take the risks. It seems to me that Helm­ holtz’s genius moves most securely when it keeps close to particular facts. A t any rate, it shows least strong in purely speculative pas­ sages, which in the O p tics, in spite of many beauties, seem to me fundamentally vacillating and obscure. T h e ‘empiristic’ view which Helmholtz defends is that the space-determinations we per­ ceive are in every case products of a process of unconscious infer­ ence.129 T h e inference is similar to one from induction or analo­ gy.130 W e always see that form before us which h a b itu a lly would have caused the sensation we now have.131 But the latter sensation can never be intrinsically spatial, or its intrinsic space-determinations would never be overcome as they are so often by the ‘illusory’ space-determinations it so often suggests.132 Since the illusory de­ termination can be traced to a suggestion of Experience, the ‘real’ one must also be such a suggestion: so that a ll space intuitions are due solely to Experience.133 T h e only psychic activity required for this is the association of ideas.134 But how, it may be asked, can association produce a space-quality 12$ W hy talk of ‘genetic theories’? when we have in the next breath to w rite as W un dt does: ‘‘ If then we must regard the intuition of space as a product that sim ­ ply emerges from the conditions of ou r m ental and physical organization, nothing need stand in the way of ou r design atin g it as one of the a p r io r i functions w ith which consciousness is endow ed.” (L o g ik , l, 460.) 129 P. 430.

130 Pp 43°. 449131 P. 428.

l 32P. 442. 133 Pp. 442. 818. 134 P . 798. C f. also P o p u la r S cien tific L e ctu res, pp. 301-3.

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not in the things associated? How can we by induction or analogy infer what we do not already generically know? Can ‘suggestions of experience’ reproduce elements which no particular experience originally contained? T h is is the point by which Helm holtz’s ‘empiristic’ theory, as a theory, must be judged. No theory is worthy of the name which leaves such a point obscure. W ell, Helmholtz does so leave it. A t one time he seems to fall back on inscrutable powers of the soul, and to range himself with the ‘psychical stimulists.’ He speaks of Kant as having made the essential step in the matter in distinguishing the content of ex­ perience from that form—space, of course—which is given it by the peculiar faculties of the m ind.135 But elsewhere, again,136 speaking of sensationalistic theories which would connect spatially determi­ nate feelings d irectly with certain neural events, he says it is better to assume only such simple psychic activities as we know to exist, and gives the association of ideas as an instance of what he means. Later,137 he reinforces this remark by confessing that he does not see how any neural process can give rise without antecedent ex­ perience to a ready-made (fertig e ) perception of space. And, finally, in a single momentous sentence, he speaks of sensations of to u ch as if they might be the original material of our space-percepts— which thus, from the optical point of view, ‘may be assumed as g iv e n .’ 136

O f course the eye-man has a right to fall back on the skin-man for help at a pinch. But doesn’t this mean that he is a mere eye-man and not a complete psychologist? In other words, Helmholtz’s O p tics and the ‘empiristic theory’ therein professed must not be understood as attempts at answering the genera l question of how space-consciousness enters the mind. T h ey simply deny that it en­ ters with the first optical sensations.139 O ur own account has af­ firmed stoutly that it enters then; but no more than Helmholtz have we pretended to show why. W ho calls a thing a first sensation 135 p. 456; see also 428, 441.

136 P- 797137 p . 812. 138 Bottom of page 797. 139 In fact, to borrow a sim ile from Prof. G . E. M ü ller (Zur T h e o r ie d e r sin n lich e n

A u fm er k sa m k e it, p. 38), the various senses bear in the H elm holtzian philosophy of

perception the same relation to the ‘object’ perceived by th eir means that a troop of jo lly drinkers bear to the land lord’s bill, when no one has any money, but each hopes th at one of the rest w ill pay.

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admits he has no theory of its production. Helmholtz, though all the while without an articulate theory, makes the world think he has one. He beautifully traces the immense part which reproduc­ tive processes play in our vision of space, and never—except in that one pitiful little sentence about touch—does he tell us just what it is they reproduce. He limits himself to denying that they repro­ duce originals of a visual sort. A nd so difficult is the subject, and so magically do catch-words work on the popular-scientist ear, that most likely, had he written ‘physiological’ instead of ‘nativistic,’ and ‘spiritualistic’ instead of ‘empiristic’ (which synonyms H ering suggests), numbers of his present empirical evolutionary followers would fail to find in his teaching anything worthy of praise. But since he wrote otherwise, they hurrah for him as a sort of second Locke, dealing another death-blow at the old bugaboo of ‘innate ideas.’ His ‘nativistic’ adversary H ering they probably imagine— Heaven save the mark!—to be a scholastic in modern disguise. A fter W undt and Helmholtz, the most important anti-sensation­ alist space-philosopher in Germany is Professor Lipps, whose de­ duction of space from an order of non-spatial differences, con­ tinuous yet separate, is a wonderful piece of subtlety and logic. A nd yet he has to confess that continuous differences form in the first instance only a logical series, which n eed not appear spatial, and that wherever it does so appear, this must be accounted a ‘fact,’ due merely ‘to the nature of the soul.’ 140 Lipps, and almost all the anti-sensationalist theorists except Helmholtz, seem guilty of that confusion which Mr. Shadworth Hodgson has done so much to clear away, viz., the confounding the analysis of an idea with the means of its production. Lipps, for ex­ ample, finds that every space we think of can be broken up into positions, and concludes that in some undefined way the several positions must have pre-existed in thought before the aggregate space could have appeared to perception. Similarly Mr. Spencer, defining extension as an ‘aggregate of relations of coexistent po­ sition,’ says “every cognition of magnitude is a cognition of rela­ tions of position,” 141 and “ no idea of extension can arise from the simultaneous excitation” of many nerves “ unless there is a knowl!4 0 G ru n d ta tsa ch en des S ee len leb en s (1883), pp. 480, 591-2. P sy ch o lo g isch e S tu d ie n

(1885), p . 14. 141 P sy chology , II, p. 174.

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T h e Perception of Space

edge of their relative positions.” 142 Just so Prof. Bain insists that the very m ea n in g of space is scope for movement,143 and that there­ fore distance and magnitude can be no original attributes of the eye’s sensibility. Similarly because movement is analyzable into positions occupied at successive moments by the mover, philoso­ phers (e.g., Schopenhauer, as quoted above) have repeatedly de­ nied the possibility of its being an immediate sensation. W e have, however, seen that it is the most immediate of all our spacesensations. Because it can only occur in a definite direction the im­ possibility of perceiving it without perceiving its direction has been decreed—a decree which the simplest experiment over­ throws.144 It is a case of what I have called the ‘psychologist’s fal­ lacy’: mere acquaintance with space is treated as tantamount to every sort of knowledge about it, the conditions of the latter are demanded of the former state of mind, and all sorts of mythologi­ cal processes are brought in to help.145 As well might one say that because the world consists of all its parts, therefore we can only apprehend it at all by having unconsciously summed these up in our head. It is the old idea of our actual knowledge being drawn out from a pre-existent potentiality, an idea which, whatever worth it may metaphysically possess, does no good in psychology. My own sensationalistic account has derived most aid and com­ fort from the writings of Hering, A. W . Volkmann, Stumpf, Le Conte, and Schoen. A ll these authors allow ample scope to that Experience which Berkeley’s genius saw to be a present factor in all our visual acts. But they give Experience some grist to grind, which the soi-disant ‘empiristic’ school forgets to do. Stumpf seems to me the most philosophical and profound of all these writers; and I owe him much. I should doubtless have owed almost as much to Mr. James Ward, had his article on Psychology in the E n cy clo ­ p e d ia B rita n n ica appeared before my own thoughts were written down. T h e literature of the question is in all languages very vo­ 142 Ib id ., p. 168. 143 Senses and th e I n te lle c t, 3d ed., pp. 366-75. 144 Cf. H all and Donaldson in M in d , x, 559. 145 A s other exam ples of the confusion, take Mr. Sully: " T h e fa lla cio u s a ssum ption that there can be an idea of distance in general apart from p articu lar distances” (M in d , 111, p. 177); and W un dt: “ A n indefinite localization, which waits for e x ­ perience to give it its reference to real space, stands in contradiction with the very idea of localization, which means the reference to a determ inate p oin t of space” (P h y sio lo g isch e P sy ch o lo g ie, ite Aufl., p. 480).

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luminous. I content myself with referring to the bibliography in H elm holtz’s and A u bert’s works on Physiological Optics for the visual part of the subject, and with naming in a note the ablest works in the English tongue which have treated of the subject in a g en era l way.146 146

G. Berkeley: Essay tow ards a N ew T h eo r y o f V ision ; Samuel B ailey: A R e view

o f B er k ele y ’s T h e o r y o f V ision (1842); J. S. M ill’s R eview o f B ailey, in his D isserta ­ tio n s an d D iscu ssion s, vol. 11; James Ferrier: R eview o f B ailey, in P h ilo s o p h ic a l R e m a in s, vol. 11; A. Bain: Senses an d th e I n te lle c t, "In tellect," chap. 1; H . Spencer: P r in c ip le s o f P sy chology , pt. vi, chaps, xiv, xvi; J. S. M ill: E x a m in a tio n o f H a m il­ to n , chap. x u i (the best statem ent o f the so-called English em piricist position); T . K. A bb ott: S ig ht an d T o u c h , 1864 (the first English book to go at all m in utely into facts; M r. A b b o tt m ain tain in g retin al sensations to be origin ally of space in three dimensions); A. C. Fraser: R eview o f A bb ott, in N o r th B ritish R e v ie w for Aug. 1864; another review in M a c m illa n ’s M aga zin e, M arch 1866; J. Sully: O u tlin e s o f P sy ch o ­ logy, chap. vi; J. W ard: E n c y c lo p e d ia B rita n n ica , 9th Ed., article “ Psychology,” pp. 5 3 ~5 > J • E. W alter: T h e P e r c e p tio n o f Space an d M a tte r (1879)— I m ay also refer to a ’discussion’ betw een Prof. G. Croom Robertson, M r. J. W ard, and the present w riter, in M in d , vol. x u i.—T h e present chapter is on ly the filling ou t with detail o f an article entitled “ T h e Spatial Q u a le ,” which appeared in the J o u r n a l o f Specu la tiv e P h ilo s o p h y for January 1879 (xui, 64).

9X2

Chapter XXI* The Perception of Reality

B E L IE F

Everyone knows the difference between im agining a thing and believing in its existence, between supposing a proposition and ac­ quiescing in its truth. In the case of acquiescence or belief, the object is not only apprehended by the mind, but is held to have reality. Belief is thus the mental state or function of cognizing reality. As used in the following pages, ‘Belief’ will mean every degree of assurance, including the highest possible certainty and conviction. T here are, as we know, two ways of studying every psychic state. First, the way of analysis: W hat does it consist in? W hat is its inner nature? O f what sort of mind-stuff is it composed? Second, the way of history: W hat are its conditions of production, and its connec­ tion with other facts? Into the first way we cannot go very far. I n its in n e r n a tu re b e­ lie f, or th e sense o f reality, is a sort o f fe e lin g m ore a llied to th e em o tio n s than to a n y th in g else. Mr. Bagehot distinctly calls it the

‘em otion’ of conviction. I just now spoke of it as acquiescence. It resembles more than anything what in the psychology of volition we know as consent. Consent is recognized by all to be a manifesta­ tion of our active nature. It would naturally be described by such terms as ‘willingness’ or the ‘turning of our disposition.’ W hat characterizes both consent and belief is the cessation of theoretic • R ep rin ted, with additions, from M in d for Ju ly 1889.

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agitation, through the advent of an idea which is inwardly stable, and fills the mind solidly to the exclusion of contradictory ideas. W hen this is the case, motor effects are apt to follow. Hence the states of consent and belief, characterized by repose on the purely intellectual side, are both intimately connected with subsequent practical activity. T h is inward stability of the m ind’s content is as characteristic of disbelief as of belief. But we shall presently see that we never disbelieve anything except for the reason that we believe something else which contradicts the first thing.1 Disbelief is thus an incidental complication to belief, and need not be con­ sidered by itself. T h e tru e op p osites o f b e lie f, psychologically considered, are d o u b t and in q u iry , n o t d is b e lie f. In both these states the content

of our mind is in unrest, and the emotion engendered thereby is, like the emotion of belief itself, perfectly distinct, but perfectly in­ describable in words. Both sorts of emotion may be pathologically exalted. One of the charms of drunkenness unquestionably lies in the deepening of the sense of reality and truth which is gained therein. In whatever light things may then appear to us, they seem more utterly what they are, more ‘utterly utter’ than when we are sober. T h is goes to a fully unutterable extreme in the nitrous ox­ ide intoxication, in which a man’s very soul will sweat with con­ viction, and he be all the while unable to tell what he is convinced of at all.2 T h e pathological state opposed to this solidity and deep­ ening has been called the questioning mania (G r iib e lsu c h t by the Germans). It is sometimes found as a substantive affection, parox­ ysmal or chronic, and consists in the inability to rest in any concep­ tion, and the need of having it confirmed and explained. ‘W hy do I stand here where I stand?’ ‘W hy is a glass a glass, a chair a chair?’ ‘How is it that men are only of the size they are? W hy not as big as houses,’ etc., etc.3 T h ere is, it is true, another pathological state 1 Com pare this psychological fact w ith the corresponding logical truth that all negation rests on covert assertion of som ething else than the th in g denied. (See B rad ley’s P r in c ip le s o f L o g ic , bk. 1, ch. 3.) 2 See that very rem arkable little work, T h e A n e s t h e t ic R e v e la tio n an d th e G ist o f P h ilo so p h y , by B enjam in P. Blood (Am sterdam , N. Y., 1874). Com pare also M in d , vn, 206. 3 “ T o one whose m ind is healthy thoughts come and go unnoticed, w ith me they have to be faced, th ou gh t about in a pecu liar fashion, and then disposed of as finished, and this often when I am utterly w earied and w ould be at peace; bu t the call is im perative. T h is goes on to the hindrance o f all natural action. If I were

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which is as far removed from doubt as from belief, and which some may prefer to consider the proper contrary of the latter state of mind. I refer to the feeling that everything is hollow, unreal, dead. I shall speak of this state again upon a later page. T h e point I wish to notice here is simply that belief and disbelief are but two aspects of one psychic state. John M ill, reviewing various opinions about belief, comes to the conclusion that no account of it can be given: “What,” he says, “is the difference to our minds between thinking of a reality, and representing to ourselves an imaginary picture? I con­ fess that I can perceive no escape from the opinion that the distinction is ultimate and primordial. There is no more difficulty in holding it to be so, than in holding the difference between a sensation and an idea to be primordial. It seems almost another aspect of the same difference. . .. I cannot help thinking, therefore, that there is in the remembrance of a real fact, as distinguished from that of a thought, an element which does not consist . . . in a difference between the mere ideas which are present to the mind in the two cases. This element, howsoever we de­ fine it, constitutes Belief, and is the difference between Memory and Imagination. From whatever direction we approach, this difference seems to close our path. When we arrive at it, we seem to have reached, as it were, the central point of our intellectual nature, presupposed and built upon in every attempt we make to explain the more recondite phenomena of our mental being.” 4 If the words of M ill be taken to apply to the mere subjective analysis of belief—to the question, W hat does it feel like when we told the staircase was on fire and I had on ly a m inute to escape, and the thought arose— ‘H ave they sent for fire engines? It is probable the man who has the key is at hand. Is the man a careful sort o f person? W ill the key be han gin g on a peg? A m I th in king rightly? Perhaps they d o n ’t lock the dep o t.’ M y foot w ould be lifted to go down. I should be conscious to excitem ent that I was losing m y chance— bu t I should be unable to stir, u n til all these absurdities were entertained and disposed of. In the most critical m om ents o f m y life, when I ou gh t to have been so engrossed as to lea v e n o room fo r any secondary th o u g h ts , I have been oppressed by the in ­ a b ility to be at peace. A n d in the most ordin ary circumstances it is all the same. Let me instance the other m orning I went to walk. T h e day was b itin g cold, but I was unable to proceed except by jerks. Once I got arrested— m y feet in a m uddy pool. O ne foot was lifted to go, know ing that it was not good to be standing in water, bu t there I was fast, the cause of detention bein g the discussing w ith myself the reasons why I should not stand in th at p oo l.” (T . S. Clouston: C lin ic a l L e ctu res o n M e n ta l D iseases, 1883, p. 43. See also Berger, in A r c h iv f u r P sy ch ia trie, vi, 217.) 4 N ote to James M ill’s A n aly sis, I, 412-423.

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have it?—they must be held, on the whole, to be correct. Belief, the sense of reality, feels like itself—that is about as much as we can say. Prof. Brentano, in an admirable chapter of his P sy ch o lo g ie, ex­ presses this by saying that conception and belief (which he names ju d g m en t) are two different fundamental psychic phenomena. W hat I myself have called (Vol. I, p. 265) the ‘object’ of thought may be comparatively simple, like “ Ha! what a pain,” or “ Itthunders” ; or it may be complex, like “ Columbus-discoveredA m erica-in -1492,” or “ There-exists-an-all-w ise-Creator-of-theworld.” In either case, however, the mere thought of the object may exist as something quite distinct from the belief in its reality. T h e belief, as Brentano says, presupposes the mere thought: “Every object comes into consciousness in a twofold way, as simply thought of [vorgestellt ] and as admitted [anerkannt ] or denied. The relation is analogous to that which is assumed by most philosophers (by Kant no less than by Aristotle) to obtain between mere thought and desire. Nothing is ever desired without being thought of; but the de­ siring is nevertheless a second quite new and peculiar form of relation to the object, a second quite new way of receiving it into consciousness. No more is anything judged [i.e., believed or disbelieved] which is not thought of too. But we must insist that, so soon as the object of a thought becomes the object of an assenting or rejecting judgment, our consciousness steps into an entirely new relation towards it. It is then twice present in consciousness, as thought of, and as held for real or denied; just as when desire awakens for it, it is both thought and simul­ taneously desired” (P. 266). T h e commonplace doctrine of ‘judgm ent’ is that it consists in the combination of ‘ideas’ by a ‘copula’ into a ‘proposition,’ which may be of various sorts, as affirmative, negative, hypothetical, etc. But who does not see that in a disbelieved or doubted or interroga­ tive or conditional proposition, the ideas are combined in the same identical way in which they are in a proposition which is solidly believed? T h e way in w h ich th e ideas are co m b in e d is a part o f th e in n e r c o n stitu tio n o f th e th o u g h t’s o b je c t or co n ten t. T h a t object is sometimes an articulated whole with relations between its parts, amongst which relations, that of predicate to subject may be one. But when we have got our object with its inner constitution thus defined in a proposition, then the question comes up regarding the object as a whole; ‘Is it a real object? is this proposition a true prop­ osition or not?’ A nd in the answer Yes to th is question lies that

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new psychic act which Brentano calls ‘judgm ent,’ but which I pre­ fer to call ‘belief.’ In every proposition, then, so far as it is believed, questioned, or disbelieved, four elements are to be distinguished, the subject, the predicate, and their relation (of whatever sort it be)—these form the o b je c t of belief—and finally the psychic attitude in which our mind stands towards the proposition taken as a whole—and this is the belief itself.5 Adm itting, then, that this attitude is a state of consciousness su i generis, about which nothing more can be said in the way of in­ ternal analysis, let us proceed to the second way of studying the subject of belief: U n d er w hat circum stances do we th in k things real? W e shall soon see how much matter this gives us to discuss. T H E VARIOU S ORDERS O F R E A L IT Y

Suppose a new-born mind, entirely blank and waiting for ex­ perience to begin. Suppose that it begins in the form of a visual impression (whether faint or vivid is immaterial) of a lighted can­ dle against a dark background, and nothing else, so that whilst this image lasts it constitutes the entire universe known to the mind in question. Suppose, moreover (to simplify the hypothesis), that the candle is only imaginary, and that no ‘original’ of it is recognized by us psychologists outside. W ill this hallucinatory candle be be­ lieved in, w ill it have a real existence for the mind? W hat possible sense (for that mind) would a suspicion have that the candle was not real? W hat would doubt or disbelief of it im­ ply? W hen we, the onlooking psychologists, say the candle is un­ real, we mean something quite definite, viz., that there is a world known to us which is real, and to which we perceive that the candle does not belong; it belongs exclusively to that individual mind, has no status anywhere else, etc. It exists, to be sure, in a fashion, for it forms the content of that m ind’s hallucination; but the hal­ lucination itself, though unquestionably it is a sort of existing fact, has no knowledge of o th er facts; and since those o th er facts are the realities par e x c e lle n c e for us, and the only things we believe in, the candle is simply outside of our reality and belief altogether. By the hypothesis, however, the m in d w hich sees th e ca n d le can * For an excellent account o f the history o f opin ion on this subject see A . M arty, in V ie rtelja h rssch rift f u r w issen sch a ftlich e P h ilo s o p h ic , v i i i , 161 ff. (1884).

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spin no such considerations as these about it, for of other facts, ac­ tual or possible, it has no inkling whatever. T h a t candle is its all, its absolute. Its entire faculty of attention is absorbed by it. It is, it is that; it is there', no other possible candle, or quality of this candle, no other possible place, or possible object in the place, no alternative, in short, suggests itself as even conceivable; so how can the mind help believing the candle real? T h e supposition that it m ight possibly not do so is, under the supposed conditions, unin­ telligible.6 T h is is what Spinoza long ago announced: “ Let us conceive a boy,” he said, “imagining to himself a horse, and taking note of nothing else. As this imagination involves the existence of the horse, and the boy has no perception which annuls its existence, he will necessarily contemplate the horse as present, nor will he be able to doubt of its existence, however little certain of it he may be. I deny that a man in so far as he imagines [percipit] affirms nothing. For what is it to imagine a winged horse but to affirm that the horse [that horse, namely] has wings? For if the mind had nothing before it but the winged horse it would contemplate the same as present, would have no cause to doubt of its existence, nor any power of dissenting from its existence, unless the imagination of the winged horse were joined to an idea which contradicted [tollit] its existence.” (Ethics, n, 4g, Scho­ lium.) T h e sense that anything we think of is unreal can only come, then, when that thing is contradicted by some other thing of which we think. A n y o b je c t w hich rem ains u n co n tra d icted is ipso facto b elie v ed an d p o site d as a b so lu te reality.

Now, how comes it that one thing thought of can be contradicted by another? It cannot unless it begins the quarrel by saying some­ thing inadmissible about that other. T ak e the mind with the can­ dle, or the boy with the horse. If either of them say, “ T h at candle or that horse, even when I don’t see it, exists in th e o u ter w o rld ,” he pushes into ‘the outer world’ an object which may be incom­ patible with everything which he otherwise knows of that world. If so, he must take his choice of which to hold by, the present per­ ceptions or the other knowledge of the world. If he holds to the 6 W e saw near the end o f C hapter X IX that a candle-im age taking exclusive pos­ session of the m ind in this way w ould probably acquire the sensational vividness. B ut this physiological accident is logically im m aterial to the argum ent in the text, w hich ou gh t to ap p ly as well to the dim m est sort of m ental im age as to the brightest sensation.

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other knowledge, the present perceptions are contradicted, so far as th eir rela tion to that w orld goes. Candle and horse, whatever they may be, are not existents in outward space. T h ey are existents, of course; they are mental objects; mental objects have existence as mental objects. But they are situated in their own spaces, the space in which they severally appear, and neither of those spaces is the space in which the realities called ‘the outer world’ exist. T ake again the horse with wings. If I merely dream of a horse with wings, my horse interferes with nothing else and has not to be contradicted. T h a t horse, its wings, and its place, are all equally real. T h a t horse exists no otherwise than as winged, and is more­ over really there, for that place exists no otherwise than as the place of that horse, and claims as yet no connection with the other places of the world. But if with this horse I make an inroad into the w orld oth erw ise k n o w n , and say, for example, “ T h a t is my old mare Maggie, having grown a pair of wings where she stands in her stall,” the whole case is altered; for now the horse and place are identified with a horse and place otherwise known, and w hat is known of the latter objects is incompatible with what is perceived with the former. “ Maggie in her stall with wings! N ever!” T h e wings are unreal, then, visionary. I have dreamed a lie about Mag­ gie in her stall. T h e reader w ill recognize in these two cases the two sorts of judgm ent called in the logic-books existential and attributive re­ spectively. ‘T h e candle exists as an outer reality’ is an existential, ‘My Maggie has got a pair of wings’ is an attributive, proposition;7 and it follows from what was first said that a ll p ro p o sitio n s, w h eth ­ er a ttr ib u tiv e or ex isten tia l, are b e lie v e d th ro u g h th e very fact o f b ein g co n ceiv ed , u nless they clash w ith o th er p ro p o sitio n s b elie v ed at th e sam e tim e, by affirm ing that th eir term s are th e sam e w ith 7 In both existential and attribu tive judgm ents a synthesis is represented. T h e syllable e x in the word Existence, da in the word D a sein , express it. ‘T h e candle

exists’ is equ ivalen t to ‘T h e candle is over th e r e.’ A n d the ’over there’ means real space, space related to other reals. T h e proposition am ounts to saying: ’T h e candle is in the same space w ith other reals.’ It affirms of the candle a very concrete p red­ icate— nam ely, this relation to other p articular concrete things. T h e ir real exis­ tence, as we shall later see, resolves itself into their pecu liar relation to ourselves. Existence is thus no substantive q u ality when we predicate it of any object; it is a relation, ultim ately term inating in ourselves, and at the m om ent when it term i­ nates, becom ing a p r a ctica l relation. B ut o f this more anon. I on ly wish now to indicate the superficial nature of the distinction between the existential and the attribu tive proposition.

9 !9

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology th e term s o f th ese o th e r p ro p o sitio n s. A dream-candle has exis­

tence, true enough; but not the same existence (existence for itself, namely, or extra m e n tem m eam ) which the candles of waking per­ ception have. A dream-horse has wings; but then neither horse nor wings are the same with any horses or wings known to memory. T h a t we can at any moment think of the same thing which at any former moment we thought of is the ultimate law of our intellec­ tual constitution. But when we now think of it incompatibly with our other ways of thinking it, then we must choose which way to stand by, for we cannot continue to think in two contradictory ways at once. T h e w h o le d istin ctio n o f real an d u n real, th e w h o le psychology o f b e lie f, d is b e lie f, an d d o u b t, is thus g r o u n d ed on two m e n ta l facts—first, that we are lia b le to th in k d ifferen tly o f th e sam e; an d secon d , that w hen we have d o n e so, we can ch oose w hich way o f th in k in g to a d h ere to and w h ich to disregard.

T h e subjects adhered to become real subjects, the attributes ad­ hered to real attributes, the existence adhered to real existence; whilst the subjects disregarded become imaginary subjects, the at­ tributes disregarded erroneous attributes, and the existence disre­ garded an existence in no man’s land, in the lim bo “ where footless fancies dw ell.” T h e real things are, in M. T a in e ’s terminology, the red u ctiv es of the things judged unreal. T H E M A N Y W ORLD S

H abitually and practically we do not co u n t these disregarded things as existents at all. For them Va victis is the law in the popu­ lar philosophy; they are not even treated as appearances; they are treated as if they were mere waste, equivalent to nothing at all. T o the genuinely philosophic mind, however, they still have exis­ tence, though not the same existence, as the real things. A s objects of fancy, as errors, as occupants of dreamland, etc., they are in their way as indefeasible parts of life, as undeniable features of the U ni­ verse, as the realities are in their way. T h e total world of which the philosophers must take account is thus composed of the realities p lu s the fancies and illusions. T w o sub-universes, at least, connected by relations which phi­ losophy tries to ascertain! Really there are more than two sub­ universes of which we take account, some of us of this one, and others of that. For there are various categories both of illusion and of reality, and alongside of the world of absolute error (i.e., error

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confined to single individuals) but still within the world of abso­ lute reality (i.e., reality believed by the complete philosopher) there is the world of collective error, there are the worlds of ab­ stract reality, of relative or practical reality, of ideal relations, and there is the supernatural world. T h e popular mind conceives of all these sub-worlds more or less disconnectedly; and when dealing with one of them, forgets for the time being its relations to the rest. T h e complete philosopher is he who seeks not only to assign to every given object of his thought its right place in one or other of these sub-worlds, but he also seeks to determine the relation of each sub-world to the others in the total world which is. T h e most important sub-universes commonly discriminated from each other and recognized by most of us as existing, each with its own special and separate style of existence, are the following: (1) T h e world of sense, or of physical ‘things’ as we instinctively apprehend them, with such qualities as heat, color, and sound, and such ‘forces’ as life, chemical affinity, gravity, electricity, all exist­ ing as such within or on the surface of the things. (2) T h e world of science, or of physical things as the learned con­ ceive them, with secondary qualities and ‘forces’ (in the popular sense) excluded, and nothing real but solids and fluids and their ‘laws’ (i.e., customs) of motion.8 (3) T h e world of ideal relations, or abstract truths believed or believable by all, and expressed in logical, mathematical, meta­ physical, ethical, or aesthetic propositions. (4) T h e world of ‘idols of the tribe,’ illusions or prejudices com­ mon to the race. A ll educated people recognize these as forming one sub-universe. T h e motion of the sky round the earth, for ex­ ample, belongs to this world. T h a t motion is not a recognized item of any of the other worlds; but as an ‘idol of the tribe’ it really ex­ ists. For certain philosophers ‘matter’ exists only as an idol of the tribe. For science, the ‘secondary qualities’ of matter are but ‘idols of the tribe.’ (5) T h e various supernatural worlds, the Christian heaven and hell, the world of the Hindoo mythology, the world of Sweden­ borg’s visa et audita, etc. Each of these is a consistent system, with definite relations among its own parts. N eptune’s trident, e.g., has * I define the scientific universe here in the radical m echanical way. Practically, it is oftener thought o f in a m ongrel way and resembles in m ore points the p op u lar physical world.

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no status of reality whatever in the Christian heaven; but within the classic Olympus certain definite things are true of it, whether one believe in the reality of the classic mythology as a whole or not. T h e various worlds of deliberate fable may be ranked with these worlds of faith—the world of the Ilia d , that of K in g L ear, of the P ic k w ic k Papers, etc.9 (6) T h e various worlds of individual opinion, as numerous as men are. (7) T h e worlds of sheer madness and vagary, also indefinitely numerous. Every o b je c t we th in k o f gets at last referred to o n e w orld or an­ o th er o f th is or o f so m e sim ila r list. It settles into our belief as a common-sense object, a scientific object, an abstract object, a mythological object, an object of someone’s mistaken conception, or a madman’s object; and it reaches this state sometimes immedi­ ately, but often only after being hustled and bandied about amongst other objects until it finds some which will tolerate its presence and stand in relations to it which nothing contradicts. T h e molecules and ether-waves of the scientific world, for example, simply kick the object’s warmth and color out, they refuse to have any relations with them. But the world of ‘idols of the tribe’ stands ready to take them in. Just so the world of classic myth takes up the winged horse; the world of individual hallucination, the vision of the candle; the world of abstract truth, the proposition that jus­ tice is kingly, though no actual king be just. T h e various worlds themselves, however, appear (as aforesaid) to most men’s minds in no very definitely conceived relation to each other, and our atten­ tion, when it turns to one, is apt to drop the others for the time being out of its account. Propositions concerning the different worlds are made from ‘different points of view’ ; and in this more or less chaotic state the consciousness of most thinkers remains to 9 It thus comes about that we can say such things as that Ivanhoe did not really m arry Rebecca, as T h ackeray falsely makes him do. T h e real Ivanhoe-w orld is the one which Scott wrote down for us. In tha t w orld Ivanhoe does n o t m arry Rebecca. T h e objects w ithin that world are kn it together by perfectly definite relations, w hich can be affirmed or denied. W hilst absorbed in the novel, we turn o u r backs on all other worlds, and, for the time, the Ivanhoe-w orld rem ains o u r absolute reality. W hen we wake from the spell, however, we find a still m ore real world, which re­ duces Ivanhoe, and all things connected with him , to the fictive status, and relegates them to one o f the sub-universes grouped under No. 5.

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the end. Each world w hilst it is a tte n d ed to is real after its own fashion; only the reality lapses with the attention. T H E W O R LD O F ‘ P R A C T IC A L R E A L IT IE S ’

Each thinker, however, has dominant habits of attention; and these practically elect from am on g the various w orlds som e on e to be fo r h im th e w orld o f u ltim a te realities. From this world’s objects he does not appeal. W hatever positively contradicts them must get into another world or die. T h e horse, e.g., may have wings to its heart’s content, so long as it does not pretend to be the real world’s horse— that horse is absolutely wingless. For most men, as we shall immediately see, the ‘things of sense’ hold this prerogative posi­ tion, and are the absolutely real w orld’s nucleus. Other things, to be sure, may be real for this man or for that—things of science, ab­ stract moral relations, things of the Christian theology, or what not. But even for the special man, these things are usually real with a less real reality than that of the things of sense. T h ey are taken less seriously; and the very utmost that can be said for anyone’s belief in them is that it is as strong as his ‘belief in his own senses.’ 10 In all this the everlasting partiality of our nature shows itself, our inveterate propensity to choice. For, in the strict and ultimate sense of the word existence, everything which can be thought of at all exists as so m e sort of object, whether mythical object, individ­ ual thinker’s object, or object in outer space and for intelligence at large. Errors, fictions, tribal beliefs, are parts of the whole great 10 T h e w orld o f dream s is ou r real w orld whilst we are sleeping, because our attention then lapses from the sensible w orld. Conversely, when we wake the atten­ tion usually lapses from the dream -w orld and that becomes unreal. B ut if a dream haunts us and com pels our attention d u rin g the day it is very apt to rem ain figuring in ou r consciousness as a sort of sub-universe alongside of the w aking world. Most people have probably had dream s which it is hard to im agine not to have been glim pses into an actually existing region of being, perhaps a corner o f the ‘spiritual World.’ A n d dreams have accordingly in all ages been regarded as revelations, and have played a large part in furn ishin g forth m ythologies and creating themes for faith to lay hold upon. T h e ‘larger universe,’ here, which helps us to believe both in the dream and in the w aking reality which is its im m ediate reductive, is the total universe, o f N ature p lu s the Supernatural. T h e dream holds true, nam ely, in one h a lf o f that universe; the w aking perceptions in the other half. Even to-day dreamobjects figure am ong the realities in which some psychic-researchers’ are seeking to rouse our belief. A ll our theories, not only those about the supernatural, but our philosophic and scientific theories as well, are like ou r dreams in rousing such d if­ ferent degrees o f belief in different minds.

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Universe which God has made, and He must have meant all these things to be in it, each in its respective place. But for us finite crea­ tures, “ ’tis to consider too curiously to consider so.” T h e mere fact of appearing as an object at all is not enough to constitute reality. T h a t may be metaphysical reality, reality for God; but what we need is practical reality, reality for ourselves; and, to have that, an object must not only appear, but it must appear both in ­ terestin g and im portan t. T h e worlds whose objects are neither in­ teresting nor important we treat simply negatively, we brand them as unreal. In th e relative sense, then, the sense in which we contrast reality with simple unreality, and in which one thing is said to have m ore reality than another, and to be more believed, reality m eans sim ply rela tion to ou r em o tio n a l an d active life. T h is is the only sense which the word ever has in the mouths of practical men. In this sense, w hatever ex cites an d stim u la tes ou r interest is real', when­ ever an object so appeals to us that we turn to it, accept it, fill our mind with it, or practically take account of it, so far it is real for us, and we believe it. Whenever, on the contrary, we ignore it, fail to consider it or act upon it, despise it, reject it, forget it, so far it is unreal for us and disbelieved. H um e’s account of the matter was then essentially correct, when he said that belief in anything was simply the having the idea of it in a lively and active manner: “I say then, that belief is nothing but a more vivid, lively, forcible, firm, steady conception of an object, than what the imagination alone is ever able to attain. . . . It consists not in the peculiar nature or order of ideas, but in the manner of their conception, and in their feeling to the mind. I confess, that it is impossible perfectly to explain this feel­ ing or manner of conception. . . . Its true and proper name . . . is belief ', which is a term, that every one sufficiently understands in common life. And in philosophy, we can go no farther than assert, that belief is something felt by the mind, which distinguishes the ideas of the judg­ ment from the fictions of the imagination.11 It gives them more weight and influence; makes them appear of greater importance; inforces them in the mind; gives them a superior influence on the passions, and ren­ ders them the governing principle of our actions.” 12 11 D istinguishes realities from unrealities, the essential from the rubbishy and neglec table. 12 In q u ir y C o n cern in g H u m a n U n d ersta n d in g , sec. v, pt. 2 (slightly transposed in my quotation).

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O r as Prof. Bain puts it: “ In its essential character, Belief is a phase of our active nature,—otherwise called the W ill.” 13 T h e object of belief, then, reality or real existence, is something quite different from all the other predicates which a subject may possess. Those are properties intellectually or sensibly intuited. W hen we add any one of them to the subject, we increase the in­ trinsic content of the latter, we enrich its picture in our mind. But adding reality does not enrich the picture in any such inward way; it leaves it inwardly as it finds it, and only fixes it and stamps it in to us. "The real,” as Kant says, “contains no more than the possible. A hundred real dollars do not contain a penny more than a hundred pos­ sible dollars. . . . By whatever and by however many predicates I may think a thing . . . nothing is added to it, if I add that the thing exists. .. . Whatever therefore our concept of an object may contain, we must always step outside of it, in order to attribute to it existence.” 14 T h e ‘stepping outside’ of it is the establishment either of im­ mediate practical relations between it and ourselves, or of rela­ tions between it and other objects with which we have immediate practical relations. Relations of this sort, which are as yet not tran­ scended or superseded by others, are ipso facto real relations, and confer reality upon their objective term. T h e fon s et origo o f all reality, w h eth er fro m th e a b solu te or th e practical p o in t o f view , is th u s su b je ctiv e , is ourselves. As bare logical thinkers, without emo­

tional reaction, we give reality to whatever objects we think of, for they are really phenomena, or objects of our passing thought, if nothing more. But, as th in k ers w ith em o tio n a l reaction, we give 13 Note to James M ill’s A n aly sis, l, 394.

l* C r itiq u e o f P u r e R ea so n , trans. M üller, 11, 515-16. H um e also: “ W hen after the sim ple conception o f any thing we wou'd conceive it as existent, we in reality make no addition to or alteration on our first idea. T h u s when we affirm, that G od is

existent, we sim ply form the idea o f such a being, as he is represented to us; nor is the existence, which we attribu te to him , conceiv’d by a p articular idea, which we join to his other qualities, and can again separate and distinguish from them. . . . T h e b elief o f the existence joins no new ideas to those, which compose the idea o f the object. W hen I think o f G od, when I think o f him as existent, and when I be­ lieve him to be existent, my idea o f him neither encreases nor dim inishes. B u t as "tis certain there is a great difference betw ixt the simple conception o f the existence o f an object, and the b elief o f it, and as this difference lies not in the parts or com­ position o f the idea, which we conceive; it follows, that it must lie in the m a nn er, in which we conceive it.” (T rea tise o f H u m a n N a tu re, pt. Ill, sec. 7.)

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology w hat seem s to us a s till h ig h er degree o f reality to w hatever things we select and em phasize and turn to

w it h

a

w il l

.

These are our

liv in g realities; and not only these, but all the other things which

are intimately connected with these. Reality, starting from our Ego, thus sheds itself from point to point—first, upon all objects which have an immediate sting of interest for our Ego in them, and next, upon the objects most continuously related with these. It only fails when the connecting thread is lost. A whole system may be real, if it only hang to our Ego by one immediately stin g in g term. But what contradicts any such stinging term, even though it be another stinging term itself, is either not believed, or only be­ lieved after settlement of the dispute. W e reach thus the important conclusion that o u r ow n reality, that sense o f o u r ow n life w hich we at every m o m en t possess, is th e u ltim a te o f u ltim a tes fo r o u r b e lie f. ‘As sure as I exist!’—this is our

uttermost warrant for the being of all other things. As Descartes made the indubitable reality of the cog ito go bail for the reality of all that the cog ito involved, so we all of us, feeling our own present reality with absolutely coercive force, ascribe an all but equal de­ gree of reality, first to whatever things we lay hold on with a sense of personal need, and second, to whatever farther things continu­ ously belong with these. “ Mein Jetzt und H ier,” as Prof. Lipps says, “ ist der letzte Angelpunkt fur alle W irklichkeit, also alle Erkenntniss.” T h e world of living realities as contrasted with unrealities is thus anchored in the Ego, considered as an active and emotional term.15 T h a t is the hook from which the rest dangles, the absolute support. A nd as from a painted hook it has been said that one can only hang a painted chain, so conversely, from a real hook only a real chain can properly be hung. W h a tev er thing s have in tim a te and c o n tin u o u s co n n ectio n w ith my life are things o f w hose reality I can n ot d o u b t. W hatever things fail to establish this connection

are things which are practically no better for me than if they ex­ isted not at all. In certain forms of melancholic perversion of the sensibilities and reactive powers, nothing touches us intimately, rouses us, or 1 5 1 use the notion o f the Ego here, as common-sense uses it. N othing is pre­ jud ged as to the results (or absence o f results) o f ulterior attem pts to analyze the

notion.

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wakens natural feeling. T h e consequence is the complaint so often heard from melancholic patients, that nothing is believed in by them as it used to be, and that all sense of reality is fled from life. T h ey are sheathed in india-rubber; nothing penetrates to the quick or draws blood, as it were. According to Griesinger, “ I see, I hear!” such patients say, “ but the objects do not reach me, it is as if there were a wall between me and the outer w orld!” “In such patients there often is an alteration of the cutaneous sen­ sibility, such that things feel indistinct or sometimes rough and woolly. But even were this change always present, it would not completely ex­ plain the psychic phenomenon .. . which reminds us more of the altera­ tion in our psychic relations to the outer world which advancing age on the one hand, and on the other emotions and passions, may bring about. In childhood we feel ourselves to be closer to the world of sensible phenomena, we live immediately with them and in them; an intimately vital tie binds us and them together. But with the ripening of reflection this tie is loosened, the warmth of our interest cools, things look differ­ ently to us, and we act more as foreigners to the outer world, even though we know it a great deal better. Joy and expansive emotions in general draw it nearer to us again. Everything makes a more lively im­ pression, and with the quick immediate return of this warm receptivity for sense-impressions, joy makes us feel young again. In depressing emotions it is the other way. Outer things, whether living or inorganic, suddenly grow cold and foreign to us, and even our favorite objects of interest feel as if they belonged to us no more. Under these circum­ stances, receiving no longer from anything a lively impression, we cease to turn towards outer things, and the sense of inward loneliness grows upon us. . . . Where there is no strong intelligence to control this blase condition, this psychic coldness and lack of interest, the issue of these states in which all seems so cold and hollow, the heart dried up, the world grown dead and empty, is often suicide or the deeper forms of insanity.” 16

T H E P A R A M O U N T R E A L IT Y O F SENSATION S

But now we are met by questions of detail. W hat does this stir­ ring, this exciting power, this interest, consist in, which some ob16 G riesinger: D ie P a th o lo g ie u n d T h e r a p ie d er p sy ch isch en K r a n k h e ite n , §§ 50, 98. See also Lotze: M e d ic in is c h e P sy cho lo g ie, p. 251. T h e neologism we so often hear, that an experience ‘gives us a rea lizin g sen se' o f the truth o f some proposition or other, illustrates the dependence o f the sense o f reality upon e x c ite m e n t. O nly what stirs us is ‘realized.’

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jects have? which are those ‘intimate relations’ with our life which give reality? And what things stand in these relations immediately, and what others are so closely connected with the former that (in H um e’s language) we ‘carry our disposition’ also on to them? In a simple and direct way these questions cannot be answered at all. T h e whole history of human thought is but an unfinished attempt to answer them. For what have men been trying to find out, since men were men, but just those things: “ W here do our true interests lie—which relations shall we call the intimate and real ones—which things shall we call living realities and which not?’’ A few psychological points can, however, be made clear. A n y rela tion to o u r m in d at all, in th e a bsen ce o f a stronger co n ­ tra d ictin g rela tion , suffices to m ake an o b je c t real. T h e barest ap­

peal to our attention is enough for that. Revert to the beginning of the chapter, and take the candle entering the vacant mind. T h e mind was waiting for just some such object to make its spring upon. It makes its spring and the candle is believed. But when the candle appears at the same time with other objects, it must run the gaunt­ let of their rivalry, and then it becomes a question which of the various candidates for attention shall compel belief. As a rule we believe as much as we can. W e would believe everything if we only could. W hen objects are represented by us quite unsystematically they conflict but little with each other, and the number of them which in this chaotic manner we can believe is limitless. T h e prim i­ tive savage’s mind is a jungle in which hallucinations, dreams, superstitions, conceptions, and sensible objects all flourish along­ side of each other, unregulated except by the attention turning in this way or in that. T h e child’s mind is the same. It is only as ob­ jects become permanent and their relations fixed that discrep­ ancies and contradictions are felt and must be settled in some stable way. As a rule, the success with which a contradicted object main­ tains itself in our belief is proportional to several qualities which it must possess. O f these the one which would be put first by most people, because it characterizes objects of sensation, is its— (1) Coerciveness over attention, or the mere power to possess consciousness: then follow— (2) Liveliness, or sensible pungency, especially in the way of ex­ citing pleasure or pain; (3) Stimulating effect upon the will, i.e., capacity to arouse ac­ tive impulses, the more instinctive the better;

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(4) Emotional interest, as object of love, dread, admiration, de­ sire, etc.; (5) Congruity with certain favorite forms of contemplation— unity, simplicity, permanence, and the like; (6) Independence of other causes, and its own causal impor­ tance. These characters run into each other. Coerciveness is the result of liveliness or emotional interest. W hat is lively and interesting stimulates eo ipso the w ill; congruity holds of active impulses as well as of contemplative forms; causal independence and impor­ tance suit a certain contemplative demand, etc. I w ill therefore abandon all attempt at a formal treatment, and simply proceed to make remarks in the most convenient order of exposition. As a whole, sensations are more lively and are judged more real than conceptions; things met with every hour more real than things seen once; attributes perceived when awake, more real than attri­ butes perceived in a dream. But, owing to the diverse rela tion s co n ­ tracted by th e various o b jects w ith each other, the simple rule that the lively and permanent is the real is often enough disguised. A conceived thing may be deemed more real than a certain sensible thing, if it only be intimately related to other sensible things more vivid, permanent, or interesting than the first one. Conceived molecular vibrations, e.g., are by the physicist judged more real than felt warmth, because so intimately related to all those other facts of motion in the world which he has made his special study. Similarly, a rare thing may be deemed more real than a permanent thing if it be more widely related to other permanent things. A ll the occasional crucial observations of science are examples of this. A rare experience, too, is likely to be judged more real than a per­ manent one, if it be more interesting and exciting. Such is the sight of Saturn through a telescope; such are the occasional in­ sights and illuminations which upset our habitual ways of thought. But no mere floating conception, no mere disconnected rarity, ever displaces vivid things or permanent things from our belief. A conception, to prevail, must term inate in the world of orderly sensible experience. A rare phenomenon, to displace frequent ones, must belong with others more frequent still. T h e history of science is strewn with wrecks and ruins of theory—essences and principles, fluids and forces—once fondly clung to, but found to hang together

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with no facts of sense. A nd exceptional phenomena solicit our be­ lief in vain until such time as we chance to conceive them as of kinds already admitted to exist. W hat science means by ‘verifica­ tion’ is no more than this, that no object of conception shall be be­ lieved which sooner or later has not some permanent and vivid object of sensation for its term . Compare what was said on pages 653~657- above. S e n sib le o b jects are th u s e ith e r o u r rea lities or th e tests o f ou r realities. C o n ce iv e d o b jects m u st show sen sib le effects or else b e dis­ b elie v ed . A nd the effects, even though reduced to relative unreali­

ty when their causes come to view (as heat, which molecular vibra­ tions make unreal), are yet the things on which our knowledge of the causes rests. Strange mutual dependence this, in which the ap­ pearance needs the reality in order to exist, but the reality needs the appearance in order to be known! S e n sib le vivid ness or p u n g en cy is th en th e v ita l fa cto r in reality w hen on ce th e co n flict betw een o b jects, an d th e c o n n e ctin g o f th em to g eth er in th e m in d , has b eg un . N o object which neither possesses this vividness in its own right nor is able to borrow it from any­ thing else has a chance of making headway against vivid rivals, or of rousing in us that reaction in which belief consists. On the vivid objects we p in , as the saying is, our faith in all the rest; and our be­ lief returns instinctively even to those of them from which reflec­ tion has led it away. Witness the obduracy with which the popular world of colors, sounds, and smells holds its own against that of molecules and vibrations. Let the physicist himself but nod, like Homer, and the world o f sense becomes his absolute reality again.17 17 T h e way in which sensations are p itted against systematized conceptions, and in which the one or the other then prevails according as the sensations are felt by ourselves or merely known by report, is interestingly illustrated at the present day by the state o f p u b lic b elief abou t ‘spiritu alistic' phenom ena. T h e re exist n u ­ merous narratives o f m ovem ent w ithout contact on the part o f articles o f furn itu re and other m aterial objects, in the presence o f certain privileged individuals called mediums. Such m ovem ent violates our memories, and the w hole system of accepted physical ‘science.’ C onsequently those who have not seen it eith er brand the nar­ ratives im m ediately as lies or call the phenom ena ‘ illusions' of sense, produced by fraud or due to hallucination. B u t one who has actually seen such a phenom enon, under w hat seems to him sufficiently ‘test-conditions,’ w ill hold to his sensible e x ­ perience through thick and thin, even though the w hole fabric o f ‘scicnce’ should be rent in tw ain. T h a t man w ould be a weak-spirited creature indeed who should allow any fly-blown generalities about ‘ the lia b ility o f the senses to be deceived’ to bu lly him o u t of his adhesion to w hat for him was an in du bitable experience of sight. A man may err in this obstinacy, sure enough, in any p articu lar case. B ut the

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T h at things originally devoid of this stim ulating power should be enabled, by association with other things which have it, to com­ pel our belief as if they had it themselves, is a remarkable psycho­ logical fact, which since H um e’s time it has been impossible to overlook. “The vividness of the first conception,” he writes, “diffuses itself along the relations, and is convey’d, as by so many pipes or canals, to every idea that has any communication with the primary one. . . . Su­ perstitious people are fond of the relicks of saints and holy men, for the same reason that they seek after types and images, in order to inliven their devotion, and give them a more intimate and strong conception of those exemplary lives.. . . Now ’tis evident, one of the best relicks a devotee cou’d procure, wou’d be the handywork of a saint; and if his cloaths and furniture are ever to be consider’d in this light, 'tis because they were once at his disposal, and were mov’d and affected by him; in which respect they are . . . connected with him by a shorter chain of consequences than any of those, from which we learn the reality of his existence. This phenomenon clearly proves, that a present impression with a relation of causation may inliven any idea, and consequently produce belief or assent, according to the precedent definition of it. . . . It has been remark’d among the M ahom etans as well as Christians, that those pilgrims, who have seen M e c c a or the H o l y L a n d , are ever after more faithful and zealous believers, than those who have not had that advantage. A man, whose memory presents him with a lively image of the Red-Sea, and the Desert, and Jerusalem, and G alilee can never doubt of any miraculous events, which are related either by Moses or the Evangelists. The lively idea of the places passes by an easy transi­ tion to the facts, which are suppos’d to have been related to them by contiguity, and encreases the belief by encreasing the vivacity of the conception. The remembrance of these fields and rivers has the same influence as a new argument. . . . T he ceremonies of the Catholic re­ ligion may be consider’d as instances of the same nature. The devotees of that strange superstition usually plead in excuse of the mummeries, with which they are upbraided, that they feel the good effect of those external motions, and postures, and actions, in inlivening their devo­ tion, and quickening their fervour, which otherwise wou’d decay away, if directed entirely to distant and immaterial objects. We shadow out the objects of our faith, say they, in sensible types and images, and render them more present to us by the immediate presence of these spirit that anim ates him is that on which ultim ately the very life and health of Science rest.

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types, than ’tis possible for us to do, merely by an intellectual view and contemplation.” 18 H um e’s cases are rather trivial; and the things which associated sensible objects make us believe in are supposed by him to be un­ real. But all the more manifest for that is the fact of their psycho­ logical influence. W ho does not ‘realize’ more the fact of a dead or distant friend’s existence, at the moment when a portrait, letter, garment or other material reminder of him is found? T h e whole notion of him then grows pungent and speaks to us and shakes us, in a manner unknown at other times. In children’s minds, fancies and realities live side by side. But however lively their fancies may be, they still gain help from association with reality. T h e imagina­ tive child identifies its dram atis p er so n a with some doll or other material object, and this evidently solidifies belief, little as it may resemble what it is held to stand for. A thing not too interesting by its own real qualities generally does the best service here. T h e most useful doll I ever saw was a large cucumber in the hands of a little Amazonian-Indian girl; she nursed it and washed it and rocked it to sleep in a hammock, and talked to it all day long—there was no part in life which the cucumber did not play. Says Mr. T ylor: “An imaginative child will . . . make a dog do duty for a horse, or a soldier for a shepherd, till at last the objective resemblance almost dis­ appears, and a bit of wood may be dragged about, representing a ship on the sea, or a coach on the road. Here the likeness of the bit of wood to a ship or a coach is very slight indeed; but it is a thing, and can be moved about. . . and is an evident assistance to the child in enabling it to arrange and develop its ideas . . . . Of how much use . .. may be seen by taking it away and leaving the child nothing to play with. . . . In later years, and among highly educated people, the mental process which goes on in a child playing with wooden soldiers and horses, though it never disappears, must be sought for in more complex phe­ nomena. Perhaps nothing in after life more closely resembles the effect of a doll upon a child, than the effect of the illustrations of a tale upon a grown-up reader. Here the objective resemblance is very indefinite .. . yet what reality is given to the scene by a good picture. . . . Mr. Back­ house one day noticed in Van Diemen’s Land a woman arranging sev­ eral stones that were flat, oval, and about two inches wide, and marked in various directions with black and red lines. These he learned repre­ sented absent friends, and one larger than the rest stood for a fat native 18 T rea tise o f H u m a n N a tu r e, bk. i, pt. hi, sec. 8.

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woman on Flinders Island, known by the name of Mother Brown. Similar practices are found among far higher races than the ill-fated Tasmanians. Among some North American tribes, a mother who has lost a child keeps its memory ever present to her by filling its cradle with black feathers and quills, and carrying it about with her for a year or more. When she stops anywhere, she sets up the cradle and talks to it as she goes about her work, just as she would have done if the dead baby had been still alive within it. Here we have no image; but in Africa we find a rude doll, representing the child, kept as a memorial. .. . Bastian saw Indian women in Peru, who had lost an infant, carrying about on their backs a wooden doll to represent it.” 19 T o many persons among us, photographs of lost ones seem to be fetishes. T hey, it is true, resemble; but the fact that the mere ma­ teriality of the reminder is almost as important as its resemblance is shown by the popularity a hundred years ago of the black taffeta ‘silhouettes’ which are still found among family relics, and of one of which Fichte could write to his affianced: “ D ie F a rb e fe h lt, das A u g e fe h lt, es fe h lt d er h im m lisc h e A u sd r u c k d e in e r lie b lic h e n Z iig e ” — and yet go on worshipping it all the same. T h e opinion so

stoutly professed by many, that language is essential to thought, seems to have this much of truth in it, that all our inward images tend invincibly to attach themselves to something sensible, so as to gain in corporeity and life. W ords serve this purpose, gestures serve it, stones, straws, chalk-marks, anything w ill do. As soon as any one of these things stands for the idea, the latter seems to be more real. Some persons, the present writer among the number, can hardly lecture without a black-board: the abstract conceptions must be symbolized by letters, squares or circles, and the relations between them by lines. A ll this symbolism, linguistic, graphic, and dramat­ ic, has other uses too, for it abridges thought and fixes terms. But one of its uses is surely to rouse the believing reaction and give to the ideas a more living reality. As, when we are told a story, and shown the very knife that did the murder, the very ring whose hiding-place the clairvoyant revealed, the whole thing passes from fairy-land to mother-earth, so here we believe all the more, if only we see that ‘the bricks are alive to tell the tale.’ So much for the prerogative position of sensations in regard to our belief. But among the sensations themselves all are not deemed *• R esearches in to th e Early H istory o f M a n k in d , p. 108.

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equally real. T h e more practically important ones, the more per­ manent ones, and the more aesthetically apprehensible ones are selected from the mass, to be believed in most of all; the others are degraded to the position of mere signs and suggesters of these. T h is fact has already been adverted to in former chapters.20 T h e real color of a thing is that one color-sensation which it gives us when most favorably lighted for vision. So of its real size, its real shape, etc.—these are but optical sensations selected out of thou­ sands of others, because they have aesthetic characteristics which appeal to our convenience or delight. But I w ill not repeat what I have already written about this matter, but pass on to our treat­ ment of tactile and muscular sensations, as ‘primary qualities,’ more real than those ‘secondary’ qualities which eye and ear and nose reveal. W hy do we thus so markedly select the tan gible to be the real? O ur motives are not far to seek. T h e tangible qualities are the least fluctuating. W hen we get them at all we get them the same. T h e other qualities fluctuate enormously as our relative po­ sition to the object changes. T hen, more decisive still, the tactile properties are those most intimately connected with our weal or woe. A dagger hurts us only when in contact with our skin, a poi­ son only when we take it into our mouths, and we can only use an object for our advantage when we have it in our muscular control. It is as tangibles, then, that things concern us most; and the other senses, so far as their practical use goes, do but warn us of what tangible things to expect. T h ey are but organs of anticipatory touch, as Aristotle and Berkeley have with perfect clearness ex­ plained.21 Am ong all sensations, the m ost belief-compelling are those pro­ ductive of pleasure or of pain. Locke expressly makes the pleasureor p a in -giving quality to be the ultimate human criterion of any­ thing’s reality. Discussing (with a supposed Berkeleyan before Berkeley) the notion that all our perceptions may be but a dream, he says: “He may please to dream that I make him this answer . . . that I be­ lieve he will allow a very manifest difference between dreaming of being in the fire, and being actually in it. But yet if he be resolved to appear so sceptical as to maintain, that what I call ‘being actually in the fire’ is nothing but a dream; and that we cannot thereby certainly know 20 See V o l. I, p p . 274-5; V o l. II, p p . 869 ff. 21 See A n Essay tow ards a N ew T h eo ry o f V ision , § 59.

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that any such thing as fire actually exists without us: I answer, that we certainly finding that pleasure or pain [or emotion of any sort] follows upon the application of certain objects to us, whose existence we per­ ceive, or dream that we perceive, by our senses; this certainly is as great as our happiness or misery, beyond which we have no concernment to know or to be.” 22

T H E IN F L U E N C E O F E M O T IO N A N D A C T IV E IM P U L S E ON B E L IE F

T h e quality of arousing emotion, of shaking, moving us or in­ citing us to action, has as much to do with our belief in an object’s reality as the quality of giving pleasure or pain. In Chapter X X V I shall seek to show that our emotions probably owe their pungent quality to the bodily sensations which they involve. O ur tendency to believe in emotionally exciting objects (objects of fear, desire, etc.) is thus explained without resorting to any fundamentally new principle of choice. Speaking generally, the more a conceived ob­ ject ex cites us, the more reality it has. T h e same object excites us differently at different times. Moral and religious truths come ‘home’ to us far more on some occasions than on others. As Emer­ son says, “ T here is a difference between one and another hour of life, in their authority and subsequent effect. Our faith comes in moments . . . . Yet there is a depth in those brief moments which constrains us to ascribe more reality to them than to all other ex­ periences.” T h e ‘depth’ is partly, no doubt, the insight into wider systems of unified relation, but far more often than that it is the emotional thrill. Thus, to descend to more trivial examples, a man who has no belief in ghosts by daylight w ill temporarily believe in them when, alone at midnight, he feels his blood curdle at a mys­ terious sound or vision, his heart thumping, and his legs impelled 22 Essay, bk. iv, chap. 2, § 14. In another place: “ He that sees a candle burning, and hath experim ented the force o f its flame by p u ttin g his finger in it, w ill little doubt that this is som ething existing w ithout him , which does him harm and puts him to great pain . . . . A n d if ou r dream er pleases to try w hether the glow ing heat o f a glass-furnace be barely a w andering im agination in a drowsy m an’s fancy, by p u ttin g his hand into it, he may, perhaps, be awakened into a certainty, greater

than he could wish, that it is som ething more than bare im agination. So that this evidence is as great as we can desire, being as certain to us as our pleasure or pain, i.e. happiness or misery; beyond which we have no concernm ent eith er o f know ing or being. Such an assurance o f the existence o f things w ithout us is sufficient to direct us in the attaining the good and avoiding the evil which is causcd by them, which is the im portant concernm ent we have o f being m ade acquainted with them .” (Ib id ., bk. iv, chap. 11, § 8.)

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to flee. T h e thought of falling when we walk along a curbstone awakens no emotion of dread; so no sense of reality attaches to it, and we are sure we shall not fall. On a precipice’s edge, however, the sickening emotion which the notion of a possible fall engenders makes us believe in the latter’s imminent reality, and quite unfits us to proceed. T h e greatest proof that a man is su i com p o s is his ability to sus­ pend belief in presence of an emotionally exciting idea. T o give this power is the highest result of education. In untutored minds the power does not exist. Every e x c itin g th o u g h t in th e natural m an carries cred en ce w ith it. T o co n ceiv e w ith passion is eo ipso to affirm . As Bagehot says:

“T he Caliph Omar . . . burnt the Alexandrian Library, saying, ‘All books which contain what is not in the Koran are dangerous; all those which contain what is in the Koran are useless!’ Probably no one ever had an intenser belief in anything than Omar had in this. Yet it is im­ possible to imagine it preceded by an argument. His belief in Mahomet, in the Koran, and in the sufficiency of the Koran, came to him probably in spontaneous rushes of emotion; there may have been little vestiges of argument floating here and there, but they did not justify the strength of the emotion, still less did they create it, and they hardly even excused i t .. . . Probably, when the subject is thoroughly examined, ‘conviction’ will be proved to be one of the intensest of human emo­ tions, and one most closely connected with the bodily state . . . accom­ panied or preceded by the sensation that Scott makes his seer describe as the prelude to a prophecy:— ‘At length the fatal answer came, In characters of living flame— Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll, But borne and branded on my soul.’ A hot flash seems to burn across the brain. Men in these intense states of mind have altered all history, changed for better or worse the creed of myriads, and desolated or redeemed provinces and ages. Nor is this intensity a sign of truth, for it is precisely strongest in those points in which men differ most from each other. John Knox felt it in his antiCatholicism; Ignatius Loyola in his anti-Protestantism; and both, I suppose, felt it as much as it is possible to feel it.” 23 T h e reason of the belief is undoubtedly the bodily commotion which the exciting idea sets up. ‘N othing which I can feel like that can be false.’ A ll our religious and supernatural beliefs are of this 23

w.

B agehot: “ O n the Em otion o f C onviction,” L iterary S tu d ie s, 11, 412-14.

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order. T h e surest warrant for immortality is the yearning of our bowels for our dear ones; for God, the sinking sense it gives us to imagine no such Providence or help. So of our political or pecuni­ ary hopes and fears, and things and persons dreaded and desired. “ A grocer has a full creed as to foreign policy, a young lady a com­ plete theory of the sacraments, as to which neither has any doubt . . . . A girl in a country parsonage w ill be sure ‘that Paris never can be taken,’ or that ‘Bismarck is a wretch,’ ’ ’—all because they have either conceived these things at some moment with passion, or as­ sociated them with other things which they have conceived with passion. M. Renouvier calls this belief of a thing for no other reason than that we conceive it with passion, by the name of m en ta l vertig o .2* O ther objects whisper doubt or disbelief; but the object of passion makes us deaf to all but itself, and we affirm it unhesitatingly. Such objects are the delusions of insanity, which the insane person can at odd moments steady himself against, but which again return to sweep him off his feet. Such are the revelations of mysticism. Such, particularly, are the sudden beliefs which animate mobs of men when frenzied impulse to action is involved. W hatever be the ac­ tion in point—whether the stoning of a prophet, the hailing of a conqueror, the burning of a witch, the baiting of a heretic or Jew, the starting of a forlorn hope, or the flying from a foe—the fact that to believe a certain object w ill cause that a ction to e x p lo d e is a sufficient reason for that belief to come. T h e motor impulse sweeps it unresisting in its train. T h e whole history of witchcraft and early medicine is a com­ mentary on the facility with which anything which chances to be conceived is believed the moment the belief chimes in with an emotional mood. ‘T h e cause of sickness?’ W hen a savage asks the cause of anything he means to ask exclusively ‘W hat is to blame?’ T h e theoretic curiosity starts from the practical life’s demands. Let someone then accuse a necromancer, suggest a charm or spell which has been cast, and no more ‘evidence’ is asked for. W hat evidence is required beyond this intimate sense of the culprit’s responsi­ bility, to which our very viscera and limbs reply?25 24 P sy ch o lo g ie r a tio n n e lle, ch. 12. 25 T w o exam ples ou t o f a thousand:

R eid: In q u ir y , ch. 11, § 91 “ I rem em ber, m any years ago, a w hite ox was brought into this country, o f so enorm ous a size that people cam e m any miles to see him.

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology T h e re happened, some m onths after, an uncom mon fatality am ong women in ch ild ­ bearing. T w o such uncom m on events, follow ing one another, gave a suspicion of their connection, and occasioned a comm on opinion am ong the country-people that the w hite ox was the cause o f this fatality.” H . M. Stanley: T h r o u g h th e D a rk C o n tin e n t, 11, 384: “ On the th ird day o f our stay at M owa, feeling qu ite com fortable amongst the people, on account o f their friendly bearing, I began to w rite down in my note-book the terms for articles in order to im prove my already copious vocabulary o f native words. I had proceeded only a few m inutes when I observed a strange comm otion amongst the people who had been flocking about me, and presently they ran away. In a short tim e we heard war-cries ringing loudly and shrilly over the table-land. T w o hours afterwards, a long line o f warriors were seen descending the table-land and advancing towards ou r cam p. T h e re may have been between five and six hundred o f them . W e, on the other hand, had made but few preparations except such as would justify us replyin g to them in the event o f the actual com m encem ent o f hostilities. B ut I had made m any firm friends amongst them, and I firm ly believed that I w ould be able to avert an open ru ptu re. W hen they had assembled at abou t a hundred yards in front o f ou r camp, Safeni and I walked up towards them, and sat down m idw ay. Some half-dozen of the M owa people cam e near, and the shauri began. “ ‘W h at is the m atter, m y friends?’ I asked. ‘W hy do you come w ith guns in your hands in such num bers, as though you were com ing to fight? Fight! Fight us, your friends! T u t! this is some great mistake, su rely.’ “ ‘ M undele,’ replied one of them , . . . ‘ou r people saw you yesterday make marks on some tara-tara (paper). T h is is very bad. O u r country w ill waste, ou r goats w ill die, ou r bananas w ill rot, and ou r women w ill dry up. W h at have we done to you, that you should wish to k ill us? W e have sold you food, and we have brou gh t you w ine, each day. Y our people are allow ed to w ander where they please, w ithout trouble. W hy is the M undele so wicked? W e have gathered together to fight you if you do not burn that tara-tara now before ou r eyes. If you burn it we go away, and shall be friends as heretofore.’ ‘‘I told them to rest there, and left Safeni in their hands as a pledge that I should return. M y tent was not fifty yards from the spot, but w h ile going towards it my brain was busy in devising some plan to foil this superstitious madness. My n ote­ book contained a vast num ber o f valuable notes . . . . I could not sacrifice it to the childish caprice of savages. As I was rum m aging my book box, I cam e across a volum e of Shakespeare (Chandos edition), much worn and w ell thum bed, and which was of the same size as my field-book; its cover was sim ilar also, and it m ight be passed for the note-book provided that no one rem em bered its appearance too well. I took it to them. ‘Is this the tara-tara, friends, that you wish burnt?’ “ ‘Yes, yes, that is it!’ “ ‘W ell, take it, and burn it or keep it.’ “ ‘M —m. No, no, no. W e w ill not touch it. It is fetish. You m ust burn it.’ " ‘I! W ell, let it be so. I w ill do anyth in g to please iny good friends of M ow a.’ “ W e walked to the nearest fire. I breathed a regretful farew ell to my genial com ­ panion, w hich during m any weary hours of night had assisted to relieve my mind when oppressed by almost intolerable woes, and then gravely consigned the in­ nocent Shakespeare to the flames, heaping the brush-fuel over it w ith cerem onious care. ‘‘ ‘ A h-h-h,’ breathed the poor deluded natives, sighing th eir relief. . . . ‘T h e re is no trou ble now .’ . . . A nd som ething approaching to a cheer was shouted am ong them, w hich term inated the episode of the B urn in g of Shakespeare.’’

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Human credulity in the way of therapeutics has similar psycho­ logical roots. If there is anything intolerable (especially to the heart of a woman), it is to do nothing when a loved one is sick or in pain. T o do anything is a relief. Accordingly, whatever remedy may be suggested is a spark on inflammable soil. T h e mind makes its spring towards action on that cue, sends for that remedy, and for a day at least believes the danger past. Blame, dread, and hope are thus the great belief-inspiring passions, and cover among them the future, the present, and the past. These remarks illustrate the earlier heads of the list on page 921. W hichever represented objects give us sensations, especially interesting ones, or incite our motor impulses, or arouse our hate, desire, or fear, are real enough for us. O ur requirements in the way of reality terminate in our own acts and emotions, our own pleasures and pains. These are the ultimate fixities from which, as we formerly observed, the whole chain of our beliefs depends, ob­ ject hanging to object, as the bees, in swarming, hang to each other until, de p r o ch e en p ro ch e, the supporting branch, the Self, is reached and held. B E L IE F IN O B J E C T S O F T H E O R Y

Now the merely conceived or imagined objects which our mind represents as hanging to the sensations (causing them, etc.), filling the gaps between them, and weaving their interrupted chaos into order are innumerable. W hole systems of them conflict with other systems, and our choice of which system shall carry our belief is governed by principles which are simple enough, however subtle and difficult may be their application to details. T h e co n ceiv ed sys­ tem , to pass fo r tru e, m u st at least in c lu d e th e reality o f th e sen sib le o b je cts in it, by e x p la in in g th em as effects on us, if n o th in g m ore. T h e system w hich in clu d e s th e m ost o f th em , and d efin itely e x ­ p la in s or p reten d s to ex p la in th e m ost o f th em , w ill, ceteris pa ribu s, preva il. It is needless to say how far mankind still is from having excogitated such a system. But the various materialisms, idealisms, and hylozoisms show with what industry the attempt is forever made. It is conceivable that several rival theories should equally well include the actual order of our sensations in their scheme, much as the one-fluid and two-fluid theories of electricity formu­ lated all the common electrical phenomena equally well. T h e sci­ ences are full of these alternatives. W hich theory is then to be be­

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lieved? T h a t theory w ill be m ost genera lly b e lie v e d w h ich , besides o fferin g us o b jects a b le to a ccou n t satisfactorily fo r o u r sen sib le e x ­ p e r ie n ce , also offers those w h ich are m ost in terestin g , those w hich a p peal m ost urg ently to o u r (esthetic, em o tio n a l, and active needs.

So here, in the higher intellectual life, the same selection among general conceptions goes on which went on among the sensations themselves. First, a word of their relation to our emotional and active needs—and here I can do no better than quote from an arti­ cle published some years ago:26 “A philosophy may be unimpeachable in other respects, but either of two defects will be fatal to its universal acceptance. First, its ulti­ mate principle must not be one that essentially baffles and disappoints our dearest desires and most cherished powers. A pessimistic principle like Schopenhauer’s incurably vicious Will-substance, or Hartmann’s wicked jack-at-all-trades, the Unconscious, will perpetually call forth essays at other philosophies. Incompatibility of the future with their desires and active tendencies is, in fact, to most men a source of more fixed disquietude than uncertainty itself. Witness the attempts to over­ come the ‘problem of evil,’ the ‘mystery of pain.’ There is no ‘problem of good.’ “ But a second and worse defect in a philosophy than that of contra­ dicting our active propensities is to give them no Object whatever to press against. A philosophy whose principle is so incommensurate with our most intimate powers as to deny them all relevancy in universal affairs, as to annihilate their motives at one blow, will be even more unpopular than pessimism. Better face the enemy than the eternal Void! This is why materialism will always fail of universal adoption, however well it may fuse things into an atomistic unity, however clear­ ly it may prophesy the future eternity. For materialism denies reality to the objects of almost all the impulses which we most cherish. The real meaning of the impulses, it says, is something which has no emo­ tional interest for us whatever. But what is called extradition is quite as characteristic of our emotions as of our senses. Both point to an Ob­ ject as the cause of the present feeling. What an intensely objective reference lies in fear! In like manner an enraptured man, a drearyfeeling man, are not simply aware of their subjective states; if they were, the force of their feelings would evaporate. Both believe there is outward cause why they should feel as they do: either ‘It is a glad world! how good is life!’ or ‘What a loathsome tedium is existence!’ Any philosophy which annihilates the validity of the reference by ex­ 26 “ R atio n ality, A ctivity and F a ith ” (P r in c eto n R e v iew , Ju ly 1882, pp. 64-9).

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plaining away its objects or translating them into terms of no emo­ tional pertinency leaves the mind with little to care or act for. This is the opposite condition from that of nightmare, but when acutely brought home to consciousness it produces a kindred horror. In night­ mare we have motives to act, but no power; here we have powers, but no motives. A nameless U nheim lichkeit comes over us at the thought of there being nothing eternal in our final purposes, in the objects of those loves and aspirations which are our deepest energies. The mon­ strously lopsided equation of the universe and its knower, which we postulate as the ideal of cognition, is perfectly paralleled by the no less lopsided equation of the universe and the doer. We demand in it a character for which our emotions and active propensities shall be a match. Small as we are, minute as is the point by which the Cosmos impinges upon each one of us, each one desires to feel that his reaction at that point is congruous with the demands of the vast whole, that he balances the latter, so to speak, and is able to do what it expects of him. But as his abilities to ‘do’ lie wholly in the line of his natural propensities; as he enjoys reaction with such emotions as fortitude, hope, rapture, admiration, earnestness, and the like; and as he very unwillingly reacts with fear, disgust, despair, or doubt,—a philosophy which should legitimate only emotions of the latter sort would be sure to leave the mind a prey to discontent and craving. ‘‘It is far too little recognized how entirely the intellect is built up of practical interests. The theory of Evolution is beginning to do very good service by its reduction of all mentality to the type of reflex action. Cognition, in this view, is but a fleeting moment, a cross-section at a certain point of what in its totality is a motor phenomenon. In the lower forms of life no one will pretend that cognition is anything more than a guide to appropriate action. The germinal question concerning things brought for the first time before consciousness is not the theo­ retic ‘What is that?’ but the practical ‘Who goes there?’ or rather, as Horwicz has admirably put it, ‘What is to be done?’—‘ Was fang’ ich an?’ In all our discussions about the intelligence of lower animals the only test we use is that of their acting as if for a purpose. Cognition, in short, is incomplete until discharged in act. And although it is true that the later mental development, which attains its maximum through the hypertrophied cerebrum of man, gives birth to a vast amount of theoretic activity over and above that which is immediately ministerial to practice, yet the earlier claim is only postponed, not effaced, and the active nature asserts its rights to the end. . . . “If there be any truth at all in this view, it follows that however vaguely a philosopher may define the ultimate universal datum, he can­ not be said to leave it unknown to us so long as he in the slightest de­

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gree pretends that our emotional or active attitude towards it should be of one sort rather than another. He who says, ‘Life is real, life is earnest,’ however much he may speak of the fundamental mysterious­ ness of things, gives a distinct definition to that mysteriousness by ascribing to it the right to claim from us the particular mood called seriousness, which means the willingness to live with energy, though energy bring pain. T he same is true of him who says that all is vanity. Indefinable as the predicate vanity may be in se, it is clearly enough something which permits anaesthesia, mere escape from suffering, to be our rule of life. There is no more ludicrous incongruity than for ag­ nostics to proclaim with one breath that the substance of things is un­ knowable, and with the next that the thought of it should inspire us with admiration of its glory, reverence, and a willingness to add our co­ operative push in the direction towards which its manifestations seem to be drifting. T he unknowable may be unfathomed, but if it make such distinct demands upon our activity, we surely are not ignorant of its essential quality. “ If we survey the field of history and ask what feature all great pe­ riods of revival, of expansion of the human mind, display in common, we shall find, I think, simply this: that each and all of them have said to the human being, ‘The inmost nature of the reality is congenial to powers which you possess.’ In what did the emancipating message of primitive Christianity consist, but in the announcement that God rec­ ognizes those weak and tender impulses which paganism had so rudely overlooked? Take repentance: the man who can do nothing rightly can at least repent of his failures. But for paganism this faculty of repen­ tance was a pure supernumerary, a straggler too late for the fair. Chris­ tianity took it and made it the one power within us which appealed straight to the heart of God. And after the night of the Middle Ages had so long branded with obloquy even the generous impulses of the flesh, and defined the Reality to be such that only slavish natures could commune with it, in what did the Sursum corda! of the Renaissance lie but in the proclamation that the archetype of verity in things laid claim on the widest activity of our whole aesthetic being? What were Luther’s mission and Wesley’s but appeals to powers which even the meanest of men might carry with them, faith and self-despair, but which were personal, requiring no priestly intermediation, and which brought their owner face to face with God? What caused the wildfire influence of Rousseau but the assurance he gave that man’s nature was in har­ mony with the nature of things, if only the paralyzing corruptions of custom would stand from between? How did Kant and Fichte, Goethe and Schiller, inspire their time with cheer, except by saying, ‘Use all your powers; that is the only obedience which the universe exacts’?

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And Carlyle with his gospel of Work, of Fact, of Veracity, how does he move us except by saying that the universe imposes no tasks upon us but such as the most humble can perform? Emerson’s creed that every­ thing that ever was or will be is here in the enveloping Now; that man has but to obey himself—‘He who will rest in what he is, is a part of Destiny’—is in like manner nothing but an exorcism of all scepticism as to the pertinency of one’s natural faculties. “In a word, ‘Son of Man, stand upon thy feet and I will speak unto thee!’ is the only revelation of truth to which the solving epochs have helped the disciple. But that has been enough to satisfy the greater part of his rational need. In se and per se the universal essence has hardly been more defined by any of these formulas than by the agnostic x ; but the mere assurance that my powers, such as they are, are not irrelevant to it, but pertinent, that it speaks to them and will in some way recognize their reply, that I can be a match for it if I will, and not a footless waif, suffices to make it rational to my feeling in the sense given above. Nothing could be more absurd than to hope for the de­ finitive triumph of any philosophy which should refuse to legitimate, and to legitimate in an emphatic manner, the more powerful of our emotional and practical tendencies. Fatalism, whose solving word in all crises of behavior is ‘All striving is vain,’ will never reign supreme, for the impulse to take life strivingly is indestructible in the race. Moral creeds which speak to that impulse will be widely successful in spite of inconsistency, vagueness, and shadowy determination of expec­ tancy. Man needs a rule for his will, and will invent one if one be not given him.” A fter the emotional and active needs come the intellectual and aesthetic ones. T h e two great aesthetic principles, of richness and of ease, dominate our intellectual as well as our sensuous life. And, ceteris pa ribu s, no system which should not be rich, simple, and harmonious would have a chance of being chosen for belief, if rich, simple, and harmonious systems were also there. Into the latter we should unhesitatingly settle, with that welcoming attitude of the will in which belief consists. T o quote from a remarkable book: “ This law, that our consciousness constantly tends to the minimum of complexity and to the maximum of definiteness, is of great impor­ tance for all our knowledge. .. . Our own activity of attention will thus determine what we are to know and what we are to believe. If things have more than a certain complexity, not only will our limited powers of attention forbid us to unravel this complexity, but we shall strongly desire to believe the things actually much simpler than they are. For

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our thoughts about them will have a constant tendency to become as simple and definite as possible. Put a man into a perfect chaos of phe­ nomena, sights, sounds, feelings; and if the man continued to exist, and to be rational at all, his attention would doubtless soon find for him a way to make up some kind of rhythmic regularity, which he would im­ pute to the things about him, so as to imagine that he had discovered some law of sequence in this mad new world. And thus, in every case where we fancy ourselves sure of a simple law of Nature, we must re­ member that a good deal of the fancied simplicity may be due in the given case not to Nature, but to the ineradicable prejudice of our own minds in favor of regularity and simplicity. All our thought is deter­ mined, in great measure, by this law of least effort, as it is found exem­ plified in our activity of attention. . . . T he aim of the whole process seems to be to reach as complete and united a conception of reality as is possible, a conception wherein the greatest fullness of data shall be combined with the greatest simplicity of conception. The effort of consciousness seems to be to combine the greatest richness of content with the greatest definiteness of organization.” 27 T h e richness is got by including all the facts of sense in the scheme; the simplicity, by deducing them out of the smallest pos­ sible number of permanent and independent primordial entities: the definite organization, by assimilating these latter to ideal ob­ jects between which relations of an inwardly rational sort obtain. W hat these ideal objects and rational relations are w ill require a separate chapter to show.28 Meanwhile, enough has surely been said to justify the assertion made above that no general offhand answer can be given as to which objects mankind shall choose as its realities. T h e fight is still under way. O ur minds are yet chaotic; and at best we make a m ixture and a compromise, as we yield to the claim of this interest or that, and follow first one and then an­ other principle in turn. It is undeniably true that materialistic, or so-called ‘scientific,’ conceptions of the universe have so far grati­ fied the purely intellectual interests more than the mere senti­ mental conceptions have. But, on the other hand, as already re­ marked, they leave the emotional and active interests cold. T h e p erfect o b je ct o f b e lie f w ou ld b e a G o d or ‘ S o a l o f th e W o r ld ,’ re p ­ resen ted both o p tim istica lly and m oralistically (if su ch a co m b in a ­ tio n c o u ld be), an d w ith a l so d efin itely co n ceiv ed as to show us

27 J. R oyce: T h e R e lig io u s A sp e c t o f P h ilo s o p h y (Boston, 1885), pp. 316-17, 357. 2» C hap ter X X V III.

944

T h e P erception of Reality why o u r p h e n o m e n a l ex p erien ce s sh o u ld b e sen t to us by H im in ju s t th e very way in w h ich they com e. A ll Science and all History

would thus be accounted for in the deepest and simplest fashion. T h e very room in which I sit, its sensible walls and floor, and the feeling the air and fire within it give me, no less than the ‘scientific’ conceptions which I am urged to frame concerning the mode of existence of all these phenomena when my back is turned, would then all be corroborated, not de-realized, by the ultimate principle of my belief. T h e World-soul sends me just those phenomena in order that I may react upon them; and among the reactions is the intellectual one of spinning these conceptions. W hat is beyon d the crude experiences is not an a ltern a tive to them, but something that m eans them for me here and now. It is safe to say that, if ever such a system is satisfactorily excogitated, mankind w ill drop all other systems and cling to that one alone as real. Meanwhile the other systems coexist with the attempts at that one, and, all being alike fragmentary, each has its little audience and day. I have now, I trust, shown sufficiently what the psychologic sources of the sense of reality are. Certain postulates are given in our nature; and whatever satisfies those postulates is treated as if real.?9 I might therefore finish the chapter here, were it not that a few additional words w ill set the truth in a still clearer light. 29 Prof. Royce puts this w ell in discussing idealism and the reality o f an ‘ex­ tern al’ world. “ If the history of p op u lar speculation on these topics could be w ritten , how m uch of cowardice and shuffling w ould be found in the behavior of the natural m ind before the question: How dost thou know o f an external reality?’ Instead o f sim ply and p la in ly answering: I mean by the external w orld in the first place som ething that I accept or dem and, that I posit, postulate, actively construct on the basis o f sense-data,’ the natural m an gives us all kinds of vague com prom ise answers . . . . W here shall these endless turnings and tw istings have an end? . . . A ll these lesser m otives are appealed to, and the one ultim ate m otive is neglected. T h e ultim ate m otive with the man of every-day life is the w ill to have an extern a l w orld . W hatever consciousness contains, reason w ill persist in spontaneously adding the th ough t: 'B u t there sh a ll be som ething beyond this.’ . . . T h e p op u lar assurance o f an external w orld is the fix e d d ete r m in a tio n to m ake o n e, now and henceforth.” (R elig io u s A sp e c t o f P h ilo s o p h y , pp. 303-4— the italics are my own.) T h is im m ix­ ture of the w ill appears most flagrantly in the fact that although external m atter is doubted com m only enough, minds external to ou r own are never doubted. W e need them too m uch, are too essentially social to dispense w ith them . Semblances of m atter may suffice to react upon, but not semblances of com m uning souls. A psychic solipsism is too hideous a m ockery of ou r wants, and, so far as I know, has never been seriously entertained.—Chapters I X and X o f Prof. R o yce’s w ork are on the w hole the clearest account o f the psychology of belief w ith w hich I am acquainted.

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T h e P r in c ip le s o f P sychology DOUBT

T here is hardly a common man who (if consulted) would not say that things come to us in the first instance as ideas; and that if we take them for realities, it is because we add so m eth in g to th em , namely, the predicate of having also ‘real e x isten ce o u tsid e o f ou r th o u g h t.’ T h is notion that a higher faculty than the mere h aving of a conscious content is needed to make us know anything real by its means has pervaded psychology from the earliest times, and is the tradition of Scholasticism, Kantism, and Common-sense. Just as sensations must come as inward affections and then be ‘extra­ dited’ ; as objects of memory must appear at first as present un­ realities, and subsequently be ‘projected’ backwards as past reali­ ties; so conceptions must be en tia rationis till a higher faculty uses them as windows to look beyond the ego, into the real extra- mental world;—so runs the orthodox and popular account. And there is no question that this is a true account of the way in which many of our later beliefs come to pass. T h e logical distinc­ tion between the bare thought of an object and belief in the ob­ ject’s reality is often a chronological distinction as well. T h e having and the crediting of an idea do not always coalesce; for often we first suppose and then believe; first play with the notion, frame the hypothesis, and then affirm the existence, of an object of thought. A n d we are quite conscious o f the succession of the two mental acts. But these cases are none of them p r im itiv e cases. T h ey only occur in minds long schooled to doubt by the contradictions of experi­ ence. T h e p r im itiv e im p u lse is to affirm im m ed ia tely th e reality o f a ll that is co n c e iv e d . 3 0 W hen we do doubt, however, in what does 39 “ T h e leading fact in B elief, according to my view of it, is our P rim itive C re­ du lity. W e begin by believin g everything; w hatever is, is true. . . . T h e anim al born in the m orning of a summ er day, proceeds upon the fact of daylight; assumes the perp etu ity of that fact. W hatever it is disposed to do, it does w ithout mis­ givings. If in the m orning it began a round of operations con tin uin g for hours, under the fu ll benefit of daylight, it w ould unhesitatingly begin the same round in the evening. Its state o f m ind is practically one of unbounded confidence; bu t, as yet, it does not understand w hat confidence means. “ T h e pristine assurance is soon met by checks; a disagreeable experience leading to new insight. T o be thw arted and opposed is one o f ou r earliest and most frequent pains. It develops the sense o f a distinction betw een free and obstructed impulses; the unconsciousness of an open way is exchanged for consciousness; we are now said properly to believe in w hat has never been contradicted, as we disbelieve in w h at has been cpntradicted. W e believe that, after the dawn of day, there is before us a continuance of light; we do not believe that this ligh t is to continue for ever.

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the subsequent resolution of the doubt consist? It either consists in a purely verbal performance, the coupling of the adjectives ‘real’ or ‘outwardly existing’ (as predicates) to the thing originally con­ ceived (as subject); or it consists in the perception in the given case of that fo r w h ich these a d jectiv es, abstracted from other similar concrete cases, stand. B u t w hat these adjectives stand for, w e now

know well. T h ey stand for certain relations (immediate, or through intermediaries) to ourselves. W hatever concrete objects have hith­ erto stood in those relations have been for us ‘real,’ ‘outwardly ex­ isting.’ So that when we now abstractly admit a thing to be ‘real’ (without perhaps going through any definite perception of its re­ lations), it is as if we said “ it belongs in the same world with those other objects.” Naturally enough, we have hourly opportunities for this summary process of belief. A ll remote objects in space or time are believed in this way. W hen I believe that some prehistoric savage chipped this flint, for example, the reality of the savage and of his act makes no direct appeal either to my sensation, emotion, or volition. W hat I mean by my belief in it is simply my dim sense of a co n tin u ity between the long dead savage and his doings and the present world of which the flint forms part. It is pre-eminently a case for applying our doctrine of the ‘fringe’ (see Vol. I, p. 249). When I think the savage with one fringe of relationship, I believe in him; when I think him without that fringe, or with another one (as, e.g., if I should class him with ‘scientific vagaries’ in general), I disbelieve him. T h e word ‘real’ itself is, in short, a fringe. R E L A T IO N S O F B E L IE F AN D W IL L

W e shall see in Chapter X X V I that w ill consists in nothing but a manner of attending to certain objects, or consenting to their stable presence before the mind. T h e objects, in the case of will, are those whose existence depends on our thought, movements of our own body for example, or facts which such movements executed in fu­ ture may make real. Objects of belief, on the contrary, are those which do not change according as we think regarding them. I w ill to get up early tomorrow morning; I b elie v e that I got up late yes­ terday morning; I w ill that my foreign bookseller in Boston shall "T h u s , the vital circum stance in b elief is never to be contradicted— never to lose p restig e. T h e num ber o f repetitions counts for little in the process: we are as m uch

convinced after ten as after fifty; we are m ore convinced by ten unbroken, than by fifty for and one against.” (Bain: T h e E m o tio n s a n d th e W ill, pp. 511, 512.)

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procure me a German book and write to him to that effect. I b e­ liev e that he w ill make me pay three dollars for it when it comes, etc. Now the important thing to notice is that this difference be­ tween the objects of w ill and belief is entirely immaterial, as far as the relation of the mind to them goes. A ll that the mind does is in both cases the same; it looks at the object and consents to its exis­ tence, espouses it, says ‘it shall be my reality.’ It turns to it, in short, in the interested active emotional way. T h e rest is done by nature, which in some cases m akes the objects real which we think of in this manner, and in other cases does not. Nature cannot change the past to suit our thinking. She cannot change the stars or the winds; but she does change our bodies to suit our thinking, and through their instrumentality changes much besides; so the great practical distinction between objects which we may w ill or unwill, and objects which we can merely believe or disbelieve, grows up, and is of course one of the most important distinctions in the world. Its roots, however, do not lie in psychology, but in physiology; as the chapter on Volition w ill abundantly make plain. W ill and B e lie f , in short, m ea n in g a certain rela tion betw een o b ­ je c ts and th e S elf, are tw o nam es fo r o n e and th e sam e p s y c h o l o g i ­ c a l p h e n o m e n o n . A ll the questions which arise concerning one

are questions which arise concerning the other. T h e causes and conditions of the peculiar relation must be the same in both. T h e free-will question arises as regards belief. If our wills are indeter­ minate, so must our beliefs be, etc. T h e first act of free-will, in short, would naturally be to believe in free-will, etc. In Chapter X X V I, I shall mention this again. A practical observation may end this chapter. If belief consists in an emotional reaction of the entire man on an object, how can we believe at will? We cannot control our emotions. T ru ly enough, a man cannot believe at w ill abruptly. Nature sometimes, and in­ deed not very infrequently, produces instantaneous conversions for us. She suddenly puts us in an active connection with objects of which she had till then left us cold. “ I realize for the first tim e,” we then say, “what that means!” T h is happens often with moral propositions. W e have often heard them; but now they shoot into our lives; they move us; we feel their living force. Such instanta­ neous beliefs are truly enough not to be achieved by will. But gradually our w ill can lead us to the same results by a very simple

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method: we n eed only in co ld b lo o d

a ct

as if th e th in g in q u estio n

w ere real, and k eep a ctin g as if it w ere real, and it w ill in fa llib ly en d by grow in g in to su ch a co n n e ctio n w ith o u r life that it w ill be­ co m e real. It w ill become so knit with habit and emotion that our

interests in it w ill be those which characterize belief. Those to whom ‘G od’ and ‘D uty’ are now mere names can make them much more than that, if they make a little sacrifice to them every day. But all this is so well known in moral and religious education that I need say no more.31 31 L ite r a tu r e . D. H um e: T re a tise o f H u m a n N a tu r e, part 111, §§ v n -x . A . Bain:

E m o tio n s an d th e W ill, chapter on B elief (also pp. 20 ff.). J. Sully: S en sation an d I n tu itio n , essay îv. J. M ill: A n aly sis o f th e H u m a n M in d , chapter xi. Charles Renou-

vier: P sy ch o lo g ie r a tio n n e lle, vol. 11, pt. 11; and E sq u isse d ’u n e classification sys­ tém a tiq u e des d o ctrin es p h ilo s o p h iq u e s , p art vi. J. H. Newm an: A G ra m m a r o f A ssen t. J. V en n: O n Som e o f th e Ch aracteristics o f B e lie f. V. B rochard: D e l ’ erreur, p art 11, chap. vi, i x ; and R e v u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , xvin, 1. E. R abier: P sy ch o lo g ie, chap. x xi, A p p en d ix. O llé-L aprun e: D e la c e r titu d e m orale (1880). G. F. Stout: " T h e Genesis of the C ognition of Physical R eality,” in M in d , Jan. 1890. J. Pikler: T h e P sy chology o f th e B e lie f in O b je c tiv e E x isten c e (London, 1890).— M ill says that we believe present sensations; and makes ou r belief in all other things a m atter o f association w ith these. So far so good; but as he makes no m ention o f em otional or volition al reaction, Bain rightly charges him w ith treating b elief as a pu rely in te l­ lectual state. For B ain b elief is rather an incident o f ou r active life. W hen a thing is such as to m ake us act on it, then we believe it, according to Bain. “ B u t how about past things, or rem ote things, upon which no reaction o f ours is possible? A n d how about b elief in things which c h eck action?’’ says Sully, w ho considers that we believe a th in g only when “ the idea o f it has an inherent tendency to approxim ate in character and intensity to a sensation." It is obvious that each o f these authors emphasizes a true aspect of the question. M y own account has sought to be more com plete, sensation, association, and active reaction all being acknow ledged to be concerned. T h e most com pendious possible form ula perhaps w ould be that our b e lie f an d a tten tio n are the same fact. For the m om ent, what we attend to is reality; A tten tion is a m otor reaction; and we are so m ade that sensations force attention from us. O n B elief and Conduct see an article by Leslie Stephen, N in e te e n th C e n ­ tury, Sept. 1888.

A set o f facts have been recently brou gh t to m y attention which I hard ly know how to treat, so I say a word about them in this footnote. I refer to a type o f e x ­ perience which has frequently found a place amongst the ‘Yes’ answers to the Census o f H allucinations, and which is generally described by those who report it as an ‘ impression o f the presence’ o f someone near them , although no sensation e ith er of sight, hearing, or touch is involved. From the way in which this experience is spoken o f by those who have had it, it w ould appear to be an extrem ely definite and positive state o f m ind, coupled w ith a b elief in the reality o f its object qu ite as strong as any direct sensation ever gives. A n d yet n o sensation seems to be con­ nected with it at all. Sometimes the person whose nearness is thus impressed is a known person, dead or living, sometimes an unknow n one. His attitude and sit­ uation are often very definitely impressed, and so, sometimes (though not by way o f hearing), are words which he wishes to say.

949

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology T h e phenom enon w ould seem to be due to a pure co n ce p tio n becom ing saturated w ith the sort of stinging urgency which ordin arily only sensations bring. B ut I cannot yet persuade m yself that the urgency in question consists in concom itant em otional and m otor im pulses. T h e ‘im pression’ may com e qu ite suddenly and depart quickly; it may carry no em otional suggestions, and wake no m otor con­ sequences beyond those involved in atten din g to it. A ltogeth er, the m atter is some­ w hat parad oxical, and no conclusion can be com e to until m ore definite data are obtained. Perhaps the most curious case o f the sort which I have received is the follow ing. T h e subject o f the observation, M r. P., is an exception ally in telligen t witness, though the words o f the narrative are his w ife’s. "M r. P. has all his life been the occasional subject of rath er singular delusions or impressions o f various kinds. I f I had b elief in the existence of latent or em bryo faculties, other than the five senses, I should exp lain them on that ground. B eing totally blin d , his other perceptions are abnorm ally keen and developed, and given the existence o f a rudim entary sixth sense, it w ould be only n atural that this also should be more acute in him than in others. O n e o f th e most interesting o f his e x ­ periences in this line was the frequent app arition o f a corpse some years ago, which may be w orth the attention o f your C om m ittee on that subject. A t the tim e M r. P. had a music-room in Boston on Beacon Street, where he used to do severe and protracted practice w ith little interruption. N ow , all one season it was a very fam iliar occurrence with him w h ile in the midst of w ork to feel a cold draft o f air suddenly upon his face, with a p ricklin g sensation at the roots o f his hair, when he w ould turn from the piano, and a figure which he knew to be dead w ould come sliding under the crack of the door from w ithout, flattening itself to squeeze through and roun din g ou t again to the hum an form. It was o f a m iddle-aged m an, and drew itself along the carpet on hands and knees, bu t with head thrown back till it reached the sofa, upon w hich it stretched itself. It rem ained some moments, but vanished always if- Mr. P. spoke or m ade a decided movem ent. T h e most singular p oin t in the occurrence was its frequen t repetition. H e m ight expect it on any day betw een two and four o ’clock, and it cam e always heralded by the same sudden cold shiver, and was invariably the same figure which w ent through the same movements. H e afterw ards traced the w hole experience to strong tea. H e was in the h abit o f taking cold tea, w hich always stim ulates him , for lunch, and on giving up this practice he never saw this or any other apparition again. H ow ever, even allow ing, as is doubtless true, that the event was a delusion o f nerves first fatigued by overw ork and then excited by this stim ulant, there is one p oin t which is still w holly in exp licab le and h igh ly interesting to me. M r. P. has no m em ory w hatever o f sight, nor conception of it. It is im possible for him to form any idea o f what we mean by lig h t or color, consequently he has no cognizance of any object which does not reach his sense o f hearing or of touch, though these are so acute as to give a contrary impression sometimes to other people. W hen he becomes aware o f the presence o f a person or an object, by means which seem m ysterious to outsiders, he can always trace it n aturally and legitim ately to slight echoes, perceptible on ly to his keen ears, or to differences in atm ospheric pressure, p erceptible on ly to his acute nerves o f touch; bu t with the apparition described, for the on ly tim e in his e x ­ perience, he was aw are o f presence, size, and appearance, w ithout the use o f eith er o f these m ediums. T h e figure never produced the least sound nor cam e w ith in a num ber o f feet of his person, yet he Jcnew that it was a m an, that it m oved, and in w h at direction, even that it wore a fu ll beard, w hich, like the thick curly hair, was p artially gray; also that it was dressed in the style o f suit known as ‘p epp er and salt.’

950

T h e P erception of Reality T h ese points were all perfectly distinct and invariable each time. If asked how he perceived them , he w ill answer he cannot tell, he sim ply knew it, and so strongly and so distinctly that it is im possible to shake his op in ion as to the exact details o f the m an’s appearance. It w ould seem that in this delusion o f the senses he really saw, as he has never done in the actual experiences of life, except in the first two years o f ch ild h oo d .” O n cross-exam ining Mr. P., I could not make out that there was anyth in g like visual im agination involved, although he was qu ite unable to describe in just what terms the false perception was carried on. It seemed to be more like an intensely definite c o n c e p tio n than anything else, a conception to w hich the feeling o f presen t rea lity was attached, but in no such shape as easily to fall under the heads laid down in my text.

951

Chapter X X II' Reasoning

W e talk of man being the rational animal; and the traditional intellectualist philosophy has always made a great point of treat­ ing the brutes as wholly irrational creatures. Nevertheless, it is by no means easy to decide just what is meant by reason, or how the peculiar thinking process called reasoning differs from other thought-sequences which may lead to similar results. M uch of our thinking consists of trains of images suggested one by another, of a sort of spontaneous revery of which it seems likely enough that the higher brutes should be capable. T h is sort of thinking leads nevertheless to rational conclusions, both practical and theoretical. T h e links between the terms are either ‘contiguity’ or ‘sim ilarity,’ and with a m ixture of both these things we can hardly be very incoherent. As a rule, in this sort of irresponsible thinking, the terms which fall to be coupled together are empirical concretes, not abstractions. A sunset may call up the vessel’s deck from which I saw one last summer, the companions of my voyage, my arrival into port, etc.; or it may make me think of solar myths, of Hercules’ and H ector’s funeral pyres, of Homer and whether he could write, of the Greek alphabet, etc. If habitual contiguities predominate, we have a prosaic mind; if rare contiguities or simi* T h e substance o f this chapter, and a good m any pages of the text, origin ally appeared in an article entitled “ B rute and H um an Intellect,” in the Jo u rn a l of S p ec u la tiv e P h ilo s o p h y for Ju ly 1878 (vol. xn , p. 236).

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larities have free play, we call the person fanciful, poetic, or witty. But the thought as a rule is of matters taken in their entirety. Having been thinking of one, we find later that we are thinking of another, to which we have been lifted along, we hardly know how. If an abstract quality figures in the procession, it arrests our attention but for a moment, and fades into something else; and is never very abstract. Thus, in thinking of the sun-myths, we may have a gleam of admiration at the gracefulness of the primitive human mind, or a moment of disgust at the narrowness of modern interpreters. But, in the main, we think less of qualities than of whole things, real or possible, just as we may experience them. T h e upshot of it may be that we are reminded of some practical duty: we write a letter to a friend abroad, or we take down the lexicon and study our Greek lesson. O ur thought is rational, and leads to a rational act, but it can hardly be called reasoning in a strict sense of the term. T h ere are other shorter flights of thought, single couplings of terms which suggest one another by association, which approach more to what would commonly be classed as acts of reasoning prop­ er. Those are where a present sign suggests an unseen, distant, or future reality. W here the sign and what it suggests are both con­ cretes which have been coupled together on previous occasions, the inference is common to both brutes and men, being really nothing more than association by contiguity. A and B, dinner-bell and dinner, have been experienced in immediate succession. Hence A no sooner falls upon the sense than B is anticipated, and steps are taken to meet it. T h e whole education of our domestic beasts, all the cunning added by age and experience to wild ones, and the greater part of our human knowingness consists in the ability to make a mass of inferences of this simplest sort. Our ‘perceptions,’ or recognitions of what objects are before us, are inferences of this kind. W e feel a patch of color, and we say ‘a distant house,’ a whiff of odor crosses us, and we say ‘a skunk,’ a faint sound is heard, and we call it ‘a railroad train.’ Examples are needless; for such in­ ferences of sensations not presented form the staple and tissue of our perceptive life, and our Chapter X IX was full of them, illusory or veracious. T h ey have been called u n co n scio u s in feren ces. Cer­ tainly we are commonly unconscious that we are inferring at all. T h e sign and the signified melt into what seems to us the object of

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a single pulse of thought. Im m e d ia te in fere n ces would be a good name for these simple acts of reasoning requiring but two terms,1 were it not that formal logic has already appropriated the expres­ sion for a more technical use. ‘r e c e p t s ’

In these first and simplest inferences the conclusion may follow so continuously upon the ‘sign’ that the latter is not discriminated or attended to as a separate object by the mind. Even now we can seldom define the optical signs which lead us to infer the shapes and distances of the objects which by their aid we so unhesitatingly perceive. T h e objects, too, when thus inferred, are genera l objects. T h e dog crossing a scent thinks of a deer in general, or of another dog in general, not of a particular deer or dog. T o these most prim i­ tive abstract objects Dr. G. J. Romanes gives the name of recepts or g e n eric ideas, to distinguish them from concepts and general ideas properly so called.2 T h ey are not analyzed or defined, but only imagined. “It requires but a slight analysis of our ordinary mental processes to prove that all our simpler ideas are group-arrangements, which have been formed spontaneously, or without any of that intentionally com­ paring, sifting, and combining process which is required in the higher departments of ideational activity. T he comparing, sifting, and com­ bining is here done, as it were, for the conscious agent; not by him. Recepts are received: it is only concepts that require to be conceived. . . . If I am crossing a street and hear behind me a sudden shout, I do not require to wait in order to predicate to myself that there is prob­ ably a hansom cab just about to run me down: a cry of this kind, and in those circumstances, is so intimately associated in my mind with its purpose, that the idea which it arouses need not rise above the level of a recept; and the adaptive movements on my part which that idea im­ 1 I see no need o f assuming more than two terms in this sort o f reasoning— first, th e sign, and second, the th in g inferred from it. E ither m ay be com plex, b u t es­ sentially it is but A callin g up B, and no m iddle term is involved. M. B inet, in his most intelligen t little book, L a P sy ch o lo g ie d u ra iso n n em en t, m aintains that there are three terms. T h e present sensation o r sign m ust, according to him , first evoke from the past an image which resembles it and fuses w ith it, and the things sug­ gested or inferred are always the contiguous associates o f this interm ediate image, and not of the im m ediate sensation. T h e reader of C hapter X I X w ill see why I do not believe in the 'image* in question as a distinct psychic fact. 2 M e n ta l E v o lu tio n in M an (1889), chapters 111 and iv. See especially p p . 68-80, and later 353, 396.

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Reasoning

mediately prompts, are performed without any intelligent reflection. Yet, on the other hand, they are neither reflex actions nor instinctive actions: they are what may be termed receptual actions, or actions de­ pending on recepts.” 3 “ H ow far can this kind of unnamed or non-conceptional ide­ ation extend?” Dr. Romanes asks; and answers by a variety of ex­ amples taken from the life of brutes, for which I must refer to his book. One or two of them, however, I will quote: “ ‘Houzeau relates that, whilst crossing a wide and arid plain in Texas, his two dogs suffered greatly from thirst, and that between thirty and forty times they rushed down the hollows to search for water. These hollows were not valleys, and there were no trees in them, or any other difference in the vegetation, and as they were absolutely dry there could have been no smell of damp earth. T he dogs behaved as if they knew that a dip in the ground offered them the best chance of finding water, and Houzeau has often witnessed the same behaviour in other animals.’ . . . “ Mr. Darwin writes:—‘When I say to my terrier, in an eager voice (and I have made the trial many times), “Hi, hi, where is it?” she at once takes it as a sign that something is to be hunted, and generally first looks quickly all around, and then rushes into the nearest thicket, to scent for any game, but finding nothing, she looks up into any neigh­ bouring tree for a squirrel. Now do not these actions clearly shew that she had in her mind a general idea or concept that some animal is to be discovered and hunted?’ ” 4 T h ey certainly show this. But the idea in question is of an object a b o u t which nothing farther may be articulately known. T h e

thought of it prompts to activity, but to no theoretic consequence. Sim ilarly in the following example: “ Water-fowl adopt a somewhat different mode of alighting upon land, or even upon ice, from that which they adopt when alighting upon water; and those kinds which dive from a height (such as terns and gannets) never do so upon land or upon ice. These facts prove that the animals have one recept answering to a solid substance, and an­ other answering to a fluid. Similarly, a man will not dive from a height over hard ground or over ice, nor will he jump into water in the same way as he jumps upon dry land. In other words, like the water-fowl, he has two distinct recepts, one of which answers to solid ground, and 3 L o c . cit., p. 49.

“ P.

5 1-

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the other to an unresisting fluid. But, unlike the water-fowl, he is able to bestow upon each of these recepts a name, and thus to raise them both to the level of concepts. So far as the practical purposes of loco­ motion are concerned, it is of course immaterial whether or not he thus raises his recepts into concepts; but . . . for many other purposes it is of the highest importance that he is able to do this.” 5 IN REA SO N IN G , W E P IC K O U T E S SE N T IA L Q U A L IT IE S

T h e chief of these purposes is p r ed ica tio n , a theoretic function which, though it always leads eventually to some kind of action, yet tends as often as not to inhibit the immediate motor response to which the simple inferences of which we have been speaking give rise. In reasoning, A may suggest B; but B, instead of being an idea which is simply obey ed by us, is an idea which suggests the distinct additional idea C. And where the train of suggestion is one of reasoning distinctively so called as contrasted with mere revery or ‘associative’ sequence, the ideas bear certain inward re­ lations to each other which we must proceed to examine with some care. T h e result C yielded by a true act of reasoning is apt to be a thing voluntarily soug ht, such as the means to a proposed end, the ground for an observed effect, or the effect of an assumed cause. A ll these results may be thought of as concrete things, but they are n o t suggested im m ed ia tely by o th er co n crete things, as in the trains of simply associative thought. T h ey are linked to the concretes which precede them by intermediate steps, and these steps are formed by genera l characters articulately denoted and expressly analyzed out. A thing inferred by reasoning need neither have been an habitual associate of the datum from which we infer it, nor need it be similar to it. It may be a thing entirely unknown to our previous experience, something which no simple association of concretes could ever have evoked. T h e great difference, in fact, between that simpler kind of rational thinking which consists in the concrete objects of past experience merely suggesting each other, and reasoning distinctively so called, is this: that whilst the empirical thinking is only reproductive, reasoning is productive. An empirical, or rule-of-thumb,’ thinker can deduce nothing from data with whose behavior and associates in the concrete he is un­ familiar. But put a reasoner amongst a set of concrete objects 5 h o c . cit., p. 74.

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Reasoning

which he has neither seen nor heard of before, and with a little time, if he is a good reasoner, he will make such inferences from them as w ill quite atone for his ignorance. Reasoning helps us out of unprecedented situations—situations for which all our common associative wisdom, all the ‘education’ which we share in common with the beasts, leaves us without resource. L e t us m ake th is a b ility to deal w ith

novel

data th e tech n ica l

d ifferen tia o f reasoning. T h is w ill sufficiently mark it out from

common associative thinking, and will immediately enable us to say just what peculiarity it contains. I t con tain s analysis and abstraction. Whereas the merely em­ pirical thinker stares at a fact in its entirety, and remains helpless, or gets ‘stuck,’ if it suggests no concomitant or similar, the reasoner breaks it up and notices some one of its separate attributes. T h is attribute he takes to be the essential part of the whole fact before him. T h is attribute has properties or consequences which the fact until then was not known to have, but which, now that it is noticed to contain the attribute, it must have. Call the fact or concrete datum S; the essential attribute M; the attribute’s property P. T h en the reasoned inference of P from S cannot be made with­ out M ’s intermediation. T h e ‘essence’ M is thus that third or mid­ dle term in the reasoning which a moment ago was pronounced essential. F o r his orig in a l co n crete S th e reasoner su b stitu tes its abstract p rop erty M . W hat is true of M, what is coupled with M, then holds true of S, is coupled with S. As M is properly one of the parts of the entire S, reasoning may th en be very w ell d efin ed as th e su b stitu tio n o f parts and th eir im p lica tio n s or co n seq u en ces fo r w holes. A nd the art of the reasoner w ill consist of two stages: First, sagacity , 6 or the ability to discover what part, M, lies em­

bedded in the whole S which is before him; Second, learn in g, or the ability to recall promptly M ’s conse­ quences, concomitants, or implications.7 6 J. Locke: Essay C o n cern in g H u m a n U n d ersta n d in g, bk. i v , chap. 11, § 3. 7 T o be sagacious is to be a good observer. J. S. M ill has a passage which is so much in the spirit of the text that I cannot forbear to quote it. “ T h e observer is not he who m erely sees the th in g which is before his eyes, but he who sees what parts that thing is composed of. T o do this w ell is a rare talent. O ne person, from in ­

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T h e Principles of Psychology

If we glance at the ordinary syllogism— M is P; S is M; ••• S is P —we see that the second or minor premise, the ‘subsumption’ as it is sometimes called, is the one requiring the sagacity; the first or major the one requiring the fertility, or fulness of learning. Usual­ ly the learning is more apt to be ready than the sagacity, the ability to seize fresh aspects in concrete things being rarer than the ability to learn old rules; so that, in most actual cases of reasoning, the minor premise, or the way of conceiving the subject, is the one that makes the novel step in thought. T h is is, to be sure, not always the case; for the fact that M carries P with it may also be unfa­ m iliar and now formulated for the first time. T h e perception that S is M is a m o d e o f co n ceiv in g S. T h e state­ ment that M is P is an abstract or genera l p ro p o sitio n . A word about both is necessary. attention, o r attending only in the w rong place, overlooks h a lf of w hat he sees; another sets down much more than he sees, confounding it w ith w hat he imagines, o r w ith w hat he infers; another takes note o f the k in d of all the circumstances, but bein g inexpert in estim ating th eir degree, leaves the qu an tity of each vague and uncertain; another sees indeed the whole, bu t makes such an aw kw ard division of it into parts, throw in g things into one mass which require to be separated, and separating others which m ight m ore conveniently be considered as one, that the result is m uch the same, sometimes even worse, than if no analysis had been a t­ tem pted at all. It w ould be possible to p oin t ou t w hat qualities of m ind, and modes o f m ental culture, fit a person for being a good observer: that, however, is a ques­ tion not o f Logic, but o f the T h e o ry o f Education, in the most enlarged sense o f the term. T h e re is not properly an A rt of O bserving. T h e re m ay be rules for observing. B ut these, lik e rules for inventing, are properly instructions for the preparation of on e’s own m ind; for p u ttin g it in to the state in which it w ill be most fitted to observe, or most likely to invent. T h e y are, therefore, essentially rules of selfeducation, w hich is a different thing from Logic. T h e y do not teach how to do the thing, bu t how to make ourselves capable o f doing it. T h e y are an art o f strengthen­ ing the lim bs, not an art o f using them . T h e extent and minuteness of observation w hich may be requisite, and the degree of decom position to w hich it may be neces­ sary to carry the m ental analysis, depend on the p articular purpose in view. T o ascertain the state of the w hole universe at any p articular m om ent is impossible, but w ould also be useless. In m aking chem ical experim ents, we do not think it necessary to note the position of the planets; because experience has shown, as a very superficial experience is sufficient to show, that in such cases that circum stance is not m aterial to the result: and accordingly, in the ages when men believed in the occult influences o f the heavenly bodies, it m ight have been unphilosophical to om it ascertaining the precise condition of those bodies at the m om ent o f the e x ­ perim en t.” (L o g ic, bk. h i , chap. v i i , § 1 . Cf. also bk. iv, chap. n.)

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W hen we conceive of S merely as M (of vermilion merely as a mercury-compound, for example), we neglect all the other attri­ butes which it may have, and attend exclusively to this one. W e mutilate the fulness of S’s reality. Every reality has an infinity of aspects or properties. Even so simple a fact as a line which you trace in the air may be considered in respect to its form, its length, its direction, and its location. W hen we reach more complex facts, the number of ways in which we may regard them is literally end­ less. Verm ilion is not only a mercury-compound, it is vividly red, heavy, and expensive, it comes from China, and so on, ad in fin itu m . A ll objects are well-springs of properties, which are only little by little developed to our knowledge, and it is truly said that to know one thing thoroughly would be to know the whole universe. M edi­ ately or immediately, that one thing is related to everything else; and to know a ll about it, all its relations need be known. But each relation forms one of its attributes, one angle by which someone may conceive it, and w hile so conceiving it may ignore the rest of it. A man is such a complex fact. But out of the complexity all that an army commissary picks out as important for his purposes is his property of eating so many pounds a day; the general, of marching so many miles; the chair-maker, of having such a shape; the orator, of responding to such and such feelings; the theatre-manager, of being w illing to pay just such a price, and no more, for an eve­ ning’s amusement. Each of these persons singles out the particular side of the entire man which has a bearing on his concerns, and not till this side is distinctly and separately conceived can the proper practical conclusions fo r that reasoner be drawn; and when they are drawn the man’s other attributes may be ignored. A ll ways of conceiving a concrete fact, if they are true ways at all, are equally true ways. T h e r e is no p rop erty a b s o l u t e l y essential to any on e thing. T h e same property which figures as the essence of a thing on one occasion becomes a very inessential feature upon another. Now that I am writing, it is essential that I conceive my paper as a surface for inscription. If I failed to do that, I should have to stop my work. But if I wished to light a fire, and no other materials were by, the essential way of conceiving the paper would be as combustible material; and I need then have no thought of any of its other destinations. It is really a ll that it is: a combustible,

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a w riting surface, a thin thing, a hydrocarbonaceous thing, a thing eight inches one way and ten another, a thing just one furlong east of a certain stone in my neighbor’s field, an American thing, etc., etc., ad in fin itu m . W hichever one of these aspects of its being I temporarily class it under, makes me unjust to the other aspects. But as I always am classing it under one aspect or another, I am always unjust, always partial, always exclusive. My excuse is neces­ sity—the necessity which my finite and practical nature lays upon me. My thinking is first and last and always for the sake of my doing, and I can only do one thing at a time. A God who is sup­ posed to drive the whole universe abreast may also be supposed, without detriment to his activity, to see all parts of it at once and without emphasis. But were our human attention so to disperse itself we should simply stare vacantly at things at large and forfeit our opportunity of doing any particular act. Mr. Warner, in his Adirondack story, shot a bear by aiming, not at his eye or heart, but ‘at him generally.’ But we cannot aim ‘generally’ at the uni­ verse; or if we do, we miss our game. O ur scope is narrow, and we must attack things piecemeal, ignoring the solid fulness in which the elements of Nature exist, and stringing one after another of them together in a serial way, to suit our little interests as they change from hour to hour. In this, the partiality of one moment is partly atoned for by the different sort of partiality of the next. T o me now, w riting these words, emphasis and selection seem to be the essence of the human mind. In other chapters other qualities have seemed, and will again seem, more important parts of psy­ chology. Men are so ingrainedly partial that, for common-sense and scho­ lasticism (which is only common-sense grown articulate), the no­ tion that there is no one quality genuinely, absolutely, and exclu­ sively essential to anything is almost unthinkable. “ A thing’s essence makes it w hat it is. W ithout an exclusive essence it would be nothing in particular, would be quite nameless, we could not say it was this rather than that. W hat you write on, for example,— why talk of its being combustible, rectangular, and the like, when you know that these are mere accidents, and that what it really is, and was made to be, is just pa p er and nothing else?” T h e reader is pretty sure to make some such comment as this. But he is himself merely insisting on an aspect of the thing which suits his own petty

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purpose, that of n a m in g the thing; or else on an aspect which suits the manufacturer’s purpose, that of p r o d u cin g an a rticle fo r w hich there is a vu lgar dem a nd . M eanwhile the reality overflows these purposes at every pore. O ur usual purpose with it, our commonest title for it, and the properties which this title suggests, have in reality nothing sacramental. T h ey characterize us more than they characterize the thing. But we are so stuck in our prejudices, so petrified intellectually, that to our vulgarest names, with their sug­ gestions, we ascribe an eternal and exclusive worth. T h e thing must be, essentially, what the vulgarest name connotes; what less usual names connote, it can be only in an ‘accidental’ and relatively unreal sense.8 Locke undermined the fallacy. But none of his successors, so far as I know, have radically escaped it, or seen that th e only m eaning o f essence is teleo lo g ica l, and that classification and co n cep tio n are p u rely teleo lo g ica l w eapons o f th e m in d . T h e essence of a thing is

that one of its properties which is so im p o rta n t fo r my interests that in comparison with it I may neglect the rest. Amongst those other things which have this important property I class it, after this property I name it, as a thing endowed with this property I conceive it; and whilst so classing, naming, and conceiving it, all other truths about it become to me as naught.9 T h e properties which are important vary from man to man and from hour to hour.10 Hence divers appellations and conceptions for the same 8 Readers brou gh t up on Popular Science m ay think that the m olecular structure o f things is their real essence in an absolute sense, and th at water is H -O -H more deeply and truly than it is a solvent o f sugar or a slaker o f thirst. Not a whit! It is a ll of these things w ith equ al reality, and the on ly reason why fo r th e ch e m ist it is H -O -H prim arily, and on ly secondarily the other things, is that fo r his p u rp o se o f d e d u c tio n an d co m p e n d io u s d efin itio n the H -O -H aspect o f it is the m ore useful one to bear in m ind. 9 “ W e find that we take for granted irresistibly that each class [of thing] has some character which distinguishes it from other classes. . . . W hat is the foundation of this postulate? W h at is the ground of this assum ption, that there must exist a definition which we have never seen, and which perhaps no one has seen in a sat­ isfactory form? . . . 1 reply, that ou r persuasion that there must needs be char­ acteristic m arks by which things can be defined in words, is founded on the assum ption o f th e necessary p o s s ib ility o f rea so n in g ." (W. W h ew ell: H isto ry o f S cien tific Ideas, bk. v i i i , chap. I, § 9.) 1 m ay quote a passage from an article entitled " T h e Sentim ent o f R a tio n a lity ,” published in vol. iv o f M in d , 1879: "W h at is a c o n c e p tio n ? It is a teleo lo g ica l in ­ stru m en t. It is a p artial aspect of a th in g which fo r o u r p u r p o se we regard as its

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thing. But many objects of daily use—as paper, ink, butter, horsecar—have properties of such constant unwavering importance, and have such stereotyped names, that we end by believing that to con­ ceive them in those ways is to conceive them in the only true way. Those are no truer ways of conceiving them than any others; they are only more important ways, more frequently serviceable ways.11 essential aspect, as the representative of the entire thing. In com parison w ith this aspect, w hatever other properties and qualities the th in g m ay have, are u nim por­ tant accidents which we may w ith o u t blam e ignore. B ut the essence, the ground o f conception, varies w ith the end we have in view . A substance like oil has as m any different essences as it has uses to different individuals. O ne man conceives it as a com bustible, another as a lubricator, another as a food; the chemist thinks o f it as a hydro-carbon; the furn iture-m aker as a darkener o f wood; the speculator as a com m odity whose m arket price to-day is this and to-morrow that. T h e soap­ boiler, the physicist, the clothes-scourer severally ascribe to it other essences in relation to their needs. U eberw eg’s doctrine that the essential q u ality o f a th in g is the q u ality o f most w o rth, is strictly true; b u t U eberw eg has failed to note that the w orth is w holly relative to the tem porary interests o f the conceiver. A n d, even, when his interest is distinctly defined in his ow n m ind, the discrim ination o f the q u ality in the object which has the closest connexion w ith it, is a th in g which no rules can teach. T h e on ly a p r io r i advice that can be given to a m an em barking on life w ith a certain purpose is the som ewhat barren counsel: Be sure that in tne circum stances that m eet you, you attend to the rig h t ones for you r purpose. T o pick ou t the right ones is the m easure o f the m an. ‘M illion s,’ says H artm ann, ‘stare at the phenom enon before a g en ia ler K o p f pounces on the concept.’ T h e genius is sim ply he to whom , w hen he opens his eyes upon the w orld, the ‘rig h t’ characters are the prom inent ones. T h e fool is he who, w ith the same purposes as the genius, in fa llib ly gets his attention tangled am id the accidents.” 11 O n ly if one of ou r purposes were itself truer than another, could one o f our conceptions becom e the truer conception. T o be a truer purpose, how ever, our purpose m ust conform more to some absolute standard o f purpose in things to w hich ou r purposes ou gh t to conform . T h is shows that the w hole doctrine o f es­ sential characters is intim ately bound up w ith a teleological view of the world. M aterialism becomes self-contradictory w hen it denies teleology, and yet in the same breath calls atoms, etc., the essentia l facts. T h e world contains consciousness as w ell as atoms— and the one must be w ritten down as just as essential as the other, in the absence o f any declared purpose regarding them on the creator’s part, or in the absence o f any creator. As far as we ourselves go, the atoms are worth more for purposes o f deduction, the consciousness for purposes o f inspiration. W e may fairly w rite th e U niverse in eith er way, thus: ATO M S-producing-consciousness; o r C o N sciousN E Ss-produced-by-atom s. Atom s alone, or consciousness alone, are pre­ cisely equal m utilations o f the truth. If, w ithout believin g in a G od, 1 still con tin ue to talk of w hat the w orld ‘essentially is,’ 1 am just as much entitled to define it as a place in which m y nose itches, or as a place where at a certain corner I can get a mess of oysters for tw enty cents, as to call it an evolving n ebula differen tiatin g and integrating itself. It is hard to say which o f the three abstractions is the more rotten or m iserable substitute for the w o rld ’s concrete fulness. T o conceive it merely as ‘G o d ’s w ork’ w o u ld be a sim ilar m u tila tio n o f it, so lo n g as we said not w hat

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So much for what is implied, when the reasoner conceives of the fact S before him as a case of which the essence is to be M. One word now as to what is involved in M ’s having properties, conse­ quences, or implications, and we can go back to the study of the reasoning process again. W H A T IS IN V O L V E D IN G E N E R A L PR O PO SITIO N S

M is not a concrete, or ‘self-sufficient,’ as Mr. Clay would say. It is an abstract character which may exist, embedded with other characters, in many concretes. W hether it be the character of being a writing surface, of being made in America or China, of being eight inches square, or of being in a certain part of space, this is always true of it. Now we might conceive of this being a world in which all such general characters were independent of each other, so that if any one of them were found in a subject S, we never could be sure what others would be found alongside of it. On one occa­ sion there might be P with M, on another Q, and so on. In such a world there would be no gen era l sequences or coexistences, and no universal laws. Each grouping would be su i g e n eris ; from the ex­ perience of the past no future could be predicted; and reasoning, as we shall presently see, would be an impossibility. But the world we live in is not one of this sort. T hough many general characters seem indifferent to each other, there remain a number of them which affect constant habits of mutual concomi­ tance or repugnance. T h ey involve or imply each other. One of them is a sign to us that the other w ill be found. T h ey hunt in couples, as it were; and such a proposition as that M is P, or in­ cludes P, or precedes or accompanies P, if it prove to be true in one instance, may very likely be true in every other instance which we meet. T h is is, in fact, a world in which general laws obtain, in which universal propositions are true, and in which reasoning is therefore possible. Fortunately for us: for since we cannot handle things as wholes, but only by conceiving them through some gen­ eral character which for the time we call their essence, it would be a great pity if the matter ended there, and if the general character, once picked out and in our possession, helped us to no farther ad­ vance. In Chapter X X V III we shall have again to consider this G od, or w hat kin d o f work. T h e only real truth abou t the w orld, apart from par- • ticular purposes, is the total truth.

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harmony between our reasoning faculty and the world in which its lot is cast.12 T o revert now to our symbolic representation of the reasoning process: M is P S isM S isP M is discerned and picked out for the time being to be the es­ sence of the concrete fact, phenomenon, or reality, S. But M in this world of ours is inevitably conjoined with P; so that P is the next thing that we may expect to find conjoined with the fact S. W e may conclude or infer P, through the intermediation of the M which our sagacity began by discerning, when S came before it, to be the essence of the case. Now note that if P have any value or importance for us, M was a very good character for our sagacity to pounce upon and abstract. If, on the contrary, P were of no importance, some other character than M would have been a better essence for us to conceive of S by. Psychologically, as a rule, P overshadows the process from the start. W e are see k in g J*, or something like P. But the bare totality of S does not yield it to our gaze; and casting about for some point in S to take hold of which w ill lead us to P, we hit, if we are sagacious, upon M, because M happens to be just the character which is knit up with P. Had we wished Q instead of P, and were N a property of S conjoined with Q, we ought to have ignored M, noticed N, and conceived of S as a sort of N exclusively. Reasoning is always for a subjective interest, to attain some par­ ticular conclusion, or to gratify some special curiosity. It not only breaks up the datum placed before it and conceives it abstractly; it must conceive it rightly too; and conceiving it rightly means con­ ceiving it by that one particular abstract character which leads to the one sort of conclusion which it is the reasoner’s temporary in­ terest to attain.13 12 Com pare Lotze: M eta p h y s ik , §§ 58, 67, for some instructive remarks on ways in which the w o rld ’s constitution m ight differ from w h at it actually is. Com pare also C h ap ter X X V III. 13 Sometimes, it m ust be confessed, the conceiver’s purpose falls short of rea­ soning and the only conclusion he cares to reach is the bare nam ing of the datum . “ W hat is that?” is ou r first question relative to any unknow n thing. A n d the ease w ith which our curiosity is quenched as soon as we are supplied with any sort of a name to call the object by, is ridiculous enough. T o quote from an unpublished es-

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T h e results of reasoning may be hit upon by accident. T h e stereoscope was actually a result of reasoning; it is conceivable, however, that a man playing with pictures and mirrors might acci­ dentally have hit upon it. Cats have been known to open doors by pulling latches, etc. But no cat, if the latch got out of order, could open the door again, unless some new accident of random fum bling taught her to associate some new total movement with the total phenomenon of the closed door. A reasoning man, however, would open the door by first analyzing the hindrance. He would ascertain what particular feature of the door was wrong. T h e lever, e.g., does not raise the latch sufficiently from its slot—case of insufficient ele­ vation: raise door bodily on hinges! Or door sticks at bottom by friction against sill: raise it bodily up! Now it is obvious that a child or an idiot might without this reasoning learn the ru le for opening that particular door. I remember a clock which the maid-servant had discovered would not go unless it were supported so as to tilt slightly forwards. She had stumbled on this method after many weeks of groping. T h e reason of the stoppage was the friction of the pendulum-bob against the back of the clock-case, a reason which an educated man would have analyzed out in five minutes. I have a student’s lamp of which the flame vibrates most unpleas­ antly unless the collar which bears the chimney be raised about a sixteenth of an inch. I learned the remedy after much torment by accident, and now always keep the collar up with a small wedge. But my procedure is a mere association of two totals, diseased ob­ ject and remedy. One learned in pneumatics could have named the cause of the disease, and thence inferred the remedy immedi­ ately. By many measurements of triangles one might find their area always equal to their height m ultiplied by half their base, and one might formulate an empirical law to that effect. But a say by a form er student of mine, M r. R . W . Black: “ T h e simplest end which a th in g’s predicate can serve is the satisfaction of the desire for u nity itself, the mere desire that the thing shall be the same w ith so m e th in g else. W hy, the other day, w hen 1 mistook a portrait of Shakespeare for one of H aw thorne, was I not, on psychological principles, as right as if I had correctly nam ed it?— the two pictures had a comm on essence, bald forehead, mustache, flowing hair. Sim ply because the only end that could possibly be served by nam ing it H aw thorne was my desire to have it so. W ith reference to any other end that classification of it w ould not serve. A nd every unity, every iden tity, every classification is righ tly called fan ciful unless it serves some other end than the mere satisfaction, em otion, or inspiration caught by m om entarily believing in it.”

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reasoner saves himself all this trouble by seeing that it is the es­ sence (pro hac vice) of a triangle to be the half of a parallelogram whose area is the height into the entire base. T o see this he must invent additional lines; and the geometer must often draw such to get at the essential property he may require in a figure. T h e essence consists in some r e la tio n o f th e figure to th e new lin es, a relation not obvious at all until they are put in. T h e geometer’s sagacity lies in the invention of special new lines which serve his purpose. TH U S, T H E R E A R E T W O G R E A T PO IN TS IN REASON IN G

F irst, an extra cted character is taken as e q u iv a le n t to th e en tire datu m fro m w hich it com es; and, Secon d , th e character th u s taken suggests a certain co n seq u e n ce m ore obv io u sly than it was suggested by th e total d atu m as it orig i­ nally cam e. T ak e them again, successively.

1. Suppose I say, when offered a piece of cloth, “ I won’ t buy that; it looks as if it would fade,” meaning merely that something about it suggests the idea of fading to my mind,—my judgment, though possibly correct, is not reasoned, but purely empirical; but if I can say that into the color there enters a certain dye which I know to be chemically unstable, and that th erefo re the color will fade, my judgm ent is reasoned. T h e notion of the dye, which is one of the parts of the cloth, is the connecting link between the latter and the notion of fading. So, again, an uneducated man w ill expect from past experience to see a piece of ice melt if placed near the fire, and the tip of his finger look coarse if he views it through a convex glass. In neither of these cases could the result be antici­ pated without full previous acquaintance with the entire phenom­ enon. It is not a result of reasoning. But a man who should conceive heat as a mode of motion, and liquefaction as identical with increased motion of molecules; who should know that curved surfaces bend light-rays in special ways, and that the apparent size of anything is connected with the amount of the ‘bend’ of its light-rays as they enter the eye,—such a man would make the right inferences for all these objects, even though he had never in his life had any concrete experience of them; and he would do this because the ideas which we have above supposed him to possess would mediate in his mind between the phenomena he starts with and the conclusions he draws. But these ideas or rea­

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sons for his conclusions are all mere extracted portions or circum­ stances singled out from the mass of characters which make up the entire phenomena. T h e motions which form heat, the bending of the light-waves, are, it is true, excessively recondite ingredients; the hidden pendulum I spoke of above is less so; and the sticking of a door on its sill in the earlier example would hardly be so at all. But each and all agree in this, that they bear a m o re ev id e n t rela­ tion to the conclusion than did the immediate data in their full totality. T h e difficulty is, in each case, to extract from the immediate data that particular ingredient which shall have this very evident relation to the conclusion. Every phenomenon or so-called ‘fact’ has an infinity of aspects or properties, as we have seen, amongst which the fool, or man with little sagacity, will inevitably go astray. But no matter for this point now. T h e first thing is to have seen that every possible case of reasoning involves the extraction of a particular partial aspect of the phenomena thought about, and that whilst Empirical T hought simply associates phenomena in their entirety, Reasoned T hought couples them by the conscious use of this extract. 2. And now to prove the second point: W hy are the couplings, consequences, and implications of extracts more evident and ob­ vious than those of entire phenomena? For two reasons. First, the extracted characters are more general than the con­ cretes, and the connections they may have are, therefore, more familiar to us, having been more often met in our experience. T h in k of heat as motion, and whatever is true of motion will be true of heat; but we have had a hundred experiences of motion for every one of heat. T h in k of the rays passing through this lens as bending towards the perpendicular, and you substitute for the comparatively unfamiliar lens the very familiar notion of a partic­ ular change in direction of a line, of which notion every day brings us countless examples. T h e other reason why the relations of the extracted characters are so evident is that their properties are so few , compared with the properties of the whole, from which we derived them. In every concrete total the characters and their consequences are so inex­ haustibly numerous that we may lose our way among them before noticing the particular consequence it behooves us to draw. But,

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if we are lucky enough to single out the proper character, we take in, as it were, by a single glance all its possible consequences. T hus the character of scraping the sill has very few suggestions, promi­ nent among which is the suggestion that the scraping w ill cease if we raise the door; whilst the entire refractory door suggests an enormous number of notions to the mind. T ak e another example. I am sitting in a railroad-car, waiting for the train to start. It is winter, and the stove fills the car with pungent smoke. T h e brakeman enters, and my neighbor asks him to “ stop that stove smoking.” He replies that it will stop entirely as soon as the car begins to move. “W hy so?” asks the passenger. “ It always does,” replies the brakeman. It is evident from this ‘always’ that the connection between car moving and smoke stopping was a purely empirical one in the brakeman’s mind, bred of habit. But, if the passenger had been an acute reasoner, he, with no experience of what that stove always did, m ight have anticipated the brake­ man’s reply, and spared his own question. Had he singled out of all the numerous points involved in a stove’s not smoking the one special point of smoke pouring freely out of the stove-pipe’s mouth, he would, probably, owing to the few associations of that idea, have been immediately reminded of the law that a fluid passes more rapidly out of a pipe’s mouth if another fluid be at the same time streaming over that mouth; and then the rapid draught of air over the stove-pipe’s mouth, which is one of the points involved in the car’s motion, would immediately have occurred to him. T h u s a couple of extracted characters, with a couple of their few and obvious connections, would have formed the reasoned link in the passenger’s mind between the phenomena, smoke stopping and car moving, which were only linked as wholes in the brake­ man’s mind. Such examples may seem trivial, but they contain the essence of the most refined and transcendental theorizing. T h e reason why physics grows more deductive the more the fundamen­ tal properties it assumes are of a mathematical sort, such as molec­ ular mass or wave-length, is that the immediate consequences of these notions are so few that we can survey them all at once, and promptly pick out those which concern us. Sagacity; or the P e r c e p tio n o f th e E ssence

T o reason, then, we must be able to extract characters,—not any characters, but the right characters for our conclusion. If we ex-

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tract the wrong character, it w ill not lead to that conclusion. Here, then, is the difficulty: H o w are characters extra cted , and why d oes it r e q u ir e th e a d ven t o f a g en iu s in many cases b efo re th e fittin g character is b ro u g h t to light? W hy cannot anybody reason as well

as anybody else? W hy does it need a Newton to notice the law of the squares, a Darwin to notice the survival of the fittest? T o an­ swer these questions we must begin a new research, and see how our insight into facts naturally grows. A ll our knowledge at first is vague. W hen we say that a thing is vague, we mean that it has no subdivisions ab intra, nor precise limitations ab extra-, but still all the forms of thought may apply to it. It may have unity, reality, externality, extent, and what not— th in g h o o d , in a word, but thinghood only as a whole.14 In this vague way, probably, does the room appear to the babe who first begins to be conscious of it as something other than his moving nurse. It has no subdivisions in his mind, unless, perhaps, the win­ dow is able to attract his separate notice. In this vague way, cer­ tainly, does every entirely new experience appear to the adult. A library, a museum, a machine-shop, are mere confused wholes to the uninstructed, but the machinist, the antiquary, and the book­ worm perhaps hardly notice the whole at all, so eager are they to pounce upon the details. Familiarity has in them bred discrimina­ tion. Such vague terms as ‘grass,’ ‘m ould,’ and ‘m eat’ do not exist for the botanist or the anatomist. T h e y know too much about grasses, moulds, and muscles. A certain person said to Charles Kingsley, who was showing him the dissection of a caterpillar, with its exquisite viscera, “W hy, I thought it was nothing but skin and squash!’’ A layman present at a shipwreck, a battle, or a fire is help­ less. Discrimination has been so little awakened in him by expe­ rience that his consciousness leaves no single point of the complex situation accented and standing out for him to begin to act upon. But the sailor, the fireman, and the general know directly at what corner to take up the business. T h ey see into the situation’—that is, they analyze it—with their first glance. It is full of delicately dif­ ferenced ingredients which their education has little by little brought to their consciousness, but of which the novice gains no clear idea. How this power of analysis was brought about we saw in our chapters on Discrimination and Attention. W e dissociate the ele14 See above, p. 657.

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ments of originally vague totals by attending to them or noticing them alternately, of course. But what determines which element we shall attend to first? T here are two immediate and obvious an­ swers: first, our practical or instinctive interests; and, second, our aesthetic interests. T h e dog singles out of any situation its smells, and the horse its sounds, because they may reveal facts of practical moment, and are instinctively exciting to these several creatures. T h e infant notices the candle-flame or the window, and ignores the rest of the room, because those objects give him a vivid plea­ sure. So, the country boy dissociates the blackberry, the chestnut, and the wintergreen, from the vague mass of other shrubs and trees, for their practical uses, and the savage is delighted with the beads, the bits of looking-glass, brought by an exploring vessel, and gives no heed to the features of the vessel itself, which is too much beyond his sphere. These aesthetic and practical interests, then, are the weightiest factors in making particular ingredients stand out in high relief. W hat they lay their accent on, that we notice; but what they are in themselves, we cannot say. W e must content ourselves here with simply accepting them as irreducible ultim ate factors in determ ining the way our knowledge grows. Now, a creature which has few instinctive impulses, or interests practical or aesthetic, w ill dissociate few characters, and will, at best, have lim ited reasoning powers; whilst one whose interests are very varied will reason much better. Man, by his immensely varied instincts, practical wants, and ^esthetic feelings, to which every sense contributes, would, by dint of these alone, be sure to dissociate vastly more characters than any other animal; and ac­ cordingly we find that the lowest savages reason incomparably bet­ ter than the highest brutes. T h e diverse interests lead, too, to a diversification of experiences, whose accumulation becomes a con­ dition for the play of that law o f d issociation by varying c o n co m it­ ants of which I treated in a former chapter (see Vol. I, p. 478). T h e H e lp g iven by A sso cia tio n by S im ila rity

It is probable, also, that m an’s su p e rio r association by sim ilarity has much to do with those discriminations of character on which his higher flights of reasoning are based. As this latter is an impor­ tant matter, and as little or nothing was said of it in the chapter on Discrimination, it behooves me to dwell a little upon it here.

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W hat does the reader do when he wishes to see in what the pre­ cise likeness or difference of two objects lies? He transfers his at­ tention as rapidly as possible, backwards and forwards, from one to the other. T h e rapid alteration in consciousness shakes out, as it were, the points of difference or agreement, which would have slumbered forever unnoticed if the consciousness of the objects compared had occurred at widely distant periods of time. W hat does the scientific man do who searches for the reason or law em­ bedded in a phenomenon? He deliberately accumulates all the in­ stances he can find which have any analogy to that phenomenon; and, by simultaneously filling his mind with them all, he frequent­ ly succeeds in detaching from the collection the peculiarity which he was unable to formulate in one alone; even though that one had been preceded in his former experience by all of those with which he now at once confronts it. These examples show that the mere general fact of having occurred at some time in one’s experience, with varying concomitants, is not by itself a sufficient reason for a character to be dissociated now. W e need something more; we need that the varying concomitants should in all their variety be brought into consciousness at on ce. N ot till then will the character in question escape from its adhesion to each and all of them and stand alone. T h is w ill immediately be recognized by those who have read M ill’s L o g ic as the ground of U tility in his famous four methods of experimental inquiry,’ the methods of agreement, of difference, of residues, and of concomitant variations. Each of these gives a list of analogous instances out of the midst of which a sought-for character may roll and strike the mind. Now it is obvious that any mind in which association by simi­ larity is highly developed is a mind which w ill spontaneously form lists of instances like this. T ak e a present case A , with a character m in it. T h e mind may fail at first to notice this character m at all. But if A calls up C, D, E, and F,—these being phenomena which resemble A in possessing m , but which may not have entered for months into the experience of the animal who now experiences A, why, plajnly, such association performs the part of the reader’s de­ liberately rapid comparison referred to above, and of the systematic consideration of like cases by the scientific investigator, and may lead to the noticing of m in an abstract way. Certainly this is ob­ vious; and no conclusion is left to us but to assert that, after the few most powerful practical and aesthetic interests, our chief help to­

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wards noticing those special characters of phenomena, which, when once possessed and named, are used as reasons, class names, essences, or middle terms, is th is association by sim ilarity. W ithout it, indeed, the deliberate procedure of the scientific man would be impossible: he could never collect his analogous instances. But it operates of itself in highly-gifted minds without any deliberation, spontaneously collecting analogous instances, uniting in a moment what in nature the whole breadth of space and time keeps separate, and so perm itting a perception of identical points in the midst of different circumstances, which minds governed wholly by the law of contiguity could never begin to attain.

F ig . 80.

Figure 80 shows this. If m, in the present representation A , calls up B, C, D, and E, which are similar to A in possessing it, and calls them up in rapid succession, then m , being associated almost simul­ taneously with such varying concomitants, will ‘roll out’ and at­ tract our separate notice. If so much is clear to the reader, he w ill be w illing to admit that the mind in w hich th is m o d e o f association m ost prevails will, from its better opportunity of extricating characters, be the one most prone to reasoned thinking: whilst, on the other hand, a mind in which we do not detect reasoned thinking w ill probably be one in which association by contiguity holds almost exclusive sway. Geniuses are, by common consent, considered to differ from ordinary minds by an unusual development of association by simi­ larity. One of Professor Bain’s best strokes of work is the exhibition

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of this truth.15 It applies to geniuses in the line of reasoning as well as in other lines. And as the genius is to the vulgarian, so the vulgar human mind is to the intelligence of a brute. Compared with men, it is probable that brutes neither attend to abstract characters, nor have associations by similarity. T h e ir thoughts probably pass from one concrete object to its habitual concrete successor far more uni­ formly than is the case with us. In other words, their associations of ideas are almost exclusively by contiguity. It will clear up still farther our understanding of the reasoning process, if we devote a few pages to T H E IN T E L L E C T U A L C O N T R A S T B E T W E E N B R U TE AND M A N

I w ill first try to show, by taking the best stories I can find of animal sagacity, that the mental process involved may as a rule be perfectly accounted for by mere contiguous association, based on experience. Mr. Darwin, in his D e scen t o f M a n , instances the A rc­ tic dogs, described by Dr. Hayes, who scatter, when drawing a sledge, as soon as the ice begins to crack. T h is m ight be called by some an exercise of reason. T h e test would be, W ould the most in­ telligent Eskimo dogs that ever lived act so when placed upon ice for the first time together? A band of men from the tropics might do so easily. Recognizing cracking to be a sign of breaking, and seizing immediately the partial character that the point of rupture is the point of greatest strain, and that the massing of weight at a given point concentrates there the strain, a Hindoo might quickly infer that scattering would stop the cracking, and, by crying out to his comrades to disperse, save the party from immersion. But in the dog’s case we need only suppose that they have individually ex­ perienced wet skins after cracking, that they have often noticed cracking to begin when they were huddled together, and that they have observed it to cease when they scattered. Naturally, therefore, the sound would redintegrate all these former experiences, includ­ ing that of scattering, which latter they would promptly renew. It would be a case of immediate suggestion or of that ‘Logic of Recepts’ as Mr. Romanes calls it, of which we spoke above on p. 954. A friend of the writer gave as a proof of the almost human intel­ ligence of his dog that he took him one day down to his boat on the shore, but found the boat full of dirt and water. He remembered 15 See his O n the Stu d y o f C haracter, chap. xv; also Senses a n d the I n te lle c t, “ In ­ tellect,” chap. 11, the latter half.

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that the sponge was up at the house, a third of a mile distant; but, disliking to go back himself, he made various gestures of wiping out the boat and so forth, saying to his terrier, “ Sponge, sponge; go fetch the sponge.’’ But he had little expectation of a result, since the dog had never received the slightest training with the boat or the sponge. Nevertheless, off he trotted to the house, and, to his owner’s great surprise and admiration, brought the sponge in his jaws. Sagacious as this was, it required nothing but ordinary contiguous association of ideas. T h e terrier was only exceptional in the m i­ nuteness of his spontaneous observation. Most terriers would have taken no interest in the boat-cleaning operation, nor noticed what the sponge was for. T h is terrier, in having picked those details out of the crude mass of his boat-experience distinctly enough to be reminded of them, was truly enough ahead of his peers on the line which leads to human reason. But his act was not yet an act of reasoning proper. It might fairly have been called so if, unable to find the sponge at the house, he had brought back a dipper or a mop instead. Such a substitution would have shown that, embedded in the very different appearances of these articles, he had been able to discriminate the identical partial attribute of capacity to take up water, and had reflected, “ For the present purpose they are identical.” This, which the dog did not do, any man but the very stupidest could not fail to do. If the reader will take the trouble to analyze the best dog and elephant stories he knows, he will find that, in most cases, this simple contiguous calling up of one whole by another is quite sufficient to explain the phenomena. Sometimes, it is true, we have to suppose the recognition of a property or character as such, but it is then always a character which the peculiar practical interests of the animal may have singled out. A dog, noticing his master’s hat on its peg, may possibly infer that he has not gone out. Intelli­ gent dogs recognize by the tone of the master’s voice whether the latter is angry or not. A dog will perceive whether you have kicked him by accident or by design, and behave accordingly. T h e char­ acter inferred by him, the particular mental state in you, however it be represented in his m ind—it is represented probably by a ‘recept’ (p. 954) or set of practical tendencies, rather than by a definite concept or idea—is still a partial character extracted from the totali­ ty of your phenomenal being, and is his reason for crouching and skulking, or playing with you. Dogs, moreover, seem to have the

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feeling of the value of their master’s personal property, or at least a particular in terest in objects which their master uses. A dog left with his master’s coat will defend it, though never taught to do so. I know of a dog accustomed to swim after sticks in the water, but who always refused to dive for stones. Nevertheless, when a fishbasket, which he had never been trained to carry, but merely knew as his master’s, fell over, he immediately dived after it and brought it up. Dogs thus discern, at any rate so far as to be able to act, this partial character of b ein g va lu ab le, which lies hidden in certain things.18 Stories are told of dogs carrying coppers to pastry-cooks to 16

W heth er the dog has the notion of your being angry or of your property being

valuable in any such abstract way as we have these notions is more than do u b tfu l. T h e conduct is more likely an im pulsive result of a conspiracy of outw ard stim uli; the beast feels lik e acting so when these stim uli are present, though conscious of no definite reason why. T h e distinction of recept and concept is useful here. Some breeds of dogs, e.g., collies, seem instinctively to defend their master's property. T h e case is sim ilar to that of a dog's barking at people after dark, at whom he w ould not bark in dayligh t. I have heard this quoted as evidence of the dog’s rea­ soning power. It is only, as C hapter III has shown us, the im pulsive result of a sum­ m ation of stim uli, and has no connection w ith reasoning. In certain stages of the hypnotic trance the subject seems to lapse into the nonanalytic state. If a sheet of ruled foolscap paper, or a paper with a fine monotonous ornam ental pattern printed on it, be shown to the subject, and on e of the ruled lines or elem ents of the pattern be pointed to for an instant, and the paper im m ediately removed, he w ill then almost always, when after a short interval the paper is pre­ sented to him again, pick out the indicated line or elem ent with in fallible correct­ ness. T h e operator, m eanw hile, has either to keep his eye fixed upon it, or to make sure of its position by counting, in order not to lose its place. Just so we may re­ m em ber a friend's house in a street by the single character of its num ber rather than by its general look. T h e trance-subject w ould seem, in these instances, to sur­ render him self to the general look. He disperses his attention im partially over the sheet. T h e place of the particular line touched is part of a 'total effect' which he gets in its entirety, and which would be distorted if another line were touched instead. T h is total effect is lost upon the norm al looker-on, bent as he is on concentration, analysis, and emphasis. W hat w onder, then, that, under these e x ­ perim ental conditions, the trance-subject excels him in touching the right line again? If he has tim e given him to count the line, he w ill excel the trance-subject; but if the tim e be too short to count, he w ill best succeed by follow in g th e trancem ethod, abstaining from analysis, and being guided by the 'general look' of the line's place on the sheet. O ne is surprised at on e’s success in this the m om ent one gives up one's habitually analytic state of m ind. Is it too much to say that we have in this dispersion of the attention and sub­ jection to the 'general effect’ som ething like a relapse into the state o f m ind of brutes? T h e trance-subject never gives any other reason for his optical discrim ­ inations, save that 'it looks so.' So a man, on a road once traversed inattentively before, takes a certain turn for no reason except that he feels as if it m ust be right. H e is guided by a sum of impressions, not one of which is em phatic or distinguished

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get buns, and it is said that a certain dog, if he gave two coppers, would never leave without two buns. T h is was probably mere con­ tiguous association, but it is p o ssib le that the animal noticed the character of duality, and identified it as the same in the coin and the cake. If so, it is the maximum of canine abstract thinking. A n ­ other story told to the writer is this: a dog was sent to a lumbercamp to fetch a wedge, with which he was known to be acquainted. A fter half an hour, not returning, he was sought and found biting and tugging at the handle of an axe which was driven deeply into a stump. T h e wedge could not be found. T h e teller of the story thought that the dog must have had a clear perception of the com­ mon character of serving to split which was involved in both the instruments, and, from their identity in this respect, inferred their identity for the purposes required. It cannot be denied that this interpretation is a possible one, but it seems to me far to transcend the limits of ordinary canine ab­ straction. T h e property in question was not one which had direct personal interest for the dog, such as that of belonging to his master is in the case of the coat or the basket. If the dog in the sponge story had returned to the boat with a dipper it would have been no more remarkable. It seems more probable, therefore, that this wood-cutter’s dog had also been accustomed to carry the axe, and now, excited by the vain hunt for the wedge, had discharged his carrying powers upon the former instrument in a sort of confu­ sion—just as a man may pick up a sieve to carry water in, in the ex­ citement of putting out a fire.17 from the rest, not one of which is essential, not one of which is c o n ce iv e d , bu t a ll of which together drive him to a conclusion to which nothing but th a t sum -total leads. A re not some of the wonderful discrim inations of anim als exp licable in the same way? T h e cow finds her own stanchions in the long stable, the horse stops at the house he has once stopped at in the m onotonous street, because no other stan­ chions, no other house, yield im partially a ll the impressions of the previous exp eri­ ence. T h e m an, however, by seeking to m ake some one impression characteristic and essential, prevents the icst from having their effect. So that, if the (for him) essential feature be forgotten or changed, he is too apt to be thrown off altogether, and then the brute or the trance-subject may seem to outstrip him in sagacity. Dr. Romanes's already quoted distinction between 'veceptual' and 'conceptual' thought (published since the body of my text and my note were written) connotes conveniently the difference w hich I seek to point out. See also his M en ta l E v o lu tio n in M a n , p. 197 ft., for proofs of the fact that in a receptual way brutes cognize the m ental states of other brutes and men. 17 T h is m atter of confusion is im portant and interesting. Since confusion is m is­ taking the w rong part of the phenom enon for the w hole, whilst reasoning is, ac-

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Thus, then, the characters extracted by animals are very few, and always related to their immediate interests or emotions. T h at dissociation by varying concomitants, which in man is based so largely on association by similarity, hardly seems to take place at all in the mind of brutes. One total thought suggests to them an­ other total thought, and they find themselves acting with propriety, they know not why. T h e great, the fundamental, defect of their minds seems to be the inability of their groups of ideas to break across in unaccustomed places. T h ey are enslaved to routine, to cut-and-dried thinking; and if the most prosaic of human beings could be transported into his dog’s mind, he would be appalled at the utter absence of fancy which reigns there.18 Thoughts will not be found to call up their similars, but only their habitual succes­ sors. Sunsets will not suggest heroes’ deaths, but supper-time. T h is is why man is the only metaphysical animal. T o wonder why the universe should be as it is presupposes the notion of its being dif­ ferent, and a brute, which never reduces the actual to fluidity by breaking up its literal sequences in his imagination, can never form such a notion. He takes the world simply for granted, and never wonders at it at all. Professor Striimpell quotes a dog-story which is probably a type of many others. T h e feat performed looks like abstract reasoning; but an acquaintance with all the circumstances shows it to have been a random trick learned by habit. T h e story is as follows: “ I have two dogs, a small, long-legged pet dog and a rather large watch-dog. Immediately beyond the house-court is the garden, into which one enters through a low lattice-gate which is closed by a latch on the yard-side. This latch is opened by lifting it. Besides this, more­ over, the gate is fastened on the garden-side by a string nailed to the cording to ou r definition, based oil the substitution of the right part for the w hole, it m ight be said that confusion and reasoning are generically the same process. I believe that they are so, and that the only difference between a m uddle-head and a genius is that between extracting wrong characters and lig h t ones. In other words, a m uddle-headed person is a genius spoiled in the m aking. I th in k it w ill be ad­ m itted that all e m in e n tly m uddle-headed persons have the tem peram ent of genius. T h e y are constantly breaking away from the usual consecutions of concretes. A com m on associator by con tigu ity is too closely tied to routine to get m uddle-headed. 18 T h e horse is a densely stupid anim al, as far as everything goes except con tig­ uous association. W e reckon him intelligent, partly because he looks so handsome, partly because he has such a wonderful faculty of contiguous association and can be so quickly m oulded into a mass of set habits. Had he anyth in g of reasoning intelligence, he w ould be a less faith fu l slave than he is.

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gate-post. Here, as often as one wished, could the following sight be observed. If the little dog was shut in the garden and he wished to get out, he placed himself before the gate and barked. Immediately the large dog in the court would hasten to him and raise the latch with his nose while the little dog on the garden-side leaped up and, catching the string in his teeth, bit it through; whereupon the big one wedged his snout between the gate and the post, pushed the gate open, and the little dog slipped through. Certainly reasoning seems here to prevail. In face of it, however, and although the dogs arrived of themselves, and without human aid, at their solution of the gate question, I am able to point out that the complete action was pieced together out of accidental experiences which the dogs followed, I might say, unconsciously. While the large dog was young, he was allowed, like the little one, to go into the garden, and therefore the gate was usually not latched, but simply closed. Now if he saw anyone go in, lie would follow by thrusting his snout between gate and post, and so pushing the gate open. When he was grown I forbade his being taken in, and had the gate kept latched. But he naturally still tried to follow when anyone entered and tried in the old fashion to open it, which he could no longer do. Now it fell out that once, while making the attempt, he raised his nose higher than usual and hit the latch from below so as to lift it off its hook, and the gate unclosed. From thenceforth he made the same movement of the head when trying to open it, and, of course, with the same result. He now knew how to open the gate when it was latched. “ The little dog had been the large one’s teacher in many things, especially in the chasing of cats and the catching of mice and moles; so when the little one was heard barking eagerly, the other always has­ tened to him. If the barking came from the garden, he opened the gate to get inside. But meanwhile the little dog, who wanted to get out the moment the gate opened, slipped out between the big one’s legs, and so the appearance of his having come with the intention of letting him out arose. And that it was simply an appearance transpired from the fact that when the little dog did not succeed at once in getting out, the large, one ran in and nosed about the garden, plainly showing that he had ex­ pected to find something there. In order to stop this opening of the gate I fastened a string on the garden-side which, tightly drawn, held the gate firm against the post, so that if the yard dog raised the latch and let go, it would every time fall back on to the hook. And this de­ vice was successful for quite a time, until it happened one day that on my return from a walk upon which the little dog had accompanied me I crossed the garden, and in passing through the gate the dog re­ mained behind, and refused to come to my whistle. As it was begin­ ning to rain, and I knew how he disliked to get wet, I closed the gate

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in order to punish him in this manner. But I had hardly reached the house ere he was before the gate, whining and crying most piteously, for the rain was falling faster and faster. The big dog, to whom the rain was a matter of perfect indifference, was instantly on hand and tried his utmost to open the gate, but naturally without success. A l­ most in despair the little dog bit at the gate, at the same time springing into the air in the attempt to jump over it, when he chanced to catch the string in his teeth; it broke, and the gate flew open. Now he knew the secret and thenceforth bit the string whenever he wished to get out, so that I was obliged to change it. “That the big dog in raising the latch did not in the least know that the latch closed the gate, that the raising of the same opened it, but that he merely repeated the automatic blow with his snout which had once had such happy consequences, transpires from the following: the gate leading to the barn is fastened with a latch precisely like the one on the garden-gate, only placed a little higher, still easily within the dog’s reach. Here, too, occasionally the little dog is confined, and when he barks the big one makes every possible effort to open the gate, but it has never occurred to him to push the latch up. The brute cannot draw conclusions, that is, he cannot think.” 19 Other classical d iffe r e n tia of man besides that of being the only reasoning animal, also seem consequences of his unrivalled powers of similar association. He has, e.g., been called ‘the laughing ani­ m al.’ But humor has often been defined as the recognition of iden­ tities in things different. W hen the man in C o rio la n u s says of that hero that “ there is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger,” both the invention of the phrase and its enjoyment by the hearer depend on a peculiarly perplexing power to associate ideas by similarity. ! 9 T h . Schum ann: Journal D a h e im , No. 19, 1878. Q uoted by Strüm pell: D ie G eisteskrä fte d er M en sch en v erg lich en m il d en en d er T h ie r e (Leipzig, 1878), p. 39.

C ats are notorious for the skill with which they w ill open latches, locks, etc. T h e ir feats are usually ascribed to their reasoning powers. B ut D r. Rom anes well re­ marks (M en ta l E v o lu tio n in A n im a ls, p. 351, note) that we ou gh t first to be sure that the actions are not due to mere association. A cat is constantly p laying with things with her paws; a trick accidentally hit upon may be retained. Rom anes notes the fact that the anim als most skilled in this way need not be the most generally in telligen t, but those which have the best corporeal m em bers for han dlin g things, cat's paws, horse's lips, elephant's trunk, cow's horns. T h e m onkey has both the corporeal and the intellectual superiority. A nd my deprecatory remarks on anim al reasoning in the text apply far less to the quadrum ana than to quadrupeds.— On the possible fallacies in in terp retin g anim als' minds, com pare C . L. M organ in M in d , xi, 174 (1886).

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Man is known again as ‘the talking anim al’ ; and language is as­ suredly a capital distinction between man and brute. But it may readily be shown how this distinction merely flows from those we have pointed out, easy dissociation of a representation into its in­ gredients, and association by similarity. Language is a system of signs, different from the things signified, but able to suggest them. N o doubt brutes have a num ber of such signs. W hen a dog yelps in front of a door, and his master, understanding his desire, opens it, the dog may, after a certain number of repetitions, get to repeat in cold blood a yelp which was at first the involuntary interjectional expression of strong emotion. T h e same dog may be taught to ‘beg’ for food, and afterwards come to do so deliberately when hungry. T h e dog also leams to understand the signs of men, and the word ‘rat’ uttered to a terrier suggests exciting thoughts of the rat-hunt. If the dog had the varied impulse to vocal utterance which some other animals have, he would probably repeat the word ‘rat’ whenever he spontaneously happened to think of a rathunt—he no doubt does have it as an auditory image, just as a par­ rot calls out different words spontaneously from its repertory, and having learned the name of a given dog will utter it on the sight of a different dog. In each of these separate cases the particular sign may be consciously noticed by the animal, as distinct from the par­ ticular thing signified, and will thus, so far as it goes, be a true manifestation of language. But when we come to man we find a great difference. H e has a d elib er a te in te n tio n to apply a sign to everyth in g. T h e linguistic impulse is with him generalized and systematic. For things hitherto unnoticed or unfelt, he desires a sign before he has one. Even though the dog should possess his ‘yelp’ for this thing, his ‘beg’ for that, and his auditory image ‘rat’ for a third thing, the matter with him rests there. If a fourth thing interests him for which no sign happens already to have been learned, he remains tranquilly without it and goes no further. But the man p o stu la tes it, its absence irritates him, and he ends by in­ venting it. T h is g e n e r a l p u r p o s e co n stitu tes, I take it, th e p e c u li­ arity of h u m a n sp eech , and exp la in s its p r o d ig io u s d ev e lo p m en t.

How, then, does the general purpose arise? It arises as soon as the notion of a sign as su ch , apart from any particular import, is born; and this notion is born by dissociation from the outstanding por­ tions of a number of concrete cases of signification. T h e ‘yelp,’ the

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Reasoning

‘beg,’ the ‘rat,’ differ as to their several imports and natures. T h ey agree only in so far as they have the same u se —to be signs, to stand for something more important than themselves. T h e dog whom this similarity could strike would have grasped the sign p e r se as such, and would probably thereupon become a general sign-maker, or speaker in the human sense. But how can the similarity strike him? N ot without the juxtaposition of the similars (in virtue of the law we have laid down (p. 478), that in order to be segregated an experience must be repeated with varying concomitants)—not unless the ‘yelp’ of the dog at the moment it occurs recalls to him his ‘beg,’ by the delicate bond of their subtle similarity of use—not till then can this thought flash through his mind: “ Why, yelp and beg, in spite of all their unlikeness, are yet alike in this: that they are actions, signs, which lead to important boons. Other boons, any boons, may then be got by other signs!” T h is reflection made, the gu lf is passed. Anim als probably never make it, because the bond of similarity is not delicate enough. Each sign is drowned in its import, and never awakens other signs and other imports in ju x ­ taposition. T h e rat-hunt idea is too absorbingly interesting in it­ self to be interrupted by anything so uncontiguous to it as the idea of the beg for food,’ or of ‘the door-open yelp,’ nor in their turn do these awaken the rat-hunt idea. In the human child, however, these ruptures of contiguous as­ sociation are very soon made; far off cases of sign-using arise when we make a sign now; and soon language is launched. T h e child in each case makes the discovery for himself. N o one can help him except by furnishing him with the conditions. But as he is con­ stituted, the conditions w ill sooner or later shoot together into the result.20 20 T h e re are two other conditions of language in the human being, additional to association by sim ilarity, that assist its action, or rather pave the way for it. T h ese are: first, the great natural loquacity; and, second, the great imitativeness of m an. T h e first produces the original reflex interjectional sign; the second (as Bleek has well shown) fixes it, stamps it, and ends by m u ltip lyin g the num ber of deter­ m inate specific signs which are a requisite prelim inary to the general conscious purpose of sign-making, which I have called the characteristic hum an elem ent in language. T h e way in which imitativeness fixes the m eaning of signs is this: W hen a prim eval man has a given em otion, he utters his natural interjection; or when (to avoid supposing that the reflex sounds are exceedingly determ inate by nature) a group of such men experience a common em otion, and one takes the lead in the cry, the others cry like him from sym pathy or imitativeness. Now, let one of the group hear another, who is in presence of the experience, utter the cry; he, even

T h e Principles of Psychology

T h e exceedingly interesting account which Dr. Howe gives of the education of his various blind-deaf mutes illustrates this point admirably. He began to teach Laura Bridgman by gum m ing raised letters on various familiar articles. T h e child was taught by mere contiguity to pick out a certain number of particular articles when made to feel the letters. But this was merely a collection of par­ ticular signs, out of the mass of which the general purpose of sig­ n ifica tio n had not yet been extracted by the child’s mind. Dr. Howe compares his situation at this moment to that of one lowering a line to the bottom of the deep sea in which Laura’s soul lay, and waiting until she should spontaneously take hold of it and be raised into the light. T h e moment came, “accompanied by a radiant flash of intelligence and glow of joy” ; she seemed suddenly to become aware of the general purpose embedded in the different details of all these signs, and from that moment her education went on with extreme rapidity. Another of the great capacities in which man has been said to differ fundamentally from the animal is that of possessing selfconsciousness or reflective knowledge of himself as a thinker. But this capacity also flows from our criterion, for (without going into the matter very deeply) we may say that the brute never reflects on himself as a thinker, because he has never clearly dissociated, in the full concrete act of thought, the element of the thing thought of and the operation by which he thinks it. T h ey remain always fused, conglomerated—just as the interjectional vocal sign of the brute almost invariably merges in his mind with the thing signi­ fied, and is not independently attended to in se .21 w ithout the experience, w ill repeat the cry from pure imitativeness. B ut, as he re­ peats the sign, he w ill be rem inded by it of his own form er experience. T h u s, first, he has the sign with the emotion; then, w ithout it; then, w ith it again. It is “ dissociated by change o f concom itants"; he feels it as a separate entity and yet as having a con­ nection with the em otion. Im m ediately it becomes possible for him to couple it de­ liberately with the em otion, in cases where the latter would eith er have provoked no interjectional cry or not the same one. In a word, his mental procedure tends to fix this cry on tha t em otion; and when this occurs, in m any instances, he is provided w ith a stock of signs, like the yelp, beg, rat of the dog, each of which suggests a d e ­ term inate image. On this stock, then, sim ilarity works in the way above explained. 21 See the “ E volution of Self-Consciousness” in P h ilo s o p h ic a l D iscu ssion s, by C hauncey W righ t (New York: Henry H olt Sc C o ., 1877). Dr. Romanes, in the book from which I have already quoted, seeks to show that the ‘consciousness of truth as truth' and the deliberate intention to predicate (which are the characteristics

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Now, the dissociation of these two elements probably occurs first in the child’s mind on the occasion of some error or false expecta­ tion which would make him experience the shock of difference be­ tween merely imagining a thing and getting it. T h e thought ex­ perienced once with the concomitant reality, and then without it or with opposite concomitants, reminds the child of other cases in which the same provoking phenomenon occurred. T h u s the gen­ eral ingredient of error may be dissociated and noticed p er se, and from the notion of his error or wrong thought to that of his thought in general the transition is easy. T h e brute, no doubt, has plenty of instances of error and disappointment in his life, but the similar shock is in him most likely always swallowed up in the accidents of the actual case. A n expectation disappointed may breed dubiety as to the realization of that particular thing when the dog next ex­ pects it. But that disappointment, that dubiety, while they are pres­ ent in the mind, w ill n o t call up other cases, in which the material details were different, but this feature of possible error was the same. T h e brute will, therefore, stop short of dissociating the gen­ eral notion of error p e r se, and a fo r tio r i w ill never attain the con­ ception of T hought itself as such. W e may then, we think, consider it proven that th e m ost e le m e n ­ tary sin g le d ifferen ce betw een th e h u m a n m in d and that o f brutes lies in this d eficien cy on th e b r u te ’s part to associate ideas by s im i­ larity— characters, the abstraction of which depends on this sort of

association, must in the brute always remain drowned, swamped in the total phenomenon which they help constitute, and never used to reason from. If a character stands out alone, it is always some obvious sensible quality like a sound or a smell which is instinc­ tively exciting and lies in the line of the anim al’s propensities; or it is some obvious sign which experience has habitually coupled with a consequence, such as, for the dog, the sight of his master’s hat on and the master’s going out. of higher hum an reasoning) presuppose a consciousness o f ideas as such, as things distinct from their objects; and that m;ide signs for them by language. My facts, and form ulates them in what to reader who wishes to understand the patient exposition also.

this consciousness depends on ou r having text seems to me to include Dr. R om anes’s me is a more elem entary way, though the m atter better should go to his clear and

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D IF F E R E N T ORDERS O F H U M A N GENIUS

But, now, since nature never makes a jum p, it is evident that we should find the lowest men occupying in this respect an intermedi­ ate position between the brutes and the highest men. And so we do. Beyond the analogies which their own minds suggest by breaking up the literal sequence of their experience, there is a whole world of analogies which they can appreciate when imparted to them by their betters, but which they could never excogitate alone. T h is answers the question why Darwin and Newton had to be waited for so long. T h e flash of similarity between an apple and the moon, between the rivalry for food in nature and the rivalry for man’s selection, was too recondite to have occurred to any but exceptional minds. G e n iu s, th en , as has been already said, is id e n tica l w ith th e possession o f sim ila r association to an e x tr e m e d egree. Professor Bain says: “ T h is I count the leading fact of genius . . . I consider it quite impossible to afford any explanation of intellectual origi­ nality, except on the supposition of an unusual energy on this point.” Alike in the arts, in literature, in practical affairs, and in science, association by similarity is the prime condition of success. But as, according to our view, there are two stages in reasoned thought, one where similarity merely operates to call up cognate thoughts, and another farther stage, where the bond of identity between the cognate thoughts is n o tic e d ; so m in d s o f g en iu s may be d iv id e d in to two m ain sorts, those w ho n o tice th e b o n d and those w ho m erely obey it. T h e first are the abstract reasoners, properly

so called, the men of science, and philosophers—the analysts, in a word; the latter are the poets, the critics—the artists, in a word, the men of intuitions. These judge rightly, classify cases, characterize them by the most striking analogic epithets, but go no further. At first sight it m ight seem that the analytic mind represented simply a higher intellectual stage, and that the intuitive mind represented an arrested stage of intellectual development; but the difference is not so simple as this. Professor Bain has said that a m an’s advance to the scientific stage (the stage of noticing and abstracting the bond of similarity) may often be due to an a bsen ce of certain emo­ tional sensibilities. T h e sense of color, he says, may no less deter­ mine a mind away from science than it determines it towards paint­ ing. T here must be a penury in one’s interest in the details of particular forms in order to permit the forces of the intellect to be

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concentrated on what is common to many forms.22 In other words, supposing a mind fertile in the suggestion of analogies, but, at the same time, keenly interested in the particulars of each suggested image, that mind would be far less apt to single out the particular character which called up the analogy than one whose interests were less generally lively. A certain richness of the æsthetic nature may, therefore, easily keep one in the intuitive stage. A ll the poets are examples of this. T ak e Homer: “ Ulysses, too, spied round the house to see if any man were still alive and hiding, trying to get away from gloomy death. He found them all fallen in the blood and dirt, and in such number as the fish which the fishermen to the low shore, out of the foaming sea, drag with their meshy nets. These all, sick for the ocean water, are strewn around the sands, while the blazing sun takes their life from them. So there the suitors lay strewn round on one another.” Or again: “And as when a Mæonian or a Carian woman stains ivory with purple to be a cheek-piece for horses, and it is kept in the chamber, and many horsemen have prayed to bear it off; but it is kept a treasure for a king, both a trapping for his horse and a glory to the driver—in such wise were thy stout thighs, Menelaos, and legs and fair ankles stained with blood.” 23 A man in whom all the accidents of an analogy rise up as vividly as this, may be excused for not attending to the ground of the anal­ ogy. But he need not on that account be deemed intellectually the inferior of a man of drier mind, in whom the ground is not as liable to be eclipsed by the general splendor. Rarely are both sorts of intellect, the splendid and the analytic, found in conjunction. Plato among philosophers, and M. T aine, who cannot quote a child’s saying without describing the ‘v o ix ch a n ta n te, éto n n ée, h e u re u se ’ in which it is uttered, are only exceptions whose strange­ ness proves the rule. A n often-quoted writer has said that Shakespeare possessed more in te lle c tu a l p o w er than anyone else that ever lived. If by this he meant the power to pass from given premises to right or congruous conclusions, it is no doubt true. T h e abrupt transitions in Shake­ speare’s thought astonish the reader by their unexpectedness no less than they delight him by their fitness. W hy, for instance, does 22 Stu d y o f C haracter, p. 317. 23 T ran slated by my colleague, Professor G. H. Palm er.

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the death of Othello so stir the spectator’s blood and leave him with a sense of reconcilement? Shakespeare himself could very likely not say why; for his invention, though rational, was not ratiocinative. W ishing the curtain to fall upon a reinstated Othello, that speech about the turbaned T u rk suddenly simply flashed across him as the right end of all that went before. T h e dry critic who comes after can, however, point out the subtle bonds of iden­ tity that guided Shakespeare’s pen through that speech to the death of the Moor. Othello is sunk in ignominy, lapsed from his height at the beginning of the play. W hat better way to rescue him at last from this abasement than to make him for an instant identify him­ self in memory with the old O thello of better days, and then exe­ cute justice on his present disowned body, as he used then to smite all enemies of the State? But Shakespeare, whose mind supplied these means, could probably not have told why they were so effec­ tive. But though this is true, and though it would be absurd in an absolute way to say that a given analytic mind was superior to any intuitional one, yet it is none the less true that the former repre­ sents the higher stage. Men, taken historically, reason by analogy long before they have learned to reason by abstract characters. As­ sociation by similarity and true reasoning may have identical re­ sults. If a philosopher wishes to prove to you why you should do a certain thing, he may do so by using abstract considerations exclu­ sively; a savage w ill prove the same by rem inding you of a similar case in which you notoriously do as he now proposes, and this with no ability to state the p o in t in which the cases are similar. In all prim itive literature, in all savage oratory, we find persuasion car­ ried on exclusively by parables and similes, and travellers in sav­ age countries readily adopt the native custom. T ake, for example, Dr. Livingstone’s argument with the negro conjuror. T h e mis­ sionary was trying to dissuade the savage from his fetichistic ways of invoking rain. “ You see,” said he, “ that, after all your operations, sometimes it rains and sometimes it does not, exactly as when you have not operated at all.” “ But,” replied the sorcerer, “ it is just the same with you doctors; you give your remedies, and sometimes the patient gets well and sometimes he dies, just as when you do nothing at all.” T o that the pious missionary replied: “ T h e doctor does his duty, after which God performs the cure if it pleases H im .” “ W ell,” rejoined the savage, “ it is just so with me. I do what is

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necessary to procure rain, after which God sends it or withholds it according to His pleasure.” 24 T h is is the stage in which proverbial philosophy reigns supreme. “ An empty sack can’t stand straight” w ill stand for the reason why a man with debts may lose his honesty; and “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush” w ill serve to back up one’s exhortations to prudence. Or we answer the question: “ W hy is snow white?” by saying, “ For the same reason that soap-suds or whipped eggs are w hite”—in other words, instead of giving the reason for a fact, we give another e x a m p le of the same fact. T h is offering a similar in­ stance, instead of a reason, has often been criticised as one of the forms of logical depravity in men. But manifestly it is not a per­ verse act of thought, but only an incomplete one. Furnishing paral­ lel cases is the necessary first step towards abstracting the reason embedded in them all. As it is with reasons, so it is with words. T h e first words are probably always names of entire things and entire actions, of ex­ tensive coherent groups. A new experience in the prim itive man can only be talked about by him in terms of the old experiences which have received names. It reminds him of certain ones from among them, but the p o in ts in which it agrees with them are nei­ ther named nor dissociated. Pure similarity must work before the abstraction can work which is based upon it. T h e first adjectives w ill therefore probably be total nouns embodying the striking character. T h e primeval man w ill say, not ‘the bread is hard,’ but ‘the bread is stone’; not ‘the face is round,’ but ‘the face is m oon’; not ‘the fruit is sweet,’ but ‘the fruit is sugar-cane.’ T h e first words are thus neither particular nor general, but vaguely concrete; just as we speak of an ‘oval’ face, a ‘velvet’ skin, or an ‘iron’ will, with­ out meaning to connote any other attributes of the adjective-noun than those in which it does resemble the noun it is used to qualify. After a while certain of these adjectively-used nouns come only to signify the particular quality for whose sake they are oftenest used; the en tire th in g which they originally meant receives another name, and they become true abstract and general terms. Oval, for example, with us suggests only shape. T h e first abstract qualities thus formed are, no doubt, qualities of one and the same sense found in different objects—as big, sweet; next analogies between different senses, as ‘sharp’ of taste, ‘high’ of sound, etc.; then analo24 Q uoted by R enouvier: C r itiq u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , O ctober 19, 1876.

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gies of motor combinations, or form of relation, as simple, con­ fused, difficult, reciprocal, relative, spontaneous, etc. T h e extreme degree of subtlety in analogy is reached in such cases as when we say certain English art critics’ writing reminds us of a close room in which pastilles have been burning, or that the mind of certain Frenchmen is like old Roquefort cheese. Here language utterly fails to hit upon the basis of resemblance. Over immense departments of our thought we are still, all of us, in the savage state. Similarity operates in us, but abstraction has not taken place. W e know what the present case is like, we know what it reminds us of, we have an intuition of the right course to take, if it be a practical matter. But analytic thought has made no tracks, and we cannot justify ourselves to others. In ethical, psy­ chological, and aesthetic matters, to give a clear reason for one’s judgm ent is universally recognized as a mark of rare genius. T h e helplessness of uneducated people to account for their likes and dislikes is often ludicrous. Ask the first Irish girl why she likes this country better or worse than her home, and see how much she can tell you. But if you ask your most educated friend why he prefers T itia n to Paul Veronese, you will hardly get more of a reply; and you w ill probably get absolutely none if you inquire why Beetho­ ven reminds him of Michael Angelo, or how it comes that a bare figure with unduly flexed joints, by the latter, can so suggest the moral tragedy of life. His thought obeys a n ex u s, but cannot name it. And so it is with all those judgments of exp erts, which even though unmotived are so valuable. Saturated with experience of a particular class of materials, an expert intuitively feels whether a newly-reported fact is probable or not, whether a proposed hypoth­ esis is worthless or the reverse. He instinctively knows that, in a novel case, this and not that w ill be the promising course of ac­ tion. T h e well-known story of the old judge advising the new one never to give reasons for his decisions, “ the decisions will probably be right, the reasons w ill surely be wrong,” illustrates this. T h e doctor w ill feel that the patient is doomed, the dentist w ill have a premonition that the tooth will break, though neither can articu­ late a reason for his foreboding. T h e reason lies embedded, but not yet laid bare, in all the countless previous cases dim ly suggested by the actual one, all calling up the same conclusion, which the adept thus finds himself swept on to, he knows not how or why.

988

R easoning A p h y sio lo g ica l co n clu sio n rem ains to be drawn. If the principles laid down in Chapter X IV are true, then it follows that the great cerebral difference between habitual and reasoned thinking must be this: that in the former an entire system of cells vibrating at any one moment discharges in its totality into another entire system, and that the order of the discharges tends to be a constant one in time; whilst in the latter a part of the prior system still keeps vibrat­ ing in the midst of the subsequent system, and the order—which part this shall be, and what shall be its concomitants in the subse­ quent system—has little tendency to fixedness in time. T h is physi­ cal selection, so to call it, of one part to vibrate persistently whilst the others rise and subside, we found, in the chapter in question, to be the basis of similar association. (See especially pp. 5 4 4 -5 4 7 ) It would seem to be but a minor degree of that still more urgent and importunate localized vibration which we can easiest conceive to underlie the mental fact of interest, attention, or dissociation. In terms of the brain-process, then, all these mental facts resolve themselves into a single peculiarity: that of indeterminateness of connection between the different tracts, and tendency of action to focalize itself, so to speak, in small localities which vary infinitely at different times, and from which irradiation may proceed in countless shifting ways. (Compare figure 80, p. 972.) T o discover, or (what more befits the present stage of nerve-physiology) to ad­ umbrate by some possible guess, on what chemical or molecularmechanical fact this instable equilibrium of the human brain may depend, should be the next task of the physiologist who ponders over the passage from brute to man. W hatever the physical pe­ culiarity in question may be, it is the cause why a man, whose brain has it, reasons so much, whilst his horse, whose brain lacks it, rea­ sons so little. W e can but bequeath the problem to abler hands than our own. But, meanwhile, this mode of stating the matter suggests a cou­ ple of other inferences. T h e first is brief. If foca liza tion of brainactivity be the fundamental fact of reasonable thought, we see why intense interest or concentrated passion makes us think so much more truly and profoundly. T h e persistent foca liza tion of motion in certain tracts is the cerebral fact corresponding to the persistent domination in consciousness of the important feature of the sub­ ject. W hen not ‘focalized,’ we are scatter-brained; but when thor­

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oughly impassioned, we never wander from the point. None but congruous and relevant images arise. W hen roused by indignation or moral enthusiasm, how trenchant are our reflections, how smit­ ing are our words! T h e whole network of petty scruples and by­ considerations which, at ordinary languid times, surrounded the matter like a cobweb, holding back our thought, as G ulliver was pinned to the earth by the myriad Lilliputian threads, are dashed through at a blow, and the subject stands with its essential and vital lines revealed. T h e last point is relative to the theory that what was acquired habit in the ancestor may become congenital tendency in the off­ spring. So vast a superstructure is raised upon this principle that the paucity of empirical evidence for it has alike been matter of regret to its adherents, and of triumph to its opponents. In Chapter X X V III we shall see what we may call the whole beggarly array of proof. In the human race, where our opportunities for observa­ tion are the most complete, we seem to have no evidence whatever which would support the hypothesis, unless it possibly be the law that city-bred children are more apt to be near-sighted than coun­ try children. In the mental world we certainly do not observe that the children of great travellers get their geography lessons with un­ usual ease, or that a baby whose ancestors have spoken German for thirty generations w ill, on that account, learn Italian any the less easily from its Italian nurse. But if the considerations we have been led to are true, they explain perfectly well why this law sh o u ld not be verified in the human race, and why, therefore, in looking for evidence on the subject, we should confine ourselves exclusively to lower animals. In them fixed habit is the essential and charac­ teristic law of nervous action. T h e brain grows to the exact modes in which it has been exercised, and the inheritance of these modes— then called instincts—would have in it nothing surprising. But in man the negation of all fixed modes is the essential characteristic. He owes his whole pre-eminence as a reasoner, his whole human quality of intellect, we may say, to the facility with which a given mode of thought in him may suddenly be broken up into elements, which recombine anew. Only at the price of inheriting no settled instinctive tendencies is he able to settle every novel case by the fresh discovery by his reason of novel principles. He is, par e x c e l­ len ce, the e d u ca b le animal. If, then, the law that habits are in­

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herited were found exemplified in him, he would, in so far forth, fall short of his human perfections; and, when we survey the hu­ man races, we actually do find that those which are most instinctive at the outset are those which, on the whole, are least educated in the end. An untutored Italian is, to a great extent, a man of the world; he has instinctive perceptions, tendencies to behavior, re­ actions, in a word, upon his environment, which the untutored German wholly lacks. If the latter be not drilled, he is apt to be a thoroughly loutish personage; but, on the other hand, the mere absence in his brain of definite innate tendencies enables him to advance by the development, through education, of his purely reasoned thinking, into complex regions of consciousness that the Italian may probably never approach. W e observe an identical difference between men as a whole and women as a whole. A young woman of twenty reacts with intuitive promptitude and security in all the usual circumstances in which she may be placed.25 Her likes and dislikes are formed; her opin­ ions, to a great extent, the same that they w ill be through life. Her character is, in fact, finished in its essentials. How inferior to her is a boy of twenty in all these respects! His character is still gelat­ inous, uncertain what shape to assume, ‘trying it on’ in every di­ rection. Feeling his power, yet ignorant of the manner in which he shall express it, he is, when compared with his sister, a being of no definite contour. But this absence of prompt tendency in his brain to set into particular modes is the very condition which insures that it shall ultimately become so much more efficient than the woman’s. T h e very lack of preappointed trains of thought is the ground on which general principles and heads of classification grow up; and the masculine brain deals with new and complex matter indirectly by means of these, in a manner which the femi­ nine method of direct intuition, admirably and rapidly as it per­ forms within its limits, can vainly hope to cope with. 25 Social and dom estic circumstances, that is, not m aterial ones. Perceptions of social relations seem very keen in persons whose dealings with the m aterial world are confined to know ing a few useful objects, prin cipally anim als, plants, and weapons. Savages and boors are often as tactful and astute socially as trained d ip ­

lomatists. In general, it is probable that the consciousness of how one stands with other people occupies a relatively larger and larger part o f the m ind, the lower one goes in the scale of culture. W om an ’s intuitions, so fine in the sphere of per­ sonal relations, are seldom first-rate in the way o f m echanics. A ll boys teach them ­ selves how a clock goes; few girls. Hence Dr. W h a tely’s jest, "W om an is the unreasoning anim al, and pokes the fire from on to p .”

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In looking back over the subject of reasoning, one feels how in­ timately connected it is with conception; and one realizes more than ever the deep reach of that principle of selection on which so much stress was laid towards the close of Chapter IX . As the art of reading (after a certain stage in one’s education) is the art of skip­ ping, so the art of being wise is the art of knowing what to over­ look. T h e first effect on the mind of growing cultivated is that processes once m ultiple get to be performed by a single act. Lazarus has called this the progressive ‘condensation’ of thought. But in the psychological sense it is less a condensation than a loss, a genu­ ine dropping out and throwing overboard of conscious content. Steps really sink from sight. An advanced thinker sees the relations of his topics in such masses and so instantaneously that when he comes to explain to younger minds it is often hard to say which grows the more perplexed, he or the pupil. In every university there are admirable investigators who are notoriously bad lec­ turers. T h e reason is that they never spontaneously see the subject in the minute articulate way in which the student needs to have it offered to his slow reception. T h e y grope for the links, but the links do not come. Bowditch, who translated and annotated La­ place’s M é c a n iq u e céleste, said that whenever his author prefaced a proposition by the words ‘it is evident,’ he knew that many hours of hard study lay before him. W hen two minds of a high order, interested in kindred subjects, come together, their conversation is chiefly remarkable for the sum­ mariness of its allusions and the rapidity of its transitions. Before one of them is half through a sentence the other knows his mean­ ing and replies. Such genial play with such massive materials, such an easy flashing of light over far perspectives, such careless indif­ ference to the dust and apparatus that ordinarily surround the sub­ ject and seem to pertain to its essence, make these conversations seem true feasts for gods to a listener who is educated enough to follow them at all. His mental lungs breathe more deeply, in an atmosphere more broad and vast than is their wont. O n the other hand, the excessive explicitness and short-windedness of a common man are as wonderful as they are tedious to the man of genius. But we need not go as far as the ways of genius. Ordinary social inter­ course w ill do. T h ere the charm of conversation is in direct pro­ portion to the possibility of abridgment and elision, and in inverse ratio to the need of explicit statement. W ith old friends a word stands for a whole story or set of opinions. W ith new-comers every-

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thing must be gone over in detail. Some persons have a real mania for completeness, they must express every step. T h e y are the most intolerable of companions, and although their mental energy may in its way be great, they always strike us as weak and second-rate. In short, the essence of plebianism, that which separates vulgarity from aristocracy, is perhaps less a defect than an excess, the con­ stant need to animadvert upon matters which for the aristocratic temperament do not exist. T o ignore, to disdain to consider, to overlook, are the essence of the gentleman.’ Often most provokingly so; for the things ignored may be of the deepest moral con­ sequence. But in the very midst of our indignation with the gen­ tleman, we have a consciousness that his preposterous inertia and negativeness in the actual emergency is, somehow or other, a llied with his general superiority to ourselves. It is not only that the gentleman ignores considerations relative to conduct, sordid sus­ picions, fears, calculations, etc., which the vulgarian is fated to entertain; it is that he is silent where the vulgarian talks; that he gives nothing but results where the vulgarian is profuse of reasons; that he does not explain or apologize; that he uses one sentence instead of twenty; and that, in a word, there is an amount of in ­ terstitial thinking, so to call it, which it is quite impossible to get him to perform, but which is nearly all that the vulgarian mind performs at all. A ll this suppression of the secondary leaves the field c le a r — for higher flights, should they choose to come. But even if they never came, what thoughts there were would still mani­ fest the aristocratic type and wear the well-bred form. So great is our sense of harmony and ease in passing from the company of a philistine to that of an aristocratic temperament, that we are al­ most tempted to deem the falsest views and tastes as held by a man of the world, truer than the truest as held by a common person. In the latter the best ideas are choked, obstructed, and contaminated by the redundancy of their paltry associates. T h e negative condi­ tions, at least, of an atmosphere and a free outlook are present in the former. I may appear to have strayed from psychological analysis into assthetic criticism. But the principle of selection is so important that no illustrations seem redundant which may help to show how great is its scope. T h e upshot of what I say simply is that selectionimplies rejection as well as choice; and that the function of ignor­ ing, of inattention, is as vital a factor in mental progress as the function of attention itself.

993

Chapter X X III The Production of Movement

T h e reader w ill not have forgotten, in the jungle of purely inward processes and products through which the last chapters have borne him, that the final result of them all must be some form of bodily activity due to the escape of the central excitement through out­ going nerves. T h e whole neural organism, it w ill be remembered, is, physiologically considered, but a machine for converting stimuli into reactions; and the intellectual part of our life is knit up with but the middle or ‘central’ portion of the machine’s operations. Let us now turn to consider the final or emergent operations, the bodily activities, and the forms of consciousness connected therewithal. Every impression which impinges on the incoming nerves pro­ duces some discharge down the outgoing ones, whether we be aware of it or not. Using sweeping terms and ignoring exceptions, we m igh t say that every p o ssib le fe e lin g p ro d u ces a m o v em en t, and that th e m o vem en t is a m o vem en t o f th e en tire organism , an d o f each and a ll its parts. W hat happens patently when an explosion

or a flash of lightning startles us, or when we are tickled, happens latently with every sensation which we receive. T h e only reason why we do not feel the startle or tickle in the case of insignificant sensations is partly its very small amount, partly our obtuseness. Professor Bain many years ago gave the name of the Law of D if­ fusion to this phenomenon of general discharge, and expressed it thus: “ According as an impression is accompanied with Feeling, the aroused currents diffuse themselves freely over the brain, lead-

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ing to a general agitation of the m oving organs, as well as affecting the viscera.” In cases where the feeling is strong the law is too familiar to re­ quire proof. As Prof. Bain says: “Each of us knows in our own experience that a sudden shock of feeling is accompanied with movements of the body generally, and with other effects. When no emotion is present, we are quiescent; a slight feeling is accompanied with slight manifestations; a more intense shock has a more intense outburst. Every pleasure and every pain, and every mode of emotion, has a definite wave of effects, which our observation makes known to us: and we apply the knowledge to infer other men’s feelings from their outward display. . . . T he organs first and promi­ nently affected, in the diffused wave of nervous influence, are the mov­ ing members, and of these, by preference, the features of the face (with the ears in animals), whose movements constitute the expression of the countenance. But the influence extends to all the parts of the moving system, voluntary and involuntary; while an important series of effects are produced on the glands and viscera—the stomach, lungs, heart, kid­ neys, skin, together with the sexual and mammary organs. . . . The cir­ cumstance is seemingly universal, the proof of it does not require a citation of instances in detail; on the objectors is thrown the burden of adducing unequivocal exceptions to the law.” 1 T here are probably no exceptions to the diffusion of every im­ pression through the nerve-centres. T h e effect of the wave through the centres may, however, often be to interfere with processes, and to diminish tensions already existing there; and the outward con­ sequences of such inhibitions may be the arrest of discharges from the inhibited regions and the checking of bodily activities already in process of occurrence. W hen this happens it probably is like the draining or siphoning of certain channels by currents flowing through others. W hen, in walking, we suddenly stand still be­ cause a sound, sight, smell, or thought catches our attention, some­ thing like this occurs. But there are cases of arrest of peripheral activity which depend, not on central inhibition, but on stimula­ tion of centres which discharge outgoing currents of an inhibitory sort. W henever we are startled, for example, our heart momen­ tarily stops or slows its beating, and then palpitates with accelerated speed. T h e brief arrest is due to an outgoing current down the pneumogastric nerve. T h is nerve, when stimulated, stops or slows l E m o tio n s a n d th e W ill, pp. 4, 5.

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the heart-beats, and this particular effect of startling fails to occur if the nerve be cut. In general, however, the stim ulating effects of a sense-impression preponderate over the inhibiting effects, so that we may roughly say, as we began by saying, that the wave of discharge produces an activity in all parts of the body. T h e task of tracing out all the ef­ fects of any one incoming sensation has not yet been performed by physiologists. Recent years have, however, begun to enlarge our information; and although I must refer to special treatises for the full details, I can briefly string together here a num ber of separate observations which prove the truth of the law of diffusion. First take effects u p o n th e circu la tio n . Those upon the heart we have just seen. H aller long ago recorded that the blood from an open vein flowed out faster at the beat of a drum .2 In Chapter III (p. 103) we learned how instantaneously, according to Mosso, the circulation in the brain is altered by changes of sensation and of the course of thought. T h e effect of objects of fear, shame, and anger upon the blood-supply of the skin, especially the skin of the face, are too well known to need remark. Sensations of the higher senses produce, according to Couty and Charpentier, the most var­ ied effects upon the pulse-rate and blood-pressure in dogs. Fig. 81, a pulse-tracing from these authors, shows the tumultuous effect on a dog’s heart of hearing the screams of another dog. T h e changes of blood-pressure still occurred when the pneumogastric nerves were cut, showing the vaso-motor effect to be direct and not dependent on the heart. W hen Mosso invented that simple instrument, the pleth y sm og ra p h , for recording the fluctuations in volume of the members of the body, what most astonished him, he says, “ in the first experiments which he made in Italy, was the extreme unrest of the blood-vessels of the hand, which at every smallest emotion, whether during waking or during sleep, changed their volum e in surprising fashion.” 3 Figure 82 (from Fere4) shows the way in which the pulse of one subject was modified by the exhibition of a red light lasting from the moment marked a to that marked b. T h e effects u p on respiration of sudden sensory stimuli are also too well known to need elaborate comment. W e ‘catch our breath’ at every sudden sound. W e ‘hold our breath’ whenever our atten2 C f. F ire : S en sa tio n et m o u v em en t (1887), p. 56. 3 La Paura (1884), p. 117. Com pare Fere: Sen sation et m o u v em en t, chap. xvn. 4 R e v u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , xxiv , 570.

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tion and expectation are strongly engaged, and we sigh when the tension of the situation is relieved. W hen a fearful object is before us we pant and cannot deeply inspire; when the object makes us

angry it is, on the contrary, the act of expiration which is hard. I subjoin a couple of figures from Fere which explain themselves. T h ey show the effects of light upon the breathing of two of his hysteric patients.5

Fic. 83.—R espiratory curve o f B: a, w ith eyes open; b, w ith eyes closed.

O n th e sweat-glands, similar consequences of sensorial stimuli

are observed. Tarchanoff, testing the condition of the sweat-glands by the power of the skin to start a galvanic current through elec­ trodes applied to its surface, found that “ nearly every kind of nervous activity,—from the simplest impressions and sensations, to s R e v u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , x xiv, pp. 566-7.— For further inform ation about the re­ lations betw een the brain and respiration, see D anilew sky’s Essay in the B io lo g isch es C e n tr a lb la tt, 11, 690.

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voluntary motions and the highest forms of mental exertion,—is accompanied by an increased activity in the glands of the skin.” 6 O n th e p u p il observations are recorded by Sander which show that

Fig. 84.—R espiratory curve o f L : a, w ith yellow light; b, w ith green light; c, w ith red light. T h e red has the strongest effect.

a transitory dilatation follows every sensorial stimulus applied d u rin g sleep , even if the stimulus be not strong enough to wake the subject up. A t the moment of awaking there is a dilatation, even if strong light falls on the eye.7 T h e pupil o f children can easily be observed to dilate enormously under the influence of 6 Q uoted from the report of T arch an off’s paper (in Pfliiger’s A r c h iv , in the A m erica n Jo u r n a l o f P sy cho lo gy , 11, 653. 7 A r c h iv fu r P sy ch ia trie, vll, 652; lx , 129.

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46)

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology fear. It is said to dilate in pain and fatigue; and to contract, on the

contrary, in rage. As regards effects on th e a b d o m in a l viscera, they unquestionably exist, but very few accurate observations have been made.8 T h e bladder, bowels, and uterus respond to sensations, even in­ different ones. Mosso and Pellacani, in their plethysmographic in­ vestigations on the bladder of dogs, found all sorts of sensorial stimuli to produce reflex contractions of this organ, independent of those of the abdominal walls. T h ey call the bladder ‘as good an aesthesiometer as the iris,’ and refer to the not uncommon reflex effects of psychic stim uli in the human female upon this organ.9 M. Fere has registered the contractions of the sphincter ani which even indifferent sensations w ill produce. In some pregnant women the foetus is felt to move after almost every sensorial excitement received by the mother. T h e only natural explanation is that it is stimulated at such moments by reflex contractions of the wom b.10 T h a t the glands are affected in emotion is patent enough in the case of the tears of grief, the dry mouth, moist skin, or diarrhoea of fear, the biliary disturbances which sometimes follow upon rage, etc. T h e watering of the mouth at the sight of succulent food is well known. It is difficult to follow the smaller degrees of all these reflex changes, but it can hardly be doubted that they exist in some degree, even where they cease to be traceable, and that all our sen­ sations have some visceral effects. T h e sneezing produced by sun­ shine, the roughening of the skin (gooseflesh) which certain strokings, contacts, and sounds, musical or non-musical, provoke, are facts of the same order as the shuddering and standing up of the hair in fear, only of less degree. E ffects on V oluntary M u scles. Every sensorial stimulus not only sends a special discharge into certain particular muscles dependent on the special nature of the stimulus in question—some of these special discharges we have studied in Chapter X I, others we shall examine under the heads of Instinct and Emotion—but it inner­ vates the muscles generally. M. Fere has given very curious experi­ mental proofs of this. T h e strength of contraction of the subject’s hand was measured by a self-registering dynamometer. Ordinarily * Sen sation et m o u v em en t, 57-8. 9 R e a le A cca d em ia d e i L in c e i (1881-2). I follow the report in H ofm ann und Schw albe’s J a h resb erich t, x, 11, 93. 1 0 C f. F ire: Sen sation et m o u v em en t, chap. xiv.

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the maximum strength, under simple experimental conditions, re­ mains the same from day to day. But if simultaneously with the contraction the subject received a sensorial impression, the con­ traction was sometimes weakened, but more often increased. T h is reinforcing effect has received the name of dynam ogeny. T h e dynamogenic value of simple m u sica l n o tes seems to be proportional to their loudness and height. W here the notes are compounded into sad strains, the muscular strength diminishes. If the strains are gay, it is increased.—T h e dynamogenic value of co lo red lig h ts varies with the color. In a subject11 whose normal strength was expressed by 23, it became 24 when a blue light was thrown on the eyes, 28 for green, 30 for yellow, 35 for orange, and 42 for red. Red is thus the most exciting color. Am ong tastes, sweet has the lowest value, next comes salt, then bitter, and finally sour, though, as M. Fere remarks, such a sour as acetic acid excites the nerves of pain and smell as well as of taste. T h e stimulating effects of tobacco-smoke, alcohol, beef-extract (which is innutritious), etc., etc., may be part­ ly due to a dynamogenic action of this sort.—O f odors, that of musk seems to have a peculiar dynamogenic power. Fig. 85 is a copy of one of M. Fere’s dynamographic tracings, which explains itself. T h e smaller contractions are those without stimulus; the stronger ones are due to the influence of red rays of light.

\l J F ic . 85.

Everyone is familiar with the p a tella r reflex, or jerk upwards of the foot, which is produced by smartly tapping the tendon below the knee-pan when the leg hangs over the other knee. Drs. W eir M itchell and Lombard have found that when other sensations come in simultaneously with the tap, the jerk is increased.12 Heat, 11 T h e figu res g iv e n are fro m an h y ste ric a l s u b je c t, a n d th e d iffe re n ce s a re g re a te r th an n o rm a l. M . F ir£ co n sid e rs th a t th e u n sta b le n ervo u s system o f th e h yste ric (‘ les g re n o u ille s d e la p sy c h o lo g ie ’) show s th e la w on a q u a n tita tiv e ly e x a g g e ra te d scale, w ith o u t a lte r in g th e q u a lita tiv e re la tio n s. T h e effects re m in d us a lit t le o f th e in flu e n c e o f se n satio n s u p o n m in im a l sen satio ns o f o th e r o rd ers d isco v ere d b y U r b a n tsc h its c h , an d re p o rte d o n p a g e 676 o f this v o lu m e .

12 M itchell in (Philadelphia) M ed ica l N ew s (Feb. 13 and 20, 1886); Lom bard in A m er ic a n Jo u rn a l o f P sy chology (Nov. 1887).

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cold, pricking, itching, or faradic stimulation of the skin, some­ times strong optical impressions, music, all have this dynamogenic effect, which also results whenever voluntary movements are set up in other parts of the body, simultaneously with the tap.13 These ‘dynamogenic’ effects, in which one stimulation simply reinforces another already under way, must not be confounded with reflex acts properly so called, in which new activities are origi­ nated by the stimulus. A ll instinctive performances and manifesta­ tions of emotion are reflex acts. But underneath those of which we are conscious there seem to go on continually others smaller in amount, which probably in most persons m ight be called fluctua­ tions of muscular ton e, but which in certain neurotic subjects can be demonstrated ocularly. M. Fere figures some of them in the article to which I have already referred.14 Looking back over all these facts, it is hard to doubt the truth of the law of diffusion, even where verification is beyond reach. A process set u p anyw here in th e cen tres reverberates everyw here, and in so m e way or o th er affects th e organism th ro u g h o u t, m a kin g its a ctiv ities e ith e r greater or less. W e are brought again to the assimi­

lation which was expressed on a previous page of the nerve-central mass to a good conductor charged with electricity, of which the tension cannot be changed anywhere without changing it every­ where. Herr Schneider has tried to show, by an ingenious and suggestive zoological review,15 that all the sp ecia l movements which highly evolved animals make are differentiated from the two originally simple movements of contraction and expansion in which the en­ tire body of simple organisms takes part. T h e tendency to contract is the source of all the self-protective impulses and reactions which are later developed, including that of flight. T h e tendency to ex­ pand splits up, on the contrary, into the impulses and instincts of 13 P ro f. H . P . B o w d itc h h as m ad e th e in te re stin g d isco v ery th a t if th e re in fo r c in g

m o ve m e n t be as m u ch as 0.4 o f a secon d la te , th e re in fo r c e m e n t fa ils to occu r, a n d is tra n sfo rm e d in to a p o s itiv e in h ib itio n o f th e k n e e -je rk fo r re ta r d a tio n s o f b e tw e e n 0.4' a n d 1.7'. T h e k n e e -je rk fa ils to be m od ifie d a t a ll b y v o lu n ta ry m o ve ­ m en ts m ad e la te r th an 1.7' a fte r th e p a te lla r lig a m e n t is ta p p e d (see B o sto n M e d ic a l an d Surgical J o u rn a l, M a y 31, 1888). 14 R e v u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , x x iv , 572 ff. 15 In th e V ie r telja h r ssc h r ijt fu r w issen sch a ftlich e P h ilo s o p h ie , 111, 294.

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an aggressive kind, feeding, fighting, sexual intercourse, etc. Schnei­ der’s articles are well worth reading, if only for the careful ob­ servations on animals which they embody. I cite them here as a sort of evolutionary reason to add to the mechanical a p r io ri rea­ son why there o u g h t to be the diffusive wave which our a p o sterio ri instances have shown to exist. I will now proceed to a detailed study of the more important classes of movement consequent upon cerebro-mental change. T h e y may be enumerated as— 1) Instinctive or Impulsive Performances; 2) Expressions of Emotion; and 3) Voluntary Deeds; and each shall have a chapter to itself.

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In stin c t is usually d efin ed as th e fa cu lty o f a ctin g in su ch a way as to p r o d u ce certain ends, w ith o u t fo resig h t o f th e end s, an d w ith o u t p r ev io u s ed u ca tio n in th e p erform a n ce. T h a t instincts, as thus de­

fined, exist on an enormous scale in the animal kingdom needs no proof. T h e y are the functional correlatives of structure. W ith the presence of a certain organ goes, one may say, almost always a native aptitude for its use. “ Has the bird a gland for the secretion of oil? She knows instinc­ tively how to press the oil from the gland and apply it to the feather. Has the rattlesnake the grooved tooth and gland of poison? He knows without instruction how to make both structure and function most ef­ fective against his enemies. Has the silk-worm the function of secret­ ing the fluid silk? At the proper time, she winds the cocoon such as she has never seen, as thousands before have done; and thus without in­ struction, pattern or experience, forms a safe abode for herself in the period of transformation. Has the hawk talons? She knows by instinct how to wield them effectively against the helpless quarry.” 1 A very common way of talking about these admirably definite tendencies to act is by naming abstractly the purpose they sub•

T h is c h a p te r has a lre a d y a p p e a r e d (alm ost e x a c tly as n ow p r in te d ) in th e fo rm

o f m a g a zin e a rticle s in S cr ib n e r ’s M a g a zin e a n d in th e P o p u la r S cien ce M o n th ly fo r 1887. 1 P. A . C h a d b o u rn e : In s tin c t, p . 28 (N e w Y o rk , 1872).

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serve, such as self-preservation, or defence, or care for eggs and young—and saying the animal has an instinctive fear of death or love of life, or that she has an instinct of self-preservation, or an instinct of maternity and the like. But this represents the animal as obeying abstractions which not once in a m illion cases is it pos­ sible it can have framed. T h e strict physiological way of interpret­ ing the facts leads to far clearer results. T h e action s we ca ll in ­ stin ctiv e a ll co n fo rm to th e g en era l reflex ty p e ; they are called forth by determinate sensory stimuli in contact with the animal’s body, or at a distance in his environment. T h e cat runs after the mouse, runs or shows fight before the dog, avoids falling from walls and trees, shuns fire and water, etc., not because he has any notion ei­ ther of life or of death, or of self, or of preservation. He has probably attained to no one of these conceptions in such a way as to react definitely upon it. H e acts in each case separately, and simply because he cannot help it; being so framed that when that particular running thing called a mouse appears in his field of vision he m ust pursue; that when that particular barking and ob­ streperous thing called a dog appears there he m ust retire, if at a distance, and scratch if close by; that he m ust withdraw his feet from water and his face from flame, etc. His nervous system is to a great extent a preorganized bundle of such reactions—they are as fatal as sneezing, and as exactly correlated to their special excitants as it is to its own. Although the naturalist may, for his own con­ venience, class these reactions under general heads, he must not forget that in the animal it is a particular sensation or perception or image which calls them forth. A t first this view astounds us by the enormous number of special adjustments it supposes animals to possess ready-made in anticipa­ tion of the outer things among which they are to dwell. Can mu­ tual dependence be so intricate and go so far? Is each thing bom fitted to particular other things, and to them exclusively, as locks are fitted to their keys? Undoubtedly this must be believed to be so. Each nook and cranny of creation, down to our very skin and en­ trails, has its living inhabitants, with organs suited to the place, to devour and digest the food it harbors and to meet the dangers it conceals; and the minuteness of adaptation thus shown in the way o f stru ctu re knows no bounds. Even so are there no bounds to the minuteness of adaptation in the way of co n d u ct which the several inhabitants display.

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T h e older writings on instinct are ineffectual wastes of words, because their authors never came down to this definite and simple point of view, but smothered everything in vague wonder at the clairvoyant and prophetic power of the animals—so superior to anything in man—and at the beneficence of God in endowing them with such a gift. But G od’s beneficence endows them, first of all, with a nervous system; and, turning our attention to this, makes instinct immediately appear neither more nor less wonderful than all the other facts of life. Every in stin ct is an im p u lse. W hether we shall call such impulses as blushing, sneezing, coughing, smiling, or dodging, or keeping time to music, instincts or not, is a mere matter of terminology. T h e process is the same throughout. In his delightfully fresh and interesting work, D e r th ierisch e W ille , H err G. H. Schneider sub­ divides impulses ( T r ie b e ) into sensation-impulses, perceptionimpulses, and idea-impulses. T o crouch from cold is a sensationimpulse; to turn and follow, if we see people running one way, is a perception-impulse; to cast about for cover, if it begins to blow and rain, is an imagination-impulse. A single complex instinctive action may involve successively the awakening of impulses of all three classes. T h u s a hungry lion starts to seek prey by the awaken­ ing in him of imagination coupled with desire; he begins to stalk it when, on eye, ear, or nostril, he gets an impression of its presence at a certain distance; he springs upon it, either when the booty takes alarm and flees, or when the distance is sufficiently reduced; he proceeds to tear and d ev o u r it the moment he gets a sensation of its contact with his claws and fangs. Seeking, stalking, springing, and devouring are just so many different kinds of muscular con­ traction, and neither kind is called forth by the stimulus appropri­ ate to the other. Schneider says of the hamster, which stores corn in its hole:

“ If we analyze the propensity of storing, we find that it consists of three impulses: First, an impulse to pick up the nutritious object, due to perception; second, an impulse to carry it off into the dwelling-place, due to the idea of this latter; and third, an impulse to lay it down there, due to the sight of the place. It lies in the nature of the hamster that it should never see a full ear of corn without feeling a desire to strip it; it lies in its nature to feel, as soon as its cheek-pouches are filled, an irresistible desire to hurry to its home; and finally, it lies in its nature

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that the sight of the storehouse should awaken the impulse to empty the cheeks” (p. 208). In certain animals of a low order the feeling of having executed one impulsive step is such an indispensable part of the stimulus of the next one, that the animal cannot make any variation in the order of its performance. N o w , why d o th e various anim als d o what seem to us su ch strange things, in the presence of such outlandish stimuli? W hy does the

hen, for example, submit herself to the tedium of incubating such a fearfully uninteresting set of objects as a nestful of eggs, unless she have some sort of a prophetic inkling of the result? T h e only answer is ad h o m in em . W e can only interpret the instincts of brutes by what we know of instincts in ourselves. W hy do men always lie down, when they can, on soft beds rather than on hard floors? W hy do they sit round the stove on a cold day? W hy, in a room, do they place themselves, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, with their faces towards its middle rather than to the wall? W hy do they pre­ fer saddle of mutton and champagne to hard-tack and pond-water? W hy does the maiden interest the youth so that everything about her seems more important and significant than anything else in the world? N othing more can be said than that these are human ways, and that every creature lik e s its own ways, and takes to the following them as a matter of course. Science may come and con­ sider these ways, and find that most of them are useful. But it is not for the sake of their utility that they are followed, but because at the moment of following them we feel that that is the only ap­ propriate and natural thing to do. N ot one man in a billion, when taking his dinner, ever thinks ot utility. H e eats because the food tastes good and makes him want more. If you ask him why he should want to eat more of what tastes like that, instead of revering you as a philosopher he will probably laugh at you for a fool. T h e connection between the savory sensation and the act it awakens is for him absolute and selbstv erstän d lich , an a p rio ri synthesis’ of the most perfect sort, needing no proof but its own evidence. It takes, in short, what Berkeley calls a mind debauched by learning to carry the process of making the natural seem strange, so far as to ask for the why of any instinctive human act. T o the metaphy­ sician alone can such questions occur as: W hy do we smile, when

T h e P rin cip les of Psychology

pleased, and not scowl? W hy are we unable to talk to a crowd as we talk to a single friend? W hy does a particular maiden turn our wits so upside-down? T h e common man can only say, “ O f course we smile, o f course our heart palpitates at the sight of the crowd, o f cou rse we love the maiden, that beautiful soul clad in that per­ fect form, so palpably and flagrantly made from all eternity to be loved!” And so, probably, does each animal feel about the particular things it tends to do in presence of particular objects. T hey, too, are a p rio ri syntheses. T o the lion it is the lioness which is made to be loved; to the bear, the she-bear. T o the broody hen the notion would probably seem monstrous that there should be a creature in the world to whom a nestful of eggs was not the utterly fascinat­ ing and precious and never-to-be-too-much-sat-upon object which it is to her.* T h u s we may be sure that, however mysterious some animals’ instincts may appear to us, our instincts w ill appear no less mys­ terious to them. And we may conclude that, to the animal which obeys it, every impulse and every step of every instinct shines with its own sufficient light, and seems at the moment the only eternally right and proper thing to do. It is done for its own sake exclusively. W hat voluptuous thrill may not shake a fly, when she at last dis­ covers the one particular leaf, or carrion, or bit of dung, that out of all the world can stimulate her ovipositor to its discharge? Does not the discharge then seem to her the only fitting thing? And need she care or know anything about the future maggot and its food? Since the egg-laying in stin cts are simple examples to consider, a few quotations about them from Schneider may be serviceable: “T he phenomenon so often talked about, so variously interpreted, so surrounded with mystification, that an insect should always lay her 2 “ It w ould be very sim ple-m inded to suppose that bees follow th eir queen, and protect her and care for her, because they are aware that w ith o u t her the hive w ould become extinct. T h e odor or the aspect of their queen is m anifestly agreeable to the bees— that is why they love her so. Does not all true love base itself on agreeable perceptions m uch m ore than on representations of utility?” (G. H . Schnei­ der: D e r th ier isch e W ille , p. 187.) A p tio r i, there is no reason to suppose that any sensation m ight not in so m e anim al cause any em otion and any im pulse. T o

us it seems unnatural that an odor should directly excite anger or fear; or a color, lust. Yet there are creatures to which some smells are qu ite as frigh tfu l as any sounds, and very likely others to which color is as m uch a sexual irritan t as form .

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eggs in a spot appropriate to the nourishment of her young, is no more marvellous than the phenomenon that every animal pairs with a mate capable of bearing posterity, or feeds on materials capable of affording him nourishment. . . . Not only the choice of a place for laying the eggs, but all the various acts for depositing and protecting them, are occasioned by the perception of the proper object, and the relation of this perception to the various stages of maternal impulse. When the burying beetle perceives a carrion, she is not only impelled to approach it and lodge her eggs in it, but also to go through the movements req­ uisite for burying it; just as a bird who sees his hen-bird is impelled to caress her, to strut around her, dance before her, or in some other way to woo her; just as a tiger, when he sees an antelope, is impelled to stalk it, to pounce upon it, and to strangle it. When the tailor-bee cuts out pieces of rose-leaf, bends them, carries them into a caterpillaror mouse-hole in trees or in the earth, covers their seams again with other pieces, and so makes a thimble-shaped case—when she fills this with honey and lays an egg in it, all these various appropriate expres­ sions of her will are to be explained by supposing that at the time when the eggs are ripe within her, the appearance of a suitable caterpillar- or mouse-hole and the perception of rose-leaves are so correlated in the insect with the several impulses in question, that the performances fol­ low as a matter of course when the perceptions take place. . . . “ The perception of the empty nest, or of a single egg, seems in birds to stand in such a close relation to the physiological functions of oviparation, that it serves as a direct stimulus to these functions, while the perception of a sufficient number of eggs has just the opposite effect. It is well known that hens and ducks lay more eggs if we keep remov­ ing them than if we leave them in the nest. The impulse to sit arises, as a rule, when a bird sees a certain number of eggs in her nest. If this number is not yet to be seen there, the ducks continue to lay, although they perhaps have laid twice as many eggs as they are accustomed to sit upon .. .. That sitting, also, is independent of any idea of purpose and is a pure perception-impulse is evident, among other things, from the fact that many birds, e.g., wild ducks, steal eggs from each other. . . . T he bodily disposition to sit is, it is true, one condition [since broody hens will sit where there are no eggs], but the perception of the eggs is the other condition of the activity of the incubating impulse. T he pro­ pensity of the cuckoo and of the cow-bird to lay their eggs in the nests of other species must also be interpreted as a pure perception-impulse. These birds have no bodily disposition to become broody, and there is therefore in them no connection between the perception of an egg and the impulse to sit upon it. Eggs ripen, however, in their oviducts, and the body tends to get rid of them. And since the two birds just named

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do not drop their eggs anywhere on the ground, but in nests, which are the only places where they may preserve the species, it might easily ap­ pear that such preservation of the species was what they had in view, and that they acted with full consciousness of the purpose. But this is not so. . . . The cuckoo is simply excited by the perception of quite determinate sorts of nest, which already contain eggs, to drop her own into them, and throw the others out, because this perception is a direct stimulus to these acts. It is impossible that she should have any notion of the other bird coming and sitting on her egg.” 3 IN ST IN C T S N O T A L W A Y S B LIN D OR IN V A R IA B L E

Remember that nothing is said yet of the origin of instincts, but only of the constitution of those that exist fully formed. H ow stands it with the instincts of mankind? Nothing is commoner than the remark that Man differs from lower creatures by the almost total absence of instincts, and the as­ sumption of their work in him by ‘reason.’ A fruitless discussion might be waged on this point by two theorizers who were careful not to define their terms. ‘Reason’ m ight be used, as it often has been, since Kant, not as the mere power of ‘inferring,’ but also as a name for the ten d en cy to obey im p u lses of a certain lofty sort, such as duty, or universal ends. A nd ‘instinct’ m ight have its sig­ nificance so broadened as to cover all impulses whatever, even the impulse to act from the idea of a distant fact, as well as the impulse to act from a present sensation. W ere the word instinct used in this broad way, it would of course be impossible to restrict it, as we be­ gan by doing, to actions done with no prevision of an end. W e must of course avoid a quarrel about words, and the facts of the case are really tolerably plain. Man has a far greater variety of im p u lses than any lower animal; and any one of these impulses, taken in itself, is as ‘blind’ as the lowest instinct can be; but, owing to man’s memory, power of reflection, and power of inference, they come each one to be felt by him, after he has once yielded to them and experienced their results, in connection with a foresig h t of those results. In this condition an impulse acted out may be said to be acted out, in part at least, fo r th e sake of its results. It is obvious that every in stin ctiv e act, in an an im a l w ith m em ory, m ust cease to b e ‘ b lin d ’ after b ein g o n ce repeated, and must be accompanied with foresight of its ‘end’ just so far as that end may have fallen under 3D er

th ier isc h e W ille , pp. 280-3.

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the anim al’s cognizance. An insect that lays her eggs in a place where she never sees them hatch must always do so ‘blin dly’; but a hen who has already hatched a brood can hardly be assumed to sit with perfect ‘blindness’ on her second nest. Some expectation of consequences must in every case like this be aroused; and this ex­ pectation, according as it is that of something desired or of some­ thing disliked, must necessarily either re-enforce or inhibit the mere impulse. T h e hen’s idea of the chickens would probably en­ courage her to sit; a rat’s memory, on the other hand, of a former escape from a trap would neutralize his impulse to take bait from anything that reminded him of that trap. If a boy sees a fat hopping-toad, he probably has incontinently an impulse (especially if with other boys) to smash the creature with a stone, which impulse we may suppose him blindly to obey. But something in the ex­ pression of the dying toad’s clasped hands suggests the meanness of the act, or reminds him of sayings he has heard about the suffer­ ings of animals being like his own; so that, when next he is tempted by a toad, an idea arises which, far from spurring him again to the torment, prompts kindly actions, and may even make him the toad’s champion against less reflecting boys. It is plain, then, that, n o m atter how w ell en d o w ed an an im al may orig ina lly be in th e way o f in stin cts, his resu lta n t a ction s w ill be m u ch m o d ified if th e in stin cts c o m b in e w ith e x p erien ce , if in addition to impulses he have memories, associations, inferences, and expectations, on any considerable scale. A n object O, on which he has an instinctive impulse to react in the manner A, would d i­ rectly provoke him to that reaction. But O has meantime become for him a sign of the nearness of P, on which he has an equally strong impulse to react in the manner B, quite unlike A. So that when he meets O, the immediate impulse A and the remote im­ pulse B struggle in his breast for the mastery. T h e fatality and uni­ formity said to be characteristic of instinctive actions w ill be so little manifest that one m ight be tempted to deny to him altogether the possession of any instinct about the object O. Yet how false this judgm ent would be! T h e instinct about O is there; only by the complication of the associative machinery it has come into conflict with another instinct about P. Here we immediately reap the good fruits of our simple physi­ ological conception of what an instinct is. If it be a mere excitomotor impulse, due to the pre-existence of a certain ‘reflex arc’ in

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the nerve-centres of the creature, of course it must follow the law of all such reflex arcs. One liability of such arcs is to have their ac­ tivity ‘inhibited’ by other processes going on at the same time. It makes no difference whether the arc be organized at birth, or ripen spontaneously later, or be due to acquired habit; it must take its chances with all the other arcs, and sometimes succeed, and some­ times fail, in drafting off the currents through itself. T h e mystical view of an instinct would make it invariable. T h e physiological view would require it to show occasional irregularities in any ani­ mal in whom the num ber of separate instincts, and the possible entrance of the same stimulus into several of them, were great. And such irregularities are what every superior anim al’s instincts do show in abundance.4 W herever the mind is elevated enough to discriminate; wher­ ever several distinct sensory elements must combine to discharge the reflex arc; wherever, instead of plum ping into action instantly at the first rough intimation of what sort of a thing is there, the agent waits to see which o n e of its kind it is and what the c ircu m ­ stances are of its appearance; wherever different individuals and different circumstances can impel him in different ways; wherever these are the conditions—we have a masking of the elementary con­ stitution of the instinctive life. T h e whole story of our dealings with the lower wild animals is the history of our taking advantage of the way in which they judge of everything by its mere label, as it were, so as to ensnare or kill them. Nature, in them, has left mat­ ters in this rough way, and made them act always in the manner which would be o ften est right. T h ere are more worms unattached to hooks than impaled upon them; therefore, on the whole, says Nature to her fishy children, bite at every worm and take your chances. But as her children get higher, and their lives more pre­ cious, she reduces the risks. Since what seems to be the same object 4 In the instincts of mammals, and even of low er creatures, the u niform ity and in fa llib ility which, a generation ago, were considered as essential characters do not exist. T h e m in u ter study of recent years has found continuity, transition, variation, and mistake, w herever it has looked for them , and decided that w hat is called an instinct is usually only a tendency to act in a way of which the average is pretty constant, but which need not be m athem atically ‘ true.’ Cf. on this p oin t D arw in ’s O rig in o f Species', Rom anes’s M e n ta l E v o lu tio n in A n im a ls, chaps, xi to xvi incl., and A p p end ix; W . L . Lind say’s M in d in th e L o w er A n im a ls, vol. 1, 133-141; 11, chaps, v, xx; and K. Sem per’s A n im a l L i f e A s A ffe c te d by th e N a tu ra l C o n d itio n s o f E x is te n c e , where a great m any instances w ill be found.

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may be now a genuine food and now a bait; since in gregarious species each individual may prove to be either the friend or the rival, according to the circumstances, of another; since any entirely unknown object may be fraught with weal or woe, N a tu r e im plants contrary im p u lses to act on many classes o f things, and leaves it to slight alterations in the conditions of the individual case to decide which impulse shall carry the day. Thus, greediness and suspicion, curiosity and timidity, coyness and desire, bashfulness and vanity, sociability and pugnacity, seem to shoot over into each other as quickly, and to remain in as unstable equilibrium , in the higher birds and mammals as in man. T h ey are all impulses, congenital, blind at first, and productive of motor reactions of a rigorously determinate sort. E ach o n e o f them th en is an in stin ct, as instincts are commonly defined. B u t they con tra d ict each o th er— ‘experi­ ence’ in each particular opportunity of application usually decid­ ing the issue. T h e an im al that e x h ib its th em loses th e ‘ in stin c tiv e ’ d em ea n o r and appears to lead a life of hesitation and choice, an intellectual life; n ot, how ever, because h e has n o in stin cts— rather because h e has so many that they b lo ck each o th e r ’s path.

Thus, then, without troubling ourselves about the words in­ stinct and reason, we may confidently say that however uncertain man’s reactions upon his environment may sometimes seem in comparison with those of lower creatures, the uncertainty is prob­ ably not due to their possession of any principles of action which he lacks. O n th e contrary, m an possesses a ll th e im p u lses that they have, and a great many m ore besides. In other words, there is no material antagonism between instinct and reason. Reason, p e r se, can inhibit no impulses; the only thing that can neutralize an im­ pulse is an impulse the other way. Reason may, however, make an in fere n ce w h ich w ill e x c ite th e im ag in ation so as to set loose the impulse the other way; and thus, though the animal richest in reason might be also the animal richest in instinctive impulses too, he would never seem the fatal automaton which a m erely instinc­ tive animal would be. Let us now turn to human impulses with a little more detail. A ll we have ascertained so far is that impulses of an originally instinc­ tive character may exist, and yet not betray themselves by auto­ matic fatality of conduct. But in man what impulses do exist? In the light of what has been said, it is obvious that an existing im­

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pulse may not always be superficially apparent even when its ob­ ject is there. A nd we shall see that some impulses may be masked by causes of which we have not yet spoken. T W O P R IN C IP L E S O F N O N -U N IF O R M IT Y IN IN STIN C TS

W ere one devising an abstract scheme, nothing would be easier than to discover from an anim al’s actions just how many instincts he possessed. He would react in one way only upon each class of objects with which his life had to deal; he would react in identi­ cally the same way upon every specimen of a class; and he would react invariably during his whole life. T here would be no gaps among his instincts; all would come to light without perversion or disguise. But there are no such abstract animals, and nowhere does the instinctive life display itself in such a way. N ot only, as we have seen, may objects of the same class arouse reactions of opposite sorts in consequence of slight changes in the circumstances, in the individual object, or in the agent’s inward condition; but two other principles of which we have not yet spoken, may come into play and produce results so striking that observers as eminent as Messrs. D. A. Spalding and Romanes do not hesitate to call them ‘derangements of the mental constitution,’ and to conclude that the instinctive machinery has got out of gear. These principles are those 1. O f the in h ib itio n o f in stin cts by habits; and 2. O f the transitoriness o f instincts. T aken in conjunction with the two former principles—that the same object may excite ambiguous impulses, or suggest an impulse different from that which it excites, by suggesting a remote object— they explain any amount of departure from uniform ity of conduct, w ithout im plying any getting out of gear of the elementary im­ pulses from which the conduct flows. 1.

T h e law of inhibition of instincts by habits is this: W h e n o b ­

jects o f a certain class e lic it from an an im a l a certain sort o f reac­ tion , it o ften h appens that th e an im al beco m es partial to th e first sp ecim en o f th e class on w h ich it has reacted, and w ill n o t after­ wards react on any o th e r sp ecim en .

T h e selection of a particular hole to live in, of a particular mate, of a particular feeding-ground, a particular variety of diet, a par­ ticular anything, in short, out of a possible multitude, is a very

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wide-spread tendency among animals, even those low down in the scale. T h e limpet w ill return to the same sticking-place in its rock, and the lobster to its favorite nook on the sea-bottom. T h e rabbit w ill deposit its dung in the same corner; the bird makes its nest on the same bough. But each of these preferences carries with it an insensibility to o th e r opportunities and occasions—an insensibility which can only be described physiologically as an inhibition of new impulses by the habit of old ones already formed. T h e posses­ sion of homes and wives of our own makes us strangely insensible to the charms of those of other people. Few of us are adventurous in the matter of food; in fact, most of us think there is something disgusting in a bill of fare to which we are unused. Strangers, we are apt to think, cannot be worth knowing, especially if they come from distant cities, etc. T h e original impulse which got us homes, wives, dietaries, and friends at all, seems to exhaust itself in its first achievements and to leave no surplus energy for reacting on new cases. And so it comes about that, witnessing this torpor, an ob­ server of mankind m ight say that no in stin ctiv e propensity towards certain objects existed at all. It existed, but it existed m iscella ­ n eo u sly , or as an instinct pure and simple, only before habit was formed. A habit, once grafted on an instinctive tendency, restricts the range of the tendency itself, and keeps us from reacting on any but the habitual object, although other objects m ight just as well have been chosen had they been the first-comers. Another sort of arrest of instinct by habit is where the same class of objects awakens contrary instinctive impulses. Here the impulse first followed towards a given individual of the class is apt to keep him from ever awakening the opposite impulse in us. In fact, the whole class may be protected by this individual specimen from the application to it of the other impulse. Animals, for example, awak­ en in a child the opposite impulses of fearing and fondling. But if a child, in his first attempts to pat a dog, gets snapped at or bitten, so that the impulse of fear is strongly aroused, it may be that for years to come no dog w ill excite in him the impulse to fondle again. On the other hand, the greatest natural enemies, if carefully in­ troduced to each other when young and guided at the outset by superior authority, settle down into those ‘happy families’ of friends which we see in our menageries. Young animals, immediately after birth, have no instinct of fear, but show their dependence by al­ lowing themselves to be freely handled. Later, however, they grow

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‘w ild ,’ and, if left to themselves, w ill not let man approach them. I am told by farmers in the Adirondack wilderness that it is a very serious matter if a cow wanders off and calves in the woods and is not found for a week or more. T h e calf, by that time, is as wild and almost as fleet as a deer, and hard to capture without violence. But calves rarely show any particular wildness to the men who have been in contact with them during the first days of their life, when the instinct to attach themselves is uppermost, nor do they dread strangers as they would if brought up wild. Chickens give a curious illustration of the same law. Mr. Spald­ ing’s wonderful article on instinct shall supply us with the facts. These little creatures show opposite instincts of attachment and fear, either of which may be aroused by the same object, man. If a chick is born in the absence of the hen, it “ will follow any moving object. And, when guided by sight alone, they seem to have no more disposition to follow a hen than to follow a duck, or a human being. Unreflecting on-lookers, when they saw chickens a day old running after me,” says Mr. Spalding, “and older ones follow­ ing me miles and answering to my whistle, imagined that I must have some occult power over the creatures, whereas I simply allowed them to follow me from the first. There is the instinct to follow; and .. . their ear prior to experience attaches them to the right object.” 5 But if a man presents himself for the first time when the instinct of fear is strong, the phenomena are altogether reversed. Mr. Spalding kept three chickens hooded until they were nearly four days old, and thus describes their behavior: “ Each of these on being unhooded evinced the greatest terror of me, dashing off in the opposite direction whenever I sought to approach it. The table on which they were unhooded stood before a window, and each in its turn beat against the glass like a wild bird. One of them darted behind some books, and squeezing itself into a corner, remained cowering for a length of time. We might guess at the meaning of this strange and exceptional wildness; but the odd fact is enough for my present purpose. Whatever might have been the meaning of this marked change in their mental constitution—had they been unhooded on the previous day they would have run to me instead of from me—it could not have been the effect of experience; it must have resulted wholly from changes in their own organization.” 6 5 Spalding: M a c m illa n ’s M aga zin e, Feb. 1873, p. 287. 6 I b id ., p . 2 8 9 .

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Instinct

T h e ir case was precisely analogous to that of the Adirondack calves. T h e two opposite instincts relative to the same object ripen in succession. If the first one engenders a habit, that habit will inhibit the application of the second instinct to that object. A ll animals are tame during the earliest phase of their infancy. Habits formed then lim it the effects of whatever instincts of wildness may later be evolved. Mr. Romanes gives some very curious examples of the way in which instinctive tendencies may be altered by the habits to which their first ‘objects’ have given rise. T h e cases are a little more com­ plicated than those mentioned in the text, inasmuch as the object reacted on not only starts a habit which inhibits other kinds of im­ pulse towards it (although such other kinds m ight be natural), but even modifies by its own peculiar conduct the constitution of the impulse which it actually awakens. T w o of the instances in question are those of hens who hatched out broods of chicks after having (in three previous years) hatched ducks. T h ey strove to coax or to compel their new progeny to enter the water, and seemed much perplexed at their unwillingness. A n ­ other hen adopted a brood of young ferrets which, having lost their mother, were put under her. D uring all the time they were left with her she had to sit on the nest, for they could not wander like young chicks. She obeyed their hoarse growling as she would have obeyed her chickens’ peep. She combed out their hair with her bill, and “ used frequently to stop and look with one eye at the wriggling nest-full with an enquiring gaze expressive of astonishment.” A t other times she would fly up with a loud scream, doubtless because the orphans had nipped her in their search for teats. Finally, a Brahma hen nursed a young peacock during the enormous period of eig h teen m on th s, and never laid any eggs during all this time. T h e abnormal degree of pride which she showed in her wonderful chicken is described by Dr. Romanes as ludicrous.7 2. T h is leads us to the law o f transitoriness, which is this: M any in stin cts rip en at a certain age and th en fad e away. A consequence of this law is that if, during the time of such an instinct’s vivacity, objects adequate to arouse it are met with, a h a b it of acting on them is formed, which remains when the original instinct has passed away; but that if no such objects are met with, then no habit w ill be formed; and, later on in life, when the animal meets the 7 For the cases in fu ll see M en ta l E v o lu tio n in A n im a ls, pp. 213-217.

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objects, he w ill altogether fail to react, as at the earlier epoch he would instinctively have done. N o doubt such a law is restricted. Some instincts are far less transient than others—those connected with feeding and ‘selfpreservation’ may hardly be transient at all—and some, after fading out for a time, recur as strong as ever, e.g., the instincts of pairing and rearing young. T h e law, however, though not absolute, is certainly very widespread, and a few examples w ill illustrate just what it means. In the chickens and calves above mentioned it is obvious that the instinct to follow and become attached fades out after a few days, and that the instinct of flight then takes its place, the conduct of the creature towards man being decided by the formation or non-formation of a certain habit during those days. T h e transiency of the chicken’s instinct to follow is also proved by its conduct to­ wards the hen. Mr. Spalding kept some chickens shut up till they were comparatively old, and, speaking of these, he says: “A chicken that has not heard the call of the mother until eight or ten days old then hears it as if it heard it not. I regret to find that on this point my notes are not so full as I could wish, or as they might have been. There is, however, an account of one chicken that could not be returned to the mother when ten days old. The hen followed it, and tried to entice it in every way; still it continually left her and ran to the house or to any person of whom it caught sight. This it persisted in doing, though beaten back with a small branch dozens of times, and indeed cruelly maltreated. It was also placed under the mother at night, but it again left her in the morning.” T h e instinct of sucking is ripe in all mammals at birth, and leads to that habit of taking the breast which, in the human infant, may be prolonged by daily exercise long beyond its usual term of a year or a year and a half. But the instinct itself is transient, in the sense that if, for any reason, the child be fed by spoon during the first few days of its life and not put to the breast, it may be no easy matter after that to make it suck at all. So of calves. If their mother die, or be dry, or refuse to let them suck for a day or two, so that they are fed by hand, it becomes hard to get them to suck at all when a new nurse is provided. T h e ease with which sucking crea­ tures are weaned, by simply breaking the habit and giving them food in a new way, shows that the instinct, purely as such, must be entirely extinct.

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Assuredly the simple fact that instincts are transient, and that the effect of later ones may be altered by the habits which earlier ones have left behind, is a far more philosophical explanation than the notion of an instinctive constitution vaguely ‘deranged’ or ‘thrown out of gear.’ I have observed a Scotch terrier, born on the floor of a stable in December, and transferred six weeks later to a carpeted house, make, when he was less than four months old, a very elaborate pre­ tence of burying things, such as gloves, etc., with which he had played till he was tired. He scratched the carpet with his fore-feet, dropped the object from his mouth upon the spot, and then scratched all about it (with both fore- and hind-feet, if I remember rightly), and finally went away and let it lie. O f course, the act was entirely useless. I saw him perform it at that age, some four or five times, and never again in his life. T h e conditions were not present to fix a habit which should last when the prom pting instinct died away. But suppose meat instead of a glove, earth instead of a carpet, hunger-pangs instead of a fresh supper a few hours later, and it is easy to see how this dog m ight have got into a habit of burying superfluous food, which m ight have lasted all his life. W ho can swear that the strictly instinctive part of the food-burying propen­ sity in the wild Canidce may not be as short-lived as it was in this terrier? A similar instance is given by Dr. H. D. Schm idt8 of New O r­ leans: “ I may cite the example of a young squirrel which I had tamed, a number of years ago, when serving in the army, and when I had suffi­ cient leisure and opportunity to study the habits of animals. In the autumn before the winter sets in, adult squirrels bury as many nuts as they can collect separately in the ground. Holding the nut firmly between their teeth, they first scratch a hole in the ground, and after pointing their ears in all directions to convince themselves that no enemy is near, they ram—the head, with the nut still between the front teeth, serving as a sledge-hammer—the nut into the ground, and then fill up the hole by means of their paws. The whole process is executed with great rapidity, and, as it appeared to me, always with exactly the same movements; in fact, it is done so well that I could never discover the traces of the burial-ground. Now, as regards the young squirrel, which of course never had been present at the burial of a nut, I observed that, 8 T ra n sa ctio n s o f th e A m erica n N eu r o lo g ica l A sso cia tio n , vol. I, p. 129 (1875).

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after having eaten a number of hickory nuts to appease its appetite, it would take one between its teeth, then sit upright and listen in all di­ rections. Finding all right, it would scratch upon the smooth blanket, on which I was playing with it, as if to make a hole, then hammer with the nut between its teeth upon the blanket, and, finally, perform all the motions required to fill up a hole —in the air, after which it would jump away, leaving the nut of course uncovered.” T h e anecdote, of course, illustrates beautifully the close relation of instinct to reflex action—a particular perception calls forth par­ ticular movements, and that is all. Dr. Schmidt writes me that the squirrel in question soon passed away from his observation. It may fairly be presumed that, if he had been long retained prisoner in a cage, he would soon have forgotten his gesticulations over the hickory-nuts. One might, indeed, go still further with safety, and expect that, if such a captive squirrel were then set free, he would never after­ wards acquire this peculiar instinct of his tribe.9 Leaving lower animals aside, and turning to human instincts, we see the law of transiency corroborated on the widest scale by the alternation of different interests and passions as human life goes on. W ith the child, life is all play and fairy-tales and learning the external properties of ‘things’; with the youth, it is bodily ex­ ercises of a more systematic sort, novels of the real world, boonfellowship and song, friendship and love, nature, travel and adven­ ture, science and philosophy; with the man, ambition and policy, acquisitiveness, responsibility to others, and the selfish zest of the battle of life. If a boy grows up alone at the age of games and sports, and learns neither to play ball, nor row, nor sail, nor ride, nor skate, nor fish, nor shoot, probably he w ill be sedentary to the end of his days; and, though the best of opportunities be afforded him for learning these things later, it is a hundred to one but he w ill pass them by and shrink back from the effort of taking those neces­ sary first steps the prospect of which, at an earlier age, would have 9

“ M r. Spalding,” says M r. Lewes (P r o b le m s o f L i f e an d M in d , prob. I, chap. II,

§ 22, note), “ tells me o f a friend o f his who reared a gosling in the kitchen away from all water; when this bird was some m onths old, and was taken to a pond, it not on ly refused to go into the water, bu t when thrown in scram bled ou t again as a hen w ould have done. H ere was an instinct entirely suppressed.” See a sim ilar observation on ducklings in T . R . R . Stebbing; Essays on D a rw in ism (London, 1871), P- 7 3 -

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filled him with eager delight. T h e sexual passion expires after a protracted reign; but it is well known that its peculiar manifesta­ tions in a given individual depend almost entirely on the habits he may form during the early period of its activity. Exposure to bad company then makes him a loose liver all his days; chastity kept at first makes the same easy later on. In all pedagogy the great thing is to strike the iron while hot, and to seize the wave of the p u pil’s interest in each successive subject before its ebb has come, so that knowledge may be got and a habit of skill acquired—a headway of interest, in short, secured, on which afterwards the individual may float. T here is a happy moment for fixing skill in drawing, for m aking boys collectors in natural history, and presently dissectors and botanists; then for initiating them into the harmonies of me­ chanics and the wonders of physical and chemical law. Later, in­ trospective psychology and the metaphysical and religious mysteries take their turn; and, last of all, the drama of human affairs and worldly wisdom in the widest sense of the term. In each of us a saturation-point is soon reached in all these things; the impetus of our purely intellectual zeal expires, and unless the topic be one associated with some urgent personal need that keeps our wits con­ stantly whetted about it, we settle into an equilibrium , and live on what we learned when our interest was fresh and instinctive, with­ out adding to the store. Outside of their own business, the ideas gained by men before they are twenty-five are practically the only ideas they shall have in their lives. T h ey can n ot get anything new. Disinterested curiosity is past, the mental grooves and channels set, the power of assimilation gone. If by chance we ever do learn any­ thing about some entirely new topic we are afflicted with a strange sense of insecurity, and we fear to advance a resolute opinion. But with things learned in the plastic days of instinctive curiosity we never lose entirely our sense of being at home. T here remains a kinship, a sentiment of intimate acquaintance, which, even when we know we have failed to keep abreast of the subject, flatters us with a sense of power over it, and makes us feel not altogether out of the pale. Whatever individual exceptions m ight be cited to this are of the sort that ‘prove the rule.’ T o detect the moment of the instinctive readiness for the sub­ ject is, then, the first duty of every educator. As for the pupils, it would probably lead to a more earnest temper on the part of col­

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lege students if they had less belief in their unlim ited future in­ tellectual potentialities, and could be brought to realize that what­ ever physics and political economy and philosophy they are now acquiring are, for better or worse, the physics and political economy and philosophy that w ill have to serve them to the end. T h e natural conclusion to draw from this transiency of instincts is that m ost instincts are im p la n ted fo r th e sake o f g iv in g rise to habits, and that, this p u rp o se on ce a cco m p lish ed , th e in stin cts them selves, as su ch , have n o raison d ’etre in th e p sychical eco n om y, and co n seq u en tly fad e away. T h at occasionally an instinct should

fade before circumstances permit of a habit being formed, or that, if the habit be formed, other factors than the pure instinct should modify its course, need not surprise us. Life is full of the imperfect adjustment to individual cases, of arrangements which, taking the species as a whole, are quite orderly and regular. Instinct cannot be expected to escape this general risk. S P E C IA L H U M A N IN STIN C TS

Let us now test our principles by turning to human instincts in more detail. W e cannot pretend in these pages to be minute or ex­ haustive. But we can say enough to set all the above generalities in a more favorable light. But first, what kind of motor reactions upon objects shall we count as instincts? T his, as aforesaid, is a somewhat arbitrary matter. Some of the actions aroused in us by objects go no further than our own bodies. Such is the bristling up of the attention when a novel object is perceived, or the ‘expres­ sion’ on the face or the breathing apparatus of an emotion it may excite. These movements merge into ordinary reflex actions like laughing when tickled, or making a wry face at a bad taste. Other actions take effect upon the outer world. Such are flight from a wild beast, imitation of what we see a comrade do, etc. On the whole it is best to be catholic, since it is very hard to draw an exact line; and call both of these kinds of activity instinctive, so far as either may be naturally provoked by the presence of specific sorts of outward fact. Professor Preyer, in his careful little work, D ie S e ele des K in d e s, says “ instinctive acts are in man few in number, and, apart from those connected with the sexual passion, difficult to recognize after early youth is past.” And he adds, “ so much the more attention should we pay to the instinctive movements of new-born babies,

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sucklings, and small children.” T h a t instinctive acts should be easiest recog n ized in childhood would be a very natural effect of our principles of transitoriness, and of the restrictive influence of habits once acquired; but we shall see how far they are from being ‘few in num ber’ in man. Professor Preyer divides the movements of infants into im p u lsiv e, reflex, and in stin ctiv e. By impulsive movements he means random movements of limbs, body, and voice, with no aim, and before perception is aroused. Am ong the first reflex movements are crying on contact with the air, sneezing, sn ufflin g , sn oring , co u g h in g , sighin g, so b b in g , gagging, v o m itin g , h iccu p in g , starting, m o v in g th e lim b s w hen tic k le d , to u ch e d , or blow n u p o n , etc., etc.

O f the movements called by him instinctive in the child, Pro­ fessor Preyer gives a full account. Herr Schneider does the same; and as their descriptions agree with each other and with what other writers about infancy say, I w ill base my own very brief statement on theirs. S u ckin g : almost perfect at birth; not coupled with any congeni­ tal tendency to seek the breast, this being a later acquisition. As we have seen, sucking is a transitory instinct. B itin g an object placed in the mouth, ch ew in g and g rin d in g th e teet,h\ lic k in g sugar; making characteristic grim aces over bitter and sweet tastes; sp ittin g - out. C la sp in g an object which touches the fingers or toes. Later, at­ tempts to grasp at an object seen at a distance. P o in tin g at such objects, and making a peculiar so u n d exp ressive o f desire, which, in my own three children, was the first manifestation of speech, occurring many weeks before other significant sounds. Carrying to th e m o u th of the object, when grasped. T h is in­ stinct, guided and inhibited by the sense of taste, and combined with the instincts of biting, chewing, sucking, spitting-out, etc., and with the reflex act of swallowing, leads in the individual to a set of habits which constitute his fu n c tio n o f a lim en ta tio n , and which may or may not be gradually modified as life goes on. Cryin g at bodily discomfort, hunger, or pain, and at solitude. S m ilin g at being noticed, fondled, or smiled at by others. It seems very doubtful whether young infants have any instinctive fear of a terrible or scowling face. I have been unable to make my own children, under a year old, change their expression when I changed mine; at most they manifested attention or curiosity. Preyer in­

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stances a p rotru sion o f th e lips, which, he says, may be so great as to remind one of that in the chimpanzee, as an instinctive expression of •concentrated attention in the human infant. T u r n in g th e head aside as a gesture of rejection, a gesture usual­ ly accompanied with a frown and a bending back of the body, and with holding the breath. H o ld in g head erect. S ittin g up. Standing. L o c o m o tio n . T h e early movements of children’s limbs are more or less symmetrical. Later a baby w ill move his legs in alternation if suspended in the air. But until the impulse to walk awakens by the natural ripening of the nerve-centres, it seems to make no dif­ ference how often the child’s feet may be placed in contact with the ground; the legs remain limp, and do not respond to the sen­ sation of contact in the soles by muscular contractions pressing dow nw ards. N o sooner, however, is the standing impulse born, than the child stiffens his legs and presses downwards as soon as he feels the floor. In some babies this is the first locomotory reaction. In others it is preceded by the instinct to creep, which arises, as I can testify, often in a very sudden way. Yesterday the baby sat quite contentedly wherever he was put; to-day it has become impossible to keep him sitting at all, so irresistible is the impulse, aroused by the sight of the floor, to throw himself forwards upon his hands. Usually the arms are too weak, and the ambitious little experi­ menter falls on his nose. But his perseverance is dauntless, and he ends in a few days by learning to travel rapidly around the room in the quadrupedal way. T h e position of the legs in ‘creeping’ varies much from one child to another. My own child, when creep­ ing, was often observed to pick up objects from the floor with his mouth, a phenomenon which, as Dr. O. W . Holmes has remarked, like the early tendency to grasp with the toes, easily lends itself to interpretation as a reminiscence of prehuman ancestral habits. T h e walking instinct may awaken with no less suddenness, and its entire education be completed within a week’s compass, barring, of course, a little ‘grogginess’ in the gait. Individual infants vary enormously; but on the whole it is safe to say that the mode of de­ velopment of these locomotor instincts is inconsistent with the ac­ count given by the older English associationist school, of their be­ ing results of the individual’s education, due altogether to the

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gradual association of certain perceptions with certain haphazard movements and certain resultant pleasures. Mr. Bain has tried,10 by describing the demeanor of new-born lambs, to show that lo­ comotion is learn ed by a very rapid experience. But the observa­ tion recorded proves the faculty to be almost perfect from the first; and all others who have observed new-born calves, lambs, and pigs agree that in these animals the powers of standing and walking, and of interpreting the topographical significance of sights and sounds, are all but fully developed at birth. Often in animals who seem to be ‘learning’ to walk or fly the semblance is illusive. T h e awkwardness shown is not due to the fact that ‘experience’ has not yet been there to associate the successful movements and exclude the failures, but to the fact that the animal is beginning his at­ tempts before the co-ordinating centres have quite ripened for their work. Mr. Spalding’s observations on this point are conclusive as to birds. “Birds,” he says, “do not learn to fly. Two years ago I shut up five unfledged swallows in a small box not much larger than the nest from which they were taken. The little box, which had a wire front, was hung on the wall near the nest, and the young swallows were fed by their parents through the wires. In this confinement, where they could not even extend their wings, they were kept until after they were fully fledged. .. . On going to set the prisoners free, one was found dead . . . . The remaining four were allowed to escape one at a time. Two of these were perceptibly wavering and unsteady in their flight. One of them, after a flight of about ninety yards, disappeared among some trees.” No. 3 and No. 4 “never flew against anything, nor was there, in their avoiding objects, any appreciable difference between them and the old birds. No. 3 swept round the Wellingtonia, and No. 4 rose over the hedge just as we see the old swallows doing every hour of the day. I have this summer verified these observations. Of two swallows I had similarly confined, one, on being set free, flew a yard or two too close to the ground, rose in the direction of a beech-tree, which it gracefully avoided; it was seen for a considerable time sweeping round the beeches and performing magnificent evolutions in the air high above them. The other, which was observed to beat the air with its wings more than usual, was soon lost to sight behind some trees. Titmice, tomtits, and wrens I have made the subjects of a similar experiment and with simi­ lar results.” 11 10 and. th e In te lle c t, 3d ed., p p. 412-413, 675-676. H N a tu r e, xn , 507 (1875).

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In the light of this report, one may well be tempted to make a prediction about the human child, and say that if a baby were kept from getting on his feet for two or three weeks after the first im­ pulse to walk had shown itself in him,—a small blister on each sole would do the business,—he m ight then be expected to walk about as well, through the mere ripening of his nerve-centres, as if the ordinary process of ‘learning’ had been allowed to occur during all the blistered time. It is to be hoped that some scientific widower, left alone with his offspring at the critical moment, may ere long test this suggestion on the living subject. C lim b in g on trees, fences, furniture, banisters, etc., is a well-marked instinctive propensity which ripens after the fourth year. V ocalization. T h is may be either musical or significant. Very few weeks after birth the baby begins to express its spirits by emit­ ting vowel sounds, as much during inspiration as during expira­ tion, and w ill lie on its back cooing and gurgling to itself for nearly an hour. But this singing has nothing to do with speech. Speech is sound significant. D uring the second year a certain num ber of sig­ nificant sounds are gradually acquired; but talking proper does not set in till the instinct to im ita te soun ds ripens in the nervous system; and this ripening seems in some children to be quite abrupt. T h en speech grows rapidly in extent and perfection. T h e child imitates every word he hears uttered, and repeats it again and again with the most evident pleasure at his new power. A t this time it is quite impossible to talk w ith him, for his condition is that of ‘Echolalia,’—instead of answering the question, he simply reiterates it. T h e result is, however, that his vocabulary increases very fast; and little by little, with teaching from above, the young prattler understands, puts words together to express his own wants and perceptions, and even makes intelligent replies. From a speech­ less, he has become a speaking, animal. T h e interesting point with regard to this instinct is the oftentimes very sudden birth of the impulse to imitate sounds. Up to the date of its awakening the child may have been as devoid of it as a dog. Four days later his whole energy may be poured into this new channel. T h e habits of articulation formed during the plastic age of childhood are in most persons sufficient to inhibit the formation of new ones of a fundamentally different sort—witness the inevitable ‘foreign ac­ cent’ which distinguishes the speech of those who learn a language after early youth.

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invention, which his parents adopt, and which, as far as they go, form a new human tongue upon the earth; and in part they are his more or less successful imitations of words he hears the parents use. But the instinct of im ita tin g gestures develops earlier than that of imitating sounds,—unless the sympathetic crying of a baby when it hears another cry may be reckoned as imitation of a sound. Professor Preyer speaks of his child imitating the protrusion of the father’s lips in its fifteenth week. T h e various accomplishments of infancy, making ‘pat-a-cake,’ saying ‘bye-bye,’ ‘blowing out the can­ dle,’ etc., usually fall well inside the limits of the first year. Later come all the various imitative games in which childhood revels, playing ‘horse,’ ‘soldiers,’ etc., etc. And from this time onwards man is essentially th e imitative animal. His whole educability and in fact the whole history of civilization depend on this trait, which his strong tendencies to rivalry, jealousy, and acquisitiveness rein­ force. ‘H u m a n i n ih il a m e a lie n u m p u to ,’ is the motto of each indi­ vidual of the species; and makes him, whenever another individual shows a power or superiority of any kind, restless until he can ex­ hibit it himself. But apart from this kind of imitation, of which the psychological roots are complex, there is the more direct propensity to speak and walk and behave like others, usually without any con­ scious intention of so doing. And there is the imitative tendency which shows itself in large masses of men, and produces panics, and orgies, and frenzies of violence, and which only the rarest in­ dividuals can actively withstand. T h is sort of imitativeness is pos­ sessed by man in common with other gregarious animals, and is an instinct in the fullest sense of the term, being a blind impulse to act as soon as a certain perception occurs. It is particularly hard not to imitate gaping, laughing, or looking and running in a certain direction, if we see others doing so. Certain mesmerized subjects must automatically imitate whatever motion their operator makes before their eyes.12 A successful piece of mimicry gives to both by­ standers and mimic a peculiar kind of aesthetic pleasure. T h e dra­ matic impulse, the tendency to pretend one is someone else, con­ tains this pleasure of mimicry as one of its elements. Another element seems to be a peculiar sense of power in stretching one’s 12 See, for some excellen t pedagogic remarks about d o in g y o u r se lf w hat you want to get your p u pils to do, and not sim ply tellin g them to do it, B aum ann, H a n d b u c h d e r M o ra l (1879), p. 32 ff.

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own personality so as to include that of a strange person. In young children this instinct often knows no bounds. For a few months in one of my children’s third year, he literally hardly ever appeared in his own person. It was always, “ Play I am So-and-so, and you are So-and-so, and the chair is such a thing, and then we’ll do this or that.” If you called him by his name, H., you invariably got the reply, “ I’m not H., I’m a hyena, or a horse-car,” or whatever the feigned object m ight be. He outwore this impulse after a time; but w hile it lasted, it had every appearance of being the automatic re­ sult of ideas, often suggested by perceptions, working out irresisti­ ble motor effects. Imitation shades into E m u la tio n or R iva lry, a very intense instinct, especially rife with young children, or at least especially undisguised. Everyone knows it. Nine-tenths of the work of the world is done by it. W e know that if we do not do the task someone else w ill do it and get the credit, so we do it. It has very little connection with sympathy, but rather more with pugnacity, which we proceed in turn to con­ sider. P ug nacity; anger; resen tm en t. In many respects man is the most ruthlessly ferocious of beasts. As with all gregarious animals, ‘two souls,’ as Faust says, ‘dwell within his breast,’ the one of sociability and helpfulness, the other of jealousy and antagonism to his mates. T hough in a general way he cannot live without them, yet, as re­ gards certain individuals, it often falls out that he cannot live with them either. Constrained to be a member of a tribe, he still has a right to decide, as far as in him lies, of which other members the tribe shall consist. K illin g off a few obnoxious ones may often bet­ ter the chances of those that remain. And killing off a neighboring tribe from whom no good thing comes, but only competition, may m aterially better the lot of the whole tribe. Hence the gory cradle, the b e llu m o m n iu m contra om nes, in which our race was reared; hence the fickleness of human ties, the ease with which the foe of yesterday becomes the ally of to-day, the friend of to-day the enemy of tomorrow; hence the fact that we, the lineal representatives of the successful enactors of one scene of slaughter after another, must, whatever more pacific virtues we may also possess, still carry about with us, ready at any moment to burst into flame, the smoul­ dering and sinister traits of character by means of which they lived

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through so many massacres, harm ing others, but themselves un­ harmed. Sym pathy is an emotion as to whose instinctiveness psychologists have held hot debate, some of them contending that it is no prim i­ tive endowment, but, originally at least, the result of a rapid cal­ culation of the good consequences to ourselves of the sympathetic act. Such a calculation, at first conscious, would grow more uncon­ scious as it became more habitual, and at last, tradition and as­ sociation aiding, m ight prompt to actions which could not be dis­ tinguished from immediate impulses. It is hardly needful to argue against the falsity of this view. Some forms of sympathy, that of mother with child, for example, are surely primitive, and not in­ telligent forecasts of board and lodging and other support to be reaped in old age. Danger to the child blindly and instantaneously stimulates the mother to actions of alarm or defence. Menace or harm to the adult beloved or friend excites us in a corresponding way, often against all the dictates of prudence. It is true that sym­ pathy does not necessarily follow from the mere fact of gregarious­ ness. Cattle do not help a wounded comrade; on the contrary, they are more likely to dispatch him. But a dog w ill lick another sick dog, and even bring him food; and the sympathy of monkeys is proved by many observations to be strong. In man, then, we may lay it down that the sight of suffering or danger to others is a direct exciter of interest, and an immediate stimulus, if no complication hinders, to acts of relief. T here is nothing unaccountable or patho­ logical about this—nothing to justify Professor Bain’s assimilation of it to the ‘fixed ideas’ of insanity, as ‘clashing with the regular outgoings of the w ill.’ It may be as prim itive as any other ‘outgo­ ing,’ and may be due to a random variation selected, quite as prob­ ably as gregariousness and maternal love are, even in Spencer’s opinion, due to such variations. It is true that sympathy is peculiarly liable to inhibition from other instincts which its stimulus may call forth. T h e traveller whom the good Samaritan rescued may well have prompted such instinctive fear or disgust in the priest and Levite who passed him by, that their sympathy could not come to the front. T hen, of course, habits, reasoned reflections, and calculations may either check or reinforce one’s sympathy; as may also the instincts of love or hate, if these exist, for the suffering individual. T h e hunting

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and pugnacious instincts, when aroused, also inhibit our sympathy absolutely. T h is accounts for the cruelty of collections of men hounding each other on to bait or torture a victim. T h e blood mounts to the eyes, and sympathy’s chance is gone.13 T h e h u n tin g in stin ct has an equally remote origin in the evolu­ tion of the race.14 T h e hunting and the fighting instinct combine in many manifestations. T h e y both support the emotion of anger; they combine in the fascination which stories of atrocity have for most minds; and the utterly blind excitement of giving the rein to our fury when our blood is up (an excitement whose intensity is greater than that of any other human passion save one) is only ex­ plicable as an impulse aboriginal in character, and having more to do with immediate and overwhelm ing tendencies to muscular dis­ charge than to any possible reminiscences of effects of experience, or association of ideas. I say this here, because the pleasure of dis­ interested cruelty has been thought a paradox, and writers have sought to show that it is no primitive attribute of our nature, but rather a resultant of the subtile combination of other less malig­ nant elements of mind. T h is is a hopeless task. If evolution and the survival of the fittest be true at all, the destruction of prey and of human rivals m ust have been among the most important of m an’s prim itive functions, the fighting and the chasing instincts m ust have become ingrained. Certain perceptions m ust immedi­ ately, and without the intervention of inferences and ideas, have 13 Sym pathy has been enorm ously written about in books on Ethics. A very good recent chapter is that by T ho m as Fowler: T h e P r in c ip le s o f M ora ls, part n, chap. n. 14 "I must now refer to a very general passion which occurs in boys w ho are brought u p naturally, especially in the country. Everyone knows what pleasure a boy takes in the sight of a butterfly, fish, crab or other anim al, or o f a b ird ’s nest, and w hat a strong propensity he has for p u llin g apart, breaking, opening, and d e­ stroying all com plex objects, how he delights in pu llin g ou t the wings and legs of flies, and torm enting one anim al or another, how greedy he is to steal secret dainties, with w hat irresistible strength the p lu nd ering of birds’ nests attracts him w ithout his having the least intention of eating the eggs or the young birds. T h is fact has long been fam iliar, and is d aily rem arked by teachers; bu t an ex­ planation of these impulses which follow upon a mere perception of the objects, w ithout in most cases any representation being aroused of a futu re pleasure to be gained, has as yet been given by no one, and yet the impulses are very easy to explain. In m any cases it w ill be said that the boy pulls things apart from curiosity. Q u ite correct: but whence comes this curiosity, this irresistible desire to open every­ thing and see w hat is inside? W h at makes the boy take the eggs from the nest and destroy them when he never thinks o f eating them? T h ese are effects o f an hereditary instinct, so strong that warnings and punishm ents are unable to counteract it.” (Schneider: D e r m e n sc h lic h e W ille , p. 224. See also D e r th ierisch e W ille , pp. 180-2.)

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prompted emotions and motor discharges; and both the latter must, from the nature of the case, have been very violent, and therefore, when unchecked, of an intensely pleasurable kind. It is just because human bloodthirstiness is such a prim itive part of us that it is so hard to eradicate, especially where a fight or a hunt is promised as part of the fun.15 As Rochefoucauld says, there is something in the misfortunes of our very friends that does not altogether displease us; and an apos­ tle of peace w ill feel a certain vicious thrill run through him, and enjoy a vicarious brutality, as he turns to the column in his news­ paper at the top of which ‘Shocking A trocity’ stands printed in large capitals. See how the crowd flocks round a street-brawl! Con­ sider the enormous annual sale of revolvers to persons, not one in a thousand of whom has any serious intention of using them, but of whom each one has his carnivorous self-consciousness agreeably tickled by the notion, as he clutches the handle of his weapon, that he w ill be rather a dangerous customer to meet. See the ignoble crew that escorts every great pugilist—parasites who feel as if the glory of his brutality rubbed off upon them, and whose darling hope, from day to day, is to arrange some set-to of which they may 15 It is not surprising, in view o f the facts o f anim al history and evolution, that the very special object blood should have become the stim ulus for a very special interest and excitem ent. T h a t the sight of it should make people fain t is strange. Less so that a child who sees his blood flow should forthw ith become much more frigh tened than by the mere feelin g of the cut. H orned cattle often, though not always, becom e furiously excited at the smell o f blood. In some abnorm al hum an beings the sight or thought of it exerts a balefu l fascination. "B . and his father were at a n eighbou r’s one evening, and w h ile parin g apples, the old man acci­ d en tally cut his hand so severely as to cause the blood to flow profusely. B. was observed to become restless, nervous, pale, and to have undergone a pecu liar change in dem eanour. T a k in g advantage o f the distraction produced by the accident, B. escaped from the house and proceeded to a neighbou rin g farm -yard, where he cut the throat o f a horse, k illin g it.” Dr. 0 . H. T u k e , com m enting on this m an ’s case (,Jo u rn al o f M e n ta l Scien ce, O ctober 1885), speaks o f the influence o f blood upon him — his whole life had been one chain of cow ardly atrocities— and continues: “ T h e re can be no doubt that with some in dividuals it constitutes a fascination. . . . W e m ight speak of a m ania sanguinis. Dr. Savage adm itted a man from France into Bethlem H ospital some tim e ago, . . . one of whose earliest sym ptoms of insanity was the thirst for blood, which he endeavoured to satisfy by going to an abattoir in Paris. T h e man whose case I have brought forw ard had the same passion for gloating over blood, but had no attack of acute m ania. T h e sight o f blood . . . was distinctly a deligh t to him , and at any tim e blood aroused in him the worst elem ents o f his nature. Instances w ill easily be recalled in which murderers, undoubtedly insane, have described the intense pleasure they experienced in the warm blood o f children.”

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share the rapture without enduring the pains! T h e first blows at a prize-fight are apt to make a refined spectator sick; but his blood is soon up in favor of one party, and it w ill then seem as if the other fellow could not be banged and pounded and mangled enough— the refined spectator would like to reinforce the blows himself. Over the sinister orgies of blood of certain depraved and insane persons let a curtain be drawn, as well as over the ferocity with which otherwise fairly decent men may be animated, when (at the sacking of a town, for instance), the excitement of victory long de­ layed, the sudden freedom of rapine and of lust, the contagion of a crowd, and the impulse to imitate and outdo, all combine to swell the blind drunkenness of the killing-instinct, and carry it to its ex­ treme. No! those who try to account for this from above down­ wards, as if it resulted from the consequences of the victory being rapidly inferred, and from the agreeable sentiments associated with them in the imagination, have missed the root of the matter. O ur ferocity is blind, and can only be explained from below . Could we trace it back through our line of descent, we should see it taking more and more the form of a fatal reflex response, and at the same time becoming more and more the pure and direct emotion that it is.16 In childhood it takes this form. T h e boys who pull out grass­ hoppers’ legs and butterflies’ wings, and disembowel every frog they catch, have no th o u g h t at all about the matter. T h e creatures tempt their hands to a fascinating occupation, to which they have to yield. It is with them as with the ‘boy-fiend’ Jesse Pomeroy, who cut a little g irl’s throat, ‘just to see how she’d act.’ T h e normal provocatives of the impulse are all living beasts, great and small, towards which a contrary habit has not been formed—all human beings in whom we perceive a certain in te n t towards us, and a 16 “ Bom bonncl, having rolled w ith a panther to the border of a ravine, gets his head aw ay from the open m outh o f the anim al, and by a prodigious effort rolls her into the abyss. He gets up, blinded, spittin g a mass of blood, not kn ow in g exactly w hat the situation is. H e thinks on ly o f one thing, that he shall p ro bably die o f his wounds, but that before dyin g he must take vengeance on the panther. ‘I d id n ’t think of my p ain ,’ he tells us. 'Possessed entirely by the fu ry with which I was transported, I drew my hun tin g-kn ife, and not u nderstanding w hat had become of the beast, I sought for her on every side in order to continue the struggle. It was in this p ligh t that the A rabs found me when they arrived.’ ” (Quoted by G uyau : E squ isse d ’ u n e m ora le sans o b lig a tio n , etc., p. 210.)

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large num ber of human beings who offend us peremptorily, either by their look, or gait, or by some circumstance in their lives which we dislike. Inhibited by sympathy, and by reflection calling up im­ pulses of an opposite kind, civilized men lose the habit of acting out their pugnacious instincts in a perfectly natural way, and a passing feeling of anger, with its comparatively faint bodily ex­ pressions, may be the lim it of their physical combativeness. Such a feeling as this may, however, be aroused by a wide range of objects. Inanimate things, combinations of color and sound, bad bills of fare, may in persons who combine fastidious taste with an irascible temperament produce real ebullitions of rage. T hough the female sex is often said to have less pugnacity than the male, the difference seems connected more with the extent of the motor consequences of the impulse than with its frequency. W omen take offence and get angry, if anything, more easily than men, but their anger is in­ hibited by fear and other principles of their nature from expressing itself in blows. T h e hunting-instinct proper seems to be decidedly weaker in them than in men. T h e latter instinct is easily restricted by habit to certain objects, which become legitimate ‘game,’ while other things are spared. If the hunting-instinct be not exercised at all, it may even entirely die out, and a man may enjoy letting a w ild creature live, even though he m ight easily kill it. Such a type is now becoming frequent; but there is no doubt that in the eyes of a child of nature such a personage would seem a sort of moral monster. F ea r is a reaction aroused by the same objects that arouse ferocity. T h e antagonism of the two is an interesting study in instinctive dynamics. W e both fear, and wish to kill, anything that may kill us; and the question which of the two impulses we shall follow is usually decided by some one of those colla tera l circu m stances of the particular case, to be moved by which is the mark of superior mental natures. O f course this introduces uncertainty into the re­ action; but it is an uncertainty found in the higher brutes as well as in men, and ought not to be taken as proof that we are less in­ stinctive than they. Fear has bodily expressions of an extremely energetic kind, and stands, beside lust and anger, as one of the three most exciting emotions of which our nature is susceptible. T h e progress from brute to man is characterized by nothing so much as by the decrease in frequency of proper occasions for fear.

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In civilized life, in particular, it has at last become possible for large numbers of people to pass from the cradle to the grave with­ out ever having had a pang of genuine fear. Many of us need an attack of mental disease to teach us the meaning of the word. Hence the possibility of so much blindly optimistic philosophy and re­ ligion. T h e atrocities of life become ‘like a tale of little meaning tho’ the words are strong’ ; we doubt if anything like us ever really was within the tiger’s jaws, and conclude that the horrors we hear of are but a sort of painted tapestry for the chambers in which we lie so comfortably at peace with ourselves and with the world. Be this as it may, fear is a genuine instinct, and one of the earliest shown by the human child. N o ise s seem especially to call it forth. Most noises from the outer world, to a child bred in the house, have no exact significance. T h ey are simply startling. T o quote a good observer, M. Perez: “Children between three and ten months are less often alarmed by visual than by auditory impressions. In cats, from the fifteenth day, the contrary is the case. A child, three and a half months old, in the midst of the turmoil of a conflagration, in presence of the devouring flames and ruined walls, showed neither astonishment nor fear, but smiled at the woman who was taking care of him, while his parents were busy. The noise, however, of the trumpet of the firemen, who were approaching, and that of the wheels of the engine, made him start and cry. At this age I have never yet seen an infant startled at a flash of lightning, even when intense; but I have seen many of them alarmed at the voice of the thunder... . Thus fear comes rather by the ears than by the eyes, to the child without experience. It is natural that this should be reversed, or reduced, in animals organized to perceive danger afar. Accordingly, although I have never seen a child frightened at his first sight of fire, I have many a time seen young dogs, young cats, young chickens, and young birds frightened thereby. . . . I picked up some years ago a lost cat about a year old. Some months afterwards at the onset of cold weather I lit the fire in the grate of my study, which was her reception-room. She first looked at the flame in a very frightened way. I brought her near to it. She leaped away and ran to hide under the bed. Although the fire was lighted every day, it was not until the end of the winter that I could prevail upon her to stay upon a chair near it. T he next winter, however, all apprehension had disappeared. . . . Let us, then, conclude that there are hereditary dispositions to fear, which are independent of experience, but which experiences may end by at­

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tenuating very considerably. In the human infant I believe them to be particularly connected with the ear.” 17 T h e effect of noise in heightening any terror we may feel in adult years is very marked. T h e h o w lin g of the storm, whether on sea or land, is a principal cause of our anxiety when exposed to it. T h e writer has been interested in noticing in his own person, while lying in bed, and kept awake by the wind outside, how invariably each loud gust of it arrested momentarily his heart. A dog, attack­ ing us, is much more dreadful by reason of the noises he makes. Strange m en , and strange anim als, either large or small, excite fear, but especially men or animals advancing towards us in a threatening way. T h is is entirely instinctive and antecedent to ex­ perience. Some children will cry with terror at their very first sight of a cat or dog, and it will often be impossible for weeks to make them touch it. Others w ill wish to fondle it almost immediately. Certain kinds of ‘verm in,’ especially spiders and snakes, seem to excite a fear unusually difficult to overcome. It is impossible to say how much of this difference is instinctive and how much the result of stories heard about these creatures. T h a t the fear of ‘verm in’ ripens gradually, seemed to me to be proved in a child of my own to whom I gave a live frog once, at the age of six to eight months, and again when he was a year and a half old. T h e first time he seized it promptly, and holding it, in spite of its struggling, at last got its head into his mouth. He then let it crawl up his breast, and get upon his face, without showing alarm. But the second time, al­ though he had seen no frog and heard no story about a frog between-whiles, it was almost impossible to induce him to touch it. Another child, a year old, eagerly took some very large spiders into his hand. A t present he is afraid, but has been exposed meanwhile to the teachings of the nursery. One of my children from her birth upwards saw daily the pet pug-dog of the house, and never be­ trayed the slightest fear until she was (if I recollect rightly) about 17 L a P sy ch o lo g ie d e V en fa n t, pp. 72-75. In an account o f a young gorilla quoted from Falkenstein, by R . H artm ann (A n th r o p o id A p e s, International Scientific Se­ ries, vol. u i (New York, 1886), p. 265), it is said: “ H e very m uch disliked strange

noises. T h u n d er, the rain fallin g on the skylight, and especially the long-drawn note o f a p ip e or trum pet threw him into such agitation as to cause a sudden affec­ tion o f th e digestive organs, and it becam e expedien t to keep him at a distance. W hen he was slightly indisposed, we m ade use of this kin d of music with results as successful as if we had adm inistered purgative m edicine.”

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eight months old. T h e n the instinct suddenly seemed to develop, and with such intensity that familiarity had no m itigating effect. She screamed whenever the dog entered the room, and for many months remained afraid to touch him. It is needless to say that no change in the pug’s unfailingly friendly conduct had anything to do with this change of feeling in the child. Preyer tells of a young child screaming with fear on being car­ ried near to the sea. T h e great source of terror to infancy is soli­ tude. T h e teleology of this is obvious, as is also that of the infant’s expression of dismay—the never-failing cry—on waking up and finding himself alone. B la ck things, and especially dark places, holes, caverns, etc., arouse a peculiarly gruesome fear. T h is fear, as well as that of soli­ tude, of being ‘lost,’ are explained after a fashion by ancestral ex­ perience. Says Schneider: “It is a fact that men, especially in childhood, fear to go into a dark cavern or a gloomy wood. This feeling of fear arises, to be sure, partly from the fact that we easily suspect that dangerous beasts may lurk in these localities—a suspicion due to stories we have heard and read. But, on the other hand, it is quite sure that this fear at a certain perception is also directly inherited. Children who have been carefully guarded from all ghost-stories are nevertheless terrified and cry if led into a dark place, especially if sounds are made there. Even an adult can easily observe that an uncomfortable timidity steals over him in a lonely wood at night, although he may have the fixed conviction that not the slightest danger is near. “This feeling of fear occurs in many men even in their own house after dark, although it is much stronger in a dark cavern or forest. The fact of such instinctive fear is easily explicable when we consider that our savage ancestors through innumerable generations were accustomed to meet with dangerous beasts in caverns, especially bears, and were for the most part attacked by such beasts during the night and in the woods, and that thus an inseparable association between the percep­ tions of darkness, caverns, woods, and fear took place, and was in­ herited.” 18 H ig h places cause fear of a peculiarly sickening sort, though here, again, individuals differ enormously. T h e utterly blind in­ stinctive character of the motor impulses here is shown by the fact 1& D e r m e n sc h lic h e W ille , p. 224.

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that they are almost always entirely unreasonable, but that reason is powerless to suppress them. T h a t they are a mere incidental pe­ culiarity of the nervous system, like liability to sea-sickness, or love of music, with no teleological significance, seems more than prob­ able. T h e fear in question varies so much from one person to an­ other, and its detrimental effects are so much more obvious than its uses, that it is hard to see how it could be a selected instinct. Man is anatomically one of the best fitted of animals for clim bing about high places. T h e best psychical complement to this equip­ ment would seem to be a ‘level head’ when there, not a dread of going there at all. In fact, the teleology of fear, beyond a certain point, is very dubious. Professor Mosso, in his interesting mono­ graph, L a Paura (which has been translated into French), con­ cludes that many of its manifestations must be considered patho­ logical rather than useful; Bain, in several places, expresses the same opinion; and this, I think, is surely the view which any ob­ server without a p r io ri prejudices must take. A certain amount of tim idity obviously adapts us to the world we live in, but the fearparoxysm is surely altogether harmful to him who is its prey. Fear of the supernatural is one variety of fear. It is difficult to assign any normal object for this fear, unless it were a genuine ghost. But, in spite of psychical-research societies, science has not yet adopted ghosts; so we can only say that certain ideas of super­ natural agency, associated with real circumstances, produce a pe­ culiar kind of horror. T h is horror is probably explicable as the re­ sult of a combination of simpler horrors. T o bring the ghostly terror to its maximum, many usual elements of the dreadful must combine, such as loneliness, darkness, inexplicable sounds, espe­ cially of a dismal character, moving figures half discerned (or, if discerned, of dreadful aspect), and a vertiginous baffling of the expectation. T h is last element, which is in te lle ctu a l, is very impor­ tant. It produces a strange emotional ‘curdle’ in our blood to see a process with which we are familiar deliberately taking an unwonted course. Anyone’s heart would stop beating if he perceived his chair sliding unassisted across the floor. T h e lower animals appear to be sensitive to the mysteriously exceptional as well as ourselves. My friend Professor W . K. Brooks, of the Johns Hopkins University, told me of his large and noble dog being frightened into a sort of epileptic fit by a bone being drawn across the floor by a thread

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which the dog did not see. Darwin and Romanes have given similar experiences.19 T h e idea of the supernatural involves that the usual should be set at naught. In the witch and hobgoblin supernatural, other elements still of fear are brought in—caverns, slime and ooze, vermin, corpses, and the like.20 A human corpse seems normally to produce an instinctive dread, which is no doubt somewhat due to its mysteriousness, and which familiarity rapidly dispels. But, in view of the fact that cadaveric, reptilian, and underground horrors play so specific and constant a part in many nightmares and forms of delirium , it seems not altogether unwise to ask whether these forms of dreadful circumstance may not at a former period have been more normal objects of the environment than now. T h e ordi­ nary cock-sure evolutionist ought to have no difficulty in explain­ ing these terrors, and the scenery that provokes them, as relapses into the consciousness of the cave-men, a consciousness usually over­ laid in us by experiences of more recent date. T here are certain other pathological fears, and certain peculiari­ ties in the expression of ordinary fear, which m ight receive an ex­ planatory light from ancestral conditions, even infra-human ones. In ordinary fear, one may either run, or remain semi-paralyzed. T h e latter condition reminds us of the so-called death-shamming instinct shown by many animals. Dr. Lindsay, in his work M in d in th e L o w e r A n im a ls, says this must require great self-command in those that practise it. But it is really no feigning of death at all, and requires no self-command. It is simply a terror-paralysis which has been so useful as to become hereditary. T h e beast of prey does not think the motionless bird, insect, or crustacean dead. He simply 19 Cf. Rom anes: M e n ta l E v o lu tio n in A n im a ls, p. 156. 20 In the O v erla n d M o n th ly for 1886, a most interesting article on Laura B ridg­ m an’s w ritings has been published by M r. E. C. Sanford. A m ong other reminiscences of her early childhood, w hile she still knew nothing of the sign-language, the w on­ derful blin d deaf-m ute records the follow in g item in her qu ain t language: “ ‘ My F ather [he was a farm er and probably did his own butchering] used to enter his kitchen bringin g some killed anim als in, and deposited them on one o f sides o f the room m any times, as I perceived it, it make me shudder with terror because I did not know w hat the m atter was. I hated to approach the dead. O ne m orning I went to take a short walk w ith my M other. I went into a snug house for some tim e, they took me into a room where there was a coffin. I pu t my hand in the coffin and felt som ething so queer; it frightened me unpleasantly. I found som ething dead w rapped in a silk h ’d’k ’f so carefully. It must have been a body that [had] had vitality. I did not like to venture to exam ine the body for I was confounded.’ ”

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fails to notice them at all; because his senses, like ours, are much more strongly excited by a moving object than by a still one. It is the same instinct which leads a boy playing ‘I spy’ to hold his very breath when the seeker is near, and which makes the beast of prey himself in many cases motionlessly lie in wait for his victim or silently ‘stalk’ it, by rapid approaches alternated with periods of immobility. It is the opposite of the instinct which makes us jum p up and down and move our arms when we wish to attract the notice of someone passing far away, and makes the shipwrecked sailor frantically wave a cloth upon the raft where he is floating when a distant sail appears. Now, may not the statue-like, crouching im­ m obility of some melancholiacs, insane with general anxiety and fear of everything, be in some way connected with this old instinct? T h ey can give no reason for their fear to move; but immobility makes them feel safer and more comfortable. Is not this the mental state of the ‘feigning’ animal? Again, take the strange symptom which has been described of late years by the rather absurd name of agoraphobia. T h e patient is seized with palpitation and terror at the sight of any open place or broad street which he has to cross alone. He trembles, his knees bend, he may even faint at the idea. W here he has sufficient selfcommand he sometimes accomplishes the object by keeping safe under the lee of a vehicle going across, or joining himself to a knot of other people. But usually he slinks round the sides of the square, hugging the houses as closely as he can. T h is emotion has no utility in a civilized man, but when we notice the chronic agoraphobia of our domestic cats, and see the tenacious way in which many wild animals, especially rodents, cling to cover, and only venture on a dash across the open as a desperate measure—even then making for every stone or bunch of weeds which may give a momentary shelter —when we see this we are strongly tempted to ask whether such an odd kind of fear in us be not due to the accidental resurrection, through disease, of a sort of instinct which may in some of our an­ cestors have had a permanent and on the whole a useful part to play? A p p ro p ria tio n or A cq u isitiv en ess. T h e beginnings of acquisitive­ ness are seen in the impulse which very young children display, to snatch at, or beg for, any object which pleases their attention. Later, when they begin to speak, among the first words they empha­

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size are ‘me’ and ‘m ine.’ 21 T h e ir earliest quarrels with each other are about questions of ownership; and parents of twins soon learn that it conduces to a quiet house to buy all presents in impartial duplicate. O f the later evolution of the proprietary instinct I need not speak. Everyone knows how difficult a thing it is not to covet whatever pleasing thing we see, and how the sweetness of the thing often is as gall to us so long as it is another’s. W hen another is in possession, the impulse to appropriate the thing often turns into the impulse to harm him —what is called envy, or jealousy, ensues. In civilized life the impulse to own is usually checked by a variety of considerations, and only passes over into action under circum ­ stances legitimated by habit and common consent, an additional example of the way in which one instinctive tendency may be in­ hibited by others. A variety of the proprietary instinct is the im­ pulse to form collections of the same sort of thing. It differs much in individuals, and shows in a striking way how instinct and habit interact. For, although a collection of any given thing—like postage-stamps—need not be begun by any given person, yet the chances are that if accidentally it be begun by a person with the collecting instinct, it w ill probably be continued. T h e chief interest of the objects, in the collector’s eyes, is that they are a collection, and that they are his. Rivalry, to be sure, inflames this, as it does every other passion, yet the objects of a collector’s mania need not be necessari­ ly such as are generally in demand. Boys w ill collect anything that they see another boy collect, from pieces of chalk and peach-pits up to books and photographs. O ut of a hundred students whom I questioned, only four or five had never collected anything.22 T h e associationist psychology denies that there is any blind prim itive instinct to appropriate, and would explain all acquisitive­ ness, in the first instance, as a desire to secure the ‘pleasures’ which 2 1 1 lately saw a boy of five (who had been told the story o f H ector and A chilles) teaching his younger brother, aged three, how to play H ector, w h ile he him self should play A chilles, and chase him round the w alls o f T ro y . H avin g armed them ­ selves, A chilles advanced, shouting “ W here’ s my Patroklos?’’ W hereupon th e wouldbe H ector piped up, qu ite distracted from his ro le, “ W h ere’s my Patroklos? I want a Patroklos! I w ant a Patroklos!’’— and broke u p the gam e. O f w hat kind of a thing a Patroklos m ight be he had, o f course, no notion— enough that his brother had one, for him to claim one too. 22 In T h e N a tio n for Septem ber 3, 1885, President G . S. H all has given some account o f a statistical research on Boston school-boys, by Miss W iltse, from which it appears that only nineteen out of two hundred and twenty-seven had m ade no collections.

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the objects possessed may yield; and, secondly, as the association of the idea of pleasantness with the h o ld in g of the thing, even though the pleasure originally got by it was only gained through its ex­ pense or destruction. T h u s the miser is shown to us as one who has transferred to the gold by which he may buy the goods of this life all the emotions which the goods themselves would yield; and who thereafter loves the gold for its own sake, preferring the means of pleasure to the pleasure itself. T here can be little doubt that much of this analysis a broader view of the facts would have dispelled. ‘T h e miser’ is an abstraction. T h ere are all kinds of misers. T h e common sort, the excessively niggardly man, simply exhibits the psychological law that the potential has often a far greater influ­ ence over our mind than the actual. A man w ill not marry now, because to do so puts an end to his indefinite potentialities of choice of a partner. He prefers the latter. He will not use open fires or wear his good clothes, because the day may come when he will have to use the furnace or dress in a worn-out coat, ‘and then where will he be?’ For him, better the actual evil than the fear of it; and so it is with the common lot of misers. Better to live poor now, with the p o w er of living rich, than to live rich at the risk of losing the power. These men value their gold, not for its own sake, but for its powers. Demonetize it, and see how quickly they w ill get rid of it! T h e associationist theory is, as regards them, entirely at fault: they care nothing for the gold in se. W ith other misers there combines itself with this preference of the power over the act the far more instinctive element of the sim­ ple collecting propensity. Everyone collects money, and when a man of petty ways is smitten with the collecting mania for this object he necessarily becomes a miser. Here again the associationist psychology is wholly at fault. T h e hoarding instinct prevails wide­ ly among animals as well as among men. Professor Silliman has thus described one of the hoards of the California wood-rat, made in an empty stove of an unoccupied house: “ ‘I found the outside to be composed entirely of spikes, all laid with symmetry, so as to present the points of the nails outward. In the centre of this mass was the nest, composed of finely divided fibres of hemp-packing. Interlaced with the spikes were the following:—About two dozen knives, forks, and spoons, all the butcher’s knives, three in number; a large carving knife, fork, and steel, several large plugs of tobacco . . . an old purse containing some silver, matches and tobacco;

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nearly all the small tools from the tool closets, among them several large augers . . . all of which must have been transported some dis­ tance, as they were originally stored in different parts of the house. . . . T he outside casing of a silver watch was disposed of in one part of the pile, the glass of the same watch in another, and the works in still another.’ ’,23 In every lunatic asylum we find the collecting instinct develop­ ing itself in an equally absurd way. Certain patients w ill spend all their time picking pins from the floor and hoarding them. Others collect bits of thread, buttons, or rags, and prize them exceedingly. Now, ‘the M iser’ par e x c e lle n c e of the popular imagination and of melodrama, the monster of squalor and misanthropy, is simply one of these mentally deranged persons. His intellect may in many mat­ ters be clear, but his instincts, especially that of ownership, are in­ sane, and their insanity has no more to do with the association of ideas than with the precession of the equinoxes. As a matter of fact his hoarding usually is directed to money; but it also includes al­ most anything besides. Lately in a Massachusetts town there died a miser who principally hoarded newspapers. These had ended by so filling all the rooms of his good-sized house from floor to ceiling that his living-space was restricted to a few narrow channels be­ tween them. Even as I write, the morning paper gives an account of the emptying of a miser’s den in Boston by the City Board of Health. W hat the owner hoarded is thus described: “He gathered old newspapers, wrapping-paper, incapacitated um­ brellas, canes, pieces of common wire, cast-off clothing, empty barrels, pieces of iron, old bones, battered tin-ware, fractured pots, and bushels of such miscellany as is to be found only at the city ‘dump.’ The empty barrels were filled, shelves were filled, every hole and corner was filled, and in order to make more storage-room, ‘the hermit’ covered his store­ room with a network of ropes, and hung the ropes as full as they could hold of his curious collections. There was nothing one could think of that wasn’t in that room. As a wood-sawyer, the old man had never thrown away a saw-blade or a wood-buck. The bucks were rheumatic and couldn’t stand up, and the saw-blades were worn down to almost nothing in the middle. Some had been actually worn in two, but the ends were carefully saved and stored away. As a coal-heaver, the old man had never cast off a worn-out basket, and there were dozens of the remains of the old things, patched up with canvas and rope-yarns, in 23 Q uoted in Lindsay: M in d in th e L o w e r A n im a ls , vol. 11, p. 151.

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the store-room. There were at least two dozen old hats, fur, cloth, silk, and straw,” etc. O f course there may be a great many ‘associations of ideas’ in the miser’s mind about the things he hoards. He is a thinking be­ ing, and must associate things; but, without an entirely blind im­ pulse in this direction behind all his ideas, such practical results could never be reached.24 K le p to m a n ia , as it is called, is an uncontrollable impulse to ap­ propriate, occurring in persons whose ‘associations of ideas’ would naturally all be of a counteracting sort. Kleptomaniacs often promptly restore, or permit to be restored, what they have taken; so the impulse need not be to keep, but only to take. But elsewhere hoarding complicates the result. A gentleman, with whose case I am acquainted, was discovered, after his death, to have a hoard in his barn of all sorts of articles, mainly of a trumpery sort, but in­ cluding pieces of silver which he had stolen from his own dining­ room, and utensils which he had stolen from his own kitchen, and for which he had afterwards bought substitutes with his own money. C o n stru ctiv en ess is as genuine and irresistible an instinct in man as in the bee or the beaver. W hatever things are plastic to his hands, those things he must remodel into shapes of his own, and the result of the remodelling, however useless it may be, gives him more pleasure than the original thing. T h e mania of young children for breaking and pulling apart whatever is given them is more often the expression of a rudimentary constructive impulse than of a destructive one. ‘Blocks’ are the playthings of which they are least apt to tire. Clothes, weapons, tools, habitations, and works of art are the result of the discoveries to which the plastic instinct leads, each individual starting where his forerunners left off, and tradi­ tion preserving all that once is gained. Clothing, where not necessi­ tated by cold, is nothing but a sort of attempt to remodel the hu­ man body itself—an attempt still better shown in the various tattooings, tooth-filings, scarrings, and other mutilations that are practised by savage tribes. As for habitation, there can be no doubt that the instinct to seek a sheltered nook, open only on one side, 24 Cf. F lin t: M in d , vol. I, pp. 330—333; Sully: ib id ., p. 567. Most p eople probably have the im p u ls e to keep bits o f useless finery, old tools, pieces o f once useful a p ­ paratus, etc.; bu t it is norm ally eith er inhibited at the outset by reflection, or, if yielded to, the objects soon grow displeasing and are thrown away.

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into which he may retire and be safe, is in man quite as specific as the instinct of birds to build a nest. It is not necessarily in the shape of a shelter from wet and cold that the need comes before him, but he feels less ex p o sed and more at home when not altogether unin­ closed than when lying all abroad. O f course the utilitarian origin of this instinct is obvious. But to stick to bare facts at present and not to trace origins, we must admit that this instinct now exists, and probably always has existed, since man was man. Habits of the most complicated kind are reared upon it. But even in the midst of these habits we see the blind instinct cropping out; as, for ex­ ample, in the fact that we feign a shelter within a shelter, by back­ ing up beds in rooms with their heads against the wall, and never lying in them the other way—just as dogs prefer to get under or upon some piece of furniture to sleep, instead of lying in the mid­ dle of the room. T h e first habitations were caves and leafy grottoes, bettered by the hands; and we see children to-day, when playing in wild places, take the greatest delight in discovering and appro­ priating such retreats and ‘playing house’ there. Play. T h e impulse to play in special ways is certainly instinctive. A boy can no more help running after another boy who runs provokingly near him, than a kitten can help running after a rolling ball. A child trying to get into its own hand some object which it sees another child pick up, and the latter trying to get away with the prize, are just as much slaves of an automatic prompting as are two chickens or fishes, of which one has taken a big morsel into its mouth and decamps with it, while the other darts after in pursuit. A ll simple active games are attempts to gain the excitement yielded by certain prim itive instincts, through feigning that the occasions for their exercise are there. T h ey involve imitation, hunting, fight­ ing, rivalry, acquisitiveness, and construction, combined in various ways; their special rules are habits, discovered by accident, selected by intelligence, and propagated by tradition; but unless they were founded in automatic impulses, games would lose most of their zest. T h e sexes differ somewhat in their play-impulses. As Schneider says: “The little boy imitates soldiers, models clay into an oven, builds houses, makes a wagon out of chairs, rides on horseback upon a stick, drives nails with the hammer, harnesses his brethren and comrades together and plays the stage-driver, or lets himself be captured as a wild horse by someone else. The girl, on the contrary, plays with her doll,

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washes and dresses it, strokes it, clasps and kisses it, puts it to bed and tucks it in, sings it a cradle-song, or speaks with it as if it were a living being. . . . This fact that a sexual difference exists in the play-impulse, that a boy gets more pleasure from a horse and rider and a soldier than from a doll, while with the girl the opposite is the case, is proof that an hereditary connection exists between the perception of certain things (horse, doll, etc.), and the feeling of pleasure, as well as between this latter and the impulse to play.” 25 T here is another sort of human play, into which higher aesthetic feelings enter. I refer to that love of festivities, ceremonies, ordeals, etc., which seems to be universal in our species. T h e lowest savages have their dances, more or less formally conducted. T h e various religions have their solemn rites and exercises, and civic and m ili­ tary power symbolize their grandeur by processions and celebra­ tions of divers sorts. W e have our operas and parties and masquer­ ades. An element common to all these ceremonial games, as they may be called, is the excitement of concerted action as one of an organized crowd. T h e same acts, performed with a crowd, seem to mean vastly more than when performed alone. A walk with the people on a holiday afternoon, an excursion to drink beer or coffee at a popular ‘resort,’ or an ordinary ball-room, are examples of this. Not only are we amused at seeing so many strangers, but there is a distinct stimulation at feeling our share in their collective life. T h e perception of them is the stimulus; and our reaction upon it is our tendency to join them and do what they are doing, and our unwillingness to be the first to leave off and go home alone. T h is seems a prim itive element in our nature, as it is difficult to trace any association of ideas that could lead up to it; although, once granting it to exist, it is very easy to see what its uses to a tribe might be in facilitating prompt and vigorous collective action. T h e formation of armies and the undertaking of military expedi­ tions would be among its fruits. In the ceremonial games it is but the impulsive starting point. W hat particular things the crowd then shall do, depends for the most part on the initiative of individuals, fixed by imitation and habit, and continued by tradition. T h e co­ operation of other aesthetic pleasures with games, ceremonial or other, has a great deal to do with the selection of such as shall be­ come stereotyped and habitual. T h e peculiar form of excitement called by Professor Bain the emotion of p u rsu it, the pleasure of a 2®D e r m e n s c h lic h e W ille , p. 205.

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tent of the play-activities in human life is too obvious to be more than mentioned.26 C u riosity . Already pretty low down among vertebrates we find that any object may excite attention, provided it be only n o v el, and that attention may be followed by approach and exploration by nostril, lips, or touch. Curiosity and fear form a couple of antago­ nistic emotions liable to be awakened by the same outward thing, and manifestly both useful to their possessor. T h e spectacle of their alternation is often amusing enough, as in the tim id approaches and scared wheelings which sheep or cattle w ill make in the pres­ ence of some new object they are investigating. I have seen alli­ gators in the water act in precisely the same way towards a man seated on the beach in front of them—gradually drawing near as long as he kept still, frantically careering back as soon as he made a movement. Inasmuch as new objects may always be advantageous, it is better that an animal should not a b so lu tely fear them. But, in­ asmuch as they may also possibly be harmful, it is better that he should not be quite indifferent to them either, but on the whole remaining on the q u i viv e, ascertain as much about them, and what they may be likely to bring forth, as he can, before settling down to rest in their presence. Some such susceptibility for being excited and irritated by the mere novelty, as such, of any movable feature of the environment must form the instinctive basis of all human curiosity; though, of course, the superstructure absorbs contributions from so many other factors of the emotional life that the original root may be hard to find. W ith what is called scientific curiosity, and with metaphysical wonder, the practical instinctive root has probably nothing to do. T h e stimuli here are not objects, but ways of conceiving objects; and the emotions and actions they give rise to are to be classed, with many other aesthetic manifesta­ tions, sensitive and motor, as in cid e n ta l features of our mental life. T h e philosophic brain responds to an inconsistency or a gap in its knowledge, just as the musical brain responds to a discord in what it hears. A t certain ages the sensitiveness to particular gaps and the 26 Professor Lazarus ( Ü b e r d ie R e iz e des S p iels, B erlin, 1883, p. 44) denies that we have an in stin c t to p lay, and says the root o f the m atter is the aversion to rem ain u n o c c u p ie d , which substitutes a sham occupation when no real one is ready. No d oub t this is true; bu t w hy the p articu lar form s o f sham occupation? T h e ele m en ts o f all bodily games and of cerem onial games are given by direct excito-m otor stim­ ulations— just as when puppies chase one another and swallows have a parliam ent.

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pleasure of resolving particular puzzles reach their maximum, and then it is that stores of scientific knowledge are easiest and most naturally laid in. But these effects may have had nothing to do with the uses for which the brain was originally given; and it is prob­ ably only within a few centuries, since religious beliefs and eco­ nomic applications of science have played a prominent part in the conflicts of one race with another, that they may have helped to ‘select’ for survival a particular type of brain. I shall have to con­ sider this matter of incidental and supernumerary faculties in Chapter X X V III. S o cia b ility and Shyness. As a gregarious animal, man is excited both by the absence and by the presence of his kind. T o be alone is one of the greatest of evils for him. Solitary confinement is by many regarded as a mode of torture too cruel and unnatural for civilized countries to adopt. T o one long pent up on a desert island, the sight of a human footprint or a human form in the distance would be the most tumultuously exciting of experiences. In mor­ bid states of mind, one of the commonest symptoms is the fear of being alone. T h is fear may be assuaged by the presence of a little child, or even of a baby. In a case of hydrophobia known to the writer, the patient insisted on keeping his room crow ded with neighbors all the while, so intense was his fear of solitude. In a gregarious animal, the perception that he is alone excites him to vigorous activity. Mr. Galton thus describes the behavior of the South African cattle whom he had such good opportunities for ob­ serving: “Although the ox has little affection for, or individual interest in, his fellows, he cannot endure even a momentary severance from his herd. If he be separated from it by stratagem or force, he exhibits every sign of mental agony; he strives with all his might to get back again, and when he succeeds, he plunges into its middle to bathe his whole body with the comfort of closest companionship.” 27 Man is also excited by the presence of his kind. T h e bizarre ac­ tions of dogs m eeting strange dogs are not altogether without a parallel in our own constitution. W e cannot meet strangers with­ out a certain tension, or talk to them exactly as to our familiars. T his is particularly the case if the stranger be an important per27 I n q u ir ie s in to H u m a n F a cu lty , p. 72.

T h e Principles of Psychology

sonage. It may then happen that we not only shrink from meeting his eye, but actually cannot collect our wits or do ourselves any sort o f justice in his presence. "This odd state of mind,” says Darwin,28 “is chiefly recognized by the face reddening, by the eyes being averted or cast down, and by awkward, nervous movements of the body... . Shyness seems to depend on sensitiveness to the opinion, whether good or bad, of others, more especially with respect to external appearance. Strangers neither know nor care anything about our conduct or character, but they may, and often do, criticize our appearance . . . . The consciousness of anything peculiar, or even new, in the dress, or any slight blemish on the person, and more especially on the face—points which are likely to attract the attention of strangers—makes the shy intolerably shy.29 On the other hand, in those cases in which conduct and not personal appearance is concerned, we are much more apt to be shy in the presence of acquaint­ ances, whose judgment we in some degree value, than in that of strangeers. . . . Some persons, however, are so sensitive, that the mere act of speaking to almost any one is sufficient to rouse their self-consciousness, and a slight blush is the result. Disapprobation . . . causes shyness and blushing much more readily than does approbation . . . . Persons who are exceedingly shy are rarely shy in the presence of those with whom they are quite familiar, and of whose good opinion and sympathy they are perfectly assured;—for instance, a girl in the presence of her mother. . . . Shyness . . . is closely related to fear; yet it is distinct from fear in the ordinary sense. A shy man dreads the notice of strangers, but can hardly be said to be afraid of them; he may be as bold as a hero in battle, and yet have no self-confidence about trifles in the presence of strangers. Almost every one is extremely nervous when first addressing a public assembly, and most men remain so throughout their lives.” As Mr. Darwin observes, a real dread of definite consequences may enter into this ‘stage-fright’ and complicate the shyness. Even so our shyness before an important personage may be complicated by what Professor Bain calls ‘servile terror,’ based on representa­ tion of definite dangers if we fail to please. But both stage-fright and servile terror may exist with the most indefinite apprehensions of danger, and, in fact, when our reason tells us there is no occasion for alarm. W e must, therefore, admit a certain amount of purely 28 t h e E xp ressio n o f th e E m o tio n s in M an an d A n im a ls (New York, 1873), p. 330. 29 “ T h e certainty that we are w ell dressed,” a charm ing woman has said, "gives us a peace of heart com pared to which that yielded by the consolations o f religion is as n othing.”

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instinctive perturbation and constraint, due to the consciousness that we have become objects for other people’s eyes. Mr. Darwin goes on to say: “ Shyness comes on at a very early age. In one of my own children, when two years and three months old, I saw a trace of what certainly appeared to be shyness, directed towards myself after an absence from home of only a week.” Every parent has noticed the same sort of thing. Considering the despotic powers of rulers in savage tribes, respect and awe must, from time immemori­ al, have been emotions excited by certain individuals; and stagefright, servile terror, and shyness, must have had as copious oppor­ tunities for exercise as at the present time. W hether these impulses could ever have been useful, and selected for usefulness, is a ques­ tion which, it would seem, can only be answered in the negative. Apparently they are pure hindrances, like fainting at sight of blood or disease, sea-sickness, a dizzy head on high places, and certain squeamishnesses of aesthetic taste. T h ey are in cid e n ta l emotions, in spite of which we get along. But they seem to play an important part in the production of two other propensities, about the in­ stinctive character of which a good deal of controversy has pre­ vailed. I refer to cleanliness and modesty, to which we must pro­ ceed, but not before we have said a word about another impulse closely allied to shyness. I mean— Secretiveness, which, although often due to intelligent calcula­ tion and the dread of betraying our interests in some more or less definitely foreseen way, is quite as often a blind propensity, serv­ ing no useful purpose, and is so stubborn and ineradicable a part of the character as fully to deserve a place among the instincts. Its natural stimuli are unfam iliar human beings, especially those whom we respect. Its reactions are the arrest of whatever we are saying or doing when such strangers draw nigh, coupled often with the pretense that we were not saying or doing that thing, but pos­ sibly something different. Often there is added to this a disposition to mendacity when asked to give an account of ourselves. W ith many persons the first impulse, when the door-bell rings, or a visi­ tor is suddenly announced, is to scuttle out of the room, so as not to be ‘caught.’ W hen a person at whom we have been looking be­ comes aware of us, our immediate impulse may be to look the other way, and pretend we have not seen him. Many friends have con­ fessed to me that this is a frequent phenomenon with them in meeting acquaintances in the street, especially unfam iliar ones.

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T h e bow is a secondary correction of the primary feint that we do not see the other person. Probably most readers will recognize in themselves, at least, the start, the nascent disposition, on many oc­ casions, to act in each and all of these several ways. T h a t the ‘start’ is neutralized by second thought proves it to come from a deeper region than thought. T here is unquestionably a native impulse in everyone to conceal love-affairs, and the acquired impulse to con­ ceal pecuniary affairs seems in many to be almost equally strong. It is to be noted that even where a given habit of concealment is reflective and deliberate, its motive is far less often definite pru­ dence than a vague aversion to have one’s sanctity invaded and one’s personal concerns fingered and turned over by other people. Thus, some persons will never leave anything with their name written on it, where others may pick it up—even in the woods, an old envelope must not be thrown on the ground. Many cut all the leaves of a book of which they may be reading a single chapter, so that no one shall know which one they have singled out, and all this with no d e fin ite notion of harm. T h e impulse to conceal is more apt to be provoked by superiors than by equals or inferiors. How differently do boys talk together when their parents are not by! Servants see more of their masters’ characters than masters of servants’.30 W here we conceal from our equals and familiars, there is probably always a definite element of prudential prevision in­ volved. C o lle c tiv e secrecy, mystery, enters into the emotional in­ terest of many games, and is one of the elements of the importance men attach to freemasonries of various sorts, being delightful apart from any end. C lea n lin ess. Seeing how very filthy savages and exceptional in­ dividuals among civilized people may be, philosophers have 30 T hackeray, in his exquisite R o u n d a b o u t P a p er, “ On a Chalk-M ark on the D oor,” says: “ You get truth h a b itu a lly from equals only; so m y good M r. H olyshade, d o n ’t talk to me abou t the h abitu al candour o f the young Etonian o f high birth , o r I have m y ow n opin ion o f y o u r candour or discernm ent when you do. No. T o m B ow lin g is the soul o f honour and has been true to Black-eyed Syousan since the last tim e they parted at W ap p in g O ld Stairs; bu t do you suppose T o m is perfectly frank, fam iliar, and above-board in his conversation w ith A dm iral Nelson, K.C.B.? T h e re are secrets, prevarications, fibs, if you w ill, between T om and the A dm iral — between your crew (of servants) and th e ir cap tain . I know I hire a w orthy, clean, agreeable, and conscientious m ale or fem ale hypocrite, at so m any guineas a year,

to do so and so for me. W ere he other than hypocrite I w ould send him about his business."

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doubted whether any genuine instinct of cleanliness exists, and whether education and habit be not responsible for whatever amount of it is found. W ere it an instinct, its stimulus would be dirt, and its characteristic reaction the shrinking from contact therewith, and the cleaning of it away after contact had occurred. Now, if some animals are cleanly, men may be so, and there can be no doubt that some kinds of matter are natively repugnant, both to sight, touch, and smell—excrementitious and putrid things, blood, pus, entrails, and diseased tissues, for example. It is true that the shrinking from contact with these things may be inhibited very easily, as by a medical education; and it is equally true that the impulse to clean them away may be inhibited by so slight an obstacle as the thought of the coldness of the ablution, or the neces­ sity of getting up to perform it. It is also true that an impulse to cleanliness, habitually checked, will become obsolete fast enough. But none of these facts prove the impulse never to have been there.31 It seems to be there in all cases; and then to be particularly amen­ able to outside influences, the child having his own degree of squeamishness about what he shall touch or eat, and later being either hardened or made more fastidious still by the habits he is forced to acquire and the examples among which he lives. Examples get their hold on him in this way, that a particularly evil-smelling or catarrhal or lousy comrade is rather offensive to him, and that he sees the odiousness in another of an amount of dirt to which he would have no spontaneous objection if it were on his own skin. T h a t we d is lik e in others things w h ich we tolera te in ou rselves is a law of our aesthetic nature about which there can be no doubt. But as soon as generalization and reflection step in, this judging of others leads to a new way of regarding ourselves. “W ho taught you politeness? T h e im polite,” is, I believe, a Chinese prov­ erb. T h e concept, ‘dirty fellow,’ which we have formed, becomes one under which we personally shrink from being classed; and so we ‘wash up,’ and set ourselves right, at moments when our social self-consciousness is awakened, in a manner towards which no strictly instinctive native prom pting exists. But the standard of 31 T h e insane sym ptom called “ m ysophobia,” or dread o f foulness, w hich leads a p atien t to wash his hands perhaps a hundred times a day, h ard ly seems exp licable w ithout supposing a prim itive im pulse to clean on e’s self o f which it is, as it were, the convulsive exaggeration.

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology

cleanliness attained in this way is not likely to go beyond the mu­ tual tolerance for one another of the members of the tribe, and hence may comport a good deal of actual filth. M o d esty , Sham e. W hether there be an instinctive impulse to hide certain parts of the body and certain acts is perhaps even more open to doubt than whether there be an instinct of cleanliness. A n ­ thropologists have denied it, and in the utter shamelessness of in­ fancy and of many savage tribes have seemed to find a good basis for their views. It must, however, be remembered that infancy proves nothing, and that, as far as sexual modesty goes, the sexual impulse itself works directly against it at times of excitement, and with reference to certain people; and that habits of immodesty con­ tracted with those people may forever afterwards inhibit any im­ pulse to be modest towards th em . T h is would account for a great deal of actual immodesty, even if an original modest impulse were there. On the other hand, the modest impulse, if it do exist, must be admitted to have a singularly ill-defined sphere of influence, both as regards the presences that call it forth, and as regards the acts to which it leads. Ethnology shows it to have very little back­ bone of its own, and to follow easily fashion and example. Still, it is hard to see the ubiquity of so m e sort of tribute to shame, how­ ever perverted—as where female modesty consists in covering the face alone, or immodesty in appearing before strangers unpainted— and to believe it to have no impulsive root whatever. Now, what may the impulsive root be? I believe that, for one thing, it is shy­ ness, the feeling of dread that unfam iliar persons, as explained above, may inspire us withal. Such persons are the original stimuli to our modesty.32 But the actions of modesty are quite different from the actions of shyness. T h e y consist of the restraint of certain bodily functions, and of the covering of certain parts; and why do such particular actions necessarily ensue? T h a t there may be in the human animal, as such, a ‘blind’ and immediate automatic im­ pulse to such restraints and coverings in respect-inspiring presences is a possibility difficult of actual disproof. But it seems more likely, from the facts, that the actions of modesty are suggested to us in a 32 “ W e often find modesty com ing in only in the presence o f foreigners, especially o f clothed Europeans. O n ly before these do the In d ian women in B razil cover them ­ selves w ith their girdle, only before these do the women on T im o r conceal their bosom. In A ustralia we find the same thing h appenin g.” (Th eodor W aitz: A n ­ th r o p o lo g ie d e r N a tu r v ö lk er , vol. I, p. 358.) T h e auth or gives bib liographical ref­ erences, which I om it.

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roundabout way; and that, even more than those of cleanliness, they arise from the application in the second instance to ourselves of judgments prim arily passed upon our mates. It is not easy to be­ lieve that, even among the nakedest savages, an unusual degree of cynicism and indecency in an individual should not beget a certain degree of contempt, and cheapen him in his neighbor’s eyes. H u­ man nature is sufficiently homogeneous for us to be sure that ev­ erywhere reserve must inspire some respect, and that persons who suffer every liberty are persons whom others disregard. N ot to be like such people, then, would be one of the first resolutions sug­ gested by social self-consciousness to a child of nature just emerging from the unreflective state. A nd the resolution would probably acquire effective pungency for the first time when the social selfconsciousness was sharpened into a real fit of shyness by some per­ son being present whom it was important not to disgust or dis­ please. Public opinion would of course go on to build its positive precepts upon this germ; and, through a variety of examples and experiences, the ritual of modesty would grow, until it reached the New England pitch of sensitiveness and range, making us say stomach instead of belly, lim b instead of leg, retire instead of go to bed, and forbidding us to call a female dog by name. A t bottom this amounts to the admission that, though in some shape or other a natural and inevitable feature of human life, mod­ esty need not necessarily be an instinct in the pure and simple excito-motor sense of the term. L o v e . O f all propensities, the sexual impulses bear on their face the most obvious signs of being instinctive, in the sense of blind, automatic, and untaught. T h e teleology they contain is often at variance with the wishes of the individuals concerned; and the ac­ tions are performed for no assignable reason but because Nature urges just that way. Here, if ever, then, we ought to find those characters of fatality, infallibility, and uniformity, which, we are told, make of actions done from instinct a class so utterly apart. But is this so? T h e facts are just the reverse: the sexual instinct is particularly liable to be checked and modified by slight differences in the individual stimulus, by the inward condition of the agent himself, by habits once acquired, and by the antagonism of con­ trary impulses operating on the mind. One of these is the ordinary shyness recently described; another is what might be called the a n ti-sexu a l in stin ct, the instinct of personal isolation, the actual

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repulsiveness to us of the idea of intimate contact with most of the persons we meet, especially those of our own sex.33 T h u s it comes about that this strongest passion of all, so far from being the most ‘irresistible,’ may, on the contrary, be the hardest one to give rein to, and that individuals in whom the inhibiting influences are po­ tent may pass through life and never find an occasion to have it gratified. T here could be no better proof of the truth of that pro­ position with which we began our study of the instinctive life in man, that irregularity of behavior may come as well from the pos­ session of too many instincts as from the lack of any at all. T h e instinct of personal isolation, of which we have spoken, ex­ ists more strongly in men with respect to one another, and more strongly in women with respect to men. In women it is called coy­ ness, and has to be positively overcome by a process of wooing be­ fore the sexual instinct inhibits it and takes its place. As Darwin has shown in his book on the D e scen t o f M a n and S e x u a l S e lectio n , it has played a vital part in the amelioration of all higher animal types, and is to a great degree responsible for whatever degree of chastity the human race may show. It illustrates strikingly, how­ ever, the law of the inhibition of instincts by habits—for, once broken through with a given person, it is not apt to assert itself again; and habitually broken through, as by prostitutes, with vari­ ous persons, it may altogether decay. H abit also fixes it in us to­ wards certain individuals: nothing is so particularly displeasing as the notion of close personal contact with those whom we have long known in a respectful and distant way. T h e fondness of the an­ cients and of modern Orientals for forms of unnatural vice, of which the notion affects us with horror, is probably a mere case of the way in which this instinct may be inhibited by habit. W e can hardly suppose that the ancients had by gift of Nature a propensity of which we are devoid, and were all victims of what is now a pathological aberration limited to individuals. It is more probable that with them the instinct of physical aversion towards a certain class of objects was inhibited early in life by habits, formed under the influence of exa m p le; and that then a kind of sexual appetite, of which very likely most men possess the germinal possibility, de­ veloped itself in an unrestricted way. T h a t the development of it in an abnormal way may check its development in the normal way, 33 T o most of us it is even unpleasant to sit down in a chair still w arm from occupancy by another person’s body. T o m any, hand-shaking is disagreeable.

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Instinct

seems to be a well-ascertained medical fact. A nd that the direction of the sexual instinct towards one individual tends to inhibit its application to other individuals, is a law, upon which, though it suffers many exceptions, the whole rég im e of monogamy is based. These details are a little unpleasant to discuss, but they show so beautifully the correctness of the general principles in the light of which our review has been made, that it was impossible to pass them over unremarked. Jealousy is unquestionably instinctive. P a ren ta l L o v e is an instinct stronger in woman than in man, at least in the early childhood of its object. I need do little more than quote Schneider’s lively description of it as it exists in her: “As soon as a wife becomes a mother her whole thought and feeling, her whole being, is altered. Until then she had only thought of her own well-being, of the satisfaction of her vanity; the whole world appeared made only for her; everything that went on about her was only noticed so far as it had personal reference to herself; she asked of everyone that he should appear interested in her, pay her the requisite attention, and as far as possible fulfil her wishes. Now, however, the centre of the world is no longer herself, but her child. She does not think of her own hunger, she must first be sure that the child is fed. It is nothing to her that she herself is tired and needs rest, so long as she sees that the child’s sleep is disturbed; the moment it stirs she awakes, though far stronger noises fail to arouse her now. She, who formerly could not bear the slightest carelessness of dress, and touched everything with gloves, al­ lows herself to be soiled by the infant, and does not shrink from seizing its clouts with her naked hands. Now, she has the greatest patience with the ugly, piping cry-baby (Schreihals ), whereas until now every dis­ cordant sound, every slightly unpleasant noise, made her nervous. Every limb of the still hideous little being appears to her beautiful, every movement fills her with delight. She has, in one word, transferred her entire egoism to the child, and lives only in it. Thus, at least, it is in all unspoiled, naturally-bred mothers, who, alas! seem to be growing rarer; and thus it is with all the higher animal-mothers. The maternal joys of a cat, for example, are not to be disguised. With an expression of infinite comfort she stretches out her fore-legs to offer her teats to her children, and moves her tail with delight when the little hungry mouths tug and suck. . . . But not only the contact, the bare look of the offspring affords endless delight, not only because the mother thinks that the child will some day grow great and handsome and bring her many joys, but because she has received from Nature an instinctive love for her children. She does not herself know why she is so happy,

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and why the look of the child and the care of it are so agreeable, any more than the young man can give an account of why he loves a maid­ en, and is so happy when she is near. Few mothers, in caring for their child, think of the proper purpose of maternal love for the preservation of the species. Such a thought may arise in the father’s mind; seldom in that of the mother. The latter feels only . . . that it is an everlasting delight to hold the being which she has brought forth protectingly in her arms, to dress it, to wash it, to rock it to sleep, or to still its hunger.” So far the worthy Schneider, to whose words may be added this remark, that the passionate devotion of a mother—ill herself, per­ haps—to a sick or dying child is perhaps the most simply beautiful moral spectacle that human life affords. Contem ning every danger, trium phing over every difficulty, outlasting all fatigue, woman’s love is here invincibly superior to anything that man can show. These are the most prominent of the tendencies which are worthy of being called instinctive in the human species.34 It will be observed that n o o th er m am m al, n o t ev en th e m o n k ey , show s so large an array. In a perfectly-rounded development every one of these instincts would start a habit towards certain objects and in­ hibit a habit towards certain others. Usually this is the case; but, in 34 Some w ill, of course, find the list too large, others too sm all. W ith the bound­ aries o f instinct fading into reflex action below, and into acquired h abit or sug­ gested activity above, it is likely that there w ill always be controversy about just w hat to include under the class-name. Shall we add the propensity to walk along a curbstone, or any other narrow p ath, to the list of instincts? Shall we subtract secretiveness, as due to shyness or to fear? W ho knows? M eanw hile ou r physiological m ethod has this inestim able advantage, that such questions o f lim it have neither theoretical nor practical im portance. T h e facts once noted, it matters little how they are nam ed. Most authors give a shorter list than that in the text. T h e phrenologists add adhesiveness, inhabitiveness, love of approbation , etc., etc., to th eir list of ‘sentim ents,’ which in the main agree w ith ou r list of instincts. Fortlage, in his System d e r P sy c h o lo g ic , classes am ong the T r ie b e all the vegetative physiological functions. Santlus (Ztir P sy c h o lo g ic d e r m e n sch lisch e n T r ie b e , L eipzig, 1864) says there are at bottom but three instincts, that o f ‘ B ein g,’ that of ‘Function,’ and that o f ‘L ife .’ T h e ‘Instinct o f B ein g’ he subdivides into a n im a l, em bracing the activities o f all the senses; and p sy ch ica l, em bracing the acts of the intellect and of the ‘transem piric consciousness.’ T h e ‘Instinct o f F un ction ’ he divides into sex u a l, inc lin a tio n a l (friendship, attachm ent, honor); and m oral (religion, p h ilan th ropy, faith , truth, m oral freedom , etc.). T h e ‘Instinct of L ife ’ embraces con servation (nutrition, motion); so cia b ility (im itation, ju rid ical and ethical arrangements); and person al in te r est (love o f independence and freedom, acquisitiveness, self-defence). Such a m uddled list as this shows how great are the advantages o f the physiological analysis we have used.

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the one-sided development of civilized life, it happens that the timely age goes by in a sort of starvation of objects, and the indi­ vidual then grows up with gaps in his psychic constitution which future experiences can never fill. Compare the accomplished gen­ tleman with the poor artisan or tradesman of a city: during the adolescence of the former, objects appropriate to his growing in­ terests, bodily and mental, were offered as fast as the interests awoke, and, as a consequence, he is armed and equipped at every angle to meet the world. Sport came to the rescue and completed his education where real things were lacking. He has tasted of the essence of every side of human life, being sailor, hunter, athlete, scholar, fighter, talker, dandy, man of affairs, etc., all in one. Over the city poor boy’s youth no such golden opportunities were hung, and in his manhood no desires for most of them exist. Fortunate it is for him if gaps are the only anomalies his instinctive life pre­ sents; perversions are too often the fruit of his unnatural bringingup.

1057

Chapter X X V ’ The Emotions

In speaking of the instincts it has been impossible to keep them separate from the emotional excitements which go with them. O b­ jects of rage, love, fear, etc., not only prompt a man to outward deeds, but provoke characteristic alterations in his attitude and vis­ age, and affect his breathing, circulation, and other organic func­ tions in specific ways. W hen the outward deeds are inhibited, these latter emotional expressions still remain, and we read the anger in the face, though the blow may not be struck, and the fear betrays itself in voice and color, though one may suppress all other sign. In stin c tiv e reaction s an d em o tio n a l exp ression s thus shade im p e r­ cep tib ly in to each other. Every o b je c t that ex cites an in stin ct e x ­ cites an e m o tio n as w ell. Emotions, however, fall short of instincts,

in that the emotional reaction usually terminates in the subject’s own body, whilst the instinctive reaction is apt to go farther and enter into practical relations with the exciting object. Emotional reactions are often excited by objects with which we have no practical dealings. A ludicrous object, for example, or a beautiful object are not necessarily objects to which we d o any­ thing; we simply laugh, or stand in admiration, as the case may be. T h e class of emotional, is thus rather larger than that of instinc­ tive, impulses, commonly so called. Its stimuli are more numerous, and its expressions are more internal and delicate, and often less • Parts o f this chapter have already appeared in an article publish ed in 1884 in M in d .

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T h e E m otions

practical. T h e physiological plan and essence of the two classes of impulse, however, is the same. As with instincts, so with emotions, the mere memory or imagi­ nation of the object may suffice to liberate the excitement. One may get angrier in thinking over one’s insult than at the moment of receiving it; and we melt more over a mother who is dead than we ever did when she was living. In the rest of the chapter I shall use the word o b je c t of emotion indifferently to mean one which is physically present or one which is merely thought of. It would be tedious to go through a complete list of the reactions which characterize the various emotions. For that the special trea­ tises must be referred to. A few examples of their variety, however, ought to find a place here. Let me begin with the manifestations of G rief as a Danish physiologist, C. Lange, describes them :1 “ The chief feature in the physiognomy of grief is perhaps its para­ lyzing effect on the voluntary movements. This effect is by no means as extreme as that which fright produces, being seldom more than that degree of weakening which makes it cost an effort to perform actions usually done with ease. It is, in other words, a feeling of weariness; and (as in all weariness) movements are made slowly, heavily, without strength, unwillingly, and with exertion, and are limited to the fewest possible. By this the grieving person gets his outward stamp: he walks slowly, unsteadily, dragging his feet and hanging his arms. His voice is weak and without resonance, in consequence of the feeble activity of the muscles of expiration and of the larynx. He prefers to sit still, sunk in himself and silent. The tonicity or ‘latent innervation’ of the muscles is strikingly diminished. The neck is bent, the head hangs (‘bowed down’ with grief), the relaxation of the cheek- and jaw-muscles makes the face look long and narrow, the jaw may even hang open. The eyes appear large, as is always the case where the orbicularis muscle is para­ lyzed, but they may often be partly covered by the upper lid which droops in consequence of the laming of its own levator. With this con­ dition of weakness of the voluntary nerve- and muscle-apparatus of the whole body, there coexists, as aforesaid, just as in all states of similar motor weakness, a subjective feeling of weariness and heaviness, of something which weighs upon one; one feels ‘downcast,’ ‘oppressed,’ ‘laden,’ one speaks of his ‘weight of sorrow,’ one must ‘bear up’ under it, just as one must ‘keep down’ his anger. Many there are who ‘suc­ cumb’ to sorrow to such a degree that they literally cannot stand up­ right, but sink or lean against surrounding objects, fall on their knees, l Ü b er G e m ü th sb ew eg u n g en , übersetzt von H . K u rella (Leipzig, 1887).

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or, like Romeo in the monk’s cell, throw themselves upon the earth in their despair. “ But this weakness of the entire voluntary motor apparatus (the socalled apparatus of ‘animal’ life) is only one side of the physiology of grief. Another side, hardly less important, and in its consequences per­ haps even more so, belongs to another subdivision of the motor appa­ ratus, namely, the involuntary or ‘organic’ muscles, especially those which are found in the walls of the blood-vessels, and the use of which is, by contracting, to diminish the latter’s calibre. These muscles and their nerves, forming together the ‘vaso motor apparatus,’ act in grief contrarily to the voluntary motor apparatus. Instead of being para­ lyzed, like the latter, the vascular muscles are more strongly contracted than usual, so that the tissues and organs of the body become anaemic. The immediate consequence of this bloodlessness is pallor and shrunk­ enness, and the pale color and collapsed features are the peculiarities which, in connection with the relaxation of the visage, give to the vic­ tim of grief his characteristic physiognomy, and often give an impres­ sion of emaciation which ensues too rapidly to be possibly due to real disturbance of nutrition, or waste uncompensated by repair. Another regular consequence of the bloodlessness of the skin is a feeling of cold, and shivering. A constant symptom of grief is sensitiveness to cold, and difficulty in keeping warm. In grief, the inner organs are unquestionably anaemic as well as the skin. This is of course not obvious to the eye, but many phenomena prove it. Such is the diminution of the various secre­ tions, at least of such as are accessible to observation. The mouth grows dry, the tongue sticky, and a bitter taste ensues which, it would appear, is only a consequence of the tongue’s dryness. [The expression ‘bitter sorrow’ may possibly arise from this.] In nursing women the milk di­ minishes or altogether dries up. There is one of the most regular mani­ festations of grief, which apparently contradicts these other physiologi­ cal phenomena, and that is the weeping, with its profuse secretion of tears, its swollen reddened face, red eyes, and augmented secretion from the nasal mucous membrane.” Lange goes on to suggest that this may be a reaction from a previously contracted vaso motor state. T h e explanation seems a forced one. T h e fact is that there are changeable expressions of grief. T h e weeping is as apt as not to be immediate, especially in women and children. Some men can never weep. T h e tearful and the dry phases alternate in all who can weep, sobbing storms being followed by periods of calm; and the shrunken, cold, and pale con­ dition which Lange describes so well is more characteristic of a severe settled sorrow than of an acute mental pain. Properly we

1060

T h e Em otions

have two distinct emotions here, both prompted by the same ob­ ject, it is true, but affecting different persons, or the same person at different times, and fe e lin g quite differently whilst they last, as anyone’s consciousness will testify. T h ere is an excitement during the crying fit which is not without a certain pungent pleasure of its own; but it would take a genius for felicity to discover any dash of redeeming quality in the feeling of dry and shrunken sorrow.— O ur author continues: “ If the smaller vessels of the lungs contract so that these organs be­ come anaemic, we have (as is usual under such conditions) the feeling of insufficient breath, and of oppression of the chest, and these torment­ ing sensations increase the sufferings of the griever, who seeks relief by long-drawn sighs, instinctively, like everyone who lacks breath from whatever cause.2 2 T h e bronchial tubes m ay be contracted as well as the ram ifications o f the p u lm o­ nary artery. Professor J. H enle has, am ongst his A n th r o p o lo g isc h e Vorträge, an e x ­ quisite one on the “ N atu ral H istory o f the Sigh,” in which he represents ou r inspira­ tions as the result o f a battle between the red muscles o f ou r skeleton, ribs, and diaphragm , and the w hite ones o f the lungs, w hich seek to narrow the calibre o f the air-tubes. “ In the norm al state the form er easily conquer, but under other conditions they either conquer with difficulty or are defeated. . . . T h e contrasted em otions e x ­ press themselves in sim ilarly contrasted wise, by spasm and paralysis o f the unstriped muscles, and for the most part alike in all the organs which are provided w ith them , as arteries, skin, and bronchial tubes. T h e contrast am ong the em otions is generally expressed by divid in g them into excitin g and depressing ones. It is a rem arkable fact that the depressing emotions, like fear, horror, disgust, increase the contraction o f these smooth muscles, w hilst the excitin g em otions, like joy, anger, etc., m ake them relax. Contrasts o f tem perature act sim ilarly, cold like the depressing, and warm th like the excitin g, emotions. C old produces p allor and goose-flesh, warm th smooths o u t the skin and widens the vessels. If one notices the uncom fortable m ood brought abou t by strained expectation, anxiety before a p u b lic address, vexation at an unm erited affront, etc., one finds that the suffering part o f it concentrates itself p rin cip ally in the chest, and that it consists in a soreness, hardly to be called pain, felt in the m iddle o f the breast and due to an unpleasant resistance which is offered to the movements o f inspiration, and sets a lim it to their extent. T h e insufficiency o f the diaphragm is obtruded upon consciousness, and we try by the aid o f the external voluntary chest-muscles to draw a deeper breath. [This is the sigh.] If we fail, the unpleasantness o f the situation is increased, for then to ou r m ental distress is added the corporeally repugnant feeling o f lack o f air, a slight degree o f suffocation. If, on the contrary, the ou ter muscles overcom e the resistance o f the inner ones, the o p ­ pressed breast is lightened. W e think we speak sym bolically when we speak o f a

stone w eigh ing on ou r heart, or o f a burden rolled from off ou r breast. B ut really we on ly express the exact fact, for we should have to raise the entire w eight o f the atm osphere (about 820 kilog.) at each inspiration, if the air did not balance it by stream ing into ou r lungs.” (P. 54.) It m ust not be forgotten that an in hibition o f the inspiratory centre sim ilar to that produced by excitin g the superior laryngeal nerve m ay possibly p lay a part in these phenom ena. For a very interesting discussion o f

1061

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology

“ The anaemia of the brain in grief is shown by intellectual inertia, dullness, a feeling of mental weariness, effort, and indisposition to work, often by sleeplessness. Indeed it is the anaemia of the motor cen­ tres of the brain which lies at the bottom of all that weakening of the voluntary powers of motion which we described in the first instance.” My impression is that Dr. Lange simplifies and universalizes the phenomena a little too much in this description, and in particular that he very likely overdoes the anaemia-business. But such as it is, his account may stand as a favorable specimen of the sort of de­ scriptive work to which the emotions have given rise. T ake next another emotion, Fear, and read what Mr. Darwin says of its effects: “ Fear is often preceded by astonishment, and is so far akin to it, that both lead to the senses of sight and hearing being instantly aroused. In both cases the eyes and mouth are widely opened, and the eyebrows raised. The frightened man at first stands like a statue motionless and breathless, or crouches down as if instinctively to escape observation. The heart beats quickly and violently, so that it palpitates or knocks against the ribs; but it is very doubtful whether it then works more efficiently than usual, so as to send a greater supply of blood to all parts of the body; for the skin instantly becomes pale, as during incipient faintness. This paleness of the surface, however, is probably in large part, or exclusively, due to the vaso motor centre being affected in such a manner as to cause the contraction of the small arteries of the skin. That the skin is much affected under the sense of great fear, we see in the marvellous manner in which perspiration immediately exudes from it. This exudation is all the more remarkable, as the surface is then cold, and hence the term a cold sweat; whereas, the sudorific glands are properly excited into action when the surface is heated. The hairs also on the skin stand erect; and the superficial muscles shiver. In connec­ tion with the disturbed action of the heart, the breathing is hurried. The salivary glands act imperfectly; the mouth becomes dry, and is often opened and shut. I have also noticed that under slight fear there is a strong tendency to yawn. One of the best-marked symptoms is the trembling of all the muscles of the body; and this is often first seen in the lips. From this cause, and from the dryness of the mouth, the voice becomes husky or indistinct, or may altogether fail. ‘Obstupui, steteruntque comae et vox faucibus haesit.’ . . . As fear increases into an the respiratory difficulty and its connection w ith anxiety and fear, see “ A Case of H ydrop h ob ia” by the lam ented T h o m as B. Curtis in the B o sto n M ed ica l a n d Surgical J o u rn a l, N ov. 7 and 14, 1878, and remarks thereon by James J. Putnam , ib id ., N ov. 21.

1062

T h e Em otions

agony of terror, we behold, as under all violent emotions, diversified results. The heart beats wildly, or may fail to act and faintness ensue; there is a death-like pallor; the breathing is laboured; the wings of the nostrils are widely dilated; ‘there is a gasping and convulsive motion of the lips, a tremor on the hollow cheek, a gulping and catching of the throat’; the uncovered and protruding eyeballs are fixed on the object o£ terror; or they may roll restlessly from side to side, hue illu c volvens oculos totum que pererrat. The pupils are said to be enormously dilated. All the muscles of the body may become rigid, or may be thrown into convulsive movements. The hands are alternately clenched and opened, often with a twitching movement. The arms may be protruded, as if to avert some dreadful danger, or may be thrown wildly over the head. The Rev. Mr. Hagenauer has seen this latter action in a terrified Aus­ tralian. In other cases there is a sudden and uncontrollable tendency to headlong flight; and so strong is this, that the boldest soldiers may be seized with a sudden panic.” 3 Finally take Hatred, and read the synopsis of its possible effects as given by Sig. Mantegazza:4 “ Withdrawal of the head backwards, withdrawal of the trunk; pro­ jection forwards of the hands, as if to defend one’s self against the hated object; contraction or closure of the eyes; elevation of the upper lip and closure of the nose,—these are all elementary movements of turn­ ing away. Next threatening movements, as: intense frowning; eyes wide open; display of teeth; grinding teeth and contracting jaws; opened mouth with tongue advanced; clenched fists; threatening action of arms; stamping with the feet; deep inspirations—panting; growling and various cries; automatic repetition of one word or syllable; sudden weakness and trembling of voice; spitting. Finally, various miscella­ neous reactions and vaso motor symptoms: general trembling; convul­ sions of lips and facial muscles, of limbs and of trunk; acts of violence to one’s self, as biting fist or nails; sardonic laughter; bright redness of face; sudden pallor of face; extreme dilatation of nostrils; standing up of hair on head.” W ere we to go through the whole list of emotions which have been named by men, and study their organic manifestations, we should but ring the changes on the elements which these three typical cases involve. Rigidity of this muscle, relaxation of that, constriction of arteries here, dilatation there, breathing of this sort or that, pulse slowing or quickening, this gland secreting and that 3 E xp ressio n o f th e E m o tio n s, D arw in, pp. 290-2. 4 L a P h y s io n o m ie e t ^ expression des s en tim en ts (Paris, 1885), p. 140.

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one dry, etc., etc. W e should, moreover, find that our descriptions had no absolute truth; that they only applied to the average man; that every one of us, almost, has some personal idiosyncrasy of ex­ pression, laughing or sobbing differently from his neighbor, or red­ dening or growing pale where others do not. W e should find a like variation in the objects which excite emotion in different persons. Jokes at which one explodes with laughter nauseate another, and seem blasphemous to a third; and occasions which overwhelm me with fear or bashfulness are just what give you the full sense of ease and power. T h e internal shadings of emotional feeling, moreover, merge endlessly into each other. Language has discriminated some of them, as hatred, antipathy, animosity, dislike, aversion, malice, spite, vengefulness, abhorrence, etc., etc.; but in the dictionaries of synonyms we find these feelings distinguished more by their sever­ ally appropriate objective stimuli than by their conscious or sub­ jective tone. T h e result of all this flux is that the merely descriptive literature of the emotions is one of the most tedious parts of psychology. And not only is it tedious, but you feel that its subdivisions are to a great extent either fictitious or unimportant, and that its pretences to accuracy are a sham. But unfortunately there is little psychologi­ cal w riting about the emotions which is not merely descriptive. As emotions are described in novels, they interest us, for we are made to share them. W e have grown acquainted with the concrete ob­ jects and emergencies which call them forth, and any knowing touch of introspection which may grace the page meets with a quick and feeling response. Confessedly literary works of aphoristic philosophy also flash lights into our emotional life, and give us a fitful delight. But as far as “ scientific psychology” of the emotions goes, I may have been surfeited by too much reading of classic works on the subject, but I should as lief read verbal descriptions of the shapes of the rocks on a New Hampshire farm as toil through them again. T h e y give one nowhere a central point of view, or a deductive or generative principle. T h ey distinguish and refine and specify in in fin itu m without ever getting on to another logical level. Whereas the beauty of all truly scientific work is to get to ever deeper levels. Is there no way out from this level of individual description in the case of the emotions? I believe there is a way out, but I fear that few will take it. T h e trouble with the emotions in psychology is that they are re­

1064

T h e E m otions

garded too much as absolutely individual things. So long as they are set down as so many eternal and sacred psychic entities, like the old immutable species in natural history, so long all that can be done with them is reverently to catalogue their separate characters, points, and effects. But if we regard them as products of more gen­ eral causes (as ‘species’ are now regarded as products of heredity and variation), the mere distinguishing and cataloguing becomes of subsidiary importance. H aving the goose which lays the golden eggs, the description of each egg already laid is a minor matter. Now the general causes of the emotions are indubitably physiologi­ cal. Prof. C. Lange, of Copenhagen, in the pamphlet from which I have already quoted, published in 1885 a physiological theory of their constitution and conditioning, which I had already broached the previous year in an article in M in d . None of the criticisms which I have heard of it have made me doubt its essential truth. I w ill therefore devote the next few pages to explaining what it is. I shall lim it myself in the first instance to what may be called the coarser emotions, grief, fear, rage, love, in which everyone recog­ nizes a strong organic reverberation, and afterwards speak of the su b tle r emotions, or of those whose organic reverberation is less obvious and strong—and which Lotze had to all practical intents and purposes fully expressed in his M e d ic in is c h e P sy ch o lo g ie in 1852 (see p. 518 of that work). Aristotle also, D e A n im a , Bk. I, ch. 1, and Descartes, D es passions, Art. X L V I. E M O T IO N F O L L O W S U PON T H E B O D IL Y EXPRESSION IN T H E C O ARSER E M O T IO N S A T L E A S T

O ur natural way of thinking about these coarser emotions is that the mental perception of some fact excites the mental affection called the emotion, and that this latter state of mind gives rise to the bodily expression. My theory, on the contrary, is that th e bod ily changes fo llo w d irectly th e p e r ce p tio n o f th e e x c itin g fact, an d that o u r fe e lin g o f th e sam e changes as they o ccu r is th e e m o tio n . Common-sense says, we lose our fortune, are sorry and weep; we meet a bear, are frightened and run; we are insulted by a rival, are angry and strike. T h e hypothesis here to be defended says that this order of sequence is incorrect, that the one mental state is not immedi­ ately induced by the other, that the bodily manifestations must first be interposed between, and that the more rational statement is that

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we feel sorry because we cry, 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. W ithout the bodily States following on the perception, the latter would be purely cog­ nitive in form, pale, colorless, destitute of emotional warmth. W e 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 f e e l afraid or angry. Stated in this crude way, the hypothesis is pretty sure to meet with immediate disbelief. A nd yet neither many nor far-fetched considerations are required to mitigate its paradoxical character, and possibly to produce conviction of its truth. T o begin with, no reader of the last two chapters w ill be in­ clined to doubt the fact that o b jects d o e x c ite b o d ily changes by a preorganized mechanism, or the farther fact that th e changes are so in d efin itely n u m ero u s an d s u b tle that th e e n tire organism may b e ca lled a so un din g -bo ard , which every change of consciousness, how­

ever slight, may make reverberate. T h e various permutations and combinations of which these organic activities are susceptible make it abstractly possible that no shade of emotion, however slight, should be without a bodily reverberation as unique, when taken in its totality, as is the mental mood itself. T h e immense number of parts modified in each emotion is what makes it so difficult for us to reproduce in cold blood the total and integral expression of any one of them. W e may catch the trick with the voluntary mus­ cles, but fail with the skin, glands, heart, and other viscera. Just as an artificially imitated sneeze lacks something of the reality, so the attempt to imitate an emotion in the absence of its normal instigat­ ing cause is apt to be rather ‘hollow.’ T h e next thing to be noticed is this, that every o n e o f th e b od ily changes, w hatsoever it be, is

felt

,

acu tely or o bscu rely, th e m o m en t

it occurs. If the reader has never paid attention to this matter, he

w ill be both interested and astonished to learn how many different local bodily feelings he can detect in himself as characteristic of his various emotional moods. It would be perhaps too much to expect him to arrest the tide of any strong gust of passion for the sake of any such curious analysis as this; but he can observe more tranquil states, and that may be assumed here to be true of the greater which is shown to be true of the less. O ur whole cubic capacity is sensibly alive; and each morsel of it contributes its pulsations of feeling.

1066

T h e E m otions d im or sharp, pleasant, p a in fu l, or d u b io u s, to th at sense o f p er­ so n a lity th at every o n e o f us u n fa ilin g ly carries w ith h im . It is sur­ p r isin g w h a t little item s g iv e a ccen t to these c o m p lex es o f sensi­ b ility . W h e n w o rrie d b y a n y sligh t tro u b le , on e m a y find th at the focus o f o n e ’s b o d ily consciousness is th e c o n tra ctio n , o ften q u ite in co n sid era ble, o f the eyes an d brow s. W h e n m o m e n ta rily em ­ barrassed, it is so m e th in g in the p h a ry n x th at com p els e ith e r a sw allow , a cle a rin g o f the throat, or a slig h t co u g h ; an d so on for as m a n y m o re instances as m ig h t b e n am ed . O u r con cern here b e in g w ith the ge n e ral v ie w rather th an w ith th e d etails, I w ill n o t lin g e r to discuss these, b u t, assu m in g the p o in t a d m itte d th at every ch an g e th at occurs m u st be felt, I w ill pass on. I n o w p ro cee d to u rge the v ita l p o in t o f m y w h o le theory, w h ich is this: I f w e fa n cy s o m e s tr o n g e m o t io n , a n d th e n try to a b stra ct

f r o m o u r c o n s c io u s n e s s o f it a ll th e fe e lin g s o f its b o d ily s y m p to m s , w e fin d w e h a v e n o t h in g le f t b e h in d , n o ‘m in d -stu ff’ o u t o f w h ich th e e m o tio n can b e co n stitu te d , an d th at a co ld an d n e u tra l state o f in te lle c tu a l p e rc e p tio n is a ll th at rem ains. It is true that, a l­ th o u g h m ost p eo ple, w h en asked, say th at th eir in tro sp ectio n v e ri­ fies this statem en t, som e persist in sayin g theirs does n o t. M a n y c a n n o t b e m a d e to u n d erstan d the qu estio n . W h e n yo u b e g th em to im a g in e aw ay every fe e lin g o f la u g h te r an d o f ten d e n cy to lau gh from th eir consciousness o f th e lud icro usn ess o f an o b je c t, and then to tell yo u w h a t the fe e lin g o f its lud icrousn ess w o u ld be like, w h e th e r it b e a n y th in g m o re than the p erce p tio n th at the o b je c t b elo n gs to th e class ‘fu n n y ,’ th ey persist in r e p ly in g th at the th in g p rop osed is a physical im p o ssib ility, a n d th at th ey alw ays m u s t la u g h if th ey see a fu n n y o b je c t. O f course the task p rop osed is n o t th e p ractical on e o f se ein g a lu d icro u s o b je c t an d a n n ih ila tin g o n e ’s te n d e n cy to la u gh . I t is the p u re ly sp e c u la tiv e o n e o f s u b tra c tin g certain elem en ts o f fe e lin g from an e m o tio n a l state sup p osed to exist in its fulness, an d s a y in g w h a t the residu al elem en ts are. I c a n n o t h elp th in k in g that all w h o r ig h tly a p p reh e n d this p ro b lem w ill agree w ith the p ro p o sitio n a b o v e la id d o w n . W h a t k in d o f an e m o tio n o f fear w o u ld b e le ft if the fe e lin g n e ith e r o f q u ic k e n e d heart-beats n o r o f sh allo w b re a th in g , n e ith e r o f tr e m b lin g lips nor o f w e a k e n ed lim b s, n e ith e r o f goose-flesh n o r o f visceral stirrings, w ere present, it is q u ite im p ossible for m e to th in k . C a n o n e fan cy the state o f rage an d p ictu re n o e b u llitio n in the chest, n o flu sh in g o f the face, n o d ila ta tio n o f the nostrils, n o c le n c h in g o f the teeth,

1067

T h e P rin cip les of Psychology n o im p u lse to vig o ro u s a ctio n , b u t in th eir stead lim p m uscles, ca lm b re a th in g , a n d a p la cid face? T h e presen t w riter, for one, ce rta in ly can n o t. T h e rage is as c o m p le te ly e vap o ra te d as the sensa­ tio n o f its so-called m a n ifestatio n s, an d the o n ly th in g th at can pos­ s ib ly be sup p osed to take its p la ce is som e co ld -b lo o d e d an d dispas­ sion ate ju d ic ia l

sentence,

co n fin ed

e n tire ly

to

the

in te lle c tu a l

realm , to the effect th at a certain person or persons m e rit chastise­ m e n t for th eir sins. In lik e m a n n er o f grief: w h a t w o u ld it b e w ith ­ o u t its tears, its sobs, its suffocation o f th e heart, its p a n g in the breast-bone? A feelin gless c o g n itio n th at certain circu m stan ces are d e p lo ra b le , an d n o th in g m ore. E v e ry passion in turn tells the sam e story. A p u re ly d ise m b o d ie d h u m an e m o tio n is a n o n e n tity . I do n o t say th at it is a c o n tra d ic tio n in the n a tu re o f things, or th at p u re spirits are necessarily c o n d e m n e d to co ld in te lle c tu a l lives; b u t I say th at for us, e m o tio n dissociated from all b o d ily fe e lin g is in ­ co n ce iva b le . T h e m o re clo sely I scru tin ize m y states, th e m o re p er­ su ad ed I b eco m e th at w h a te ve r m oods, affections, an d passions I h ave are in very tru th c o n stitu te d by, an d m ad e u p of, those b o d ily changes w h ic h w e o rd in a rily call th eir expression or con seq u en ce; a n d the m o re it seem s to m e th at if I w ere to b eco m e co rp o re ally anaesthetic, I sh o u ld be e x c lu d e d from the life o f the affections, harsh an d ten d er alik e, a n d d ra g o u t an e xisten ce o f m e re ly c o g n i­ tive or in te lle c tu a l form . Su ch an e xisten ce, a lth o u g h it seems to h ave been the ideal o f a n c ie n t sages, is too a p a th e tic to be k e en ly so u gh t a fte r b y those b orn after th e re vival o f the w o rsh ip o f sen­ s ib ility , a few gen eratio n s ago. L e t n o t this v ie w b e c a lle d m aterialistic. I t is n e ith e r m o re nor less m a te rialistic th an a n y oth er vie w w h ic h says th at o u r em otion s are c o n d itio n e d b y n ervo u s processes. N o reader o f this b o o k is lik e ly to re b el again st such a sayin g so lo n g as it is expressed in g e n e ral term s; a n d if a n yo n e still finds m aterialism in the thesis n o w d e fe n d e d , th at m u st b e because o f the special processes in ­ vok ed . T h e y are s e n s a tio n a l processes, processes d u e to in w ard c u r­ rents set u p b y p h ysical h ap p en in gs. Su ch processes have, it is true, alw ays b een rega rd ed b y th e p lato n izers in p sych o lo g y as h a v in g s o m e th in g p e c u lia rly base a b o u t them . B u t o u r e m o tio n s m u st a l­ w ays b e in w a r d ly w h a t th e y are, w h a te ve r be th e p h ysio lo g ica l g r o u n d o f th eir ap p a ritio n . I f th ey are d e e p p u re w o rth y sp iritu al facts on a n y c o n c e iv a b le th eo ry o f th eir p h ysio lo g ica l source, th ey rem ain n o less d eep p u re sp iritu a l a n d w o rth y o f regard on this

1068

T h e E m otions p resen t sensational theory. T h e y carry th eir o w n in n er m easu re o f w o rth w ith them ; an d it is ju s t as lo g ica l to use the presen t th eo ry o f th e e m otion s for p r o v in g th at sensational processes n eed n o t be v ile an d m a terial, as to use th eir vilen ess an d m a te ria lity as a p ro o f th at such a th eo ry ca n n o t b e true. I f such a th eo ry is true, th en each e m o tio n is the resu lta n t o f a sum o f elem en ts, an d each e le m en t is caused b y a p h ysio lo g ica l process o f a sort alread y w e ll k n o w n . T h e elem en ts are all o rg an ic changes, an d each o f th em is the reflex effect o f the e x c itin g o b ject. D e fin ite q u estion s n o w im m e d ia te ly arise— qu estion s very d ifferen t from those w h ic h w ere the o n ly possib le ones w ith o u t this view . T h o s e w ere qu estion s o f classification: “ W h ic h are the p ro p er g e n ­ era o f em otion , a n d w h ic h the species u n d e r each?”— or o f descrip ­ tion ;

“ B y w h a t expression is each e m o tio n characterized?” T h e

qu estio n s n o w are c a u s a l : “ Ju st w h a t changes does this o b je c t an d w h at changes does th at o b je c t e x cite ?” an d “ H o w com e th ey to e x ­ cite these p a rticu la r ch an ges an d n o t others?” W e step from a su­ p erficial to a d e e p order o f in q u iry . C lassificatio n an d d e scrip tio n are the low est stage o f science. T h e y sink in to the b a c k g ro u n d the m o m e n t qu estio n s o f genesis are form u lated , a n d rem ain im p o r­ tan t o n ly so far as th ey fa cilita te ou r a n sw erin g these. N o w th e m o ­ m e n t th e gen esis o f an e m o tio n is acco u n ted for, as the arousal b y an o b je c t o f a lo t of reflex acts w h ich are fo rth w ith felt, w e im m e d i­

a te ly se e w hy th e r e is n o l im it to t h e n u m b e r o f p o s s ib le d iffe r e n t e m o tio n s w h ic h m ay e x is t , a n d w hy th e e m o tio n s o f d iffe r e n t i n ­ d iv id u a ls m ay vary in d e fin ite ly , b o th as to th eir co n stitu tio n an d as to ob jects w h ic h call th em forth. F or there is n o th in g sacram ental or e te rn a lly fixed in reflex action . A n y sort o f reflex effect is pos­ sible, an d reflexes a c tu a lly vary in d e fin ite ly , as w e know . “ W e have all seen men dumb, instead of talkative, with joy; we have seen fright drive the blood into the head of its victim , instead o f mak­ ing him pale; we have seen grief run restlessly about lamenting, instead of sittin g bowed down and mute; etc., etc., and this naturally enough, for one and the same cause can work differently on different m en’s blood-vessels (since these do n ot always react alike), whilst moreover the impulse on its w ay through the brain to the vaso-motor centre is differently influenced b y different earlier impressions in the form of recollections or associations of ideas.” 5 5 Lange: op. cit., p. 75.

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T h e P rin cip les of Psychology In short, a ny c la ssifica tio n o f th e e m o t io n s is s e e n to b e as tr u e

a n d as ‘ n a tu r a l’ as a n y o th e r , if it o n ly serves som e purpose; an d such a q u e stio n as “ W h a t is th e ‘real’ or ‘ty p ic a l’ expression of an ger, or fear?” is seen to h ave n o o b je c tiv e m e a n in g at all. In stead o f it w e n o w h ave the q u e stio n as to h o w a n y g iv e n ‘exp ressio n ’ o f an ger or fear m a y h ave com e to exist; an d th at is a real q u e stio n o f p h ysio lo g ica l m echan ics on th e on e h an d, an d o f h istory on the other, w h ic h (lik e all real question s) is in essence an sw erable, a l­ th o u g h the an sw er m a y b e hard to find. O n a later p age I shall m e n tio n the attem p ts to answ er it w h ic h h ave been m ade.

D IF F IC U L T Y O F T E ST IN G T H E T H E O R Y E X P E R IM E N T A L L Y

I h ave thus fairly p ro p o u n d e d w h at seems to m e the m ost fr u it­ fu l w ay o f c o n c e iv in g o f the em otions. It m u st be a d m itte d that it is so far o n ly a hypothesis, o n ly p o s s ib ly a true co n ce p tio n , an d th at m u ch is la c k in g to its d e fin itiv e proof. T h e o n ly w ay c o e rcively to disp rove it, how ever, w o u ld be to take som e em o tio n , an d then e x ­ h ib it q u a litie s o f fe e lin g in it w h ic h sh o u ld b e d e m o n s tr a b ly a d d i­ tio n a l to all those w h ic h c o u ld possib ly b e d e riv e d from the organs affected at th e tim e. B u t to d e te ct w ith certa in ty such p u re ly sp iri­ tu al q u a litie s o f fe e lin g w o u ld o b v io u sly be a task b e yo n d h u m an pow er. W e have, as Professor L a n g e says, a b so lu te ly n o im m ed iate crite rio n b y w h ich to d istin g u ish b etw een sp iritu al an d corp oreal feelin gs; and, I m a y add, the m o re w e sharpen ou r in tro sp ectio n , the m o re lo c a liz e d all o u r q u a litie s o f fe e lin g b eco m e (see ab ove, V o l. I, p. 287) an d th e m o re difficu lt the d isc rim in a tio n c o n se q u e n t­ ly grow s.6 A p o sitive p ro o f o f the th eo ry w o u ld , on the o th e r h an d, b e g iv e n if w e c o u ld find a su b je ct a b so lu te ly anaesthetic in side an d o u t, b u t n o t p aralytic, so th at e m o tio n -in sp irin g o b jects m ig h t evok e the u sual b o d ily expressions from h im , b u t w ho, on b e in g con su lted, sh o u ld say that n o su b je c tiv e e m o tio n a l affectio n was felt. Su ch a m an w o u ld be lik e on e w ho, because he eats, appears to bystanders to be h u n gry, b u t w h o afterw ards confesses th at he had n o a p p e tite at all. Cases lik e this are e x tre m e ly hard to find. M e d ic a l lite ratu re 6 Professor H offding, in his excellen t treatise on Psychology, admits (p. 342) the m ixtu re of b odily sensation with p u rely spiritual affection in the em otions. H e does not, however, discuss the difficulties of discerning the spiritu al affection (nor even show that he has fairly considered them) in his contention that it exists.

1070

T h e E m otions con tain s reports, so far as I k n o w , o f b u t three. In the fam ou s one o f R e m ig iu s L e in s n o m e n tio n is m ad e b y th e reporters o f his em o ­ tio n a l c o n d itio n . In D r. G . W in t e r ’s case7 th e p a tie n t is said to be in ert an d p h le g m atic, b u t n o p a rticu la r a tten tio n , as I learn from D r. W „ was p a id to his psychic co n d itio n . In th e extra o rd in a ry case rep o rted b y Professor S triim p e ll (to w h ic h I m u st refer later in an o th e r c o n n e ctio n )8 w e read th at the p atien t, a sh oem aker’s a p ­ p ren tice o f fifteen, e n tire ly anaesthetic, in sid e an d o u t, w ith the e x ­ cep tio n o f on e eye a n d on e ear, h ad show n s h a m e o n the occasion o f so ilin g his b ed, an d g r ie f, w h en a fo rm erly fa vo rite dish was set b e fo re h im , at the th o u g h t th at he c o u ld n o lo n g e r taste its flavor. D r. S triim p e ll is also k in d e n o u g h to in fo rm m e th at he m an ifested

s u r p r is e , fea r, an d a n g er on certain occasions. In o b se rv in g him , how ever, n o such th eo ry as the present on e seems to h ave been th o u g h t of; a n d it alw ays rem ain s possible that, ju st as he satisfied his n a tu ral ap p etites an d necessities in c o ld b lo od , w ith n o in w ard fe elin g, so his e m o tio n a l expressions m a y h ave b e en acco m p an ie d b y a q u ite co ld h eart.9 A n y n e w case w h ich turn s u p o f gen eralized anaesthesia o u g h t to b e c a re fu lly e x a m in e d as to the in w ard em o ­ tio n a l s e n sib ility as d istin ct from

the

‘expressions’ o f e m o tio n

w h ic h circu m stan ces m a y b r in g forth. 7 E in F a ll von a llg em ein e r A n a e sth esie (H eidelberg, 1882). 8 Ziem ssen’s D e u tsch es A r c h iv fu r k lin is c h e M e d ic in , x xn , 321. 9 T h e not very uncom m on cases of hysterical hem ianesthesia are not com plete enough to be utilized in this inquiry. M oreover, the recent researches, of which some account was given in C hapter IV, tend to show that hysterical anesthesia is not a real absence o f sensibility, bu t a ‘dissociation,’ as M. Pierre Janet calls it, or splitting-off o f certain sensations from the rest o f the person’s consciousness, this rest form ing the self which remains connected w ith the ordinary organs of expression. T h e split-off consciousness forms a secondary self; and M. Janet writes me that he sees no reason w hy sensations whose ‘dissociation’ from the body o f consciousness makes the patient p ractically anesthetic, m ight not, nevertheless, contribute to the em otional life of the patient. T h e y do still con tribute to the function of locom otion; for in his patient L. there was no ataxia in spite of the anesthesia. M . Janet writes me, apropos of his anaesthetic p atient L., that she seemed to ‘suffer by h allu cin ation .’ “ I have often pricked or burned her w ithout warning, and when she did not see me. She never m oved, and evidently perceived nothing. B ut if afterw ards in her movements she caught sight of her wounded arm, and saw on her skin a little d rop o f blood resulting

from a slight cut, she would begin to cry out and lam ent as if she suffered a great deal. ‘ M y blood flows,’ she said one day; ‘I m ust be suffering a great d eal!’ She suffered by h allucination. T h is sort of suffering is very general in hysterics. It is enough for them to receive the slightest h int o f a m odification in their body, when their im agination fills up the rest and invents changes that were not felt.’ ’ See the remarks published at a later date in Jan et’s A u to m a tism e p sy ch o lo g iq u e, pp. 214-15.

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology

O b je c t io n s C o n s id e r e d L e t m e n o w n o tic e a few ob jectio n s. T h e replies w ill m ake the th eo ry still m ore p lau sib le.

F ir s t O b je c t io n . T h e r e is n o real evid en ce, it m a y be said, for the assu m p tio n th at p a rticu la r p ercep tio n s d o p ro d u ce w ide-spread b o d ily effects b y a sort o f im m e d ia te p h ysical in flu en ce, an te ce d e n t to th e arousal o f an e m o tio n or e m o tio n al idea.

R e p ly . T h e r e is m ost assu redly such evid e n ce . In lis te n in g to poetry, dram a, or h eroic n a rrative w e are o ften surprised at the cu tan eo u s shiver w h ic h lik e a su d den w ave flows over us, an d at the h eart-sw e llin g an d the lach rym al effusion that u n e x p e c te d ly catch us at in tervals. In lis te n in g to m u sic the same is even m ore s trik in g ly true. I f w e a b r u p tly see a dark m o v in g form in the woods, o u r heart stops b e a tin g , an d w e catch o u r breath in sta n tly an d b e ­ fore a n y a rticu late idea o f d a n g er can arise. I f ou r frie n d goes near to the e d ge o f a p recip ice, w e g e t the w e ll-k n o w n fe e lin g o f ‘alloverishness,’ an d w e shrink back, a lth o u g h w e p o sitiv e ly k n o w h im to be safe, an d h ave n o d istin ct im a g in a tio n o f his fall. T h e w riter w e ll rem em b ers his aston ishm ent, w h en a b o y o f seven or eigh t, at fa in tin g w h e n he saw a horse bled. T h e b lo o d was in a b u ck et, w ith a stick in it, and, if m e m o ry does n o t d e ce ive h im , he stirred it ro u n d an d saw it d rip from the stick w ith n o fe e lin g save th at o f c h ild ish cu rio sity. S u d d e n ly the w o rld grew b la ck b e fo re his eyes, his ears b egan to buzz, an d he k n e w n o m ore. H e h ad n e ve r heard o f the sigh t o f b lo o d p r o d u c in g faintness or sickness, a n d he h ad so little re p u gn a n ce to it, an d so little ap p reh en sion o f a n y oth er sort o f d a n g er from it, th at even at th at ten der age, as he w e ll rem em ­ bers, he c o u ld n o t h e lp w o n d e r in g h ow the m ere p h ysical presence o f a p a ilfu l o f crim son flu id c o u ld occasion in h im such fo rm id a b le b o d ily effects. Professor L a n g e writes: “ N o one has ever thought of separating the em otion produced by an unusually loud sound from the true inward affections. N o one hesi­ tates to call it a sort of fright, and it shows the ordinary signs of fright. A n d yet it is b y no means com bined with the idea of danger, or in any way occasioned by associations, memories, or other mental processes. T h e phenom ena of fright follow the noise im m ediately w ithout a trace of ‘spiritual’ fear. M any men can never grow used to standing beside a cannon when it is fired off, although they perfectly know that there is

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T h e E m otions danger neither for themselves nor for others—the bare sound is too much for them .” 10 Im a g in e tw o steel kn ife-b la d es w ith th eir keen edges crossing each o th e r at rig h t angles, an d m o v in g to an d fro. O u r w h o le n er­ vous organ izatio n is ‘o n -e d g e ’ at the th o u g h t; an d ye t w h at e m o tio n can b e there e x cep t the u n p leasa n t n ervo u s fe e lin g itself, or the d read th at m o re o f it m a y com e? T h e en tire fu n d an d ca p ita l o f the e m o tio n here is the senseless b o d ily effect w h ic h the blades im ­ m e d ia te ly arouse. T h is case is typ ica l of a class: w h ere an ideal e m o ­ tion seems to p recede the b o d ily sym ptom s, it is o fte n n o th in g b u t an a n tic ip a tio n o f the sym ptom s them selves. O n e w h o has alread y fa in te d at the sigh t o f b lo o d m a y w itness th e p reparations for a surgical o p e ratio n w ith u n c o n tro lla b le h e art-sin k in g an d an xiety. H e an ticip ate s certain feelin gs, an d the a n tic ip a tio n p recip itates th eir arrival. In cases o f m o rb id terror the su bjects o ften confess th at w h a t possesses them seems, m o re th an an yth in g , to b e fear o f th e fear itself. In the vario u s form s o f w h a t Professor B a in calls ‘ten d er e m o tio n ,’ a lth o u g h the a p p ro p riate o b je c t m u st u su a lly be d ire c tly c o n te m p la te d

b e fo re th e e m o tio n can b e aroused, yet

som etim es th in k in g o f the sym ptom s o f the e m o tio n itself m a y h ave the sam e effect. I n sen tim en tal natu res the th o u g h t o f ‘yearn ­ i n g ’ w ill p ro d u ce real ‘y e a r n in g .’ A n d , n o t to speak o f coarser e x ­ am ples, a m o th e r’s im a g in a tio n o f the caresses she bestow s on her c h ild m a y arouse a spasm o f p aren tal lo n g in g . In such cases as these w e see p la in ly h ow the e m o tio n bo th b e ­ gin s an d ends w ith w h a t w e call its effects or m an ifestatio n s. I t has n o m e n ta l sta tu s e x c e p t as e ith er the v iv id fe e lin g of the m a n ife sta­ tions, or the idea o f them ; a n d the latter thus co n stitu te its en tire m a terial, an d sum an d substance. A n d these cases o u g h t to m a k e us see h o w in all cases the fe e lin g o f the m an ifesta tio n s m a y p la y a m u c h deep er p art in the c o n stitu tio n o f the e m o tio n th an w e are w o n t to suppose.

T h e best p ro o f th at the im m e d ia te cause o f e m o tio n is a p hysical effect on the nerves is fu rn ish ed b y th o s e p a t h o lo g ic a l cases in w h ic h

th e e m o t io n is o b je c tle s s . O n e o f the c h ie f m erits, in fact, o f the v ie w w h ich I propose seems to be th at w e can so easily fo rm u late b y its m eans p a th o lo gica l cases an d n o rm al cases u n d e r a co m m o n

10 O p .

cit., p. 63.

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T h e P rin cip les of Psychology schem e. I n every asylu m w e find e xam p le s o f a b s o lu te ly u n m o tiv e d fear, an ger, m e lan ch o ly , or co n ceit; a n d others o f an e q u a lly u n ­ m o tiv e d a p a th y w h ic h persists in sp ite o f th e best o f o u tw a rd rea­ sons w h y it sh o u ld g iv e w ay. In the form er cases w e m u st suppose the n ervo u s m a ch in e ry to be so ‘la b ile ’ in som e on e e m o tio n a l d ire c­ tio n th at alm ost e very stim u lu s (h ow ever in a p p ro p ria te ) causes it to u p set in th at w ay, an d to e n g e n d e r th e p a rticu la r c o m p le x o f feelin gs o f w h ich the p sych ic b o d y o f the e m o tio n consists. T h u s , to take on e special in stan ce, if in a b ility to d ra w d eep breath, flu t­ te rin g o f the heart, a n d th at p e c u lia r ep ig astric c h a n g e fe lt as ‘ pre­ co rd ial a n x ie ty ,’ w ith an irresistible te n d e n cy to take a som ew h at c r o u c h in g a ttitu d e a n d to sit still, an d w ith p erhaps o th e r visceral processes n o t n o w k n o w n , all sp o n tan eo u sly occu r to g e th e r in a certain person; his fe e lin g o f th eir c o m b in a tio n

the e m o tio n of

dread, an d he is th e v ic tim o f w h a t is k n o w n as m o rb id fear. A frien d w h o has h ad occasion al attacks o f this m ost e vil o f all m a la ­ dies tells m e th at in his case the w h o le dram a seems to cen tre a b o u t the re gio n o f the heart a n d respirato ry ap p aratu s, th at his m a in effort d u r in g the attacks is to g e t co n tro l o f his in sp iratio n s an d to slow his heart, an d th at the m o m e n t he attains to b re a th in g d e e p ly an d to h o ld in g h im se lf erect, the dread, ip so fa c to , seems to d e ­ p a rt.11 T h e e m o tio n here is n o th in g b u t the fe e lin g o f a b o d ily state, an d it has a p u r e ly b o d ily cause. “ A ll physicians who have been m uch engaged in general practice have seen cases of dyspepsia in which constant low spirits and occa­ sional attacks of terror rendered the p atien t’s condition pitiable in the extreme. I have observed these cases often, and have watched them closely, and I have never seen greater suffering of any kind than I have witnessed during these attacks. . . . T h u s, a man is suffering from what 11 It must be confessed that there are cases o f m orbid fear in which objectively the heart is not much perturbed. T h ese, however, fail to prove an yth in g against our theory, for it is of course possible that the cortical centres norm ally percipien t of dread as a com plex of cardiac and other organic sensations du e to real bo d ily change, should becom e p rim a rily excited in brain-disease, and give rise to an h allu cin ation o f the changes bein g there,—an h allu cin ation o f dread, consequently, coexistent with a com paratively calm pulse, etc. I say it is possible, for I am ignorant of observations w hich m ight test the fact. T ra n ce, ecstasy, etc., offer analogous exam ples,—not to speak of ordin ary dream ing. U n der all these conditions on e m ay have the liveliest subjective feelings, eith er o f eye or ear, or of the m ore visceral and em otional sort, as a result o f p u re nerve-central activity, and yet, as I believe, w ith com plete p e rip h ­ eral repose.

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T h e E m otions we call nervous dyspepsia. Some day, we w ill suppose in the m iddle of the afternoon, w ithout any w arning or visible cause, one of these at­ tacks of terror c o m « on. T h e first thin g the mao

■eis is great but vague

discomfort. T h e n he notices that his heart is beating much too violent­ ly. A t the same time, shocks or flashes as of electrical discharges, so violen t as to be almost painful, pass one after another through his body and limbs. T h e n in a few minutes he falls into a condition o f the most intense fear. H e is not afraid of anything; he is sim ply afraid. His mind is perfectly clear. H e looks for a cause of his wretched condition, but sees none. Presently his terror is such that he trembles violently and utters low moans; his body is dam p w ith perspiration; his m outh is perfectly dry; and at this stage there are no tears in his eyes, though his suffering is intense. W hen the clim ax of the attack is reached and passed there is a copious flow of tears, or else a mental condition in which the person weeps upon the least provocation. A t this stage a large qu an tity of pale urine is passed. T h e n the heart’s action becomes again normal, and the attack passes off.” 12 A g a in : "T h e re are outbreaks of rage so groundless and unbridled that all must adm it them to be expressions of disease. For the medical layman hardly anything can be more instructive than the observation of such a pathological attack of rage, especially when it presents itself pure and unm ixed w ith other psychical disturbances. T h is happens in that rather rare disease named transitory mania. T h e patient predisposed to this—otherwise an entirely reasonable person—w ill be attacked sud­ denly w ithout the slightest outward provocation, and thrown (to use the words of the latest writer on the subject, O . Schwartzer, D ie transito risch e T o b s u c h t, W ien, 1880), ‘in to a paroxysm of the wildest rage, w ith a fearful and b lin dly furious im pulse to do violence and destroy.’ H e flies at those about him; strikes, kicks, and throttles whomever he can catch; dashes every object about which he can lay his hands on; breaks and crushes what is near him; tears his clothes; shouts, howls, and roars, with eyes that flash and roll, and shows m eanwhile all those symptoms of vaso-motor congestion which we have learned to know as the concomitants of anger. H is face is red, swollen, his cheeks hot, his eyes protuberant and their whites bloodshot, the heart beats violently, the pulse marks 100-120 strokes a m inute. T h e arteries of the neck are full and pulsating, the veins are swollen, the saliva flows. T h e fit lasts only a few hours, and ends suddenly w ith a sleep of from 8 to 12 hours, on w aking from which the patient has entirely forgotten what has happened.” 13 12 R . M. Bucke: M a n ’s M o ra l N a tu r e (N. Y., 1879), p. 96. 13 Lange: op. cit., p. 60.

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T h e P rin cip les o f Psychology I n these (ou tw ard ly) causeless e m o tio n a l c o n d itio n s the p a rticu ­ lar paths w h ic h are e x p lo siv e are disch arged b y an y an d every in ­ c o m in g sensation. Ju st as, w h en w e are seasick, e very sm ell, every taste, e very sound, every sight, e ve ry m o ve m e n t, every sensible e x ­ perien ce w h atever, a u gm en ts o u r nausea, so th e m o r b id terror or an ger is increased b y each an d every sensation w h ic h stirs u p the nerve-centres. A b s o lu te q u ie t is the o n ly trea tm en t for the tim e. I t seems im p ossib le n o t to a d m it th at in all this the b o d ily c o n d i­ tion takes the lead, an d th at the m e n ta l e m o tio n follow s. T h e i n ­

t e lle c t m ay, in fact, be so little affected as to p la y the c o ld -b lo o d e d sp ectator all the w h ile , an d n o te th e absence o f a real o b je c t for the e m o tio n .14 A few w ords from H e n le m a y close m y re p ly to this first o b je c ­ tion: “Does it not seem as if the excitations of the bodily nerves met the ideas half way, in order to raise the latter to the height of emotions? [N ote how justly this expresses our theory!] T h a t they do so is proved by the cases in which particular nerves, when specially irritable, share in the em otion and determine its quality. W hen one is suffering from an open wound, any grievous or horrid spectacle w ill cause pain in the wound. In sufferers from heart-disease there is developed a psychic ex­ citability, which is often incom prehensible to the patients themselves, but which comes from the heart’s liab ility to palpitate. I said that the very qu ality of the em otion is determined by the organs disposed to participate in it. Just as surely as a dark foreboding, rightly grounded on inference from the constellations, w ill be accompanied by a feeling of oppression in the chest, so surely w ill a similar feeling of oppression, w hen due to disease of the thoracic organs, be accompanied by ground­ less forebodings. So small a thing as a b ubble of air rising from the stomach through the oesophagus, and loitering on its way a few minutes 14 I am inclined to think that in some hysteriform conditions of grief, rage, etc., the visceral disturbances are less strong than those which go to outw ard expression. W e have then a trem endous verbal display w ith a hollow inside. W h ilst the b y ­ standers are w rung w ith compassion, or pale w ith alarm , the subject all the w h ile lets him self go, bu t feels his insincerity, and wonders how long he can keep up the perform ance. T h e attacks are often surprisingly sudden in their onset. T h e treat­ m ent here is to intim idate the patient by a stronger w ill. T a k e ou t your tem per, if he takes ou t his— "Nay, if th ou ’lt m outh, I ’ll rant as w ell as th ou .” T h ese are the cases of ap p aren tly great bodily m anifestation with com paratively little real subjective em o­ tion, w hich m ay be used to throw discredit on the theory advanced in the text.—It is probable that the v isceral m anifestations in these cases are qu ite disproportionately slight, com pared w ith those of the vocal organs. T h e subject’s state is som ewhat sim ilar to that of an actor who does not feel his part.

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T h e E m otions and exerting pressure on the heart, is able during sleep to occasion a nightmare, and during w aking to produce a vague anxiety. O n the other hand, we see that joyous thoughts dilate our blood vessels, and that a suitable qu an tity of wine, because it dilates the vessels, also dis­ poses us to joyous thoughts. If both the jest and the wine work to­ gether, they supplem ent each other in producing the em otional effect, and our demands on the jest are the more modest in proportion as the wine takes upon itself a larger part of the task.” 15

S e c o n d O b je c t io n . I f o u r th eo ry b e true, a necessary co ro llary of it o u g h t to b e this: th at an y v o lu n ta ry an d c o ld -b lo o d e d arousal of th e so-called m an ifesta tio n s o f a special e m o tio n o u g h t to g iv e us the e m o tio n itself. N o w this (the o b je c tio n says) is n o t fo u n d to be th e case. A n actor can p erfe c tly sim u la te an e m o tio n an d ye t be in w a rd ly co ld ; an d w e can all p rete n d to cry an d n o t feel grief; an d fe ign la u g h ter w ith o u t b e in g am used.

R e p ly . In the m a jo rity o f em o tio n s this test is in a p p lic a b le ; for m a n y o f the m a n ifesta tio n s are in organs over w h ic h w e h ave n o v o lu n ta ry con tro l. F e w p eo p le in p re te n d in g to cry can shed real tears, for e xam p le . B u t, w ith in the lim its in w h ic h it can be v e ri­ fied, e x p erie n ce corroborates rather th an disp roves the corollary from ou r theory, u p o n w h ic h the present o b je c tio n rests. E v e ryo n e kn o w s h o w p an ic is increased b y fligh t, an d h o w the g iv in g w ay to the sym ptom s o f g r ie f or an ger increases those passions them selves. E a ch fit o f s o b b in g m akes the sorrow m o re acu te, an d calls forth an o th er fit stronger still, u n til at last repose o n ly ensues w ith lassitude an d w ith the a p p are n t e xh au stio n o f the m a ch in ery. In rage, it is n o to rio u s h o w w e ‘w ork ourselves u p ’ to a c lim a x b y re­ p ea ted o u tb reak s o f expression. R efu se to express a passion, an d it dies. C o u n t ten before v e n tin g y o u r an ger, an d its occasion seems rid icu lo u s. W h is tlin g to k e ep u p cou rage is n o m ere figure o f speech. O n the oth er h an d , sit all da y in a m o p in g posture, sigh, a n d rep ly to e v e r y th in g w ith a dism al voice, an d y o u r m e la n ch o ly lingers. T h e r e is n o m o re v a lu a b le p recep t in m oral e d u ca tio n th a n this, as all w h o h ave e x p e rie n ce k n o w : if w e w ish to co n q u e r u n d e sira b le e m o tio n a l ten d en cies in ourselves, w e m u st assiduous­ ly, an d in the first in stan ce c o ld -b lo o d ed ly , g o th ro u g h the o u tw a r d

m o v e m e n ts o f those con trary disp osition s w h ic h w e p refer to cul15 O p . cit., p. 71.—L an ge lays great stress on the neurotic drugs, as parts o f his p roof that influences o f a physical nature upon the body are the first th in g in order in the production o f emotions.

!°7 7

T h e Principles of Psychology tivate. T h e rew ard o f persistency w ill in fa llib ly com e, in the fa d in g o u t o f the sullenness or depression, an d the a d v e n t o f real c h e e r fu l­ ness an d k in d lin ess in th e ir stead. S m ooth the brow , b rig h te n the eye, con tra ct the dorsal rather than th e ve n tral aspect o f the fram e, an d speak in a m a jo r key, pass th e g e n ia l c o m p lim e n t, an d yo u r heart m u st b e frig id in d e e d if it d o n o t g r a d u a lly thaw ! T h is is reco gn ized b y all psychologists, o n ly th ey fail to see its fu ll im p ort. Professor B a in w rites, for e xam p le: “ W e find that a feeble [emotional] wave . . . is suspended inwardly by being arrested outwardly; the currents of the brain, and the agita­ tion of the centres, die away if the external vent is resisted at every point. It is by such restraint that we are in the habit of suppressing pity, anger, fear, pride—on m any trifling occasions. If so, it is a fact that the suppression of the actual movements has a tendency to suppress the nervous currents that incite them, so that the external quiescence is followed by the internal. T h e effect would not happen in any case, if

there were n o t som e d ep en d en ce o f th e cerebral wave u p o n th e free outw ard vent or m an ifesta tion. . . . By the same interposition, we may summon up a dormant feeling. B y acting out the external manifesta­ tions, we gradually infect the nerves leading to them, and finally waken up the diffusive current by a sort of induction ab extra. . . . T h u s it is that we are sometimes able to assume a cheerful tone of mind by forc­ in g a hilarious expression.16 W e h ave a mass o f oth er testim o n y o f sim ilar effect. B u rk e, in his treatise on the S u b li m e a n d B e a u t i f u l, writes as follow s o f the p h ilo so p h er C a m p a n e lla : “T h is man, it seems, had not only made very accurate observations on hum an faces, but was very expert in m im icking such as were any way remarkable. W hen he had a m ind to penetrate into the inclina­ tions of those he had to deal with, he composed his face, his gesture, and his whole body, as nearly as he could, into the exact sim ilitude of the person he intended to examine; and then carefully observed what turn of m ind he seemed to acquire by this change. So that, says my au­ thor, he was able to enter into the dispositions and thoughts of people, as effectually as if he had been changed into the very men. I have often observed [Burke now goes on in his own person], that, on m im icking the looks and gestures of angry, or placid, or frightened, or daring men, I have involuntarily found my m ind turned to that passion whose ap­ pearance I endeavoured to imitate; nay, I am convinced it is hard to 1 ®Em otions and the W ill, p p . 361-3.

T h e Em otions avoid it, though one strove to separate the passion from its correspond­ in g gestures.” 17 A g a in s t this it is to b e said th at m a n y actors w h o p e rfe c tly m im ic the o u tw ard ap p earan ces o f e m o tio n in face, ga it, an d v o ic e declare that th ey feel n o e m o tio n at all. O th ers, how ever, a cco rd in g to M r. W illia m A rch e r, w h o has m ad e a very in stru ctive statistical in q u ir y a m o n g them , say th at the e m o tio n o f the part masters th em w h e n ­ ever th ey p la y it w e ll.18 T h u s : “ ‘I often turn pale,’ writes Miss Isabel Batem an, ‘in scenes of terror or great excitem ent. I have been told this m any times, and I can feel myself getting very cold and shivering and pale in thrilling situations.’ ‘W hen I am p laying rage or terror,’ Mr. Lion el Brough writes, ‘I be­ lieve I do turn pale. M y m outh gets dry, my tongue cleaves to my palate. In B ob Acres, for instance (in the last act), I have to continually moisten m y m outh or I should become inarticulate. I have to “swallow the lum p,” as I call it.’ . . . A ll artists w ho have had much experience of emotional parts are absolutely unanimous. . . . ‘Playin g with the brain,’ says Miss A lm a Murray, ‘is far less fatigu ing than p laying w ith the heart. A n adventuress taxes the physique far less than a sympathetic heroine. M uscular exertion has com paratively little to do with it.’ . . . ‘Em otion w hile acting,’ writes Mr. Howe, ‘w ill induce perspiration much more than physical exertion. I always perspired profusely while acting Joseph Surface, which requires little or no exertion.’ . . . ‘I suffer from fatigue,’ writes Mr.

Forbes Robertson, ‘in proportion to the

am ount of em otion I may have been called upon to go through, and not from physical exertion.’ . . . ‘T h o u g h I have played O th ello ,’ writes Mr. Colem an, ‘ever since I was seventeen (at nineteen I had the honour of acting the M oor to M acready’s Iago), husband my resources as I may, this is the one part, the part of parts, which always leaves me physically prostrate. I have never been able to find a pigm ent that would stay on my face, though I have tried every preparation in exis­ tence. Even the titanic E dw in Forrest told me that he was always knocked over in O thello, and I have heard Charles Kean, Phelps, 17 Q uoted by D ugald Stewart: E lem en ts, etc. (H am ilton ’s ed.), in, 140. Fechner ( V o rsch u le d e r A e s th e tik , 156) says alm ost the same th in g of him self: "O n e may find by

o n e’s own observation that the im ita tio n of the bodily expression of a m ental con ­ dition makes us understand it much better than the m erely looking on. . . . W hen I walk behind someone whom I do not know, and im itate as accurately as possible his gait and carriage, I get the most curious impression of feelin g as the person him self m ust feel. T o go trip p in g and m incing after the fashion of a young woman puts one, so to speak, in a fem inine mood of m ind.” 18 " T h e A natom y o f A ctin g,” in L o n g m a n ’s M aga zin e, vol. xi, p p. 266, 375, 498 (1888), since republished in book form.

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology Brooke, D illon, say the same thing. O n the other hand I have frequently acted R ichard III. w ithout turning a hair.’ ” 19 T h e e x p la n a tio n for the d iscrep an cy am on gst actors is p ro b a b ly th at w h ic h these q u o ta tio n s suggest. T h e v is c e r a l a n d o r g a n ic part o f the expression can b e suppressed in som e m en , b u t n o t in others, an d on this it is p ro b a b le th at the c h ie f p art o f the fe lt e m o tio n d e ­ pends. C o q u e l in a n d the oth er actors w h o are in w a rd ly c o ld are p r o b a b ly a b le to affect the dissociation in a c o m p le te way. Prof. Sik o rsk y o f K ieff has c o n tr ib u te d an im p o rta n t article on the facial exp ressio n o f the insane to the N e u r o lo g is c h e s

C e n tr a lb la t t for

1887. H a v in g p ractised facial m im icry h im se lf a grea t deal, he says: “ W hen I contract my facial muscles in an y m im etic com bination, I fe e l n o em o tio n a l ex cite m en t, so that the mim icry is in the fullest sense o f the word artificial, although qu ite irreproachable from the expressive point of view .” 20 W e find, h ow ever, from the c o n te x t th at Prof. S.’s p ractice b e ­ fore the m irro r has d e v e lo p e d in h im such a v irtu o sity in the c o n ­ trol o f his facial m uscles th at he can e n tire ly disregard th eir n a tu ral association an d co n tra ct th em in a n y order o f g r o u p in g , on e ith er side o f the face isolated ly, an d each on e alon e. P ro b a b ly in h im the facial m im icry is an e n tire ly restricted a n d lo calized th in g , w ith o u t sym p a th e tic changes o f an y sort elsew here.

T h i r d O b je c t io n . M a n ife s tin g an em o tio n , so far from in creasin g it, m akes it cease. R a g e evap orates after a g o o d o u tb u rst; it is p e n t-

u p e m otion s th at “ w ork lik e m adness in the b ra in .” R e p ly . T h e o b je c tio n fails to d iscrim in ate b e tw ee n w h a t is felt d u r in g a n d w h a t is fe lt a fte r the m a n ifesta tio n . D u r in g the m a n i­ festation the e m o tio n is alw ays felt. In the n o rm al course o f things this, b e in g the n a tu ral c h a n n e l o f discharge, exhausts the nervecentres, an d e m o tio n a l calm ensues. B u t if tears or an ge r are sim p ly suppressed, w h ilst the o b je c t o f g r ie f or rage rem ain s u n c h a n g e d before the m in d , the cu rre n t w h ic h w o u ld h ave in v a d e d the n o r­ m al ch an n els turns in to others, for it m u st find som e o u tle t o f escape. It m ay then w o rk d iffe re n t an d worse effects later on. T h u s v e n g e fu l b r o o d in g m a y replace a burst o f in d ig n a tio n ; a d ry heat m a y con su m e the fram e o f on e w h o fain w o u ld w eep, or he m ay, as 19 P. SQ2. 20 P. 496.

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T h e E m otions D a n te says, tu rn to stone w ith in ; a n d th en tears or a sto rm in g fit m a y b r in g a gra te fu l relief. T h is is w h en the c u rre n t is strong e n o u g h to strike in to a p a th o lo g ic a l p ath w h e n th e n o rm al o n e is d am m ed . W h e n this is so, an im m e d ia te o u tp o u r m a y be best. B u t here, to q u o te Prof. B a in again: “ T h e re is nothin g more im plied than the fact that an em otion may be too strong to be resisted, and we only waste our strength in the en­ deavour. If we are really able to stem the torrent, there is no more rea­ son for refraining from the attem pt than in the case of weaker feelings. A n d , undoubtedly, the h a b itu a l control of the emotions is not to be attained w ithout a systematic restraint extended to weak and strong.” W h e n w e teach c h ild re n to repress th eir e m o tio n a l talk a n d d is­ p lay, it is n o t th at th ey m a y f e e l m o re—q u ite the reverse. I t is that th ey m a y t h in k m o re; for, to a certain e x te n t, w h a te ve r currents are d iv e rte d from th e regio n s belo w , m u st sw ell the a c tiv ity o f the th ou gh t-tracts o f the brain . In a p o p le x ie s an d oth er b rain in ju rie s w e g e t the o p p o site c o n d itio n —an o b stru ctio n , n a m e ly, to the pas­ sage o f cu rren ts a m o n g the th ou gh t-tracts, an d w ith this an in ­ creased te n d e n cy o f o b jects to start d o w n w a rd curren ts in to the organ s o f the b od y. T h e co n seq u en ce is tears, lau gh ter, an d tem perfits, on the m ost in sig n ifican t p ro vo ca tio n , a c c o m p a n y in g a p ro p o r­ tio n a l feebleness in lo g ica l th o u g h t an d the p o w er o f v o litio n a l a t­ te n tio n an d d ecision ,— ju st the sort o f th in g from w h ic h w e try to w ea n o u r ch ild . It is tru e th at w e say o f certain persons th at “ they w o u ld feel m o re if th ey expressed less.” A n d in an o th er class o f persons the e x p lo siv e e n e rg y w ith w h ic h passion m anifests itself on c ritic a l occasions seem s correlated w ith the w a y in w h ic h th ey b o t­ tle it u p d u r in g the in tervals. B u t these are o n ly eccen tric types o f character, a n d w ith in each typ e the law o f the last p aragrap h p re ­ vails. T h e se n tim e n talist is so co n stru cte d th at ‘g u s h in g ’ is his or her n o rm a l m o d e o f expression. P u tt in g a stop per on th e ‘g u s h ’ w ill o n ly to a lim ite d e x te n t cause m ore ‘re a l’ a c tiv itie s to take its place; in the m a in it w ill sim p ly p ro d u ce listlessness. O n th e oth er hand, the p o n d e ro u s an d b ilio u s ‘s lu m b e rin g v o lc a n o ,’ le t h im repress the expression o f his passions as he w ill, w ill find th em e x p ire if th ey g e t n o v e n t at all; w h ilst if the rare occasions m u ltip ly w h ich he deem s w o rth y o f th eir o u tb re a k , he w ill find th em gro w in in ­ ten sity as life proceeds. O n the w h o le , I c a n n o t see th at this th ird o b je c tio n carries an y w e ig h t.

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology I f o u r h yp oth esis is true, it m akes us realize m o re d e e p ly than ever h ow m u c h o u r m e n ta l life is k n it u p w ith o u r corp oreal fram e, in the strictest sense o f the term . R a p tu re , love, a m b itio n , in d ig n a ­ tion, a n d pride, con sid ered as feelin gs, are fru its o f the sam e soil w ith the grossest b o d ily sensations o f pleasu re a n d o f p ain . B u t the read er w ill re m e m b e r th at w e agreed at the o u tset to affirm this o n ly o f w h a t w e then c a lle d the ‘coarser’ em otion s, a n d th at those in w ard states o f e m o tio n a l se n sib ility w h ic h a p p ea red d e v o id at first sigh t o f b o d ily results sh o u ld b e le ft o u t o f o u r a cco u n t. W e m u st n o w say a w o rd or tw o a b o u t these latter feelin gs, the ‘su b tle r’ em otion s, as w e then agreed to call them .

T H E S U B T LE R E M O T IO N S

T h e s e are the m oral, in te lle c tu a l, an d aesthetic feelin gs. C o n ­ cords o f sounds, o f colors, o f lines, lo g ica l consistencies, te le o lo g ica l fitnesses, affect us w ith a p leasu re th at seems in g ra in e d in the very form o f the re presen tation itself, a n d to b o rro w n o th in g from an y re ve rbe ra tio n su rg in g u p from the parts b e lo w the brain . T h e H e rb a rtia n p sychologists h ave d istin g u ish e d feelin gs d u e to the

fo r m in w h ic h ideas m a y b e arranged. A m a th e m a tic a l d e m o n stra­ tion m a y be as ‘p r e tty ,’ a n d an act o f ju stice as ‘n e a t,’ as a d r a w in g or a tu n e, a lth o u g h the p rettiness a n d neatness seem to h ave n o th ­ in g to d o w ith sensation. W e have, th en , or som e o f us seem to have, g e n u in e ly c e r e b r a l form s o f pleasu re a n d displeasure, a p p a re n tly n o t a g r e e in g in th eir m o d e o f p ro d u c tio n w ith the ‘coarser’ e m o ­ tions w e h ave b een an alyzin g. A n d it is certain th at readers w h o m o u r reasons have h ith e rto faile d to c o n v in c e w ill n o w start u p at this ad m ission , an d con sid er th at b y it w e g iv e u p o u r w h o le case. S in ce m u sical p ercep tio n s, since lo g ica l ideas, can im m e d ia te ly arouse a form o f e m o tio n a l fe elin g, th ey w ill say, is it n o t m ore n a tu ral to suppose th at in the case o f the so-called ‘coarser’ e m o ­ tions, p ro m p te d b y o th e r k in d s o f objects, the e m o tio n a l fe e lin g is e q u a lly im m ed ia te , an d the b o d ily expression so m e th in g th at com es later an d is ad d e d on?

In re p ly to this w e m u st im m e d ia te ly insist th at aesthetic e m o ­ tion, p u r e a n d s im p le , the p leasu re g iv e n us b y certain lin es an d masses, a n d co m b in a tio n s o f colors an d sounds, is an a b so lu te ly sensation al e xp erie n ce , an o p tica l or a u ric u la r fe e lin g th at is pri-

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T h e E m otions m ary, an d n o t d u e to the repercussion b ackw ard s o f oth er sensa­ tions elsew here co n se c u tiv e ly aroused. T o this sim p le p rim a ry an d im m e d ia te pleasu re in certain p u re sensations an d h arm on iou s c o m b in a tio n s o f them , there m ay, it is true, be a d d e d secondary pleasures; an d in the p ractical e n jo y m e n t o f w orks o f art b y the masses o f m a n k in d these secondary pleasures p la y a great part. T h e m o re cla ssic o n e ’s taste is, how ever, the less r e la tiv e ly im p o rta n t are the second ary pleasures fe lt to b e in com p ariso n w ith those o f the p rim a ry sensation as it com es in .21 Classicism an d ro m an ticism 21 Even the feelings o f the low er senses m ay have this secondary escort, du e to the arousing o f associational trains which reverberate. A flavor m ay fairly shake us by the ghosts of 'b an qu et halls deserted,’ w hich it suddenly calls up; or a sm ell m ay m ake us feel alm ost sick w ith the w aft it brings over ou r m em ory of ‘gardens that are ruins, and pleasure-houses that are dust.’ “ In th e Pyrenees," says M . G uyau , “ after a sum m er-day’s tram p carried to the extrem e o f fatigue, I m et a shepherd and asked him for some m ilk. H e w ent to fetch from his hut, under which a brook ran, a ja r of m ilk p lu n ged in the water and kep t at a coldness which was almost icy. In drin kin g this fresh m ilk in to w h ich a ll th e m o u n ta in ha d p u t its p e r fu m e , and o f which each savory sw allow seemed to give new life, I certain ly experienced a series o f feelings which the word ag reeab le is insufficient to designate. It was like a pastoral sym phony, apprehended by the taste instead of by the e a r” (quoted by F. Paulhan from L es P r o b lèm es d e l ’e s th é tiq u e co n tem p o r a in e, p. 63).—C om pare the dithyram bic about w hiskey o f C ol. R. Ingersoll, to which the presidential cam paign o f 1888 gave such notoriety: “ I send you some o f the most w onderful whiskey that ever drove the skeleton from a feast or painted landscapes in the brain of m an. It is the m ingled souls o f w heat and corn. In it you w ill find the sunshine and shadow that chase each other over the b illo w y fields, the breath of June, the carol o f the lark, the dews o f the night, the wealth of summer, and autu m n ’s rich content—all golden w ith im prisoned ligh t. D rin k it, and you w ill hear the voice o f m en and m aidens singing the 'H arvest H om e,’ m ingled w ith the laugh ter of children. D rink it, and you w ill feel w ithin your blood the star-lit dawns, the dream y, tawny dusks o f m any perfect days. For forty years this liq u id joy has been w ithin the happy staves o f oak, longing to touch the lips o f m an.” —It is in this way that I should reply to M r. G u rn ey’s criticism on m y theory. M y “ view ," this w riter says (M in d , i x , 425), “ goes far to confound the two things w hich, in m y opin ion, it is the prim e necessity o f m usical psychology to distinguish —the effect, chiefly sensuous, o f m ere streams or masses o f finely-coloured sound, and the distin ctive m usical em otion to which the form of a sequence o f sound, its m elodic and harm onic in dividu ality, even realised in com plete silence, is the vital and essential object. It is with the form er o f these two very different things that the physical reactions—the stirring o f the hair, the tin glin g and the shiver—are by far most m arkedly connected. . . . If I m ay speak o f myself, there is p len ty o f m usic

from which I have received as much em otion in silent representation as when presented by the finest orchestra; bu t it is with the latter condition that I almost exclusively associate the cutaneous tin glin g and hair-stirring. B u t to call m y enjoy­ m ent o f the fo rm , o f the n o te-a fter-n o te ness, of a m elody a m ere critical ‘judgm ent o f rig h t,’ [see below, p. 1086] w ould really be to deny m e the pow er o f expressing a fact o f sim ple and intim ate experience in English. It is quintessentially em otion . . . . N ow there are hundreds of other bits o f m usic . . . which I ju d ge to be r ig h t with-

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology h ave th eir b attles over this p o in t. C o m p le x suggestiveness, the a w a k e n in g o f vistas o f m e m o ry a n d association, an d the stirrin g o f o u r flesh w ith p ictu resq u e m ystery an d glo o m , m a k e a w o rk o f art

r o m a n tic . T h e classic taste bran ds these effects as coarse an d taw dry, an d prefers the n a k ed b e a u ty o f the o p tica l a n d a u d ito ry sensations, u n a d o rn e d w ith frip p e ry or foliage. T o th e ro m a n tic m in d , on the con trary, the im m e d ia te b e a u ty o f these sensations seems d ry an d th in . I am o f course n o t discu ssin g w h ic h v ie w is righ t, b u t o n ly sh o w in g th at the d isc rim in a tio n b etw een the p rim a ry fe e lin g o f b e au ty, as a p u re in c o m in g sensible q u a lity , an d the secondary em o tio n s w h ic h are gra fte d th ere u p o n , is on e th at m u st b e m ade. T h e s e secondary em otion s them selves are assuredly for th e m ost p art c o n stitu te d o f oth er in c o m in g sensations aroused b y the d if ­ fu siv e w ave o f reflex effects w h ic h the b e a u tifu l o b je c t sets u p . A glo w , a p a n g in the breast, a shudder, a fulness o f the b re a th in g , a flu tter o f the heart, a shiver d o w n the back, a m o is te n in g o f the eyes, a stirrin g in the h yp o g astriu m , an d a th ou san d u n n a m a b le sym ptom s besides, m a y b e felt the m o m e n t the b e a u ty e x c ite s us. A n d these sym ptom s also result w h e n w e are e x c ite d b y m o ral p er­ cep tion s, as o f pathos, m a g n a n im ity , or cou rage. T h e v o ic e breaks a n d the sob rises in the s tr u g g lin g chest, or the n o stril d ilates an d the fingers tigh ten , w h ilst the heart beats, etc., etc. A s far as th e s e in g r e d ie n ts o f the su b tle r em o tio n s go, then , the la tte r form n o e x c e p tio n to o u r accou n t, b u t rather an a d d itio n a l illu stra tio n thereof. In all cases o f in te lle c tu a l or m o ral rap tu re w e find that, unless there b e c o u p le d a b o d ily re ve rb e ra tio n of som e k in d w ith the m ere th o u g h t o f the o b je c t an d c o g n itio n o f its q u a lity ; unless w e a c tu a lly la u g h at the neatness o f the d e m o n ­ stration or w itticism ; unless w e th rill at the case o f ju stice, or tin g le at the act o f m a g n a n im ity ; o u r state o f m in d can h a rd ly b e ca lle d ou t receiving an iota of the em otion. For purposes o f em otion, they are to me like geom etrical dem onstrations, or like acts of in tegrity perform ed in P eru .” T h e Beethoven-rightness o f which G urn ey then goes on to speak, as som ething different from the Clem enti-rightness (even when the respective pieces are on ly heard in idea), is p ro b­ a b ly a p urely a u d ito ry-sen sa tio n a l thing. T h e Clem enti-rightness also; only, for rea­ sons im possible to assign, the C lem enti form does not give the same sort o f pu rely auditory satisfaction as the Beethoven form , and m ight better be described perhaps negatively as non-w rong , i.e., free from positively unpleasant acoustic qu ality. In organizations as m usical as M r. G u rn ey’s, purely acoustic form gives so intense a degree of sensible pleasure that the low er bodily reverberation is o f 110 account. B ut I repeat that I see n othin g in the facts w hich M r. G urney cites, to lead one to believe in an em otion divorced from sen sa tio n a l processes o f any kind.

1084

T h e E m otions e m o tio n a l at all. I t is in fact a m ere in te lle c tu a l p erce p tio n o f how certain th in gs are to b e c a lle d —neat, righ t, w itty, gen erous, an d the like. Su ch a ju d ic ia l state o f m in d as this is to b e classed am o n g awarenesses o f tru th ; it is a c o g n itiv e act. A s a m atter o f fact, h o w ­ ever, the m o ral an d in te lle c tu a l c o g n itio n s h ard ly ever d o exist thus u n acco m p an ie d . T h e b o d ily so u n d in g -b o ard is at w ork, as care fu l in tro sp ectio n w ill show , far m o re than w e u su ally suppose. S till, w h ere lo n g fa m ilia rity w ith a certain class o f effects, even aesthetic ones, has b lu n te d m ere e m o tio n a l e x c ita b ility as m u ch as it has sh arp en ed taste a n d ju d g m e n t, w e d o g e t the in te lle c tu a l e m o tio n , if such it can b e called , p u re an d u n d e file d . A n d the d ry ­ ness o f it, the paleness, the absence o f all glo w , as it m a y e xist in a th o ro u g h ly e x p e rt c r itic ’s m in d , n o t o n ly shows us w h a t an a lto ­ ge th e r d ifferen t th in g it is from the ‘coarser’ e m otion s w e c o n sid ­ ered first, b u t m akes us suspect th at alm ost the e n tire differen ce lies in the fact th at the b o d ily sou n d in g-b o ard , v ib r a tin g in the on e case, is in the o th e r m u te. “ N o t so very b a d ” is, in a person o f c o n ­ sum m ate taste, a p t to be the h igh e st lim it o f a p p r o v in g expression.

“ R i e n n e m e c h o q u e ” is said to have been C h o p in ’s su p e rla tiv e o f praise o f n e w m u sic. A sen tim en tal laym an w o u ld feel, an d o u g h t to feel, horrified, on b e in g a d m itte d in to such a c r itic ’s m in d , to see how cold, h o w thin, h o w v o id o f h u m an sign ificance, are the m o tives for favo r or disfa vor th at there p reva il. T h e c a p a c ity to m ake a n ice sp ot on the w a ll w ill o u tw e ig h a p ic tu re ’s w h o le c o n ­ ten t; a foolish trick o f w ords w ill preserve a p oem ; an u tte rly m e an ­ ingless fitness o f sequ en ce in on e m u sical c o m p o sitio n set at n a u g h t an y a m o u n t o f ‘expressiveness’ in an other. I rem em b er seein g an E n g lish c o u p le sit for m o re th an an h o u r on a p ie r c in g F eb ru a ry da y in the A c a d e m y a t V e n ic e b efore the cele b rated ‘A s s u m p tio n ’ b y T i t i a n ; an d w h en I, after b e in g chased from room to room b y the cold, c o n clu d e d to g e t in to the sun shine as fast as possible an d let the p ictu res go, b u t b efore le a v in g drew re ve ren tly n ear to th em to learn w ith w h a t superior form s o f sus­ c e p tib ility th ey m ig h t be en d ow ed , all I o verh eard was the w o m a n ’s v o ice m u rm u rin g : “ W h a t a d e p r e c a to r y expression her face wears! W h a t se lf-ab n e gai ion\ H o w u n w o r th y she feels o f the h o n o r she is r e c e iv in g !” T h e i r hon est hearts h ad b e en k e p t w arm all the tim e b y a g lo w o f spurious se n tim e n t th at w o u ld have fa irly m ad e old T i t i a n sick. M r. R u s k in som ew here m akes the (for h im terrible) adm ission th at re lig io u s p eo p le as a ru le care little for pictures,

1085

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology a n d th at w h en th ey d o care for th em th ey ge n e ra lly prefer the w orst ones to the best. Yes! in every art, in every science, there is the keen p erce p tio n o f certain relations b e in g r ig h t o r n o t, an d there is the em o tio n a l flush an d th r ill co n se q u e n t th ere u p o n . A n d these are tw o things, n o t one. In the form er o f th em it is th at exp erts an d masters are at h om e. T h e latter a cco m p an im e n ts are b o d ily c o m ­ m o tio n s th at th ey m a y h ard ly feel, b u t th at m a y be e x p e rie n ce d in th eir fulness b y c r é tin s an d p h ilistin e s in w h o m the critic a l ju d g ­ m e n t is at its low est e b b . T h e ‘m a rve ls’ o f Science, a b o u t w h ic h so m u ch e d ify in g p o p u la r lite ra tu re is w ritten , are ap t to be ‘ca via re ’ to the m en in the laboratories. A n d even d iv in e P h ilo so p h y itself, w h ic h co m m o n m ortals con sid er so ‘s u b lim e ’ an o ccu p a tio n , on ac c o u n t o f the vastness o f its d a ta an d o u tlo o k , is too ap t to the p rac­ tica l p h ilo so p h er h im se lf to b e b u t a sh arp e n in g an d tig h te n in g business, a m atter o f ‘p o in ts,’ o f screw in g d o w n things, o f s p littin g hairs, an d o f the ‘in te n t’ rather than the ‘e x te n t’ o f con cep tio n s. V e r y little e m o tio n h e re!— e x c e p t the effort o f s e ttin g the a tten tio n fine, an d the fe e lin g o f ease a n d re lie f (m a in ly in the b re a th in g a p ­ paratus) w h en the in consisten cies are overcom e an d the th o u gh ts ru n sm o o th ly for a w h ile . E m o tio n an d c o g n itio n seem then p arted even in this last retreat; an d cereb ral processes are alm ost feelin gless, so far as w e can ju d g e , u n til th ey su m m on h e lp from parts b elo w .

NO S P E C IA L B R A IN -C EN TR ES FO R E M O T IO N

I f the n e u ra l process u n d e r ly in g e m o tio n a l consciousness be w h a t I h ave n o w so u gh t to p rove it, the p h ysio lo g y o f the b rain becom es a sim p ler m a tte r than has b een h ith e rto sup p osed. Sen ­ sation al, associational, an d m o to r elem en ts are all th at the organ n eed co n ta in . T h e physiologists w ho, d u r in g the past few years, have b een so in d u strio u sly e x p lo r in g the b r a in ’s fu n ctio n s, h ave lim ite d th eir e x p la n a tio n s to its c o g n itiv e an d v o litio n a l p erfo r­ m ances. D iv id in g th e b rain in to sensory an d m o to r centres, th ey h a ve fo u n d th eir d iv isio n to be e x a c tly p arallele d b y the analysis m ad e b y e m p irica l p sych o lo gy o f the p e rc e p tiv e an d v o litio n a l parts o f the m in d in to th eir sim p lest elem en ts. B u t the em otion s h a ve b een so ig n o re d in all these researches th at on e is tem p te d to suppose th at if these in vestigato rs w ere asked for a theory of them in brain-term s, th ey w o u ld have to reply, e ith e r th at th ey h ad as

1086

T h e E m otions ye t bestow ed n o th o u g h t u p o n the su b ject, or th at th ey h ad fo u n d it so difficu lt to m a k e d istin ct hyp otheses th at the m a tte r lay a m o n g the p rob lem s o f the fu tu re, o n ly to b e taken u p after the sim p ler ones o f the presen t sh o u ld h ave been d e fin itiv e ly solved. A n d ye t it is even n o w certain th at o f tw o th in gs c o n ce rn in g the em otion s, on e m u st b e true. E ith e r separate an d special centres, affected to th em alon e, are th e ir brain-seat, or else th ey correspond to processes o c c u rrin g in the m o to r an d sensory centres alread y as­ sign ed, or in others lik e them , n o t yet k n o w n . I f the form er b e the case, w e m u st d e n y the v ie w th at is cu rren t, a n d h o ld the co rtex to b e so m eth in g m o re than the surface o f ‘p r o je c tio n ’ for every sensi­ tive spot a n d every m u scle in the b od y. If the la tte r b e the case, w e m u st ask w h e th e r th e e m o tio n a l p ro c ess in the sensory or m o to r cen tre b e an a lto g e th e r p ecu lia r one, or w h e th e r it resem bles the ord in a ry p erce p tive processes o f w h ich those centres are alread y reco gn ized to b e the seat. N o w if the th eo ry I h ave d e fe n d e d b e true, the latter a lte rn a tiv e is all th at it dem ands. S u p p o sin g the co rtex to co n ta in parts, lia b le to b e e x c ite d b y changes in each spe­ cial sense-organ, in each p o rtio n o f th e skin, in each m uscle, each jo in t, a n d each viscus, an d to co n ta in a b so lu te ly n o th in g else, w e still h ave a schem e ca p a b le o f re p re se n tin g the process o f the e m o ­ tions. A n o b je c t falls on a sense-organ, affects a cortica l part, an d is perceived ; or else the latter, e x c ite d in w ard ly, gives rise to an idea o f the sam e o b ject. Q u ic k as a flash, th e reflex curren ts pass d o w n th ro u g h th eir p reo rd a in e d chann els, alter the c o n d itio n o f m uscle, skin, an d viscus; an d these alterations, p erceived , lik e th e o rig in a l o b je ct, in as m a n y p ortion s o f the cortex, c o m b in e w ith it in co n ­ sciousness a n d transform

it from an o b je ct-sim p ly-ap p re h e n d e d

in to an o b je c t-e m o tio n a lly-fe lt. N o n ew p rin cip le s h ave to b e in ­ vok ed , n o th in g p o stu lated b e y o n d the o rd in a ry reflex circu its, an d the local centres a d m itte d in on e shape or a n o th e r b y a ll to exist.

E M O T IO N A L D IF F E R E N C E S B E T W E E N IN D IVID U ALS

T h e r e v iv a b ility in m e m o r y o f t h e e m o tio n s , lik e th at o f all the feelin gs o f th e lo w er senses, is very sm all. W e can re m e m b e r that w e u n d e rw e n t g r ie f or rap tu re, b u t n o t ju s t h o w the g r ie f or rap ­ tu re felt. T h i s d ifficu lt id e a l r e v iv a b ility is, h ow ever, m o re than co m p en sa ted in th e case o f the em o tio n s b y a very easy a c tu a l re­ v iv a b ility . T h a t is, w e can p rodu ce, n o t rem em b ran ces o f the old

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology g r ie f or rap tu re, b u t n e w griefs an d raptures, b y su m m o n in g u p a liv e ly th o u g h t o f th eir e x c itin g cause. T h e cause is n o w o n ly an idea, b u t this idea p rodu ces the sam e o rg an ic irrad iation s, or a l­ m ost th e sam e, w h ic h w ere p ro d u ced b y its o rig in a l, so th at the e m o tio n is again a reality. W e h ave ‘re ca p tu red ’ it. Sham e, love, a n d an ge r are p a rticu la rly lia b le to b e thus re v iv e d b y ideas o f th eir o b ject. Professor B a in a d m its22 that “ in th eir strict character o f E m o tio n proper, th ey [the em otions] h ave the m in im u m o f re ­ v iv a b ility ; b u t b e in g alw ays in co rp o rated w ith the sensations o f the h ig h e r senses, th ey share in th e su p erio r r e v iv a b ility o f sights an d sou n d s.” B u t he fails to p o in t o u t th at the re vive d sights an d sou nds m a y b e id e a l w ith o u t cea sin g to b e d istin ct; w h ilst the em o tio n , to b e d istin ct, m u st b e co m e real again . Prof. B a in seems to fo rget th at an ‘ ideal e m o tio n ’ an d a real e m o tio n p ro m p ted b y an ideal o b je c t are tw o very d iffe re n t things.

A n e m o t io n a l te m p e r a m e n t o n t h e o n e h a n d , a n d a liv e ly im a g i­ n a tio n f o r o b je c t s a n d c ir c u m s ta n c e s o n t h e o th e r , a re th u s t h e c o n ­ d itio n s , necessa ry a n d s u ffic ie n t, f o r an a b u n d a n t e m o t io n a l life . N o m a tte r h ow e m o tio n a l th e tem p e ra m e n t m a y be, if the im a g i­ n a tio n b e poor, th e occasions for to u c h in g off the e m o tio n a l trains w ill fail to b e realized, a n d the life w ill b e p r o ta n to c o ld an d dry. T h is is p erhaps a reason w h y it m a y b e b e tte r th at a m an of th o u g h t sh o u ld n o t h ave too stron g a v is u a liz in g pow er. H e is less lik e ly to have his trains o f m e d ita tio n d istu rb e d b y e m o tio n a l in te rru p ­ tions. It w ill b e re m e m b e re d th at M r. G a lto n fo u n d th e m em b ers o f the R o y a l So ciety a n d o f the F ren ch A c a d e m y o f Sciences to be b e lo w par in v is u a liz in g p ow er. I f I m a y speak o f m yself, I am far less a b le to visu a lize now , at the age o f 46, th an in m y earlier years; a n d I am stro n g ly in c lin e d to b e lie v e th at the re la tive sluggishness o f m y e m o tio n a l life at presen t is q u ite as m u ch co n n e cte d w ith this fact as it is w ith the in v a d in g torp or o f hoary eld, or w ith the om nibu s-horse r o u tin e o f settled p rofessional an d do m estic life. I say this because I o ccasion ally h ave a flash o f the o ld stronger visu a l im agery, an d I n o tice th at the e m o tio n a l co m m en tary, so to call it, is then lia b le to b e co m e m u ch m o re a cu te than is its present w o n t. C h a r c o t’s p a tien t, w hose case is g iv e n a b o ve on p. 705 ff., c o m p la in e d o f his in ca p a city for e m o tio n a l fe e lin g after his o p tica l im ages w ere go n e. H is m o th e r’s d eath , w h ic h in form er tim es w o u ld 22 In his chapter on “ Ideal Em otion,” to which the reader is referred for farther details on this subject.

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T h e E m otions h ave w r u n g his heart, le ft h im q u ite cold ; largely, as he h im se lf suggests, b ecause he c o u ld form n o d e fin ite visu a l im a ge o f the even t, an d o f the effect o f th e loss on the rest o f th e fa m ily at hom e. O n e final g e n e ra lity a b o u t the em otion s rem ain s to b e n o ted :

T h e y b lu n t th e m s e lv e s by r e p e t it io n m o r e r a p id ly th a n any o th e r so rt o f f e e lin g . T h i s is d u e n o t o n ly to the gen eral law o f ‘accom ­ m o d a tio n ’ to th eir stim u lu s w h ic h w e saw to o b ta in o f all feelin gs w h a tever, b u t to the p e c u lia r fact th at the ‘d iffu sive w a v e ’ o f reflex effects tends alw ays to b e co m e m o re narrow . It seems as if it w ere essen tially m e an t to b e a p ro visio n al arra n gem en t, on the basis of w h ic h precise an d d e te rm in a te reactions m ig h t arise. T h e m ore w e exercise ourselves at a n y th in g , the few er m uscles w e e m p lo y; a n d ju s t so, the o ften er w e m eet an o b je ct, the m o re d e fin ite ly we th in k an d b e h a ve a b o u t it; an d the less is the o rg an ic p ertu rb a tio n to w h ic h it gives rise. T h e first tim e w e saw it w e c o u ld perhaps n e ith e r act n o r th in k at all, an d had n o reactio n b u t organ ic p er­ tu rb a tio n . T h e em o tio n s o f startled surprise, w o n d er, or cu rio sity w ere the result. N o w w e lo o k on w ith a b so lu te ly n o e m o tio n .23 T h i s ten d e n cy to eco n o m y in the nerve-p aths th ro u g h w h ic h ou r sensations an d ideas discharge, is the basis o f all gr o w th in effi­ cien cy, readiness, an d skill. W h e re w o u ld the gen eral, th e surgeon, the p re sid in g ch airm an , be, if th eir nerve-curren ts k e p t r u n n in g d o w n in to th eir viscera, instead o f k e e p in g u p a m id th eir c o n v o lu ­ tions? B u t w h a t th ey g a in for p ractice b y this law , th ey lose, it m u st b e confessed, for fe elin g. F or the w o rld -w o rn a n d e x p e rie n ce d m an, the sense o f pleasu re w h ic h he gets from th e free an d p o w erfu l flow o f th ough ts, o v e rc o m in g obstacles as th ey arise, is the o n ly c o m ­ p en sation for th at freshness o f th e h eart w h ic h he on ce en jo yed . T h is free a n d p o w erfu l flow m eans th at brain -path s o f association a n d m e m o ry have m o re an d m o re o rg an ized them selves in him , 23 T h o se feelings which Prof. Bain calls ‘em otions of relativity,’ excitem ent of novelty, wonder, rapture o f freedom , sense of power, h ard ly survive any repetition o f the experience. B ut as the text goes on to exp lain , and as G oethe as quoted by Prof. H offding says, this is because “ the soul is inw ardly grown larger w ithout kn ow ­ ing it, and can no longer be filled by that first sensation. T h e man thinks that he has

lost, bu t really he has gained. W h a t he has lost in rapture, he has gained in inward grow th.” “ It is,” as Prof. H offding him self adds, in a b eau tifu l figure of speech, “ with ou r virgin feelings, as with the first breath draw n by the new-born child , in w hich the lu ng expands itself so that it can never be em ptied to the same degree again. No later breath can feel just like that first one.” On this w hole subject of em otional b lu n tin g, com pare H offdin g’s P s y c h o lo g ic , vi, E., and B ain ’s E m o tio n s an d th e W ill, chapter iv, of the first part.

1089

T h e Principles of Psychology a n d th at th ro u g h th em the stim u lu s is d ra fte d off in to nerves w h ich lea d m e re ly to the w r itin g finger or the sp e a k in g to n g u e .24 T h e trains o f in t e lle c t u a l association, the m em ories, the lo g ica l rela­ tions, m ay, h ow ever, b e v o lu m in o u s in the e xtrem e. Past em otion s m ay b e a m o n g th e th in gs rem em b ered . T h e m o re o f all these trains a n o b je c t can set g o in g in us, the richer o u r c o g n itiv e in tim a cy w ith it is. T h i s cerebral sense o f richness seem s itself to b e a source o f pleasure, possibly even ap art from th e e u p h o r ia w h ic h from tim e to tim e com es u p from respiratory organs.24® If th ere b e such a th in g as a p u re ly sp iritu al em o tio n , I sh o u ld b e in c lin e d to re­ strict it to this cerebral sense o f a b u n d a n c e an d ease, this fe elin g, as Sir W . H a m ilto n w o u ld call it, o f u n im p e d e d an d n o t o ve r­ strained a c tiv ity o f th o u g h t. U n d e r o rd in a ry co n d itio n s, it is a fine an d serene b u t n o t a n e x c ite d state o f consciousness. In certain in ­ to xicatio n s it becom es e x c itin g , a n d it m a y b e in ten sely e x c itin g . I can h a rd ly im a g in e a m o re fren zied e x c ite m e n t than th at w h ich goes w ith the consciousness o f seein g a b so lu te tru th , w h ich charac­ terizes the c o m in g to from n itro u s-o x id e d ru nken ness. C h lo ro fo rm , ether, an d a lco h o l all p ro d u ce this d e e p e n in g sense o f in sig h t in to tru th ; a n d w ith a ll o f th em it m a y b e a ‘stro n g’ e m o tio n ; b u t then th ere also com e w ith it all sorts o f strange b o d ily feelin gs an d changes in the in c o m in g sen sibilities. I ca n n o t see m y w ay to affirm ­ in g th at th e e m o tio n is in d e p e n d e n t o f these. I w ill con cede, h o w ­ ever, th at if its in d e p e n d e n c e is a n yw h ere to b e m a in ta in ed , these th eo retic raptures seem the p lace at w h ic h to b e g in the d efen ce.

T H E GENESIS O F T H E V A R IO U S E M O T IO N S

O n a form er p ag e (p. 1069) I said th at tw o qu estion s, a n d o n ly tw o, are im p ortan t, if w e regard the em o tio n s as co n stitu te d b y feelin gs d u e to the d iffu sive w ave.

24

M. Frédéric Paulhan, in a little work fu ll o f accurate observations o f detail (Les

P h é n o m è n e s affectifs et les lois d e leu r a p p a ritio n ), seems to m e rather to turn the

truth upside down by his form ula that em otions are due to an in hib ition o f im pulsive tendencies. O n e kind o f em otion, nam ely, uneasiness, annoyance, distress, does occur when any definite im pulsive tendency is checked, and all o f M . P .’s illustrations are draw n from this sort. T h e other em otions are themselves prim ary im pulsive tendencies, o f a diffusive sort (involving, as M . P. rig h tly says, a m u ltip lic it é des phénom ènes)-, and just in proportion as m ore and m ore of these m u ltip le tendencies are checked, and replaced by some few narrow forms of discharge, does the origin al em otion tend to disappear. 24a c f . M eynert: P sy ch ia trie, pp. 180-1.

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T h e E m otions (1)

W h a t s p e c ia l d iffu s iv e e ffe c ts d o t h e v a r io u s s p e c ia l o b je c t iv e

a n d s u b je c t iv e e x p e r ie n c e s e x c i t e ? an d (2) H o w c o m e th e y to e x c i t e th e m ? T h e w orks on p h ysio g n o m y an d expression are all o f th em a t­ tem pts to answ er q u e stio n 1. A s is b u t n a tu ral, the effects u p o n the face have re ce ive d the m ost carefu l a tte n tio n . T h e reader w h o w ishes details a d d itio n a l to those g iv e n a b o v e on p p. 10 5 9 -10 6 3 is referred to the works m e n tio n e d in the n o te b e lo w .25 A s regards q u e stio n 2, som e little progress has o f recen t years b een m ad e in a n sw e rin g it. T w o th in gs are certain :

a. T h e facial m uscles o f expression are n o t g iv e n us sim p ly for e xp ressio n ’s sake;26

b. E a ch m u scle is n o t affected to som e on e e m o tio n e x clu sive ly, as certain w riters h ave th o u g h t. Som e m o vem en ts o f expression can b e a cco u n ted for as w e a k ­

e n e d r e p e t it io n s o f m o v e m e n ts w h ic h fo r m e r ly (w hen th ey w ere stronger) w ere o f u t ilit y to t h e s u b je c t . O th ers are sim ilarly w e a k ­ e n ed re p e titio n s o f m o vem en ts w h ic h u n d e r oth er co n d itio n s w ere

p h y s io lo g ic a lly necessa ry effects. O f the latter reactions the respira­ tory d istu rban ces in an ge r an d fear m ig h t b e taken as exam p les— o rg a n ic rem iniscences, as it w ere, re verberatio n s in im a g in a tio n o f the b lo w in g s o f the m an m a k in g a series o f c o m b a tiv e efforts, o f the p an tin gs o f on e in p re c ip ita te flight. Su ch at least is a sugges­ tion m a d e b y M r. Sp en cer w h ich has fo u n d ap p ro va l. A n d he also was the first, so far as I k n o w , to suggest th at oth er m o ve m e n ts in an ger a n d fear c o u ld b e e x p la in e d b y the nascent e x c ita tio n o f for­ m erly u sefu l acts. “ T o have in a slight degree,” he says, “such psychical states as ac­ com pany the reception of wounds, and are experienced du ring flight, is to be in a state of w hat we call fear. A n d to have in a slight degree such psychical states as the processes of catching, killing, and eating imply, is to have the desires to catch, kill, and eat. T h a t the propensities to 25 A list o f the older writings on the subject is given in M antegazza’s work. L a

P h y sio n o m ie et l ’ex p ressio n , chap. i; others in D arw in ’s first chapter. B e ll’s A n a to m y

of Expression, Mosso’s La Paura, Piderit’s Wissenschajtliches System der Mimik und P h y sio g n o m ik , D uchen n e’s M éca n ism e d e

la p h y sio n o m ie h u m a in e, are, besides Lange and D arw in, the most useful works with which I am acquainted. C om pare also Sully: Sen sation an d I n tu itio n , essay 11. 26 O ne m ust rem em ber, however, that just in so far forth as sexual selection may have played a part in determ ining the hum an organism , selection o f expressive faces m ust have increased the average m o bility of the hum an countenance.

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology the acts are nothing else than nascent excitations of the psychical state involved in the acts, is proved by the natural language of the propensi­ ties. Fear, when strong, expresses itself in cries, in efforts to escape, in palpitations, in tremblings; and these are just the manifestations that go along with an actual suffering of the evil feared. T h e destructive passion is shown in a general tension of the muscular system, in gnash­ in g of teeth and protrusion of the claws, in dilated eyes and nostrils, in growls; and these are weaker forms of the actions that accom pany the k illin g of prey. T o such objective evidences, every one can add subjec­ tive evidences. Every one can testify that the psychical state called fear, consists of mental representations of certain painful results; and that the one called anger, consists of m ental representations of the actions and impressions w hich w ould occur w hile inflicting some kind of pain .” 27 A b o u t fear I shall h ave m o re to say p resen tly. M e a n w h ile the p r in c ip le o f r e v iv a l in w e a k e n e d fo r m o f r e a c tio n s u s e f u l in m o r e

v io le n t d e a lin g s w ith th e o b je c t in s p ir in g th e e m o t io n , has fo u n d m a n y ap p licatio n s. So slig h t a sym p tom as th e snarl or sneer, the o n e-sid ed u n c o v e r in g o f the u p p e r teeth, is a cco u n ted for b y D a r ­ w in as a su rvival from the tim e w h e n o u r ancestors h ad large canines, an d u nfleshed th em (as dogs n o w do) for attack. S im ila rly the raisin g o f the eyebrow s in o u tw a rd a tte n tio n , the o p e n in g o f the m o u th in aston ishm ent, com e, a c c o rd in g to the sam e au tho r, from th e u tility o f these m o vem en ts in e xtrem e cases. T h e raisin g o f the eyebrow s goes w ith th e o p e n in g o f the eye for b e tte r vision ; the o p e n in g o f the m o u th w ith the intensest liste n in g, an d w ith the ra p id c a tc h in g o f th e b reath w h ic h precedes m u scu lar effort. T h e d iste n tio n o f the nostrils in an ge r is in te rp rete d b y Sp en cer as an ech o o f the w ay in w h ic h o u r ancestors h ad to b re ath e w h en , d u r­ in g co m b a t, th eir “ m o u th was filled u p b y a part o f an a n ta g o n is t’s b o d y th at h ad b een seized” (!). T h e tr e m b lin g o f fear is supposed b y M an tega zza to b e for the sake o f w a r m in g the b lo o d (!). T h e r e d d e n in g o f the face an d n eck is ca lle d b y W u n d t a com p en sato ry a rra n g em e n t for r e lie v in g the b rain o f the b lood -pressure w h ich the sim u ltan e o u s e x c ite m e n t o f the heart b rin g s w ith it. T h e ef­ fu sio n o f tears is e x p la in e d b o th b y this a u th o r an d b y D a rw in to b e a b lo o d -w ith d ra w in g ag e n cy o f a sim ilar sort. T h e co n tra ctio n o f the m uscles a ro u n d the eyes, o f w h ic h th e p r im itiv e use is to p ro tect those organs from b e in g too m u ch g o rg e d w ith b lo o d du r27 Psychology, § 213.

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T h e E m otions in g the scream in g fits o f in fan cy, survives in a d u lt life in the shape o f the frow n, w h ic h in stan tly com es over the b ro w w h en a n y th in g difficu lt or d isp lea sin g presents itself e ith er to th o u g h t or action . “As the habit of contracting the brows has been followed by infants during innum erable generations, at the commencement of every crying or screaming fit,” says Darwin, “ it has become firmly associated with the incipient sense of som ething distressing or disagreeable. Hence under similar circumstances it w ould be apt to be continued during maturity, although never then developed into a crying-fit. Screaming or w eeping begins to be voluntarily restrained at an early period of life, whereas frowning is hardly ever restrained at any age.” 28 The

in te rm itte n t ex p ira tio n s w h ic h co n stitu te la u g h ter have,

ac c o rd in g to D r. H eck er, the p u rp ose o f c o u n te ra ctin g the anaemia o f the b rain , w h ic h he supposes to b e b r o u g h t a b o u t b y the action o f the jo y o u s or c o m ic stim u lu s u p o n the vaso-m otor nerves.29 A sm ile is the w ea k vestige o f a lau gh . T h e tig h t closure o f the m o u th in all effort is usefu l for r e ta in in g the a ir in the lu n gs so as to fix the chest a n d g iv e a firm basis o f in sertion for the m uscles o f the flanks. A c c o r d in g ly , w e see the lips com press them selves u p o n every slig h t occasion o f resolve. T h e b lood -pressure has to b e h ig h d u r in g the sexual em brace; h en ce the p alp itatio n s, a n d h en ce also the ten d e n cy to caressing action , w h ic h accom p an ies ten der em otion in its fain ter forms. O th e r exam p les m ig h t b e g iv e n ; b u t these are q u ite e n o u g h to show the scope o f the p r in c ip le o f revival o f usefu l actio n in w eaker form . 28 W eepin g in childhood is almost as regular a sym ptom o f anger as it is o f grief, which w ould account (on D arw in ’s principles) for the frown of anger. M r. Spencer has an account o f the angry frown as having arisen through the survival o f the fittest, by its u tility in keeping the sun o u t of on e’s eyes when engaged in m ortal combat(!). (P r in c ip le s o f P sy ch o lo g y , n, 546.) Professor Mosso objects to any e x p la ­ nation of the frown by its u tility for vision, that it is coupled, during em otional e x ­ citem ent, w ith a dilatation o f the p u p il which is very unfavorable for distinct vision, and that this ou gh t to have been weeded ou t by n atural selection, if n atural selection had the power to fix the frown (see L a P e u r , French 1st e d „ chap. ix, § vi). U n fo rtu ­ nately this very able author speaks as if all the emotions affected the p u pil in the same way. Fear certainly does m ake it dilate. B ut G ratiolet is quoted by D arw in and

others as saying that the p u pils con tract in anger. I have m ade no observations o f m y own on the point, and Mosso’s earlier paper on the p u p il (T u rin , 1875) I have not seen. I must repeat, with D arw in, that we need m ore m in u te observations on this subject. 29 D ie P h y sio lo g ic u n d P sy ch o lo g ie des L a ch en s u n d des K o m isc h e n (Berlin, 1873), p p. 13-15.

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology

A n o th e r p rin c ip le , to w h ich D a rw in p erhaps h ard ly does suffi­ c ie n t ju stice, m ay b e c a lle d th e p r in c ip le o f r e a c tin g s im ila r ly to

a n a lo g o u s - fe e lin g s t im u li. T h e r e is a w h o le v o c a b u la ry o f descrip ­ tiv e ad je ctive s co m m o n to im pressions b e lo n g in g to d ifferen t sensi­ b le spheres— exp erien ces o f all classes are s w eet, im pressions o f all classes r ic h

or s o lid , sensations o f all classes sh a rp . W u n d t an d

P id e rit a c c o rd in g ly e x p la in m a n y o f o u r m ost exp ressive reactions u p o n m oral causes as sym bo lic gu stato ry m o vem en ts. A s soon as an y e x p erie n ce arises w h ic h has an affinity w ith the fe e lin g o f sweet, or b itte r, or sour, the sam e m o ve m e n ts are e x e cu te d w h ich w o u ld result from the taste in p o in t.30 “ A l l the states o f m in d w h ic h lan ­ g u a g e designates b y the m etap h ors b itte r, harsh, sweet, c o m b in e them selves, therefore, w ith th e co rre sp o n d in g m im e tic m o vem en ts o f the m o u th .” C e r ta in ly the em o tio n s o f d isgu st an d satisfaction d o express them selves in this m im e tic w ay. D isg u st is an in c ip ie n t re g u rg ita tio n or re tch in g, lim itin g its expression o ften to th e g r i­ m ace o f th e lips a n d nose; satisfaction goes w ith a s u c k in g sm ile, or tastin g m o tio n o f the lips. In M a n te g a zza ’s loose if lea rn ed w ork, the a tte m p t is m ade, m u ch less successfully, to b r in g in the eye an d ear as a d d itio n a l sources o f sy m b o lic a lly exp ressive reactio n . T h e o rd in a ry gestu re o f n e g a tio n — a m o n g us, m o v in g th e head a b o u t its axis from side to side— is a reaction o r ig in a lly used b y b ab ies to k eep disagreeables from g e ttin g in to th eir m o u th , a n d m a y b e o b ­ served in p erfectio n in an y nu rsery.31 It is n o w e vo k e d w h ere the stim u lu s is o n ly an u n w e lc o m e idea. S im ila rly th e n o d forw ards in affirm ation is after the a n a lo g y o f ta k in g foo d in to the m o u th . T h e c o n n e ctio n o f the expression o f m o ral or social d isd ain or dislike, especially in w o m en , w ith m o ve m e n ts h a v in g a p erfe ctly d e fin ite o rig in a l o lfacto ry fu n ctio n , is too o b v io u s for co m m en t. W in k in g is the effect o f an y th re a te n in g surprise, n o t o n ly o f w h a t p u ts the eyes in dan ger; an d a m o m e n ta ry aversion o f th e eyes is very a p t to 30 T h ese movements are explain ed teleologically, in the first instance, by the efforts which the tongue is forced to m ake to adap t itself to the better perception or avoid­ ance of the sapid body. (Cf. P h y sio lo g isc h e P sy ch o lo g ie, ii, 423.) 31 Professor H enle derives the negative wag o f the head from an incipient shudder, and remarks how fortunate is the abbreviation, as when a lady declines a partner in the ballroom . T h e clapp in g of the hands for applause he explains as a symbolic abridgm ent o f an em brace. T h e protrusion o f the lips (d er p r ü fe n d e Zug) which goes w ith all sorts of dubious and questioning states o f m ind is derived by D r. Piderit from the ta stin g m ovem ent which we can see on anyone’s m outh when deciding whether a wine is good or not.

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T h e Em otions b e o n e ’s first sym p tom o f response to an u n e x p e c te d ly u n w e lco m e p ro p o sitio n .— T h e s e m a y suffice as exam p les o f m o vem en ts exp res­ sive from an alogy. B u t if certain o f o u r e m o tio n al reactions can b e e x p la in e d b y the tw o p rin cip le s in v o k e d —a n d the reader w ill h im se lf h ave felt how co n je ctu ral a n d fa llib le in som e o f the instances the e x p la n a tio n is— th ere rem ain m a n y reactions w h ich ca n n o t so b e e x p la in e d at all, an d these w e m u st w rite d o w n for the present as p u re ly id io ­ p ath ic effects o f th e stim ulu s. A m o n g st th em are the effects on the viscera an d in tern a l glan ds, the dryness o f the m o u th a n d diarrhoea an d nausea o f fear, the liver-d istu rban ces w h ic h som etim es p ro d u ce ja u n d ic e a fte r excessive rage, the u rin ary secretion o f san gu in e e x ­ c ite m e n t, an d the b la d d er-co n tractio n o f ap p reh en sion , the g a p in g o f e x p ectan cy, th e ‘lu m p in the th ro a t’ o f grief, the tic k lin g there an d the sw a llo w in g o f em barrassm ent, the ‘p record ial a n x ie ty ’ o f dread, the changes in the p u p il, th e vario u s sw eatings o f th e skin, co ld or hot, local or gen eral, an d its flushings, togeth er w ith other sym ptom s w h ic h p ro b a b ly exist b u t are too h id d e n to h ave b een n o tic e d or nam ed. It seems as if even the ch an ges o f blood-pressure a n d h eart-beat d u r in g e m o tio n a l e x c ite m e n t m ig h t, in stead o f b e ­ in g te le o lo g ica lly d e te rm in e d , p rove to b e p u re ly m ech an ica l or p h ysio lo g ica l o u tp o u rin g s th ro u g h the easiest d rain age-ch an n els— the p n eu m ogastrics a n d sym p a th etic nerves h a p p e n in g u n d e r o rd i­ nary circu m stan ces to b e such channels. M r. Spencer argues th at the s m a lle s t m uscles m u st b e such c h a n ­ nels; an d instances the tail in dogs, cats, a n d birds, th e ears in horses, the crest in parrots, the face an d fingers in m an, as the first organs to b e m o v e d b y e m o tio n a l s tim u li.32 T h is p r in c ip le (if it be one) w o u ld a p p ly still m ore easily to the m uscles o f the sm aller arteries (th o u g h n o t e x a c tly to the heart); w h ilst the great varia­ b ility o f the c ircu la to ry sym ptom s w o u ld also suggest that th ey are d e te rm in e d b y causes in to w h ich u tility does n o t enter. T h e q u ic k ­ e n in g o f the heart len ds itself, it is true, rather easily to e x p la n a tio n 32

L o c . cit., § 497. W h y a dog’s face-muscles are not more m obile than they are

M r. Spencer fails to explain , as also w hy different stim u li should innervate these sm all muscles in such different ways, if easy drainage be the on ly p rin ciple involved. Charles B ell accounted for the special part played by the facial muscles in expression by their being accessory m u scles 0/ resp ira tio n , governed by nerves whose origin is close to the respiratory centre in the m edulla oblongata. T h e y are an adjuvant of v o ice , and like it their function is co m m u n ica tio n . (See B e ll’s A n a to m y o j E xp ressio n , A p p end ix by A lexan der Shaw.)

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T h e Principles of Psychology b y in h e rite d h ab it, o rg an ic m e m o ry o f m o re v io le n t e x cite m e n t; a n d D a rw in speaks in favor o f this v ie w (see his E x p r e s s io n , etc., pp. 7 4 -5 ). B u t, on the oth er h an d, w e have so m a n y cases o f reac­ tion w h ich are in d isp u ta b ly p ath o lo gica l, as w e m ay say, a n d w h ich co u ld n ever b e serviceable or d e rive d from w h a t was serviceable, th at I th in k w e sh o u ld b e cau tio u s a b o u t p u sh in g ou r e xp la n atio n s o f the va rie d h eart-beat too far in the tele o lo g ica l d ire ctio n . T r e m ­ b lin g , w h ich is fo u n d in m a n y e x cite m e n ts besides th at o f terror, is,

p a c e M r. Sp en cer an d Sig. M antegazza, q u ite p ath o lo gica l. So are terro r’s oth er stron g sym ptom s. Professor M osso, as th e total result o f his study, w rites as follows: “ W e have seen that the graver the peril becomes, the more do the reactions which are positively harm ful to the animal prevail in number and in efficacy. W e already saw that the trem bling and the palsy make it incapable of flight or defence; we have also convinced ourselves that in the most decisive moments of danger we are less able to see [or to think] than when we are tranquil. In face of such facts we must admit that the phenom ena of fear cannot all be accounted for by ‘selection.’ T h e ir extrem e degrees are m orbid phenom ena which show an imper­ fection in the organism. W e m ight almost say that N ature had not been able to frame a substance which should be excitable enough to com­ pose the brain and spinal marrow, and yet which should not be so ex­ cited by exceptional stim ulation as to overstep in its reactions those physiological bounds which are useful to the conservation o f the crea­ ture.” 33 Professor B ain , if I m istak e not, had lo n g p revio u sly co m m e n ted u p o n fear in a sim ilar way. M r. D a rw in accou n ts for m a n y e m o tio n al expressions b y w h a t he calls the p r in c ip le o f antithesis. In v ir tu e o f this p rin c ip le , if a certain stim u lu s p ro m p te d a certain set o f m ovem ents, then a contrary-feelin g stim u lu s w o u ld p ro m p t e x a c tly the o p p o site m o ve ­ m ents, a lth o u g h these m ig h t otherw ise have n eith er u tility nor sign ificance. It is in this w ise th at D a rw in e x p la in s the expression o f im p oten ce, raised eyebrow s, a n d sh ru gged shoulders, d ro p p e d arm s an d op en palm s, as b e in g the an tith esis o f the fro w n in g brow , the th ro w n -b ack shoulders, a n d cle n ch e d fists o f rage, w h ic h is the em o tio n o f pow er. N o d o u b t a certain n u m b e r o f m o vem en ts can b e fo rm u la te d u n d e r this law ; b u t w h e th e r it expresses a ca u sa l p r in c ip le is m ore than d o u b tfu l. It has b een b y m ost critics c o n ­ 33 La Paura, A ppendice, p. 295.

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T h e Em otions sidered the least successful o f D a r w in ’s sp ecu la tio n s on this sub ject. T o sum up, w e see the reason for a few e m o tio n a l reactions; for others a possib le species o f reason m a y b e guessed; b u t others re­ m a in for w h ich n o p la u sib le reason can even b e c o n ce ive d . T h e s e m ay b e reactions w h ic h are p u re ly m e ch a n ica l results o f the w ay in w h ic h o u r n ervo u s centres are fram ed, reactions w h ich , a lth o u g h p erm a n en t in us now , m a y b e ca lle d accid e n tal as far as th eir o rig in goes. In fact, in an organ ism as c o m p le x as the nervous system there

m u st b e m a n y such reactions, in cid e n ta l to others e v o lv e d for u tili­ ty ’s sake, b u t w h ic h w o u ld n ever them selves h ave b een e v o lv e d in ­ d e p e n d e n tly , for a n y u tility th ey m ig h t possess. Sea-sickness, the lo ve o f m u sic, o f the vario u s in to x ica n ts, nay, the e n tire aesthetic life o f m an , w e shall h ave to trace to this a ccid e n ta l o r ig in .33® It w o u ld b e foolish to suppose th at n o n e o f the reactio n s ca lle d em o ­ tio n a l c o u ld h ave arisen in this gw asi-acciden tal way. T h i s is all I h ave to say a b o u t th e em otion s. I f on e sh o u ld seek to n am e each p a rticu la r on e o f th em o f w h ich the h u m an heart is the seat, it is p la in th at th e lim it to th eir n u m b e r w o u ld lie in the in tro sp e ctive v o c a b u la ry o f the seeker, each race o f m e n h a v in g fo u n d nam es for som e shade o f fe e lin g w h ich oth er races h ave left u n d iscrim in a te d . If then w e sh o u ld seek to b reak the em otion s, thus en u m e rate d , in to groups, a c c o rd in g to th eir affinities, it is again p la in th at all sorts o f g r o u p in g s w o u ld b e possible, a cco rd in g as w e chose this character or th at as a basis, an d th at all gr o u p in g s w o u ld b e e q u a lly real a n d true. T h e o n ly q u e stio n w o u ld be, does this g r o u p in g or that su it o u r p u rp ose best? T h e reader m a y th en class th e em o tio n s as he w ill, as sad or joyou s, sthen ic or asthenic, n a tu ral or acq u ire d , in sp ired b y a n im a te or in a n im a te things, for­ m al or m a terial, sensuous or ideal, d ire ct or reflective, ego istic or n o n -ego istic, retro spective, p rosp ective or im m ed iate, organ ism ally or e n v iro n m e n ta lly in itia te d , or w h a t m o re besides. A ll these are d ivisio n s w h ic h h ave b een a c tu a lly proposed. E ach o f th em has its m erits, a n d each on e b rin g s togeth er som e em o tio n s w h ic h the others k eep apart. F or a fu lle r a cco u n t, an d for oth er classificatory schemes, I refer to th e A p p e n d ix to B a in ’s E m o t io n s a n d t h e W ill, a n d to M e r c ie r ’s, S ta n le y ’s, an d R e a d ’s articles on the E m o tio n s, in

M i n d , V o ls. I X , X , an d X I . In V o l. I X , p. 421 there is also an a rticle b y th e la m e n te d E d m u n d G u r n e y in criticism o f th e v ie w w h ic h in this ch a p te r I c o n tin u e to d efen d . 33 a Vide infra, p. 1225.

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Chapter X X V V Will

D esire, w ish, w ill, are states o f m in d w h ich e ve ryo n e know s, an d w h ich n o d e fin itio n can m a ke p la in er. W e desire to feel, to have, to do, all sorts o f th in gs w h ic h at the m o m e n t are n o t felt, had, or do n e. If w ith th e desire th ere goes a sense th at a tta in m e n t is n o t possible, w e sim p ly w ish ; b u t if w e b e lie v e th at the en d is in o u r p ow er, w e w ill th at the desired fe elin g, h a v in g , or d o in g shall be real; a n d real it p resen tly becom es, e ith e r im m e d ia te ly u p o n the w illin g or a fte r certain p relim in arie s h ave b een fu lfilled . T h e o n ly ends w h ich fo llo w im m e d ia te ly u p o n o u r w illin g seem to b e m o vem en ts o f o u r ow n bodies. W h a te v e r fe e lin g s an d h a v in g s w e m a y w ill to get, co m e in as results o f p re lim in a ry m o ve m e n ts w h ic h w e m a k e for the purpose. T h is fact is too fa m ilia r to need illu stra tio n ; so th at w e m ay start w ith th e p ro p o sitio n th at th e o n ly

d ir e c t o u tw a rd effects o f o u r w ill are b o d ily m o vem en ts. T h e m ech an ism o f p ro d u c tio n o f these v o lu n ta r y m o ve m e n ts is w h a t b e fa lls us to stu d y now . T h e su b je ct in vo lves a g o o d m a n y separate p o in ts w h ic h it is difficu lt to arrange in a n y c o n tin u o u s lo gica l order. I w ill treat o f th em successively in the m ere order o f c o n ­ v e n ie n ce ; tru stin g th at at th e e n d the reader w ill ga in a clear an d co n n e cte d view . * Parts of this chapter have appeared in an essay called “ T h e Feelin g of Effort,” p ublished in the A n n iv ersa ry M em o irs o j th e B o sto n Society o f N a tu ra l H isto ry , 1880; and parts in Scribner's M aga zin e for Feb. 1888.

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W ill

T h e m o ve m e n ts w e h ave stu d ied h ith e rto h ave b e e n a u to m a tic a n d reflex, an d (on the first occasion o f th eir p erfo rm an ce, at an y rate) u n foreseen b y th e ag e n t. T h e m o ve m e n ts to th e stu d y o f w h ic h w e n o w address ourselves, b e in g d esired an d in te n d e d b e ­ fo reh an d , are o f cou rse d o n e w ith fu ll p revisio n o f w h a t th ey are to be. It follow s from this th at v o lu n ta r y m o v e m e n ts m u s t b e sec ­

o n d a r y , n o t p r im a r y f u n c t i o n s o f o u r o r g a n ism . T h i s is th e first p o in t to u n d erstan d in the p sych o lo gy o f V o litio n . R e fle x , in stin c­ tive, a n d e m o tio n a l m o ve m e n ts are all p rim a ry perform an ces. T h e nerve-cen tres are so o rgan ized th at certain s tim u li p u ll the trigger o f certain e x p lo siv e parts; an d a creatu re g o in g th ro u g h o n e o f these e xp lo sio n s for the first tim e u n d ergoes an e n tire ly n o v e l e x ­ p erien ce. T h e oth er d ay I was s ta n d in g at a railro a d station w ith a little ch ild , w h e n an express-train w e n t th u n d e r in g by. T h e ch ild , w h o was n ear th e e d ge o f the p la tfo rm , started, w in k e d , h ad his b r e a th in g co n vu lsed , tu rn ed pale, b u rst o u t cryin g, an d ran fr a n ti­ c a lly tow ards m e a n d h id his face. I h ave n o d o u b t th at this y o u n g ­ ster was alm o st as m u ch aston ished b y his o w n b e h a v io r as he was b y th e train, a n d m o re th an I was, w h o stood b y. O f course if such a re actio n has m a n y tim es o ccu rre d w e learn w h a t to e x p e c t o f o u r­ selves, a n d can th en foresee o u r co n d u ct, even th o u g h it re m ain as in v o lu n ta r y a n d u n c o n tr o lla b le as it was before. B u t if, in v o lu n ­ tary a ctio n p ro p e rly so called , the act m u st b e foreseen, it follow s th at n o creatu re n o t e n d o w ed w ith d iv in a to r y p o w er can p erfo rm a n act v o lu n ta r ily for the first tim e. W e ll, w e are n o m o re e n d o w ed w ith p ro p h e tic visio n o f w h a t m o ve m e n ts lie in o u r p o w er th an w e are e n d o w e d w ith p ro p h e tic visio n o f w h a t sensations w e are c a p ­ a b le o f re ce ivin g. A s w e m u st w a it for th e sensations to b e g iv e n us, so w e m u st w a it for the m o ve m e n ts to b e p erfo rm e d in v o lu n ­ ta rily ,1 b e fo re w e can fram e ideas o f w h a t e ith e r o f these th in gs are. W e lea rn all o u r p o ssib ilitie s b y the w ay o f e xp erie n ce . W h e n a p a rticu la r m o ve m e n t, h a v in g on ce o ccu rre d in a ran d o m , reflex, or in v o lu n ta r y w ay, has le ft an im a ge o f itself in th e m em o ry, then th e m o v e m e n t can b e desired again , prop osed as an end, an d d e ­ lib e r a te ly w ille d . B u t it is im p ossible to see h o w it c o u ld b e w ille d b efore.

A s u p p ly o f id ea s o f t h e v a r io u s m o v e m e n ts th a t a re p o s s ib le , 1 I am abstracting at present for sim p licity’s sake, and so as to keep to the elem ents o f the m atter, from the learnin g of acts by seeing others do them .

1099

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology le f t in t h e m e m o r y by e x p e r ie n c e s o f t h e ir in v o lu n ta r y p e r fo r ­ m a n c e , is th u s t h e first p r e r e q u is it e o f t h e v o lu n ta r y life . N ow

the sam e m o v e m e n t in v o lu n ta r ily p erfo rm e d m a y leave

m a n y d iffe re n t k in d s o f ideas o f itself in the m em o ry. If p erfo rm ed b y a n o th e r person, w e o f course s e e it, or w e f e e l it if th e m o v in g p art strikes a n o th e r p art o f o u r ow n b o d y. S im ila rly w e h ave an a u d ito ry im a ge o f its effects if it p rodu ces sounds, as for e x a m p le w h e n it is o n e o f the m o ve m e n ts m ad e in vo ca liza tio n , or in p la y ­ in g on a m u sica l in stru m en t. A l l these r e m o te effects o f th e m o v e ­ m en t, as w e m a y call them , are also p ro d u c e d b y m o ve m e n ts w h ich w e ou rselves p erfo rm ; an d th ey lea ve in n u m e ra b le ideas in o u r m in d b y w h ic h w e d istin g u ish each m o v e m e n t fro m the rest. It

lo o k s d istin ct; it f e e ls d istin ct to som e d istan t p art o f the b o d y w h ic h it strikes; or it s o u n d s d istin ct. T h e s e rem o te effects w o u ld then , rig o ro u sly sp ea k in g, suffice to furn ish th e m in d w ith the su p ­ p ly o f ideas req u ired . B u t in a d d itio n

to these im pressions u p o n rem ote organs o f

sense, w e have, w h e n e v e r w e p erfo rm a m o v e m e n t ourselves, a n ­ oth er set o f im pressions, those, n am ely, w h ic h co m e u p from the parts th at are a c tu a lly m o ve d . T h e s e k in e s s th e tic im pressions, as D r. B astian has c a lle d th em , are so m a n y r e s id e n t effects o f the m o ­ tio n . N o t o n ly are o u r m u scles su p p lie d w ith afferen t as w e ll as w ith efferen t nerves, b u t the tendons, the ligam en ts, th e a rticu lar surfaces, a n d the skin a b o u t the jo in ts are all sensitive, an d, b e in g stretched a n d squ eezed in w ays ch aracteristic o f each p a rticu la r m o ve m e n t, g iv e us as m a n y d istin c tiv e fe elin gs as there are m o v e ­ m en ts p ossible to p erform . It is b y these resid en t im pressions th at w e are m a d e con scious o f

p a ssiv e m o v e m e n ts — m o vem en ts c o m m u n ica te d to o u r lim b s b y others. I f y o u lie w ith closed eyes, an d a n o th e r person noiselessly places y o u r arm or le g in a n y a rb itra rily chosen a ttitu d e , yo u re­ c e iv e an accu rate fe e lin g o f w h a t a ttitu d e it is, a n d can im m e d ia te ly re p ro d u ce it yo u rse lf in the arm or le g o f th e op p o site side. S im i­ la rly a m an w a k ed su d d e n ly from sleep in th e dark is aw are o f h ow he finds h im se lf ly in g . A t least this is w h a t h ap p en s w h e n the n er­ vo u s ap p aratu s is no rm al. B u t in cases o f disease w e som etim es find th at th e residen t im pressions d o n o t n o rm a lly e x c ite th e centres, an d th at then the sense o f a ttitu d e is lost. It is o n ly re ce n tly that p ath o lo gists h ave b e g u n to stu d y these anaesthesias w ith the d e li­ cacy w h ic h they req u ire; an d w e h ave d o u b tless y e t a grea t d eal to

1100

W ill learn a b o u t them . T h e skin m ay be anaesthetic, an d the m uscles m a y n o t feel the cram p -lik e p ain w h ic h is p ro d u ced b y faradic cu r­ rents sent th ro u gh them , an d ye t th e sense o f passive m o ve m e n t m ay b e retained. It seems, in fact, to persist m o re o b stin a te ly than the oth er form s o f se n sib ility, for cases are c o m p a ra tive ly com m on in w h ich all the o th e r feelin gs in the lim b b u t this on e o f a ttitu d e are lost. In C h a p te r X X I h ave tried to m a ke it ap p ear that the a rticu lar surfaces are p ro b a b ly the m ost im p o rtan t source o f the residen t kinaesthetic feelings. B u t the d e te rm in a tio n o f th eir spe­ cial organ is in d iffe ren t to o u r presen t qu est. It is e n o u g h to k n o w th at the existen ce o f these feelin gs ca n n o t b e den ied . W h e n the feelin gs o f passive m o v e m e n t as w e ll as all the oth er feelin gs o f a lim b are lost, w e ge t such results as are g iv e n in the fo llo w in g ac c o u n t b y Professor A . S triim p ell o f his w o n d e rfu l anaes­ th etic boy, w hose o n ly sources o f fe e lin g w ere the rig h t eye an d the left e ar:2 “ Passive movements could be im printed on all the extremities to the greatest extent, w ithout attracting the patient’s notice. O n ly in violent forced hyperextension of the joints, especially of the knees, there arose a du ll vague feeling of strain, b ut this was seldom precisely localized. W e have often, after bandaging the eyes of the patient, carried him about the room, laid him on a table, given to his arms and legs the most fantastic and apparently the most inconvenient attitudes, w ithout his having a suspicion of it. T h e expression of astonishment in his face, when all at once the removal of the handkerchief revealed his situation, is indescribable in words. O n ly when his head was made to hang away down he im m ediately spoke of dizziness, b u t could not assign its ground. Later he sometimes inferred from the sounds connected with the ma­ nipulation that som ething special was being done w ith him . . . .

He

had no feelings of muscular fatigue. If, w ith his eyes shut, we told him to raise his arm and to keep it up, he did so w ithout trouble. A fter one or two minutes, however, the arm began to tremble and sink w ithout his being aware o f it. H e asserted still his ability to keep it u p . . . . Pas­ sively holding still his fingers did not affect him. H e thought constantly that he opened and shut his hand, whereas it was really fixed.” O r w e read o f cases lik e this: “ Voluntary movements cannot be estimated the moment the patient ceases to take note of them by his eyes. T hus, after having made him close his eyes, if one asks him to move one of his limbs either w holly or 2 Deutsches A rchiv fiir klinische M edicin, x x i i , 321.

1 I OI

T h e Principles of Psychology in part, he does it b u t cannot tell whether the effected movement is large or small, strong or weak, or even if it has taken place at all. A n d when he opens his eyes after m oving his leg from right to left, for ex­ ample, he declares that he had a very inexact notion of the extent of the effected movement. . . . If, having the intention of executing a certain movement, I p reven t h im , he does not perceive it, and supposes the lim b to have taken the position he intended to give it.” ® O r this: “ T h e patient, when his eyes were closed in the m iddle of an un­ practised movement, remained w ith the extrem ity in the position it had when the eyes closed and did not com plete the movement properly. T h e n after some oscillations the lim b gradually sank by reason of its weight (the sense of fatigue being absent). O f this the patient was not aware, and wondered, when he opened his eyes, at the altered position o f his lim b.” 4 A sim ilar c o n d itio n can b e re ad ily re p ro d u ce d e x p e rim e n ta lly in m a n y h y p n o tic subjects. A l l that is n eed ed is to tell a su ita b ly predisposed person d u r in g the h y p n o tic trance th at he ca n n o t feel his lim b , a n d he w ill b e q u ite u n aw are o f the attitu d e s in to w h ich yo u m ay th row it.5 A l l these cases, w h e th e r sp ontan eou s or e x p erim e n ta l, show the ab so lu te n eed o f g u id in g s e n s a tio n s o f som e k in d for the successful ca rryin g o u t o f a co n ca te n a te d series o f m o vem en ts. It is, in fact, easy to see that, ju st as w h ere the ch ain o f m o vem en ts is au to m a tic (see a b o ve, V o l. I, p. 120), each later m o ve m e n t o f the ch ain has to b e disch arged b y the im pression w h ic h the n e x t earlier on e m akes in b e in g e xe cu ted , so also, w h ere the ch ain is v o lu n ta ry, w e n eed to k n o w at each m o v e m e n t ju s t w h e r e w e a re in it, if w e are to w ill in te llig e n tly w h a t the n e x t lin k shall be. A m an w ith n o fe e lin g o f his m o vem en ts m ig h t lead off n ever so w e ll, an d y e t b e sure to get lost soon an d g o astray.6 B u t p atien ts lik e those described , w h o ge t * Landry: "M ém oire sur la paralysie du sens m usculaire,” G a zette des H ô p ita u x , 1855, p . 270. 4 T akäcs: “ U ntersuchungen über die Verspätung der Em pfindungsleitung,” A r c h iv fü r P sy ch ia trie, B d. x, H eft 2, p. 533. C oncerning a ll such cases see the remarks m ade above on pp. 840-841. 5 P ro ceed in g s o f th e A m erica n Society fo r P sy ch ica l R esea rch , 1 (July 1885), p. 95. 6 In reality the m ovem ent cannot even be sta rted correctly in some cases w ithout

the kinæsthetic impression. T h u s D r. Strüm pell relates how tu rn in g over the boy’s hand m ade him bend the little finger instead of the forefinger, when his eye was closed. “ O rdered to point, e.g., towards the left w ith his left arm, the arm was usually raised

1 102

W ill n o kinaesthetic im pressions, can still b e g u id e d b y the sense o f sight. T h u s S triim p e ll says o f his b oy: “ O n e could always observe how his eye was directed first to the o b ­ ject held before him, then to his own arm; and how it never ceased to follow the latter during its entire movement. A ll his voluntary move­ ments took place under the unrem itting lead of the eye, w hich as an indispensable guide, was never untrue to its functions.” So in the L a n d r y case: “W ith his eyes open, he easily opposes the thum b to each of the other fingers; with his eyes closed, the movement of opposition occurs, but the thum b only by chance meets the finger which it seeks. W ith his eyes open he is able, w ithou t hesitation, to bring his two hands together; b u t when his eyes are closed his hands seek one another in space, and only meet by chance.” In C h a rle s B e ll’s w e ll-k n o w n o ld case o f anaesthesia the w o m an c o u ld o n ly h o ld her b a b y safely in h er arm s so lo n g as she lo o k ed at it. I h ave m yself re p ro d u ce d a sim ilar c o n d itio n in tw o h yp n o tic straight forwards, and then wandered about in gropin g uncertainty, sometimes getting the right position and then leaving it again. Sim ilarly w ith the low er limbs. If the patient, lyin g in bed, had, im m ediately after the tying of his eyes, to lay the left leg over the right, it often happened that he m oved it farther over towards the left, and that it lay over the side of the bed in apparently the most intolerably-uncom fortable position. T h e turning of the head, too, from right to left, or towards certain objects known to the patient, only ensued correctly when the patient, im m ediately before his eye was bandaged, specially refreshed his perception as to w hat the required m ove­ m ent was to be.” In another anaesthetic of D r. Striim pell’s (described in the same essay) the arm could not be m oved at a ll unless the eyes were opened, however ener­ getic the volition. T h e variations in these hysteric cases are great. Some patients can­ not move the anaesthetic part at a ll when the eyes are closed. Others m ove it perfectly w ell, and can even w rite continuous sentences w ith the amesthetic hand. T h e causes o f such differences are as yet incom pletely explored. M. Binet suggests (R ev u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , xxv, 478) th at in those who cannot move the hand at all the sensa­ tion o f ligh t is required as a ‘dynam ogenic’ agent (see above, p. 1001); and that in those who can m ove it skilfu lly the anesthesia is only a pseudo-insensibility and that the lim b is in reality governed by a dissociated or secondary consciousness. T h is latter exp lan ation is certainly correct. Professor G . E. M ü ller (Pflüger’s A r ch iv , x l v , 90) invokes the fact of individual differences o f im agination to account for the cases who cannot w rite at all. T h e ir kinassthetic images properly so called may be weak, he says, and their optical images insufficiently pow erful to supplem ent them w ithout a fillip ’ from sensation. Jan et’s observation that hysteric anaesthesias may carry amnesias with them would perfectly legitim ate M ü lle r’s supposition. W h at we now want is a m in u te exam ination of the individual cases. M eanw hile B in et’s article above re­ ferred to, and B astian ’s paper in B ra in for A p ril 1887, contain im portant discussions o f the question. In a later note I shall return to the subject again (see p. 1129).

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology su b jects w hose arm an d h an d w ere m ade anaesthetic w ith o u t b e in g paralyzed. T h e y c o u ld w rite th eir nam es w h en lo o k in g , b u t n o t w h en th eir eyes w ere closed. T h e m odern m o d e o f te a ch in g d e a f m utes to a rticu late consists in m a k in g th em a tte n tiv e to certain laryn geal, labial, thoracic, an d oth er sensations, the re p ro d u ctio n o f w h ic h becom es a g u id e to th eir vocalization . N o r m a lly it is the rem oter sensations w h ic h w e re ce ive b y the ear w h ich k e ep us from g o in g astray in o u r speech. T h e p h en o m en a o f aphasia show this to b e the u sual case.7 T h is is perhaps all th at n e e d b e said a b o u t the existen ce o f pas­ sive sensations o f m o v e m e n t a n d th eir in disp en sablen ess for ou r v o lu n ta ry a ctivity . W e m a y co n se q u e n tly set it d o w n as certain that, w h e th e r o r n o th e r e b e a n y th in g e ls e in t h e m in d a t th e m o ­

m e n t w h e n w e c o n s c io u s ly w ill a c e r ta in a ct, a m e n ta l c o n c e p t io n m a d e u p o f m em o r y -im a g es o f th e s e se n s a tio n s , d e fin in g w h ic h s p e ­ c ia l a ct it is, m u s t b e th e r e . N o w is th e r e a n y th in g e ls e in th e m in d w h e n w e w ill to d o an

a ct} W e m u st p ro ceed in this ch ap ter from the sim p ler to the m ore c o m p lica te d cases. M y first thesis a c c o rd in g ly is, th at t h e r e n e e d b e

n o t h in g e ls e , a n d th at in p e r fe c t ly s im p le v o lu n ta r y a cts th e r e is n o t h in g e lse , in t h e m in d b u t th e k in e e s th e tic id e a , th u s d e fin e d , o f w h a t th e a ct is to b e. A p o w e rfu l tra d itio n in P sych o lo g y w ill h ave it th at so m eth in g a d d itio n a l to these im ages o f passive sensation is essential to the m en ta l d e te rm in a tio n o f a v o lu n ta r y act. T h e r e m ust, o f course, be a special c u rre n t o f en e rg y g o in g o u t from th e b rain in to th e a p ­ p ro p riate m uscles d u r in g the act; an d this o u tg o in g c u rre n t (it is supposed) m ust have in each p a rticu la r case a fe e lin g s u i g e n e r is attach ed to it, or else (it is said) the m in d c o u ld n e ve r tell w h ich p a rticu la r current, the c u rre n t to this m u scle or the c u rre n t to that one, was the r ig h t o n e to use. T h i s fe e lin g o f the c u rre n t o f o u t­ g o in g en e rg y has re ce ive d from W u n d t the n a m e o f the f e e li n g o f

in n e r v a tio n . I d is b e lie v e in its e x is t e n c e , a n d m u st proceed to c r iti­ cise th e n o tio n o f it, at w h a t I fear m a y to som e p ro v e ted iou s len gth . 7 Professor Beaunis found that the accuracy w ith which a certain tenor sang was not lost when his vocal cords were m ade an esth etic by cocain. H e concludes that the gu idin g sensations- here are resident in the laryngeal muscles themselves. T h e y are m uch more probably in the ear. (Beaunis, L es Sensations in tern es (1889), p. 253.)

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W ill A t first sigh t there is s o m e th in g e x tre m e ly p la u sib le in the feel­ in g o f in n e rvatio n . T h e passive feelin gs o f m o v e m e n t w ith w h ich w e h ave h ith e rto b een d e a lin g all com e after the m o v e m e n t’s p er­ form ance. B u t w h erever a m o v e m e n t is d ifficu lt an d precise, w e b e ­ com e, as a m atter o f fact, ac u te ly aw are in a d v a n ce o f the a m o u n t a n d d ire ctio n o f e n e rg y w h ic h it is to in vo lve. O n e has o n ly to p la y ten -pin s or billiards, or th row a b all, to catch his w ill in the act, as it w ere, o f b a la n c in g te n ta tiv e ly its possib le efforts, an d id e a lly re­ h earsin g vario u s m u scu lar co n tra ctio n s n e a rly correct, u n til it gets ju s t th e rig h t on e b efore it, w h en it says ‘N o w g o !’ T h i s p r e m o n i­ tory w e ig h in g feels so m u ch lik e a succession o f te n ta tiv e sallyings forth o f p ow er in to the o u te r w o rld , fo llo w e d b y co rrectio n ju s t in tim e to a v o id the irrevo cab le deed, th at the n o tio n th at o u tg o in g n erve-curren ts rather than m ere vestiges o f form er passive sensi­ b ility a cco m p a n y it, is a m ost n a tu ra l on e to en tertain . W e find a c c o rd in g ly th at m ost au th o rs h ave taken the existen ce o f feelin gs o f in n e rva tio n as a m atter o f course. B ain , W u n d t, H e lm h o ltz , a n d M a c h d e fe n d th em m ost e x p lic itly . B u t in sp ite of the a u th o rity w h ic h such w riters d eserved ly w ield , I c a n n o t h e lp th in k in g th at th ey are in this in stan ce w ro n g ,— th at the discharge in to the m o to r nerves is in sen tien t, a n d th at a ll o u r id ea s o f m o v e ­

m e n t, in c lu d in g those o f the effort w h ic h it requires, as w e ll as those o f its d ire ctio n , its e xten t, its stren gth, an d its ve lo city, are

im a g es o f p e r ip h e r a l se n s a tio n s , e it h e r ‘ r e m o te ’ o r r e s id e n t in th e m o v in g p a rts, o r in o th e r p a rts w h ic h s y m p a th e tic a lly a ct w ith th e m in c o n s e q u e n c e o f t h e ‘ d iffu s iv e w a ve.’ A p r io r i, as I shall show , there is n o reason w h y there sh o u ld be a consciousness o f the m o to r discharge, an d there is a reason w h y there sh o u ld n o t be such a consciousness. T h e p r e s u m p t io n is thus again st the existen ce o f th e fe e lin g o f in n e rv a tio n ; an d the b u rd e n o f p r o v in g it falls u p o n those w h o b e lie v e in it. I f the p o sitive e m ­ p irica l e v id e n ce w h ic h th ey offer p ro ve also insufficient, then their case falls to the g r o u n d , an d the fe e lin g in q u e stio n m u st be ru le d o u t o f cou rt. In the first place, then , let m e show th at th e a s s u m p tio n o f th e

f e e li n g o f in n e r v a tio n is u n n ecessa ry . I c a n n o t h e lp su sp ectin g th a t th e scholastic p r e ju d ic e th a t ‘ the effect m u st b e alread y in som e w a y c o n ta in e d in the ca u se ’ has had so m e th in g to d o w ith m a k in g psych ologists so read y to a d m it the

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology fe e lin g o f in n e rvatio n . T h e o u tg o in g c u rre n t b e in g the effect, w h a t p sychic an te c e d e n t c o u ld co n ta in or p refig u re it b e tte r than a fe el­ in g o f it? B u t if w e take a w id e view , a n d co n sid er the p sych ic a n te ­ ced en ts o f ou r activitie s at large, w e see th at the scholastic m a x im breaks d o w n everyw h ere, an d th at its ve rificatio n in this in stan ce w o u ld rather v io la te than illu stra te the gen eral rule. In the d if­ fu sive w ave, in reflex actio n , a n d in e m o tio n a l exp ression, th e m o ve m e n ts w h ic h are the effects are in n o m a n n er c o n ta in e d b y a n tic ip a tio n in the s tim u li w h ic h are th e ir cause. T h e latter are s u b je c tiv e sensations o r o b je c tiv e p ercep tio n s, w h ic h d o n o t in the sligh test degree resem ble or p refigu re the m o vem en ts. B u t w e get them , and, presto! there th e m o vem en ts are! T h e y are k n o ck e d o u t o f us, th ey surprise us. I t is ju st cause for w o n d er, as o u r ch ap te r on In stin c t has show n us, th at such b o d ily con sequ en ces sh o u ld fo llo w such m en ta l an tecedents. W e e x p la in the m ystery ta n t b ie n q u e

m a t b y o u r e v o lu tio n a ry theories, sa y in g th at lu c k y varia tio n s an d h e re d ity h a ve g r a d u a lly b r o u g h t it a b o u t th at this p a rticu la r pair o f term s sh o u ld h ave gro w n in to a u n ifo r m sequen ce. M e a n w h ile w h y a n y state o f consciousness a t a ll sh o u ld p rece d e a m o ve m e n t, w e k n o w n o t— the tw o th in gs seem so essen tia lly d isco n tin u o u s. B u t if a state o f consciousness there m u st be, w h y then it m ay, for a u g h t w e can see, as easily b e on e sort o f a state as an other. I t is sw a llo w in g a cam el an d stra in in g at a g n a t for a m an (all o f w hose m u scles w ill on certain occasions co n tra ct at a su d d en to u ch or sound) to su p ­ pose th at on a n o th e r occasion th e idea o f th e feelin gs a b o u t to be p ro d u c e d b y th eir c o n tra ctio n is an in sufficien t m en ta l sign al for th e latter, an d to insist th at an a d d itio n a l a n te c e d e n t is n e e d e d in the shape o f ‘a fe e lin g o f th e o u tg o in g d isch arg e .’ N o ! for a u g h t w e can see, an d in the lig h t o f ge n e ral an alogy, the kinaesthetic ideas, as w e h ave d efin ed th em , or im ages o f in c o m in g feelin gs o f a ttitu d e a n d m o tio n , are as lik e ly as a n y feelin gs o f in ­ n e rva tio n are, to b e th e last p sych ic an teced en ts an d d eterm in ers o f the vario us curren ts d o w n w ard s in to the m uscles from the brain . T h e q u e stio n “ W h a t a re the an teced en ts a n d d e te rm in a n ts?” is a q u e stio n o f fact, to b e d e c id e d b y w h a te ve r e m p irica l e v id e n ce m ay b e fo u n d .8 8 As the feeling o f heat, for exam ple, is the last psychic antecedent o f sweating, as the feelin g of brigh t ligh t is that o f the p u p il’s contraction, as the sight or sm ell of carrion is that of the movements o f disgust, as the rem em brance of a blu n der may be that o f a blush, so the idea o f a m ovem ent’s sensible effects m igh t be that o f the

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W ill B u t b e fo re c o n sid e rin g the e m p iric a l evid e n ce , le t m e g o o n to show th at there is a c e r ta in a p r io r i rea so n w hy t h e k in c e s th e tic

im a g es

ought

to b e t h e last p s y c h ic a n te c e d e n ts o f th e o u t g o in g

c u r r e n ts , a n d w hy w e s h o u ld e x p e c t th e s e c u r r e n ts to b e in sen tien t-, w h y , in s h o r t, th e s o i-d isa n t fe e lin g s o f in n e r v a tio n s h o u ld e x is t.

not

It is a gen eral p r in c ip le in P sych o lo g y th at consciousness deserts all processes w h ere it can n o lo n g e r be o f use. T h e ten d e n cy o f c o n ­ sciousness to a m in im u m o f co m p lica tio n is in fact a d o m in a tin g law. T h e law o f p arsim o n y in lo g ic is o n ly its best k n o w n case. W e gro w u n co n scio u s o f e ve ry fe e lin g w h ic h is useless as a sign to lead us to ou r ends, an d w h ere on e sign w ill suffice others d ro p ou t, an d

m ovem ent itself. It is true that the idea of sw eating w ill not com m only make us sweat, nor that o f blushing m ake us blush. B ut in certain nauseated states the idea of vom iting w ill make us vom it; and a kind o f sequence which is in this case realized on ly excep tion ally m ight be the rule w ith the so-called volu ntary muscles. It all de­ pends on the nervous connections between the centres o f ideation and the discharg­ ing paths. T h ese m ay differ from one sort o f centre to another. T h e y do differ some­ what from one in dividu al to another. M any persons never blush at the idea o f their blunders, but on ly when the actual blunder is com m itted; others blush at the idea; and some do not blush at all. A ccording to Lotze, with some persons “ It is possible lo weep at w ill by trying to recall that p ecu liar feeling in the trigem inal nerve which h abitu ally precedes tears. Some can even succeed in sw eating volu n tarily, by the lively recollection o f the characteristic skin-sensations, and the volu ntary reproduc­ tion o f an indescribable sort o f feeling o f relaxation, which ordin arily precedes the flow o f p erspiration .” (M e d ic in is c h e P sy ch o lo g ie, p. 303.) T h e com m oner type of exceptional case is that in which the idea o f the stim u lu s, not that o f the effects, p ro­ vokes the effects. T h u s we read o f persons w ho contract their pupils at w ill by strong­ ly im agining a b rillian t ligh t. A gentlem an once inform ed me (strangely enough I cannot recall who he was, but I have an impression o f his being a m edical man) that he could sweat at w ill by im agining him self on the brink o f a precipice. T h e sweating palms o f fear are sometimes p roducible by im agining a terrible object (cf. M anouvrier in R e v u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , x x n , 203). O ne o f m y students, whose eyes were made to water by sitting in the den tist’s chair before a brigh t window, can now shed tears by im agining that situation again. O n e m ight doubtless collect a large num ber o f idio­ syncratic cases of this sort. T h e y teach us how greatly the centres vary in their power to discharge through certain channels. A ll that we need, now, to account for the differences observed between the psychic antecedents o f the volu ntary and in volun ­ tary m ovem ents is that centres producing ideas o f the m ovem ent’s sensible effects should be able to instigate the form er, but be ou t o f gear w ith the latter, unless in excep tion al individuals. T h e famous case o f Col. T ow n sen d, who could stop his heart at w ill, is w ell known. See, on this w hole m atter, D. H . T u k e ; Illu str a tio n s o f th e I n flu e n c e o f th e M in d u p o n th e B o d y , chap. xiv, § 3; also J. B raid: O bserv a tio n s on T ra n ce: O r , H u m a n H y b er n a tio n (1850). T h e latest reported case o f voluntary con­

trol o f the heart is by Dr. E. A . Pease, in B o sto n M e d ica l a n d Surgical J o u rn a l, M ay 30, 1889.

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology th at o n e rem ains, to w o rk alon e. W e observe this in the w h o le his­ tory o f sense-perception , an d in the a c q u isitio n o f e very art. W e ig n o re w h ic h eye w e see w ith , because a fixed m e ch an ica l associa­ tio n has been fo rm ed b e tw ee n o u r m o tio n s an d each re tin al im age. O u r m o tio n s are th e ends o f o u r seeing, o u r re tin a l im ages the sig­ nals to these ends. I f each re tin al im age, w h ich e ve r it be, can su g ­ gest a u to m a tic a lly a m o tio n in the rig h t d ire ctio n , w h a t n e e d for us to k n o w w h e th e r it b e in the rig h t eye or the left? T h a t k n o w l­ ed g e w o u ld be superflu ou s c o m p lica tio n . So in a c q u ir in g a n y art or v o lu n ta r y fu n ctio n . T h e m arksm an ends b y th in k in g o n ly o f the e x a ct p o sitio n o f the go al, the singer o n ly o f the p erfe ct sound, the b a la n ce r o n ly o f th e p o in t o f the p o le w hose o scillatio n s he m u st co u n tera ct. T h e associated m ech an ism has b eco m e so p erfect in all these persons th at each varia tio n in the th o u g h t o f the en d is fu n c tio n a lly co rrela ted w ith the on e m o ve m e n t fitted to b r in g the la tte r a b o u t. W h ils t th ey w ere tyros, th ey th o u g h t o f th eir m eans as w e ll as th eir end: the m arksm an o f the p o sitio n o f his g u n or b o w , or the w e ig h t o f his stone; th e p ian ist o f the v is ib le p ositio n o f the n o te on th e k e yb o ard ; the singer o f his throat or b re ath in g ; the b alan cer o f his feet on the rope, or his h an d or c h in u n d e r the p ole. B u t little b y little th ey succeed ed in d r o p p in g a ll this sup er­ n u m e ra ry consciousness, an d th ey b eca m e secure in th eir m o v e ­ m ents e x a c tly in p ro p o rtio n as th ey d id so. N o w if w e an alyze the n ervo u s m ech an ism o f v o lu n ta r y action , w e shall see th at b y v ir tu e o f this p r in c ip le o f p arsim o n y in c o n ­ sciousness the m o to r disch arge o u g h t to be d e v o id o f sentience. I f w e ca ll the im m ed ia te p sych ic a n te ce d e n t o f a m o v e m e n t the latter’s m e n ta l c u e , all th at is n e e d e d for in v a r ia b ility o f sequ en ce on th e m o v e m e n t’s p art is a fix e d c o n n e c t io n b e tw ee n each several m e n ta l cue, an d on e p a rticu la r m o vem en t. F o r a m o v e m e n t to be p ro d u ced w ith p erfe ct p recision , it suffices th at it o b e y in sta n tly its ow n m en tal c u e a n d n o th in g else, an d th at this m en ta l c u e b e in ­ ca p a b le o f a w a k e n in g a n y oth er m o ve m e n t. N o w the s im p le s t pos­ sib le arra n g em e n t for p r o d u c in g v o lu n ta r y m o vem en ts w o u ld be th at the m em o ry-im ages o f the m o v e m e n t’s d is tin ctiv e p erip h e ral effects, w h e th e r resid en t or rem ote,9 them selves sh o u ld severally co n stitu te the m en ta l cues, an d th at n o oth er p sychic facts sh o u ld 9 Prof. Harless, in an article which in m any respects forestalls what I have to say (“ Der A p p arat des W illen s,” in F ich te’s Z e itsc h r ift fu r P h ilo s o p h ic u n d p h ilo so p h isc h e K r itik , Bd. 38, 1861), uses the convenient word E ffe k tb ild to designate these images.

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W ill in te rve n e or b e m ix e d u p w ith them . F or a m illio n d ifferen t v o lu n ­ tary m o vem en ts, w e sh o u ld then n e e d a m illio n d istin ct processes in the b rain -co rtex (each c o rre sp o n d in g to the idea or m em oryim age o f on e m o vem en t), a n d a m illio n d istin ct paths o f discharge. E v e r y th in g w o u ld then b e u n a m b ig u o u s ly d e te rm in e d , an d if the idea w ere right, the m o ve m e n t w o u ld b e rig h t too. E v e r y th in g a fte r the idea m ig h t then b e q u ite in sen tien t, an d the m o to r discharge itself c o u ld b e u n co n scio u sly p erform ed. T h e partisans o f the fe e lin g o f in n e rvatio n , h ow ever, say th at the m o to r discharge itself m u st b e felt, an d th at it, a n d n o t the idea of the m o v e m e n t’s d istin ctiv e effects, m ust be the p ro p er m en tal cue. T h u s the p r in c ip le o f p arsim o n y is sacrificed, a n d all eco n o m y an d sim p lic ity are lost. F or w h a t can be g a in e d b y the in terp o sitio n o f this relay o f fe e lin g b etw een the idea o f the m o ve m e n t an d the m o vem en t? N o t h in g on the score o f eco n o m y o f nerve-tracts; for it takes ju s t as m a n y o f th em to associate a m illio n ideas o f m o ve m e n t w ith a m illio n m o to r centres, each w ith a specific fe e lin g o f in n e r­ va tio n atta ch ed to its discharge, as to associate the sam e m illio n ideas w ith a m illio n in se n tie n t m o to r centres. A n d n o th in g on the score o f p recision ; for the o n ly c o n ce iv a b le w a y in w h ich the fe el­ ings o f in n e rvatio n m ig h t fu rth er precision w o u ld be b y g iv in g to a m in d w hose idea o f a m o ve m e n t was vag u e, a sort o f h a ltin g stage w ith sharper im agery on w h ich to c o lle c t its w its b efore u tte r in g its fia t. B u t n o t o n ly are the con scious discrim in atio n s b e tw ee n our kinaesthetic ideas m u ch sharper than an yo n e preten d s the shades o f d ifferen ce b etw een feelin gs o f in n e rva tio n to be, b u t even w ere this n o t the case, it is im p ossib le to see h ow a m in d w ith its idea v a g u e ly c o n ce ive d c o u ld tell o u t o f a lo t o f In n e r v a t io n s g e filh le , w ere th ey n e ve r so sh arp ly differen tiated , w h ic h o n e fitted that id ea e xactly, an d w h ic h d id n o t. A sh arp ly co n ce iv e d idea w ill, on the oth er hand, d ir e c tly aw ak en a d istin ct m o v e m e n t as easily as it w ill aw aken a d istin ct fe e lin g o f in n e rvatio n . I f feelin gs can go astray th ro u g h vagueness, su rely the few er steps o f fe e lin g there are in terp osed the m ore secu rely w e shall act. W e o u g h t then , on a

p r io r i gro u n d s alon e, to regard the I n n e r v a t io n s g e fiih l as a p u re en cu m b ran ce, an d to presum e th at th e p erip h e ra l ideas o f m o ve ­ m e n t are sufficient m en tal cues. T h e p resu m p tio n b e in g thus again st the feelin gs o f in n ervatio n , those w h o d e fe n d th eir existen ce are b o u n d to p ro ve it b y p o sitive evid en ce. T h e e vid e n ce m ig h t b e d ire ct or in d irect. I f w e c o u ld

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology in tro sp e ctive ly feel th em as so m e th in g p la in ly d istin ct from the p erip h e ral feelin gs an d ideas o f m o ve m e n t w h ic h n o b o d y den ies to be there, th at w o u ld b e e v id e n ce b o th d ire ct an d con clu sive. U n ­ fo rtu n a te ly it does n o t exist.

T h e r e is n o in tr o s p e c tiv e e v id e n c e o f th e f e e li n g o f in n e r v a tio n . W h e r e v e r w e lo o k for it a n d th in k w e h ave grasped it, w e find that w e h ave re a lly g o t a p erip h e ral fe e lin g or im age in stead— an im age o f the w a y in w h ic h w e feel w h en the in n e rv a tio n is over, an d the m o v e m e n t is in process o f d o in g or is do n e. O u r idea o f raisin g ou r arm , for e xam p le , or o f c ro o k in g o u r finger, is a sense, m ore or less v iv id , o f h ow the raised arm or th e cro o k e d finger feels. T h e r e is n o oth er m en ta l m aterial o u t o f w h ic h such an idea m ig h t be m ade. W e c a n n o t p o ssibly h ave a n y idea o f o u r ears’ m o tio n u n til ou r ears have m o ved ; an d this is true o f e ve ry oth er organ as w ell. S in ce the tim e o f H u m e it has been a c o m m o n p la c e in p sych o lo gy th at w e are o n ly con versan t w ith the o u tw a rd results o f o u r v o li­ tion, a n d n o t w ith the h id d e n in n er m a ch in e ry o f nerves an d m u s­ cles w h ic h are w h a t it p rim a rily sets at w o rk .10 T h e b elievers in the fe e lin g o f in n e rva tio n re a d ily a d m it this, b u t seem h a rd ly a liv e to its consequences. It seems to m e th at on e im m e d ia te con seq u en ce o u g h t to be to m ake us d o u b t th e e xisten ce o f the fe e lin g in dis­ p u te. W h o e v e r says th at in raisin g his arm he is ig n o ra n t o f h ow m a n y m uscles he contracts, in w h a t order o f sequen ce, a n d in w h at degrees o f in ten sity, exp ressively avow s a colossal a m o u n t o f u n ­ consciousness o f the processes o f m o to r discharge. E a ch separate m u scle at a n y rate c a n n o t h ave its d istin ct fe e lin g o f in n ervatio n . W u n d t ," w h o m akes such enorm ou s use o f these h y p o th e tic a l feel­ in gs in his p sych o lo gic c o n stru ctio n o f space, is h im se lf led to ad ­ m it th at th ey h ave n o differences o f q u a lity , b u t feel a lik e in all m uscles, a n d vary o n ly in th eir degrees o f in ten sity. T h e y are used b y the m in d as gu id es, n o t o f w h ic h m o ve m e n t, b u t o f h o w s tro n g a m o vem en t, it is m a k in g, or shall m ake. B u t does n o t this v ir tu a l­ ly su rren der th eir existen ce a lto g e th e r ? 12 l ° T h e best m odern statem ent I know is by Jaccoud: L es P a raplégies et d e l ’ataxie d u m o u v em en t (Paris, 1864), p. 591. 11 Leidesdorf und M eynert’s V ie rtelja h rssch rift jü r P sy ch ia trie, Bd. 1, H e ft 1, S.

36-7 (1867). P h y sio lo g isch e P sy ch o lo g ie, 1st éd., S. 316. 12 Professor Fouillée, w ho defends them in the R e v u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , x xv iu , 561 ff., also adm its (p. 574) that they are the same whatever be the m ovem ent, and that all o u r discrim ination of w h ich m ovem ent we are innervating is afferent, consisting of sensations after, and o f sensory images before, the act.

lllO

W ill F o r if a n y th in g b e o b v io u s to in tro sp ectio n , it is th at the degree o f stren gth o f o u r m u scu lar co n traction s is c o m p le te ly revealed to us b y afferent feelin gs c o m in g from the m uscles them selves an d th eir insertions, from the v ic in ity o f the jo in ts, an d from the g e n ­ eral fixatio n o f the laryn x, chest, face, a n d b od y, in the p h e n o m e ­ n o n o f effort, o b je c tiv e ly con sidered. W h e n a certain degree o f en e rg y o f co n tra ctio n rather than a n o th e r is th o u g h t o f b y us, this c o m p le x ag greg ate o f afferent feelin gs, fo rm in g the m aterial o f ou r th o u g h t, renders a b so lu te ly precise an d d istin ctiv e o u r m en tal im age o f the exact stren gth o f m o ve m e n t to be m ade, a n d the exact a m o u n t o f resistance to be overcom e. L e t the reader try to d ire ct his w ill tow ards a p a rticu la r m o ve ­ m en t, a n d then n o tic e w h a t c o n s tit u te d the d ire ctio n o f the w ill. W a s it a n y th in g over an d a b o ve the n o tio n o f the d ifferen t feelin gs to w h ic h the m o ve m e n t w h en effected w o u ld g iv e rise? I f w e a b ­ stract from these feelin gs, w ill a n y sign, p rin c ip le , or m eans of o rie n ta tio n b e left b y w h ic h the w ill m a y in n e rva te the rig h t m u s­ cles w ith the rig h t in ten sity, an d n o t g o astray in to the w r o n g ones? S trip off these im ages o f result, an d so far from le a v in g us w ith a c o m p le te assortm ent o f directio n s in to w h ic h o u r w ill m ay lau n ch itself, yo u lea ve ou r consciousness in an a b so lu te an d total vacu u m . I f I w ill to w rite “ P e te r ” rather than “ P a u l,” it is the th o u g h t o f certain d ig ita l sensations, o f certain a lp h a b e tic sounds, o f certain ap p earan ces on the paper, an d o f n o others, w h ich im m ed ia te ly p recedes the m o tio n o f m y pen. I f I w ill to u tter the w o rd P a u l rather than P e t e r , it is the th o u g h t o f m y v o ic e fa llin g on m y ear, an d o f certain m u scu lar feelin gs in m y to n gu e, lips, an d laryn x, w h ich g u id e the u tteran ce. A l l these are in c o m in g feelings, an d b e ­ tw een th e th o u g h t o f them , b y w h ic h the act is m e n ta lly specified w ith a ll possib le com pleteness, an d the act itself, there is n o room for a n y th ird order o f m en tal p h en o m en o n . T h e r e is in d e e d the fia t, the e le m e n t o f consent, or resolve that the act shall ensue. T h is , doubtless, to the read er’s m in d , as to m y ow n, con stitu tes the essence o f the volu n tarin ess o f the act. T h is

fia t w ill b e treated o f in d e ta il farther on. I t m ay be e n tire ly n e ­ g le c te d here, for it is a con stan t coefficient, a ffe ctin g all v o lu n ta ry actions alik e, an d in ca p a b le o f se rvin g to d istin gu ish them . N o one w ill p re te n d that its q u a lity varies a c c o rd in g as the rig h t arm , for exam p le , or the le ft is used.

A n a n tic ip a to r y im a g e, th e n , o f th e se n s o r ia l c o n s e q u e n c e s o f a

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology m o v e m e n t, p lu s ( o n c e r ta in o cca sio n s) th e fia t th a t th e se c o n s e ­ q u e n c e s s h a ll b e c o m e a c tu a l, is th e o n ly p s y c h ic sta te w h ic h in t r o ­ s p e c tio n lets u s d is c e r n as th e f o r e r u n n e r o f o u r v o lu n ta r y acts. T h e r e is n o in tro sp e ctive e v id e n ce w h a tever o f a n y still later or c o n co m ita n t fe e lin g attach ed to the efferen t discharge. T h e various degrees o f d ifficu lty w ith w h ich th e fiat is giv e n form a c o m p lica ­ tion o f the u tm o st im p o rtan ce, to b e discussed farther on. N o w the read er m ay still shake his head an d say: “ B u t can you seriously m ean th at all the w o n d e r fu lly e xact ad ju stm e n t o f m y ac­ tio n ’s stren gth to its ends is n o t a m a tte r o f o u tg o in g in n ervation ? H e re is a c an n o n -b all, an d here a p asteboard b o x: in stan tly an d ac­ c u ra te ly I lift each from th e table, th e b a ll n o t re fu sin g to rise b e ­ cause m y in n e rv a tio n was too w eak, the b o x n o t flyin g a b r u p tly in to

th e air

because

it was too

strong.

C o u ld

representation s

o f the m o v e m e n t’s d ifferen t sensory effects in the tw o cases be so d e lic a te ly foresh ad ow ed in the m in d ? or b e in g there, is it c re d ib le th at th ey shou ld, all u n aid e d , so d e lic a te ly g ra d u a te the stim u la ­ tion o f the u n con scio u s m o to r centres to th eir w o rk ?” E v e n so! I re p ly to b o th queries. W e h ave a m ost e x tre m e ly d e lic a te foreshad­ o w in g o f the sensory effects. W h y else the start o f surprise th at runs th ro u g h us if som eone has filled the ligh t-se e m in g b o x w ith sand b efore w e try to lift it, or has su b stitu ted for the can n o n -b all w h ic h w e k n o w a p a in te d w o o d en im itatio n ? S u r p r is e can o n ly com e from g e ttin g a sensation w h ic h differs from the on e w e exp ect. B u t the tru th is th at w h en w e k n o w th e ob jects w ell, the very slightest d if­ feren ce from the e x p e c te d w e ig h t w ill surprise us, or at least attract o u r n o tice . W ith

unknown

o b jects w e b e g in

b y e x p e c tin g the

w e ig h t m ad e p ro b a b le b y th eir appearan ce. T h e e x p ec ta tio n of this sensation in n ervates o u r lift, a n d w e ‘set’ it rather sm all at first. A n in stan t verifies w h e th e r it is too sm all. O u r e x p ec ta tio n rises, i.e., w e th in k in a tw in k lin g o f a se ttin g o f the chest an d teeth, a b ra c in g o f the back, an d a m ore v io le n t fe e lin g in the arms. Q u ic k ­ er than th o u g h t w e h ave them , an d w ith th em the b u rd e n ascends in to the a ir .13 B e r n h a r d t14 has show n in a ro u gh e x p e rim e n ta l w ay 13 C f. Souriau in R e v u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , x x n , 454.— Professor G. E. M üller thus describes some of his experim ents w ith weights: If, after liftin g a weight of 3000 grams a num ber o f times we suddenly get a w eight of on ly 500 grams to lift, “ this latter w eight is then lifted with a velocity which strikes every onlooker, so that the receptacle for the w eight with all its contents often flies high up as if it carried the arm along with it, and the energy w ith which it is raised is sometimes so entirely ou t o f proportion to the w eight itself, that the contents of the receptacle are slung out

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W ill th at o u r e stim ation o f the a m o u n t o f a resistance is as d e lic a te ly gra d u a te d w h e n o u r w ills are passive, a n d o u r lim b s m ade to c o n ­ tract b y d ire ct local faradization , as w h e n w e ourselves in n ervate them . F errie r15 has rep ea ted an d ve rifie d the observation s. T h e y a d m it o f n o grea t p recision , a n d too m u ch stress sh o u ld n o t b e la id u p o n th em e ith e r w ay; b u t at the very least th e y ten d to show that n o ad d e d d e lica cy w o u ld accru e to o u r p erce p tio n from the c o n ­ sciousness o f th e efferen t process, even if it existed. Sin ce th ere is n o d ire ct in tro sp e ctive e vid e n ce for the feelin gs o f in n e rva tio n , is there a n y in d ire ct or circu m sta n tia l evid en ce? M u c h is offered; b u t on critic a l e x a m in a tio n it breaks d o w n . L e t us see w h a t it is. W u n d t says th at w ere ou r m o to r feelin gs o f an afferent n atu re, “ it ought to be expected that they would increase and dim inish with the am ount of outer or inner work actually effected in contraction. T h is, however, is not the case, b ut the strength of the motor sensation is purely proportional to the strength of the im p u lse to movement, which starts from the central organ innervating the m otor nerves. T h is may be proved by observations made by physicians in cases of morbid alteration in the muscular effect. A patient whose arm or leg is half paralyzed, so that he can only move the lim b with great effort, has a distinct feeling of this effort: the lim b seems to him heavier than be­ fore, appearing as if weighted w ith lead; he has, therefore, a sense of more work effected than formerly, and yet the effected work is either the same or even less. O n ly he must, to get even this effect, exert a stronger innervation, a stronger motor impulse, than formerly.” 16 In c o m p le te paralysis, also, p atien ts w ill b e con scious o f p u t tin g forth the greatest e x e rtio n to m o ve a lim b w h ic h rem ain s a b so lu te ­ upon the table in spite of the m echanical obstacles which such a result has to over­ come. A more palp ab le proof that the trouble here is a w rong adaptation o f the m otor im pulse could not be given .” Pflüger’s A r c h iv , x l v , 46. C om pare also p. 57, and the quotation from H erin g on p p. 58-59. ■4 A r c h iv fü r P sy ch ia trie, m , 618-635. B ernhardt strangely enough seems to think that what his experim ents disprove is the existence o f afferent m uscular feelings, not those of efferent innervation—apparen tly because he deems that the p ecu liar th rill of the electricity ou gh t to overpow er a ll other afferent feelings from the part. B ut it is far m ore n atural to interpret his results the other way, even aside from the certainty yielded by other evidence that passive m uscular feelings exist. T h is other evidence, after being com pendiously summed up by Sachs in R eich ert und D u B ois-R eym ond’s A r c h iv (1874), pp. 175-195, is, as far as the anatom ical and physiological grounds go, again thrown into d oub t by Mays: Z e itsc h r ift fü r B io lo g ie , B d. xx. F u n ctio n s o f th e B ra in (Am. ed.), p. 228. 16 V orlesu n g en ü b er d ie M e n s c h e n ■u n d T h ie r s e e le , 1, 222.

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology ly still u p o n the b ed , a n d from w h ic h o f course n o afferen t m u scu ­ lar or oth er feelin gs can c o m e .17 B u t D r. F errier in his F u n c t io n s o f th e B r a in (A m . E d ., p p. 2 2 2 4) disposes v e ry easily o f this lin e o f arg u m en t. H e says: “ It is necessary, however, to exclude movements a lto g eth er before such an explanation [as W u n d t’s] can be adopted. Now , though the hem i­ plegic patient cannot move his paralysed lim b though he is conscious of trying hard, yet he w ill be found to be m aking powerful muscular exertion of some kind. V u lp ian has called attention to the fact, and I have repeatedly verified it, that when a hem iplegic patient is desired to close his paralysed fist, in his endeavours to do so he unconsciously performs this action with the sound one. It is, in fact, almost impossible to exclude such a source of com plication, and unless this is taken into account very erroneous conclusions as to the cause of the sense o f effort may be drawn. In the fact of muscular contraction and the concom itant centripetal impressions, even though the action is not such as is de­ sired, the conditions o f the consciousness of effort exist w ithou t our b ein g obliged to regard it as depending on central innervation or out­ go in g currents. “ It is, however, easy to make an experim ent of a simple nature, which w ill satisfactorily account for the sense of effort, even when these un­ conscious contractions of the other side, such as hem iplegics make, are entirely excluded. “ I f the reader w ill extend his right arm and hold his forefinger in the position required for p u llin g the trigger of a pistol, he may w ithout actually m oving his finger, b u t by sim ply m aking believe, experience a consciousness of energy p u t forth. Here, then, is a clear case o f con­ sciousness of energy w ithout actual contraction of the muscles either of the one hand or the other, and w ithou t any perceptible bodily strain. I f the reader will again perform the experim ent, and pay careful atten­ tion to the condition of his respiration, he w ill observe that his con­ sciousness of effort coincides w ith a fixation of the muscles of his chest, and that in proportion to the am ount of energy he feels he is p u ttin g In some instances we get an opposite result. Dr. H . C harlton Bastian (B r itish M e d ic a l J o u r n a l (1869), p. 461, note), says:

“ Ask a m an, whose low er extrem ities are com pletely paralysed, w hether, when he ineffectually w ills to m ove either o f these lim bs, he is conscious o f an expen ditu re of energy in any degree proportionate to that which he w ould have experienced if his muscles had naturally responded to his volition . H e w ill tell us rath er that he has a sense on ly o f his own utter powerlessness, and that his volition is a m ere mental act, carrying w ith it no feelings o f expended energy, such as he is accustom ed to e x ­ perience when his muscles are in pow erfu l action, and from w hich action and its consequences alone, as I think, he can derive any adequate notion o f resistance.”

1 1 14

W ill forth, he is keeping his glottis closed and actively contracting his res­ piratory muscles. L e t him place his finger as before, and co n tin u e

b rea th in g all the time, and he w ill find that however m uch he may d i­ rect his attention to his finger, he w ill experience not the slightest trace of consciousness of effort until he has actually moved the finger itself, and then it is referred locally to the muscles in action. It is only when this essential and ever present respiratory factor is, as it has been, over­ looked, that the consciousness of effort can w ith any degree of plausi­ b ility be ascribed to the ou tgoin g current. In the contraction of the respiratory muscles there are the necessary conditions of centripetal impressions, and these are capable of originating the general sense of effort. W hen these active efforts are withheld, no consciousness of effort ever arises, except in so far as it is conditioned by the local contraction of the group of muscles towards which the attention is directed, or by other muscular contractions called unconsciously into play in the at­ tempt. “ I am unable to find a single case of consciousness of effort which is not explicable in one or other of the ways specified. In all instances the consciousness of effort is conditioned by the actual fact of muscular con­ traction. T h a t it is dependent on centripetal impressions generated by the act of contraction, I have already endeavoured to show. W hen the paths of the centripetal impressions, or the cerebral centres of the same, are destroyed, there is no vestige of a muscular sense. T h a t the central organs, for the apprehension of the impressions originating from mus­ cular contraction, are different from those which send out the motor impulse, has already been established. B u t when W u n d t argues that this cannot be so, because then the sensation w ould always keep pace w ith the energy of muscular contraction, he overlooks the im portant factor of the fixation of the respiratory muscles, w hich is the basis of the general sense of effort in all its varying degrees.” T o these rem arks o f F e rrie r’s I h ave n o th in g to a d d .18 A n y o n e m ay v e rify them , a n d th ey p ro ve co n clu siv e ly th at the consciousM unsterberg’s words m ay be added: “ In liftin g an object in the hand I can discover no sensation o f volitio n al energy. I perceive in the first place a slight tension abou t the head, but that this results from a contraction in the head muscles, and not from a feeling o f the brain-discharge, is shown by the sim ple fact that I get the tension on the right side o f the head when I move the rig h t arm, whereas the m otor discharge takes place in the opposite side o f the brain. . . . In m axim al contractions of body- and lim b-m uscles there occur, as if it were to reinforce them, those special contractions o f the muscles o f the face [especially frow ning and clen chin g teeth] and those tensions of the skin of the head. T h ese sym pathetic m ovem ents, felt p articularly on the side which makes the effort, are perhaps the im m ediate ground w hy we ascribe ou r awareness o f m axim al contraction to the region o f the head, and call it a con­ sciousness o f force, instead o f a peripheral sensation.” (D ie W ille n sh a n d lu n g (1888),

1U5

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology ness o f m u scu lar e x e rtio n , b e in g im p o ssib le w ith o u t m o v e m e n t

e ffe c te d s o m e w h e r e , m u st be an afferen t an d n o t an efferen t sensa­ tio n ; a con sequ en ce, an d n o t an an te ce d e n t, o f the m o v e m e n t it­ self. A n idea o f the a m o u n t o f m u scu lar e xe rtio n re q u isite to p er­ form a certain m o v e m e n t can c o n se q u e n tly b e n o th in g o th e r than an a n tic ip a to ry im age o f th e m o v e m e n t’s sensible effects.

D riv e n thus from the b o d y at large, w h ere n e x t shall th e c irc u m ­ stan tial e vid e n ce for the fe e lin g o f in n e rva tio n lo d g e itself? W h e re b u t in th e m uscles o f the eye, from w h ic h sm all retreat it jud ges itself in e x p u g n a b le . N everth eless, th at fastness too m ust fall, an d b y th e ligh te st o f b om b a rd m en ts. B u t, b e fo re tr y in g the b o m b a rd ­ m en t, let us recall o u r ge n e ral p rin c ip le s a b o u t o p tica l ve rtig o , or illu so ry ap p earan ce o f m o v e m e n t in objects. W e ju d g e th at an o b je c t m oves u n d e r tw o d istin ct sets o f c ir c u m ­ stances: 1. W h e n its im a ge m oves on th e retin a, an d w e k n o w th at the eye is still. 2. W h e n its im a ge is station ary on the retin a, a n d w e k n o w thjit the eye is m o v in g . In this case w e feel th at w e fo llo w the o b ject. In e ith e r o f these cases a m istaken ju d g m e n t a b o u t the state o f the eye w ill p ro d u ce o p tica l vertig o . I f in case 1 w e th in k o u r eye is still w h en it is really m o v in g , w e g e t a m o v e m e n t o f the retin al im a ge w h ic h w e ju d g e to b e d u e to a real o u tw a rd m o tio n o f the o b je ct. T h i s is w h a t h ap p en s after lo o k ­ in g at ru sh in g w ater, or th ro u g h the w in d o w s o f a m o v in g railroad car, or after tu r n in g on o n e ’s heel to giddin ess. T h e eyes, w ith o u t o u r in te n d in g to m o ve them , g o th ro u g h a series o f in v o lu n ta ry rotation s, c o n tin u in g those th ey w ere p revio u sly o b lig e d to m ake to k eep o b jects in vie w . I f the ob je cts h ad been w h ir lin g b y to o u r righ t, o u r eyes w h en tu rn e d to station ary ob je cts w ill still m o ve slow ly tow ards the right. T h e re tin al im a ge u p o n th em w ill then m o ve lik e th at o f an o b je c t passing to the left. W e then try to catch it b y v o lu n ta r ily a n d ra p id ly ro ta tin g the eyes to the left, w h en the in v o lu n ta r y im p u lse again rotates the eyes to th e righ t, c o n tin u in g the ap p a re n t m o tio n ; an d so the ga m e goes on. (See a b o ve, p p. 7 3 4 -

7 3 6 -) pp. 73. 82.) H err M iinsterberg’s work is a little m asterpiece, which appeared after m y text was w ritten. I shall have repeatedly to refer to it again, and cordially recom ­ mend to the reader its most thorough refutation o f the Innervationsgefiihl-theory.

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W ill I f in case 2 w e th in k o u r eyes m o v in g w h en th ey are in reality still, w e shall ju d g e th at w e are fo llo w in g a m o v in g o b je c t w h e n w e are b u t fix a tin g a steadfast one. Illu sio n s o f this k in d o ccu r after sudden an d co m p le te paralysis o f special eye m uscles, an d the p ar­ tisans o f feelin gs o f efferen t in n e rvatio n regard th em as e x p e r i-

m e n ta c ru c is. H e lm h o ltz w rite s:19 “W hen the external rectus muscle of the right eye, or its nerve, is paralyzed, the eye can no longer be rotated to the right side. So long as the patient turns it only to the nasal side it makes regular movements, and he perceives correctly the position of objects in the visual field. So soon, however, as he tries to rotate it outwardly, i.e., towards the right, it ceases to obey his will, stands motionless in the m iddle of its course, and the objects appear flying to the right, although position of eye and retinal image are unaltered.20 “ In such a case the exertion of the w ill is followed neither by actual movement of the eye, nor by contraction of the muscle in question, nor even by increased tension in it. T h e act of will p ro d u c e d a b so lu tely no

effects beyond the nervous system, and yet we jud ge of the direction of the line of vision as if the w ill had exercised its normal effects. W e be­ lieve it to have moved to the right, and since the retinal image is un­ changed, w e attribute to the object the same movement we have er­ roneously ascribed to the eye. . . . T hese phenom ena leave no room for doubt that we only ju d ge the direction of the line of sight by the effort of will with which we strive to change the position of our eyes. T h ere are also certain weak feelings in our e ye lid s,. . . and furthermore in ex­ cessive lateral rotations we feel a fatiguing strain in the muscles. B ut all these feelings are too faint and vague to be of use in the perception o f direction. W e feel then what impulse of the will, and how strong a one, we apply to turn our eye into a given position.”

P a r tia l paralysis o f the sam e m uscle, p a resis, as it has been called , seems to p o in t even m ore c o n clu sive ly to the sam e in feren ce, th at the w ill to in n e rva te is felt in d e p e n d e n tly o f all its afferent results. I w ill q u o te the ac c o u n t g iv e n b y a recen t a u th o rity ,21 o f the effects o f this accident: “W hen the nerve going to an eye muscle, e.g., the external rectus of one side, falls into a state of paresis, the first result is that the same 19 p h y sio lo g isc h e O p tik , p. 600. 20 [T h e left and sound eye is here supposed covered. If both eyes look at the same field there are double images which still more perplex the judgm ent. T h e patient, however, learns to see correctly before m any days or weeks are over.—W . J.] 21 A lfred G raefe, in H a n d b u c h d er gesam m ten A u g e n h e ilk u n d e , Bd. vi, pp. 18-21.

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T h e Principles of Psychology volitional stimulus, which under normal circumstances w ould have per­ haps rotated the eye to its extreme position outwards, now is competent to effect o n ly a moderate outward rotation, say of 20°. I f now, shutting the sound eye, the patient looks at an object situated just so far out­ wards from the paretic eye that this latter must turn 20° in order to see it distinctly, the patient w ill feel as if he had moved it n o t on ly 20° towards the side, but into its extreme lateral position, for the impulse of innervation requisite for bringing it into view is a perfectly conscious act, whilst the dim inished state of contraction o f the paretic muscle lies for the present ou t of the ken of consciousness. T h e test proposed by von Graefe, o f localization by the sense of touch, serves to render evi­ dent the error which the p atien t now makes. I f we direct him to touch rapidly the object looked at, w ith the forefinger of the hand of the same side, the line through which the finger moves w ill not be the line of sight directed 200 outwards, b u t w ill approach more nearly to the ex­ treme possible outward line of vision.” A stone-cutter w ith the e xtern al rectus o f the le ft eye paralyzed, w ill strike his h an d in stead o f his chisel w ith his ham m er, u n til e x ­ p erien ce has ta u g h t h im w isdom . It appears as if here the ju d g m e n t o f d ire ctio n c o u ld o n ly arise from the excessive in n e rvatio n o f the rectus w h en the o b je c t is lo o k e d at. A l l the afferent feelin gs m u st be id e n tical w ith those e x ­ p erie n ce d w h en the eye is sou nd an d the ju d g m e n t is correct. T h e e ye b a ll is rotated ju s t 20° in the on e case as in the other, the im age falls on the sam e p art o f the retin a, the pressures on the eyeb all a n d the tensions o f the skin an d c o n ju n c tiv a are id en tical. T h e r e is o n ly on e fe e lin g w h ich can vary, an d lead us to o u r m istake. T h a t fe e lin g m u st b e the effort w h ich the w ill m akes, m o d erate in the on e case, excessive in the other, b u t in b o th cases an efferen t feel­ in g, p u re an d sim ple. B e a u tifu l an d clear as this reaso n in g seems to be, it is based on an in co m p le te in ven to ry o f the afferent data. T h e w riters h ave all o m itte d to con sid er w h a t is g o in g on in the o th e r ey e. T h i s is k e p t co vered d u r in g the exp erim en ts, to p reve n t d o u b le im ages, a n d other com p lica tio n s. B u t if its c o n d itio n u n d e r these circum stan ces be e x a m in e d , it w ill b e fo u n d to present changes w h ich m u st re­ su lt in stro n g afferent feelin gs. A n d the ta k in g ac c o u n t o f these feelin gs dem olishes in an in stan t all the con clu sio n s w h ich the a u ­ thors from w h o m I h ave q u o te d base u p o n th eir sup p osed absence. T h i s I w ill n o w p ro ceed to show .22 22 Professor G. E. M iiller (Zur G r u n d le g u n g d er P sy ch o p h y sik (1878), p. 318), was

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W ill T a k e first the case o f co m p le te paralysis an d assum e the rig h t eye affected. Su p p o se the p a tie n t desires to rotate his gaze to an o b je c t situ ated in the e xtrem e rig h t o f the field o f vision . A s H e r in g has so b e a u tifu lly show n, b o th eyes m o ve b y a co m m o n act o f in ­ n e rva tio n , an d in this in stan ce b o th m o ve tow ards th e right. B u t the p aralyzed rig h t eye stops short in the m id d le o f its course, the o b je c t still a p p e a rin g far to the rig h t o f its fixatio n p oin t. T h e left sou nd eye, m e an w h ile , a lth o u g h covered, c o n tin u e s its rotation u n til the e x trem e rig h tw a rd lim it th ereo f has been reached. T o an observer lo o k in g at b o th eyes the le ft w ill seem to sq u in t. O f course this c o n tin u e d an d e xtrem e ro tatio n p rodu ces afferent feelin gs o f rig h tw a rd m o tio n in the eyeb all, w h ic h m o m e n ta rily o verp o w er the fa in t feelin gs o f cen tral p osition in the diseased an d u n co vered eye. T h e p a tien t feels b y his left e ye b a ll as if he w ere fo llo w in g an o b je c t w h ic h b y his rig h t retin a he perceives he does n o t overtake. A l l th e co n d itio n s o f o p tica l v e rtig o are here present: the im a ge stationary on the retin a, an d the erron eous c o n v ictio n th at the eyes are m o vin g . T h e o b je c tio n th at a fe e lin g in the le ft eye b all o u g h t n o t to p ro ­ d u c e a c o n v ictio n th at th e rig h t eye m oves, w ill b e con sid ered in a m o m en t. L e t us m e a n w h ile turn to the case o f sim p le paresis w ith a p p are n t tran slocation o f th e field. H e re th e rig h t eye succeeds in fix a tin g the o b ject, b u t observa­ tion o f th e le ft eye w ill reveal to an observer the fact th at it squ ints ju s t as v io le n tly in w ards as in th e form er case. T h e d ire ctio n w h ich the first to exp lain the phenom enon after the m anner advocated in the text. Still u n ­ acquainted with his book, I published m y own sim ilar explan ation two years later. Professor M ach in his w ond erfu lly original little work B eiträ g e zur A n aly se der E m p fin d lin g en , p. 57, describes an artificial way of getting translocation, and explains the effect likewise by the feelin g o f innervation. “ T u rn your eyes,” he says, "as far as possible towards the left and press against the right sides of the orbits two large lum ps of p u tty. If you then try to look as quickly as possible towards the right, this succeeds, on account o f the incom pletely spherical form of the eyes, on ly im perfectly, and the objects consequently appear translocated very considerably towards the right. T h e bare w ill to look rightw ards gives to all images on the retina a greater rightw ards v a lu e, to express it shortly. T h e experim ent is at first surprising.” —I regret to say that

I cannot m yself make it succeed—I know not for what reason. B u t even where it does succeed it seems to me that the conditions are m uch too com plicated for Professor M ach’s theoretic conclusions to be safely drawn. T h e pu tty squeezed in to the orbit, and the pressure of the eyeball against it must give rise to peripheral sensations stron g enough, at any rate (if on ly of the rig h t kind), to ju stify any am ount of false perception of our eyeb all’s position, qu ite apart from the innervation feelings which Professor M ach supposes to coexist.

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T h e P rin ciples o f Psychology the finger o f the p a tie n t takes in p o in tin g to the o b je ct, is the d i­ rection o f this s q u in tin g a n d co vered le ft eye. A s G ra e fe says (al­ th o u g h he fails to seize the tru e im p o rt o f his ow n observation ), “ It appears to h ave been b y n o m eans sufficiently n o tic e d h ow sign ifi­ c a n tly the d ire c tio n o f the lin e o f sigh t o f the seco n d arily d e v ia tin g eye [i.e., o f the left], an d the lin e o f d ire c tio n o f th e p o in te d finger agree.” T h e tran slocation w o u ld , in a w ord, be p erfe c tly e x p la in e d c o u ld w e suppose that the sensation o f a ce rta in d e g ree o f ro ta tio n in the le ft eye b all w ere a b le to suggest to th e p a tie n t the p o sitio n o f an o b je c t w hose im age falls on the rig h t retin a a lo n e .23 C a n , then , a fe e lin g in on e eye b e c o n fo u n d e d w ith a fe e lin g in the other? It m ost assu redly can, for n o t o n ly D o n d e rs a n d A d a m iik , b y their vivisection s, b u t H e r in g b y his e x q u isite o p tica l exp erim en ts, have p ro ve d th at the ap p aratu s o f in n e rv a tio n for b o th eyes is single, an d that th ey act as on e o rg an —a d o u b le eye, a c c o rd in g to H e rin g , or w h a t H e lm h o ltz calls a C y c lo p e n a u g e . T h e re tin a l feelin gs o f this d o u b le organ, sin g ly in n ervated , are n a tu ra lly u n d is tin g u ish e d as respects o u r k n o w in g w h e th e r th ey b e lo n g to the left retin a or to the right. W e use th em o n ly to tell us w h ere th eir o b jects lie. It 23 A n illusion in p rin ciple exactly analogous to that of the patient under discussion can be produced exp erim en tally in anyone in a w ay which H ering has described in his L e h r e vom b in o cu la ren S eh en , pp. 12-14. I w ill quote H elm h oltz’s account of it, w hich is especially valuable as com ing from a believer in the In n erv a tto n sg efu h l: “ L e t the two eyes first look parallel, then let the right eye be closed w hilst the left still looks at the infinitely distant object a. T h e directions of both eyes w ill thus remain unaltered, and a w ill be seen in its right place. Now accom m odate the left eye for a point / [a needle in H erin g’s experim ent] lyin g on the op tical axis between it and a, on ly very near. T h e position of the left eye and its optical axis, as well as the place of the retin al im age upon it . . . are w h olly unaltered b y this movement. B u t the consequence is that an apparen t m ovem ent of the object occurs—a m ovem ent towards the left. As soon as we accom m odate again for distance the object returns to its old place. Now w hat alters itself in this experim ent is on ly the position of the closed right eye: its optical axis, when the effort is m ade to accom m odate for the point /, also converges towards this point. . . , Conversely it is possible for me to make m y optical axes diverge, even with closed eyes, so that in the above experim ent the rig h t eye should turn far to the right of a. T h is divergence is bu t slow ly reached, and gives me therefore no illusory m ovem ent. B ut when I suddenly relax m y effort to m ake it, and the right optical axis springs back to the p arallel position, I im m e­ diately see the object which the left eye fixates shift its position towards the left. T h u s not on ly the position of the seeing eye a, but also that of the closed eye b, influences our judgm ent of the direction in which the seen object lies. T h e open eye rem aining fixed, and the closed eye m oving towards the right or left, the object seen by the open eye appears also to move towards the right or le ft.” (P h y siolog isch e O p tik , pp. 607-8.)

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W ill takes lo n g p ractice d ire cted sp ecially a d h o c to teach us on w h ich retin a the sensations severally fall. S im ila rly the d iffe re n t sensa­ tions w h ich arise from the p osition s o f the eyeb alls are used e x ­ c lu siv e ly as signs o f the p o sitio n o f objects; an o b je c t d ire c tly fix­ ated b e in g lo calized h a b itu a lly a t th e in tersection o f the tw o o p tica l axes, b u t w ith o u t a n y separate consciousness on o u r p art th at the p o sitio n o f on e axis is d ifferen t from an other. A ll w e are aw are o f is a co n so lid ate d fe e lin g o f a certain ‘stra in ’ in the eyeballs, acco m ­ p a n ied b y the p erce p tio n th at ju st so far in fron t a n d so far to the rig h t or to the left there is an o b je c t w h ic h w e see. So th at a ‘m u s­ c u la r ’ process in on e eye is as lik e ly to c o m b in e w ith a re tin al p ro ­ cess in the oth er eye to effect a p erce p tive ju d g m e n t, as tw o proces­ ses in on e eye are lik e ly so to co m b in e. A n o th e r p iece o f circu m sta n tia l e v id e n ce for the feelin gs o f in ­ n e rva tio n is th at a d d u ce d b y Professor M a ch , as follow s: “ If we stand on a bridge, and look at the water flowing beneath, we usually feel ourselves at rest, whilst the water seems in motion. Pro­ longed looking at the water, however, comm only has for its result to make the bridge with the observer and surroundings suddenly seem to move in the direction opposed to that of the water, whilst the water itself assumes the appearance of standing still. T h e rela tive m otion of the objects is in both cases the same, and there must therefore be some adequate p h y sio lo g ica l ground why sometimes one, sometimes the other part of them is felt to move. In order to investigate the matter con-

veniently, I had the simple apparatus constructed which is represented in Fig. 86. A n oil-cloth with a simple pattern is horizontally stretched over two cylinders (each 2 metres long and 3 feet apart) and kept in uniform m otion by the help of a crank. Across the cloth, and some 30 cm. above it, is stretched a string, with a knot x, which serves as a fixation-point for the eye of the observer. If the observer fo llo w w ith his eyes the pattern of the cloth as it moves, he sees it in movement, himself

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology and the surroundings at rest. B u t if he looks at the kn o t, he soon feels as if the entire room were m oving contrary to the direction of the cloth, whilst the latter seems to stand still. T h is change in the mode of looking comes about in more or less time according to on e’s momentary disposi­ tion, b u t usually it takes but a few seconds. If one once understands the point, one can make the two appearances alternate at will. Every follow ­ in g of the oil cloth makes the observer stationary; every fixation of the knot or in a tten tio n to th e o il-clo th , so that its p attern becom es b lurred, sets him in apparent m otion.” 24 Professor M a c h proceeds to e x p la in the p h e n o m e n o n as follow s: “ M ovin g objects exert, as is well known, a peculiar motor stim ulation upon the eye, they draw our attention and our look after them. If the look really follows them . . . we assume that they move. B u t if the eye, instead of follow ing the m oving objects, remains steadfastly at rest, it must be that the constant stimulus to m otion which it receives is neu­ tralized by an equally constant current of innervation flowing into its motor apparatus. B u t this is just what would happen if the steadfastly fixated point were itself m oving uniform ly in the other direction, and we were follow ing it w ith our eyes. W hen this comes about, whatever motionless things are looked at must appear in m otion.” 25 T h e k n o t x , th e string, w e ourselves, an d all o u r station a ry sur­ r o u n d in g s thus ap p ea r in m o ve m e n t, a c c o rd in g to M a ch , because w e are c o n stan tly in n e r v a tin g o u r eyeballs to resist the d ra g exe rte d u p o n th em b y the p atte rn or th e flo w in g waves. I h ave m y self re­ p ea ted the o b servatio n m a n y tim es a b o ve flo w in g streams, b u t have n e ve r su cceed ed in g e ttin g the fu ll illu sio n as d escrib ed b y M ach . I g a in a sense o f the m o v e m e n t o f the b rid g e a n d o f m y o w n body, b u t the rive r n e ve r seems a b so lu te ly to stop: it still m oves in on e d ire ctio n , w h ilst I float aw ay in the other. B u t, b e the illu sio n p artial or co m p lete, a d iffe re n t e x p la n a tio n o f it from Professor M a c h ’s seems to m e th e m o re n a tu ral on e to ad op t. T h e illu sio n is said to cease w h en , ou r a tte n tio n b e in g fu lly fixed on the m o v in g o il-clo th , w e p erceive the latter for w h a t it is; an d to reco m m en ce, on the contrary, w h e n w e p erce ive the o il-clo th as a v a g u e ly m o v in g b a c k g ro u n d b e h in d an o b je c t w h ic h w e d ire c tly fixate an d w hose p o sitio n w ith regard to ou r o w n b o d y is u n ch an g e d . T h is , how ever, is the sort o f consciousness w h ic h w e h ave w h e n ev er w e are o u r­ selves b o rn e in a ve h icle , on horseback, or in a boat. A s w e an d ou r 24 B eitra g e zur A n a ly se d er E m p fin d u n g e n , p. 65. 25 p. 68.

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W ill b e lo n g in g s g o on e w ay, the w h o le b a c k g r o u n d goes the other. I sh o u ld rather, therefore, e x p la in Professor M a c h ’s illu sio n as sim i­ lar to the illu sio n at railroad-stations d escrib ed a b o v e on p ag e 73 5. T h e oth er train m oves, b u t it m akes ours seem to m o ve, because, fillin g the w in d o w as it does, it stands for the tim e b e in g as the total b a ck gro u n d . So here, th e w ater or o il-clo th stands for us as b a c k ­ g r o u n d ü b e r h a u p t w h en ever w e seem to ourselves to b e m o v in g o ve r it. T h e re la tiv e m o tio n fe lt b y the re tin a is assigned to that o n e o f its co m p o n en ts w h ic h w e lo o k at m o re in itself an d less as a m ere r e p o u sso ir . T h is m a y b e the k n o t ab o ve the o il-clo th or the b rid g e b en eath ou r feet, or it m a y be, on the oth er hand, the o il­ c lo th ’s p attern or the surface o f the sw ir lin g stream . S im ila r changes m a y be p ro d u ced in the a p p a re n t m o tio n o f the m o o n an d the clo u d s th ro u g h w h ic h it shines, b y sim ila rly a lte r in g the a tten tio n . Su ch alterations, h ow ever, in o u r c o n c e p tio n o f w h ic h p art o f the visual field is su b stan tive o b je c t an d w h ic h p art b a ck gro u n d , seem to h ave no co n n e ctio n w ith feelin gs o f in n e rvatio n . I can n ot, th ere­ fore, regard the o b servatio n o f P ro f. M a c h as an y p ro o f th at the latter feelin gs exist.26 T h e c ircu m stan tia l e v id e n ce for th e fe e lin g o f in n e rv a tio n thus seem s to break d o w n lik e the in tro sp e ctive evid en ce. B u t n o t o n ly can w e re b u t e xp erim e n ts in te n d e d to p ro ve it, w e can also a d d u ce e x p e rim e n ts w h ich d isp ro ve it. A person w h o m oves a lim b v o lu n ­ tarily m u st in n ervate it in an y case, an d if he feels the in n e rva tio n he o u g h t to be a b le to use the fe e lin g to d efin e w h a t his lim b is a b o u t, even th o u g h the lim b itself w ere anaesthetic. If, how ever, 26 I owe the in terpretation in the text to m y friend and form er student, M r. E. S. Drown, whom I set to observe the phenom enon before I had observed it myself. C oncerning the vacillations in ou r interpretation o f relative m otion over retina and

skin, see above, p. 812. H err M ünsterberg gives addition al reasons against the feeling of innervation, of which I w ill quote a couple. First, ou r ideas of m ovem ent are all fa in t ideas, resem­ b lin g in this the copies of sensations in m emory. W ere they feelings of the ou tgoin g discharge, they w ould be origin al states o f consciousness, not copies; and ou gh t by analogy to be v iv id like other origin al states.—Second, ou r unstriped muscles yield no feelings in contracting, nor can they be contracted at w ill, differing thus in two p eculiarities from the voluntary muscles. W h a t more natural than to suppose that the two peculiarities hang together, and that the reason w hy we cannot contract ou r intestines, for exam ple, at w ill, is, that we have no memory-im ages o f how their con ­ traction feels? W ere the supposed innervation-feeling always the ‘m ental cue,’ one doesn’ t see w hy we m ight not have it even where, as here, the contractions themselves are unfelt, and w hy it m ight not brin g the contractions about. (D ie W ille n sh a n d lu n g , pp. 87-8.)

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T h e P rin cip les of Psychology th e lim b be to ta lly anaesthetic, it turns o u t th at he does n o t k n o w at all h o w m u ch w o rk it p erform s in its c o n tra ctio n — in oth er words, he has n o p erce p tio n o f the a m o u n t o f in n e rv a tio n w h ich he exerts. A p a tie n t e x a m in e d b y Messrs. G le y an d M a r illie r b e a u ­ tifu lly show ed this. H is e n tire arm s, a n d his tru n k d o w n to the navel, w ere in sen sible b o th su p erficially an d d eep ly, b u t his arms w ere n o t paralyzed: “ W e take three stone bottles—two of them are em pty and weigh each 250 grams; the third is full of mercury and weighs 1850 grams. W e ask L . . . to estimate their weight and tell us which is heaviest. H e declares that he finds them all three alike. W ith many days of interval we made two series of six experim ents each. T h e result was always the same. T h e experim ent, it need hardly be said, was arranged in such wise that he could be informed neither by sight nor by hearing. H e even declared, holding in his hand the bottleful of mercury, that he found it to have no weight. . . . W e place successively in his hand (his eyes being still bandaged) a piece of m odelling wax, a stick of hard wood, a thick Indiarubber tube, a newspaper folded up lengthwise and rumpled, and we make him squeeze these several objects. H e feels no difference of resis­ tance and does not even perceive that anything is in his hand.” 27 M . G le y in a n o th e r p lace28 q u o te s e xp erim e n ts b y D r. B lo ch w h ic h p rove th at the sense w h ic h w e h ave o f ou r lim b s ’ p osition ow es a b so lu te ly n o th in g to the fe e lin g o f in n e rv a tio n p u t forth. D r. B lo ch stood op p o site the a n g le o f a screen w hose sides m ade an a n g le o f a b o u t 9 0 °, a n d tried to p lace his han ds sym m etrically, or so th at b o th sh o u ld

fall on co rre sp o n d in g spots o f the tw o

screen-sides, w h ich w ere m a rk e d w ith squares for the p urpose. T h e average error b e in g n o ted , on e h a n d was th en passively carried b y an assistant to a spot on its screen-side, an d the oth er a c tiv e ly sou gh t the c o rre sp o n d in g spot on the o p p o site side. T h e accu ra cy o f the corresp o n d en ce p ro ve d to b e as grea t as w h e n b o th arm s w ere in ­ n e rva te d v o lu n ta rily , sh o w in g th at th e consciousness o f in n e rva ­ tio n in the first o f the tw o e xp erim e n ts ad d ed n o th in g to the sense o f the lim b s ’ p osition . D r. B lo ch th en tried , pressing a certain n u m ­ b e r o f pages o f a b o o k b e tw ee n the th u m b an d forefin ger o f on e h an d, to press an e q u a l n u m b e r b e tw ee n the sam e fingers o f the o th e r h an d . H e d id this ju st as w e ll w h en the fingers in q u e stio n w ere d ra w n ap art b y In d ia -ru b b e r bands as w h e n th ey w ere u n in 27 R e v u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , x xm , 442.

28 [b id ., x x, 604.

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W ill terfered w ith , sh o w in g th at the p h ysio lo g ica lly m u ch greater in ­ n e rva tio n -cu rre n t re q u ire d in the form er case h ad no effect u p o n the consciousness o f the m o ve m e n t m ade, so far as its spatial ch ar­ acter at a n y rate was co n ce rn e d .29 29 H err Sternberg (Pfliiger’s A r c h iv , x xx v n , p. 1) thinks that he proves the feeling of innervation by the fact that when we have w illed to m ake a m ovem ent we generally think that it is made. W e have already seen some of the facts on pp. 749-750, above. S. cites from Exner the fact that if we pu t a piece of hard rubber between our back teeth and bite, our front teeth seem actu ally to approach each other, although it is physically impossible for them to do so. H e proposes the follow ing experim ent: L ay the palm of the hand on a table with the forefinger overlapp ing its edge and flexed back as far as possible, w hilst the table keeps the other fingers extended; then try to flex the term inal join t of the forefinger w ithout looking. You do not do it, and yet you think that you do. H ere again the innervation, according to the author, is felt as an executed m ovem ent. It seems to me, as I said in the previous place, that the illusion is in all these cases due to the inveterate association o f ideas. N orm ally our w ill to move has always been followed by the sensation that we ha ve moved, except when the sim ultaneous sensation o f an external resistance was there. T h e result is that where we feel no external resistance, and the muscles and tendons tighten, the invariably associated idea is intense enough to be hallucinatory. In the experim ent w ith the teeth, the resistance custom arily m et w ith when ou r masseters contract is a soft one. W e do not close ou r teeth on a th in g like hard ru bber once in a m illion times; so when we do so, we im agine the habitual result.—Persons w ith a m p u ta ted lim b s more often than not continue to feel them as if they were still there, and can, moreover, give themselves the feeling o f m oving them at w ill. T h e life-lon g sensorial associate of the idea of ‘w orking on e’s toes,’ e.g. (uncorrected by any opposite sensa­ tion, since no real sensation of non-m ovem ent can come from non existing toes), fol­ lows the idea and swallows it up. T h e m an thinks that his toes are ‘w orkin g’ (cf. P ro ceed in g s o f A m erica n Society fo r P sy ch ica l R esea rch, p. 249). H err Loeb also comes to the rescue of the feeling of innervation with observations of his ow n m ade after m y text was w ritten, bu t they convince me no m ore than the argum ents o f others. Loeb's facts are these (Pfliiger’s A r c h iv , x l v i , p. 1): If we stand before a vertical surface, and if, with our hands at d ifferen t h eig h ts, we sim u lta n e ­ o u sly make w ith them w hat seem to us eq u ally extensive movements, that m ove­ ment always turns ou t really shorter which is made with the arm whose muscles (in virtu e of the arm's position) are already the m ore contracted. T h e same result ensues when the arms are laterally unsym m etrical. Loeb assumes that both arms contract by virtu e o f a common innervation, bu t that although this innervation is relatively less effective upon the m ore contracted arm, ou r fe e lin g of its equal strength overpowers the disparity o f the incom ing sensations o f m ovem ent which the two lim bs send back, and makes us think that the spaces they traverse are the same. ‘‘T h e sensation o f the extent and direction of ou t voluntary movements depends accordingly upon the im ­ pulse of o u r w ill to move, and not upon the feelings set up by the m otion in the active organ.” Now if this is the elem entary law which L oeb calls it, why does it only m anifest its effect when both hands are m oving sim ultaneously? W h y not w hen the sam e hand makes successive movements? and especially w hy not when both hands m ove sym m etrically or at the same level, bu t o n e o f th e m is w eig h ted ? A weighted hand surely requires a stronger innervation than an unweighted one to m ove an equal distance upwards; and yet, as Loeb confesses, we do not tend to overestim ate the path which it traverses under these circumstances. T h e fact is that the illusion

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology O n the w hole, then, it seems as p ro b a b le as a n y th in g can w e ll be, that these feelin gs o f in n e rv a tio n d o n o t exist. I f the m o to r cells a fe d istin ct structures, th ey are as in sen tien t as the m o to r nervetrunks are after the posterior roots are cut. I f th ey are n o t d istin ct structures, b u t are o n ly the last sensory cells, those at the ‘m o u th o f the fu n n e l,’ 30 then th eir consciousness is th at o f kinaesthetic ideas an d sensations m erely, a n d this consciousness accom p an ies the rise o f a c tiv ity in th em rather than its discharge. T h e en tire c o n te n t an d m aterial o f o u r consciousness— consciousness o f m o v e ­ m en t, as o f all th in gs else— is thus o f p erip h e ral o rig in , a n d cam e to us in the first in stan ce th ro u g h the p erip h e ral nerves. I f it be asked w h a t w e g a in by this sensation alistic con clu sio n , I rep ly that w e ga in at an y rate sim p licity an d u n ifo rm ity . In the chapters on Space, on B e lie f, on the E m o tio n s, w e fo u n d sensation to b e a m u c h richer th in g than is c o m m o n ly supposed; an d this ch ap ter seems at this p o in t to fall in to lin e w ith those. T h e n , as for sensa­ tion alism

b e in g a d e g ra d in g b elief, w h ich abolishes all in w ard

o rig in a lity an d sp on tan eity, there is this to be said, th at the a d v o ­ cates o f in w ard sp o n tan eity m ay b e tu r n in g th eir backs on its real citad el, w h en th ey m a ke a fight, on its beh alf, for the consciousness o f en ergy p u t forth in the o u tg o in g discharge. L e t there b e n o such

which Loeb has studied is a com plex resultant of m any factors. One of them , it seems to me, is an instinctive tendency to revert to th e ty p e o f th e b ila tera l m ovem en ts o f c h ild h o o d . In adult life we move ou r arms for the most part in alternation; but at a certain period of infancy the free movements of the arms are almost always sim ilar on both sides, sym m etrical when the direction of motion is horizontal, and w ith the hands on the same level when it is vertical. T h e most natural innervation, when the movements are rap idly perform ed, is one which takes the m ovem ent back to this form. O u r estim a tio n m eanw hile of the lengths severally traversed by the two hands is m ainly based, as such estimations with closed eyes usually are (see L o eb ’s own earlier paper, “ U ntersuchungen über den Fühlraum der H and ,” in Pflüger’s A r ch iv , x l i , 107), upon the apparent velocity and duration of the m ovem ent. T h e duration is the same for both hands, since the movements begin and end sim ultaneously. T h e velocities of the two hands are under the experim ental conditions almost impossible of com parison. It is w ell known how im perfect a discrim ination of w eights we have when we ‘ heft’ them sim ultaneously, one in either hand; and G. E. M üller has w ell shown (Pflüger’s A r c h iv , x l v , 57) that the velocity of the lift is the main factor in de­ term ining ou r judgm ent o f w eight. It is hardly possible to conceive of more unfavor­ able conditions for m aking an accurate comparison of the length of two movements than those which govern the experim ents which are under discussion. T h e only prom inent sign is the duration, which would lead us to infer the equ ality of the two movements. W e consequently deem them equal, though a native tendency in our m otor centres keeps them from being so. 30 T h is is by no means an unplausible opin ion. See Vol. I, p. 73.

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consciousness; let all our thoughts of movements be of sensational constitution; still in the emphasizing, choosing, and espousing of one of them rather than another, in the saying to it, ‘be thou the reality for me,’ there is ample scope for our inward initiative to be shown. Here, it seems to me, the true line between the passive ma­ terials and the activity of the spirit should be drawn. It is certainly false strategy to draw it between such ideas as are connected with the outgoing and such as are connected with the incoming neural wave.31 If the ideas by which we discriminate between one movement and another, at the instant of deciding in our mind which one we shall perform, are always of sensorial origin, then the question arises, “ O f which sensorial order need they be?” It will be remem­ bered that we distinguished two orders of kinaesthetic impression, the rem ote ones, made by the movement on the eye or ear or distant skin, etc., and the resident ones, made on the moving parts them­ selves, muscles, joints, etc. Now do ‘resident’ images, exclusively, form what I have called the mental cue, or will ‘remote’ ones equally suffice? T h ere can be no d oubt whatever that the m ental cue may be either an image of the resident or of the rem ote kind. Although, at

the outset of our learning a movement, it would seem that the resi­ dent feelings must come strongly before consciousness (cf. p. 1099), later this need not be the case. T h e rule, in fact, would seem to be that they tend to lapse more and more from consciousness, and that the more practised we become in a movement, the more ‘remote’ do the ideas become which form its mental cue. W hat we are in­ terested in is what sticks in our consciousness; everything else we get rid of as quickly as we can. O ur resident feelings of movement have no substantive interest for us at all, as a rule. W hat interest us are the ends which the movement is to attain. Such an end is generally an outer impression on the eye or ear, or sometimes on 31 M aine de B iran, Royer-C ollard, Sir John H erschel, Dr. Carpenter, Dr. M artineau, all seem to posit a force-sense by w hich, in becom ing aware of an outer resistance to ou r w ill, we are taught the existence o f an outer w orld. I hold that every peripheral sensation gives us an outer world. An insect craw ling on our skin gives us as ‘o u t­ w ard’ an impression as a hundred pounds w eighing on ou r back.—I have read M . A. B ertran d’s criticism o f m y views (La P sy ch o lo g ie d e I'effort, 1889); but as he seems to think that I deny the fe e lin g of effort altogether, I can get no profit from it, despite his charm ing way of saying things.

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the skin, nose, or palate. Now let the idea of the end associate itself definitely with the right motor innervation, and the thought of the innervation’s resident effects w ill become as great an encum­ brance as we formerly concluded that the feeling of the innervation itself would be. T h e mind does not need it; the end alone is enough. T h e idea of the end, then, tends more and more to make itself all-sufficient. Or, at any rate, if the kinaesthetic ideas are called up at all, they are so swamped in the vivid kinaesthetic feelings by which they are immediately overtaken that we have no time to be aware of their separate existence. As I write, I have no anticipation, as a thing distinct from my sensation, of either the look or the digital feel of the letters which flow from my pen. T h e words chime on my mental ear, as it were, before I write them, but not on my mental eye or hand. T his comes from the rapidity with which often-repeated movements follow on their mental cue. An end con­ sented to as soon as conceived innervates directly the centre of the first movement of the chain which leads to its accomplishment, and then the whole chain rattles off guasz-reflexly, as was described on pp. 120-121 of Vol. I. T h e reader w ill certainly recognize this to be true in all fluent and unhesitating voluntary acts. T h e only special fiat there is at the outset of the performance. A man says to himself, “ I must change my shirt,’’ and involuntarily he has taken off his coat, and his fingers are at work in their accustomed manner on his waistcoat-buttons, etc.; or we say, “ I must go downstairs,’’ and ere we know it we have risen, walked, and turned the handle of the door;— all through the idea of an end coupled with a series of guiding sen­ sations which successively arise. It would seem indeed that we fail of accuracy and certainty in our attainment of the end whenever we are preoccupied with much ideal consciousness of the means. W e walk a beam the better the less we think of the position of our feetjupon it. W e pitch or catch, we shoot or chop the better the less tactile and muscular (the less resident), and the more exclusively optical (the more remote), our consciousness is. Keep your eye on the place aimed at, and your hand will fetch it; think of your hand, and you will very likely miss your aim. Dr. Southard found that he could touch a spot with a pencil-point more accurately with a visual than with a tactile mental cue. In the former case he looked at a small object and closed his eyes before trying to touch it. In the

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placed it w ith closed eyes, a n d th en after re m o v in g

his h an d tried to tou ch it again . T h e average error w ith tou ch (w hen the results w ere m ost favorable) was 17 .13 m m . W it h sigh t it was o n ly 12.37 m m .32— A ll these are p la in results o f in tro sp ectio n a n d o bservation . B y w h a t n eu ral m a ch in e ry th ey are m a d e possible w e n eed not, at this presen t stage, in q u ire . In C h a p te r X V I I I w e saw h o w e n o rm o u sly in d iv id u a ls differ in respect to th eir m e n ta l im agery. In the typ e o f im a g in a tio n called

tactile b y the F ren ch authors, it is p ro b a b le th at the kinaesthetic ideas are m o re p ro m in e n t th an in m y a cco u n t. W e m u st n o t e x p e c t too great a u n ifo r m ity in in d iv id u a l accounts, n o r w ra n g le o ve r­ m u c h as to w h ich on e ‘tr u ly ’ represents the process.33 32 B ow ditch and Southard in Jo u r n a l o f P h y sio lo g y , vol. in, No. 3. It was found in these experim ents that the m axim um o f accuracy was reached when two seconds of tim e elapsed between locatin g the object by eye or hand and starting to touch it. W hen the mark was located w ith one hand, and the other hand had to touch it, the error was considerably greater than when the same hand both located and touched it. 33 T h e same caution m ust be shown in discussing pathological cases. T h e re are rem arkable discrepancies in the effects of perip heral anaesthesia upon the voluntary power. Such cases as I quoted in the text (p. 1101) are by no means the on ly type. In those cases the patients could move their lim bs accurately when the eyes were open, and inaccurately when they were shut. In other cases, however, the anaesthetic patients ca n n o t m o v e th e ir lim b s at a ll when the eyes are shut. (For reports of two such cases see Bastian in B ra in , B inet in R e v u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , x xv , 478.) M. B inet explains these (hysterical) cases as requ irin g the ‘dynam ogenic’ stim ulus o f ligh t (see above, p. 998). T h e y m ig h t, however, be cases o f such congenitally defective optical im agination that the ‘m ental cue’ was norm ally ‘ tactile’; and that when this tactile cue failed through functional inertness o f the kinacsthetic centres, the on ly optical cue strong enough to determ ine the discharge had to be an actual sen sa tion o f the eye.—T h e re is still a third class o f cases in which the lim bs have lost all sensibility, even for movements passively im printed, b u t in which volu ntary m ovem ents can be accurately executed even when the eyes are closed. M M . B inet and F6r6 have re­ ported some of these interesting cases, w hich are found amongst the hysterical hemianaesthetics. T h e y can, for exam ple, w rite accurately at w ill, although their eyes are closed and they have no feeling o f the w ritin g taking place, and m any of them do not know when it begins or stops. Asked to w rite repeatedly the letter a, and then say how m any times they have written it, some are able to assign the num ber and some are not. Some of them adm it that they are guided by visual im agination o f what is being done. C f. A r c h iv es d e P h y sio lo g ie, O ct. 1887, pp. 363-5. Now it w ould seem at first sight that feelings o f ou tgoin g innervation m ust exist in these cases and be kept account of. T h e re are no other gu id in g impressions, eith er im m ediate or remote, o f which the p atien t is conscious; and unless feelings o f innervation be there, the w ritin g w ould seem m iraculous. B u t if such feelings are present in these cases, and suffice to direct accurately the succession of movements, w h y do they not suffice in those other anaesthetic cases in which m ovem ent becomes disorderly when the eyes are closed. In n er v a tio n is there, or there would be no m ovem ent; why is the fe e lin g o f the innervation gone? T h e truth seems to be, as M . B inet supposes (R e v u e P h i-

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I trust that I have now made clear what that ‘idea of a movement’ is which must precede it in order that it be voluntary. It is not the thought of the innervation which the movement requires. It is the anticipation of the movement’s sensible effects, resident or remote, and sometimes very remote indeed. Such anticipations, to say the least, determine what our movements shall be. I have spoken all along as if they also might determine that they shall be. This, no doubt, has disconcerted many readers, for it certainly seems as if a special fiat, or consent to the movement, were required in addition to the mere conception of it, in many cases of volition; and this fiat I have altogether left out of my account. T h is leads us to the next point in the psychology of the W ill. It can be the more easily treated now that we have got rid of so much tedious prelim inary matter. ID E O -M O T O R A C T IO N

T h e question is this: Is the bare idea of a m ovem ent’ s sensible effects its sufficient m ental cue (p. 1108), or must there be an addi­ tional m ental antecedent, in the shape of a fiat, decision, consent, volitional mandate, or other synonymous phenom enon of con­ sciousness, before the m ovem ent can follow ? I answer: Sometimes the bare idea is sufficient, but sometimes an additional conscious element, in the shape of a fiat, mandate, or express consent, has to intervene and precede the movement. T h e cases without a fiat constitute the more fundamental, because the more simple, variety. T h e others involve a special complication, which must be fully discussed at the proper time. For ihe present let us turn to ideo-m otor action, as it has been termed, or the se­ quence of movement upon the mere thought of it, as the type of the process of volition. W herever movement follows unhesitatingly and im m ediately the notion of it in the mind, we have ideo-motor action. W e are then aware of nothing between the conception and the execution. A ll sorts of neuro-muscular processes come between, of course, but lo s o p h iq u e , x xv, p. 479), that these cases are not argum ents for the feeling o f inner­ vation. T h e y are p athological curiosities; and the patients are not really anaesthetic, but are victim s o f that curious dissociation or splitting-off of one part of th eir con­ sciousness from the rest which we are just beginning to understand, thanks to Messrs.

Janet, B inet, and G urney, and in w hich the split-off part (in this case the kinaesthettc sensations) m ay nevertheless rem ain to produce its usual effects. Com pare w h at was said above, p. 1103.

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we know absolutely nothing of them. W e think the act, and it is done; and that is all that introspection tells us of the matter. Dr. Carpenter, who first used, I believe, the name of ideo-motor action, placed it, if I mistake not, among the curiosities of our mental life. T h e truth is that it is no curiosity, but simply the normal process Stripped of disguise. W hilst talking I become conscious of a pin on the floor, or of some dust on my sleeve. W ithout interrupting the conversation I brush away the dust or pick up the pin. I make no express resolve, but the mere perception of the object and the fleeting notion of the act seem of themselves to bring the latter about. Similarly, I sit at table after dinner and find myself from time to time taking nuts or raisins out of the dish and eating them. My dinner properly is over, and in the heat of the conversation I am hardly aware of what I do; but the perception of the fruit, and the fleeting notion that I may eat it, seem fatally to bring the act about. T here is certainly no express fiat here; any more than there is in all those habitual goings and comings and rearrangements of ourselves which fill every hour of the day, and which incoming sen­ sations instigate so immediately that it is often difficult to decide whether not to call them reflex rather than voluntary acts. W e have seen in Chapter IV that the intermediary terms of an habitual series of acts leading to an end are apt to be of this gwasi-automatic sort. As Lotze says: “W e see in writing or piano-playing a great num ber of very com pli­ cated movements follow ing qu ickly one upon the other, the instigative representations of which remained scarcely a second in consciousness, certainly not long enough to awaken any other volition than the general one of resigning one’s self w ithout reserve to the passing over of repre­ sentation into action. A ll the acts of our daily life happen in this wise: O u r standing up, walking, talking, all this never demands a distinct impulse of the will, but is adequately brought about by the pure flux o f thought.” 34 34 M e d ic in is c h e P sy ch o lo g ie, p. 293. In his adm irably acute chapter on the W ill this a uth or has most e x p licitly m aintained the position that w hat we call m uscular exertion is an afferent and not an efferent feeling; “ W e m ust affirm universally that in the m uscular feeling we are not sensible of the fo r ce on its w ay to produce an effect, bu t on ly o f the su fferan ce already produced in ou r m ovable organs, the muscles, after the force has, in a m anner unobservable by us, exerted upon them its causality” (p. 311). H ow often the battles o f psychology have to be fought over again, each time w ith heavier armies and bigger trains, though not always with such able generals!

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In all this the determ ining condition of the unhesitating and resistless sequence of the act seems to be the absence of any conflict­ ing notion in the m ind. Either there is nothing else at all in the mind, or what is there does not conflict. T h e hypnotic subject realizes the former condition. Ask him what he is thinking about, and ten to one he w ill reply ‘nothing.’ T h e consequence is that he both believes everything he is told, and performs every act that is suggested. T h e suggestion may be a vocal command, or it may be the performance before him of the movement required. Hypnotic subjects in certain conditions repeat whatever they hear you say, and imitate whatever they see you do. Dr. Fere says that certain waking persons of neurotic type, if one repeatedly close and open one’s hand before their eyes, soon begin to have corresponding feelings in their own fingers, and presently begin irresistibly to execute the movements which they see. Under these conditions of ‘preparation’ Dr. Fere found that his subjects could squeeze the hand-dynamometer much more strongly than when abruptly in­ vited to do so. A few passive repetitions of a movement will enable many enfeebled patients to execute it actively with greater strength. These observations beautifully show how the mere quickening of kinaesthetic ideas is equivalent to a certain amount of tension to­ wards discharge in the centres.35 W e know what it is to get out of bed on a freezing m orning in a room without a fire, and how the very vital principle within us protests against the ordeal. Probably most persons have lain on certain mornings for an hour at a time unable to brace themselves to the resolve. W e think how late we shall be, how the duties of the day w ill suffer; we say, “ I must get up, this is ignominious,’’ etc.; but still the warm couch feels too delicious, the cold outside too cruel, and resolution faints away and postpones itself again and again just as it seemed on the verge of bursting the resistance and passing over into the decisive act. Now how do we ever get up un­ der such circumstances? If I may generalize from my own experi­ ence, we more often than not get up without any struggle or de­ cision at all. W e suddenly find that we have got up. A fortunate lapse of consciousness occurs; we forget both the warmth and the cold; we fall into some revery connected with the day’s life, in the course of which the idea flashes across us, “ Hollo! I must lie here 35 Charles Fer£: Sen sation et m o u v em en t (1887), chapter 111.

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no longer”—an idea which at that lucky instant awakens no con­ tradictory or paralyzing suggestions, and consequently produces immediately its appropriate motor effects. It was our acute con­ sciousness of both the warmth and the cold during the period of struggle, which paralyzed our activity then and kept our idea of rising in the condition of wish and not of will. T h e moment these inhibitory ideas ceased, the original idea exerted its effects. T his case seems to me to contain in miniature form the data for an entire psychology of volition. It was in fact through meditating on the phenomenon in my own person that I first became con­ vinced of the truth of the doctrine which these pages present, and which I need here illustrate by no farther examples.36 T h e reason why that doctrine is not a self-evident truth is that we have so many ideas which do not result in action. But it will be seen that in every such case, without exception, that is because other ideas simul­ taneously present rob them of their impulsive power. But even here, and when a movement is inhibited from com pletely taking place by contrary ideas, it will incipiently take place. T o quote Lotze once more: “T he spectator accompanies the throwing of a billiard-ball, or the thrust of the swordsman, with slight movements of his arm; the untaught narrator tells his story with many gesticulations; the reader while absorbed in the perusal of a battle-scene feels a slight tension run through his muscular system, keeping time as it were with the actions he is reading of. These results become the more marked the more we are absorbed in thinking of the movements which suggest them; they grow fainter exactly in proportion as a complex consciousness, under the dominion of a crowd of other representations, withstands the passing over of mental contemplation into outward action.” T h e ‘willing-game,’ the exhibitions of so-called ‘mind-reading,’ or more properly muscle-reading, which have lately grown so fash­ ionable, are based on this incipient obedience of muscular contrac­ tion to idea, even when the deliberate intention is that no contrac­ tion shall occur.37 36 Professor A . Bain (Senses a n d th e I n te lle c t, pp. 336-48) and Dr. W . B. Carpenter

(M en ta l P h y sio lo g y , chap. vi) give exam ples in abundance. 37 For a full account, by an expert, of the ‘w illing-gam e,’ see M r. Stuart Cum berlan d’s article: “ A T h o u gh t-R ea d er’s Experiences” in the N in e te e n th C en tu ry , xx, 867. M. G ley has given a good exam ple of ideo-motor action in the B u lle tin s d e la S o ciété d e P sy ch o lo g ie P h y sio lo g iq u e for 1890. T e ll a person to think intently o f a

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W e may then lay it down for certain that every representation of a m ovem ent awakens in som e degree the actual m ovem ent which is its object; and awakens it in a m axim um degree whenever it is not kept from so doing by an antagonistic representation present sim ultaneously to the mind. T h e express fiat, or act of mental consent to the movement, comes in when the neutralization of the antagonistic and inhibi­ tory idea is required. But that there is no express fiat needed when the conditions are simple, the reader ought now to be convinced. Lest, however, he should still share the common prejudice that voluntary action without ‘exertion of will-power’ is H am let with the prince’s part left out, I w ill make a few farther remarks. T h e first point to start from, in understanding voluntary action and the possible occurrence of it with no fiat or express resolve, is the fact that consciousness is in its very nature im pulsive , 3 8 W e do not have a sensation or a thought, and then have to add something dynamic to it to get a movement. Every pulse of feeling which we have is the correlate of some neural activity that is already on its way to instigate a movement. Our sensations and thoughts are but cross-sections, as it were, of currents whose essential consequence is motion, and which no sooner run in at one nerve than they run out again at another. T h e popular notion that mere consciousness as such is not essentially a forerunner of activity, that the latter must result from some superadded ‘will-force,’ is a very natural inference from those special cases in which we think of an act for an indefinite length of time without the action taking place. These cases, however, are not the norm; they are cases of inhibition by antagonistic thoughts. W hen the blocking is released we feel as if certain name, and saying that you w ill then force her to w rite it, le t her hold a pen ­ cil, and do you yourself hold her hand. She w ill then p robably trace the nam e in­ voluntarily, believing that you are forcing her to do it. 38 I abstract here from the fact that a certain in te n sity of the consciousness is re­ quired for its impulsiveness to be effective in a com plete degree. T h e re is an inertia in the m otor processes as in all other natural things. In certain individuals, and at certain times (disease, fatigue), the inertia is unu su ally great, and we m ay then have ideas o f action which produce no visible act, bu t discharge themselves into m erely nascent dispositions to activity or into em otional expression. T h e inertia of the m otor parts here plays the same role as is elsewhere played by antagonistic ideas. W e shall consider this restrictive inertia later on; it obviously introduces no essential alteration into the law which the text lays down.

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an inward spring were let loose, and this is the additional impulse or fiat upon which the act effectively succeeds. W e shall study anon the blocking and its release. O ur higher thought is full of it. But where there is no blocking, there is naturally no hiatus between the thought-process and the motor discharge. M ovem ent is the natural im m ediate effect of feelin g, irrespective of what the quality of the feelin g may be. It is so in reflex action, it is so in em otional expression, it is so in the voluntary life. Ideo-motor action is thus

no paradox, to be softened or explained away. It obeys the type of all conscious action, and from it one must start to explain action in which a special fiat is involved. It may be remarked in passing, that the inhibition of a move­ ment no more involves an express effort or command than its exe­ cution does. Either of them may require it. But in all simple and ordinary cases, just as the bare presence of one idea prompts a movement, so the bare presence of another idea w ill prevent its taking place. T ry to feel as if you were crooking your finger, whilst keeping it straight. In a minute it will fairly tingle with the imagi­ nary change of position; yet it will not sensibly move, because its not really m oving is also a part of what you have in mind. Drop this idea, think of the movement purely and simply, with all brakes off; and, presto! it takes place with no effort at all. A waking man’s behavior is thus at all times the resultant of two opposing neural forces. W ith unimaginable fineness some currents among the cells and fibres of his brain are playing on his motor nerves, whilst other currents, as unimaginably fine, are playing on the first currents, damming or helping them, altering their direc­ tion or their speed. T h e upshot of it all is, that whilst the currents must always end by being drained off through some motor nerves, they are drained off sometimes through one set and sometimes through another; and sometimes they keep each other in equilib­ rium so long that a superficial observer may think they are not drained off at all. Such an observer must remember, however, that from the physiological point of view a gesture, an expression of the brow, or an expulsion of the breath are movements as much as an act of locomotion is. A king’s breath slays as well as an assassin’s blow; and the outpouring of those currents which the magic im­ ponderable streaming of our ideas accompanies need not always be of an explosive or otherwise physically conspicuous kind.

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology A C T IO N A F T E R D E L IB E R A T IO N

W e are now in a position to describe what happens in deliberate action, or when the mind is the seat of many ideas related to each other in antagonistic or in favorable ways.39 One of the ideas is that of an act. By itself this idea would prompt a movement; some of the additional considerations, however, which are present to con­ sciousness block the motor discharge, whilst others, on the contrary, solicit it to take place. T h e result is that peculiar feeling of inward unrest known as indecision. Fortunately it is too familiar to need description, for to describe it would be impossible. As long as it lasts, with the various objects before the attention, we are said to deliberate; and when finally the original suggestion either prevails and makes the movement take place, or gets definitively quenched by its antagonists, we are said to decide, or to utter our voluntary fiat in favor of one or the other course. T h e reinforcing and in­ hibiting ideas meanwhile are termed the reasons or motives by which the decision is brought about. T h e process of deliberation contains endless degrees of com pli­ cation. A t every moment of it our consciousness is of an extremely complex object, namely the existence of the whole set of motives and their conflict, as explained on p. 265 of Vol. I. O f this object, the totality of which is realized more or less dim ly all the while, certain parts stand out more or less sharply at one moment in the foreground, and at another moment other parts, in consequence of the oscillations of our attention, and of the ‘associative’ flow of our ideas. But no matter how sharp the foreground-reasons may be, or how imminently close to bursting through the dam and car­ rying the motor consequences their own way, the background, however dimly felt, is always there; and its presence (so long as the indecision actually lasts) serves as an effective check upon the ir­ revocable discharge. T h e deliberation may last for weeks or months, occupying at intervals the mind. T h e motives which yesterday seemed full of urgency and blood and life to-day feel strangely 391 use the comm on phraseology here for m ere convenience’ sake. T h e reader who has m ade him self acquainted w ith C h ap ter IX w ill always understand, when he hears of m any ideas sim ultaneously present to the m ind and acting upon each other, that w hat is really m eant is a m ind with one idea before it, of m any objects, purposes, reasons, motives, related to each other, some in a harm onious and some in an antagonistic way. W ith this caution I shall not hesitate from tim e to tim e to fall into the p op u lar Lockian speech, erroneous though I believe it to be.

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weak and pale and dead. But as little to-day as tomorrow is the question finally resolved. Something tells us that all this is pro­ visional; that the weakened reasons w ill wax strong again, and the stronger weaken; that equilibrium is unreached; that testing our reasons, not obeying them, is still the order of the day, and that we must wait awhile, patiently or impatiently, until our mind is made up ‘for good and all.’ T h is inclining, first to one then to another future, both of which we represent as possible, resembles the oscil­ lations to and fro of a material body within the limits of its elastici­ ty. T h ere is inward strain, but no outward rupture. And this con­ dition, plainly enough, is susceptible of indefinite continuance, as well in the physical mass as in the mind. If the elasticity give way, however, if the dam ever do break, and the currents burst the crust, vacillation is over and decision is irrevocably there. T h e decision may come in any one of many modes. I w ill try briefly to sketch the most characteristic types of it, merely warning the reader that this is only an introspective account of symptoms and phenomena, and that all questions of causal agency, whether neural or spiritual, are relegated to a later page. T h e particular reasons for or against action are of course infi­ nitely various in concrete cases. But certain motives are more or less constantly in play. One of these is im patience of the delibera­ tive state; or to express it otherwise, proneness to act or to decide merely because action and decision are, as such, agreeable, and relieve the tension of doubt and hesitancy. Thus it comes that we w ill often take any course whatever which happens to be most viv­ idly before our minds, at the moment when this impulse to de­ cisive action becomes extreme. Against this impulse we have the dread of the irrevocable, which often engenders a type of character incapable of prompt and vigor­ ous resolve, except perhaps when surprised into sudden activity. These two opposing motives twine round whatever other motives may be present at the moment when decision is imminent, and tend to precipitate or retard it. T h e conflict of these motives so far as they alone affect the matter of decision is a conflict as to when it shall occur. One says ‘now,’ the other says ‘not yet.’ Another constant component of the web of motivation is the im­ pulse to persist in a decision once made. T here is no more remark­ able difference in human character than that between resolute and

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irresolute natures. N either the physiological nor the psychical grounds of this difference have yet been analyzed. Its symptom is that whereas in the irresolute all decisions are provisional and liable to be reversed, in the resolute they are settled once for all and not disturbed again. Now into everyone’s deliberations the representation of one alternative w ill often enter with such sudden force as to carry the imagination with itself exclusively, and to produce an apparently settled decision in its own favor. These pre­ mature and spurious decisions are of course known to everyone. T h ey often seem ridiculous in the light of the considerations that succeed them. But it cannot be denied that in the resolute type of character the accident that one of them has once been made does afterwards enter as a motive additional to the more genuine rea­ sons why it should not be revoked, or if provisionally revoked, why it should be made again. How many of us persist in a precipitate course which, but for a moment of heedlessness, we m ight never have entered upon, simply because we hate to ‘change our m ind.’

F IV E T Y P E S O F DECISION

T u rn in g now to the form of the decision itself, we may distin­ guish five chief types. T h e first may be called the reasonable type. It is that of those cases in which the arguments for and against a given course seem gradually and almost insensibly to settle them­ selves in the mind and to end by leaving a clear balance in favor of one alternative, which alternative we then adopt without effort or constraint. U ntil this rational balancing of the books is consum­ mated we have a calm feeling that the evidence is not yet all in, and this keeps action in suspense. But some day we wake with the sense that we see the thing rightly, that no new light will be thrown on the subject by farther delay, and that the matter had better be settled now. In this easy transition from doubt to assurance we seem to ourselves almost passive; the ‘reasons’ which decide us ap­ pearing to flow in from the nature of things, and to owe nothing to our will. W e have, however, a perfect sense of being free, in that we are devoid of any feeling of coercion. T h e conclusive reason for the decision in these cases usually is the discovery that we can refer the case to a class upon which we are accustomed to act un­ hesitatingly in a certain stereotyped way. It may be said in general that a great part of every deliberation consists in the turning over

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of all the possible modes of conceiving the doing or not doing of the act in point. T h e moment we hit upon a conception which lets us apply some principle of action which is a fixed and stable part of our Ego, our state of doubt is at an end. Persons of authority, who have to make many decisions in the day, carry with them a set o f heads of classification, each bearing its motor consequence, and under these they seek as far as possible to range each new emerg­ ency as it occurs. It is where the emergency belongs to a species w ithout precedent, to which consequently no cut-and-dried maxim w ill apply, that we feel most at a loss, and are distressed at the in­ determinateness of our task. As soon, however, as we see our way to a fam iliar classification, we are at ease again. In action as in rea­ soning, then, the great thing is the quest of the right conception.

T h e concrete dilemmas do not come to us with labels gummed upon their backs. W e may name them by many names. T h e wise man is he who succeeds in finding the name which suits the needs of the particular occasion best. A reasonable’ character is one who has a store of stable and worthy ends, and who does not decide about an action till he has calmly ascertained whether it be minis­ terial or detrimental to any one of these. In the next two types of decision, the final fiat occurs before the evidence is all in.’ It often happens that no paramount and au­ thoritative reason for either course will come. Either seems a case of a Good, and there is no umpire as to which good should yield its place to the other. W e grow tired of long hesitatiqn and incon­ clusiveness, and the hour may come when we feel that even a bad decision is better than no decision at all. Under these conditions it w ill often happen that some accidental circumstance, supervening at a particular moment upon our mental weariness, will upset the balance in the direction of one of the alternatives, to which then we feel ourselves committed, although an opposite accident at the same time might have produced the opposite result. In the second type of case our feeling is to a certain extent that of letting ourselves drift with a certain indifferent acquiescence in a direction accidentally determined from w ithout, with the convic­ tion that, after all, we might as well stand by this course as by the other, and that things are in any event sure to turn out sufficiently right. In the third type the determination seems equally accidental,

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but it comes from within, and not from without. It often happens, when the absence of imperative principle is perplexing and sus­ pense distracting, that we find ourselves acting, as it were, auto­ matically, and as if by a spontaneous discharge of our nerves, in the direction of one of the horns of the dilemma. But so exciting is this sense of motion after our intolerable pent-up state that we eagerly throw ourselves into it. ‘Forward now!’ we inwardly cry, though the heavens fall.’ T h is reckless and exultant espousal of an energy so little premeditated by us that we feel rather like pas­ sive spectators cheering on the display of some extraneous force than like voluntary agents is a type of decision too abrupt and tumultuous to occur often in humdrum and cool-blooded natures. But it is probably frequent in persons of strong emotional endow­ ment and unstable or vacillating character. A nd in men of the world-shaking type, the Napoleons, Luthers, etc., in whom tena­ cious passion combines with ebullient activity, when by any chance the passion’s outlet has been dammed by scruples or apprehensions, the resolution is probably often of this catastrophic kind. T h e flood breaks quite unexpectedly through the dam. T h at it should so often do so is quite sufficient to account for the tendency of these characters to a fatalistic mood of mind. A nd the fatalistic mood itself is sure to reinforce the strength of the energy just started on its exciting path of discharge. T here is a fourth form of decision, which often ends deliberation as suddenly as the third form does. It comes when, in consequence of some outer experience or some inexplicable inward charge, we suddenly pass from the easy and careless to the sober and strenuous m ood, or possibly the other way. T h e whole scale of values of our

motives and impulses then undergoes a change like that which a change of the observer’s level produces on a view. T h e most sober­ ing possible agents are objects of grief and fear. W hen one of these affects us, all light fantastic’ notions lose their motive power, all solemn ones find theirs m ultiplied many-fold. T h e consequence is an instant abandonment of the more trivial projects with which we had been dallying, and an instant practical acceptance of the more grim and earnest alternative which till then could not extort our m ind’s consent. A ll those ‘changes of heart,’ ‘awakenings of conscience,’ etc., which make new men of so many of us may be classed under this head. T h e character abruptly rises to another

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‘level,’ and deliberation comes to an immediate end.40 In the fifth and final type of decision, the feeling that the evi­ dence is all in, and that reason has balanced the books, may be either present or absent. But in either case we feel, in deciding, as if we ourselves by our own wilful act inclined the beam: in the for­ mer case by adding our living effort to the weight of the logical reason which, taken alone, seems powerless to make the act dis­ charge; in the latter by a kind of creative contribution of some­ thing instead of a reason which does a reason’s work. T h e slow dead heave of the w ill that is felt in these instances makes of them a class altogether different subjectively from all the four preceding classes. W hat the heave of the will betokens metaphysically, what the effort m ight lead us to infer about a will-power distinct from motives, are not matters that concern us yet. Subjectively and phe­ nomenally, the feelin g of effort, absent from the former decisions, accompanies these. W hether it be the dreary resignation for the sake of austere and naked duty of all sorts of rich mundane de­ lights; or whether it be the heavy resolve that of two m utually ex­ clusive trains of future fact, both sweet and good and with no strictly objective or imperative principle of choice between them, one shall forevermore become impossible, while the other shall be­ come reality; it is a desolate and acrid sort of act, an excursion into a lonesome moral wilderness. If examined closely, its chief differ­ ence from the former cases appears to be that in those cases the mind at the moment of deciding on the triumphant alternative dropped the other one wholly or nearly out of sight, whereas here both alternatives are steadily held in view, and in the very act of murdering the vanquished possibility the chooser realizes how much in that instant he is making himself lose. It is deliberately driving a thorn into one’s flesh; and the sense of inward effort with which the act is accompanied is an element which sets the fifth type of decision in strong contrast with the previous four varieties, and makes of it an altogether peculiar sort of mental phenomenon. T h e immense majority of human decisions are decisions without effort. In comparatively few of them, in most people, does effort accompany the final act. W e are, I think, misled into supposing that effort is more frequent than it is, by the fact that during de4° M y attention was first em phatically called to this class of decisions by m y col­ league, Professor C. C. Everett.

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T h e P rin ciples of Psychology liberation we so often have a feeling of how great an effort it would take to make a decision now. Later, after the decision has made

itself with ease, we recollect this and erroneously suppose the ef­ fort also to have been made then. T h e existence of the effort as a phenomenal fact in our con­ sciousness cannot of course be doubted or denied. Its significance, on the other hand, is a matter about which the gravest difference of opinion prevails. Questions as momentous as that of the very existence of spiritual causality, as vast as that of universal predesti­ nation or free-will, depend on its interpretation. It therefore be­ comes essential that we study with some care the conditions under which the feeling of volitional effort is found.

T H E F E E L IN G O F E F F O R T

W hen, awhile back (p. 1134), I said that consciousness (or the neural process which goes with it) is in its very nature im pulsive, I added in a note the proviso that it must be sufficiently intense. Now there are remarkable differences in the power of different sorts of consciousness to excite movement. T h e intensity of some feelings is practically apt to be below the discharging point, whilst that of others is apt to be above it. By practically apt, I mean apt under ordinary circumstances. These circumstances may be ha­ bitual inhibitions, like that comfortable feeling of the dolce far n ien te which gives to each and all of us a certain dose of laziness only to be overcome by the acuteness of the impulsive spur; or they may consist in the native inertia, or internal resistance, of the motor centres themselves making explosion impossible until a cer­ tain inward tension has been reached and overpassed. These con­ ditions may vary from one person to another, and in the same per­ son from time to time. T h e neural inertia may wax or wane, and the habitual inhibitions dwindle or augment. T h e intensity of par­ ticular thought-processes and stimulations may also change inde­ pendently, and particular paths of association grow more pervious or less so. T here thus result great possibilities of alteration in the actual impulsive efficacy of particular motives compared with oth­ ers. It is where the normally less efficacious motive becomes more efficacious and the normally more efficacious one less so that ac­ tions ordinarily effortless, or abstinences ordinarily easy, either become impossible or are effected (if at all) by the expenditure of

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effort. A little more description will make it plainer what these cases are. T h ere is a certain normal ratio in the im pulsive power of differ­ ent sorts of m otive, which characterizes what may be called ordi­ nary healthiness of will, and which is departed from only at ex­

ceptional times or by exceptional individuals. T h e states of mind which normally possess the most impulsive quality are either those which represent objects of passion, appetite, or emotion—objects of instinctive reaction, in short; or they are feelings or ideas of pleasure or of pain; or ideas which for any reason we have grown accustomed to obey, so that the habit of reacting on them is in­ grained; or finally, in comparison with ideas of remoter objects, they are ideas of objects present or near in space and time. Com ­ pared with these various objects, all far-off considerations, all high­ ly abstract conceptions, unaccustomed reasons, and motives foreign to the instinctive history of the race, have little or no impulsive power. T h ey prevail, when they ever do prevail, with effort; and the normal, as distinguished from the pathological, sphere of effort is thus fo u n d wherever non-instinctive m otives to behavior are to rule the day.

Healthiness of will moreover requires a certain amount of com­ plication in the process which precedes the fiat or the act. Each stimulus or idea, at the same time that it wakens its own impulse, must arouse other ideas (associated and consequential) with their impulses, and action must follow, neither too slowly nor too rapid­ ly, as the resultant of all the forces thus engaged. Even when the decision is very prompt, there is thus a sort of preliminary survey of the field and a vision of which course is best before the fiat comes. A nd where the w ill is healthy, the vision must be right (i.e., the motives must be on the whole in a normal or not too unusual ratio to each other), and the action must obey the vision’s lead. Unhealthiness of w ill may thus com e about in many ways. T h e action may follow the stimulus or idea too rapidly, leaving no time for the arousal of restraining associates—we then have a precipitate will. Or, although the associates may come, the ratio which the im­ pulsive and inhibitive forces normally bear to each other may be distorted, and we then have a w ill which is perverse. T h e perversity, in turn, may be due to either of many causes—too much intensity,

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or too little, here; too much or too little inertia there; or elsewhere tOQ much or too little inhibitory power. If we compare the o u t­ ward symptoms of perversity together, they fall into two groups,

in one of which normal actions are impossible, and in the other abnormal ones are irrepressible. Briefly, we may call them respec­ tively the obstructed and the explosive will.

It must be kept in mind, however, that since the resultant action is always due to the ratio between the obstructive and the explosive forces which are present, we never can tell by the mere outward symptoms to what elementary cause the perversion of a man’s will may be due, whether to an increase of one component or a dim inu­ tion of the other. One may grow explosive as readily by losing the usual brakes as by getting up more of the impulsive steam; and one may find things impossible as well through the enfeeblement of the original desire as through the advent of new lions in the path. As Dr. Clouston says, “ T h e driver may be so weak that he cannot control well-broken horses, or the horses may be so hard-mouthed that no driver can pull them up.” In some concrete cases (whether of explosive or of obstructed will) it is difficult to tell whether the trouble is due to inhibitory or to impulsive change. Generally, however, we can make a plausible guess at the truth.

T H E E X P L O S IV E W IL L

T here is a normal type of character, for example, in which im­ pulses seem to discharge so promptly into movements that inhibi­ tions get no time to arise. These are the ‘dare-devil’ and ‘m ercurial’ temperaments, overflowing with animation, and fizzling with talk, which are so common in the Latin and Celtic races, and with which the cold-blooded and long-headed English character forms so marked a contrast. Monkeys these people seem to us, whilst we seem to them reptilian. It is quite impossible to judge, as between an obstructed and an explosive individual, which has the greater sum of vital energy. A n explosive Italian with good perception and in­ tellect w ill cut a figure as a perfectly tremendous fellow, on an in­ ward capital that could be tucked away inside of an obstructed Yankee and hardly let you know that it was there. He will be the king of his company, sing all the songs and make all the speeches, lead the parties, carry out the practical jokes, kiss all the girls, fight the men, and, if need be, lead the forlorn hopes and enterprises,

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so that an onlooker would think he has more life in his little finger than can exist in the whole body of a correct judicious fellow. But the judicious fellow all the while may have all these possibilities and more besides, ready to break out in the same or even a more violent way, if only the brakes were taken off. It is the absence of scruples, of consequences, of considerations, the extraordinary sim­ plification of each moment’s mental outlook, that gives to the ex­ plosive individual such motor energy and ease; it need not be the greater intensity of any of his passions, motives, or thoughts. As mental evolution goes on, the com plexity of human consciousness grows ever greater, and with it the m ultiplication of the inhibitions to which every impulse is exposed. But this predominance of in­ hibition has a bad as well as a good side; and if a man’s impulses are in the main orderly as well as prompt, if he has courage to ac­ cept their consequences, and intellect to lead them to a successful end, he is all the better for his hair-trigger organization, and for not being ‘sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought.’ Many of the most successful military and revolutionary characters in history have belonged to this simple but quick-witted impulsive type. Problems come much harder to reflective and inhibitive minds. T h ey can, it is true, solve much vaster problems; and they can avoid many a mistake to which the men of impulse are exposed. But when the latter do not make mistakes, or when they are always able to retrieve them, theirs is one of the most engaging and indis­ pensable of human types.41 In infancy, and in certain conditions of exhaustion, as well as in peculiar pathological states, the inhibitory power may fail to arrest the explosions of the impulsive discharge. W e have then an ex­ plosive temperament temporarily realized in an individual who at 41

In an excellen t article on “ T h e M ental Q u alities of an A th lete ” in the H arvard

M o n th ly , vol. vi, p. 43, M r. A . T . D ud ley assigns the first place to the rapidly im pulsive

tem peram ent. “ Ask him how, in some com plex trick, he perform ed a certain act, w hy he pushed or p u lled at a certain instant, and he w ill tell you he does not know; he did it by instinct; or rather his nerves and muscles did it of themselves. . . . H ere is the distinguishing feature o f the good player. T h e good player, confident in his training and his practice, in the critical gam e trusts entirely to his im pulse, and does not think ou t every move. T h e poor player, unable to trust his im pulsive ac­ tions, is com pelled to think carefully all the tim e. H e thus not on ly loses his op p o r­ tunities through his slowness in com prehending the w hole situation; but being com ­ pelled to th in k rap id ly all the tim e, at critical points becomes confused: w h ile the first-rate player, not trying to reason but acting as im pulse directs, is con tin ually distinguishing him self and plays the better under the greater pressure.”

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T h e P rin cip les of Psychology oth er tim es m a y b e o f a r e la tiv e ly o b stru cted type. I c a n n o t d o b e t­ ter h ere th an co p y a few pages from D r. C lo u s to n ’s e x c e lle n t w o rk :42

‘‘Take a child of six months, and there is absolutely no such brain power existent as mental inhibition; no desire or tendency is stopped by a mental act. At a year old the rudiments of the great faculty of selfcontrol are clearly apparent in most children. They will resist the desire to seize the gas flame, they will not upset the milk jug, they will obey orders to sit still when they want to run about, all through a higher mental inhibition. But the power of control is just as gradual a develop­ ment as the motions of the hands. . . . Look at a more complicated act, that will be recognised by any competent physiologist to be automatic and beyond the control of any ordinary inhibitory power, e.g., irritate and tease a child of one or two years sufficiently, and it will strike out at you; suddenly strike at a man, and he will either perform an act of defence or offence, or both, quite automatically, and without power of controlling himself. Place a bright tempting toy before a child of a year and it will be instantly appropriated. Place cold water before a man dying of thirst, and he will take and drink it without power of doing otherwise. Exhaustion of nervous energy always lessens the inhibitory power. Who is not conscious of this? ‘ Irritability ’ is one manifestation of this. Many persons have so small a stock of reserve brain power— that most valuable of all brain qualities—that it is soon used up, and you see at once that they lose their power of self-control very soon. They are angels or demons just as they are fresh or tired. That surplus store of energy or resistive force which provides in persons normally con­ stituted that moderate excesses in all directions shall do no great harm, so long as they are not too often repeated, not being present in these people, over-work, over-drinking, or small debauches, leave them at the mercy of their morbid impulses without power of resistance. . . . Woe to the man who uses up his surplus stock of brain inhibition too near the bitter end, or too often! . . . T he physiological word inhibition can be used synonymously with the psychological and ethical expression selfcontrol, or with the will when exercised in certain directions. It is the characteristic of most forms of mental disease for self-control to be lost, but this loss is usually part of a general mental affection with melancho­ lic, maniacal, demented, or delusional symptoms as the chief manifesta­ tions of the disease. There are other cases, not so numerous, where the loss of the power of inhibition is the chief and by far the most marked symptom. . . . I shall call this form ‘Inhibitory Insanity.’ Some of these cases have uncontrollable impulses to violence and destruction, others to homicide, others to suicide prompted by no depressed feelings, others 42 T . S. Clouston: C lin ic a l L e ctu r es on M e n ta l Diseases (London, 1883), pp. 310-318.

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to acts of animal gratification (satyriasis, nymphomania, erotomania, bestiality), others to drinking too much alcohol (dipsomania), others towards setting things on fire (pyromania), others to stealing (klepto­ mania), and others towards immoralities of all sorts. T he impulsive tendencies and morbid desires are innumerable in kind. Many of these varieties of insanity have been distinguished by distinct names. T o dig up and eat dead bodies (necrophilism), to wander from home and throw off the restraints of society (planomania), to act like a wild beast (lycanthropia) 8cc. Action from impulse in all these directions may take place from a loss of controlling power in the higher regions of the brain, or from an over-development of energy in certain portions of the brain, which the normal power of inhibition cannot control. T he driver may be so weak that he cannot control well-broken horses, or the horses may be so hard-mouthed that no driver can pull them up. Both conditions may arise from purely cerebral disorder . . . or may be reflex . . . . The ego, the man, the will, may be non-existent for the time. T he most perfect examples of this are murders done during somnambulism or epileptic unconsciousness, or acts done in the hypnotic state. There is no conscious desire to attain the object at all in such cases. In other cases there is consciousness and memory present, but no power of restraining action. T he simplest example of this is where an imbecile or a dement, seeing something glittering, appropriates it to himself, or when he commits indecent sexual acts. Through disease a previously sane and vigorous minded person may get into the same state. The motives that would lead other persons not to do such acts do not operate in such persons. I have known a man steal who said he had no intense longing for the article he appropriated at all, at least consciously, but his will was in abeyance, and he could not resist the ordinary desire of possession common to all human nature.” It is not only those technically classed imbeciles and dements who exhibit this promptitude of impulse and tardiness of inhibi­ tion. Ask half the common drunkards you know why it is that they fall so often a prey to temptation, and they w ill say that most of the time they cannot tell. It is a sort of vertigo with them. T h e ir nervous centres have become a sluice-way pathologically unlocked by every passing conception of a bottle and a glass. T h e y do not thirst for the beverage; the taste of it may even appear repugnant; and they perfectly foresee the morrow’s remorse. But when they think of the liquor or see it, they find themselves preparing to drink, and do not stop themselves: and more than this they cannot say. Sim ilarly a man may lead a life of incessant love-making or

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sexual indulgence, though what spurs him thereto seems rather to be suggestions and notions of possibility than any overweening strength in his affections or lusts. H e may even be physically im­ potent all the while. T h e paths of natural (or it may be unnatural) impulse are so pervious in these characters that the slightest rise in the level of innervation produces an overflow. It is the condition recognized in pathology as ‘irritable weakness.’ T h e phase known as nascency or latency is so short in the excitement of the neural tissues that there is no opportunity for strain or tension to accumu­ late w ithin them; and the consequence is that with all the agitation and activity, the amount of real feeling engaged may be very small. T h e hysterical temperament is the playground par excellen ce of this unstable equilibrium . One of these subjects will be filled with what seems the most genuine and settled aversion to a certain line of conduct, and the very next instant follow the stirring of tempta­ tion and plunge in it up to the neck. Professor R ibot well gives the name of “ Le Règne des caprices” to the chapter in which he describes the hysterical temperament in his interesting little mono­ graph T h e Diseases of the W ill. Disorderly and impulsive conduct may, on the other hand, come about where the neural tissues preserve their proper inward tone, and where the inhibitory power is normal or even unusually great. In such cases the strength of the im pulsive idea is preternaturally exalted, and what would be for most people the passing suggestion of a possibility becomes a gnawing, craving urgency to act. Works on insanity are full of examples of these morbid insistent ideas, in obstinately struggling against which the unfortunate victim ’s soul often sweats with agony, ere at last it gets swept away. One instance w ill stand for many; M. R ibot quotes it from Calm eil:43 “ Glénadal, having lost his father in infancy, was brought up b y his mother, who adored him. A t sixteen, his character, till then good and docile, changed. H e became gloom y and taciturn. Pressed with ques­ tions b y his mother, he decided at last to m ake a confession. T o you,’ said he, ‘I owe everything; I love you w ith all m y soul; yet for some tim e past an incessant idea drives me to kill you. Prevent so terrible a misfortune from happening, in case some day the tem ptation should overpower me: allow m e to enlist.’ N otw ithstanding pressing solicita­ tions, he was firm in his resolve, went off, and was a good soldier. Still a secret impulse stim ulated him w ithout cessation to desert in order to 43 In his M a la d ies d e la v o lo n té , p. 77.

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come home and kill his mother. At the end of his term of service the idea was as strong as on the first day. He enlisted for another term. The murderous instinct persisted, but substituted another victim. He no longer thought of killing his mother—the horrible impulse pointed day and night towards his sister-in-law. In order to resist the second impulse, he condemned himself to perpetual exile. At this time one of his old neighbors arrived in the regiment. Glenadal confesses all his trouble. ‘Be at rest,’ said the other. ‘Your crime is impossible; your sister-in-law has just died.’ At these words Gldnadal rises like a delivered captive. Joy fills his heart. He travels to the home of his childhood, unvisited for so many years. But as he arrives he sees his sister-in-law living. He gives a cry, and the terrible impulse seizes him again as a prey. That very even­ ing he makes his brother tie him fast. ‘Take a solid rope, bind me like a wolf in the barn, and go and tell Dr. Calmeil. . . .’ From him he got admission to an insane asylum. T he evening before his entrance he wrote to the director of the establishment: ‘Sir, I am to become an in­ mate of your house. I shall behave there as if I were in the regiment. You will think me cured. At moments perhaps I shall pretend to be so. Never believe me. Never let me out on any pretext. If I beg to be released, double your watchfulness; the only use I shall make of my liberty will be to commit a crime which I abhor.’ ” 44 T h e craving for drink in real dipsomaniacs, or for opium or chloral in those subjugated, is of a strength of which normal per­ sons can form no conception. “ W ere a keg of rum in one corner of a room and were a cannon constantly discharging balls between me and it, I could not refrain from passing before that cannon in order to get at the rum ” ; “ If a bottle of brandy stood at one hand, and the pit of hell yawned at the other, and I were convinced that I would be pushed in as sure as I took one glass, I could not refrain” : such statements abound in dipsomaniacs’ mouths. Dr. Mussey of Cincinnati relates this case: “A few years ago a tippler was put into an almshouse in this State. Within a few days he had devised various expedients to procure rum, but failed. At length, however, he hit upon one which was successful. He went into the wood-yard of the establishment, placed one hand upon the block, and with an axe in the other, struck it off at a single blow. With the stump raised and streaming, he ran into the house and cried, ‘Get some rum! get some rum! my hand is off.’ In the confusion 44

For other cases of ‘im pulsive insanity,’ see H . M audsley’s R e sp o n sib ility in

M e n ta l D isea se, pp. 133-170, and Forbes W inslow ’s O b scu re D iseases o f th e M in d and B ra in , chapters vi,

vii,

vm.

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and bustle of the occasion a bowl of rum was brought, into which he plunged the bleeding member of his body; then raising the bowl to his mouth, drank freely, and exultingly exclaimed, ‘Now I am satisfied!’ Dr. J. E. Turner tells of a man, who while under treatment for inebriety, during four weeks secretly drank the alcohol from six jars containing morbid specimens. On asking him why he had committed this loath­ some act, he replied, ‘Sir, it is as impossible for me to control this dis­ eased appetite as it is for me to control the pulsations of my heart.’ ”45 T h e passion of love may be called a monomania to which all of us are subject, however otherwise sane. It can coexist with con­ tempt and even hatred for the ‘object’ which inspires it, and whilst it lasts the whole life of the man is altered by its presence. Alfieri thus describes the struggles of his unusually powerful inhibitive power with his abnormally excited impulses towards a certain lady: “ Contemptible in my own eyes, I fell into such a state of melancholy as would, if long continued, inevitably have led to insanity or death. I continued to wear my disgraceful fetters till toward the end of January, 1775’ when my rage, which had hitherto so often been restrained within bounds, broke forth with the greatest violence. On returning one eve­ ning from the opera, the most insipid and tiresome amusement in Italy, where I had passed several hours in the box of the woman who was by turns the object of my antipathy and my love, I took the firm determina­ tion of emancipating myself forever from her yoke. Experience had taught me that flight, so far from enabling me to persevere in my res­ olutions, tended, on the contrary, to weaken, and destroy them; I was inclined, therefore, to subject myself to a still more severe trial, imag­ ining, from the obstinacy and peculiarity of my character, that I should succeed most certainly by the adoption of such measures as would compel me to make the greatest efforts. I determined never to leave the house, which, as I have already said, was exactly opposite that of this lady; to gaze at her windows, to see her go in and out every day, to listen to the sound of her voice, though firmly resolved that no advances on her part either direct or indirect, no tender remembrances, nor, in short, any other means which might be employed, should ever again tempt me to a renewal of our friendship. I was determined to die or liberate myself from my disgraceful thraldom. In order to give stability to my purpose, and to render it impossible for me to waver without the imputation of dishonor, I communicated my determina­ 45

Quoted by G . B urr, in an article “ On the Insanity o f Inebriety” in the New York

P sy ch o lo g ica l and M ed ic o -L eg a l Jo u rn a l, Dec. 1874.

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tion to one of my friends, who was greatly attached to me, and whom I highly esteemed. He had lamented the state of mind into which I had fallen, but, not wishing to give countenance to my conduct, and seeing the impossibility of inducing me to abandon it, he had for some time ceased to visit at my house. In the few lines which I addressed to him, I briefly stated the resolution I had adopted, and as a pledge of my constancy I sent him a long tress of my ugly red hair. I had purposely caused it to be cut off in order to prevent my going out, as no one but clowns and sailors then appeared in public with short hair. I concluded my billet by conjuring him to strengthen and aid my fortitude by his presence and example. Isolated, in this manner, in my own house, I prohibited all species of intercourse, and passed the first fifteen days in uttering the most frightful lamentations and groans. Some of my friends came to visit me, and appeared to commiserate my situation, perhaps because I did not myself complain; but my figure and whole appearance bespoke my sufferings. Wishing to read something, I had recourse to the Gazettes, whole pages of which I frequently ran over without understanding a single word. . . . I passed more than two months, till the end of March, 1775, in a state almost bordering on frenzy; but about this period a new idea darted into my mind, which tended to assuage my melancholy.” T h is was the idea of poetical composition, at which Alfieri de­ scribes his first attempts, made under these diseased circumstances, and goes on: “The only good that occurred to me from this new whim was, that of gradually detaching me from love, and of awakening my reason, which had so long lain dormant. I no longer found it necessary to cause myself to be tied with cords to a chair, in order to prevent me from leaving my house and returning to that of my lady. This had been one of the expedients I devised to render myself wise by force. The cords were concealed under a large mantle, in which I was enveloped, and only one hand remained at liberty. Of all those who came to see me, not one suspected I was bound down in this manner. I remained in this situa­ tion for whole hours; Elias, who was my jailer, was alone intrusted with the secret. He always liberated me, as he had been enjoined, whenever the paroxysms of my rage subsided. Of all the whimsical methods, however, which I employed, the most curious was that of appearing in masquerade at the theatre towards the end of the carnival. Habited as Apollo, I ventured to present myself with a lyre, on which I played as well as I was able, and sang some bad verses of my own composing. Such effrontery was diametrically opposite to my natural character. The only excuse I can offer for similar scenes was my inability to resist

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an imperious passion. I felt that it was necessary to place an insuperable barrier between its object and me; and I saw that the strongest of all was the shame to which I should expose myself by renewing an attach­ ment which I had so publicly turned into ridicule.” 46 Often the insistent idea is of a trivial sort, but it may wear the patient’s life out. His hands feel dirty, they must be washed. He knows they are not dirty; yet to get rid of the teasing idea he washes them. T h e idea, however, returns in a moment, and the unfortu­ nate victim, who is not in the least deluded intellectually, will end by spending the whole day at the wash-stand. O r his clothes are not ‘rightly’ put on; and to banish the thought he takes them off and puts them on again, till his toilet consumes two or three hours of time. Most people have the potentiality of this disease. T o few has it not happened to conceive, after getting into bed, that they may have forgotten to lock the front door, or to turn out the entry gas. A n d few of us have not on some occasion got up to repeat the performance, less because they believed in the reality of its omission than because only so could they banish the worrying doubt and get to sleep.47 T H E O B STRU CTED W IL L

In striking contrast with the cases in which inhibition is insuffi­ cient or impulsion in excess are those in which impulsion is in­ sufficient or inhibition in excess. W e all know the condition de­ scribed on p. 382 of Vol. I, in which the mind for a few moments seems to lose its focussing power and to be unable to rally its atten­ tion to any determinate thing. A t such times we sit blankly staring and do nothing. T h e objects of consciousness fail to touch the quick or break the skin. T h ey are there, but do not reach the level of effectiveness. T h is state of non-efficacious presence is the normal condition of som e objects, in all of us. Great fatigue or exhaustion may make it the condition of almost all objects; and an apathy re­ sembling that then brought about is recognized in asylums under the name of abulia as a symptom of mental disease. T h e healthy state of the w ill requires, as aforesaid, both that vision should be right, and that action should obey its lead. But in the morbid con46 L if e , H ow ells’ edition (1877), pp. 192-6. 47 See a paper on “ Insistent and Fixed Ideas" by D r. Cow les in A m erica n Jo u rn a l o f P sy cho lo gy , 1, 222; and another on the so-called “ Insanity of D ou b t’’ by Dr. Knapp, ib id ., hi, 1. T h e latter contains a partial bibliography o f the subject.

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dition in question the vision may be wholly unaffected, and the intellect clear, and yet the act either fails to follow or follows in some other way. “ Video meliora proboqu e, deteriora sequ or” is the classic expression of the latter condition of mind. T h e former it is to which the name abulia peculiarly applies. T h e patients, says Guislain, “are able to will inwardly, mentally, according to the dictates of reason. They experience the desire to act, but they are powerless to act as they should. . . . Their will cannot overpass certain limits: one would say that the force of action within them is blocked up: the I will does not transform itself into impulsive volition, into active determination. Some of these patients wonder themselves at the impotence with which their will is smitten. If you abandon them to themselves, they pass whole days in their bed or on a chair. If one speaks to them or excites them, they express themselves properly though briefly; and judge of things pretty well.” 48 In Chapter X X I, as will be remembered, it was said that the sentiment of reality with which an object appealed to the mind is proportionate (amongst other things) to its efficacy as a stimulus to the will. Here we get the obverse side of the truth. Those ideas, objects, considerations, which (in these lethargic states) fail to get to the will, fail to draw blood, seem, in so far forth, distant and un­ real. T h e connection of the reality of things with their effectiveness as motives is a tale that has never yet been fully told. T h e moral tragedy of human life comes almost wholly from the fact that the link is ruptured which normally should hold between vision of the truth and action, and that this pungent sense of effective reality w ill not attach to certain ideas. Men do not differ so much in their mere feelings and conceptions. T h e ir notions of possibility and their ideals are not as far apart as m ight be argued from their dif­ fering fates. No class of them have better sentiments or feel more constantly the difference between the higher and the lower path in life than the hopeless failures, the sentimentalists, the drunk­ ards, the schemers, the ‘dead-beats,’ whose life is one long contra­ diction between knowledge and action, and who, with full com­ mand of theory, never get to holding their limp characters erect. N o one eats of the fruit of the tree of knowledge as they do; so far as moral insight goes, in comparison with them the orderly and 48 Q u o te d by R ib o t: o p . cit., p. 38.

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prosperous philistines whom they scandalize are sucking babes. And yet their moral knowledge, always there grum bling and rum ­ bling in the background,—discerning, commenting, protesting, longing, half resolving,—never wholly resolves, never gets its voice out of the minor into the major key, or its speech out of the sub­ junctive into the imperative mood, never breaks the spell, never takes the helm into its hands. In such characters as Rousseau and Restif it would seem as if the lower motives had all the impulsive efficacy in their hands. Like trains with the right of way, they retain exclusive possession of the track. T h e more ideal motives exist alongside of them in profusion, but they never get switched on, and the man’s conduct is no more influenced by them than an ex­ press train is influenced by a wayfarer standing by the roadside and calling to be taken aboard. T h ey are an inert accompaniment to the end of time; and the consciousness of inward hollowness that accrues from habitually seeing the better only to do the worse, is one of the saddest feelings one can bear with him through this vale of tears. W e now see at one view when it is that effort complicates voli­ tion. It does so whenever a rarer and more ideal impulse is called upon to neutralize others of a more instinctive and habitual kind; it does so whenever strongly explosive tendencies are checked, or strongly obstructive conditions overcome. T h e âme bien née, the child of the sunshine, at whose birth the fairies made their gifts, does not need much of it in his life. T h e hero and the neurotic subject, on the other hand, do. Now our spontaneous way of con­ ceiving the effort, under all these circumstances, is as an active force adding its strength to that of the motives which ultimately prevail. W hen outer forces impinge upon a body, we say that the resultant motion is in the line of least resistance, or of greatest traction. But it is a curious fact that our spontaneous language never speaks of volition with effort in this way. O f course if we proceed a priori and define the line of least resistance as the line that is followed, the physical law must also hold good in the mental sphere. But we feel, in all hard cases of volition, as if the line taken, when the rarer and more ideal motives prevail, were the line of greater resistance, and as if the line of coarser motivation were the more pervious and easy one, even at the very moment when we refuse to follow it. He who under the surgeon’s knife represses

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cries of pain, or he who exposes himself to social obloquy for duty’s sake, feels as if he were following the line of greatest temporary resistance. He speaks of conquering and overcoming his impulses and temptations. But the sluggard, the drunkard, the coward, never talk of their conduct in that way, or say they resist their energy, overcome their sobriety, conquer their courage, and so forth. If in general we class all springs of action as propensities on the one hand and ideals on the other, the sensualist never says of his behavior that it results from a victory over his ideals, but the moralist always speaks of his as a victory over his propensities. T h e sensualist uses terms of inactivity, says he forgets his ideals, is deaf to duty, and so forth; which terms seem to imply that the ideal motives per se can be annulled without energy or effort, and that the strongest mere traction lies in the line of the propensities. T h e ideal impulse ap­ pears, in comparison with this, a still small voice which must be artificially reinforced to prevail. Effort is what reinforces it, mak­ ing things seem as if, while the force of propensity were essentially a fixed quantity, the ideal force m ight be of various amount. But what determines the amount of the effort when, by its aid, an ideal motive becomes victorious over a great sensual resistance? T h e very greatness of the resistance itself. If the sensual propensity is small, the effort is small. T h e latter is made great by the presence of a great antagonist to overcome. A nd if a brief definition of ideal or moral action were required, none could be given which would better fit the appearances than this: I t is action in the line of the greatest resistance.

T h e facts may be most briefly symbolized thus, P standing for the propensity, I for the ideal impulse, and E for the effort: I per se < P. I + E > P. In other words, if E adds itself to I, P immediately offers the least resistance, and motion occurs in spite of it. But the E does not seem to form an integral part of the I. It ap­ pears adventitious and indeterminate in advance. W e can make more or less as we pjease, and if we make enough we can convert the greatest mental resistance into the least. Such, at least, is the impression which the facts spontaneously produce upon us. But we

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w ill not discuss the truth of this impression at present; let us rather continue our descriptive detail. PL E A S U R E AND PA IN AS SPRINGS O F A C T IO N

Objects and thoughts of objects start our action, but the plea­ sures and pains which action brings modify its course and regulate it; and later the thoughts of the pleasures and the pains acquire themselves impulsive and inhibitive power. N ot that the thought of a pleasure need be itself a pleasure, usually it is the reverse— nessun maggior dolore—as Dante says—and not that the thought of pain need be a pain, for, as Homer says, “griefs are often afterwards an entertainment.” But as present pleasures are tremendous rein­ forcers, and present pains tremendous inhibitors of whatever ac­ tion leads to them, so the thoughts of pleasures and pains take rank amongst the thoughts which have most impulsive and inhibitive power. T h e precise relation which these thoughts hold to other thoughts is thus a matter demanding some attention. If a movement feels agreeable, we repeat and repeat it as long as the pleasure lasts. If it hurts us, our muscular contractions at the instant stop. So complete is the inhibition in this latter case that it is almost impossible for a man to cut or mutilate himself slowly and deliberately—his hand invincibly refusing to bring on the pain. A nd there are many pleasures which, when once we have begun to taste them, make it all but obligatory to keep up the ac­ tivity to which they are due. So widespread and searching is this influence of pleasures and pains upon our movements that a pre­ mature philosophy has decided that these are our only spurs to action, and that wherever they seem to be absent, it is only because they are so far on among the ‘rem oter’ images that prompt the ac­ tion that they are overlooked. T h is is a great mistake, however. Important as is the influence of pleasures and pains upon our movements, they are far from being our only stimuli. W ith the manifestations of instinct and emotional expression, for example, they have absolutely nothing to do. W ho smiles for the pleasure of the smiling, or frowns for the pleasure of the frown? W ho blushes io escape the discomfort of not blushing? O r who in anger, grief, or fear is actuated to the movements which he makes by the pleasures which they yield? In

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all these cases the movements are discharged fatally by the vis a tergo which the stimulus exerts upon a nervous system framed to respond in just that way. T h e objects of our rage, love, or terror, the occasions of our tears and smiles, whether they be present to our senses, or whether they be merely represented in idea, have this peculiar sort of impulsive power. T h e im pulsive quality of mental states is an attribute behind which we cannot go. Some states of mind have more of it than others, some have it in this di­ rection, and some in that. Feelings of pleasure and pain have it, and perceptions and imaginations of fact have it, but neither have it exclusively or peculiarly. It is of the essence of all consciousness (or of the neural process which underlies it) to instigate movement of some sort. T h at with one creature and object it should be of one sort, with others of another sort, is a problem for evolutionary his­ tory to explain. However the actual impulsions may have arisen, they must now be described as they exist; and those persons obey a curiously narrow teleological superstition who think themselves bound to interpret them in every instance as effects of the secret solicitancy of pleasure and repugnancy of pain.49 49 T h e silliness o f the old-fashioned pleasure-philosophy sa u te a u x y eu x . T ak e , for exam ple, Prof. B ain ’s explan ation of sociability and parental love by the pleasures of touch: "T o u c h is the fundam ental and generic sense . . . . Even after the rem aining senses are differentiated, the prim ary sense continues to be a leading susceptibility of the m ind. T h e soft warm touch, if not a first-class influence, is at least an approach to that. T h e com bined pow er of soft contact and warm th am ounts to a considerable pitch o f massive pleasure; w h ile there may be subtle influences not reducible to these two heads, such as we term, from not know ing anyth in g about them , m agnetic or electric. T h e sort of thrill from taking a baby in arms is som ething beyond mere warm touch; and it may rise to the ecstatic height, in which case, however, there may be concurring sensations and ideas. . . . In mere tender em otion, not sexual, there is nothing but the sense of touch to gratify, unless we assume the occult m agnetic influences. . . . In a word, ou r love pleasures begin and end in sensual contact. T ou ch is both the alp ha and the omega o f affection. As the term inal and satisfying sensation, the n e p lu s u ltra , it must be a pleasure o f the highest degree. . . . W hy should a more lively feelin g grow up towards a fellow -being, than towards a perennial fountain? [This ’sh ou ld’ is sim ply delicious from the m ore modern evolutionary point o f view.] It must be that there is a source of pleasure in the com panionship of other sentient creatures, over and above the help afforded by them in ob tain in g the necessaries of life. T o account for this, I can suggest nothing but the prim ary and independent

pleasure of the anim al em brace.” [Mind, this is said not of the sexual interest, but of ‘Sociability at Large.’] “ For this pleasure every creature is disposed to pay something, even when it is only fraternal. A certain am ount of m aterial benefit im parted is a condition of the full heartiness of a responding em brace, the com plete fruition o f this p rim itive joy. In the absence of those conditions, the pleasure of giv in g . . . can scarcely be accounted for; we know fu ll w ell that, w ithout these helps, it w ould be

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It might be that to reflection such a narrow teleology would justify itself, that pleasures and pains might seem the only com ­ prehensible and reasonable motives for action, the only motives on which we ought to act. T h a t is an ethical proposition, in favor of which a good deal may be said. But it is not a psychological propo­ sition; and nothing follows from it as to the motives upon which as a matter of fact we do act. These motives are supplied by in­ numerable objects, which innervate our voluntary muscles by a process as automatic as that by which they light a fever in our breasts. If the thought of pleasure can impel to action, surely other thoughts may. Experience only can decide which thoughts do. T h e chapters on Instinct and Emotion have shown us that their name is legion; and with this verdict we ought to remain contented, and not seek an illusory simplification at the cost of half the facts. If in these our first acts pleasures and pains bear no part, as little do they bear in our last acts, or those artificially acquired perfor­ mances which have become habitual. A ll the daily routine of life, our dressing and undressing, the coming and going from our work or carrying through of its various operations, is utterly without mental reference to pleasure and pain, except under rarely real­ ized conditions. It is ideo-motor action. As I do not breathe for the pleasure of the breathing, but simply find that I am breathing, so I do not write for the pleasure of the writing, but simply because I have once begun, and being in a state of intellectual excitement which keeps venting itself in that way, find that I am writing still. W ho will pretend that when he idly fingers his knife-handle at the a very m eagre sentim ent in beings like ourselves. . . . It seems to me that there must be at the [parental instinct’s] foundation that intense pleasure in the em brace of the young which we find to characterize the parental feelin g throughout. . . . Such a pleasure once created w ould associate itself w ith the prevailin g features and aspects of the young, and give to all o f these their very great interest. For the sake o f the pleasure, the parent discovers the necessity o f nourishing the subject of it, and comes to regard the m inistering function as a part or condition o f the d e lig h t” (E m o tion s a n d th e W ill, pp. 126, 127, 132, 133, 140). Prof. B ain does not explain why a satin cushion kept at abou t g8° F. w ould not on the w hole give us the pleasure in question m ore cheaply than ou r friends and babies do. It is true that the cushion m ight lack the ‘occult m agnetic influences.’ Most o f us w ould say that n either a b a b y ’s nor a friend’s skin w ould possess them , were not a tenderness already there. T h e youth who feels ecstasy shoot through him when by accident the silken palm or even the ‘ves­ tu re’s hem ’ o f his idol touches him, w ould hardly feel it were he not hard hit by C up id in advance. T h e love creates the ecstasy, not the ecstasy the love. A nd for the rest o f us can it possibly be that all ou r social virtu e springs from an ap petite for the sensual pleasure of having ou r hand shaken, or being slapped on the back?

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table, it is for the sake of any pleasure which it gives him, or pain which he thereby avoids? W e do all these things because at the moment we cannot help it; our nervous systems are so shaped that they overflow in just that way; and for many of our idle or purely ‘nervous’ and fidgety performances we can assign absolutely no reason at all. Or what shall be said of a shy and unsociable man who receives point-blank an invitation to a small party? T h e thing is to him an abomination; but your presence exerts a compulsion on him, he can think of no excuse, and so says yes, cursing himself the while for what he does. He is unusually sui com pos who does not every week of his life fall into some such blundering act as this. Such in­ stances of voluntas invita show not only that our acts cannot all be conceived as effects of represented pleasure, but that they cannot even be classed as cases of represented good. T h e class goods’ con­ tains many more generally influential motives to action than the class ‘pleasants.’ Pleasures often attract us only because we deem them goods. Mr. Spencer, e.g., urges us to court pleasures for their influence upon health, which comes to us as a good. But almost as little as under the form of pleasures do our acts invariably appear to us under the form of goods. A ll diseased impulses and pathologi­ cal fixed ideas are instances to the contrary. It is the very badness of the act that gives it then its vertiginous fascination. Remove the prohibition, and the attraction stops. In my university days a stu­ dent threw himself from an upper entry window of one of the col­ lege buildings and was nearly killed. Another student, a friend of my own, had to pass the window daily in coming and going from his room, and experienced a dreadful temptation to imitate the deed. Being a Catholic, he told his director, who said, ‘A ll right! if you must, you must,’ and added, Go ahead and do it,’ thereby instantly quenching his desire. T h is director knew how to minister to a mind diseased. But we need not go to minds diseased for ex­ amples of the occasional tempting-power of simple badness and unpleasantness as such. Everyone who has a wound or hurt any­ where, a sore tooth, e.g., will ever and anon press it just to bring out the pain. If we are near a new sort of stink, we must sniff it again just to verify once more how bad it is. T h is very day I have been repeating over and over to myself a verbal jingle whose mawkish silliness was the secret of its haunting power. I loathed yet could not banish it.

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Believers in the pleasure-and-pain theory must thus, if they are candid, make large exceptions in the application of their creed. Action from ‘fixed ideas’ is accordingly a terrible stumbling-block to the candid Professor Bain. Ideas have in his psychology no im­ pulsive but only a ‘guiding’ function, whilst “The proper stimulus of the will, namely, some variety of pleasure or pain, is needed to give the impetus. . . . The intellectual link is not sufficient for causing the deed to rise at the beck of the idea (except in case of an ‘idée fixe’)” ; but “should any pleasure spring up, or be continued, by performing an action that we clearly conceive, the causa­ tion is then complete; both the directing and the moving powers are present.” 50 Pleasures and pains are for Professor Bain the ‘genuine impulses of the w ill.’ 51 “ Without an antecedent of pleasurable, or painful, feeling—actual or ideal, primary or derivative—the will cannot be stimulated. Through all the disguises that wrap up what we call motives, something of one or other of these two grand conditions can be detected.” 52 Accordingly, where Professor Bain finds an exception to this rule, he refuses to call the phenomenon a ‘genuinely voluntary im­ pulse.’ T h e exceptions, he admits, “are those furnished by neverdying spontaneity, habits and fixed ideas.” 53 Fixed ideas “ traverse the proper course of volition.” 54 “Disinterested impulses are wholly distinct from the attainment of pleasure and the avoidance of pain. . . . The theory of disinterested action, in the only form that I can conceive it, supposes that the action of the will and the attainment of happiness do not square through­ out.” 55 Sympathy “has this in common with the Fixed Idea, that it clashes with the regular outgoings of the W ill in favour of our pleasures.” 56 Prof. Bain thus admits all the essential facts. Pleasure and pain 50 E m o tio n s an d th e W ill, p . 352. B ut even B ain ’s own description belies his form ula, for the idea appears as the ‘m oving’ and the pleasure as the ‘directin g’ force.

51 P. 398. 52 P- 35453 P. 35554 P- 39°55 Pp. 295-6. 56 P . 1 j i .

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are motives of only part of our activity, But he prefers to give to that part of the activity exclusively which these feelings prompt the name of ‘regular outgoings’ and ‘genuine impulses’ of the w ill,57 and to treat all the rest as mere paradoxes and anomalies, of which nothing rational can be said. T h is amounts to taking one species of a genus, calling it alone by the generic name, and ordering the other co-ordinate species to find what names they may. A t bottom this is only verbal play. How much more conducive to clearness and insight it is to take the genus ‘springs of action’ and treat it as a whole; and then to distinguish within it the species ‘pleasure and pain’ from whatever other species may be found! T here is, it is true, a complication in the relation of pleasure to action, which partly excuses those who make it the exclusive spur. T h is complication deserves some notice at our hands. A n impulse which discharges itself immediately is generally quite neutral as regards pleasure or pain—the breathing impulse, for example. If such an impulse is arrested, however, by an ex­ trinsic force, a great feeling of uneasiness is produced—for instance, the dyspnoea of asthma. A nd in proportion as the arresting force is then overcome, relief accrues—as when we draw breath again after the asthma subsides. T h e relief is a pleasure and the uneasiness a pain; and thus it happens that round all our impulses, merely as such, there twine, as it were, secondary possibilities of pleasant and painful feeling, involved in the manner in which the act is allowed to occur. These pleasures and pains of achievem ent, discharge, or fru itio n exist, no matter what the original spring of action be. W e are glad when we have successfully got ourselves out of a danger, though the thought of the gladness was surely not what suggested to us to escape. T o have compassed the steps towards a proposed sensual indulgence also makes us glad, and this gladness is a plea­ sure additional to the pleasure originally proposed. O n the other hand, we are chagrined and displeased when any activity, however instigated, is hindered whilst in process of actual discharge. W e are ‘uneasy’ till the discharge starts up again. A nd this is just as true when the action is neutral, or has nothing but pain in view as its result, as when it was undertaken for pleasure’s express sake. T h e moth is probably as annoyed if hindered from getting into the lamp-flame as the roué is if interrupted in his debauch; and we are 57 C f. also B ain ’s note to James M ill’s A n aly sis, vol. 11, p. 305.

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chagrined if prevented from doing some quite unimportant act which would have given us no noticeable pleasure if done, merely because the prevention itself is disagreeable. Let us now call the pleasure fo r the sake of which the act may be done the pursued pleasure. It follows that, even when no pleasure is pursued by an act, the act itself may be the pleasantest lin e of conduct when once the impulse has begun, on account of the inci­ dental pleasure which then attends its successful achievement and the pain which would come of interruption, A pleasant act and an act pursuing a pleasure are in themselves, however, two perfectly distinct conceptions, though they coalesce in one concrete phenom­ enon whenever a pleasure is deliberately pursued. I cannot help thinking that it is the confusion of pursued pleasure with mere pleasure of achievem ent which makes the pleasure-theory of action so plausible to the ordinary mind. W e feel an impulse, no matter whence derived; we proceed to act; if hindered, we feel displea­ sure; and if successful, relief. Action in the line of the present im ­ pulse is always for the time being the pleasant course; and the ordi­ nary hedonist expresses this fact by saying that we act for the sake of the pleasantness involved. But who does not see that for this sort of pleasure to be possible, the im pulse must be there already as an independent fact ? T h e pleasure of successful performance is the result of the impulse, not its cause. You cannot have your pleasure of achievement unless you have managed to get your impulse under headway beforehand by some previous means. It is true that on special occasions (so complex is the human mind) the pleasure of achievem ent may itself becom e a pursued pleasure; and these cases form another point on which the pleasuretheory is apt to rally. T ake a foot-ball game or a fox-hunt. W ho in cold blood wants the fox for its own sake, or cares whether the ball be at this goal or that? W e know, however, by experience, that if we can once rouse a certain impulsive excitement in ourselves, whether to overtake the fox, or to get the ball to one particular goal, the successful venting of it over the counteracting checks will fill us with exceeding joy. W e therefore get ourselves deliberately and artificially into the hot impulsive state. It takes the presence of various instinct-arousing conditions to excite it; but little by little, once we are in the field, it reaches its paroxysm; and we reap the reward of our exertions in that pleasure of successful achieve­ ment which, far more than the dead fox or the goal-got ball, was

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the object we originally pursued. So it often is with duties. Lots of actions are done with heaviness all through, and not till they are completed does pleasure emerge, in the joy of being done with them. Like Hamlet we say of each such successive task, “O cursed spite That ever I was born to set it right!” and then we often add to the original impulse that set us on, this additional one, that “ we shall feel so glad when well through with it,” that thought also having its impulsive spur. But because a pleasure of achievement can thus become a pursued pleasure upon occasion, it does not follow that everywhere and always that plea­ sure must be what is pursued. This, however, is what the pleasurephilosophers seem to suppose. As well m ight they suppose, because no steamer can go to sea without incidentally consuming coal, and because some steamers may occasionally go to sea to try their coal, that therefore no steamer can go to sea for any other motive than that of coal-consumption.58 As we need not act for the sake of gaining the pleasure of achieve­ ment, so neither need we act for the sake of escaping the uneasiness of arrest. T h is uneasiness is altogether due to the fact that the act is already tending to occur on other grounds. And these original grounds are what impel to its continuance, even though the un­ easiness of the arrest may upon occasion add to their impulsive power. T o conclude, I am far from denying the exceeding prominence and importance of the part which pleasures and pains, both felt and represented, play in the motivation of our conduct. But I must insist that it is no exclusive part, and that co-ordinately with these mental objects innumerable others have an exactly similar im­ pulsive and inhibitive power.59 58 H ow m uch clearer H u m e’s head was than those of his disciples! “ It has been prov’d, beyond all Controversy, that even the Passions, com m only esteem’d selfish, carry the M ind beyond Self, directly to the O bject; that th o ’ the Satisfaction of these Passions gives us E njoym ent, yet the Prospect of this E njoym ent is not the Cause of the Passion, but on the contrary the Passion is antecedent to the E njoym ent, and w ithout the form er, the latter could never possibly exist,” etc. (“ Essay on the D ifferent Species o f Philosophy,” § 1, note near the end, in A n E n q u ir y C o n cern in g H u m a n U n d ersta n d in g .)

5®In favor o f the view in the text, one may consult H. Sidgwick: M e th o d s o f E th ic s , book I, chap. iv; T . H . G reen: P ro leg o m en a to E th ics, bk. m , chap. 1, p. 179;

C arpenter: M e n ta l P hy sio lo gy , chap. vi; J. M artineau: T y p es o f E th ic a l T h eo r y , part 11, bk. 1, chap. 11, i, and bk. 11, branch 1, chap. 1, i, § 3. A gainst it see Leslie Stephen:

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If one must have a single name for the condition upon which the impulsive and inhibitive quality of objects depends, one had better call it their interest. T h e interesting’ is a title which covers not only the pleasant and the painful, but also the morbidly fascinat­ ing, the tediously haunting, and even the simply habitual, inas­ much as the attention usually travels on habitual lines, and whatwe-attend-to and what-interests-us are synonymous terms. It seems as if we ought to look for the secret of an idea’s impulsiveness, not in any peculiar relations which it may have with paths of motor discharge,—for all ideas have relations with some such paths,—but rather in a prelim inary phenomenon, the urgency, namely, with w hich it is able to com pel attention and dom inate in consciousness.

Let it once so dominate, let no other ideas succeed in displacing it, and whatever motor effects belong to it by nature w ill inevitably occur—its impulsion, in short, w ill be given to boot, and w ill mani­ fest itself as a matter of course. T h is is what we have seen in in­ stinct, in emotion, in common ideo-motor action, in hypnotic suggestion, in morbid impulsion, and in voluntas invita,—the im­ pelling idea is simply the one which possesses the attention. It is the same where pleasure and pain are the motor spurs—they drive other thoughts from consciousness at the same time that they insti­ gate their own characteristic volitional’ effects. A nd this is also what happens at the moment of the fiat, in all the five types of ‘de­ cision’ which we have described. In short, one does not see any case in which the steadfast occupancy of consciousness does not appear to be the prime condition of impulsive power. It is still more ob­ viously the prime condition of inhibitive power. W hat checks our impulses is the mere thinking of reasons to the contrary—it is their bare presence to the mind which gives the veto, and makes acts, otherwise seductive, impossible to perform. If we could only forget our scruples, our doubts, our fears, what exultant energy we should for a while display! W IL L IS A R E L A T IO N B E T W E E N T H E M IN D AND ITS ‘ ID EAS’

In closing in, therefore, after all these preliminaries, upon the more intim ate nature of the volitional process, we find ourselves driven more and more exclusively to consider the conditions which S cien ce o f E th ics , chap. 11, § 11; H . Spencer: D ata o f E th ics, §§ 9-15: D . G. T h o m p ­ son: System o f P sy ch o lo g y , p art ix, and M in d , vi, 62. Also B ain : Senses a n d th e I n te l­ lect, 338-44; E m o tio n s an d th e W ill, 436.

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make ideas prevail in the mind. W ith the prevalence, once there as a fact, of the motive idea the psychology of volition properly stops. T h e movements which ensue are exclusively physiological phenomena, following according to physiological laws upon the neural events to which the idea corresponds. T h e w illing termi­ nates with the prevalence of the idea; and whether the act then fol­ lows or not is a matter quite immaterial, so far as the w illing itself goes. I w ill to write, and the act follows. I will to sneeze, and it does not. I will that the distant table slide over the floor towards me; it also does not. My w illing representation can no more instigate my sneezing-centre than it can instigate the table to activity. But in both cases it is as true and good w illing as it was when I willed to write.60 In a word, volition is a psychic or moral fact pure and sim­ ple, and is absolutely completed when the stable state of the idea is there. T h e supervention of motion is a supernumerary phenome­ non depending on executive ganglia whose function lies outside the mind. In St. V itus’ dance, in locomotor ataxy, the representation of a movement and the consent to it take place normally. But the in­ ferior executive centres are deranged, and although the ideas dis­ charge them, they do not discharge them so as to reproduce the precise sensations anticipated. In aphasia the patient has an image of certain words which he wishes to utter, but when he opens his mouth he hears himself making quite unintended sounds. T h is may fill him with rage and despair—which passions only show how intact his w ill remains. Paralysis only goes a step farther. T h e as­ sociated mechanism is not only deranged but altogether broken through. T h e volition occurs, but the hand remains as still as the table. T h e paralytic is made aware of this by the absence of the ex­ pected change in his afferent sensations. H e tries harder, i.e., he 60 T h is sentence is written from the au th or’s own consciousness. B ut many persons say that where they disbelieve in the effects ensuing, as in the case of the table, they cannot w ill it. T h e y “ cannot exert a volition that a table should m ove.” T h is p er­ sonal difference may be partly verbal. D ifferent people may attach different connota­ tions to the word ‘w ill.’ B u t I incline to think that we differ psychologically as well. W hen one knows that he has no power, on e’s desire o f a thing is called a w ish and n ot a w ill. T h e sense of im potence in hibits the volition. O n ly by abstracting from the th ou gh t o f the im possibility am I able to im agine strongly the table slidin g over the floor, to m ake the bodily ‘effort’ which I do, and to w ill it to come towards me. It m ay be that some people are unable to perform this abstraction, and that the image o f the table stationary on the floor in hibits the contradictory im age of its m oving, w hich is the object to be willed.

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mentally frames the sensation of muscular ‘effort,’ with consent that it shall occur. It does so: he frowns, he heaves his chest, he clenches his other fist, but the palsied arm lies passive as before.61 W e thus find that we reach the heart of our inquiry into volition when we ask by what process it is that the thought of any given object comes to prevail stably in the mind. W here thoughts prevail

without effort, we have sufficiently studied in the several chapters on Sensation, Association, and Attention, the laws of their advent before consciousness and of their stay. W e w ill not go over that ground again, for we know that interest and association are the words, let their worth be what it may, on which our explanations must perforce rely. W here, on the other hand, the prevalence of the thought is accompanied by the phenomenon of effort, the case is much less clear. Already in the chapter on Attention we post­ poned the final consideration of voluntary attention with effort to a later place. W e have now brought things to a point at which we see that attention with effort is all that any case of volition implies. T h e essential achievem ent of the w ill, in short, when it is most ‘voluntary,’ is to a t t e n d to a difficult object and hold it fast before the mind. T h e so-doing is the fiat; and it is a mere physiological in­

cident that when the object is thus attended to, immediate motor consequences should ensue. A resolve, whose contemplated motor consequences are not to ensue until some possibly far distant future condition shall have been fulfilled, involves all the psychic ele­ ments of a motor fiat except the word ‘now ’ ; and it is the same with many of our purely theoretic beliefs. W e saw in effect in the ap­ propriate chapter, how in the last resort belief means only a pe­ culiar sort of occupancy of the mind, and relation to the self felt in the thing believed; and we know in the case of many beliefs how constant an effort of the attention is required to keep them in this situation and protect them from displacement by contradictory ideas.62 (Compare above, p. 948.) 61 A norm al palsy occurs d u rin g sleep. W e w ill all sorts of motions in our dreams, but seldom perform any of them . In nightm are we become conscious of the non­ perform ance, and make a m uscular ‘effort.’ T h is seems then to occur in a restricted way, lim itin g itself to the occlusion of the glottis and producing the respiratory an xiety which wakes us up. 62 Both resolves and beliefs have o f course im m ediate m otor consequences of a quasi-em otional sort, changes of breathing, o f attitude, internal speech movements, etc.; but these movements are not the o b jects resolved on or believed. T h e movements in common volition are the objects willed.

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Every reader must know by his own experience that this is so, for every reader must have felt some fiery passion’s grasp. W hat con­ stitutes the difficulty for a man laboring under an unwise passion of acting as if the passion were wise? Certainly there is no physical difficulty. It is as easy physically to avoid a fight as to begin one, to pocket one’s money as to squander it on one’s cupidities, to walk away from as towards a coquette’s door. T h e difficulty is mental: it is that of getting the idea of the wise action to stay before our mind at all. W hen any strong emotional state whatever is upon us, the tendency is for no images but such as are congruous with it to come up. If others by chance offer themselves, they are instantly smoth­ ered and crowded out. If we be joyous, we cannot keep thinking of those uncertainties and risks of failure which abound upon our path; if lugubrious, we cannot think of new triumphs, travels, loves, and joys; nor if vengeful, of our oppressor’s community of nature with ourselves. T h e cooling advice which we get from others when the fever-fit is on us is the most jarring and exasperating thing in life. Reply we cannot, so we get angry; for by a sort of self­ preserving instinct which our passion has, it feels that these chill objects, if they once but gain a lodgment, w ill work and work until 63

T h is v o litio n a l effort pure and sim ple must be carefully distinguished from the

m u scu la r effort w ith which it is usually confounded. T h e latter consists of all those

p eripheral feelings to which a m uscular ‘exertion ’ may give rise. T hese feelings, w h en ­ ever they are massive and the body is not fresh,’ are rather disagreeable, especially when accom panied by stopped breath, congested head, bruised skin of fingers, toes, or shoulders, and strained joints. A nd it is only as th u s disa greeable that the m ind must make its v o litio n a l effort in stably representing their reality and consequently brin g­ ing it about. T h a t they happen to be m ade real by m uscular activity is a purely acci­ dental circum stance. A soldier standing still to be fired at expects disagreeable sensa­ tions from his m uscular passivity. T h e action of his w ill, in sustaining the expectation, is identical with that required for a p ain ful m uscular effort. W h at is hard for both is fa cin g an idea as real.

W here m uch m uscular effort is not needed or where the ‘freshness’ is very great, the volition al effort is not required to sustain the idea of m ovem ent, which comes then and stays in virtu e o f association’s sim pler laws. M ore comm only, however, m uscular effort involves volition al effort as well. Exhausted w ith fatigue and wet and w atching, the sailor on a wreck throws him self down to rest. B ut hardly are his lim bs fairly relaxed, when the order ‘T o the pum ps!’ again sounds in his ears. Shall he, can he, obey it? Is it not better ju st to let his aching body lie, and let the ship go down if she will? So he lies on, till, with a desperate heave of the w ill, at last he staggers to his legs, and to his task again. A gain, there are instances where the fiat d e ­ mands great volition al effort though the m uscular exertion be insignificant, e.g., the getting ou t of bed and bathin g on e’s self on a cold m orning.

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they have frozen the very vital spark from out of all our mood and brought our airy castles in ruin to the ground. Such is the inevitable effect of reasonable ideas over others —if they can once get a q uiet hearing', and passion’s cue accordingly is always and everywhere to prevent their still small voice from being heard at all. “ Let me not think of that! D on’t speak to me of that!” T h is is the sudden cry of all those who in a passion perceive some sobering considerations about to check them in mid-career. T here is something so icy in this cold-water bath, something which seems so hostile to the move­ ment of our life, so purely negative, in Reason, when she lays her corpse-like finger on our heart and says “ Halt! give up! leave off! go back! sit down!” that it is no wonder that to most men the steady­ ing influence seems, for the time being, a very minister of death. T h e strong-willed man, however, is the man who hears the still small voice unflinchingly, and who, when the death-bringing con­ sideration comes, looks at its face, consents to its presence, clings to it, affirms it, and holds it fast, in spite of the host of exciting men­ tal images which rise in revolt against it and would expel it from the mind. Sustained in this way by a resolute effort of attention, the difficult object erelong begins to call up its own congeners and associates and ends by changing the disposition of the m an’s con­ sciousness altogether. A n d with his consciousness, his action changes, for the new object, once stably in possession of the field of his thoughts, infallibly produces its own motor effects. T h e diffi­ culty lies in the gaining possession of that field. T hough the spon­ taneous drift of thought is all the other way, the attention must be kept strained on that one object until at last it grows, so as to main­ tain itself before the mind with ease. T h is strain of the attention is the fundamental act of will. A nd the w ill’s work is in most cases practically ended when the bare presence to our thought of the naturally unwelcome object has been secured. For the mysterious tie between the thought and the motor centres next comes into play, and, in a way which we cannot even guess at, the obedience of the bodily organs follows as a matter of course. In all this one sees how the immediate point of application of the volitional effort lies exclusively within the mental world. T h e whole drama is a mental drama. T h e whole difficulty is a mental difficulty, a difficulty with an object of our thought. If I may use the word idea without suggesting associationist or Herbartian

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fables, I w ill say that it is an idea to which our w ill applies itself, an idea which if we let it go would slip away, but which we will not let go. Consent to the idea’s undivided presence, this is effort’s sole achievement. Its only function is to get this feeling of consent into the mind. And for this there is but one way. T h e idea to be consented to must be kept from flickering and going out. It must be held steadily before the mind until it fills the mind. Such filling of the mind by an idea, with its congruous associates, is consent to the idea and to the fact which the idea represents. If the idea be that, or include that, of a bodily movement of our own, then we call the consent thus laboriously gained a motor volition. For N a­ ture here ‘backs’ us instantaneously and follows up our inward w ill­ ingness by outward changes on her own part. She does this in no other instance. Pity she should not have been more generous, nor made a world whose other parts were as immediately subject to our will! On page 1138, in describing the ‘reasonable type’ of decision, it was said that it usually came when the right conception of the case was found. W here, however, the right conception is an antiimpulsive one, the whole intellectual ingenuity of the man usually goes to work to crowd it out of sight, and to find names for the emergency, by the help of which the dispositions of the moment may sound sanctified, and sloth or passion may reign unchecked. How many excuses does the drunkard find when each new tempta­ tion comes! It is a new brand of liquor which the interests of in­ tellectual culture in such matters oblige him to test; moreover it is poured out and it is sin to waste it; or others are drinking and it would be churlishness to refuse. O r it is but to enable him to sleep, or just to get through this job of work; or it isn’t drinking, it is be­ cause he feels so cold; or it is Christmas-day; or it is a means of stimulating him to make a more powerful resolution in favor of abstinence than any he has hitherto made; or it is just this once, and once doesn’t count, etc., etc., ad lib itu m —it is, in fact, anything you like except being a drunkard. T h a t is the conception that will not stay before the poor soul’s attention. But if he once gets able to pick out that way of conceiving, from all the other possible ways of conceiving the various opportunities which occur, if through thick and thin he holds to it that this is being a drunkard and is nothing

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else, he is not likely to remain one long. T h e effort by which he succeeds in keeping the right name unwaveringly present to his mind proves to be his saving moral act.64 Everywhere, then, the function of the effort is the same: to keep affirming and adopting a thought which, if left to itself, would slip away. It may be cold and flat when the spontaneous mental drift is towards excitement, or great and arduous when the spontaneous drift is towards repose. In the one case the effort has to inhibit an explosive, in the other to arouse an obstructed w ill. T h e exhausted sailor on a wreck has a w ill which is obstructed. One of his ideas is that of his sore hands, of the nameless exhaustion of his whole frame which the act of farther pum ping involves, and of the de­ liciousness of sinking into sleep. T h e other is that of the hungry sea ingulfing him. “ Rather the aching toil!” he says; and it becomes reality then, in spite of the inhibiting influence of the relatively luxurious sensations which he gets from lying still. But exactly similar in form would be his consent to lie and sleep. Often it is the thought of sleep and what leads to it which is the hard one to keep before the mind. If a patient afflicted with insomnia can only control the w hirling chase of his thoughts so far as to think of nothing at all (which can be done), or so far as to imagine one letter after another of a verse of scripture or poetry spelt slowly and monotonously out, it is almost certain that here, too, specific bodily effects w ill follow, and that sleep will come. T h e trouble is to keep the mind upon a train of objects naturally so insipid. T o sustain a representation, to think, is, in short, the only moral act, for the im­ pulsive and the obstructed, for sane and lunatics alike. Most mani­ acs know their thoughts to be crazy, but find them too pressing to be withstood. Compared with them the sane truths are so deadly sober, so cadaverous, that the lunatic cannot bear to look them in the face and say, “ Let these alone be my reality!” But with suffi­ cient effort, as Dr. W igan says, “ Such a man can for a time wind himself up, as it were, and deter­ mine that the notions of the disordered brain shall not be manifested. Many instances are on record similar to that told by Pinel, where an inmate of the Bicetre, having stood a long cross-examination, and given every mark of restored reason, signed his name to the paper authorizing 64 C f. A risto tle’s N ico m a ch ea n E th ic s, v i i , 3; also a discussion o f the doctrine of “ T h e Practical Syllogism ” in Sir A . G ran t’s edition of this w ork, 2d e d „ vol. I, p. 212 ff.

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his discharge, ‘Jesus Christ,’ and then went off into all the vagaries connected with that delusion. In the phraseology of the gentleman whose case is related in an early part of this [Wigan’s] work, he had ‘held himself tight’ during the examination, in order to attain his object; this once accomplished, he ‘let himself down’ again, and, if even conscious of his delusion, could not control it. I have observed with such persons that it requires a considerable time to wind them­ selves up to the pitch of complete self control, and that the effort is a painful tension of the mind. When thrown off their guard by any accidental remark, or worn out by the length of the examination, they let themselves go, and cannot gather themselves up again without prep­ aration. Lord Erskine relates the story of a man, who brought an action against Dr. Munro for confining him without cause. He under­ went the most rigid examination by the counsel for the defendant, with­ out discovering any appearance of insanity, till a gentleman asked him about a princess with whom he corresponded in cherry juice, and he became instantly insane.” 65 T o sum it all up in a word, the term inus of the psychological process in volition, the p o in t to w hich the w ill is directly applied, is always an idea. T here are at all times some ideas from which we shy away like frightened horses the moment we get a glimpse of their forbidding profile upon the threshold of our thought. T h e only resistance w hich our w ill can possibly experience is the resis­ tance w hich such an idea offers to being attended to at all. T o at­ 65 T h e D u a lity o f th e M in d , p p . 141-2. A n oth er case from the same book (p. 122): “ A gentlem an of respectable birth , excellen t education, and am ple fortune, engaged in one o f the highest departm ents of trade, . . . [and being] induced to em bark in one of the plausible speculations of the day . . . was utterly ruined. Like other men, he could bear a sudden overw helm ing reverse better than a long succession o f petty m isfortunes, and the way in which he conducted him self on the occasion m et with unbounded adm iration from his friends. H e w ithdrew however into rigid seclusion, and, bein g no longer able to exercise the generosity and indulge the benevolent feel­ ings which had form ed the happiness of his life, m ade him self a substitute for them by day-dreams, grad ually fell into a state of irritable despondency, from which he only grad u ally recovered w ith the loss o f reason. H e now fancied him self possessed of immense w ealth, and gave w ithout stint his im aginary riches. H e has ever since been under gentle restraint, and leads a life not m erely of happiness, bu t of bliss; con ­

verses rationally, reads the newspapers, where every tale o f distress attracts his notice, and being furnished with an abun dan t supply of blank checks, he fills u p one of them with a m unificent sum, sends it off to the sufferer, and sits down to his dinner with a happy conviction that he has earned the right to a little indulgence in the pleasures of the table; and yet, on a serious conversation with one of his old friends, he is qu ite conscious o f his real position, bu t the conviction is so exquisitely painful that k e w ill n o t le t h im s e lf b eliev e it."

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tend to it is the volitional act, and the only inward volitional act which we ever perform. I have put the thing in this ultra-simple way because I want more than anything else to emphasize the fact that volition is primarily a relation, not between our Self and extra-mental matter (as many philosophers still maintain), but between our Self and our own states of mind. But when, a short while ago, I spoke of the filling of the mind with an idea as being equivalent to consent to the idea’s object, I said something which the reader doubtless ques­ tioned at the time, and which certainly now demands some qualifi­ cation ere we pass beyond. It is unqualifiedly true that if any thought do fill the mind ex­ clusively, such filling is consent. T h e thought, for that time at any rate, carries the man and his w ill with it. But it is not true that the thought need fill the mind exclusively for consent to be there; for we often consent to things whilst thinking of other things, even of hostile things; and we saw in fact that precisely what distinguishes our ‘fifth type’ of decision from the other types (see p. 1141) is just this coexistence with the trium phant thought of other thoughts which would inhibit it but for the effort which makes it prevail. T h e effort to attend is therefore only a part of what the word ‘w ill’ covers; it covers also the effort to consent to something to which our attention is not quite complete. Often, when an object has gained our attention exclusively, and its motor results are just on the point of setting in, it seems as if the sense of their imminent irrevocability were enough of itself to start up the inhibitory ideas and to make us pause. T h en we need a new stroke of effort to break down the sudden hesitation which seizes upon us, and to persevere. So that although attention is the first and fundamental thing in volition, express consent to the reality of what is attended to is of­ ten an additional and quite distinct phenomenon involved. T h e reader’s own consciousness tells him of course just what these words of mine denote. A nd I freely confess that I am impo­ tent to carry the analysis of the matter any farther, or to explain in other terms of what this consent consists. It seems a subjective ex­ perience sui generis, which we can designate but not define. W e stand here exactly where we did in the case of belief. W hen an idea stings us in a certain way, makes as it were a certain electric con­ nection with our Self, we believe that it is a reality. W hen it stings

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us in another way, makes another connection with our Self, we say, let it be a reality. T o the word ‘is’ and to the words ‘let it be’ there correspond peculiar attitudes of consciousness which it is vain to seek to explain. T h e indicative and the imperative moods are as much ultimate categories of thinking as they are of grammar. T h e ‘quality of reality’ which these moods attach to things is not like other qualities. It is a relation to our life. It means our adoption of the things, our caring for them, our standing by them. T h is at least is what it practically means for us; what it may mean beyond that we do not know. And the transition from merely considering an object as possible, to deciding or w illing it to be real; the change from the fluctuating to the stable personal attitude concerning it; from the ‘don’t care’ state of mind to that in which ‘we mean busi­ ness,’ is one of the most familiar things in life. W e can partly enu­ merate its conditions; and we can partly trace its consequences, especially the momentous one that when the mental object is a movement of our own body, it realizes itself outwardly when the mental change in question has occurred. But the change itself as a subjective phenomenon is something which we can translate into no simpler terms.

T H E QU ESTIO N O F ‘ F R E E -W IL L ’

Especially must we, when talking about it, rid our mind of the fabulous warfare of separate agents called ‘ideas.’ T h e brainprocesses may be agents, and the thought as such may be an agent. But what the ordinary psychologies call ‘ideas’ are nothing but parts of the total object of representation. A ll that is before the mind at once, no matter how complex a system of things and rela­ tions it may be, is one object for the thought. Thus, ‘A-and-B-andtheir-mutual-incompatibility-and-the-fact-that-only-one-can-be-trueor-can-become-real-notwithstanding-the-probability-or-desirabilityof-both’ may be such a complex object; and where the thought is deliberative its object has always some such form as this. When, now, we pass from deliberation to decision, that total object un­ dergoes a change. W e either dismiss A altogether and its relations to B, and think of B exclusively; or after thinking of both as possi­ bilities, we next think that A is impossible, and that B is or forth­ with shall be real. In either case a new object is before our thought; and where effort exists, it is where the change from the first object

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to the second one is hard. O ur thought seems to turn in this case like a heavy door on rusty hinges; only, so far as the effort feels spontaneous, it turns, not as if by someone helping, but as if by an inward activity, born for the occasion, of its own. T h e psychologists who discussed ‘the muscular sense’ at the in­ ternational congress at Paris in 1889 agreed at the end that they needed to come to a better understanding in regard to this appear­ ance of internal activity at the moment when a decision is made. M. Fouillée, in an article which I find more interesting and sug­ gestive than coherent or conclusive,66 seems to resolve our sense of activity into that of our very existence as thinking entities. A t least so I translate his words.67 But we saw in Chapter X how hard it is to lay a verifying finger plainly upon the thinking process as such, and to distinguish it from certain objects of the stream. M. Fouillée admits this; but I do not think he fully realizes how strong would be the position of a man who should suggest (see Vol. I, p. 288) that the feeling of moral activity itself which accompanies the ad­ vent of certain ‘objects’ before the mind is nothing but certain other objects,—constrictions, namely, in the brows, eyes, throat, and breathing apparatus, present then, but absent from other pulses of subjective change. W ere this the truth, then a part, at any rate, of the activity of which we become aware in effort would seem merely to be that of our body; and many thinkers would probably thereupon conclude that this ‘settles the claims’ of inner activity, and dismisses the whole notion of such a thing as a super­ fluity in psychological science. I cannot see my way to so extreme a view; even although I must repeat the confession made on p. 284 of Vol. I, that I do not fully understand how we come to our unshakable belief that thinking exists as a special kind of immaterial process alongside of the ma­ terial processes of the world. It is certain, however, that only by postulating such thinking do we make things currently intelligible; and it is certain that no psychologist has as yet denied the fact of thinking, the utmost that has been denied being its dynamic pow­ er. But if we postulate the fact of the thinking at all, I believe that we must postulate its power as well; nor do I see how we can rightly equalize its power with its mere existence, and say (as M. Fouillée 66 “ Le Sentim ent de l ’effort et la conscience de l ’action,” in R e v u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e , XXVIII, 561.

67 P- 577-

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seems to say) that for the thought-process to go on at all is an ac­ tivity, and an activity everywhere the same; for certain steps for­ wards in this process seem prim a facie to be passive, and other steps (as where an object comes with effort) seem prim a facie to be active in a supreme degree. If we admit, therefore, that our thoughts exist, we ought to admit that they exist after the fashion in which they appear, as things, namely, that supervene upon each other, sometimes with effort and sometimes with ease; the only questions being, is the effort where it exists a fixed function of the object, which the latter imposes on the thought? or is it such an indepen­ dent ‘variable’ that with a constant object more or less of it may be made? It certainly appears to us indeterminate, and as if, even with an unchanging object, we might make more or less, as we choose. If it be really indeterminate, our future acts are ambiguous or unpredestinate: in common parlance, our wills are free. If the amount of effort be not indeterminate, but be related in a fixed manner to the objects themselves, in such wise that whatever object at any time fills our consciousness was from eternity bound to fill it then and there, and compel from us the exact effort, neither more nor less, which we bestow upon it,—then our wills are not free, and all our acts are foreordained. T h e question of fact in the free-w ill con­ troversy is thus extrem ely sim ple. It relates solely to the amount of effort of attention or consent which we can at any time put forth. Are the duration and intensity of this effort fixed functions of the object, or are they not? Now, as I just said, it seems as if the effort were an independent variable, as if we might exert more or less of it in any given case. W hen a man has let his thoughts go for days and weeks until at last they culminate in some particularly dirty or cowardly or cruel act, it is hard to persuade him, in the midst of his remorse, that he might not have reined them in; hard to make him believe that this whole goodly universe (which his act so jars upon) required and exacted it of him at that fatal moment, and from eternity made aught else impossible. But, on the other hand, there is the certainty that all his effortless volitions are resultants of interests and associations whose strength and sequence are me­ chanically determined by the structure of that physical mass, his brain; and the general continuity of things and the monistic con­ ception of the world may lead one irresistibly to postulate that a little fact like effort can form no real exception to the overwhelm­

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ing reign of deterministic law. Even in effortless volition we have the consciousness of the alternative being also possible. T h is is surely a delusion here; why is it not a delusion everywhere? My own belief is that the question of free-will is insoluble on strictly psychologic grounds. A fter a certain amount of effort of attention has been given to an idea, it is manifestly impossible to tell whether either more or less of it m ight have been given or not. T o tell that, we should have to ascend to the antecedents of the effort, and defining them with mathematical exactitude, prove, by laws of which we have not at present even an inkling, that the only amount of sequent effort which could possibly comport with them was the precise amount which actually came. Measurements, whether of psychic or of neural quantities, and deductive reason­ ings such as this method of proof implies, w ill surely be forever beyond human reach. No serious psychologist or physiologist will venture even to suggest a notion of how they might be practically made. W e are thrown back therefore upon the crude evidences of introspection on the one hand, with all its liabilities to deception, and, on the other hand, upon a priori postulates and probabilities. He who loves to balance nice doubts need be in no hurry to decide the point. Like Mephistopheles to Faust, he can say to himself, “ dazu hast du noch eine lange Frist,” for from generation to gen­ eration the reasons adduced on both sides w ill grow more volum i­ nous, and the discussion more refined. But if our speculative delight be less keen, if the love of a parti pris outweighs that of keeping questions open, or if, as a French philosopher of genius says, “ I’am our de la vie q ui s’ indigne de tant de discours,” awakens in us, craving the sense of either peace or power,—then, taking the risk of error on our head, we must project upon one of the alterna­ tive views the attribute of reality for us; we must so fill our mind with the idea of it that it becomes our settled creed. T h e present writer does this for the alternative of freedom, but since the grounds of his opinion are ethical rather than psychological, he prefers to exclude them from the present book.68 A few words, however, may be permitted about the logic of the question. T h e most that any argument can do for determinism is 68 T h e y w ill be found indicated, in som ewhat p opu lar form , in a lecture on “ T h e D ilem m a of D eterm inism ,” published in the U n ita ria n R e v iew (of Boston) for Sep­ tember 1884 (vol. x x n , p. 193).

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to make it a clear and seductive conception, which a man is foolish not to espouse, so long as he stands by the great scientific postulate that the world must be one unbroken fact, and that prediction of all things w ithout exception must be ideally, even if not actually, possible. It is a moral postulate about the Universe, the postulate that what ought to be can be, and that bad acts cannot be fated, but that good ones must be possible in their place, which would lead one to espouse the contrary view. But when scientific and moral postulates war thus with each other and objective proof is not to be had, the only course is voluntary choice, for scepticism itself, if systematic, is also voluntary choice. If, meanwhile, the w ill be un­ determined, it would seem only fitting that the belief in its inde­ termination should be voluntarily chosen from amongst other pos­ sible beliefs. Freedom’s first deed should be to affirm itself. W e ought never to hope for any other method of getting at the truth if indeterminism be a fact. D oubt of this particular truth w ill there­ fore probably be open to us to the end of time, and the utmost that a believer in free-will can ever do w ill be to show that the determi­ nistic arguments are not coercive. T h a t they are seductive, I am the last to deny; nor do I deny that effort may be needed to keep the faith in freedom, when they press upon it, upright in the mind. T h ere is a fatalistic argument for determinism, however, which is radically vicious. W hen a man has let himself go time after time, he easily becomes impressed with the enormously preponderating influence of circumstances, hereditary habits, and temporary bodi­ ly dispositions over what might seem a spontaneity born for the occasion. “ A ll is fate,” he then says; “ all is resultant of what pre­ exists. Even if the moment seems original, it is but the instable molecules passively tum bling in their preappointed way. It is hope­ less to resist the drift, vain to look for any new force coming in; and less, perhaps, than anywhere else under the sun is there any­ thing really mine in the decisions which I make.” T h is is really no argument for simple determinism. T here runs throughout it the sense of a force which might make things otherwise from one mo­ ment to another, if it were only strong enough to breast the tide. A person who feels the im potence of free effort in this way has the acutest notion of what is meant by it, and of its possible inde­ pendent power. H ow else could he be so conscious of its absence and of that of its effects? But genuine determinism occupies a totally different ground; not the im potence but the unthinkability

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of free-will is what it affirms. It admits something phenomenal called free effort, which seems to breast the tide, but it claims this as a portion o f the tide. T h e variations of the effort cannot be in­ dependent, it says; they cannot originate ex n ih ilo, or come from a fourth dimension; they are mathematically fixed functions of the ideas themselves, which are the tide. Fatalism, which conceives of effort clearly enough as an independent variable that might come from a fourth dimension if it w ould come, but that does not come, is a very dubious ally for determinism. It strongly imagines that very possibility which determinism denies. But what, quite as much as the inconceivability of absolutely in­ dependent variables, persuades modern men of science that their efforts must be predetermined, is the continuity of the latter with other phenomena whose predetermination no one doubts. D eci­ sions with effort merge so gradually into those without it that it is not easy to say where the lim it lies. Decisions without effort merge again into ideo-motor, and these into reflex, acts; so that the temp­ tation is almost irresistible to throw the formula which covers so many cases over absolutely all. W here there is effort just as where there is none, the ideas themselves which furnish the matter of de­ liberation are brought before the mind by the machinery of asso­ ciation. A nd this machinery is essentially a system of arcs and paths, a reflex system, whether effort be amongst its incidents or not. T h e reflex way is, after all, the universal way of conceiving the business. T h e feeling of ease is a passive result of the way in which the thoughts unwind themselves. W hy is not the feeling of effort the same? Professor Lipps, in his admirably clear deterministic state­ ment, so far from adm itting that the feeling of effort testifies to an increment of force exerted, explains it as a sign that force is lost. W e speak of effort, according to him, whenever a force expends itself (wholly or partly) in neutralizing another force, and so fails of its own possible outward effect. T h e outward effect of the an­ tagonistic force, however, also fails in corresponding measure, “ so that there is no effort without counter-effort, . . . and effort and counter-effort signify only that causes are m utually robbing each other of effectiveness.” 69 W here the forces are ideas, both sets of them, strictly speaking, are the seat of effort—both those which tend to explode, and those which tend to check them. W e, how69 See G ru n d ta tsa ch en des S e e le n le b e n s, pp. 594-5; and com pare the conclusion of ou r own chapter on A tten tion , V o l. I, pp. 424-430.

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ever, call the more abundant mass of ideas ourselves; and, talking of its effort as our effort, and of that of the smaller mass of ideas as the resistance,70 we say that our effort sometimes overcomes the re­ sistances offered by the inertias of an obstructed, and sometimes those presented by the impulsions of an explosive, will. Really both effort and resistance are ours, and the identification of our self with one of these factors is an illusion and a trick of speech. I do not see how anyone can fail (especially when the mythologic dynamism of separate ‘ideas,’ which Professor Lipps cleaves to, is translated into that of brain-processes) to recognize the fascinating simplicity of some such view as his. N or do I see why fo r scientific purposes one need give it up even if indeterminate amounts of effort really do occur. Before their indeterminism, science simply stops. She can abstract from it altogether, then; for in the impulses and inhibitions with which the effort has to cope there is already a larger field of uniform ity than she can ever practically cultivate. H er prevision w ill never foretell, even if the effort be completely predestinate, the actual way in which each individual emergency is resolved. Psychology w ill be Psychology,71 and Science Science, as much as ever (as much and no more) in this world, whether free­ w ill be true in it or not. Science, however, must be constantly re­ minded that her purposes are not the only purposes, and that the order of uniform causation which she has use for, and is therefore right in postulating, may be enveloped in a wider order, on which she has no claims at all. W e can therefore leave the free-will question altogether out of our account. As we said in Chapter X I (p. 429), the operation of free effort, if it existed, could only be to hold some one ideal ob­ ject, or part of an object, a little longer or a little more intensely before the mind. Amongst the alternatives which present them70 T h u s at least I interpret Prof. L ip p s’s words: “ W ir wissen uns naturgemiiss in jedem Streben um som ehr aktiv, je m ehr unser gauzes Ich bei dem Streben beteiligt

ist,” u. s. w. (p. 601). 71 Such ejaculations as M r. Spencer’s: “ Psychical changes either conform to law o r they do not. If they do not, this work, in comm on w ith all works on the subject, is sheer nonsense: no science o f Psychology is possible” (P r in c ip le s o f Psy chology , I, 503),—are beneath criticism . M r. Spencer’s work, like all the other ‘works on the sub­ je ct,’ treats of those general conditions o f p o ssib le conduct w ithin which all our real decisions must fall no m atter w hether their effort be sm all or great. H owever closely psychical changes may conform to law , it is safe to say that in dividu al histories and biographies w ill never be w ritten in advance no m atter how ‘evolved’ psychology m ay become.

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selves as g enu ine possibles, it would thus make one effective.72 And although such quickening of one idea might be morally and his­ torically mom entous, yet, if considered dynamically, it would be an operation amongst those physiological infinitesimals which cal­ culation must forever neglect. But whilst elim inating the question about the amount of our effort as one which psychology w ill never have a practical call to decide, I must say one word about the extraordinarily intimate and important character which the phenomenon of effort assumes in our own eyes as individual men. O f course we measure ourselves 72 Caricatures of the kind o f supposition which free w ill demands abound in determ inistic literatu re. T h e follow in g passage from John F iskc’s C o sm ic P h ilo s o p h y (pt. II, chap. x v i i ) is an exam ple: “ If volitions arise w ithout cause, it necessarily fo l­ lows that we cannot infer from them the character o f the antecedent states of feeling. If, therefore, a m urder has been com m itted, we have a p rio ri no better reason for suspecting the worst enemy than the best friend of the m urdered m an. If we sec a man ju m p from a fourth-story w indow, we m ust beware of too hastily in ferring his insanity, since he may be m erely exercising his free-will; the intense love of life im planted in the hum an breast being, as it seems, unconnected with attem pts at suicide or at self-preservation. W e can thus fram e no theory o f hum an actions w h a t­ ever. T h e countless em pirical m axim s of every-day life, the em bodim ent as they are of the inherited and organized sagacity of m any generations, become w h olly incom ­ petent to gu ide us; and nothing which any one may do, ou gh t ever to occasion su r­ prise. T h e m other may strangle her first-born child , the miser may cast his longtreasured gold into the sea, the sculptor m ay break in pieces his lately-finished statue, in the presence of no other feelings than those w hich before led them to cherish, to hoard, and to create.

“ T o state these conclusions is to refute their premise. Probably no defender of the doctrine of free-w ill could be induced to accept them, even to save the theorem w ith w hich they are inseparably w rapped-np. Y et the dilem m a cannot be avoided. V olitions arc cith er caused, or they are not. If they are not caused, an inexorable logic brings us to the absurdities just m entioned. If they are caused, the free-will doctrine is annihilated. . . . In truth, the im m ediate corollaries o f the free-w ill doctrine are so shocking not only to philosophy bu t to common-sense, that were not accurate th in king a som ewhat rare phenom enon, it w ould be in explicab le how any credit should ever have been given to such a dogma. T h is is bu t one of the m any instances, in which by the force of words alone, men have been held subject to chronic delusion. . . . A ttem ptin g, as the free-will philosophers do, to destroy the science of history, they are com pelled by an inexorable logic to p u ll down w ith it the cardinal principles of ethics, politics, and jurisprudence. Political econom y, if rigidly dealt w ith on their theory, w ould fare little better; and psychology w ould become chaotic jargon. . . . T h e denial of causation is the affirmation of chance, and 'between the theory of Chance and the theory of Law , there can be no com prom ise, no reciprocity, no borrow ing and lendin g.’ T o w rite history on any m ethod furnished by the free-w ill doctrine, would be utterly im possible.” —A ll this comes from M r. Fiske’s not distin guishin g between the possibles which really tem pt a man and those w hich tem pt him not at all. Free-will, like psychology, deals w ith the form er possibles exclusively.

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by many standards. O ur strength and our intelligence, our wealth and even our good luck, are things which warm our heart and make us feel ourselves a match for life. But deeper than all such things, and able to suffice unto itself without them, is the sense of the amount of effort which we can put forth. Those are, after all, but effects, products, and reflections of the outer world within. But the effort seems to belong to an altogether different realm, as if it were the substantive thing which we are, and those were but externals which we carry. If the ‘searching of our heart and reins’ be the purpose of this human drama, then what is sought seems to be what effort we can make. He who can make none is but a shadow; he who can make much is a hero. T h e huge world that girdles us about puts all sorts of questions to us, and tests us in all sorts of ways. Some of the tests we meet by actions that are easy, and some of the questions we answer in articulately formulated words. But the deepest question that is ever asked admits of no reply but the dum b turning of the w ill and the tightening of our heart strings as we say, “ Yes, I w ill even have it so!” W hen a dreadful object is presented, or when life as a whole turns up its dark abysses to our view, then the worthless ones among us lose their hold on the situa­ tion altogether, and either escape from its difficulties by averting their attention, or if they cannot do that, collapse into yielding masses of plaintiveness and fear. T h e effort required for facing and consenting to such objects is beyond their power to make. But the heroic mind does differently. T o it, too, the objects are sinister and dreadful, unwelcome, incompatible with wished-for things. But it can face them if necessary, without for that losing its hold upon the rest of life. T h e world thus finds in the heroic man its worthy match and mate; and the effort which he is able to put forth to hold himself erect and keep his heart unshaken is the direct measure of his worth and function in the game of human life. He can stand this Universe. H e can meet it and keep up his faith in it in pres­ ence of those same features which lay his weaker brethren low. He can still find a zest in it, not by ‘ostrich-like forgetfulness,’ but by pure inward willingness to take the world with those deterrent objects there. And hereby he becomes one of the masters and the lords of life. He must be counted with henceforth; he forms a part of human destiny. Neither in the theoretic nor in the practical sphere do we care for, or go for help to, those who have no head for risks, or sense for living on the perilous edge. O ur religious life

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lies more, our practical life lies less, than it used to, on the perilous edge. But just as our courage is so often a reflex of another’s cour­ age, so our faith is apt to be, as Max M uller somewhere says, a faith in someone else’s faith. W e draw new life from the heroic ex­ ample. T h e prophet has drunk more deeply than anyone of the cup of bitterness, but his countenance is so unshaken and he speaks such mighty words of cheer that his will becomes our will, and our life is kindled at his own. T h u s not only our morality but our religion, so far as the latter is deliberate, depend on the effort which we can make. “ W ill you or won’ t you have it so?” is the most probing question we are ever asked; we are asked it every hour of the day, and about the largest as well as the smallest, the most theoretical as well as the most prac­ tical, things. W e answer by consents or non-consents and not by words. W hat wonder that these dum b responses should seem our deepest organs of communication with the nature of things! W hat wonder if the effort demanded by them be the measure of our worth as men! W hat wonder if the amount which we accord of it be the one strictly underived and original contribution which we make to the world! T H E E D U C A T IO N O F T H E W IL L

T h e education of the w ill may be taken in a broader or a nar­ rower sense. In the broader sense, it means the whole of one’s train­ ing to moral and prudential conduct, and of one’s learning to adapt means to ends, involving the ‘association of ideas,’ in all its varieties and complications, together with the power of inhibiting impulses irrelevant to the ends desired, and of initiating move­ ments contributory thereto. It is the acquisition of these latter pow­ ers which I mean by the education of the w ill in the narrower sense. A nd it is in this sense alone that it is worth while to treat the matter here.73 Since a willed movement is a movement preceded by an idea of itself, the problem of the w ill’s education is the problem of how the idea of a movement can arouse the movement itself. This, as we have seen, is a secondary kind of process; for framed as we are, we can have no a priori idea of a movement, no idea of a move73 On the education of the W ill from a pedagogic point of view , see an article by G . Stanley H all in the P r in c e to n R e v iew for N ovem ber 1882, and some b ib liograp hic references there contained.

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ment which we have not already performed. Before the idea can be generated, the movement must have occurred in a blind, unex­ pected way, and left its idea behind. R eflex, instinctive, or random execution of a m ovem ent must, in other words, precede its volun­ tary execution. Reflex and instinctive movements have already been considered sufficiently for the purposes o f this book, ‘R a n ­

dom ’ movements are mentioned so as to include ^wasi-accidental reflexes from inner causes, or movements possibly arising from such overflow of nutrition in special centres as Prof. Bain postu­ lates in his explanation of those ‘spontaneous discharges’ by which he sets such great store in his derivation of the voluntary life.74 Now how can the sensory process which a m ovem ent has pre­ viously produced, discharge, when excited again, into the centre for the m ovem ent itself? On the movement’s original occurrence

the motor discharge came first and the sensory process second; now in the voluntary repetition the sensory process (excited in weak or ‘ideational’ form) comes first, and the motor discharge comes sec­ ond. T o tell how this comes to pass would be to answer the problem of the education of the will in physiological terms. Evidently the problem is that of the formation of new paths-, and the only thing to do is to make hypotheses, till we find some which seem to cover all the facts. How is a fresh path ever formed? A ll paths are paths of discharge, and the discharge always takes place in the direction of least re­ sistance, whether the cell which discharges be ‘motor’ or ‘sensory.’ T h e connate paths of least resistance are the paths of instinctive reaction; and I submit as my first hypothesis that these paths all run one way, that is from ‘sensory’ cells into ‘ m otor’ cells and from motor cells into muscles, w ithout ever taking the reverse direction.

A motor cell, for example, never awakens a sensory cell directly, but only through the incoming current caused by the bodily move­ ments to which its discharge gives rise. And a sensory cell always discharges or normally tends to discharge towards the motor re­ gion. Let this direction be called the ‘forward’ direction. I call the law an hypothesis, but really it is an indubitable truth. N o impres­ sion or idea of eye, ear, or skin comes to us without occasioning a movement, even though the movement be no more than the ac­ commodation of the sense-organ; and all our trains of sensation 74 See his E m o tio n s a n d th e W ill, “ T h e W ill,” chap. 1. I take the nam e of random movements from Sully: O u tlin e s o f P sy ch o lo g y , p. 593.

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and sensational imagery have their terms alternated and interpene­ trated with motor processes, of most of which we practically are unconscious. Another way of stating the rule is to say that, prim ari­ ly or connately, all currents through the brain run towards the Rolandic region, and that there they run out, and never return upon themselves. From this point of view the distinction of sensory and motor cells has no fundamental significance. A ll cells are motor; we simply call those of the Rolandic region, those nearest the mouth of the funnel, the motor cells par excellence. A corollary of this law is that ‘sensory’ cells do not awaken each other connately; that is, that no one sensible property of things has any tendency, in advance of experience, to awaken in us the idea of any other sensible properties which in the nature of things may go with it. T h ere is no a priori calling up of one ‘ idea’ by another-, the only a priori couplings are of ideas with movements. A ll sug­ gestions of one sensible fact by another take place by secondary paths which experience has formed. T h e diagram (Fig. 87) shows what happens in a nervous system ideally reduced to the fewest possible terms. A stimulus reaching the sense-organ awakens the sensory cell, S; this by the connate or instinctive path discharges the motor cell, M, which makes the muscle contract; and the contraction arouses the second sensory

cell, K, which may be the organ either of a ‘resident’ or ‘kinaesthetic,’ or of a ‘remote,’ sensation. (See above, p. 1100.) T h is cell K again 75 T h is figure and the follow in g ones are purely schem atic, and must not be sup­ posed to involve any theory about protoplasm atic and axis-cylinder processes. T h e latter, according to G olgi and others, em erge from the base of the cell, and each cell has bu t one. T h e y alone form a nervous network. T h e reader w ill of course also understand that none of the hypothetical constructions which I m ake from now to the end of the chapter are proposed as definite accounts o f w hat happens. A ll I aim at is to make it clear in some more or less sym bolic fashion that the form ation of new paths, the learning of habits, etc., is in som e m echanical way conceivable. C om pare w hat was said in Vol. I, p. 88, note.

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discharges into M. If this were the entire nervous mechanism, the movement, once begun, would be self-maintaining, and would stop only when the parts were exhausted. And this, according to M. Pierre Janet, is what actually happens in catalepsy. A cataleptic patient is anaesthetic, speechless, motionless. Consciousness, so far as we can judge, is abolished. Nevertheless the limbs w ill retain whatever position is impressed upon them from without, and re­ tain it so long that if it be a strained and unnatural position, the phenomenon is regarded by Charcot as one of the few conclusive tests against hypnotic subjects shamming, since hypnotics can be made cataleptic, and then keep their limbs outstretched for a length of time quite unattainable by the waking will. M. Janet thinks that in all these cases the outlying ideational processes in the brain are temporarily thrown out of gear. T h e kinaesthetic sensation of the raised arm, for example, is produced in the patient when the op­ erator raises the arm, this sensation discharges into the motor cell, which through the muscle reproduces the sensation, etc., the cur­ rents running in this closed circle until they grow so weak, by ex­ haustion of the parts, that the member slowly drops. W e may call this circle from the muscle to K, from K to M, and from M to the muscle again, the ‘motor circle.’ W e should all be cataleptics and never stop a m uscular contraction once begun, were it not that other processes sim ultaneously going on in h ib it the contraction. In h ib itio n is therefore not an occasional accident; it is an essential and unrem itting elem ent of our cerebral life. It is interesting to

note that Dr. Mercier, by a different path of reasoning, is also led to conclude that we owe to outside inhibitions exclusively our power to arrest a movement once begun.76 One great inhibiter of the discharge of K into M seems to be the painful or otherwise displeasing quality of the sensation itself of K; and conversely, when this sensation is distinctly pleasant, that fact tends to further K ’s discharge into M, and to keep the pri­ mordial motor circle agoing. Trem endous as the part is which plea­ sure and pain play in our psychic life, we must confess that abso­ lutely nothing is known of their cerebral conditions. It is hard to imagine them as having special centres; it is harder still to invent peculiar forms of process in each and every centre, to which these feelings may be due. A nd let one try as one will to represent the cerebral activity in exclusively mechanical terms, I, for one, find 76 T h e N erv o u s System an d th e M in d (1888), pp. 75-6.

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it quite impossible to enumerate what seem to be the facts and yet to make no mention of the psychic side which they possess. However it be with other drainage currents and discharges, the drainage currents and discharges of the brain are not purely physi­ cal facts. T h ey are psycho-physical facts, and the spiritual quality of them seems a codeterminant of their mechanical effectiveness. If the mechanical activities in a cell, as they increase, give pleasure, they seem to increase all the more rapidly for that fact; if they give displeasure, the displeasure seems to damp the activities. T h e psy­ chic side of the phenomenon thus seems, somewhat like the ap­ plause or hissing at a spectacle, to be an encouraging or adverse com m ent on what the machinery brings forth. T h e soul presents nothing herself; creates nothing; is at the mercy of the material forces for all possibilities; but amongst these possibilities she se­ lects; and by reinforcing one and checking others, she figures not as an ‘epiphenomenon,’ but as something from which the play gets moral support. I shall therefore never hesitate to invoke the effi­ cacy of the conscious comment, where no strictly mechanical rea­ son appears why a current escaping from a cell should take one path rather than another.77 But the existence of the current, and its tendency towards either path, I feel bound to account for by mechanical laws. H aving now considered a nervous system reduced to its lowest possible terms, in which all the paths are connate, and the possi­ bilities of inhibition not extrinsic, but due solely to the agreeable­ ness or disagreeableness of the feeling aroused, let us turn to the conditions under which new paths may be formed. Potentialities of new paths are furnished by the fibres which connect the sensory cells amongst themselves; but these fibres are not originally per­ vious, and have to be made so by a process which I proceed hypoth­ etically to state as follows: Each discharge from a sensory cell in the forward d irection78 tends to drain the cells lying behin d the dis­ charging one of whatever tension they may possess. T h e drainage from the rearward cells is what for the first tim e makes the fibres pervious. T h e result is a new-formed ‘path,’ running from the cells which were ‘rearward’ to the cell which was ‘forward’ on that oc­ casion; which path, if on fu tu re occasions the rearward cells are 77 C om pare V o l. I, pp. 140, 144-145. 78 T h a t is, the direction towards the m otor cells.

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W ill independently excited , w ill tend to carry off their activity in the same direction so as to excite the forward cell, and w ill deepen itself more and more every tim e it is used.

Now the ‘rearward cells,’ so far, stand for all the sensory cells of the brain other than the one which is discharging; but such an indefinitely broad path would practically be no better than no path, so here I make a third hypothesis, which, taken together with the others, seems to me to cover all the facts. It is that the deepest paths are form ed from the most drainable to the most draining cells; that the most drainable cells are those which have just been discharging; and that the most draining cells are those which are now discharging or in w hich the tension is rising towards the p o in t of discharge.79 Another diagram, Fig. 88, w ill make the matter

clear. T ake the operation represented by the previous diagram at the moment when, the muscular contraction having occurred, the cell K is discharging forwards into M. T hrou gh the dotted line p it will, according to our third hypothesis, drain S (which, in the supposed case, has just discharged into M by the connate path P, and caused the muscular contraction), and the result is that p will now remain as a new path open from S to K. W hen next S is ex­ cited from without it will tend not only to discharge into M, but into K as well. K thus gets excited directly by S before it gets ex­ cited by the incoming current from the muscle; or, translated into psychic terms: when a sensation has once produced a m ovem ent in 79 T h is b ra in -sch e m e seem s o d d ly e n o u g h to g iv e a c e rta in basis o f re a lity to those

h id e o u sly fa b u lo u s p e rfo rm a n ce s o f th e H e rb a r tia n V o r s te llu n g e n . H e r b a r t says th a t w h e n o n e id ea is in h ib ite d b y a n o th e r it fuses w ith th a t o th e r a n d th e r e a fte r h elp s it to a scend in to con sciou sn ess. I n h ib itio n

is th u s th e basis o f a ssociation

in b o th

sch em es, fo r th e ‘d r a in in g ’ o f w h ich th e te x t speaks is ta n ta m o u n t to an in h ib itio n o f th e a c tiv ity o f th e ce lls w h ic h a re d ra in e d , w h ich in h ib itio n m akes th e in h ib ite d re v iv e th e in h ib ite r o n la te r occasions.

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T h e same principles also apply to the relations of K and M. M, lying in the forward direction, drains K, and the path KM, even though it be no primary or connate path, becomes a secondary or habitual one. Hereafter K may be aroused in any way whatsoever (not as before from S or from without) and still it will tend to dis­ charge into M; or, to express it again in psychic terms, the idea of the m ovem ent M ’ s sensory effects w ill have becom e an im m ediately antecedent condition to the production of the m ovem ent itself.

Here, then, we have the answer to our original question of how a sensory process which, the first time it occurred, was the effect of a movement, can later figure as the movement’s cause. It is obvious on this scheme that the cell which we have marked K may stand for the seat of either a resident or a remote sensation occasioned by the motor discharge. It may indifferently be a tactile, a visual, or an auditory cell. T h e idea of how the arm feels when raised may cause it to rise; but no less may the idea of some sound which it makes in rising, or of some optical impression which it produces. T hus we see that the ‘mental cue’ may belong to either of various senses; and that what our diagrams lead us to infer is what really happens; namely, that in our movements, such as that of speech, for example, in some of us it is the tactile, in others the acoustic, E ffektbild, or memory-image, which seems most concerned in starting the articulation (Vol. I, pp. 63-64). T h e prim itive ‘starters,’ however, of all our movements are not E ffektb ild er at all, but sensations and objects, and subsequently ideas derived there­ from. Let us now turn to the more complex and serially concatenated movements which oftenest meet us in real life. T h e object of our w ill is seldom a single muscular contraction; it is almost always an orderly sequence of contractions, ending with a sensation which tells us that the goal is reached. But the several contractions of the sequence are not each distinctly willed; each earlier one seems rath­ er, by the sensation it produces, to call its follower up, after the fashion described in Chapter IV, where we spoke of habitual con­ catenated movements being due to a series of secondarily organized 80 See the lum inous passage in M iinsterberg: D ie W ille n sh a n d lu n g , pp. 144-5.

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reflex arcs (Vol. I, p. 120). T h e first contraction is the one distinctly willed, and after w illing it we let the rest of the chain rattle off of its own accord. How now is such an orderly concatenation of move­ ments originally learned? or in other words, how are paths formed for the first time between one motor centre and another, so that the discharge of the first centre makes the others discharge in due order all along the line? T h e phenomenon involves a rapid alternation of motor dis­ charges and resultant afferent impressions, for as long a time as it lasts. T h ey must be associated in one definite order; and the order must once have been learned, i.e., it must have been picked out and held to more and more exclusively out of the many other ran­ dom orders which first presented themselves. T h e random afferent impressions fell out, those that felt right were selected and grew together in the chain. A chain which we actively teach ourselves by stringing a lot of right-feeling impressions together differs in no essential respect from a chain which we passively learn from some­ one else who gives us impressions in a certain order. So to make our ideas more precise, let us take a particular concatenated move­ ment for an example, and let it be the recitation of the alphabet, which someone in our childhood taught us to say by heart. W hat we have seen so far is how the idea of the sound or articula­ tory feeling of A may make us say ‘A ,’ that of B, ‘B,’ and so on. But what we now want to see is why the sensation that A is uttered should make us say ‘B ,’ why the sensation that B is uttered should make us say ‘ C ,’ and so on.

T o understand this we must recall what happened when we first learned the letters in their order. Someone repeated A, B, C, D to us over and over again, and we imitated the sounds. Sensory cells corresponding to each letter were awakened in succession in such wise that each one of them (by virtue of our second law) must have ‘drained’ the cell just previously excited and left a path by which that cell tended ever afterwards to discharge into the cell that drained it. Let S°, Sb, Sc in figure 89 stand for three of these cells. Each later one of them, as it discharges motorwards, draws a cur­ rent from the previous one, Sb from S°, and Sc from Sb. C ell Sb hav­ ing thus drained S°, if S° ever gets excited again, it tends to dis­ charge into Sb; whilst Sc having drained Sb, Sb later discharges into Sc, etc., etc.—all through the dotted lines. Let now the idea of the letter A arise in the mind, or, in other words, let S° be aroused:

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what happens? A current runs from S° not only into the motor cell M° for pronouncing that letter, but also into the cell Sb. W hen, a

moment later, the effect of M°’s discharge comes back by the affer­ ent nerve and re-excites Sa, this latter cell is inhibited from dis­ charging again into M° and reproducing the ‘primordial motor

circle’ (which in this case would be the continued utterance of the letter A), by the fact that the process in Sb, already under headway and tending to discharge into its own motor associate M b, is, under the existing conditions, the stronger drainage-channel for S°’s ex­ citement. T h e result is that M b discharges and the letter B is pro­ nounced; whilst at the same time Sc receives some of Sb’s overflow; and, a moment later when the sound of B enters the ear, discharges into the motor cell for pronouncing C, by a repetition of the same mechanism as before; and so on ad lib itum . Figure 90 represents the entire set of processes involved. T h e only thing that one does not immediately see is the reason why ‘under the existing conditions’ the path from S° to Sb should be the stronger drainage-channel for S°’s excitement. If the cells and fibres in the figure constituted the entire brain we might sup­ pose either a mechanical or a psychical reason. T h e mechanical

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reason might lie in a general law that cells like Sb and M b, whose excitement is in a rising phase, are stronger drainers than cells like M°, which have just discharged; or it might lie in the fact that an irradiation of the current beyond Sb into Sc and M c has already begun also; and in a still farther law that drainage tends in the di­ rection of the widest irradiations. Either of these suppositions would be a sufficient mechanical reason why, having once said A, we should not say it again. But we must not forget that the process has a psychical side, nor close our eyes to the possibility that the sort of feelin g aroused by incipient currents may be the reason why certain of them are instantly inhibited and others helped to flow. T h ere is no doubt that before we have uttered a single letter, the general intention to recite the alphabet is already there; nor is there any doubt that to that intention corresponds a widespread premonitory rising of tensions along the entire system of cells and fibres which are later to be aroused. So long as this rise of tensions feels good, so long every current which increases it is furthered, and every current which diminishes it is checked; and this may be the chief one of the ‘existing conditions’ which make the drainagechannel from Sa to Sb temporarily so strong.81 T h e new paths between the sensory cells of which we have studied the formation are paths of ‘association,’ and we now see why associations run always in the forward direction; why, for ex­ ample, we cannot say the alphabet backwards, and why, although Sb discharges into Sc, there is no tendency for Sc to discharge into Sb, or at least no more than for it to discharge into Sa.82 T h e first-formed paths had, according to the principles which we invoked, to run from cells that had just discharged to those that were discharging; and now, to get currents to run the other way, we must go through a new learning of our letters with their order reversed. T here w ill then be two sets of association-pathways, either of them possible, 81 L . L a n g e ’s a n d M iin ste rb e rg ’s e x p e rim e n ts w ith ‘ sh o rte n e d ’ o r ‘m u s c u la r’ re a c ­

tio n -tim e (see V o l. I, p . 409) show h o w p o te n t a fa c t d y n a m ic a lly th is a n tic ip a to ry p r e p a ra tio n o f a w h o le set o f p o ssib le d ra in a g e -c h a n n e ls is. 82 E ven as th e p ro o fs o f these p ages are p a ssin g th ro u g h m y h an d s, I rece iv e H e ft 2

o f th e Z e it s c h r i f t f ü r P s y c h o lo g ie u n d P h y s io lo g ie d e r S in n e s o r g a n e , in w h ich th e irrep re ssib le y o u n g M ü n ste rb e rg p u b lish e s e x p e rim e n ts to sh ow th a t th ere is n o asso­ c ia tio n b e tw e e n successive ideas, a p a r t fro m in te rv e n in g m ovem en ts. A s m y e x p la ­ n a tio n s h av e a ssu m ed th a t an e a r lie r e x c ite d s en so r y c e ll d rain s a la te r o n e, his exp e rim e n ts a n d in feren ces w o u ld , if so u n d , u p se t a ll m y h yp o th eses. I th e re fo re can (at th is la te m om en t) o n ly r e fe r th e re a d e r to H e rr M .’s a rticle , h o p in g to re v ie w th e su b je c t a g a in m yse lf in a n o th e r p la ce .

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between the sensible cells. I represent them in Fig. 91, leaving out the motor features for sim plicity’s sake. T h e dotted lines are the paths in the backward direction, newly organized from the recep­ tion by the ear of the letters in the order C B A.

T h e same principles will explain the formation of new paths successively concatenated to no matter how great an extent, but it would obviously be folly to pretend to illustrate by more intricate examples. I w ill therefore only bring back the case of the child and flame (Vol. I, p. 37), to show how easily it admits of explanation as a ‘purely cortical transaction’ (ibid., p. 86). T h e sight of the flame stimulates the cortical centre S' which discharges by an instinctive reflex path into the centre M ‘ for the grasping-movement. T h is movement produces the feeling of burn, as its effects come back to the centre S2; and this centre by a second connate path discharges into M 2, the centre for withdrawing the hand. T h e movement of withdrawal stimulates the centre S3, and this, as far as we are con­ cerned, is the last thing that happens. Now the next time the child sees the candle, the cortex is in possession of the secondary paths which the first experience left behind. S2, having been stimulated immediately after S', drained the latter, and now S' discharges into S2 before the discharge of M ‘ has had time to occur; in other words, the sight of the flame suggests the idea of the burn before it pro­ duces its own natural reflex effects. T h e result is an inhibition of M 1, or an overtaking of it before it is completed, by M 2.—T h e char­ acteristic physiological feature in all these acquired systems of paths lies in the fact that the new-formed sensory irradiations keep draining things forwards, and so breaking up the ‘motor circles’ which would otherwise accrue. But, even apart from catalepsy, we see the ‘motor circle’ every now and then come back. An infant learning to execute a simple movement at will, without regard to other movements beyond it, keeps repeating it till tired. How re­

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iteratively they babble each new-learned word! A nd we adults often catch ourselves reiterating some meaningless word over and over again, if by chance we once begin to utter it ‘absent-mindedly,’ that is, without thinking of any ulterior train of words to which it may belong. One more observation before closing these already too protracted physiological speculations. Already (Vol. I, p. 79) I have tried to shadow forth a reason why collateral innervation should establish itself after loss of brain-tissue, and why incoming stimuli should find their way out again, after an interval, by their former paths. I can now explain this a little better. Let S' be the dog’s hearingcentre when he receives the command ‘Give your paw.’ T h is used to discharge into the motor centre M \ of whose discharge S2 repre­ sents the kinaesthetic effect; but now M ‘ has been destroyed by an operation, so that S' discharges as it can, into other movements of the body, whimpering, raising the wrong paw, etc. T h e kinaesthetic

centre S2 meanwhile has been awakened by the order S', and the poor anim al’s mind tingles with expectation and desire of certain incoming sensations which are entirely at variance with those which the really executed movements give. None of the latter sensations arouse a ‘motor circle,’ for they are displeasing and inhibitory. But when, by random accident, S1 and S2 do discharge into a path lead­ ing through M 2, by which the paw is again given, and S2 is excited at last from without as well as from within, there are no inhibitions and the ‘motor circle’ is formed: S' discharges into M2 over and over again, and the path from the one spot to the other is so much deepened that at last it becomes organized as the regular channel of efflux when S' is aroused. No other path has a chance of being organized in like degree.

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Chapter X X V II Hypnotism

M O D E S O F O P E R A T IN G , A N D S U S C E P T I B I L I T Y

T h e ‘hypnotic,’ ‘mesmeric,’ or ‘magnetic’ trance can be induced in various ways, each operator having his pet method. T h e simplest one is to leave the subject seated by himself, telling him that if he close his eyes and relax his muscles and, as far as possible, think of vacancy, in a few minutes he w ill ‘go off.’ On returning in ten minutes you may find him effectually hypnotized. Braid used to make his subjects look at a bright button held near their forehead until their eyes spontaneously closed. T h e older mesmerists made ‘passes’ in a downward direction over the face and body, but with­ out contact. Stroking the skin of the head, face, arms and hands, especially that of the region round the brows and eyes, w ill have the same effect. Staring into the eyes of the subject until the latter droop; making him listen to a watch’s ticking; or simply making him close his eyes for a minute whilst you describe to him the feel­ ing of falling into sleep, ‘talk sleep’ to him, are equally efficacious methods in the hands of some operators; whilst with trained sub­ jects any method whatever from which they have been led by pre­ vious suggestion to expect results w ill be successful.1 T h e touching l

I t sh o u ld b e said th a t th e m e th o d s o f le a v in g th e p a tie n t to h im se lf, a n d th a t o f

th e sim p le v e r b a l su ggestio n o f sleep (th e so -ca lle d N a n cy m e th o d in tro d u ced b y D r . L i i b e a u lt o f th a t p la ce ), seem , w h e re v e r a p p lic a b le , to b e th e b est, as th e y e n ta il n o n e o f th e a fte r-in c o n v e n ie n c e s w h ic h o c c a sio n a lly fo llo w u p o n s tra in in g his eyes. A n e w p a tie n t sh o u ld n o t b e p u t th ro u g h a g re a t v a rie ty o f d iffe re n t su ggestion s in im m e d ia te su ccession . H e s h o u ld b e w a k e d u p fro m tim e to tim e , a n d th en re h y p n o -

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of an object which they are told has been ‘magnetized,’ the drink­ ing of ‘magnetized’ water, the reception of a letter ordering them to sleep, etc., are means which have been frequently employed. Recently M. Liégeois has hypnotized some of his subjects at a dis­ tance of l J kilometres by giving them an intimation to that effect through a telephone. W ith some subjects, if you tell them in ad­ vance that at a certain hour of a certain day they w ill become en­ tranced, the prophecy is fulfilled. Certain hysterical patients are immediately thrown into hypnotic catalepsy by any violent sensa­ tion, such as a blow on a gong or the flashing of an intense light in their eyes. Pressure on certain parts of the body (called zones hypnogènes by M. Pitres) rapidly produces hypnotic sleep in some hysterics. These regions, which differ in different subjects, are oftenest found on the forehead and about the root of the thumbs. Finally, persons in ordinary sleep may be transferred into the hyp­ notic condition by verbal intimation or contact, performed so gently as not to wake them up. Some operators appear to be more successful than others in get­ ting control of their subjects. I am informed that Mr. Gurney (who made valuable contributions to the theory of hypnotism) was never able himself to hypnotize, and had to use for his observations the subjects of others. On the other hand, Dr. Liébeault claims that he hypnotizes 92 per cent of all comers, and Wetterstrand in Stock­ holm says that amongst 718 persons there proved to be only 19 whom he failed to influence. Some of this disparity is unquestion­ ably due to differences in the personal ‘authority’ of the operator, for the prime condition of success is that the subject should confi­ dently expect to be entranced. Much also depends on the operator’s tact in interpreting the physiognomy of his subjects, so as to give the right commands, and ‘crowd it on’ to the subject, at just the propitious moments. These conditions account for the fact that operators grow more successful the more they operate. Bernheim says that whoever does not hypnotize 80 per cent of the persons tized to a v o id m e n ta l co n fu sio n a n d e x c ite m e n t. B e fo re fin a lly w a k in g a su b je c t you sh o u ld u n d o w h a te v e r d e lu s iv e su ggestio n s y o u m ay h a v e im p la n te d in h im , b y t e ll­ in g h im th a t th e y a re a ll go n e, etc., a n d th a t yo u a re n o w g o in g to restore h im to his n a tu ra l state. H e a d a ch e , la n g u o r, etc., w h ic h so m etim es fo llo w th e first tra n ce o r tw o, m u st b e b a n ish e d a t th e o u tse t, b y th e o p e ra to r stro n g ly a ssu rin g th e su b je ct th a t su ch th in g s n e v e r co m e fro m h y p n o tism , th a t th e su b je c t m u s t n o t h a v e th em , etc.

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whom he tries has not yet learned to operate as he should. W hether certain operators have over and above this a peculiar ‘magnetic power’ is a question which I leave at present undecided.2 Children under three or four, and insane persons, especially idiots, are un­ usually hard to hypnotize. T h is seems due to the impossibility of getting them to fix their attention continuously on the idea of the coming trance. A ll ages above infancy are probably equally hypnotizable, as are all races and both sexes. A certain amount of mental training, sufficient to aid concentration of the attention, seems a favorable condition, and so does a certain momentary indifference or passivity as to the result. Native strength or weakness of ‘w ill’ have absolutely nothing to do with the matter. Frequent trances enormously increase the susceptibility of a subject, and many who resist at first succumb after several trials. Dr. M oll says he has more than once succeeded after forty fruitless attempts. Some experts are of the opinion that everyone is hypnotizable essentially, the only difficulty being the more habitual presence in some individu­ als of hindering mental preoccupations, which, however, may sud­ denly at some moment be removed. T h e trance may be dispelled instantaneously by saying in a rous­ ing voice, ‘A ll right, wake up!’ or words of similar purport. A t the Salpêtrière they awaken subjects by blowing on their eyelids. U p­ ward passes have an awakening effect; sprinkling cold water ditto. A nything w ill awaken a patient who expects to be awakened by that thing. T e ll him that he w ill wake after counting five, and he w ill do so. T e ll him to waken in five minutes, and he is very likely to do so punctually, even though he interrupt thereby some excit­ ing histrionic performance which you may have suggested.—As Dr. M oll says, any theory which pretends to explain the physiology of the hypnotic state must keep account of the fact that so simple a thing as hearing the word ‘wake!’ w ill end it. T H E O R IE S A B O U T T H E H Y P N O T IC S T A T E

T h e intim ate nature of the hypnotic condition, when once in­ duced, can hardly be said to be understood. W ithout entering in­ to details of controversy, one may say that three main opinions 2

C e r ta in facts w o u ld seem to p o in t th a t w ay . C f., e.g., th e case o f th e m an d escrib e d

b y P. D e sp in e : É t u d e s c i e n t i f i q u e s u r le s o m n a m b u li s m e , p . 286 ff.

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have been held concerning it, which we may call respectively the theories of 1. Anim al magnetism; 2. of Neurosis; and finally of 3. Suggestion. According to the animal-magnetism theory there is a direct pas­ sage of force from the operator to the subject, whereby the latter becomes the former’s puppet. T h is theory is nowadays given up as regards all the ordinary hypnotic phenomena, and is only held to by some persons as an explanation of a few effects exceptionally met with. According to the neurosis-theory, the hypnotic state is a peculiar pathological condition into which certain predisposed patients fall, and in which special physical agents have the power of provoking special symptoms, quite apart from the subjects mentally expect­ ing the effect. Professor Charcot and his colleagues at the Salpetriere hospital admit that this condition is rarely found in typical form. T h ey call it then le grand hypnotism e, and say that it accom­ panies the disease hystero-epilepsy. If a patient subject to this sort of hypnotism hear a sudden loud noise, or look at a bright light un­ expectedly, she falls into the cataleptic trance. Her limbs and body offer no resistance to movements communicated to them, but re­ tain permanently the attitudes impressed. T h e eyes are staring, there is insensibility to pain, etc., etc. If the eyelids be forcibly closed, the cataleptic gives place to the lethargic condition, charac­ terized by apparent abolition of consciousness, and absolute mus­ cular relaxation except where the muscles are kneaded or the ten­ dons struck by the operator’s hand, or certain nerve-trunks are pressed upon. T h en the muscles in question, or those supplied by the same nerve-trunk enter into a more or less steadfast tonic con­ traction. Charcot calls this symptom by the name of neuro-muscular hyperexcitability. T h e lethargic state may be primarily brought on by fixedly looking at anything, or by pressure on the closed eyeballs. Friction on the top of the head w ill make the patient pass from either of the two preceding conditions into the som nam bulic state, in which she is alert, talkative, and susceptible to all the suggestions of the operator. T h e somnambulic state may also be induced pri­ marily, by fixedly looking at a small object. In this state the accu­ rately lim ited muscular contractions characteristic of lethargy do

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not follow upon the above-described manipulations, but instead of them there is a tendency to rigidity of entire regions of the body, which may upon occasion develop into general tetanus, and which is brought about by gently touching the skin or blowing upon it. M. Charcot calls this by the name of cutaneo-muscular hyperexcita­ bility. Many other symptoms, supposed by their observers to be inde­ pendent of mental expectation, are described, of which I only w ill mention the more interesting. Opening the eyes of a patient in lethargy causes her to pass into catalepsy. If one eye only be opened, the corresponding half of the body becomes cataleptic, whilst the other half remains in lethargy. Similarly, rubbing one side of the head may result in a patient becoming hemilethargic or hemicataleptic and hemisomnambulic. T h e approach of a magnet (or cer­ tain metals) to the skin causes these half-states (and many others) to be transferred to the opposite sides. Autom atic repetition of every sound heard (‘echolalia ) is said to be produced by pressure on the lower cervical vertebrae or on the epigastrium. A phasia is brought about by rubbing the head over the region of the speechcentre. Pressure behind the occiput determines m ovem ents of im i­ tation. Heidenhain describes a number of curious automatic ten­ dencies to movement, which are brought about by stroking various portions of the vertebral column. Certain other symptoms have been frequently noticed, such as a flushed face and cold hands, bril­ liant and congested eyes, dilated pupils. Dilated retinal vessels and spasm of the accommodation are also reported. T h e theory of Suggestion denies that there is any special hypnot­ ic state worthy of the name of trance or neurosis. A ll the symptoms

above described, as well as those to be described hereafter, are re­ sults of that mental susceptibility which we all to some degree possess, of yielding assent to outward suggestion, of affirming what we strongly conceive, and of acting in accordance with what we are made to expect. T h e bodily symptoms of the Salpêtrière patients are all of them results of expectation and training. T h e first pa­ tients accidentally did certain things which their doctors thought typical and caused to be repeated. T h e subsequent subjects ‘caught on’ and followed the established tradition. In proof of this the fact is urged that the classical three stages and their grouped symptoms have only been reported as spontaneously occurring, so far, at the

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Salpetriere, though they may be superinduced by deliberate sug­ gestion, in patients anywhere found. T h e ocular symptoms, the flushed face, accelerated breathing, etc., are said not to be symp­ toms of the passage into the hypnotic state as such, but merely con­ sequences of the strain on the eyes when the method of looking at a bright object is used. T h ey are absent in the subjects at Nancy, where simple verbal suggestion is employed. T h e various reflex effects (aphasia, echolalia, imitation, etc.) are but habits induced by the influence of the operator, who unconsciously urges the sub­ ject into the direction in which he would prefer to have him go. T h e influence of the magnet, the opposite effects of upward and downward passes, etc., are similarly explained. Even that sleepy and inert condition, the advent of which seems to be the prime con­ dition of farther symptoms being developed, is said to be merely due to the fact that the mind expects it to come; whilst its influence on the other symptoms is not physiological, so to speak, but psychi­ cal, its own easy realization by suggestion simply encouraging the subject to expect that ulterior suggestions w ill be realized with equal ease. T h e radical defenders of the suggestion-theory are thus led to deny the very existence of the hypnotic state, in the sense of a peculiar trance-like condition which deprives the patient of spon­ taneity and makes him passive to suggestion from without. T h e trance itself is only one of the suggestions, and many subjects in fact can be made to exhibit the other hypnotic phenomena without the preliminary induction of this one. T h e theory of suggestion may be said to be quite triumphant at the present day over the neurosis-theory as held at the Salpetriere, with its three states, and its definite symptoms supposed to be pro­ duced by physical agents apart from co-operation of the subject’s mind. But it is one thing to say this, and it is quite another thing to say that there is no peculiar physiological condition whatever worthy of the name of hypnotic trance, no peculiar state of nervous equilibrium , ‘hypotaxy,’ ‘dissociation,’ or whatever you please to call it, during which the subject’s susceptibility to outward sugges­ tion is greater than at ordinary times. A ll the facts seem to prove that, until this trance-like state is assumed by the patient, sugges­ tion produces very insignificant results, but that, when it is once assumed, there are no limits to suggestion’s power. T h e state in question has many affinities with ordinary sleep. It is probable, in

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fact, that we all pass through it transiently whenever we fall asleep; and one might most naturally describe the usual relation of opera­ tor and subject by saying that the former keeps the latter suspended between waking and sleeping by talking to him enough to keep his slumber from growing profound, and yet not in such a way as to wake him up. A hypnotized patient, left to him self, w ill either fall sound asleep or wake up entirely. T h e difficulty in hypnotizing refractory persons is that of catching them at the right moment of transition and making it permanent. Fixing the eyes and relaxing the muscles of the body produce the hypnotic state just as they facilitate the advent of sleep. T h e first stages of ordinary sleep are characterized by a peculiar dispersed attitude of the attention. Images come before consciousness which are entirely incongruous with our ordinary beliefs and habits of thought. T h e latter either vanish altogether or withdraw, as it were, inertly into the back­ ground of the mind, and let the incongruous images reign alone. These images acquire, moreover, an exceptional vivacity; they be­ come first ‘hypnagogic hallucinations,’ and then, as the sleep grows deeper, dreams. Now the ‘mono-ideism,’ or else the impotency and failure to ‘rally’ on the part of the background-ideas, which thus characterize somnolescence, are unquestionably the result of a special physiological change occurring in the brain at that time. Just so that similar mono-ideism, or dissociation of the reigning fancy from those other thoughts which might possibly act as its ‘reductives,’ which characterize the hypnotic consciousness, must equally be due to a special cerebral change. T h e term ‘hypnotic trance,’ which I employ, tells us nothing of what the change is, but it marks the fact that it exists, and is consequently a useful expres­ sion. T h e great vivacity of the hypnotic images (as gauged by their motor effects), the oblivion of them when normal life is resumed, the abrupt awakening, the recollection of them again in subse­ quent trances, the anaesthesia and hyperaesthesia which are so frequent, all point away from our simple waking credulity and ‘suggestibility’ as the type by which the phenomena are to be in­ terpreted, and make us look rather towards sleep and dreaming, or towards those deeper alterations of the personality known as auto­ matism, double consciousness, or ‘second’ personality for the true analogues of the hypnotic trance.3 Even the best hypnotic subjects 3

T h e sta te is n o t i d e n t ic a l w ith sleep, h o w ev e r a n a lo g o u s in ce rta in respects. T h e

lig h te r stages o f it, p a r tic u la r ly , d iffe r fro m sleep a n d d re a m in g , in asm u ch as th ey a re

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pass through life without anyone suspecting them to possess such a remarkable susceptibility, until by deliberate experiment it is made manifest. T h e operator fixes their eyes or their attention a short time to develop the propitious phase, holds them in it by his talk, and the state being there, makes them the puppets of all his suggestions. But no ordinary suggestions of waking life ever took such control of their mind. T h e suggestion-theory may therefore be approved as correct, provided we grant the trance-state as its prerequisite. T h e three

states of Charcot, the strange reflexes of Heidenhain, and all the other bodily phenomena which have been called direct conse­ quences of the trance-state itself, are not such. T h ey are products of suggestion, the trance-state having no particular outward symp­ toms of its own; but without the trance-state there, those particular suggestions could never have been successfully made.4 TH E SYM PTO M S O F TH E TRAN CE

T h is accounts for the altogether indefinite array of symptoms which have been gathered together as characteristic of the hypnotic state. T h e law of habit dominates hypnotic subjects even more than it does waking ones. Any sort of personal peculiarity, any trick accidentally fallen into in the first instance by some one subject, may, by attracting attention, become stereotyped, serve as a pattern for imitation, and figure as the type of a school. T h e first subject trains the operator, the operator trains the succeeding subjects, all of them in perfect good faith conspiring together to evolve a per­ fectly arbitrary result. W ith the extraordinary perspicacity and subtlety of perception which subjects often display for all that con­ cerns the operator with whom they are en rapport, it is hard to keep them ignorant of anything which he expects. T h u s it happens that c h a ra cte rize d a lm o st e x c lu s iv e ly b y m u s c u la r in a b ilitie s a n d co m p u lsio n s, w h ic h a re n o t n o ted in o rd in a r y so m n olescen ce, an d th e m in d , w h ic h is co n fu sed in som n olescen ce, m ay b e q u ite c le a rly con sciou s, in th e lig h te r state o f tra n ce, o f a ll t h a t is g o in g on . 4

T h e w o rd ‘su g g e stio n ’ h as b een b a n d ie d a b o u t too m u ch as if it e x p la in e d a ll m ys­

teries: W h e n th e su b je c t o b eys it is b y reason o f th e ‘o p e r a to r ’s s u g g e stio n ’; w h e n h e p roves re fr a c to ry it is in co n se q u e n ce o f an ‘a u to -su g g e stio n ’ w h ich h e has m ad e to h im ­ self, etc., etc. W h a t e x p la in s e v e ry th in g e x p la in s n o th in g ; a n d it m u st b e re m em b e re d th a t w h a t n e e d s e x p la n a tio n h e re is th e fact th a t in a c e rta in co n d itio n o f th e su b je c t su ggestio n s o p e ra te as th ey d o a t n o o t h e r t i m e ; th a t th ro u g h th em fu n ctio n s are a ffected w h ic h o r d in a r ily e lu d e th e a ctio n o f th e w a k in g w ill; a n d th a t u s u a lly a ll this h a p p e n s in a co n d itio n o f w h ic h no a fte r-m e m o ry rem ain s.

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one easily verifies on new subjects what one has already seen on old ones, or any desired symptom of which one may have heard or read. T h e symptoms earliest observed by writers were all thought to be typical. But with the m ultiplication of observed phenomena, the importance of most particular symptoms as marks of the state has diminished. T h is lightens very much our own immediate task. Proceeding to enumerate the symptoms of the hypnotic trance, I may confine myself to those which are intrinsically interesting, or which differ considerably from the normal functions of man. First of all comes amnesia. In the earlier stages of hypnotism the patient remembers what has happened, but with successive sittings he sinks into a deeper condition, which is commonly followed by complete loss of memory. He may have been led through the live­ liest hallucinations and dramatic performances, and have exhibited the intensest apparent emotion, but on waking he can recall noth­ ing at all. T h e same thing happens on waking from sleep in the midst of a dream—it quickly eludes recall. But just as we may be rem inded of it, or of parts of it, by meeting persons or objects which figured therein, so on being adroitly prompted, the hypnotic pa­ tient w ill often remember what happened in his trance. One cause of the forgetfulness seems to be the disconnection of the trance performances with the system of waking ideas. Memory requires a continuous train of association. M. Delboeuf, reasoning in this way, woke his subjects in the midst of an action begun during trance (washing the hands, e.g.), and found that they then remem­ bered the trance. T h e act in question bridged over the two states. But one can often make them remember by merely telling them during the trance that they shall remember. Acts of one trance, moreover, are usually recalled, either spontaneously or at com­ mand, during another trance, provided that the contents of the two trances be not m utually incompatible. Suggestibility. T h e patient believes everything which his hypnotizer tells him, and does everything which the latter commands. Even results over which the w ill has normally no control, such as sneezing, secretion, reddening and growing pale, alterations of tem­ perature and heart-beat, menstruation, action of the bowels, etc., may take place in consequence of the operator’s firm assertions during the hypnotic trance, and the resulting conviction on the part of the subject, that the effects will occur. Since almost all the

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phenomena yet to be described are effects of this heightened sug­ gestibility, I w ill say no more under the general head, but proceed to illustrate the peculiarity in detail. Effects on the voluntary muscles seem to be those most easily got; and the ordinary routine of hypnotizing consists in provoking them first. T e ll the patient that he cannot open his eyes or his mouth, cannot unclasp his hands or lower his raised arm, cannot rise from his seat, or pick up a certain object from the floor, and he will be immediately smitten with absolute impotence in these re­ gards. T h e effect here is generally due to the involuntary contrac­ tion of antagonizing muscles. But one can equally well suggest paralysis, of an arm for example, in which case it w ill hang perfect­ ly placid by the subject’s side. Cataleptic and tetanic rigidity are easily produced by suggestion, aided by handling the parts. One of the favorite shows at public exhibitions is that of a subject stretched stiff as a board with his head on one chair and his heels on another. T h e cataleptic retention of impressed attitudes differs from voluntary assumption of the same attitude. An arm volun­ tarily held out straight will drop from fatigue after a quarter of an hour at the utmost, and before it falls the agent’s distress will be made manifest by oscillations in the arm, disturbances in the breathing, etc. But Charcot has shown that an arm held out in hypnotic catalepsy, though it may as soon descend, yet does so slow­ ly and with no accompanying vibration, whilst the breathing remains entirely calm. He rightly points out that this shows a pro­ found physiological change, and is proof positive against simula­ tion, as far as this symptom is concerned. A cataleptic attitude, moreover, may be held for many hours.—Sometimes an expressive attitude, clenching of the fist, contraction of the brows, will gradu­ ally set up a sympathetic action of the other muscles of the body, so that at last a tableau vivant of fear, anger, disdain, prayer, or other emotional condition, is produced with rare perfection. T h is effect would seem to be due to the suggestion of the mental state by the first contraction. Stammering, aphasia, or inability to utter cer­ tain words, pronounce certain letters, are readily producible by suggestion. H allucinations of all the senses and delusions of every conceiv­ able kind can be easily suggested to good subjects. T h e emotional effects are then often so lively, and the pantomimic display so ex­ pressive, that it is hard not to believe in a certain ‘psychic hypefr-

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excitability,’ as one of the concomitants of the hypnotic condition. Y ou can make the subject think that he is freezing or burning, itch­ ing or covered with dirt, or wet; you can make him eat a potato for a peach, or drink a cup of vinegar for a glass of champagne;5 ammonia will smell to him like cologne water; a chair w ill be a lion, a broom-stick a beautiful woman, a noise in the street w ill be an orchestral music, etc., etc., with no lim it except your powers of invention and the patience of the lookers on.6 Illusions and hal­ lucinations form the pièces de résistance at public exhibitions. T h e comic effect is at its clim ax when it is successfully suggested to the subject that his personality is changed into that of a baby, of a street boy, of a young lady dressing for a party, of a stump orator, or of Napoleon the Great. He may even be transformed into a beast, or an inanimate thing like a chair or a carpet, and in every case w ill act out all the details of the part with a sincerity and in­ tensity seldom seen at the theatre. T h e excellence of the perfor­ mance is in these cases the best reply to the suspicion that the sub­ ject may be shamming—so skilful a shammer must long since have found his true function in life upon the stage. Hallucinations and histrionic delusions generally go with a certain depth of the trance, and are followed by complete forgetfulness. T h e subject awakens from them at the command of the operator with a sudden start of surprise, and may seem for a while a little dazed. Subjects in this condition w ill receive and execute suggestions of crime, and act out a theft, forgery, arson, or murder. A girl will believe that she is married to her hypnotizer, etc. It is unfair, how­ ever, to say that in these cases the subject is a pure puppet with no spontaneity. His spontaneity is certainly not in abeyance so far as things go which are harmoniously associated with the suggestion given him. He takes the text from his operator; but he may amplify and develop it enormously as he acts it out. His spontaneity is lost only for those systems of ideas which conflict with the suggested 5 A co m p le te fit o f d ru n k e n n ess m ay b e th e co n seq u en ce o f th e su ggested c h a m ­ p a g n e . It is even said th a t re a l d ru n k e n n ess h as b een cu re d b y su ggestio n . 6 T h e su ggested h a llu c in a tio n m ay b e fo llo w e d b y a n e g a tiv e a fte r-im a g e , ju s t as if it w e re a re a l o b je c t. T h is can b e v ery e a sily v erified w ith th e su ggested h a llu c i­ n a tio n o f a c o lo red cross on a sh eet o f w h ite p a p e r. T h e su b je ct, o n tu rn in g to a n ­ o t h e r sh eet o f p a p e r, w ill see a cross o f th e c o m p le m e n ta r y co lo r. H a llu c in a tio n s h a v e b e en sh ow n b y M M . B in e t a n d F éré to b e d o u b le d b y a p rism o r m irro r, m a g n i­ fied b y a len s, an d in m a n y o th e r w ays to b e h a v e o p tic a lly lik e veal o b je cts. T h e s e p o in ts h a v e b een discu ssed a lre a d y on p . 771 ff.

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delusion. T h e latter is thus ‘systematized’ ; the rest of consciousness is shut off, excluded, dissociated from it. In extreme cases the rest of the mind would seem to be actually abolished and the hypnotic subject to be literally a changed personality, a being in one of those ‘second’ states which we studied in Chapter X. But the reign of the delusion is often not as absolute as this. If the thing suggested be too intimately repugnant, the subject may strenuously resist and get nervously excited in consequence, even to the point of having an hysterical attack. T h e conflicting ideas slumber in the back­ ground and merely permit those in the foreground to have their way until a real emergency arises; then they assert their rights. As M. Delboeuf says, the subject surrenders himself good-naturedly to the performance, stabs with the pasteboard dagger you give him because he knows what it is, and fires off the pistol because he knows it has no ball; but for a real murder he would not be your man. It is undoubtedly true that subjects are often well aware that they are acting a part. T h ey know that what they do is absurd. T h ey know that the hallucination which they see, describe, and act upon, is not really there. T h ey may laugh at themselves; and they always recognize the abnormality of their state when asked about it, and call it ‘sleep.’ One often notices a sort of mocking smile upon them, as if they were playing a comedy, and they may even say on ‘coming to’ that they were shamming all the while. These facts have misled ultra-skeptical people so far as to make them doubt the genuineness of any hypnotic phenomena at all. But, save the consciousness of ‘sleep,’ they do not occur in the deeper condi­ tions; and when they do occur they are only a natural consequence of the fact that the ‘monoideism’ is incomplete. T h e backgroundthoughts still exist, and have the power of com m ent on the sugges­ tions, but no power to inhibit their motor and associative effects. A similar condition is frequent enough in the waking state, when an impulse carries us away and our ‘w ill’ looks on wonderingly like an impotent spectator. These ‘shammers’ continue to sham in just the same way, every new time you hypnotize them, until at last they are forced to admit that if shamming there be, it is something very different from the free voluntary shamming of waking hours. R eal sensations may be abolished as well as false ones suggested. Legs and breasts may be amputated, children born, teeth extracted, in short the most painful experiences undergone, with no other anaesthetic than the hypnotizer’s assurance that no pain shall be

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felt. Similarly morbid pains may be annihilated, neuralgias, tooth­ aches, rheumatisms cured. T h e sensation of hunger has thus been abolished, so that a patient took no nourishment for fourteen days. T h e most interesting of these suggested anaesthesias are those lim ­ ited to certain objects of perception. T h u s a subject may be made blind to a certain person and to him alone, or deaf to certain words but to no others.7 In this case the anaesthesia (or negative hallucina­ tion, as it has been called) is apt to become systematized. Other things related to the person to whom one has been made blind may also be shut out of consciousness. W hat he says is not heard, his contact is not felt, objects which he takes from his pocket are not seen, etc. Objects which he screens are seen as if he were transpar­ ent. Facts about him are forgotten, his name is not recognized when pronounced. O f course there is great variety in the completeness of this systematic extension of the suggested anaesthesia, but one may say that some tendency to it always exists. W hen one of the subjects’ own limbs is made anaesthetic, for example, memories as well as sensations of its movements often seem to depart. A n in­ teresting degree of the phenomenon is found in the case related by M. Binet of a subject to whom it was suggested that a certain M. C. was invisible. She still saw M. C., but saw him as a stranger, having lost the memory of his name and his existence.—N othing is easier than to make subjects forget their own name and condition in life. It is one of the suggestions which most promptly succeed, even with quite fresh ones. A systematized amnesia of certain periods of one’s life may also be suggested, the subject placed, for instance, where he was a decade ago with the intervening years obliterated from his mind. T h e mental condition which accompanies these systematized anaesthesias and amnesias is a very curious one. T h e anaesthesia is not a genuine sensorial one, for if you make a real red cross (say) on a sheet of white paper invisible to an hypnotic subject, and yet cause him to look fixedly at a dot on the paper on or near the cross, he will, on transferring his eye to a blank sheet, see a bluish-green after-image of the cross. T h is proves that it has impressed his sen­ sibility. H e has felt it, but not perceived it. H e has actively ignored it, refused to recognize it, as it were. Another experiment proves 7 M . L iég eo is e x p la in s th e co m m o n e x h ib itio n - tr ic k o f m a k in g th e su b je c t u n a b le to g e t h is arm s in to his coat-sleeves a g a in a fte r h e h as tak en h is coat o ff, b y an anaesthesia to th e n ecessary pa rts o f th e coat.

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that he must distinguish it first in order thus to ignore it. Make a stroke on paper or blackboard, and tell the subject it is not there, and he w ill see nothing but the clean paper or board. Next, he not looking, surround the original stroke with other strokes exactly like it, and ask him what he sees. He w ill point out one by one all the new strokes and omit the original one every time, no matter how numerous the new strokes may be, or in what order they are arranged. Similarly, if the original single stroke to which he is blind be d ou bled by a prism of sixteen degrees placed before one of his eyes (both being kept open), he w ill say that he now sees one stroke, and point in the direction in which the image seen through the prism lies. Obviously, then, he is not blind to the kind of stroke in the least. He is blind only to one individual stroke of that kind in a par­ ticular position on the board or paper,—that is, to a particular com­ plex object; and, paradoxical as it may seem to say so, he must distinguish it with great accuracy from others like it, in order to re­ main blind to it when the others are brought near. H e ‘apperceives’ it, as a preliminary to not seeing it at all! How to conceive of this state of mind is not easy. It would be much simpler to understand the process, if adding new strokes made the first one visible. T here would then be two different objects apperceived as totals,—paper with one stroke, paper with two strokes; and, blind to the former, he would see all that was in the latter, because he would have ap­ perceived it as a different total in the first instance. A process of this sort occurs sometimes (not always) when the new strokes, instead of being mere repetitions of the original one, are lines which combine with it into a total object, say a human face. T h e subject of the trance then may regain his sight of the line to which he had previously been blind, by seeing it as part of the face. W hen by a prism before one eye a previously invisible line has been made visible to that eye, and the other eye is closed or screened, its closure makes no difference; the line still remains visible. But if then the prism is removed, the line w ill disappear even to the eye which a moment ago saw it, and both eyes w ill re­ vert to their original blind state. W e have, then, to deal in these cases neither with a sensorial anaesthesia, nor with a mere failure to notice, but with something much more complex; namely, an active counting out and positive

T h e P rin ciples of Psychology

exclusion of certain objects. It is as when one ‘cuts’ an acquaint­ ance, ‘ignores’ a claim, or ‘refuses to be influenced’ by a considera­ tion of whose existence one remains aware. T h u s a lover of Nature in Am erica finds himself able to overlook and ignore entirely the board- and rail-fences and general roadside raggedness, and revel in the beauty and picturesqueness of the other elements of the landscape, whilst to a newly-arrived European the fences are so aggressively present as to spoil enjoyment. Messrs. Gurney, Janet, and Binet have shown that the ignored elements are preserved in a split-off portion of the subjects’ con­ sciousness which can be tapped in certain ways, and made to give an account of itself (see Vol. I, p. 206). Hypercesthesia of the senses is as common a symptom as anaes­ thesia. On the skin two points can be discriminated at less than the normal distance. T h e sense of touch is so delicate that (as M. Delboeuf informs me) a subject after simply poising on her finger-tips a blank card drawn from a pack of similar ones can pick it out from the pack again by its ‘weight.’ W e approach here the line where, to many persons, it seems as if something more than the ordinary senses, however sharpened, were required in explanation. I have seen a coin from the operator’s pocket repeatedly picked out by the subject from a heap of twenty others,8 by its greater ‘weight’ in the subject’s language.—Auditory hyperaesthesia may enable a sub­ ject to hear a watch tick, or his operator speak, in a distant room.— One of the most extraordinary examples of visual hyperaesthesia is that reported by Bergson, in which a subject who seemed to be reading through the back of a book held and looked at by the op­ erator, was really proved to be reading the image of the page re­ flected on the latter’s cornea. T h e same subject was able to dis­ criminate with the naked eye details in a microscopic preparation. Such cases of ‘hyperaesthesia of vision’ as that reported by T aguet and Sauvaire, where subjects could see things mirrored by non­ reflecting bodies, or through opaque pasteboard, would seem rath­ er to belong to ‘psychical research’ than to the present category.— T h e ordinary test of visual hyperacuteness in hypnotism is the fa­ vorite trick of giving a subject the hallucination of a picture on a blank sheet of card board, and then m ixing the latter with a lot of 8

P re ca u tio n s b e in g tak en a g a in st d ifferen ces o f te m p e ra tu re an d o th e r gro u n d s

o f su ggestio n .

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other similar sheets. T h e subject w ill always find the picture on the original sheet again, and recognize infallibly if it has been turned over, or upside down, although the bystanders have to resort to artifice to identify it again. T h e subject notes peculiarities on the card, too small for waking observation to detect.9 If it be said that the spectators guide him by their manner, their breathing, etc., that is only another proof of his hyperaesthesia; for he undoubtedly is conscious of subtler personal indications (of his operator’s men­ tal states especially) than he could notice in his waking state. Ex­ amples of this are found in the so-called ‘magnetic rapport.’ T h is is a name for the fact that in deep trance, or in lighter trance when­ ever the suggestion is made, the subject is deaf and blind to every­ one but the operator or those spectators to whom the latter express­ ly awakens his senses. T h e most violent appeals from anyone else are for him as if non-existent, whilst he obeys the faintest signals on the part of his hypnotizer. If in catalepsy, his limbs will retain their attitude only when the operator moves them; when others move them they fall down, etc. A more remarkable fact still is that the patient w ill often answer anyone whom his operator touches, or at whom he even points his finger, in however concealed a man­ ner. A ll which is rationally explicable by expectation and sugges­ tion, if only it be farther admitted that his senses are acutely sharp­ ened for all the operator’s movements.10 He often shows great anxiety and restlessness if the latter is out of the room. A favorite ex­ periment of Mr. E. G urney’s was to put the subject’s hands through an opaque screen, and cause the operator to point at one finger. T h a t finger presently grew insensible or rigid. A bystander point­ ing simultaneously at another finger, never made that insensible or rigid. O f course the elective rapport with their operator had been developed in these trained subjects during the hypnotic state, but the phenomenon then occurred in some of them during the waking state, even when their consciousness was absorbed in ani­ 9

I t sh o u ld b e sa id , h o w e v e r, th a t th e b y sta n d e r's a b ilit y to d isc rim in a te u n m a rk e d

cards an d sheets o f p a p e r from each o th e r is m u ch g re a te r th an o n e w o u ld n a tu r a lly su ppo se. 10 1 m u st re p e a t, h o w ev e r, th a t w e are h e re on th e v erg e o f p o ssib ly u n k n o w n forces a n d m odes o f co m m u n ic a tio n . H y p n a tiz a tio n a t a d ista n ce , w ith no g ro u n d s fo r e x p e c ta tio n on th e su b je ct's p a rt th a t it w as to b e trie d , seem s p r e tty w e ll e sta b ­ lish e d in c e rta in v e r y ra re cases. See in g e n e ra l, fo r in fo r m a tio n o n these m atte rs, th e P r o c e e d in g s o f t h e S o c ie ty f o r P s y c h ic a l R e s e a r c h . p a s s im .

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mated conversation with a fourth party.11 I confess that when I saw these experiments I was impressed with the necessity for admit­ ting between the emanations from different people differences for which we have no name, and a discriminative sensibility for them of the nature of which we can form no clear conception, but which seems to be developed in certain subjects by the hypnotic trance.—T h e enigmatic reports of the effect of magnets and metals, even if they be due, as many contend, to unintentional suggestion on the operator’s part, certainly involve hyperaesthetic perception, for the operator seeks as well as possible to conceal the moment when the magnet is brought into play, and yet the subject not only finds out that moment in a way difficult to understand, but may de­ velop effects which (in the first instance certainly) the operator did not expect to find. Unilateral contractures, movements, paralyses, hallucinations, etc., are made to pass to the other side of the body, hallucinations to disappear, or to change to the complementary color, suggested emotions to pass into their opposites, etc. Many Italian observations agree with the French ones; and the upshot is that if unconscious suggestion lie at the bottom of this matter, the patients show an enormously exalted power of divining what it is they are expected to do. T h is hyperaesthetic perception is what concerns us now.12 Its m odus cannot yet be said to be defined. Changes in the nutrition of the tissues may be produced by sug­ gestion. These effects lead into therapeutics—a subject which I do not propose to treat of here. But I may say that there seems no rea­ sonable ground for doubting that in certain chosen subjects the suggestion of a congestion, a burn, a blister, a raised papule, or a bleeding from the nose or skin, may produce the effect. Messrs. Beaunis, Berjon, Bernheim, Bourru, Burot, Charcot, Delbœuf, Dum ontpallier, Focachon, Forel, Jendrâssik, Krafft-Ebing, Liébeault, Liégeois, Lipp, M abille, and others have recently vouched for 11 H e re

a g a in th e p e rc e p tio n in q u e s tio n m u st tak e p la c e b e lo w th e th re sh o ld o f

o rd in a r y con sciou sn ess, p o ssib ly in o n e o f those sp lit-o ff selves o r ‘se co n d ’ states w h ose e x iste n ce w e h a v e so o fte n to reco gn ize.

12 I

m y s e lf v erified m an y o f th e a b o v e effects o f th e m a g n e t on a b lin d fo ld e d

su b je c t on w h o m I w as try in g th em fo r th e first tim e , a n d w h o m I b e lie v e to h a v e n e ve r h e a rd o f th em b e fo re . T h e m o m e n t, h o w e v e r, an o p a q u e screen w as a d d ed to th e b lin d fo ld in g , th e effects ceased to c o in c id e w ith th e a p p ro x im a tio n o f th e m a g n e t, so th a t it lo ok s as if v isu a l p e rc e p tio n h ad b een in stru m e n ta l in p r o d u c in g th em . T h e su b je c t passed fro m m y o b se rv a tio n , so th a t I n e ve r c o u ld cle a r u p th e m ystery. O f cou rse I g a v e h im co n scio u sly no h in t o f w h a t I w as lo o k in g for.

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one or other of these effects. Messrs. Delbœ uf and Liégeois have annulled by suggestion, one the effects of a burn, the other of a blister. Delbceuf was led to his experiments, after seeing a burn on the skin produced by suggestion at the Salpêtrière, by reasoning that if the idea of a pain could produce inflammation it must be because pain was itself an inflammatory irritant, and that the abo­ lition of it from a real burn ought therefore to entail the absence of inflammation. He applied the actual cautery (as well as vesicants) to symmetrical places on the skin, affirming that no pain should be felt on one of the sides. T h e result was a dry scorch on that side, with (as he assures me) no after-mark, but on the other side a regu­ lar blister with suppuration and a subsequent scar. T h is explains the innocuity of certain assaults made on subjects during trance. T o test simulation, recourse is often had to sticking pins under their finger-nails or through their tongue, to inhalations of strong ammonia, and the like. These irritations, when not felt by the sub­ ject, seem to leave no after-consequences. One is reminded of the reported non-inflammatory character of the wounds made on them­ selves by dervishes in their pious orgies. On the other hand, the reddenings and bleedings of the skin along certain lines, suggested by tracing lines or pressing objects thereupon, put the accounts handed down to us of the stigmata of the cross appearing on the hands, feet, sides, and forehead of certain Catholic mystics in a new light. As so often happens, a fact is denied until a welcome inter­ pretation comes with it. T h en it is admitted readily enough; and evidence judged quite insufficient to back a claim, so long as the church had an interest in making it, proves to be quite sufficient for modern scientific enlightenment, the moment it appears that a reputed saint can thereby be classed as ‘a case of hystero-epilepsy.’ T here remain two other topics, viz., post-hypnotic effects of sug­ gestion, and effects of suggestion in the waking state. Post-hypnotic, or deferred, suggestions are such as are given to the patients during trance, to take effect after waking. T h ey suc­ ceed with a certain number of patients even when the execution is named for a remote period—months or even a year, in one case reported by M. Liégeois. In this way one can make the patient feel a pain, or be paralyzed, or be hungry or thirsty, or have an halluci­ nation, positive or negative, or perform some fantastic action after

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emerging from his trance. T h e effect in question may be ordered to take place not immediately, but after an interval of time has elapsed, and the interval may be left to the subject to measure, or may be marked by a certain signal. T h e moment the signal occurs, or the time is run out, the subject, who until then seems in a per­ fectly normal waking condition, w ill experience the suggested ef­ fect. In many instances, whilst thus obedient to the suggestion, he seems to fall into the hypnotic condition again. T h is is proved by the fact that the moment the hallucination or suggested perfor­ mance is over he forgets it, denies all knowledge of it, and so forth; and by the further fact that he is ‘suggestible’ during its perfor­ mance, that is, w ill receive new hallucinations, etc., at command. A moment later and this suggestibility has disappeared. It cannot be said, however, that relapse into the trance is an absolutely nec­ essary condition for the post-hypnotic carrying out of commands, for the subject may be neither suggestible nor amnesic, and may struggle with all the strength of his will against the absurdity of this impulse which he feels rising in him, he knows not why. In these cases, as in most cases, he forgets the circumstance of the im­ pulse having been suggested to him in a previous trance; regards it as arising within himself; and often improvises, as he yields to it, some more or less plausible or ingenious motive by which to justify it to the lookers-on. He acts, in short, with his usual sense of per­ sonal spontaneity and freedom; and the disbelievers in the free­ dom of the w ill have naturally made much of these cases in their attempts to show it to be an illusion. T h e only really mysterious feature of these deferred suggestions is the patient’s absolute ignorance during the interval preceding their execution that they have been deposited in his mind. T h ey will often surge up at the preappointed time, even though you have vainly tried a while before to make him recall the circum ­ stances of their production. T h e most important class of post­ hypnotic suggestions are, of course, those relative to the patient’s health—bowels, sleep, and other bodily functions. Am ong the most interesting (apart from the hallucinations) are those relative to fu­ ture trances. One can determine the hour and minute, or the sig­ nal, at which the patient w ill of his own accord lapse into trance again. One can make him susceptible in future to another operator who may have been unsuccessful with him in the past. O r more

1 21 2

H ypnotism

important still in certain cases, one can, by suggesting that certain persons shall never be able hereafter to put him to sleep, remove him for all future time from hypnotic influences which m ight be dangerous. T his, indeed, is the simple and natural safeguard against those ‘dangers of hypnotism’ of which uninstructed persons talk so vaguely. A subject who knows himself to be ultra-susceptible should never allow himself to be entranced by an operator in whose moral delicacy he lacks complete confidence; and he can use a trusted operator’s suggestions to protect himself against liberties which others, knowing his weakness, might be tempted to take with him. T h e mechanism by which the command is retained until the moment for its execution arrives is a mystery which has given rise to much discussion. T h e experiments of Gurney and the observa­ tions of M. Pierre Janet and others on certain hysterical somnam­ bulists seem to prove that it is stored up in consciousness; not sim­ ply organically registered, but that the consciousness w hich thus retains it is split off, dissociated from the rest of the su b ject’s m ind.

W e have here, in short, an experimental production of one of those ‘second’ states of the personality of which we have spoken so often. O nly here the second state coexists as well as alternates with the first. Gurney had the brilliant idea of tapping this second conscious­ ness by means of the planchette. He found that certain persons, who were both hypnotic subjects and automatic writers, would if their hands were placed on a planchette (after being wakened from a trance in which they had received the suggestion of something to be done at a later time) write out unconsciously the order, or some­ thing connected with it. T h is shows that something inside of them, which could express itself through the hand alone, was continuing to think of the order, and possibly of it alone. These researches have opened a new vista of possible experimental investigations into the so-called ‘second’ states of the personality. Some subjects seem almost as obedient to suggestion in the wak­ ing state as in sleep, or even more so, according to certain observers. N ot only muscular phenomena, but changes of personality and hallucinations are recorded as the result of simple affirmation on the operator’s part, without the previous ceremony of ‘magnetiz­ ing’ or putting into the ‘mesmeric sleep.’ These are all trained sub­ jects, however, so far as I know, and the affirmation must apparent­ ly be accompanied by the patient concentrating his attention and gazing, however briefly, into the eyes of the operator. It is probable

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therefore that an extremely rapidly induced condition of trance is a prerequisite for success in these experiments. I have now made mention of all the more important phenomena of the hypnotic trance. O f their therapeutic or forensic bearings this is not the proper place to speak. T h e recent literature of the subject is quite voluminous, but much of it consists in repetition. T h e best compendious work on the subject is D er H ypnotism us, by Dr. A . M oll (Berlin, 1889; and just translated into English, N. Y., 1890), which is extraordinarily complete and judicious. T h e other writings most recommendable are subjoined in the note.1® Most of them contain a historical sketch and much bibliography. A complete bibliography has been published by M. Dessoir (Ber­ lin, 1888). » B inet and Féré: A n i m a l M a g n e t is m , in the International Scientific Series; H . B ernheim : S u g g e s tiv e T h e r a p e u t i c s (N.Y., 1889); J. Liégeois: D e la s u g g e s tio n (1889); E. G urney: two articles in M i n d , vol. i x . T o w hich m ay be added J. C adw ell, H o w to M e s m e r iz e ; C . Lloyd T ack ey, P s y c h o - T h e r a p e u t i c s , Second Edition, 1890; Björnstrom, H y p n o t i s m : I t s H is t o r y a n d P r e s e n t D e v e lo p m e n t , 1889; J. G . M cK endrick, a rticle "A n im al M agnetism ” in E n c y c lo p e d i a B r i t a n n i c a , 9th Edition (Reprinted).— In the recent revival o f interest in the history o f this subject, it seems a p ity that the adm irably critical and scientific work o f D r. John Kearsley M itchell o f P h ilad elphia should rem ain relatively so unknow n. It is qu ite w orth y to rank w ith B raid's investi­ gations. See F iv e E ssa ys b y the above author, edited b y S. W eir M itchell, P h ilad el­ phia, 1859, pp. 141-274.

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Chapter X X V III Necessary Truths and the Effects of Experience

In this final chapter I shall treat of what has sometimes been called psychogenesis, and try to ascertain just how far the connections of

things in the outward environment can account for our tendency to think of, and to react upon, certain things in certain ways and in no others, even though personally we have had of the things in question no experience, or almost no experience, at all. It is a familiar truth that some propositions are necessary. W e must at­ tach the predicate ‘equal’ to the subject ‘opposite sides of a paral­ lelogram’ if we think those terms together at all, whereas we need not in any such way attach the predicate ‘rainy,’ for example, to the subject ‘tomorrow.’ T h e dubious sort of coupling of terms is universally admitted to be due to ‘experience’ ; the certain sort is ascribed to the ‘organic structure’ of the mind. T h is structure is in turn supposed by the so-called apriorists to be of transcendental origin, or at any rate not to be explicable by experience; whilst by evolutionary empiricists it is supposed to be also due to experience, only not to the experience of the individual, but to that of his an­ cestors as far back as one may please to go. O ur emotional and in­ stinctive tendencies, our irresistible impulses to couple certain movements with the perception or thought of certain things, are also features of our connate mental structure, and like the neces­ sary judgments, are interpreted by the apriorists and the em piri­ cists in the same warring ways. I shall try in the course of the chapter to make plain three things:

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1) T hat, taking the word experience as it is universally under­ stood, the experience of the race can no more account for our nec­ essary or a priori judgments than the experience of the individual can; 2) T h at there is no good evidence for the belief that our instinc­ tive reactions are fruits of our ancestors’ education in the midst of the same environment, transmitted to us at birth. 3) T h a t the features of our organic mental structure cannot be explained at all by our conscious intercourse with the outer en­ vironment, but must rather be understood as congenital variations, ‘accidental’ 1 in the first instance, but then transmitted as fixed fea­ tures of the race. On the whole, then, the account which the apriorists give of the facts is that which I defend; although I should contend (as w ill hereafter appear) for a naturalistic view of their cause. T h e first thing I have to say is that all schools (however they otherwise differ) must allow that the elementary qualities of cold, heat, pleasure, pain, red, blue, sound, silence, etc., are original, in­ nate, or a priori properties of our subjective nature, even though they should require the touch of experience to waken them into actual consciousness, and should slumber, to all eternity, without it. T h is is so on either of the two hypotheses we may make concern­ ing the relation of the feelings to the realities at whose touch they become alive. For in the first place, if a feeling do not mirror the reality which wakens it and to which we say it corresponds, if it mirror no reality whatever outside of the mind, it of course is a purely mental product. By its very definition it can be nothing else. But in the second place, even if it do mirror the reality exactly, still it is not that reality itself, it is a duplication of it, the result of a mental reaction. And that the mind should have the power of reacting in just that duplicate way can only be stated as a harmony between its nature and the nature of the truth outside of it, a har­ mony whereby it follows that the qualities of both parties match. T h e originality of these elem ents is not, then, a question for dis­ pute. T h e warfare of philosophers is exclusively relative to their f o r m s o f c o m b i n a t i o n . T h e empiricist maintains that these forms can only follow the order of combination in which the elements 1 ‘A cciden tal’ in the D arw inian sense, as belonging to a cycle o f causation inacces­ sible to the present order o f research.

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were originally awakened by the impressions of the external world; the apriorists insist, on the contrary, that som e modes of combina­ tion, at any rate, follow from the natures of the elements them­ selves, and that no amount of experience can modify this result.

W H A T IS M E A N T B Y E X P E R IE N C E ?

T h e phrase ‘organic mental structure’ names the matter in dis­ pute. Has the mind such a structure or not? Are its contents ar­ ranged from the start, or is the arrangement they may possess sim­ ply due to the shuffling of them by experience in an absolutely plastic bed? N ow the first thing to make sure of is that when we talk of ‘experience,’ we attach a definite meaning to the word. E x ­ perience means experience of som ething foreign supposed to im ­ press us, whether spontaneously or in consequence of our own ex­

ertions and acts. Impressions, as we well know, affect certain orders of sequence and coexistence, and the m ind’s habits copy the habits of the impressions, so that our images of things assume a time- and space-arrangement which resembles the time- and space-arrangements outside. T o uniform outer coexistences and sequences cor­ respond constant conjunctions of ideas, to fortuitous coexistences and sequences casual conjunctions of ideas. W e are sure that fire w ill burn and water wet us, less sure that thunder will come after lightning, not at all sure whether a strange dog will bark at us or let us go by. In these ways experience moulds us every hour, and makes of our minds a mirror of the time- and space-connections between the things in the world. T h e principle of habit within us so fixes the copy at last that we find it difficult even to imagine how the outward order could possibly be different from what it is, and we continually divine from the present what the future is to be. These habits of transition, from one thought to another, are fea­ tures of mental structure which were lacking in us at birth; we can see their growth under experience’s m oulding finger, and we can see how often experience undoes her own work, and for an earlier order substitutes a new one. ‘ T h e order of experience,’ in this mat­ ter of the time- and space-conjunctions of things, is thus an indis­ putably vera causa of our forms of thought. It is our educator, our sovereign helper and friend; and its name, standing for something with so real and definite a use, ought to be kept sacred and encum­ bered with no vaguer meaning.

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If all the connections among ideas in the mind could be inter­ preted as so many combinations of sense-data wrought into fixity in this way from without, then experience in the common and legitimate sense of the word would be the sole fashioner of the mind. T h e empirical school in psychology has in the main contended that they can be so interpreted. Before our generation, it was the experience of the individual only which was meant. But when one nowadays says that the human mind owes its present shape to ex­ perience, he means the experience of ancestors as well. Mr. Spen­ cer’s statement of this is the earliest emphatic one, and deserves quotation in fu ll:2 “The supposition that the inner cohesions are adjusted to the outer persistences by accumulated experience of those outer persistences, is in harmony with all our actual knowledge of mental phenomena. Though in so far as reflex actions and instincts are concerned, the experiencehypothesis seems insufficient; yet, its seeming insufficiency occurs only where the evidence is beyond our reach. Nay, even here, such few facts as we can get point to the conclusion that automatic psychical connex­ ions result from the registration of experiences continued for number­ less generations.

“ In brief, the case stands thus:—It is agreed that all psychical rela­ tions save the absolutely indissoluble are determined by experiences. Their various strengths are admitted, other things equal, to be propor­ tionate to the multiplication of experiences. It is an unavoidable corollary that an infinity of experiences will produce a psychical rela­ tion that is indissoluble. Though such infinity of experiences cannot be received by a single individual, yet it may be received by the succession of individuals forming a race. And if there is a transmission of induced tendencies in the nervous system, it is inferable that all psychical rela­ tions whatever, from the necessary to the fortuitous, result from the experiences of the corresponding external relations; and are so brought into harmony with them.. . . “Thus, the experience-hypothesis furnishes an adequate solution. The genesis of instinct, the development of memory and reason out of it, and the consolidation of rational actions and inferences into in­ stinctive ones, are alike explicable on the single principle, that the 2 T h e passage is in §§ 189, 205, and 208 of the P r in c ip le s o f P sy cho lo gy , at the end o f the chapter entitled “ R eason.” I italicize certain words in order to show that the essence of this explan ation is to dem and n u m erica lly fr e q u e n t experiences. T h e bearing o f this remark w ill later appear. (Cf. pp. 1237-1238, infra.)

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Necessary T ru th s and the Effects of E xperience

cohesion between psychical states is proportionate to the frequency with which the relation between the answering external phenomena has been repeated in experience.. . . “The universal laiu that, other things equal, the cohesion of psy­ chical states is proportionate to the frequency with which they have

followed one another in experience, supplies an explanation of the socalled ‘forms of thought,’ as soon as it is supplemented by the law that habitual psychical successions entail some hereditary tendency to such successions, which, under persistent conditions, will become cumulative in generation after generation. We saw that the establishment of those compound reflex actions called instincts, is comprehensible on the prin­ ciple that inner relations are, by perpetual repetition, organized into correspondence with outer relations. We have now to observe that the establishment of those consolidated, those indissoluble, those instinctive mental relations constituting our ideas of Space and Time, is compre­ hensible on the same principle. For if even to external relations that are often experienced during the life of a single organism, answer­ ing internal relations are established that become next to automatic— if such a combination of psychical changes as that which guides a savage in hitting a bird with an arrow, becomes, by constant repetition, so or­ ganized as to be performed almost without thought of the processes of adjustment gone through—and if skill of this kind is so far transmissible that particular races of men become characterized by particular apti­ tudes, which are nothing else than partially-organized psychical connex­ ions; then, if there exist certain external relations which are experi­ enced by all organisms at all instants of their waking lives—relations which are absolutely constant, absolutely universal—there will be es­ tablished answering internal relations that are absolutely constant, absolutely universal. Such relations we have in those of Space and Time. The organization of subjective relations adjusted to these objec­ tive relations has been cumulative, not in each race of creatures only, but throughout successive races of creatures; and such subjective rela­ tions have, therefore, become more consolidated than all others. Being experienced in every perception and every action of each creature, these connexions among outer existences must, for this reason too, be re­ sponded to by connexions among inner feelings, that are, above all others, indissoluble. As the substrata of all other relations in the non­ ego, they must be responded to by conceptions that are the substrata of all other relations in the ego. Being the constant and infinitely-repeated elements of thought, they must become the automatic elements of thought—the elements of thought which it is impossible to get rid of —the ‘forms of intuition.’ “ Such, it seems to me, is the only possible reconciliation between the

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experience-hypothesis and the hypothesis o£ the transcendentalists; neither of which is tenable by itself. Insurmountable difficulties are presented by the Kantian doctrine (as we shall hereafter see); and the antagonist doctrine, taken alone, presents difficulties that are equally insurmountable. T o rest with the unqualified assertion that, antece­ dent to experience, the mind is a blank, is to ignore the questions— whence comes the power of organizing experiences? whence arise the different degrees of that power possessed by different races of organisms, and different individuals of the same race? If, at birth, there exists noth­ ing but a passive receptivity of impressions, why is not a horse as educable as a man? Should it be said that language makes the differ­ ence, then why do not the cat and the dog, reared in the same house­ hold, arrive at equal degrees and kinds of intelligence? Understood in its current form, the experience-hypothesis implies that the presence of a definitely-organized nervous system is a circumstance of no moment —a fact not needing to be taken into account! Yet it is the all-impor­ tant fact—the fact to which, in one sense, the criticisms of Leibnitz and others pointed—the fact without which an assimilation of experiences is inexplicable. Throughout the animal kingdom in general, the ac­ tions are dependent on the nervous structure. The physiologist shows us that each reflex movement implies the agency of certain nerves and ganglia; that a development of complicated instincts is accompanied by complication of the nervous centres and their commissural connexions; that the same creature in different stages, as larva and imago for example, changes its instincts as its nervous structure changes; and that as we advance to creatures of high intelligence, a vast increase in the size and in the complexity of the nervous system takes place. What is the obvious inference? It is that the ability to co-ordinate impres­ sions and to perform the appropriate actions, always implies the pre­ existence of certain nerves arranged in a certain way. What is the meaning of the human brain? It is that the many established relations among its parts, stand for so many established relations among the psy­ chical changes. Each of the constant connexions among the fibres of the cerebral masses, answers to some constant connexion of phenomena in the experiences of the race. Just as the organized arrangement sub­ sisting between the sensory nerves of the nostrils and the motor nerves of the respiratory muscles, not only makes possible a sneeze, but also, in the newly-born infant, implies sneezings to be hereafter performed; so, all the organized arrangements subsisting among the nerves of the infant’s brain, not only make possible certain combinations of impres­ sions, but also imply that such combinations will hereafter be made— imply that there are answering combinations in the outer world—imply a preparedness to cognize these combinations—imply faculties of com­

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prehending them. It is true that the resulting compound psychical changes, do not take place with the same readiness and automatic pre­ cision as the simple reflex action instanced—it is true that some indi­ vidual experiences seem required to establish them. But while this is partly due to the fact that these combinations are highly involved, extremely varied in their modes of occurrence, made up therefore of psychical relations less completely coherent, and hence need further repetitions to perfect them; it is in a much greater degree due to the fact that at birth the organization of the brain is incomplete, and does not cease its spontaneous progress for twenty or thirty years afterwards. Those who contend that knowledge results wholly from the experiences of the individual, ignoring as they do the mental evolution which accompanies the autogenous development of the nervous system, fall into an error as great as if they were to ascribe all bodily growth and struc­ ture to exercise, forgetting the innate tendency to assume the adult form. Were the infant born with a full-sized and completely-constructed brain, their position would be less untenable. But, as the case stands, the gradually-increasing intelligence displayed throughout childhood and youth, is more attributable to the completion of the cerebral orga­ nization, than to the individual experiences—a truth proved by the fact that in adult life there is sometimes displayed a high endowment of some faculty which, during education, was never brought into play. Doubtless, experiences received by the individual furnish the concrete materials for all thought. Doubtless, the organized and semi-organized arrangements existing among the cerebral nerves, can give no knowledge until there has been a presentation of the external relations to which they correspond. And doubtless, the child’s daily observations and reasonings aid the formation of those involved nervous connexions that are in process of spontaneous evolution; just as its daily gambols aid the development of its limbs. But saying this is quite a different thing from saying that its intelligence is wholly produced by its experiences. That is an utterly inadmissible doctrine—a doctrine which makes the presence of a brain meaningless—a doctrine which makes idiotcy unac­ countable. “In the sense, then, that there exist in the nervous system certain pre-established relations answering to relations in the environment, there is truth in the doctrine of ‘forms of intuition’—not the truth which its defenders suppose, but a parallel truth. Corresponding to absolute external relations, there are established in the structure of the nervous system absolute internal relations—relations that are potentially present before birth in the shape of definite nervous connexions; that are antecedent to, and independent of, individual experiences; and that are automatically disclosed along with the first cognitions. And,

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as here understood, it is not only these fundamental relations which are thus pre determined; but also hosts of other relations of a more or less constant kind, which are congenitally represented by more or less complete nervous connexions. But these pre-determined internal rela­ tions, though independent of the experiences of the individual, are not independent of experiences in general: they have been determined by the experiences of preceding organisms. The corollary here drawn from the general argument is, that the human brain is an organized register of infinitely-numerous experiences received during the evolution of life, or rather, during the evolution of that series of organisms through which the human organism has been reached. The effects of the most uniform and frequent of these experiences have been succes­ sively bequeathed, principal and interest; and have slowly amounted to that high intelligence which lies latent in the brain of the infant— which the infant in after life exercises and perhaps strengthens or fur­ ther complicates—and which, with minute additions, it bequeaths to future generations. And thus it happens that the European inherits from twenty to thirty cubic inches more brain than the Papuan. Thus it happens that faculties, as of music, which scarcely exist in some inferior human races, become congenital in superior ones. Thus it hap­ pens that out of savages unable to count up to the number of their fin­ gers, and speaking a language containing only nouns and verbs, arise at length our Newtons and Shakspeares.” T h is is a brilliant and seductive statement, and it doubtless in­ cludes a good deal of truth. Unfortunately it fails to go into details; and when the details are scrutinized, as they soon must be by us, many of them w ill be seen to be inexplicable in this simple way, and the choice w ill then remain to us either of denying the experi­ ential origin of certain of our judgments, or of enlarging the mean­ ing of the word experience so as to include these cases among its effects. T W O M ODES O F ORIGIN O F BRAIN STR U CTU R E

If we adopt the former course we meet with a controversial diffi­ culty. T h e ‘experience-philosophy’ has from time immemorial been the opponent of theological modes of thought. T h e word experience has a halo of anti-supernaturalism about it; so that if anyone express dissatisfaction with any function claimed for it, he is liable to be treated as if he could only be animated by loyalty to the catechism, or in some way have the interests of obscurantism at heart. I am entirely certain that, on this ground alone, what I have

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erelong to say w ill make this a sealed chapter to many of my read­ ers. “ H e denies experience!” they w ill exclaim, “denies science; believes the mind created by miracle; is a regular old partisan of innate ideas! T h at is enough! we’ll listen to such antediluvian twaddle no more.” Regrettable as is the loss of readers capable of such wholesale discipleship, I feel that a definite meaning for the word experience is even more important than their company. ‘Ex­ perience’ does not mean every natural, as opposed to every super­ natural, cause. It means a particular sort of natural agency, along­ side of which other more recondite natural agencies may perfectly well exist. W ith the scientific animus of anti-supernaturalism we ought to agree, but we ought to free ourselves from its verbal idols and bugbears. Nature has many methods of producing the same effect. She may make a ‘born’ draughtsman or singer by tipping in a certain direc­ tion at an opportune moment the molecules of some human ovum; or she may bring forth a child ungifted and make him spend labori­ ous but successful years at school. She may make our ears ring by the sound of a bell, or by a dose of quinine; make us see yellow by spreading a field of buttercups before our eyes, or by m ixing a lit­ tle santonine powder with our food; fill us with terror of certain surroundings by making them really dangerous, or by a blow which produces a pathological alteration of our brain. It is obvious that we need two words to designate these two modes of operating. In the one case the natural agents produce perceptions which take cognizance of the agents themselves; in the other case, they produce perceptions w hich take cognizance o f som ething else. W hat is taught to the mind by the ‘experience,’ in the first case, is the order o f the experience itself— the ‘inner relation’ (in Spencer’s phrase)

‘corresponds’ to the ‘outer relation’ which produced it, by remem­ bering and knowing the latter. But in the case of the other sort of natural agency, what is taught to the mind has nothing to do with the agency itself, but with some different outer relation altogether. A diagram w ill express the alternatives. B stands for our human brain in the midst of the world. A ll the little o’s with arrows pro­ ceeding from them are natural objects (like sunsets, etc.), which impress it through the senses, and in the strict sense of the word give it experience, teaching it by habit and association what is the order of their ways. A ll the little x ’s inside the brain and all the

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little x ’s outside of it are other natural objects and processes (in the ovum, in the blood, etc.), which equally modify the brain, but B

/

S *

F ig . 94.

mould it to no cognition of themselves. T h e tinnitus aurium dis­ closes no properties of the quinine; the musical endowment teaches no embryology; the morbid dread (of solitude, perhaps) no brainpathology; but the way in which a dirty sunset and a rainy morrow hang together in the mind copies and teaches the sequences of sun­ sets and rainfall in the outer world. In zoological evolution we have two modes in which an animal race may grow to be a better match for its environment. First, the so-called way of ‘adaptation,’ in which the environ­ ment may itself modify its inhabitant by exercising, hardening, and habituating him to certain sequences, and these habits may, it is often maintained, become hereditary. Second, the way of ‘accidental variation,’ as Mr. Darwin termed it, in which certain young are born with peculiarities that help them and their progeny to survive. T h a t variations of this sort tend to become hereditary, no one doubts. T h e first mode is called by Mr. Spencer direct, the second indi­ rect, equilibration. Both equilibrations must of course be natural and physical processes, but they belong to entirely different physi­ cal spheres. T h e direct influences are obvious and accessible things. T h e causes of variation in the young are, on the other hand, molecular and hidden. T h e direct influences are the anim al’s ‘ex­ periences,’ in the widest sense of the term. W here what is influ­ enced by them is the m ental organism, they are conscious experi­ ences, and become the objects as well as the causes of their effects. T h at is, the effect consists in a tendency of the experience itself to be remembered, or to have its elements thereafter coupled in imagination just as they were coupled in the experience. In the

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diagram these experiences are represented by the o ’s exclusively. T h e x ’s, on the other hand, stand for the indirect causes of mental modification—causes of which we are not immediately conscious as such, and which are not the direct objects of the effects they pro­ duce. Some of them are molecular accidents before birth; some of them are collateral and remote combinations, unintended combi­ nations, one might say, of more direct effects wrought in the un­ stable and intricate brain-tissue. Such a result is unquestionably the susceptibility to music, which some individuals possess at the present day. It has no zoological utility; it corresponds to no object in the natural environment; it is a pure in cid en t of having a hear­ ing organ, an incident depending on such instable and inessential conditions that one brother may have it and another brother not. Just so with the susceptibility to sea-sickness, which, so far from being engendered by long experience of its ‘object’ (if a heaving deck can be called its object) is erelong annulled thereby. Our higher aesthetic, moral, and intellectual life seems made up of affec­ tions of this collateral and incidental sort, which have entered the mind by the back stairs, as it were, or rather have not entered the mind at all, but got surreptitiously born in the house. No one can successfully treat of psychogenesis, or the factors of mental evo­ lution, without distinguishing between these two ways in which the mind is assailed. T h e way of ‘experience’ proper is the front door, the door of the five senses. T h e agents which affect the brain in this way immediately become the m ind’s objects. T h e other agents do not. It would be simply silly to say of two men with per­ haps equal effective skill in drawing, one an untaught natural ge­ nius, the other a mere obstinate plodder in the studio, that both alike owe their skill to their ‘experience.’ T h e reasons of their sev­ eral skills lie in wholly disparate natural cycles of causation.3 3 P r in c ip le s o f B io lo g y , p art m , chaps, xi, x n .—G oltz and Loeb have found that dogs becom e m ild in character when their occipital, and fierce when their frontal, brain-lobes are cut off. " A dog which origin ally was cross in an extrem e degree, never suffering him self to be touched, and even refusing, after two days’ fasting, to take a piece of bread from m y hand, becam e, after a bilateral operation on the occipital

lobes, perfectly trustful and harmless. H e underw ent five operations on these parts. . . . Each one of them m ade him m ore good-natured; so that at last (just as G oltz observed of his dogs) he w ould let other dogs take away the very bones which he was gn aw in g” (Loeb: Pfliiger’s A r c h iv , x x x ix , 300). A course of kind treatm ent and train ­ ing m ight have had a sim ilar effect. B ut how absurd to call two such different causes by the same nam e, and to say both times that the beast’s ‘experience of ou ter relations’ is w h at educates him to good-nature. T h is, however, is virtu ally w h at all writers do

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T h e P rin ciples o f Psychology I w ill then, with the reader’s permission, restrict the word ‘ ex ­ perien ce’ to processes w hich influence the m ind by the front-door­ way of sim p le habits and association. W hat the back-door-effects

may be w ill probably grow clearer as we proceed; so I w ill pass right on to a scrutiny of the actual mental structure which we find. T H E GENESIS O F T H E E L E M E N T A R Y M E N T A L C ATE G O R IE S

W e find: 1. Elementary sorts of sensation, and feelings of per­ sonal activity; 2. Emotions; desires; instincts; ideas of worth; aesthetic ideas; 3. Ideas of time and space and number; 4. Ideas of difference and resemblance, and of their degrees. 5. Ideas of causal dependence among events; of end and means; of subject and attribute. 6. Judgments affirming, denying, doubting, supposing any of the above ideas. 7. Judgments that the former judgments logically involve, ex­ clude, or are indifferent to, each other. Now we may postulate at the outset that all these forms of thought have a natural origin, if we could only get at it. T h a t as­ sumption must be made at the outset of every scientific investiga­ tion, or there is no temptation to proceed. But the first account of their origin which we are likely to hit upon is a snare. A ll these mental affections are ways of knowing objects. Most psychologists nowadays believe that the objects first, in some natural way, en­ gendered a brain from out of their midst, and then imprinted these various cognitive affections upon it. But how? T h e ordinary evoluw ho ignore the distinction between the 'fron t-door’ and the ‘back-door’ m anners of p roducin g m ental change. O ne of the most strikin g o f these back-door affections is su sc e p tib ility to th e charm o f d ru n k en n ess. T h is (taking drunkenness in the broadest sense, as teetotalers use the word) is one o f the deepest functions of hum an nature. H a lf of both the poetry and the tragedy of hum an life w ould vanish if alcohol were taken away. A s it is, the thirst for it is such that in the U nited States the cash-value of its sales am ounts to that of the sales of meat and o f bread p u t together. A nd yet w h at ancestral ‘outer relation ’ is responsible for this pecu liar reaction o f ours? T h e on ly 'outer relation ’ could be the alcohol itself, w hich, com paratively speaking, came in to the en viro n ­ m ent bu t yesterday, and w hich, so far from creating, is tending to eradicate, the love o f itself from ou r m ental structure, by lettin g on ly those fam ilies o f men survive in whom it is not strong. T h e love of drunkenness is a p u rely accidental suscepti­ b ility o f a brain, evolved for entirely different uses, and its causes are to be sought in the m olecular realm , rather than in any possible order of ‘ou ter relations.’

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tionist answer to this question is exceedingly simple-minded. T h e idea of most speculators seems to be that, since it suffices now for us to become acquainted with a complex object, that it should be simply present to us often enough, so it must be fair to assume uni­ versally that, with time enough given, the mere presence of the various objects and relations to be known must end by bringing about the latter’s cognition, and that in this way all mental struc­ ture was from first to last evolved. Any ordinary Spencerite w ill tell you that just as the experience of blue objects wrought into our mind the color blue,' and hard objects got it to feel hardness, so the presence of large and small objects in the world gave it the notion of size, m oving objects made it aware of motion, and objective suc­ cessions taught it time. Similarly in a world with different impress­ ing things, the mind had to acquire a sense of difference, whilst the like parts of the world as they fell upon it kindled in it the per­ ception of similarity. Outward sequences which sometimes held good, and sometimes failed, naturally engendered in it doubtful and uncertain forms of expectation, and ultimately gave rise to the disjunctive forms of judgment; whilst the hypothetic form, ‘if a, then b ,’ was sure to ensue from sequences that were invariable in the outer world. On this view, if the outer order suddenly were to change its elements and modes, we should have no faculties to cognize the new order by. A t most we should feel a sort of frustra­ tion and confusion. But little by little the new presence would work on us as the old one did; and in course of time another set of psychic categories would arise, fitted to take cognizance of the al­ tered world. T h is notion of the outer world inevitably building up a sort of mental duplicate of itself if we only give it time, is so easy and natural in its vagueness that one hardly knows how to start to criticise it. One thing, however, is obvious, namely that the man­ ner in which we now becom e acquainted with com plex objects need not in the least resem ble the m anner in w hich the original elem ents of our consciousness grew up. Now, it is true, a new sort

of animal need only be present to me, to impress its image perma­ nently on my mind; but this is because I am already in possession of categories for knowing each and all of its several attributes, and of a memory for retracing the order of their conjunction. I now have preformed categories for all possible objects. T h e objects need only awaken these from their slumber. But it is a very differ-

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ent matter to account for the categories themselves. I think we njust admit that the origin of the various elementary feelings is a recondite history, even after some sort of neural tissue is there for the outer world to begin its work on. T h e mere existence of things to be known is even now not, as a rule, sufficient to bring about a knowledge of them. O ur abstract and general discoveries usually come to us as lucky fancies; and it is only après coup that we find that they correspond to some reality. W hat immediately produced them were previous thoughts, with which, and with the brainprocesses of which, that reality had naught to do. W hy may it not have been so of the original elements of con­ sciousness, sensation, time, space, resemblance, difference, and other relations? W hy may they not have come into being by the back-door method, by such physical processes as lie more in the sphere of morphological accident, of inward summation of effects, than in that of the ‘sensible presence’ of objects? W hy may they not, in short, be pure idiosyncrasies, spontaneous variations, fitted by good luck (those of them which have survived) to take cogni­ zance of objects (that is, to steer us in our active dealings with them), without being in any intelligible sense immediate derivatives from them? I think we shall find this view gain more and more plausi­ bility as we proceed.4 A ll these elements are subjective duplicates of outer objects. T h ey are not the outer objects. T h e secondary qualities among them are not supposed by any educated person even to resemble the objects. T h e ir nature depends more on the reacting brain than on the stimuli which touch it off. T h is is even more palpably true of the natures of pleasure and pain, effort, desire and aversion, and of such feelings as those of cause and substance, of denial and of * M r. G rant A llen , in a b rillia n t article entitled “ Idiosyncrasy” (M in d , vin, 493), seeks to show that accidental m orphological changes in the brain cannot possibly be im agined to result in any m ental change of a sort which w ould fit th e a n im a l to its en v ir o n m e n t. If spontaneous variation ever works on the brain, its product, says Mr. A llen , ou gh t to be an idiot or a raving m adm an, not a m inister and interpreter of N ature. O n ly the environm ent can change us in the direction of accom m odation to itself. B ut I think we ou gh t to know a little better just w hat the m olecular changes in the brain are on which thought depends, before we talk so confidently abou t what the effect can be of their possible variations. M r. A llen , it should be said, has m ade a laudable effort to conceive them distinctly. T o me his conception remains too pu rely anatom ical. M eanw hile this essay and another by the same author in the A tla n tic M o n th ly are p robably as serious attem pts as any that have been m ade towards ap p ly­ ing the Spencerian theory in a radical way to the facts of hum an history.

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doubt. Here then is a native wealth of inner forms whose origin is shrouded in mystery, and which at any rate were not simply ‘im­ pressed’ from without, in any intelligible sense of the verb ‘to impress.’ T h eir time- and space-relations, however, are impressed from w ithout—for two outer things at least the evolutionary psychologist must believe to resemble our thoughts of them, these are the time and space in which the objects lie. T h e time- and space-relations between things do stamp copies of them selves w ithin. T hings ju xta­ posed in space impress us, continue to be thought of as thus ju xta­ posed. Things sequent in time impress their sequence on our mem­ ory. And thus, through experience in the legitimate sense of the word, there can be truly explained an immense num ber of our mental habitudes, many of our abstract beliefs, and all our ideas of concrete things, and of their ways of behavior. Such truths as that fire burns and water wets, that glass refracts, heat melts snow, fishes live in water and die on land, and the like, form no small part of the most refined education, and are the all-in-all of educa­ tion amongst the brutes and lowest men. Here the mind is passive and tributary, a servile copy, fatally and unresistingly fashioned from without. It is the merit of the associationist school to have seen the wide scope of these effects of neighborhood in time and space; and their exaggerated applications of the principle of mere neighborhood ought not to blind us to the excellent service it has done to Psychology in their hands. As far as a large part of our thinking goes, then, it can intelligibly be formulated as a mere lot of habits impressed upon us from without. T h e degree of cohesion of our inner relations, is, in this part of our thinking, proportion­ ate, in Mr. Spencer’s phrase, to the degree of cohesion of the outer relations; the causes and the objects of our thought are one; and we are, in so far forth, what the materialistic evolutionists would have us altogether, mere offshoots and creatures of our environ­ ment, and naught besides.5 But now the plot thickens, for the images impressed upon our memory by the outer stimuli are not restricted to the mere timeand space-relations, in which they originally came, but revive in various manners (dependent on the intricacy of the brain-paths 5 In m y own previous chapters on habit, m emory, association, and perception, justice has been done to all these facts.

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and the instability of the tissue thereof), and form secondary com­ binations such as the forms o f judg m ent, which, taken per se, are not congruent either with the forms in which reality exists or in those in which experiences befall us, but which may nevertheless be explained by the way in which experiences befall in a mind gifted with memory, expectation, and the possibility of feeling doubt, curiosity, belief, and denial. T h e conjunctions of experi­ ence befall more or less invariably, variably, or never. T h e idea of one term w ill then engender a fixed, a wavering, or a negative ex­ pectation of another, giving affirmative, the hypothetical, disjunc­ tive, interrogative, and negative judgments, and judgments of ac­ tuality and possibility about certain things. T h e separation of attribute from subject in all judgments (which violates the way in which nature exists) may be similarly explained by the piecemeal order in which our perceptions come to us, a vague nucleus grow­ ing gradually more detailed as we attend to it more and more. These particular secondary mental forms have had ample justice done them by associationists from Hume downwards. Associationists have also sought to account for discrimination, abstraction, and generalization by the rates of frequency in which attributes come to us conjoined. W ith much less success, I think. In the chapter on Discrimination, I have, under the “ law of dis­ sociation by varying concomitants,” sought to explain as much as possible by the passive order of experience. But the reader saw how much was left for active interest and unknown forces to do. In the chapter on Imagination I have similarly striven to do justice to the ‘blended image’ theory of generalization and abstraction. So I need say no more of these matters here.

T H E GENESIS O F T H E N A T U R A L SCIEN CES

O ur ‘scientific’ ways of thinking the outer reality are highly ab­ stract ways. T h e essence of things for science is not to be what they seem, but to be atoms and molecules m oving to and from each other according to strange laws. Nowhere does the account of inner relations produced by outer ones in proportion to the frequency with which the latter have been met, more egregiously break down than in the case of scientific conceptions. T h e order of scientific thought is quite incongruent either with the way in which reality exists or with the way in which it comes before us. Scientific

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thought goes by selection and emphasis exclusively. W e break the solid plenitude of fact into separate essences, conceive generally what only exists particularly, and by our classifications leave noth­ ing in its natural neighborhood, but separate the contiguous, and join what the poles divorce. T h e reality exists as a plen u m . A ll its parts are contemporaneous, each is as real as any other, and each as essential for making the whole just what it is and nothing else. But we can neither experience nor think this plen u m . W hat we experience, what comes before us, is a chaos of fragmentary impres­ sions interrupting each other;6 what we th ink is an abstract system of hypothetical data and laws.7 6 “ T h e order of nature, as perceived at a first glance, presents at every instant a chaos followed by another chaos. W e m ust decompose each chaos into single facts. W e m ust learn to see in the chaotic antecedent a m u ltitud e o f distinct antecedents, in the chaotic consequent a m u ltitu d e of distinct consequents. T h is, supposing it done, w ill not of itself tell us on w hich of the antecedents each consequent is in ­ variably attendant. T o determ ine that point, we must endeavour to effect a separation o f the facts from one another, n ot in ou r minds on ly, bu t in nature. T h e m ental analysis, however, m ust take place first. A nd every one knows that in the mode of per­ form ing it, one in tellect differs im m ensely from anoth er.” (J. S. M ill: L o g ic , bk. in, chap. vn, § 1.) 7 I quote from an address entitled "R eflex Action and T h e ism ,” published in the U n ita ria n R e v iew for N ovem ber 1881, and translated in the C r itiq u e P h ilo s o p h iq u e for January and February 1882. “ T h e conceiving or theorizing faculty works exclusive­ ly for the sake of ends that do not exist at all in the w orld o f the impressions received by way of ou r senses, but are set by ou r em otional and practical subjectivity. It is a transform er of the w orld of ou r impressions into a to tally different w orld, the world of ou r conception; and the transform ation is effected in the interests o f our volition al nature, and for no other purpose whatsoever. D estroy the volition al nature, the defi­ nite subjective purposes, preferences, fondness for certain effects, forms, orders, and not the slightest m otive would remain for the brute order of ou r experience to be re­ m odelled at all. B ut, as we have the elaborate volition al constitution we do have, the rem odelling m ust be effected, there is no escape. T h e w o rld ’s contents are giv en to each of us in an order so foreign to o u : subjective interests that we can hardly by an effort of the im agination picture to ourselves w hat it is like. W e have to break that order altogether, and by picking ou t from it the items that concern us, and connecting them w ith others far away, which we say 'b elong’ w ith them, we are able to m ake ou t definite threads of sequence and tendency, to foresee p articu lar lia b ili­ ties and get ready for them , to enjoy sim plicity and harm ony in the place o f what was chaos. Is not the sum o f your actual experience taken at this m om ent and im par­ tially added together an utter chaos? T h e strains o f my voice, the lights and shades inside the room and ou t, the m urm ur of the wind, the ticking of the clock, the vari­ ous organic feelings you m ay happen in d ivid u ally to possess, do these make a w hole at all? Is it not the on ly condition of your m ental sanity in the m idst of them that most of them should becom e non-existent for you, and that a few others—the sounds, I hope, which I am u tterin g—should evoke from places in your mem ory, that have n othin g to do with this scene, associates fitted to com bine with them in w hat we

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T h is sort of scientific algebra, little as it immediately resembles the reality given to us, turns out (strangely enough) applicable to it. T h a t is, it yields expressions which, at given places and times, can be translated into real values, or interpreted as definite por­ tions of the chaos that falls upon our sense. It becomes thus a prac­ tical guide to our expectations as well as a theoretic delight. But I do not see how anyone with a sense for the facts can possibly call our systems immediate results of ‘experience’ in the ordinary sense. Every scientific conception is in the first instance a ‘spontaneous variation’ in someone’s brain.8 For one that proves useful and ap­ plicable there are a thousand that perish through their worthless­ ness. T h e ir genesis is strictly akin to that of the flashes of poetry

call a rational train o f thought?—rational because it leads to a conclusion we have some organ to appreciate. W e have no organ or faculty to appreciate the sim ply given order. T h e real w orld as it is given at this m om ent is the sum total o f all its beings and events now. B ut can we think o f such a sum? C an we realize for an instant w hat a cross-section o f all existence at a definite p oin t o f time w ould be? W h ile I talk and the flies buzz, a sea-gull catches a fish at the m outh o f the Amazon, a tree falls in the A dirondack wilderness, a man sneezes in G erm any, a horse dies in T artary, and twins are b o m in France. W h a t does that mean? Does the contem poraneity o f these events w ith each other and w ith a m illion more as disjointed as they form a rational bond between them, and unite them into an yth in g that means for us a world? Y e t ju st such a collateral contem poraneity, and n othin g else is the r e a l order o f the world. It is an order w ith which we have n othing to do b u t to get aw ay from it as fast as possible. As I said, we break it: we break it into histories, and we break it into arts, and we break it into sciences; and then we begin to feel at hom e. W e m ake ten thousand separate serial orders o f it. On any one o f these, we m ay react as if the rest did not exist. W e discover am ong its parts relations that were never given to sense at all,— m athem atical relations, tangents, squares, and roots and logarithm ic functions,—and ou t o f an infinite num ber o f these we call certain ones essential and law giving, and ignore the rest. Essential these relations are, b u t on ly f o r o u r p u r p o s e , the other r e ­ lations being ju st as real and present as they; and ou r purpose is to c o n c e iv e s im p ly and to fo r e s e e . A re n ot sim ple conception and prevision subjective ends, pure and simple? T h e y are the ends o f w h at we call science; and the m iracle o f miracles, a m iracle n ot yet exhaustively cleared up by any philosophy, is that the given order lends itself to the rem odelling. It shows itself plastic to m any o f ou r scientific, to m any o f o u r aesthetic, to m any o f ou r practical purposes and ends.” C f. also Hodgson: P h il o s o p h y o f R e f le c t i o n , ch. v; Lotze: L o g ik , §§ 342-351; Sigwart: L o g ik , §§ 60-63, 105. 8 In an article entitled "G re a t M en, G reat T h o u gh ts, and the Environm ent,” p u b ­ lished in the A t l a n t i c M o n t h ly for O ctober 1880, the reader w ill find some am pler illustrations o f these remarks. I have there tried to show that both m ental and social evolution are to be conceived after the D arw inian fashion, and that the function of the environm ent properly so called is m uch more that o f s e le c t in g forms, produced by invisible forces, than p r o d u c in g o f such forms,—produ cin g being the on ly function thought of by the pre-D arw inian evolutionists, and the on ly one on which stress is laid by such contem porary ones as M r. Spencer and M r. Allen.

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and sallies of wit to which the instable brain-paths equally give rise. But whereas the poetry and wit (like the science of the an­ cients) are their ‘own excuse for being,’ and have to run the gaunt­ let of no farther test, the ‘scientific’ conceptions must prove their worth by being ‘verified.’ T h is test, however, is the cause of their preservation, not that of their production; and one m ight as well account for the origin of Artemus W ard’s jokes by the ‘cohesion’ of subjects with predicates in proportion to the ‘persistence of the outer relations’ to which they ‘correspond’ as to treat the genesis of scientific conceptions in the same ponderously unreal way. T h e most persistent outer relations which science believes in are never matters of experience at all, but have to be disengaged from under experience by a process of elimination, that is, by ignoring conditions which are always present. T h e elementary laws of me­ chanics, physics, and chemistry are all of this sort. T h e principle of uniform ity in nature is of this sort; it has to be sought under and in spite of the most rebellious appearances; and our conviction of its truth is far more like a religious faith than like assent to a dem­ onstration. T h e only cohesions which experience in the literal sense of the word produces in our mind are, as we contended some time back, the proximate laws of nature, and habitudes of concrete things, that heat melts ice, that salt preserves meat, that fish die out of water, and the like.9 Such ‘empirical truths’ as these we ad­ 9 “ It is perfectly true th at ou r w orld of experience begins w ith such associations as lead us to expect that what has happeneii to us w ill happen again. T h e se asso­ ciations lead the babe to look for m ilk from its nurse and not from its father, the child to believe that the apple he sees w ill taste good; and w hilst they make him wish for it, they make him fear the bottle which contains his bitter m edicine. B u t whereas a p art of these associations grows confirmed by frequen t repetition, another p art is destroyed by contradictory experiences; and the w orld becomes divided for us into two provinces, one in w hich we are at home and anticipate w ith confidence always the same sequences; another filled w ith altern ating, variable, accidental occurrences. . . Accident is, in a w ide sphere, such an every-day m atter that we need not be surprised if it sometimes invades the territory where order is the rule. A nd one per­ sonification or another o f the capricious pow er of chance easily helps us over the difficulties w hich further reflection m ight find in the exceptions. Yes, indeed, E x ­ ception has a pecu liar fascination; it is a subject of astonishm ent, a Qavfia. and the

credu lity w ith which in this first stage o f pure association w e adopt our supposed rules is m atched by the equal credu lity w ith which we adopt the miracles that in ter­ fere w ith them. “ T h e w hole history of p opu lar beliefs about nature refutes the notion that the thought o f an universal physical order can possibly have arisen through the purely passive reception and association of p articular perceptions. Ind ub itab le as it is that all men infer from known cases to unknow n, it is equ ally certain that this procedure,

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mitted to form an enormous part of human wisdom. T h e ‘scien­ tific’ truths have to harmonize with these truths, or be given up as useless; but they arise in the mind in no such passive associative way as that in which the simpler truths arise. Even those experi­ ences which are used to prove a scientific truth are for the most part artificial experiences of the laboratory gained after the truth itself has been conjectured. Instead of experiences engendering the ‘inner relations,’ the inner relations are what engender the ex­ periences here. W hat happens in the brain after experience has done its utmost is what happens in every material mass which has been fashioned by an outward force,—in every pudding or mortar, for example, which I may make with my hands. T h e fashioning from without brings the elements into collocations which set new internal forces free to exert their effects in turn. A nd the random irradiations and resettlements of our ideas, which supervene upon experience, and constitute our free mental play, are due entirely to these secondary internal processes, which vary enormously from brain to brain, even though the brains be exposed to exactly the same ‘outer rela­ tions.’ T h e higher thought-processes owe their being to causes which correspond far more to the sourings and fermentations of dough, the setting of mortar, or the subsidence of sediments in mixtures, than to the manipulations by which these physical aggreif re stric te d to th e p h e n o m e n a l m a te ria ls th a t sp o n ta n e o u sly o ffer th em selves, w o u ld n e v e r h a v e le d to th e b e lie f in a g e n e ra l u n ifo r m ity , b u t o n ly to th e b e lie f th a t la w a n d law lessness ru le th e w o rld in m o tle y a lte r n a tio n . F ro m th e p o in t o f v iew o f stric t e m p iricism n o th in g e xists b u t th e su m o f p a r tic u la r p e rce p tio n s w ith th e ir co in cid e n ce s on th e o n e h a n d , th e ir co n tra d ic tio n s o n th e o th er. “ T h a t th ere is m o re o rd e r in th e w o rld th an a p p e ars a t first sig h t is n o t d isco v ­ ered till th e o rd e r is lo o k e d fo r. T h e first im p u lse to lo o k fo r it p ro ceed s from p r a c tic a l n eed s: w h e re en ds m u st b e a tta in e d , w e m u st k n o w

tru stw o rth y m ean s

w h ic h in fa llib ly possess a p r o p e rty o r p ro d u c e a re su lt. B u t th e p r a c tic a l n eed is o n ly th e first occasio n fo r o u r re flectio n on th e co n d itio n s o f a tru e k n o w led g e ; even w e re th ere n o su ch n e ed , m o tive s w o u ld s t ill b e p resen t to ca rry u s b e y o n d th e sta ge o f m ere asso ciatio n . F o r n o t w ith an e q u a l in terest, o r r a th e r w ith an e q u a l la ck o f in te re st, d oes m a n c o n te m p la te those n a tu ra l processes in w h ic h lik e is jo in e d to lik e , a n d th ose in w h ic h lik e a n d u n lik e a re jo in e d ; th e fo rm e r processes h a rm o n ize w ith th e c o n d itio n s o f h is th in k in g , th e la tte r d o n o t; in th e fo rm e r h is co n cep ts, ju d g m e n ts, in fe re n ce s a p p ly to re a litie s, in th e la tte r th e y h a v e n o su ch a p p lic a tio n . A n d th u s th e in te lle c tu a l sa tisfa ctio n w h ic h a t first com es to h im w ith o u t re flectio n , a t last e x c ite s in h im th e con scio u s w ish to fin d re a liz e d th ro u g h o u t th e e n tire p h e n o m e n a l w o rld th o se ra tio n a l c o n tin u itie s , u n ifo rm itie s, a n d necessities w h ich are th e fu n d a m e n ta l e le m e n t a n d g u id in g p r in c ip le o f h is o w n th o u g h t.” (C . S ig w a rt: L o g ik , II, 380-2.)

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gates came to be compounded. O ur study of similar association and reasoning taught us that the whole superiority of man depended on the facility with which in his brain the paths worn by the most frequent outer cohesions could be ruptured. T h e causes of the in­ stability, the reasons why now this point and now that become in him the seat of rupture, we saw to be entirely obscure. (Vol. I, p. 546; Vol. II, p. 987.) T h e only clear thing about the peculiarity seems to be its interstitial character, and the certainty that no mere appeal to man’s ‘experience’ suffices to explain it. W hen we pass from scientific to aesthetic and ethical systems, everyone readily admits that, although the elements are matters of experience, the peculiar forms of relation into which they are woven are incongruent with the order of passively received experi­ ence. T h e world of aesthetics and ethics is an ideal world, a Utopia, a world which the outer relations persist in contradicting, but which we as stubbornly persist in striving to make actual. W hy do we thus invincibly crave to alter the given order of nature? Simply because other relations among things are far more interesting to us and more charming than the mere rates of frequency of their time- and space-conjunctions. These other relations are all secon­ dary and brain-born, ‘spontaneous variations’ most of them, of our sensibility, whereby certain elements of experience, and certain arrangements in time and space, have acquired an agreeableness which otherwise would not have been felt. It is true that habitual arrangements may also become agreeable. But this agreeableness of the merely habitual is felt to be a mere ape and counterfeit of real inward fitness; and one sign of intelligence is never to mistake the one for the other. T h ere are then ideal and inward relations amongst the objects of our thought w hich can in no in tellig ib le sense whatever be in ­ terpreted as reproductions of the order of outer experience. In the

aesthetic and ethical realms they conflict with its order—the early Christian with his kingdom of heaven, and the contemporary an­ archist with his abstract dream of justice, w ill tell you that the ex­ isting order must perish, root and branch, ere the true order can come. Now the peculiarity of those relations among the objects of our thought which are dubbed ‘scientific’ is this, that although they no more are inward reproductions of the outer order than the ethical and aesthetic relations are, yet they do not conflict with that order, but, once having sprung up by the play of the inward

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forces, are found—some of them at least, namely the only ones which have survived long enough to be matters of record—to be congruent with the time- and space-relations which our impres­ sions affect. In other words, though nature’s materials lend themselves slow­ ly and discouragingly to our translation of them into ethical forms, but more readily into aesthetic forms; to translation into scientific forms they lend themselves with relative ease and completeness. T h e translation, it is true, w ill probably never be ended. T h e per­ ceptive order does not give way, nor the right conceptive substitute for it arise, at our bare word of command.10 It is often a deadly fight; and many a man of science can say, like Johannes Muller, after an investigation, ‘Es k leb t B lu t an der A rb eit.’ But victory after victory makes us sure that the essential doom of our enemy is defeat.11 H>Cf. H o d gso n : P h il o s o p h y o f R e f le c t i o n , b o o k 11, c h a p . v. ll

T h e a sp ira tio n to b e ‘s c ie n tific ’ is su ch an id o l o f th e trib e to th e p resen t g e n e ra ­

tio n , is so su ck ed in w ith h is m o th e r ’s m ilk b y e v e ry o n e o f us, th a t w e fin d it h a rd to co n c e iv e o f a c re a tu re w h o sh o u ld n o t fe e l it, a n d h a rd e r s t ill to tre at it fr e e ly as th e a lto g e th e r p e c u lia r an d o n e-sid ed s u b je c tiv e in te re st w h ic h it is. B u t as a m a tte r o f fa ct, few even o f th e c u ltiv a te d m em b ers o f th e ra ce h a v e sh a red it; it w as in ­ v e n te d b u t a g e n e ra tio n o r tw o a g o . In th e m id d le ages it m e a n t o n ly im p io u s m agic; a n d th e w a y in w h ic h it even n ow strik es o rie n ta ls is c h a r m in g ly sh ow n in th e le tte r o f a T u r k is h ca d i to an E n g lish tra v e lle r a sk in g h im

fo r sta tistic a l in fo r m a tio n ,

w h ic h S ir A . L a y a rd p rin ts a t th e e n d o f h is D is c o v e r ie s a m o n g t h e R u i n s o f N i n e v e h a n d B a b y lo n . T h e d o c u m e n t is to o f u ll o f e d ific a tio n n o t to b e g iv e n in fu ll. I t ru n s

thus: “ M y I llu s t r i o u s F r i e n d , a n d J o y o f m y L i v e r !

“ T h e th in g y o u ask o f m e is b o th d iffic u lt a n d useless. A lth o u g h I h a v e passed a ll m y d ay s in th is p la c e , I h a v e n e ith e r co u n te d th e h ou ses n o r h a v e I in q u ir e d in to th e n u m b e r o f th e in h a b ita n ts; a n d as to w h a t o n e person load s on liis m u les a n d th e o th e r stow s a w a y in th e b o tto m o f h is sh ip , th a t is n o bu sin ess o f m in e . B u t, a b o v e a ll, as to th e p re v io u s h is to ry o f th is c ity , G o d o n ly k n o w s th e a m o u n t o f d ir t a n d c o n fu sio n th a t th e in fid els m a y h a v e e aten b e fo re th e c o m in g o f th e sw o rd o f Islam . I t w e re u n p ro fita b le fo r us to in q u ir e in to it. “ O h , m y so u l! o h , m y la m b ! seek n o t a fte r th e th in g s w h ic h co n cern th ee n ot. T h o u earnest u n to us, a n d w e w e lc o m ed th ee : g o in peace. “ O f a tru th , th ou h ast sp o ken m a n y w o rd s; an d th ere is n o h a rm d o n e , fo r th e sp e a k e r is o n e an d th e liste n e r is a n o th e r. A fte r th e fa sh io n o f th y p e o p le th o u h ast w a n d e re d fro m o n e p la c e to a n o th e r u n til th o u a rt h a p p y a n d co n te n t in n on e. W e (p ra ise b e to G o d ) w e re b o rn h e re , a n d n e v e r d esire to q u it it. Is it p o ssib le th e n th a t th e id ea o f a g e n e ra l in te rco u rse b e tw e e n m a n k in d sh o u ld m a k e a n y im p ression on o u r u n d e rsta n d in g s? G o d fo rb id ! “ L iste n , o h m y son! T h e r e is n o w isd o m e q u a l u n to th e b e lie f in G o d ! H e crea ted th e w o rld , a n d s h a ll w e lik e n o u rse lv e s u n to h im in se e k in g to p e n e tra te in to th e m ysterie s o f h is cre a tio n ? S h a ll w e say, b e h o ld th is star sp in n e th ro u n d th a t sta r, an d

1236

Necessary T ru th s and the Effects of E xperience T H E G E N E S IS O F T H E P U R E S C IE N C E S

I have now stated in general terms the relation of the natural sciences to experience strictly so called, and shall complete what I have to say by reverting to the subject on a later page. A t present I w ill pass to the so-called pure or a priori sciences of Classification, Logic, and Mathematics. My thesis concerning these is that they are even less than the natural sciences effects of the order of the world as it comes to our experience. T h e p u r e s c i e n c e s e x p r e s s o f c o m p a r i s o n exclusively; comparison is not a con ceiv­ able effect of the order in w hich outer impressions are experienced —it is one of the house-born (p. 1225) portions of our m ental struc­ ture; therefore the pure sciences form a body of propositions with whose genesis experience has nothing to do. resu lts

First, consider the nature of comparison. T h e relations of re­ sem blance and difference among things have n othing to do with the time- and space-order in which we may experience the latter.

Suppose a hundred beings created by God and gifted with the faculties of memory and comparison. Suppose that upon each of them the same lot of sensations are imprinted, but in different orders. Let some of them have no single sensation more than once. Let some have this one and others that one repeated. Let every conceivable permutation prevail. And then let the magic-lantern show die out, and keep the creatures in a void eternity, with naught but their memories to muse upon. Inevitably in their long leisure they will begin to play with the items of their experience and re­ arrange them, make classificatory series of them, place gray be­ tween white and black, orange between red and yellow, and trace all other degrees of resemblance and difference. And this new conth is o th e r sta r w ith a ta il g o e th a n d c o m eth in so m a n y years! L e t it go! H e from w h o se h a n d it ca m e w ill g u id e a n d d ire c t it. “ B u t th o u w ilt say u n to m e, S tan d aside, o h m an , fo r I a m m o re le a rn e d th an th o u a rt, a n d h a v e seen m o re th in g s. I f th ou th in k e st th a t th o u a rt in th is resp ect b e tte r th an I am , th o u a rt w elco m e. I p ra ise G o d th a t I seek n o t th a t w h ic h I re q u ire n ot. T h o u a rt le a rn ed in th e th in g s I ca re n o t for; an d as fo r th a t w h ic h th o u h ast seen , I d efile it. W ill m u c h k n o w le d g e c rea te th ee a d o u b le b e lly , o r w ilt th o u seek P a ra d ise w ith th in e eyes? “ O h , m y frien d ! I f th o u w ilt b e h a p p y , say, T h e r e is n o G o d b u t G o d ! D o n o e v il, a n d th u s w ilt th o u fea r n e ith e r m an n o r d e a th ; fo r s u r e ly th in e h o u r w ill com e! “ T h e m eek in s p ir it (E l F ak ir), “ IM AUM A u ZADE.”

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struction w ill be absolutely identical in all the hundred creatures, the diversity of the sequence of the original experiences having no effect as regards this rearrangement. Any and every form of se­ quence w ill give the same result, because the result expresses the relation between the inward natures of the sensations; and to that the question of their outward succession is quite irrelevant. Black w ill differ from white just as much in a world in which they always come close together as in one in which they always come far apart; just as much in one in which they appear rarely as in one in which they appear all the time. But the advocate of ‘persistent outer relations’ may still return to the charge: These are what make us so sure that white and black differ, he may say; for in a world where sometimes black resembled white and sometimes differed from it, we could never be so sure. It is because in this world black and white have always differed that the sense of their difference has become a necessary form of thought. T h e pair of colors on the one hand and the sense of differ­ ence on the other, inseparably experienced, not only by ourselves but by our ancestors, have become inseparably connected in the mind. N ot through any essential structure of the mind, which made difference the only possible feeling which they could arouse; no, but because they simply did differ so often that at last they begat in us an impotency to imagine them doing anything else, and made us accept such a fabulous account as that just presented, of crea­ tures to whom a single experience would suffice to make us feel the necessity of this relation. I know not whether Mr. Spencer would subscribe to this or not; —nor do I care, for there are mysteries which press more for solu­ tion than the meaning of this vague writer’s words. But to me such an explanation of our difference-judgment is absolutely unintel­ ligible. W e now find black and white different, the explanation says, because we always have so fo u n d them. But why should we always have so found them? W hy should difference have popped into our heads so invariably with the thought of them? T h ere must have been either a subjective or an objective reason. T h e subjec­ tive reason can only be that our minds were so constructed that a sense of difference was the only sort of conscious transition possible between black and white; the objective reason can only be that difference was always there, with these colors, outside the mind as

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an objective fact. T h e subjective reason explains outer frequency by inward structure, not inward structure by outer frequency; and so surrenders the experience-theory. T h e objective reason simply says that if an outer difference is there the mind must needs know it—which is no explanation at all, but a mere appeal to the fact that somehow the mind does know what is there. T h e only clear thing to do is to give up the sham of a pretended explanation, and to fall back on the fact that the sense of difference has arisen, in some natural manner doubtless, but in a manner which we do not understand. It was by the back-stairs way, at all events; and, from the very first, happened to be the only mode of reaction by which consciousness could feel the transition from one term to another of what (in consequence of this very reaction) we now call a contrasted pair. In noticing the differences and resemblances of things, and their degrees, the mind feels its own activity, and has given the name of comparison thereto. It need not compare its materials, but if once roused to do so, it can compare them with but one result, and this a fixed consequence of the nature of the materials themselves. D if­ ference and resemblance are thus relations between ideal objects, or conceptions as such. T o learn whether black and white differ, I need not consult the world of experience at all; the mere ideas suffice. W hat I mean by black differs from what I mean by white, whether such colors exist extra m entem meam or not. If they ever do so exist, they w ill differ. W hite things may blacken, but the black of them w ill differ from the white of them, so long as I mean anything definite by these three words.12 I shall now in what follow s call all propositions which express time- and space-relations em pirical propositions; and I shall give the name of rational propositions to all propositions w hich express 12

“ T h o u g h a m an in a fe v e r sh o u ld fro m su g a r h a v e a b itte r taste, w h ic h a t a n ­

o th e r tim e w o u ld p ro d u c e a sw eet on e, y e t th e idea o f b itte r in th a t m a n ’s m in d w o u ld b e as c le a r a n d d is tin c t fro m th e id ea o f sw eet as if h e h ad tasted o n ly g a ll. N o r d oes it m ak e a n y m o re co n fu sio n b e tw e e n th e tw o ideas o f sw eet an d b itte r , th at th e sam e so rt o f b o d y p ro d u ce s a t o n e tim e on e a n d a t a n o th e r tim e a n o th e r id ea b y th e taste, th an it m akes a co n fu sio n in tw o ideas o f w h ite an d sw eet, o r w h ite and ro u n d , th a t th e sam e p ie c e o f su g a r p ro d u ce s th em b o th in th e m in d a t th e sam e tim e .” L o c k e ’s E ssa y , b k. 11, ch . x i, § 3.

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arbitrary, for resemblance and difference are not usually held to be the only rational relations between things. I will next proceed to show, however, how many other rational relations commonly supposed distinct can be resolved into these, so that my definition of rational propositions will end, I trust, by proving less arbitrary than it now appears to be.

S E R IE S O F E V E N D I F F E R E N C E A N D M E D I A T E C O M P A R I S O N

In Chapter X II we saw that the mind can at successive moments mean the same, and that it gradually comes into possession of a

stock of permanent and fixed meanings, ideal objects, or concep­ tions, some of which are universal qualities, like the black and white of our example, and some, individual things. W e now see that not only are the objects permanent mental possessions, but the results of their comparison are permanent too. T h e objects and their differences together form an immutable system. T h e same objects, com pared in the same way, always give the same re­ sults; if the result be not the same, then the objects are not those

originally meant. T h is last principle, which we may call the axiom of constant re­ sult, holds good throughout all our mental operations, not only when we compare, but when we add, divide, class, or infer a given matter in any conceivable way. Its most general expression would be “ the Same operated on in the same way gives the Same.” In mathematics it takes the form of “ equals added to, or subtracted from, equals give equals,” and the like. W e shall meet with it again. T h e next thing which we observe is that the operation of com ­ paring may be repeated on its own results; in other words, that we can think of the various resemblances and differences which we find and compare them with each other, making differences and resemblances of a higher order. T h e m ind thus becomes aware of sets of sim ilar differences, and forms series of terms with the same kin d and am ount of difference between them, terms w hich, as they succeed each other, maintain a constant direction of serial increase.

T h is sense of constant direction in a series of operations we saw in Chapter X III (p. 464) to be a cardinal mental fact. “ A differs from B differs from C differs from D, etc.,” makes a series only

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when the differences are in the same direction. In any such difference-series all terms differ in just the same way from their prede­ cessors. T h e numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, . . . the notes of the chromatic scale in music, are familiar examples. As soon as the mind grasps such a series as a whole, it perceives that two terms taken far apart differ more than two terms taken near together, and that any one term differs more from a remote than from a near successor, and this no matter what the terms may be, or what the sort of differ­ ence may be, provided it is always the same sort. T h is p r i n c i p l e o f m e d i a t e c o m p a r i s o n might be briefly (though obscurely) expressed by the formula “ more than the more is more than the less” — the words more and less standing simply for degrees of increase along a constant direction of differences. Such a for­ mula would cover all possible cases, as, earlier than early is earlier than late, worse than bad is worse than good, east of east is east of west; etc., etc., ad lib itu m .13 Symbolically, we might write it as a < b < c < d . . . and say that any num ber of intermediaries may be expunged w ithout obliging us to alter anything in what remains written. T h e principle of mediate comparison is only one form of a law which holds in many series of homogeneously related terms, the law that skipping intermediary terms leaves relations the same. T h is A X I O M O F S K I P P E D IN T E R M E D IA R I E S O r of T R A N S F E R R E D R E L A ­ T I O N S occurs, as we soon shall see, in logic as the fundamental prin­ ciple of inference, in arithmetic as the fundamental property of the number-series, in geometry as that of the straight line, the plane and the parallel. It seems to be on the w hole the broadest and deep­ est law of man’s thought.

In certain lists of terms the result of comparison may be to find no-difference, or equality in place of difference. Here also inter­ mediaries may be skipped, and mediate comparison be carried on with the general result expressed by the axiom of m ediate equality, “equals of equals are equal,” which is the great principle of the mathematical sciences. T h is too as a result of the m ind’s mere acuteness, and in utter independence of the order in which ex­ periences come associated together. Symbolically, again: a = b = c = d . . . with the same consequence as regards expunging terms which we saw before. 13 C f. B ra d le y : L o g ic , p . 226.

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the gratification of a certain curiosity as to whether the object in hand is or is not of a kind connected with that ultimate purpose. Usually the connection is not obvious, and we only find that the object S is of a kind connected with P, after first finding that it is of a kind M, which itself is connected with P. T hus, to fix our ideas by an example, we have a curiosity (our ultimate purpose being conquest over nature) as to how Sirius may move. It is not obvious whether Sirius is a kind of thing which moves in the line of sight or not. W hen, however, we find it to be a kind of thing in whose spectrum the hydrogen-line is shifted, and when we reflect that that kind of thing is a kind of thing which moves in the line of sight; we conclude that Sirius does so move. W hatever Sirius’s attribute is, Sirius is; its adjective’s adjective can supersede its own adjective in our thinking, and this with no loss to our knowledge, so long as we stick to the definite purpose in view.

Now please note that this elimination of intermediary kinds and transfer of is’ s along the line, results from our insight into the very meaning of the word is, and into the constitution of any series of terms connected by that relation. It has naught to do with what any particular thing is or is not; but, whatever any given thing may be, we see that it also is whatever that is, indefinitely. T o grasp in one view a succession of is’ s is to apprehend this relation between the terms which they connect; just as to grasp a list of successive equals is to apprehend their m utual equality throughout. T h e principle of mediate subsumption thus expresses relations of ideal objects as such. It can be discovered by a mind left at leisure with any set of meanings (however originally obtained), of which some are predicable of others. T h e moment we string them in a serial line, that moment we see that we can drop intermediaries, treat remote terms just like near ones, and put a genus in the place of a species. T h is shows that the p rincip le of mediate subsum ption has n oth in g to do with the particular order of our experiences, or with the outer coexistences and sequences of terms. W ere it a mere out­

growth of habit and association, we should be forced to regard it as having no universal validity; for every hour of the day we meet things which we consider to be of this kind or of that, but later learn that they have none of the kind’s properties, that they do not belong to the kind’s kind. Instead, however, of correcting the prin­ ciple by these cases, we correct the cases by the principle. W e say that if the thing we named an M has not M ’s properties, then we

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were either mistaken in calling it an M, or mistaken about M ’s properties; or else that it is no longer M, but has changed. But we never say that it is an M without M ’s properties; for by conceiving a thing as of the kind M I mean that it shall have M ’s properties, be of M ’s kind, even though I should never be able to find in the real world anything which is an M. T h e principle emanates from my perception of what a lot of successive is’s mean. T h is perception can no more be confirmed by one set, or weakened by another set, of outer facts, than the perception that black is not white can be confirmed by the fact that snow never blackens, or weakened by the fact that photographer’s paper blackens as soon as you lay it in the sun. T h e abstract scheme of successive predications, extended indefi­ nitely, with all the possibilities of substitution which it involves, is thus an immutable system of truth which flows from the very structure and form of our thinking. I f any real terms ever do fit into such a scheme, they w ill obey its laws; w hether they do is a question as to nature’s facts, the answer to which can only be em­ pirically ascertained. Form al logic is the name of the Science which traces in skeleton form all the remote relations of terms connected by successive is’s with each other, and enumerates their possibili­ ties of mutual substitution. T o our principle of mediate subsump­ tion she has given various formulations, of which the best is per­ haps this broad expression, that the same can be substituted for the same in any m ental operation.15

T h e ordinary logical series contains but three terms—“ Socrates, man, m ortal.” But we also have ‘Sorites’—Socrates, man, animal, machine, run down, mortal, etc.—and it violates psychology to rep­ resent these as syllogisms with terms suppressed. T h e ground of there being any logic at all is our power to grasp any series as a whole, and the more terms it holds the better. T h is synthetic con­ sciousness of an uniform direction of advance through a m ulti­ plicity of terms is, apparently, what the brutes and lower men can­ not accomplish, and what gives to us our extraordinary power of ratiocinative thought. T h e mind which can grasp a string of is’s as R e a litie s fa ll u n d e r th is o n ly so fa r as th e y p ro v e to b e th e sam e. So fa r as th ey ca n n o t b e su b stitu te d fo r each o th e r , for th e p u rp o se in h a n d , so fa r th e y are n o t th e sam e; th o u g h fo r o th e r p u rp o ses a n d in o th e r resp ects th e y m ig h t b e s u b stitu te d , and th en b e treated as th e sam e. A p a r t fro m p u rp o se , o f cou rse, n o re a litie s e ve r are a b ­ so lu te ly and e x a c tly th e sam e.

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a whole—the objects linked by them may be ideal or real, physical, mental, or symbolic, indifferently—can also apply to it the princi­ ple of skipped intermediaries. T h e logic-list is thus in its origin and essential nature just like those graded classificatory lists which we erew hile described. T h e ‘rational proposition’ which lies at the basis of all reasoning, the dictum de om ni et n u llo in all the various

forms in which it may be expressed, the fundamental law of thought, is thus only the result of the fu n ction of comparison in a mind which has come by some lucky variation to apprehend a series of more than two terms at once.16 So far, then, both Systematic Classification and L og ic are seen to be incidental results of the mere capacity for discerning difference and likeness, which capaci­ ty is a thing with which the order of experience, properly so styled,

has absolutely nothing to do. But how comes it (it may next be asked) when systematic classifi­ cations have so little ultimate theoretic importance—for the con­ ceiving of things according to their mere degrees of resemblance always yields to other modes of conceiving when these can be ob­ tained—that the logical relations among things should form such a mighty engine for dealing with the facts of life? Chapter X X II already gave the reason (see p. 961, above). T h is world m ight be a world in which all things differed, and in which what properties there were were ultimate and had no farther predi­ cates. In such a world there would be as many kinds as there were separate things. W e could never subsume a new thing under an old kind; or if we could, no consequences would follow. Or, again, this might be a world in which innumerable things were of a kind, but in which no concrete thing remained of the same kind long, but all objects were in a flux. Here again, though we could subsume and infer, our logic would be of no practical use to us, for the sub­ jects of our propositions would have changed whilst we were talk­ ing. In such worlds, logical relations would obtain, and be known (doubtless) as they are now, but they would form a merely theoretic scheme and be of no use for the conduct of life. But our world is no such world. It is a very peculiar world, and plays right into logic’s hands. Som e of the things, at least, which it contains are of I S A m in d , in o th e r w o rd s, w h ic h h as g o t b e y o n d th e m e r e ly d i c h o t o m ic sty le o f th o u g h t w h ic h W u n d t a lle g e s to b e th e essen tial fo rm o f h u m a n th in k in g (P h y s io lo g is c h e P s y c h o lo g ie , 11, 312).

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the same kind as other things; som e of them remain always of the kind of which they once were; and some of the properties of them cohere indissolubly and are always found together. W hich things these latter things are we learn by experience in the strict sense of the word, and the results of the experience are embodied in ‘em­ pirical propositions.’ W henever such a thing is met with by us now, our sagacity notes it to be of a certain kind; our learning immedi­ ately recalls that kind’s kind, and then that kind’s kind, and so on; so that a moment’s thinking may make us aware that the thing is of a kind so remote that we could never have directly perceived the connection. T h e flight to this last kind over the heads of the interm ediaries is the essential feature of the intellectual operation here. Evidently it is a pure outcome of our sense for apprehending serial increase; and, unlike the several propositions themselves which make up the series (and which may all be empirical), it has nothing to do with the time- and space-order in which the things have been experienced. M A T H E M A T IC A L

R E L A T IO N S

So much for the a priori necessities called systematic classifica­ tion and logical inference. T h e other couplings of data which pass for a priori necessities of thought are the mathematical judgments, and certain metaphysical propositions. These latter we shall con­ sider farther on. As regards the mathematical judgments, they are all ‘rational propositions’ in the sense defined on p. 1239, f°r express results of comparison and nothing more. T h e mathemati­ cal sciences deal with similarities and equalities exclusively, and not with coexistences and sequences. Hence they have, in the first instance, no connection with the order of experience. T h e com­ parisons of mathematics are between numbers and extensive mag­ nitudes, giving rise to arithmetic and geometry respectively. N u m b er seems to signify primarily the strokes of our attention in discriminating things. These strokes remain in the memory in groups, large or small, and the groups can be compared. T h e dis­ crimination is, as we know, psychologically facilitated by the mo­ bility of the thing as a total (p. 812). But within each thing we discriminate parts; so that the num ber of things which any one given phenomenon may be depends in the last instance on our way of taking it. A globe is one, if undivided; two, if composed of hemi­

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spheres. A sand-heap is one thing, or twenty thousand things, as we may choose to count it. W e amuse ourselves by the counting of mere strokes, to form rhythms, and these we compare and name. Little by little in our minds the number-series is formed. This, like all lists of terms in which there is a direction of serial increase, carries with it the sense of those mediate relations between its terms which we expressed by the axiom “ the more than the more is more than the less.” T h a t axiom seems, in fact, only a way of stating that the terms do form an increasing series. But, in addition to this, we are aware of certain other relations among our strokes of counting. W e may interrupt them where we like, and go on again. A ll the while we feel that the interruption does not alter the strokes themselves. W e may count 12 straight through; or count 7 and pause, and then count 5, but still the strokes w ill be the same. W e thus distinguish between our acts of counting and those of in­ terrupting or grouping, as between an unchanged matter and an operation of mere shuffling performed on it. T h e matter is the original units or strokes; which all modes of grouping or com bin­ ing simply give us back unchanged. In short, com binations of n u m ­ bers are com binations of their units, which is the fundamental axiom of arithm etic,17 leading to such consequences as that 7 + 5 = 8 + 4 because both = 12. T h e general axiom of mediate equali­ ty, that equals of equals are equal, comes in here.18 T h e principle o f constancy in our meanings, when applied to strokes of counting, also gives rise to the axiom that the same number, operated on (in­ terrupted, grouped) in the same way w ill always give the same re­ sult or be the same. H ow shouldn’t it? N othing is supposed changed. A rith m etic and its fundam ental principles are thus independent of our experiences or of the order of the world. T h e matter of arithmetic is m ental m atter ; its principles flow from the fact that

the matter forms a series, which can be cut into by us wherever we like without the matter changing. T h e empiricist school has strangely tried to interpret the truths of num ber as results of co­ existences among outward things. John M ill calls num ber a physi­ cal property of things. ‘O ne,’ according to M ill, means one sort of 17 Said to b e exp ressed b y G rassm an in th e fu n d a m e n ta l A x io m o f A r ith m e tic (a +

b) +

1 = a - f- (b - f- 1 ) ,

18 C o m p a re H e lm h o ltz ’s m o re te c h n ic a lly exp ressed E ssay " Z ä h le n u n d M essen ,”

in th e P h il o s o p h i s c h e A u fs ä t z e . E d u a r d Z e lle r z u s e in e m J u b ilä u m g e w id m e t (L e ip z ig , 1887), p . 17.

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D o c to r-

N ecessary T ru th s and th e Effects of E xperien ce

passive sensation which we receive, ‘two’ another, ‘three’ a third. T h e same things, however, can give us different num ber-sensations. T h re e things arranged thus, o o o , for exam ple, impress us differ­ ently from three things arranged thus, ° 0°. B ut experience tells us that every real object-group which can be arranged in one of these ways can always be arranged in the other also, and that 2 + 1 and 3 are thus modes of nu m b erin g things which ‘coexist’ invariably w ith each other. T h e indefeasibility of o u r belief in their ‘coexistence’ (which is M ill’s word for their equivalence) is due solely to the enorm ous am ount of experience we have of it. For all things, w hat­ ever other sensations they may give us, give us at any rate num bersensations. T hose num ber-sensations which the same thing may be successively m ade to arouse are the num bers which we deem equal to each other; those which the same thing refuses to arouse are those which we deem unequal. T h is is as clear a restatem ent as I can m ake of M ill’s d octrine .19 A nd its failure is w ritten upon its front. W oe to arithm etic, were such the only grounds for its validity! T h e same real things are countable in num berless ways, and pass from one num erical form, n o t only to its equivalent (as M ill implies), b u t to its other, as the sport of physical accidents or of ou r m ode of atten d in g may decide. How could o u r notion that one and one are eternally and neces­ sarily two ever m aintain itself in a w orld where every tim e we add one drop of w ater to another we get n o t two b u t one again? in a w orld w here every tim e we add a drop to a crum b of quicklim e we get a dozen or more?—had it no better w arrant than such experi­ ences? A t most we could then say that one and one are usually two. O u r arithm etical propositions w ould never have the confident tone which they now possess. T h a t confident tone is due to the fact that they deal w ith abstract and ideal num bers exclusively. W h a t w e m ean by one plus one is two; we m a k e two out of it; and it w ould m ean two still even in a w orld w here physically (according to a conceit of M ill’s) a th ird th ing was engendered every tim e one th ing came together w ith another. W e are masters of ou r m ean­ ings, and discrim inate betw een the things we m ean and ou r ways of taking them , between ou r strokes of n um eration themselves, and our bundlings and separatings thereof. l®For the o rig in a l statem ents, cf. J. S. M ill’s Logic, bk. II, chap. vi, §§ g, y and bk. h i, chap. x x iv , § 5.

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M ill ought n o t only to have said, “All things are n u m b ered .” H e ought, in order to prove his point, to have shown th at they are u n e q u iv o c a lly num bered, which they notoriously are not. Only the abstract num bers themselves are unequivocal, only those which we create m entally and hold fast to as ideal objects always the same. A concrete natu ral thing can always be nu m b ered in a great va­ riety of ways. “W e need only conceive a thing divided into four equal parts, (and all things may be conceived as so divided,)” as M ill is him self com pelled to say, to find the n u m b e r four in it, and so on. T h e relation of num bers to experience is ju st like that of ‘kinds’ in logic. So long as an experience will keep its kind we can handle it by logic. So long as it will keep its n u m b er we can deal w ith it by arithm etic. Sensibly, however, things are constantly changing their num bers, just as they are changing their kinds. T hey are forever breaking ap art and fusing. Com pounds and their elem ents are never num erically identical, for the elem ents are sensibly m any and the com pounds sensibly one. Unless o u r arithm etic is to re­ m ain w ithout application to life, we m ust somehow m a k e m ore num erical continuity than we spontaneously find. Accordingly Lavoisier discovers his w eight-units which rem ain the same in com ­ pounds and elem ents, though volum e-units and quality-units all have changed. A great discovery! A nd m odern science outdoes it by denying that com pounds exist at all. T h e re is no such th ing as ‘w ater’ for ‘science’; that is only a handy nam e for H 2 and O when they have got into the position H-O-H , and then affect our senses in a novel way. T h e m odern theories of atoms, of heat, and of gases are, in fact, only intensely artificial devices for gaining that con­ stancy in the num bers of things which sensible experience will not show. “Sensible things are not the things for m e,” says Science, “be­ cause in their changes they will n o t keep th eir num bers the same. Sensible qualities are not the qualities for me, because they can w ith difficulty be num bered at all. These hypothetic atoms, how­ ever, are the things, these hypothetic masses and velocities are the qualities for me; they will stay num bered all the tim e.’’ By such elaborate inventions, and at such a cost to the im agina­ tion, do m en succeed in m aking for themselves a w orld in which real things shall be coerced p e r fas a u t nefas under arithm etical law.

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T h e other branch of m athem atics is g e o m e tr y . Its objects are also ideal creations. W hether n a tu re contain circles or not, I can know w hat I m ean by a circle and can stick to my m eaning; and when I m ean two circles I m ean two things of an identical kind. T h e axiom of constant results (see above, p. 12 4 0 ) holds in geome­ try. T h e same forms, treated in the same way (added, subtracted, or com pared), give the same results—how shouldn’t they? T h e axioms of m ediate com parison (p. 1 2 4 1 ), of logic (p. 12 4 3 ), anc^ °f n u m b er (p. 12 4 8 ) all apply to the forms which we im agine in space, inasm uch as these resem ble or differ from each other, form kinds, and are num erable things. B ut in addition to these general p rin ­ ciples, which are true of space-forms only as they are of other m en­ tal conceptions, there are certain axioms relative to space-forms exclusively, which we m ust briefly consider. T h re e of them give m arks of identity am ong straight lines, planes, and parallels. Straight lines which have two points, planes w hich have three points, parallels to a given line which have one point, in comm on, coalesce throughout. Some say that the cer­ tainty of our belief in these axioms is due to repeated experiences of their tru th ; others that it is due to an intuitive acquaintance w ith the properties of space. It is neither. W e experience lines enough which pass through two points only to separate again, only we w on’t call them straight. Similarly of planes and parallels. W e have a definite idea of w hat we m ean by each of these words; and when som ething different is offered us, we see the difference. Straight lines, planes, and parallels, as they figure in geometry, are m ere inventions of our faculty for apprehen ding serial increase. T h e farther continuations of these forms, we say, shall bear the same relation to their last visible parts which these d id to still earlier parts. It thus follows (from that axiom of skipped in ter­ m ediaries which obtains in all regular series) that parts of these figures separated by other parts m ust agree in direction, just as contiguous parts do. T h is uniform ity of direction th roughout is, in fact, all that makes us care for these forms, gives them their beauty, and stamps them into fixed conceptions in ou r m ind. B ut obviously if two lines, or two planes, w ith a com m on segment, were to p art com pany beyond the segment, it could only be be­ cause the direction of at least one of them had changed. P arting com pany in lines and planes m ean s changing direction, m eans as­

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sum ing a new relation to the parts that pre-exist; and assum ing a new relation means ceasing to be straight or plane. If we m ean by a parallel a line that will never m eet a second line; and if we have one such line draw n through a point, any new line draw n through th at point which does not coalesce w ith the first m ust be inclined to it, and if inclined to it m ust approach the second, i.e., cease to be parallel w ith it. No properties of outlying space need come in here: only a definite conception of uniform direction, and con­ stancy in sticking to one’s point. T h e other two axioms peculiar to geom etry are that figures can be moved in space w ithout change, and that no variation in the way of subdividing a given am ount of space alters its total q u a n ­ tity .20 T h is last axiom is sim ilar to w hat we found to obtain in num bers. ‘T h e whole is equal to its parts’ is an abridged way of expressing it. A m an is n o t the same biological whole if we cut him in two at the neck as if we divide him at the ankles; b u t geom etri­ cally he is the same whole, no m atter in which place we cut him. T h e axiom about figures being m ovable in space is rath er a pos­ tulate than an axiom . So far as they are so m ovable, then certain fixed equalities and differences obtain betw een forms, no m a tte r w h e re p la ced . B ut if translation through space warped or m agnified forms, then the relations of equality, etc., w ould always have to be expressed w ith a position-qualification added. A geometry as ab­ solutely certain as ours could be invented on the supposition of such a space, if the laws of its w arping and deform ation were fixed. It w ould, however, be m uch m ore com plicated than our geometry, which makes the sim plest possible supposition; and finds, luckily enough, that it is a supposition w ith which the space of our experi­ ence seems to agree. By m eans of these principles, all playing into each o th er’s hands, the m utual equivalences of an imm ense n u m b er of forms can be traced, even of such as at first sight bear hardly any resem blance to each other. W e move and tu rn them m entally, and find th at parts of them will superpose. W e add im aginary lines which subdivide or enlarge them , and find that the new figures resem ble each other in ways which show us that the old ones are equivalent too. W e 20 T h e su b d ivision itself consum es n o n e o f the space. In all p ractical exp erien ce o u r su b d ivision s d o con su m e space. T h e y con su m e it in ou r geom etrical figures. B ut for sim p licity ’s sake, in geom etry w e p o stu la te su b d ivisio n s w h ich v io la te exp erien ce a n d consum e n o n e o f it.

Necessary Truths and the Effects of Experience

thus end by expressing all sorts of forms in terms of other forms, enlarging ou r knowledge of the kinds of things which certain other kinds of things are, or to which they are equivalent. T h e result is a new system of m ental objects which can be treated as identical for certain purposes, a new series of is ’s almost indefi­ nitely prolonged, just like the series of equivalencies am ong n u m ­ bers, p a rt of which the m ultiplication-table expresses. A nd all this is in the first instance regardless of the coexistences and sequences of nature, and regardless of w hether the figures we speak of have ever been outw ardly experienced or not. C O N SCIO U SN ESS O F S E R IE S IS T H E B A SIS O F R A T IO N A L IT Y

Classification, logic, and m athem atics all result, then, from the m ere play of the m ind com paring its conceptions, no m atter whence the latter may have come. T h e essential condition for the form a­ tion of all these sciences is that we should have grown capable of apprehending series as such, and of distinguishing them as ho­ m ogeneous or heterogeneous, and as possessing definite directions of w hat I have called ‘increase.’ T h is consciousness of series is a hum an perfection which has been gradually evolved, and which varies greatly from m an to m an. T h e re is no accounting for it as a result of habitual associations am ong outw ard impressions, so we m ust simply ascribe it to the factors, w hatever they be, of inw ard cerebral growth. Once this consciousness attained to, however, m e d ia te thought becomes possible; w ith ou r very awareness of a series may go an awareness that dropping term s out of it will leave identical relations betw een the terms that rem ain; and thus arises a perception of relations betw een things so naturally separate that we should otherwise never have com pared them together at all. T h e axiom of skipped interm ediaries applies, however, only to certain particular series, and am ong them to those which we have considered, in which the recurring relation is either of difference, of likeness, of kind, of num erical addition, or of prolongation in the same linear or plane direction. It is therefore not a purely for­ m al law of thinking, b u t flows from the n atu re of the m atters thought about. It will not do to say universally that in all series of homogeneously related terms the rem ote m em bers are related to each other as the near ones are; for that will often be untrue. T h e series A is not B is not C is not D .. . does not perm it the relation to

!2 5 3

T h e Principles of Psychology

be traced betw een rem ote terms. From two negations no inference can be draw n. N or, to become m ore concrete, does the lover of a wom an generally love her beloved, or the contradictor of a con­ tradictor contradict whom ever he contradicts. T h e slayer of a slay­ er does not slay the latte r’s victim ; the acquaintances or enemies of a m an need not be each o th er’s acquaintances or enemies; nor are two things which are on top of a th ird thing necessarily on top of each other. All skipping of interm ediaries and transfer of relations occurs w ithin hom ogeneous series. B ut n ot all hom ogeneous series allow of interm ediaries being skipped and relations transferred. It de­ pends on which series they are, on w hat relations they contain .21 Let it not be said that it is a m ere m atter of verbal association, due to the fact that language sometimes perm its us to transfer the n a m e of a relation over skipped interm ediaries, and sometimes does not; as w here we call m en ‘progenitors’ of their rem ote as well as of their im m ediate posterity, b u t refuse to call them ‘fathers’ thereof. T h e re are relations which are intrin sica lly transferable, whilst oth­ ers are not. T h e relation of c o n d itio n , e.g., is intrinsically transfer­ able. W hat conditions a condition conditions w hat it conditions— “cause of cause is cause of effect.” T h e relations of negation and fru stratio n , on the other hand, are not transferable: w hat frustrates a frustration does n o t frustrate w hat it frustrates. N o changes of term inology w ould an n u l the intim ate difference betw een these two cases. N othing b u t the clear sight of the ideas themselves shows w heth­ er the axiom of skipped interm ediaries applies to them or not. T h e ir connections, im m ediate and rem ote, flow from their inward natures. W e try to consider them in certain ways, to brin g them into certain relations, and we find that sometimes we can and sometimes we cannot. T h e q u e s tio n w h e t h e r th e re are or are n o t in w a r d a n d essential c o n n e c tio n s b e tw e e n c o n c e iv e d o b je c ts as such, really is th e sam e th in g as the q u e stio n w h e th e r w e can g e t any n e w p e r c e p tio n f r o m m e n ta lly c o u p lin g th e m tog eth er, o r pass fr o m o n e to a n o th e r by a m e n ta l o p e r a tio n w h ic h gives a result. In

the case of some ideas and operations we get a result; b u t no result in the case of others. W here a result comes, it is due exclusively to the n a tu r e of the ideas and of the operation. T ak e blueness and yellowness, for example. W e can operate on them in some ways, 21 Cf. A. D e M organ:

Syllabus o f a Proposed System of Logic (i8 6 0 ), p p . 46-56.

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b u t n ot in other ways. W e can com pare them ; b u t we cannot add one to or subtract it from the other. W e can refer them to a com ­ m on kind, color; b u t we cannot m ake one a kind of the other, or infer one from the other. T h is has n othing to do w ith experience. For we can add blue p i g m e n t to yellow p ig m e n t, and subtract it again, and get a result both times. Only we know perfectly that this is no addition or subtraction of the blue and yellow qualities or natures themselves .22 T h e re is thus n o denying the fact that the m i n d is fille d w ith necessary a n d e te rn a l relatio ns w h ic h it finds b e tw e e n certain of its idea l c on ce p tion s, a n d w h ic h f o r m a d e te r m in a te system , i n d e p e n ­ d e n t o f the o r d e r of f r e q u e n c y in w h ic h e x p e r ie n c e m a y h ave as­ sociated th e c o n c e p t io n ’s originals in tim e a n d space. Shall we continue to call these sciences ‘in tu itiv e,’ ‘innate,’ or ‘a p r i o r i ’ bodies of tru th , or n o t ?23 Personally I should like to do so. B ut I hesitate to use the terms, on account of the odium which con­ troversial history has m ade the whole of their connotation for m any w orthy persons. T h e most politic way not to alienate these readers is to flourish the nam e of the im m ortal Locke. For in tru th 22 Cf. L ocke’s Essay, bk. 11, chap. xvn , § 6. 23 Som e readers m ay exp ect m e to p lu n g e in to the old d eb ate as to w h eth er the a prio ri truths are ‘a n a ly tic’ or ‘sy n th etic .’ It seem s to m e th at the d istin ctio n is o n e o f K an t’s m ost u n h ap p y legacies, for the reason that it is im possib le to m ake it sharp. N o o n e w ill say that such an alytic ju d gm en ts as “eq u id istan t lin es can n ow h ere m eet” are p u re tautologies. T h e p red icate is a som ew hat new w ay o f con ceivin g as w ell as o f n am in g the subject. T h er e is som ething ‘am p lia tiv e’ in o u r greatest truism s, ou r state o f m in d is richer after than before w e have u ttered them . T h is bein g the case, the q u estio n “at w h at p o in t does the new state o f m in d cease to be im plicit in the old ?” is too vague to be answ ered. T h e o n ly sharp w ay o f d efin in g syn th etic p rop osition s w o u ld be to say that they express a relation betw een two data at least. B u t it is hard to find any p rop osition w h ich cannot be construed as d o in g this. Even verbal d efin ition s do it. Such p ain stak in g attem p ts as that latest o n e by Mr. D . G. T h o m p so n to p rove a ll necessary ju d gm en ts to be an alytic ( System o f Psychology, ii, p p . 232 ff.) seem accordingly b u t nugte difficiles, and little better than wastes o f ink and paper. A ll p h ilo so p h ic interest vanishes from the q u estion , the m om en t o n e ceases to ascribe lo any a priori truths (w h eth er an alytic or syn th etic) th at " legislative char­ acter for a ll p o ssib le ex p erien ce” w h ich K ant believed in. W e ourselves h ave d en ied such leg isla tiv e character, and con ten ded that it was for ex p erien ce itself to prove w h eth er its data can or cannot be assim ilated to those id eal term s betw een w hich a priori relation s o b ta in . T h e an alytic-syn th etic d eb ate is thus for us d evoid o f all significance. O n the w h ole, tf\e best recent treatm ent o f th e q u estion k n ow n to m e is in o n e o f A . Spir’s works, h is D et...en u n d W irklich keit, I thin k , b u t I can n ot now find the page.

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I have done no th in g m ore in the previous pages than to m ake a little m ore explicit the teachings of Locke’s fourth book: “T he immutability of the same relations between the same im­ mutable things is now the idea that shows him, that if the three angles of a triangle were once equal to two right angles, they will always be equal to two right ones. And hence he comes to be certain, that what was once true in the case is always true; what ideas once agreed will always agree. . . . Upon this ground it is that particular demonstrations in mathematics afford general knowledge. If, then, the perception that the same ideas will eternally have the same habitudes and relations be not a sufficient ground of knowledge, there could be no knowledge of general propositions in m athem atics. . . . All general knowledge lies only in our own thoughts, and consists barely in the contemplation of our own abstract ideas. Wherever we perceive any agreement or dis­ agreement amongst them, there we have general knowledge; and, by put­ ting the names of those ideas together accordingly in propositions, can with certainty pronounce general truths___W hat is once known of such ideas will be perpetually and for ever true. So that, as to all general knowledge, we must search and find it only in our own minds, and it is only the examining of our own ideas that furnisheth us with that. Truths belonging to essences of things (that is, to abstract ideas) are eternal, and are to be found out by the contemplation only of those essences. . . . Knowledge is the consequence of the ideas (be they what they will) that are in our minds, producing there certain general pro­ positions. . .. Such propositions are therefore called ‘eternal truths,’ .. . because, being once made about abstract ideas so as to be true, they will, whenever they can be supposed to be made again at any time past or to come, by a mind having those ideas, always actually be true. For, names being supposed to stand perpetually for the same ideas, and the same ideas having immutably the same habitudes one to another, prop­ ositions concerning any abstract ideas that are once true must needs be eternal verities.” B ut w hat are these eternal verities, these ‘agreem ents,’ which the m ind discovers by barely considering its own fixed m eanings, ex­ cept w hat I have said?—relations of likeness and difference, im­ m ediate or m ediate, betw een the term s of certain series. Classifica­ tion is serial com parison, logic m ediate subsum ption, arithm etic m ediate equality of different bundles of attention-strokes, geome­ try m ediate equality of different ways of carving space. N one of these eternal verities has anything to say about facts, ab o u t w hat is or is n o t in the world. Logic does n o t say w hether Socrates, men,

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m ortals or im m ortals exist-, arithm etic does not tell us w here her 7 ’s, 5 ’s, and 1 2 ’s are to be fo u n d ; geom etry affirms n o t that circles and rectangles are real. All that these sciences m ake us sure of is, that if these things are anywhere to be found, the eternal verities will obtain of them . Locke accordingly never tires of telling us that the “universal propositions, of whose truth or falsehood we can have cer­ tain knowledge, concern not existence . . . . These universal and selfevident principles, being only our constant, clear, and distinct knowl­ edge of our own ideas more general or comprehensive, can assure us of nothing that passes without the mind; their certainty is founded only upon the knowledge we have of each idea by itself, and of its distinction from others; about which we cannot be mistaken whilst they are in our minds . . . . T he mathematician considers the truth and properties belonging to a rectangle or circle, only as they are in idea in his own mind. For it is possible he never found either of them existing mathe­ matically, i.e. precisely true, in his life. But yet the knowledge he has of any truths or properties belonging to a circle, or any other math­ ematical figure, are never the less true and certain even of real things existing: because real things are no farther concerned, nor intended to be meant by any such propositions, than as things really agree to those archetypes in his mind. Is it true of the idea of a triangle, that its three angles are equal to two right ones? It is true also of a triangle wherever it really exists. Whatever other figure exists that is not ex­ actly answerable to that idea of a triangle in his mind, is not at all con­ cerned in that proposition. And therefore he is certain all his knowledge concerning such ideas is real knowledge: because, intending things no farther than they agree with those his ideas, he is sure what he knows concerning those figures when they have barely an ideal existence in his mind, will hold true of them also when they have a real existence in matter.” But “that any or what bodies do exist: for that, we are left to our senses to discover to us as far as they can .” 24 Locke accordingly distinguishes betw een ‘m ental tru th ’ and ‘real tru th .’ 25 T h e form er is intuitively certain; the latter dependent on experience. Only h y p o th e tic a lly can we affirm intuitive truths of real things—by su pp osin g , namely, th at real things exist which cor­ respond exactly w ith the ideal subjects of the intuitive proposi­ tions. If ou r senses corroborate the supposition all goes well. B ut note 24 Book iv, chaps, ix , § i; v i i , 14; iv, 6; 2 5 Book iv, ch ap . v, §§ 6, 8.

v ii,

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the strange descent in Locke’s hands of the dignity of a p r io r i prop­ ositions. By the ancients they were considered, w ithout farther question, to reveal the constitution of Reality. A rchetypal things existed, it was assumed, in the relations in which we had to think them . T h e m in d ’s necessities were a w arrant for those of Being; and it was not till Descartes’ tim e that scepticism had so advanced (in ‘dogm atic’ circles) that the w arrant m ust itself be w arranted, and the veracity of the Deity invoked as a reason for holding fast to o u r natural beliefs. B ut the intuitive propositions of Locke leave us as regards outer reality none the better for their possession. W e still have to “go to our senses” to find w hat the reality is. T h e vindication of the intuitionist position is thus a b arren victory. T h e eternal verities which the very structure of our m ind lays hold of do not neces­ sarily themselves lay hold on extra-m ental being, n o r have they, as K ant pretended later ,26 a legislating character even for all possible experience. T hey are prim arily interesting only as subjective facts. T hey stand w aiting in the m ind, form ing a beautiful ideal n e t­ work; and the m ost we can say is that we h o p e to discover outer realities over which the netw ork may be flung so that ideal and real may coincide. A nd this brings us back to ‘science’ from which we diverted our atten tio n so long ago (see p. 12 3 6 ). Science thinks that she has dis­ covered the outer realities in question. Atoms and ether, w ith no properties b u t masses and velocities expressible by num bers, and paths expressible by analytic formulas, these at last are things over which the m athematico-logical netw ork may be flung, and by sup­ posing which instead of supposing sensible phenom ena science be­ comes yearly m ore able to m anufacture for herself a w orld about which rational propositions may be framed. Sensible phenom ena are pure delusions for the m echanical philosophy. T h e ‘things’ and 26 K ant, by the way, m ade a strange tactical b lu n d er in _his w ay o f sh ow in g that th e forms o f ou r necessary th ou gh t are u n d erived from exp erien ce. H e insisted on th ou gh t.form s w ith w h ich exp erien ce largely agrees, forgettin g that the o n ly forms w h ich cou ld n ot by an y p o ssib ility be the results o f exp erien ce w ou ld be such 35 ex p erien ce violated. T h e first th in g a K antian o u g h t to do is to discover form s o f ju d g m en t to w h ich no order in ‘th in g s’ runs p arallel. T h e s e w o u ld in d eed be features n ative to the m ind . I ow e this rem ark to H err A . Spir, in w hose D enken u n d W irklichkeit it is som ew h ere con tained. I have m yself already to som e ex ten t p roceeded, and in the pages w h ich follow sh all proceed still farther, to show th e o rig in a lity o f the m in d ’s structure in this way.

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qualities we instinctively believe in do n ot exist. T h e only realities are swarm ing solids in everlasting m otion, undulatory or con­ tinued, whose expressionless and meaningless changes of position form the history of the world, and are deducible from initial col­ locations and habits of m ovem ent hypothetically assumed. T h o u ­ sands of years ago m en started to cast the chaos of n a tu re ’s se­ quences and juxtapositions into a form that m ight seem intelligible. M any were their ideal prototypes of rational order: teleological and aesthetic ties betw een things, causal and substantial bonds, as well as logical and m athem atical relations. T h e most prom ising of these ideal systems at first were of course the richer ones, the senti­ m ental ones. T h e baldest and least prom ising were the m athe­ m atical ones; b u t the history of the latte r’s application is a history of steadily advancing successes, whilst that of the sentim entally richer systems is one of relative sterility and failure .27 T a k e those aspects of phenom ena which interest you as a hum an being most, and class the phenom ena as perfect and im perfect, as ends and m eans to ends, as high and low, beautiful and ugly, positive and negative, harm onious and discordant, fit and unfit, natu ral and u n ­ natural, etc., and b arren are all your results. In the ideal w orld the kind ‘precious’ has characteristic properties. W h at is precious should be preserved; unw orthy things should be sacrificed for its sake; exceptions m ade on its account; its preciousness is a reason for other things’ actions, and the like. B ut none of these things need happen to your ‘precious’ object in the real world. Call the things of n atu re as m uch as you like by sentim ental, m oral, and aesthetic names, no natu ral consequences follow from the nam ing. T hey may be of the kinds you allege, b u t they are n o t of 'the k i n d ’s k i n d ’; and the last great system-maker of this sort, Hegel, was obliged ex­ plicitly to repudiate logic in order to m ake any inferences at all from the names he called things by. 27 Yet even so la te as B erk eley’s tim e o n e cou ld w rite: "As in read in g oth er books a w ise m an w ill ch oose to fix his th ou gh ts on the sense and ap p ly it to use, rather than lay them o u t in gram m atical remarks on the language; so, in p eru sin g the v o l­ u m e o f nature, m cth in k s it is b en eath the d ig n ity o f the m in d to affect an exactness in red u cin g each p articu lar p h en o m en o n to general ru les, or sh ew in g how it follow s from them . W e sh o u ld propose to ou rselves n ob ler view s, nam ely, to recreate and e x a lt the m in d w ith a prospect o f the beauty, order, ex ten t, and variety o f natural things: hence, by proper inferences, to en large ou r n otion s o f th e grandeur, w isdom and b eneficence o f the C reator,” etc., etc., etc. (P rinciples of H u m a n K now ledge, § 10 9 .)

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B ut w hen you give things m athem atical and m echanical names and call them just so m any solids in ju st such positions, describing just such paths w ith just such velocities, all is changed. Y our sagac­ ity finds its rew ard in the verification by n a tu re of all the deduc­ tions which you may next proceed to make. Your ‘things’ realize all the c o n sequ en ces of the names by which you classed them . T h e m odern mechanico-physical philosophy of w hich we are all so proud, because it includes the n eb u lar cosmogony, the conserva­ tion of energy, the kinetic theory of heat and gases, etc., etc., begins by saying that the only facts are collocations and m otions of p ri­ m ordial solids, and the only laws the changes of m otion which changes in collocation bring. T h e ideal which this philosophy strives after is a m athem atical w orld-form ula, by which, if all the collocations and m otions at a given m om ent were know n, it w ould be possible to reckon those of any wished-for fu tu re m om ent, by simply considering the necessary geom etrical, arithm etical, and logical im plications. Once we have the w orld in this bare shape, we can fling our n et of a p r io r i relations over all its terms, and pass from one of its phases to another by inw ard thought-necessity. Of course it is a w orld w ith a very m inim um of rational stuff. T h e sentim ental facts and relations are butchered at a blow. B ut the rationality yielded is so superbly com plete in f o r m that to many m inds this atones for the loss, and reconciles the thinker to the n otion of a purposeless universe, in which all the things and qu ali­ ties m en love, du lcissim a m u n d i n o m in a , are b u t illusions of our fancy attached to accidental clouds of dust which will be dissipated by the eternal cosmic w eather as carelessly as they were formed. T h e popular n otion that ‘Science’ is forced on the m ind ab extra, and that ou r interests have no th in g to do w ith its constructions, is utterly absurd. T h e craving to believe that the things of the world belong to kinds which are related by inw ard rationality together, is the paren t of Science as well as of sentim ental philosophy; and the original investigator always preserves a healthy sense of how plastic the m aterials are in his hands. “Once for all,” says Helmholtz in beginning that little work of his which laid the foundations of the ‘conservation of energy,’ “it is the task of the physical sciences to seek for laws by which particular pro­ cesses in nature may be referred to general rules, and deduced from such again. Such rules (for example the laws of reflection or refrac­ tion of light, or that of Mariotte and Gay-Lussac for gas-volumes) are 1260

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evidently nothing but generic-concepts for embracing whole classes of phenomena. T he search for them is the business of the experimental division of our Science. Its theoretic division, on the other hand, tries to discover the unknown causes of processes from their visible effects; tries to understand them by the law of causality. . . . T he ulti­ mate goal of theoretic physics is to find the last unchanging causes of the processes in Nature. W hether all processes be really ascribable to such causes, whether, in other words, nature be completely intelligible, or whether there be changes which would elude the law of a necessary causality, and fall into a realm of spontaneity or freedom, is not here the place to determine; but at any rate it is clear that the Science whose aim it is to make nature appear intelligible [die N a tu r zu begreifen ] must start with the assumption of her intelligibility, and draw consequences in conformity with this assumption, until irrefut­ able facts show the limitations of this method. . . . T he postulate that natural phenomena must be reduced to changeless ultimate causes next shapes itself so that forces unchanged by tim e must be found to be these causes. Now in Science we have already found portions of mat­ ter with changeless forces (indestructible qualities), and called them (chemical) elements. If, then, we imagine the world composed of ele­ ments with inalterable qualities, the only changes that can remain possible in such a world are spatial changes, i.e., movements, and the only outer relations which can modify the action of the forces are spatial too, or, in other words, the forces are motor forces dependent for their effect only on spatial relations. More exactly still: T he phe­ nomena of nature must be reduced to [zuriickgefuhrt, conceived as, classed as] motions of material points with inalterable motor forces acting according to space-relations alone. . . . But points have no m utual space-relations except their distance, . . . and a motor force which they exert upon each other can cause nothing but a change of distance—i.e., be an attractive or a repulsive force. . . . And its inten­ sity can only depend on distance. So that at last the task of Physics resolves itself into this, to refer phenomena to inalterable attractive and repulsive forces whose intensity varies with distance. T he solu­ tion of this task would at the same time be the condition of N ature’s complete intelligibility .” 28 T h e subjective interest leading to the assum ption could n ot be m ore candidly expressed. W hat makes the assum ption ‘scientific’ and n o t m erely poetic, w hat makes a H elm holtz and his kin d is­ coverers, is that the things of N atu re tu rn out to act as if they w e re of the kind assumed. T hey behave as such m ere draw ing and driv28

V ber d ie E rh a llu n g der K raft (1847), PP-

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ing atom s w ould behave; and so far as they have been distinctly enough translated into m olecular terms to test the point, so far a certain fantastically ideal object, namely, the m athem atical sum containing their m utual distances and velocities, is found to be constant throughout all their movem ents. T h is sum is called the total energy of the m olecules considered. Its constancy or ‘conser­ vation’ gives the nam e to the hypothesis of m olecules and central forces from which it was logically deduced. T a k e any other m athem atico-m echanical theory and it is the same. T hey are all translations of sensible experiences into other forms, substitutions of items between which ideal relations of kind, num ber, form, equality, etc., obtain, for items between which no such relations obtain; coupled w ith declarations that the experi­ enced form is false and the ideal form true, declarations which are justified by the appearance of new sensible experiences at just those times and places at which we logically infer that their ideal cor­ relates ought to be. W ave-hypotheses thus m ake us predict rings of darkness and color, distortions, dispersions, changes of pitch in sonorous bodies m oving from us, etc.; molecule-hypotheses lead to predictions of vapor-density, freezing point, etc.,—all which predic­ tions fall true. T h u s the w orld grows m ore orderly and rational to the m ind, which passes from one feature of it to an o th er by deductive neces­ sity, as soon as it conceives it as m ade up of so few and so simple phenom ena as bodies w ith no properties b u t n u m b er and move­ m ent to and fro. M E T A P H Y SIC A L AXIO M S

B ut alongside of these ideal relations between term s which the w orld verifies, there are other ideal relations not as yet so verified. I refer to those propositions (no longer expressing m ere results of comparison) which are form ulated in such metaphysical and aes­ thetic axioms as “T h e Principle of things is one” ; “T h e q uantity of existence is unchanged” ; “N ature is simple and invariable” ; “N atu re acts by the shortest ways” ; “Ex n ih ilo n ih il fit’’; “ N oth­ ing can be evolved which was not involved” ; “W hatever is in the effect m ust be in the cause” ; “A th ing can only work w here it is” ; “A thing can only affect an o th er of its own k in d ” ; “ Cessante causa, cessat e t effectus” ; “N atu re makes no leaps” ; “T hings belong to

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discrete and perm anent kinds” ; “N othing is or happens w ithout a reason” ; “T h e w orld is th roughout rationally intelligible” ; etc., etc., etc. Such principles as these, which m ight be m ultiplied to satiety ,29 are properly to be called po stu la te s of ra tio n a lity , not propositions of fact. If natu re d i d obey them , she w o u l d be p r o ta n to m ore intelligible; and we seek m eanw hile so to conceive her phenom ena as to show that she does obey them . T o a certain ex­ tent we succeed. For exam ple, instead of the ‘q uantity of existence’ so vaguely postulated as unchanged, N atu re allows us to suppose that curious sum of distances and velocities which for w ant of a better term we call ‘energy.’ For the effect being ‘contained in the cause,’ natu re lets us substitute ‘the effect is the cause,’ so soon as she lets us conceive both effect and cause as the same molecules, in two successive positions.—B ut all around these incipient suc­ cesses (as all around the m olecular world, so soon as we add to it as its ‘effects’ those illusory ‘things’ of common-sense which we had to b utcher for its sake), there still spreads a vast field of irrationalized fact whose items simply are together, and from one to another of which we can pass by no ideally ‘ratio n al’ way. It is not that these m ore m etaphysical postulates of rationality are absolutely b arren—though barren enough they were when used, as the scholastics used them , as im m ediate propositions of fact .30 29 Perhaps the m ost in flu en tial o f all these p ostu lates is th at the n atu re o f the w orld m ust be such th at sw eep in g statem ents m ay be m ade ab ou t it. 30 C onsider, e.g., the use o f the axiom s 'nem o potest supra s e ip s u m ’ and ‘nem o dat quod non habet,’ in this refu tation o f ‘D arw in ism ,’ w h ich I take from the m uch-used

scholastic co m p en d iu m o f Logic and M etaphysics o f L iberatore, 3d ed. (R om e, 1880): “H;ec h yp oth esis . . . ap erte con trad icit p rin cip iis M eta p h y sics, quae d ocen t essentias rerum esse im m u tabiles, et effectum non posse superare causam . Et sane, q u an do, juxta D arw in, species in ferior se evolvit in su p eriorem , u n d e trah it m aiorem illam n ob ilitatem ? Ex ejus carentia. At n ih il d at q u od n on habet; e t m in u s gign ere n eq u it p lu s, a u t negatio p o sition em . Pnvterea in transform atione quae fingitur, natura prioris sp eciei, servatur au t destruitur? Si p rim u m , m u tatio erit tantu m accid en talis, q u a lem reapse vid em us in diversis stirp ib u s an im an tiu m . Sin alteru m asseritur, u t reapse fert h yp oth esis d arw in ian a, res tenderet ad seipsam destruendam ; cum contra om n ia n a tu raliter ten d an t ad sui con servation em , et n on n isi per action em contrarii agen tis corru an t.” It is m erely a q u estion o f fact w h eth er these id eally proper rela­ tions do or do n o t o b ta in betw een an im al and vegetab le ancestors and d escendants. If they do n ot, w h at happens? sim p ly this, that w e cannot co n tin u e to class an im al and v egetal facts u nder the kinds betw een w hich those ideal relation s ob tain . T h u s, w e can no longer call an im al breeds by the nam e o f ‘sp ecies’; can n ot call g en eratin g a kind o f ‘g iv in g ,’ or treat a d escendant as an ‘effect’ o f his ancestor. T h e id eal schem e o f term s and relation s can rem ain, if you like; b u t it m ust rem ain p u rely m en tal, and w ith o u t a p p lica tio n to life, w h ich ‘gangs its ain g a it’ regardless o f id eal schem es. Most

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T hey have a fertility as ideals, and keep us uneasy and striving a l­ ways to recast the w orld of sense u n til its lines become m ore con­ g ru en t w ith theirs. T ak e for exam ple the principle that ‘nothing can happen w ithout a cause.’ W e have no definite idea of w hat we m ean by cause, or of w hat causality consists in. B ut the principle expresses a dem and for s o m e deeper sort of inw ard connection be­ tween phenom ena than their m erely habitual time-sequence seems to us to be. T h e word ‘cause’ is, in short, an altar to an unknow n god; an em pty pedestal still m arking the place of a hoped-for statue. A n y really inw ard belonging-together of the sequent terms, if dis­ covered, w ould be accepted as w hat the w ord cause was m eant to stand for. So we seek, and seek; and in the m olecular systems we find a sort of inw ard belonging in the notion of identity of m atter w ith change of collocation. Perhaps by still seeking we may find other sorts of inw ard belonging, even between the m olecules and those ‘secondary qualities,’ etc., which they produce upon our minds. It cannot be too often repeated that the triu m p h a n t application of any one of our ideal systems of rational relations to the real w orld justifies our hope that other systems may be found also ap­ plicable. Metaphysics should take heart from the exam ple of phys­ ics, simply confessing that hers is the longer task. N ature m ay be rem odelled, nay, certainly will be rem odelled, far beyond the point at present reached. Ju st how far?—is a question which only the whole future history of Science and Philosophy can answ er .31 O ur task being Psychology, we cannot even cross the threshold of that larger problem . Besides the m ental structure which results in such metaphysical principles as those just considered, there is a m ental structure which expresses itself in E S T H E T I C AN D M O R A L P R IN C IP L E S

T h e aesthetic principles are at bottom such axioms as that a note sounds good w ith its th ird and fifth, or that potatoes need salt. W e are once for all so m ade that when certain impressions come be­ o f us, how ever, w ou ld prefer to d o u b t w h eth er such abstract axiom s as that ‘a thin g can n ot tend to its o w n d estru ction ’ express ideal relation s o f an im portan t sort at all. 31 C om pare A . R ieh l: Der philosophische K riticism us, Bd. 11, T h l. 1, A bschn. i, Cap. in, § 6.

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fore our m ind, one of them will seem to call for or repel the others as its com panions. T o a certain extent the principle of h ab it will explain these aesthetic connections. W hen a conjunction is re­ peatedly experienced, the cohesion of its term s grows grateful, or at least their disruption grows unpleasant. B ut to explain all aes­ thetic judgm ents in this way w ould be absurd; for it is notorious how seldom n atural experiences come up to ou r aesthetic demands. Many of the so-called m etaphysical principles are at bottom only expressions of aesthetic feeling. N ature is sim ple and invariable; makes no leaps, or makes n othing b u t leaps; is rationally intelligi­ ble; neith er increases nor dim inishes in q uantity; flows from one principle, etc., etc.,—w hat do all such principles express save our sense of how pleasantly our intellect w ould feel if it had a N ature of that sort to deal with? T h e subjectivity of which feeling is of course q u ite com patible w ith N ature also tu rn in g o ut objectively to be of that sort, later on. T h e m o ra l principles which our m ental structure engenders are q u ite as little explicable in to to by habitual experiences having bred in n er cohesions. Rightness is not m e re usualness, wrongness not m e r e oddity, however num erous the facts which m ight be in­ voked to prove such identity. N or are the m oral judgm ents those m ost invariably and em phatically impressed on us by public opin­ ion. T h e most characteristically and peculiarly m oral judgm ents that a m an is ever called on to m ake are in unprecedented cases and lonely emergencies, w here no p opular rhetorical m axim s can avail, and the hidden oracle alone can speak; and it speaks often in favor of conduct qu ite unusual, and suicidal as far as gaining popu­ lar approbation goes. T h e forces which conspire to this resultant are subtle harm onies and discords between the elem entary ideas which form the data of the case. Some of these harm onies, no doubt, have to do w ith habit; b u t in respect to most of them our sensibility m ust assuredly be a phenom enon of supernum erary order, corre­ lated w ith a brain-function qu ite as secondary as that which takes cognizance of the diverse excellence of elaborate musical composi­ tions. No m ore than the higher musical sensibility can the higher m oral sensibility be accounted for by the frequency w ith which outer relations have cohered .32 T ak e judgm ents of justice or equity, 32 As o n e ex a m p le o u t o f a thousand o f ex cep tio n a lly d elicate idiosyncrasy in this regard, take this: “ I m ust q u it society. I w ou ld rather undergo tw ice the danger from beasts and ten tim es the danger from rocks. It is n ot p ain , it is n ot d eath, that I

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for exam ple. Instinctively, one judges everything differently, ac­ cording as it pertains to one’s self or to someone else. Em pirically one notices that everybody else does the same. B ut little by little there dawns in one the jud g m en t “n o thing can be rig h t for me w hich w ould not be rig h t for another sim ilarly placed” ; or “the fulfilm ent of my desires is intrinsically no m ore im perative than that of anyone else’s” ; or “w hat it is reasonable that another should do for me, it is also reasonable that I should do for h im ” ;33 and forthw ith the whole mass of the habitual gets overturned. It gets seriously overturned only in a few fanatical heads. B ut its over­ tu rn in g is due to a back-door and not to a front door process. Some m inds are preternaturally sensitive to logical consistency and in­ consistency. W hen they have ranked a th ing under a kind, they m u s t treat it as of that k in d ’s kind, or feel all out of tune. In m any respects we do class ourselves w ith other m en, and call them and ourselves by a comm on nam e. T h ey agree w ith us in having the same Heavenly Father, in not being consulted ab o u t their birth, in not being themselves to thank or blam e for their natural gifts, in having the same desires and pains and pleasures, in short in a host of fundam ental relations. Hence, if these th in g s be o u r es­ sence, we should be substitutable for other m en, and they for us, in any proposition in which either of us is involved. T h e m ore funda­ m ental and com m on the essence chosen, and the m ore sim ple the reasoning ,34 the m ore wildly radical and unconditional will the justice be which is aspired to. Life is one long struggle between conclusions based on abstract ways of conceiving cases, a n d op­ posite conclusions prom pted by ou r instinctive perception of them as individual facts. T h e logical stickler for justice always seems dread,—it is the hatred o f a m an; there is som eth in g in it so sh ock in g th at I w ou ld rath er su b m it to an y injury than incur or increase the hatred o f a m an by reven gin g it . . . . A n other sufficient reason for su icid e is, that I was this m orn in g o u t o f tem per w ith Mrs. D ou glas (for no fault o f hers). I d id n ot betray m yself in the least, b u t I reflected that to be exp osed to th e p o ssib ility o f such an even t on ce a year was evil en o u g h to render life in tolerab le. T h e disgrace o f u sing an im p a tien t word is to m e o v erp o w erin g .” (E lton H am on d , q u oted in H en ry C rabb R ob in son 's D iary, R e m i­ niscences, and Correspondence, v o l. 1, p . 424 ) 33 C om pare H . Sidgwick: M ethods of E thics, bk. 111, ch ap . x m , § 3. 34 A gen tlem a n told m e th at he had a con clu sive argu m en t for o p en in g the H arvard M ed ical School to w om en . It was this: “Are n ot w om en hum an?”—w hich m ajor prem ise o f course had to be granted. “T h e n are they n ot en titled to all the rights o f hu m an ity?” M y friend said th at he had never m et an yon e w h o cou ld successfully m eet this reasoning.

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pedantic and m echanical to the m an who goes by tact and the par­ ticular instance, a n d who usually makes a poor i o w at argum ent. Sometimes the abstract conceiver’s way is better, sometimes that of the m an of instinct. B ut just as in o u r study of reasoning we found it im possible to lay down any m ark whereby to distinguish rig h t conception of a concrete case from con fu sio n (see pp. 962 , 974 ), so here we can give no general rule for deciding w hen it is m orally useful to treat a concrete case as sui generis, a n d when to lum p it w ith others in an abstract class.35 An adequate treatm ent of the way in which we come by our aes­ thetic and m oral judgm ents w ould req u ire a separate chapter, which I cannot conveniently include in this book. Suffice it that these judgm ents express inner harm onies an d discords between ob35 You reach the M ep h isto p h elia n p o in t o f view as w ell as the p o in t o f view o f ju stice by treatin g cases as if they b elon ged rigorously to abstract classes. Pure ra­ tionalism , co m p lete im m u n ity from p reju dice, consists in refu sin g to see that the case before o n e is a b so lu tely u n iq u e. It is alw ays p ossib le to treat the cou n try o f o n e ’s n ativity, th e h ou se o f one's fathers, th e bed in w h ich one's m oth er d ied , nay, the m o th er h erself if need be, on a naked eq u a lity w ith all oth er sp ecim en s o f so m any respective genera. It show s the w orld in a clear frosty lig h t from w h ich a ll fu ligin ou s m ists o f affection, a ll sw am p -ligh ts o f sen tim en tality, are absent. Straight and im m e­ d ia te actio n becom es easy th e n —w itness a N a p o le o n ’s or a F rederick’s career. B ut the q u estio n alw ays rem ains, "Are n ot the m ists and vapors w orth retain ing?” T h e il­ logical refusal to treat certain concretes by the m ere law o f their gen u s has m ade the dram a o f h u m a n history. T h e o b stin a te in sistin g that tw eed led u m is not tw eed led e e is the b on e and m arrow o f life. Look at the Jews and the Scots, w ith their m is­ erab le factions and sectarian d isp u tes, their loyalties and p atriotism s and exclu sion s,—

their annals now becom e a classic h eritage, because m en o f gen iu s took part and sang in them . A th in g is im p ortan t if an yon e th in k it im p ortan t. T h e process o f history consists in certain folks b ecom in g possessed o f th e m ania that certain sp ecial things are im p ortan t in fin itely, w h ilst oth er folks can n ot agree in the b elief. T h e Shah o f Persia refused to be taken to the D erby D ay, sayin g “It is already k n ow n to m e that o n e horse can run faster than a n o th er .” H e m ade the q u estion “which horse?” im ­ m aterial. A n y q u estio n can be m ade im m aterial by su b su m in g all its answers under a co m m o n head . Im a gin e w hat college b all-gam es and races w ou ld be if the team s w ere to forget the a b solu te d istin ctn ess o f H arvard from Y ale and think o f b oth as O n e in th e h igh er gen u s C ollege. T h e sovereign road to indifference, w h eth er to evils or to goods, lies in the th o u g h t o f the h igh er genus. “W h en w e have m eat before u s,” says M arcus A u reliu s, seeking ind ifferen ce to that k in d o f good , ‘‘w e m ust receive the im pression, th a t this is the d ead b od y o f a fish, an d this is th e dead body o f a bird or o f a pig; an d again , th at this F alern ian is o n ly a little grape juice, and this p u rp le robe som e sheeps' w ool d yed w ith the b lood o f a shell-fish: such th en are these im pressions, and they reach the th in gs them selves an d p en etrate th em , and so w e see w h at k in d o f thin gs they are. Ju st in th e sam e w ay o u g h t w e to act all through life , and w here there are th in g s w h ich appear m ost w orth y o f ou r ap p rob a­ tio n , w e o u g h t to lay them bare an d look at their w orthlessness and strip them o f all th e w ords by w h ich they are e x a lted .” (L on g’s T ra n sla tio n , vi, 13.)

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jects of thought; and that whilst outer cohesions frequently re­ peated will often seem harm onious, all harm onies are n ot thus en­ gendered, b u t ou r feeling of m any of them is a secondary and inci­ dental function of the m ind. W here harm onies are asserted of the real world, they are obviously m ere postulates of rationality, so far as they transcend experience. Such postulates are exemplified by the ethical propositions that the individual and universal good are one, and that happiness and goodness are bound to coalesce in the same subject.

S U M M A R Y OF W H A T PRECEDES

I will now sum up our progress so far by a short sum m ary of the most im portant conclusions which we have reached. T h e m ind has a native structure in this sense, that certain of its objects, if considered together in certain ways, give definite results; and that no other ways of considering, and no other results, are possible if the same objects be taken. T h e results are ‘relations’ which are all expressed by judgm ents of subsum ption and of com parison. T h e judgm ents of subsum ption are themselves subsum ed under the laws of logic. T hose of com parison are expressed in classifications, and in the sciences of a r ith m e tic a n d g e o m e tr y .

Mr. Spencer’s opinion that ou r consciousness of classificatory, logical, and m athem atical relations betw een ideas is due to the frequency w ith which the corresponding ‘o u ter relations’ have im ­ pressed our m inds, is unintelligible. O u r consciousness of these relations, no doubt, has a natural genesis. But it is to be sought rath e r in the inner forces which have m ade the brain grow, than in any m ere paths of ‘freq u en t’ associa­ tion which o uter stim uli may have ploughed in that organ. B ut let ou r sense for these relations have arisen as it may, the relations themselves form a fixed system of lines of cleavage, so to speak, in the m ind, by which we naturally pass from one object to another; and the objects connected by these lines of cleavage are often n ot connected by any regular time- and space-associations. W e distinguish, therefore, betw een the em pirical order of things, and this th eir rational order of com parison; and, so far as possible,

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we seek to translate the form er into the latter, as being the m ore congenial of the two to our intellect. Any classification of things into kinds (especially if the kinds form series, or if they successively involve each other) is a m ore rational way of conceiving the things than is that m ere juxtaposi­ tion or separation of them as individuals in tim e and space which is the order of their crude perception. Any assim ilation of things to term s between which such classificatory relations, w ith their re­ m ote and m ediate transitions, obtain, is a way of bringing the things into a m ore rational scheme. Solids in m otion are such terms; and the m echanical philosophy is only a way of conceiving natu re so as to arrange its items along some of the m ore natural lines of cleavage of our m ental structure. O ther natural lines are the m oral and aesthetic relations. P hi­ losophy is still seeking to conceive things so that these relations also may seem to obtain betw een them. As long as things have not successfully been so conceived, the m oral and aesthetic relations obtain only betw een en tia rationis, term s in the m ind; and the m oral and aesthetic principles rem ain b u t postulates, not propositions, w ith regard to the real w orld o u t­ side. T h e re is thus a large body of a p r io r i or intuitively necessary truths. As a rule, these are truths of co m p a riso n only, and in the first instance they express relations between merely m ental terms. N ature, however, acts as if some of her realities were identical w ith these m ental terms. So far as she does this, we can m ake a p r io r i propositions concerning natural fact. T h e aim of both science and philosophy is to m ake the identifiable term s m ore num erous. So far it has proved easier to identify n a tu re ’s things w ith m ental term s of the m echanical than w ith m ental term s of the sentim ental order. T h e widest postulate of rationality is that the w orld is rationally intelligible throughout, after the pattern of s o m e ideal system. T h e whole war of the philosophies is over that point of faith. Some say they can see their way already to the rationality; others that it is hopeless in any other b u t the m echanical way. T o some the very fact that there is a world at all seems irrational. N onentity w ould be a m ore n atural thing than existence, for these m inds. O ne phi­ losopher at least says that the relatedness of things to each other is

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irrational anyhow, and that a w orld of relations can never be m ade intelligible .36 W ith this I may be assumed to have com pleted the program m e which I announced at the beginning of the chapter, so far as the th e o re tic part of our organic m ental structure goes. It can be due neith er to our own nor to our ancestors’ experience. I now pass to those practical parts of ou r organic m ental structure. T h in g s are a little different here; and ou r conclusion, though it lies in the same direction, can be by no m eans as confidently expressed. T o be as short and simple as possible, I will take the case of in­ stincts, and, supposing the reader to be fam iliar w ith C hapter X X IV , I will plunge in m e d ia s res. T H E ORIGIN O F IN STINC TS

Instincts m ust have been either 1 ) Each specially created in com plete form, or 2 ) G radually evolved. As the first alternative is nowadays obsolete, I proceed directly to the second. T h e two most p rom inent suggestions as to the way in which instincts may have been evolved are associated w ith the names of Lam arck and Darwin. Lam arck’s statem ent is that anim als have wants, and contract, to satisfy them , h abits which transform themselves gradually into so m any propensities which they can n either resist nor change. T hese pro p e n sitie s, once acquired, propagate themselves by way of trans­ mission to the young, so that they come to exist in new individuals, anteriorly to all exercise. T h u s are the same emotions, the same habits, the same instincts, perpetuated w ithout variation from one generation to another, so long as the outw ard conditions of exis­ tence rem ain the same .37 Mr. Lewes calls this the theory of ‘lapsed intelligence.’ Mr. Spencer’s words are clearer than Lam arck’s so that I will quote from h im :38 36 “A n sich, in seinem eigenen W esen ist jedes reale O bject m it sich selbst idenlisch u n d u n b e d in g t’’—that is, the “allgem einste E insicht a priori," and the “allgem einste E insicht aus E rfahrung" is “A lles E rkennbare ist b edingt.” (A. S p ir: D enken und W irklich keit. Com pare also H erb art and H egel.) 37 P hilosophie xoologique, 3m e p artie, chap. v, “ D e l ’instinct des a n im au x.”

38 It should be said that M r. Spencer’s most form al utterance about instinct is in his P rinciples o f Psychology, in the chapter u nder that nam e. Dr. Rom anes has re­ form u lated and criticised the doctrine o f this chapter in his M ental E volution in

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“Setting out with the unquestionable assumption, that every new form of emotion making its appearance in the individual or the race, is a modification of some pre-existing emotion, or a compounding of several pre-existing emotions; we should be greatly aided by knowing what always are the pre-existing emotions. When, for example, we find that very few if any of the lower animals show any love of accu­ mulation, and that this feeling is absent in infancy—when we see that an infant in arms exhibits anger, fear, wonder, while yet it manifests no desire of permanent possession, and that a brute which has no ac­ quisitive emotion can nevertheless feel attachment, jealousy, love of ap­ probation; we may suspect that the feeling which property satisfies, is compounded out of simpler and deeper feelings. We may conclude that as, when a dog hides a bone, there must exist in him a prospective gratification of hunger; so there must similarly at first, in all cases where anything is secured or taken possession of, exist an ideal excite­ ment of the feeling which that thing will gratify. We may further con­ clude that when the intelligence is such that a variety of objects come to be utilized for different purposes—when, as among savages, divers wants are satisfied through the articles appropriated for weapons, shelter, clothing, ornament; the act of appropriating comes to be one con­ stantly involving agreeable associations, and one which is therefore pleasurable, irrespective of the end subserved. And when, as in civ­ ilized life, the property acquired is of a kind not conducing to one order of gratifications, but is capable of administering to all gratifications, the pleasure of acquiring property grows more distinct from each of the various pleasures subserved—is more completely differentiated into a separate emotion .39 . . . It is well-known that on newly-discovered lands A nim als, chapter xvn . I m ust confess m y in a b ility to state its vagueness in in te llig ib le terms. It treats instincts as a further d evelop m en t o f reflex actions, and as forerun­ ners o f in tellig en ce,—w h ich is p rob ab ly true o f m any. B u t w hen it ascribes their form ation to the m ere ‘m u ltip lica tio n o f exp erien ces,’ w h ich , a t first sim p le, m ou ld the nervous system to ‘correspond to ou ter relation s’ by sim p le reflex action s, and, afterw ards co m p lex , m ake it ‘corresp on d ’ by ‘com p ou n d reflex action s,’ it becom es too m ysterious to follow w ith o u t m ore o f a key than is given . T h e w h ole th in g b e­ com es p erfectly sim p le if w e su ppose th e reflex actions to be accidental inborn idiosyncrasies preserved. 39 T h is account o f acq u isitiven ess differs from ou r ow n . W ith o u t d en yin g the associatio n ist accou n t to be a true d escrip tion o f a great d eal o f ou r proprietary feelin g, w e a d m itted in a d d ition an en tirely p rim itiv e form o f desire. (See above, p, 1039 ff.) T h e reader m ust d ecid e as to the p la u sib ilities o f the case. C ertain ly ap p ear­ ances are in favor o f there b ein g in us som e cu p id ities q u ite d iscon n ected w ith the u lterior uses o f the thin gs ap p rop riated. T h e source o f their fascination lies in their ap p eal to ou r aesthetic sense, and w e w ish th ereu p on sim p ly to own them . G litterin g, hard, m eta llic, od d , p retty things; curious thin gs especially: natural objects that look as if they w ere artificial, or that m im ic oth er objects,—these form a class o f thin gs

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T h e Principles of Psychology not inhabited by man, birds are so devoid of fear as to allow them­ selves to be knocked over w ith sticks; but that in the course of genera­ tions, they acquire such a dread of man as to fly on his approach; and that this dread is manifested by young as well as old. N o w unless this change be ascribed to the killing-off of the least fearful, and the preser­ vation and m ultiplication of the more fearful, which, considering the com paratively small num ber killed by man, is an inadequate cause; it must be ascribed to accum ulated experiences; and each experience must be held to have a share in producing it. W e must conclude that in each bird that escapes with injuries inflicted by man, or is alarm ed by the outcries of other members of the flock . . . there is established an associa­ tion of ideas between the hum an aspect and the pains, direct and in­ direct, suffered from hum an agency. A n d we must further conclude, that the state of consciousness which impels the bird to take flight, is at first nothing more than an ideal reproduction of those painful im ­ pressions which before followed m an’s approach;

that such

ideal

reproduction becomes more vivid and more massive as the painful ex­ periences, direct or sympathetic, increase; and that thus the emotion in its incipient state, is nothing else than an aggregation o f the revived pains before experienced. As, in the course of generations, the young birds of this race begin to display a fear of man before yet they have been injured by him ; it is an unavoidable inference that the nervous system o f the race has been organically modified by these experiences: we have no choice but to conclude that when a young bird is thus led to fly, it is because the impression produced on its senses by the approaching man, entails, through an incipiently-reflex action, a partial excitem ent of all those nerves which in its ancestors had been excited under the like conditions; that this partial excitem ent has its accom panying painful consciousness; and that the vague painful consciousness thus arising, constitutes emotion proper—emotion undecomposable into specific ex­

periences, and therefore seemingly homogeneous. If such be the expla­ nation of the fact in this case, then it is in all cases. If emotion is so gen­ erated here, then it is so generated throughout. If so, we must perforce conclude that the emotional modifications displayed by different na­ tions, and those higher emotions by which civilized are distinguished from savage, are to be accounted for on the same principle. A n d conw h ich h u m an b ein gs snatch at as m agpies snatch rags. T h e y sim p ly fascinate us. W h at h o u se does n ot con tain som e draw er or cu p b oard full o f senseless odds and ends o f this sort, w ith w h ich n ob od y know s w h at to d o, b u t w h ich a b lin d in stin ct saves from th e ash-barrel? W itness p eo p le retu rn in g from a walk on the sea-shore o r in the w oods, each carrying som e lusus n a tu r e in th e sh ap e o f ston e or sh ell, or strip o f bark or o d d -sh ap ed fun gu s, w hich litter th e h ou se and grow d a ily m ore u n sig h tly , u n til at last reason triu m p h s over b lin d p rop en sity an d sw eeps them away.

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Necessary Truths and the Effects of Experience eluding this, we are led strongly to suspect that the emotions in general have severally thus originated.” 40

Obviously the word ‘em otion’ here m eans instinct as well,—the actions we call instinctive are expressions or m anifestations of the em otions whose genesis M r. Spencer describes. Now if habit could thus bear fru it outside the individual life, and if the m odifications so painfully acquired by the parents’ nervous systems could be found ready-made at b irth in those of the young, it w ould be hard to overestim ate the im portance, both practical and theoretical, of such an extension of its sway. In principle, instincts w ould then be assim ilated to ‘secondarily-autom atic’ habits, and the origin of m any of them out of tentative experim ents m ade d u rin g ancestral lives, perfected by repetition, addition, and association through successive generations, w ould be a com paratively sim ple thing to understand. C ontem porary students of instinct have accordingly been alert to discover all the facts which w ould seem to establish the possi­ bility of such an explanation. T h e list is not very long, considering w hat a burden of conclusions it has to bear. Let acquisitiveness and fear of m an, as just argued for by Spencer, lead it off. O ther cases of the latter sort are the increased shyness of the woodcock noticed to have occurred w ithin sixty years’ observation by M r. T . A. Knight, and the greater shyness everywhere shown by large than by small birds, to which D arw in has called attention. T h e n we may add— T h e propensities of ‘po in tin g ,’ ‘retrieving,’ etc., in sporting dogs, which seem partly, at any rate, to be due to training, b u t which in well-bred stock are all b u t innate. It is in these breeds considered bad for a litter of young if its sire or dam have not been trained in the field. D ocility of domestic breeds of horses and cattle. Tam eness of young of tam e ra b b it—young wild rabbits being invincibly tim id. Young foxes are most wary in those places w here they are most severely hunted. W ild ducks, hatched out by tame ones, fly off. B ut if kept close for some generations, the young are said to become tam e .41 4 A fter-im ages, 607 -g , 714, 836, 1204 Agoraphobia, 1039 A graphia, 50, [ 1 . 62] A l f i e r i , 1150 A l i . f. n , G ., 147, 1228 A lteration o f o n e im pression by an oth er o n e sim u ltan eou sly takin g place, 676 ff., 837 A ltern a tin g personality, 358 ff. A m b igu ity o f op tical sensations, 864-g A m i d o n , 106 A m nesia in hysterical disease, 363 ff.; accom panies an.xsthesia, 365, 642; in h y p n o tic trance, 1202. See Forgetting A m p u tated lim bs, feelin g of, 685, 749 A n esth esia , in hysterics, 200 ff.; in volves correlated am nesia, 365; m ovem ents ex ecu ted d u rin g, 749, 1101-4, 1129-

A ppropriateness, characterizes m en tal acts. 26 A praxia, 61 A prio ri con n ection s exist o n ly betw een objects o f p ercep tion arid m ovem ents, n ot betw een sensory ideas, 1184. A priori ideas and exp erien ce, C hapter X X V 111 . A priori p rop osition s, 1255-8 A r c h e r , W ., 10 7 g

A rith m etic, 1248 A rticular sen sib ility, 826 (T. A ssociation, C hapter XIV: is n ot o f ideas, but o f thin gs th o u g h t of, 522; exam p les of, 523 ff.; its rap id ity, 525 ff.; by co n tig u ity , 529; elem en tary law of, 533; ‘m ix e d ’ association, 538; c o n ­ d ition s of, 541 ff.; by sim ilarity, 544; three kin ds o f association com pared, 516-7; in volu n tary th ou gh t, 549; by contrast, 558; history o f th e d octrin e of, 559; association the m eans of localization , 799 ff.; con n ection o f as-

1283

Index

A u b k r t , H „ 868

409 A ., 1127 B e s s e l , 391 B i n e t , A., 201 ff„ 717, 719, 771 ff., 773, 807, 1103, 1129 B l a c k , R . W „ 965 B i . e e k , 981 B lin d , the, dream s o f th e, 690; their sp ace-p ercep tion , 838 ff.; their facial p ercep tion , 839-40; after restoration to sigh t, 845; h a llu cin a tio n o f a b lin d m an, 950 B lindness, m en tal, 52, 59, 74. See Sight, H em ianopsia, etc. B i.i x , 809 B l o c k , 1124 B l o o d , B. P., 914 B lood, its ex citin g effect on th e nerves,

A uditory centre in b rain , 6 1 -5 A uditory type o f im a g in a tio n , 707 ‘A usfallscrscheinung,’ 83 A u s t e n , J a m ' , 538 A u tom atic w ritin g , 372 ff. A u to m a to n -T h eo ry , C hapter V: p o stu ­ lated rather than proved, 137-41; rea­ sons again st it, 141-7; ap p lied to atlen tio n , 424; disregarded in this book, 1185-6 A z a m , Dr., 358

B lood -su p p ly to brain, 103 B o u r n e , A., 369 B o u r r u , l)r., 367 B o w d i t c i i , H . P., his reaction -tim er, 94; on contrast in seen m otion , 878; on knee-jerk, 1002; com parison o f touch and sigh t, 1129 Bow i n , F., 211 B o w n e , B . P . , o n k n o w l e d g e , 215 B r a d l k y , F. H ., 428, 448, 569, 656, 658,

sociation by sim ilarity w ith reasoning,

B ertels,

B ertra n d ,

9 7 ° A-

A ssociationism , 163 A ssociationist theory o f th e self, 325, 332 ff.: o f sp ace-p ercep tion , 901 ff. Asym bolia, 61 A tten tio n , C hapter XI: to how m any th in g s possible, 383 ff.; to sim u lta n e­ o u s sigh t and sou n d , 389 ff.; its varie­ ties, 393-4; passive, 394; volu n tary, 397 If.; its effects, 401 ff.; its influence 011 rea ctio n -tim e, 404-10; accom pa­ nied by feelin g s o f tension d u e to ad a p ta tio n o f sense-organs, 411-5; in ­ volves im agin ation or p rep erception o f ob ject, 415-20; con ceivab le as a m ere effect, 424 ff.

lo3*

9 M. , 2 4 3 Brain, its fun ction s, C hapter 1 1 : o f frog, 27; o f dog, 44; o f m onkey, 45; o f m an , 47; low er centres com pared w ith h em isp h eres, 22-3, 82; circu la­ tion in , 103; in sta b ility , 142; its con­ n ection w ith M ind, 177; ‘en tir e ’ brain n ot a real physical fact, 178; its ch an ges as su b tle as those o f th ou gh t, 228; its d yin g vibrations op erative in prod u cin g consciousness, 235; in flu ­ en ce o f en viron m en t u p on it, 1224 ff. Brain-process, see N eural process Brain-structure, the tw o m odes o f its genesis, 1222 B r f .n t a n o , 187, 516 B r i d g m a n , L a u r a , 709, 982, 1038 Broca’s co n v o lu tio n , 50, 63 B r o d h u n , 512 B r o w n , T h o s ., 240, 266, 351, 901 B r o w n - S í q u a r d , 53, 75, 76, [11 . 695] Brutes, the in tellect of, 973 ff. B u b n o f f , 90 B u c k i î , R . M„ 1075 B u r k e , 1078 B u r n h a m , W . H ., 649 B u r o t , Dr., 367

Babe and can d le, schem e of, 3 6 - 7 B aby’s first p ercep tion , 6 3 7 , 6 8 1 ; his early in stin ctiv e m ovem ents, 1 0 2 3 ff. Ha ir , v o n , 601 B a g f iio t , W ., 5 4 8 , 9 1 3 , 9 36

o n series conscious o f itself, 1 6 4 ; self-esteem , 2 9 8 ; on self-love, 3 1 2 , 3 3 6 : on a tten tio n , 4 2 0 ; on association,

B a in , 0 11

4!>9. 5 0 0 , 5 2 9 , 5 5 4 , 5 6 6 , 6 1 5 , 6 5 5 , 6 6 1 ,

7 1 1 -5 . «23. 9 ° ' ■ 912, 925. fl4*>-7 . 9 1 9 !)9 4 - .r>> 1 0 7 8 , 1 0 8 1 , 1 1 5 7 , 1 1 6 0 - 1 B a lla r d , 256 IU 1 .Z A C , 3r)3 I U s T IA N ,

H . C., IIOO

B a u m a n n ', 1 0 2 7 B a x t , 6 10 B k a u n is , E ., 1 1 0 4 B f.c.i i t e r f .w , 3 8 5

B elief, C hapter X X I: in sensations, 928 If.; in objects o f em o tio n , 935 ff.; in theories, 939 ff.; and w ill, 947. See

R eality B f j .l ,

C., 1095, 1103 H ., 1208

B ergso n ,

B E R K E L E Y , 2 4 6 , 4 4 3 - 4 , 45O , 6 8 9 , 6 9 5 - 6 , 7 2 3 , 8 4 7 , 8 7 2 , 12 5 9 B ern h ard t, 11 12 - 3

C a ir d ,

B e r n h e im , 20 3

1284

E„ 346, 349, 445

Index C onceptual order different from p ercep ­ tual, 455 C on com itan ts, law o f varying, 478 C on fusion , 976 Consciousness, its seat, 74; its fun ction o f selection , 142-4; its d istrib u tion , 145-6; is personal in form , 220; is con tin u ou s, 231, 462; o f lack, 243; of object com es first, 263; o f self n ot es­ sential, 264; alw ays partial and selec­ tive, 273 ff., sec Selection; o f the process o f th in k in g, 287 ff.; th e span of, 383 C onsent, in w illin g , 1172 C onsiderations, 32 C onstructivcness, 1043 C on tigu ity, association by, 529 C on tin u ity o f ob ject o f consciousness, 462 Contrast, o f colors, 662-674; o f tem p era­ tures, 663; tw o theories of, 665 ff., 876; o f m ovem ents, 876 ff., 881 C on volu tion s, m otor, 51 C ortex, o f b rain , exp erim en ts on , 42 ff. Cram m ing, 623-4 C redulity, ou r p rim itive, 946 C u d w o r t h , R „ 658 C u e,’ the m en tal, 1108, 1127 C u m b e r l a n d , S., 1133 C uriosity, 1046 C z e r m a k , 809, 814

L,, 1148 1078 C a m p b e l l , G ., 251-2 C a r d a i l l a c , 239-40 C a r e y l e , T ., 296-7 C a r p e n t e r , W . B., on form ation o f hab its, 1 1 4 ; eth ica l rem arks on h ab it, 1 2 4 ; m istakes in speech, 2 4 8 ; lapses o f m em ory, 353; on not feelin g p ain , 3 9 6 - 7 ; on id co-m otor action , 1 1 3 1 C a l m e il ,

C am van ella,

C .A R V 11.L E , 7 7

Catalepsy, 2 2 3 , 1 1 8 5 C a i t e l l , on reaction -tim e, 9 8 , 4 0 9 , 4 9 6 ; 0 1 1 recogn ition , 3 8 5 , 6 0 9 ; on atten tion , 3 9 7 ; 0 1 1 association-tim e, 5 2 6 ff. Cause, consciousness a, 1 4 0 , 1 1 8 5 , 1 1 9 3 Centres, cortical, 4 2 f f m o t o r , 4 2 ; visual, 5 1 ; au d itory, 6 1 ; olfactory, 6 5 ; gustatory, 6 6 ; tactile, 6 7 Cerebral process, sec N eural process C erebrum , see Brain, H em ispheres C h a d h o i j r n e , 1*. A . , 10 0 4 Characters, gen eral, 9 5 6 11. C h a r c o t , 6 3 -4 , 704, 1197 C hloroform , 501 C hoice, see Selection, Interest C irculation in b rain , 103; effects of sensory stim u li u p on , 996 ff.; in grief, io.r)9 Classic and rom antic, 1083-4 C lassifications, 1242 C l a y , E. R ., 573 C leanliness, 1050 C learness, 403 C l i f f o r d , 134-6 C l o u s t o n , 758, 914 -5 , 1144, 1146 C o b b e , F. P., 353 C ochlea, theory o f its action , 808 C o g n itio n , see K now ing C o h e n , H ., 345 C o l e r i d g e , S. T „ 539, 641 C ollateral in n ervation , see Vicarious

1048-9, 1062, 1092, 1096, 1270, 1273-5 D arw inism , scholastic refu tation of, 1263 Data, the, o f psychology, 184 D a v i d s o n , T . , 448 D eaf-m u te’s th o u g h t in in fan cy, 257 D eafness, m en tal, 60, 64. See H earing D e a n , S., 373 D ecision , five types of, 1138 D egenerations, d escen d in g in nervecentres, 4 6 -7 , 61 D e l a b a r r f ., E., 662-74, 717 D e l b c e u f , J., 431, 501, 510, 512, 517, 745, 826, 880, 894, 1205, 1208, 1210 D elib eration , 1136 If. D elu sion s, in san e, 354, 758 ff. D ep th , see T h ird dim ension D e s c a r t e s , 134, 198, 210, 326 D e s t u t t d e T r a c y , 239 D eterm in ism m ust be p ostu lated by psy­ ch ology, 1179 D e w e y , J., 447 D ich otom y in th in k in g, 1246 D i c k e n s , C „ 353 D i e t z e , 385, 577 D a r w in , C .,

fun ctio n C om parison, C hapter X I 11 : m ed iate, 463, 1240; relations discovered by com parison have n o th in g to do w ith the tim e and space order o f their term s, 1237; see D ifference, Likeness C om p osition , o f M ind ou t o f its e le ­ m ents, see M in d -S tu ff theory, differ­ ences d u e to, 464-5 C o m t e , A., 187 C on ceivab ility, 437-8 C onceptions, C hapter X I 1 : defined, 436; their perm anence, 439 ff.; do n ot d evelop o f them selves, 440 ff.; abstract, 443; universal, 447; essen tial­ ly teleological, 959

12 85

Index D ifference, not resolvable in to com p osi­ tion, 464; n oticed m ost betw een species o f a genus, 499; the m agnitu d e o f, 500-1; least d iscern ib le, 507 ff.; m eth o d s for ascertaining, 510 ff.; local, 806 ff.; genesis o f our p ercep ­ tion of, 1238 D iffusion o f m ovem ents, th e law of, 994 D im en sion , third, 776 ff., 847 ff., 854 D ip som an ia, 1149 D isb elief, 914 D iscrim in a tio n , C hapter X I 11 ; co n d i­ tions w h ich favor it, 468; im proves by practice, 481; spatial, 806 ff. See D if­

Ego, em p irical, 279 ff.; pure, 324 ff.; ‘tran scen d en tal,’ 342; criticised , 344 E lem entary factors o f m in d , see U nits,

psychic E lsa s,

517

R. W „ 548, 935 E m otion, C hapter X X V ; con tin u ou s w ith in stin ct, 1058; descrip tion of typical em otion s, 1059-65; results from reflex effects o f stim u lu s upon organism , 1065 ff.; th eir classification, 1069; in anaesthetic subjects, 1070; in the absence o f norm al stim u lu s, 10735; effects o f expressing, 1077 ff.; o f repressing, 1080; the su b tler, 1082 ff.; the neural process in, 1086; d iffer­ ences in in d ivid u als, 1087; evolu tion o f special em otion s, 1090 ff. E m pirical ego, 279 E m pirical p rop osition s, 1239 E m u lation , 1028 E n n u i, 58g E n top tic sensations, 487 ff. E q u ation , personal, 391 ’E q u ilib ra tio n ,’ d irect and in d irect, 1224 Essences, their m ean in g, 956 ff.; se n ti­ m en tal and m ech an ical, 1258-9 Essential q u alities, see Essences E s t f .l , 577, 582 E volu tion ism d em and s a ‘m in d -d u st,’ E m erso n ,

ference D issociation, 461; law of, by varying co n com itan ts, 478, 970, 983; o f on e part o f the m ind from an oth er, see

Janet, Pierre D istance, betw een term s o f a series, 501; in space, see T h ird dim ension D istraction, 382. See In a tte n tio n Dizziness, sec Vertigo D o g ’s cortical centres, after Ferrier, 44; after M unk, 54-5; after L u cian i, 56, 62, 66, 68; for special m uscles, 71-2; hem isp h eres ab lated, 78 D o n a l d s o n , 809 D o n d f .r s , 867 D o u b le im ages, 858-63, 883 D ou b t, 914, 946 ff.; the m ania of, 1152 D o u c a l l , J. D . , 855 D rainage o f o n e brain-cell by an oth er, 1185 ff. D ream s, 923 D r o b i s c h , 595, 621 D runkard, 1169 D ru nkenness, 146, 1149, 1169, 1226 D ualism o f object and know er, 214, 216 D u ality, o f Brain, 369, 377 D u d l e y , A. T ., on m en tal q u a lities of an ath lete, 1145 D u f o u r , 845 D u n a n , Ch., 814, 841, 843-4 D u ra tio n , th e p rim itive ob ject in tim ep ercep tion , 574; our estim ate o f short,

■49 on h u m an cortical centres, 4 6 7; on 'circu m vallation ’ o f centres, 73; h is p sychodom eter, 94; on reaction ­ tim e, 97-8; on p ercep tion o f rapid succession, 387; on atten tio n , 415; on tim e-p ercep tion , 579, 600, 607-8; on feelin g o f m otion , 811 E xp erience, 380, 461. R ela tio n o f ex p eri­ en ce to necessary ju d gm en ts, C hapter X X V 111 . E xp erience defined, 1217 ff., 1226 E xp erim en tation in psychology, 191 E xtrad ition o f sensations, 678 ff., 832 ff.

E xn er,

F allacy, the P sych ologist’s, 195, 268, 335,

91;

575 ff'D yn am ogen y,’ 1001 ff., 1103

F am iliarity, sense of, see R ecognition F atalism , 1177 F atigue, d im in ish es span o f con scious­ ness, 602 Fear, in stin ct of, 1016, 1033; the sym p­ tom s of, 1062; m orbid, 1075; origin of, 1091 F i '.c h n e r , 412-3, 503, 509 ff., 518, 580, 607, 696, 716, 779 ff,, 816, 1079 F eeling, synonym for consciousness in

E b b i n g h a u s , H ., 517, 636 Eccentric projection o f sensations, 678 ff., 832 ff. E ducation o f h em isp h eres, 83. See P eda­

gogic rem arks Effort, 1141-4. Moral effort, 1155, 1166, 1181-2. M uscular effort, 1167 E g g e r , V., 270-1, 887

1286

Index general in this book, 185-6; feelings o f relation , 236 F f. l i d a X ., 358-9, 363 F é r é , C h ., 714, 1000 ff. F e r r i e r , D ., 42, 5 6 -7 , 62, 6 5-8, 422, 1114 F e r r i e r , J a s ., 264, 449 Fiat, o f the w ill, 1111, 1134, 1166, 1169, 1172. See Decision

1153 E., 206, 760, 772, 1083, 1209 1032, 1083

G u is l a in , G urney, G uyau,

H ab it, C hapter IV: d u e to p lasticity o f brain-m atter, 110; dep en d s on paths in nerve-centres, 112; o rigin ation of, 113-8; m echanism o f concatenated hab its, 119-22; they d em and som e sensation, 123; eth ical and p edagogic m axim s, 125-31; is the grou n d o f as­ sociation , 533; o f m em ory, 616 H ab its m ay in h ib it instincts, 1014. H ab it accounts for o n e large part of our k n ow led ge, 1229 H a l l , G . S., 102-3, 5 2®> 5 7 ®> 580, 796, 878, 911, 1040 H a llu cin a tio n , sensation a veridical, 680; o f lost lim bs, 685, 749; o f em o ­ tion al feelin g, 1074 H allu cin ation s, 757 ff.; the brainprocess in, 766 ff.; hyp n agogic, 767; h yp n otic, 1203 H a m i l t o n , W ., 211, 264, 384, 396, 537, 5 4 4 > 643, 756 H a m o n d , E., 1266 H ap loscop ic m eth od , 859 H a r l e s s , 1108 H a r t l e y , 522, 529, 532, 565 H a r t m a n n , R ., 1035 H ash eesh -d eliriu m , 764 H earin g, its cortical centre, 61 H eat, o f m en tal work, 105 H l c K e r , 1093 H e g e l , 165, 256, 346, 349, 1259 H e i d e n h a i n , 90 H e l m h o l t z , H . , 274; on a tten tio n , 399, 414, 417-8; on d iscrim in ation , 476, 487-93; tim e as a category, 590-1; after-im ages, 607, 610; on color-contrast, 665 ff.; on sensation, 680; on cochlea, 809; on convergence o f eyes, 836; vision w ith in verted head, 847; on w h at marks a sensation , 852 ff., 875-6; 011 en top tic objects, 873-4; on contrast in seen m ovem ent, 879; on relief, 888; on m easu rem en t o f the field o f view , 897 ff.; on theory of space-perception, 909; on feelin g o f in n ervation , 1105, 1117, 1120; on co n ­ servation o f energy, 1260 H em iam b lyop ia, 54 H em ian op sia, 52, 54, 719 H em ispheres, effects o f d ep rivation of, on frogs, 29-30, 80; on dogs, 77, 82; on fishes, 80-1; on birds, 81, 84; on rodents, 82; on p rim ates, 82; their d istin ctio n from low er centres, 32;

F ich te, 315

F'CK, 153 F lS K li, J., 1180 F ixed ideas. See Insistent ideas F lech sig’s P yram id en b ah n , 48 F l i n t , R ., 1043 F l o u r e n s , P ., 42

Force, supposed sense of, 1127 F orgetting, 639 ff., 992-3. See A m nesia F o u i l l é e , A., 1110, 1174 F r a n ç o i s - F r a n c k , 78 F r a n k l i n , Mrs. C. L., 739 F r a n z , Dr., 709 Freedom , o f the w ill, 1173 ff. 'Fringe' o f ob ject, 249, 271, 446 -7 , 452, 6 95

Frog’s nerve-centres, 27 F usion o f feelin gs u n in tellig ib le, 1604, 652. See M ind-Stuff theory Fusion o f im pressions in to o n e object, 458, 474-5, 747, 821 F., 246, 256, 644; on m en tal im agery, 696-702; on gregariousness,

G alto n ,

1047

G eneral p rop osition s, w hat they in ­ volve, 963 ff. See Universal concep­

tions G en esis o f brain-structure, its two m odes, 1222 G enius, 400, 500, 754, 977, 984 G en tlem an , the m in d o f the, 993 G eom etry, 1252 G id d in ess, see Vertigo G i l m a n , B . 1., 100-1 G l e y , E., 1124, 1133 G o l d s c h e i d e r , 809, 829 ff., 837 G o l t z , 22, 42, [I.33], 45, 54, 55, 67, 70, 75, 77, 81-2, 84 G orilla, 1035 G r a e f e , A., 1117, 1120 G r a s h e y , 602 G r a s s m a n , R ., 1248 G r e e n , T . H ., 239, 264, 346-8, 654, 659, 660 Gregariousness, 1047 G rief, 1059, 1093 G r i e s i n g e r , W ., 927 G riib elsu ch t, 914 G u in ea-p igs, ep ilep tic, etc., 1274-9

1287

Index theiv ed u ca tio n , 36, 75; localization o f fun ction in , 42; the exclu sive seat o f consciousness, 74; n ot d evoid o f co n n ate paths, 83; th eir evolu tion from low er centres, 85 H e n l e , J., 1061, 1076, 1094 H e r b a r t , 335, 395, 568, 573, 589 H ereditary transm ission o f acquired characters, see Inheritance H e r i n g , E., on a tten tio n , 414, 425; on com p arin g w eigh ts, 513; on pure sensation , 654; on color-contrast, 668 ff.; on room y character o f sensa­ tions, 778 ff.; on after-im ages and co n ­ vergence, 836; on d istan ce o f d ou b le im ages, 863; on stereoscopy, 883; on reproduction in vision , 891 ff.; on m ovem ents o f closed eye, 1120 H e r z e n , 67; on reaction -tim e from ;i corn, 102; 011 cerebral therm om etry, 106; on sw oonin g, 263 H i t z i g , 42 H o b b e s , T „ 540, 552, 559 ff. H o d c s o n , R „ 353, 377 H o d g s o n , S. H . , on inertness o f co n ­ sciousness, 133-4, 137; on self, 323, 329; on con cep tu al order, 455; on as­ so ciation , 539 ff., 568; on voluntary red in tegration , 554; on the ‘p resen t’ in tim e, 572 H O f f d i n g , H „ 634, 1070 H o l b r o o k , M. L., 625 H o l m e s , O. W „ 94, 548, 1024 H o l t e i , v o n , 587 H orop ier, 859 H o r s l e y , V., 46, 68, 71 H o r w i c z , 299, «09-11 H o w e , S. G., 982 H u m a n in tellect, com pared w ith that of b ru te, 973 ff.; dep en d s on association by sim ilarity, 977 ff.; various orders o f, 984; w h at b rain -p eculiarity it d ep en d s on , 989, 1234 H u m e , 246; on personal id en tity, 332-4, 340; association, 561; d u e to brainlaws, 531; on m en tal im ages, 691-2; on b elief, 924-5, 931; on pleasure and w ill, 1163 H u n tin g in stin ct, 1030 H u x l e y , 134-5, 246, 692 H y a t t , A., 746 H ylozoism , see M ind-S tuff theory H yper.xsthesia, in h y p n otism , 1208 H yp n o tism , 385, 770, 975; general ac­ co u n t o f, C hapter X X V II: m ethods, 1194; theories o f, 1196; sym ptom s o f trance, 1202 ff.; p ost-hyp n otic su gges­ tio n , 1211

1288

H ysterics, their so called anaesthesias, and unconsciousness, 200 ff. Ideal objects, eternal and necessary rela­ tions b etw een , 1235, 1255. See C on­

ceptions ‘Ideas,’ the theory of, 225; con foun d ed w ith objects, 225, 266, 268, 377, 493; they do n ot exist as parts o f our th ou gh t, 268-9, 383, 522; p laton ic, 437; abstract, 443 ff.; universal, 447 ff.; never com e tw ice the sam e, 453-4 Id eation , no d istin ct centres for, [I.764], 7 '9 Id en tity, personal, 232, 314 ff.; based on ordinary ju d gm en t o f sam eness, 318; d u e to resem blance and co n tin u ity o f our feelin gs, 319; Lotze on , 331; on ly relatively true, 351-2 Id en tity, sense of, 434; three p rin cip les of, 435; n ot the fou n d ation o f lik e­ ness, 465-6 Id eo-m otor action ih e type o f all v o li­ tion , 1130 Idiosyncrasy, 1228 Id om en ian s,’ 848 Illu sion s, 731 ff., 771, 864 ff., 875-96. See

H allucination Im ages, d ou b le, in vision, 858-63 Im ages, m en tal, n ot lost in m en tal b lin dn ess, etc., 59-60, 74, 719; are usually vague, 691; visu al, 696 ff.; au d itory, 707; m otor, 707; tactile, 712; b eiw een sleep and w aking, 767-9 Im agin ation , C hapter X V III: it differs in in d ivid u als, 696 ff.; som etim es leaves an after-im age, 714; the cere­ bral process of, 714 ff.; n ot locally d istin ct from th at o f sensation , 719; is figured, 728 Im itation , 1027 Im m ortality, 330 Im pulses, m orb id, 1148 ff. See Instinct Im pulsiveness o f all consciousness, 1134 ff. In a tten tio n , 382, 430 ff. Increase, serial, 464 In d eterm in ism , 1173 ff. I n g i .r s o l i ., R ., 1083 In h eritan ce o f acquired characters, 990, 1270 In h ib itio n , 53, 75, 382, 769, 995; o f instincts, 1012, 1014; o f o n e cortical process by an oth er, 1185 In n ervation , feelin g of, 868, 1104; it is unnecessary, 1105 ff.; no evid en ce for it, 1110, 1127; collateral, see Vicarious

fun ctio n

Index Insane d elu sio n s, 354, 758 In sisten t id eas, 1152 In stin ct, C hapter X X IV : d efined, 1004; is a reflex im pu lse, 1006 ff.; is n eith er b lin d nor in variab le, 1010; contrary in stin cts in sam e an im al, 1013; m an has m ore than other m am m als, 1013, 1056; th eir transitoriness, 1017; spccial instincts, 1023-57; origin o f instincts, 1270 ‘In teg ra tio n ’ o f feelin gs, Spencer’s theory o f, 154 ff. In tellig en ce, the test o f its presence, 21; o f low er b rain-centres, 85 ff. In ten tio n to speak, 245 Interest, 143, 273 ff., 380-1, 455, 487 ff.,

G. T ., 647, 653, 678 1270 L a n d r y , 1102, 1103 I . a n g f ., A . , 40, 273 I . a n c ; e , C., 1059, 1065, 1070, 1072, 1075, 1077 L a n g e , K . , 754 L a n g f ., L . , on reaction -tim e, m uscu lar and sensorial, 99 L a n g e , N „ on m uscular elem en t in im a g in a tio n , 420 Language, as a h u m an fu n ction , 980-2 L a r o m i g u i e r e , 240 L aughter, 1093 L a z a r u s , r.8 7 , r.qo, 7 S 0 , 7 4 1 , 9 9 2 , 10 4 6 L add,

L am arck,

L f. C o n t e , J o s e p h , 8 6 1 , 8 8 3 , 8 9 6 L k o n ih , M .

5 3 9 - 5 5 9 - 9 1 ° ,f-. 9 7 ° . ' 2 3 '

In term ed iaries, th e a xiom o f skipped, 1241 In trosp ectio n , 185 In verted head, vision w ith , 847 J a c k s o n , H u g h l in g s , J anet,

H„ 8 3 9 -4 0 on frog’s sp. cord, 2 2 , 8 5 , 1 3 7 ; on th o u g h t as a sort o f algebra, 2 6 0 ; on ‘p rep ercep tion ,’ 4 1 6 , 4 1 9 ; on m uscular feelin g, 8 3 4 - 5 ; [on b eggin g in p u p , II. 4 0 0 ] ; on lap sed in tellig en ce, 1 2 7 0

L ew es,

41, 73, 378, 768-9

L e w in s k i, 8 2 8 -9

588, 686-7 201 ff., 222, 363 ff., 642,

L ib e r a t o r e , 12 6 3

J a n e t , P ie r r e ,

L if.b m a n n ,

1071, 1213 J a s t r o w , 94, 513, 514, 690, 777, 818 J e v o n s , W . S., 384 J oin ts, their sen sib ility, 826 ff. Ju d gm en ts, ex isten tia l, 919 Ju stice, 1265-6

L 1i.G F .0 1s , J., 1 1 9 5 , 1 2 0 6 L igh t, effects of, on m ovem en t, 1 0 0 1 Likeness, 4 9 9 L in d s a y , W . L ., 10 3 8 L i p p s , on ‘u n con sciou s’ sensations, 1 7 6 ; on theory o f ideas, 5 6 8 ; tim e-perception , 5 9 5 ; on m uscu lar feelin g, 8 3 6 ; on d istan ce, 8 5 5 ; on visual illu sion s, 8 8 2 , 8 9 5 ; on sp ace-p ercep tion , 9 1 0 ; on reality, 9 2 6 ; on effort, 1 1 7 8

V., 716, 759-60 264, 315, 326, 329; h is ‘transcen­ d en ta l’ d ed u ction o f the categories, 341; h is paralogism s, 342; criticised, 344-6; on tim e, 603; on sym m etrical figures, 792; on space, 903 ff.; on the real, 925; o n syn th etic ju d gm en ts a priori, 1255, and th eir relation to ex p erien ce, 1258 K in x sth etic feelin gs, 1 too ff., 1104 ‘K lep to m a n ia ,’ 1043 K nee-jerk, toot K now ing, 212 ff.; psychology assum es it, 214; n o t red u cib le to any oth er rela­ tio n , 214, 4 4 5 . 649 K n ow led ge, tw o kin ds of, 216; o f Self n ot essen tial to, 264; th e relativity of, 658 ff.; the gen esis of, 1227 ff. K now ledge-ofcoui, 216 K ö n i g , 512 K a n d in s k y ,

L is s a u e r , 59

Local signs, 7 9 6 ff., 8 0 6 Localization, in h em ispheres, 4 2 ff. Localization, 7 9 4 ff.; o f o n e sensible object in an oth er, 6 7 8 ff., 8 2 1 ff., 8 3 2 ff. L o c k e , J„ 1 9 8 , 2 2 5 , 3 2 9 , 3 3 1 , 3 6 8 , 4 3 7 , 457 - 5 2 1 —2 , 5 3 1 « 6 3 9 - 4 o , 8 4 5 , 9 3 4 , 1 2 3 9 , '

255-8

‘Locksley H a ll,’ 5 3 4 L ocom otion , in stin ct of, L o e b , 44, 5 4 , 888, 112 5 ,

L ogic,

10 2 4 12 2 5

12 4 2

J. S., 10 5 W ., toot L o t z e , 2 1 1 ; on im m ortality, 3 3 0 ; on personal id en tity, 3 3 1 ; on atten tio n , 4 1 9 - 2 0 ; on fusion and d iscrim in ation o f sensations, 493-4; on local signs, 7 9 8 , 1 1 0 7 ; on v o litio n , 1 1 3 1 - 3

L om bard, L om bard,

K r ie s , v o n , 10 2 , 5 1 6 , 884 K r is h a b e r , 3 5 6

A .,

O ., on brain as a m ach ine,

23, 681

K ant,

K u ssm a u l,

207,

L i vy, W .

J., 364

J a n e t , I’ a u l ,

J a n et’s trance-subject,

3 6 5 fl.

643

1289

Index L o u i s V ., 3 6 7 L ove, sexual, 1053, 1150; p aren tal, 1055; B a in ’s e x p la n a tio n o f, 1157 L o w f . l l , J. R ., 548 L u c i a n i , 51—7, 62, 68

M cC osii, 556 E., on a tten tio n , 413; on spacefeelin g , 425; on tim e feelin g, 580, 597; [on m o tio n -co n lra st, II, 217]; on o p ti­ cal in version , 886; on p rob ab ility, 889; 011 feelin g o f in n ervation , 1119,

M ach,

1121 M agn itud e o f differences, 500 ff. M a i . e b r a n c h i ., 659 M ania, transitory, 1075 M a n o u v r i f .r , 1107 M an’s in te llec tu a l d istin ctio n from brutes, 973 ff. M a n s k i ., H . L „ 264 M a n t u P ercep tion , C hapter X IX : com pared w ith sensation, 651, 722; in volves re­ p rod u ctive processes, 724; is o f p ro b ­ able objects, 727 ff.; n ot an u n con ­ scious in feren ce, 755 ff.; rap id ity of,

M u sse y , 114 9

M u tila tio n s, in h erited , 1274 M y e r s , F. W „ 378, 775 M ysoph ob ia, 1051, 1152 N atu re, the order of, its in con gru en ce w ith th a t o f our th ou gh t, 1231 ff. N a u n y n , 64 Necessary tru th s are all tru th s o f com ­ parison, 1237 ff., 1246, 1256. See E x ­ perience, A p rio ri connections, etc. N e i g l i c k , 512 N eu ral process, in p ercep tion , 85 ff.; in h a b it, 110 ff.; in association, 533; in m em ory, 616-7; in im agin ation , 714 ff.; in p ercep tion , 727 ff., 747 ff.; in h a llu cin a tio n , 766 ff.; in space-percep­ tio n , 785; in em o tio n , 1086; in v o li­ tio n , 1183 ff.; in association, 1189 ff. N itrou s o x id e in to x ica tio n , 914 N on sense, how it escapes d etection , 252 N orm al position in vision, 870-1 N o t i 1n a g e l , 60, 6 8 -9 N u m b er, 1247

77 3

l’ercep tion -tim e, 773 P e r e z , B., 422, 1034 Personal eq u a tio n , 391 P ersonality, alteration s o f, 352 ff. P f l u g e r , on frog’s sp in al cord, 22, 137 P h ilosop h ies, th eir test, 940 P hosp h oru s and th o u g h t, 106 P hren ology, 39 P i c k , E ., 629 P i t r e s , 203 P lan ch ette-w ritin g, 205-6, 371 ff. P lasticity, as basis o f h ab it, defined, 110 P i . a t n e r , 843 P l a t o , 437 l’lay, 1044 P leasure, as related to w ill, 146, 1156, 1185-6 P oin ts, id en tical, theory of, 856 ff. P ossession, Spirit-, 371 ff. P ost-h yp n otic su ggestion , 1211 Practical interests, th eir effects on d is­ crim in ation , 487 ff. Prayer, 301 ‘P rep ercep tion ,’ 416 P resent, th e present m om en t, 573 ff.

OliERSTF.INER, 94, 422

O bject, use o f the w ord, 265, 445; c o n ­ fusion o f, w ith th o u g h t that know s it, 268 O b jective w orld, k n ow n before self, 263; its p rim itiv e u n ity , 461-2; d itto , 657 O bjects versus ideas, 225, 268 O ld-fogyism , 754 O r s c h a n s k y , 101 ‘O v erto n e’ (psychic), 249, 271 P ain, 146; its relation s to 1156 ff., 1185-6 P a n e t h , 71, 73

P r e y e r , 10 2 2

P rob ab ility d eterm in es w h at object shall be perceived , 727, 748, 888-9,

890-3

the w ill,

P rob lem atic con cep tion s, 438 P roblem s, the process o f solu tion , 550

1291

Index R elation s, in w ard , b etw een ideas, 1235, 1 2 3 8 , 1 2 5 4 , 1 2 6 4 ; th e p rin cip le o f transferred, 1 2 4 1 R elief, 8 8 5 - 8 . See T h ird dim ension

Projection o f sensations, eccentric, 678 ff. P rojection , theory of, 861 P sych o lo g ist’s fallacy, the, see Fallacy P sycho-physic law , 509 P ugn acity, 1028 P ure Ego, 324 P u t n a m , J. J., 69

R e n o u v ie r , C h ., 5 2 0 , 9 37

R ep rod u ction in m em ory, 5 4 1 f f ., 6 1 5 - 6 ; volun tary, 5 5 1 ff. Resem blance, 4 9 9 R esp iration , effects o f sensory stim uli u p on , 9 9 6 R estitu tio n o f fu n ction , 75 ff. R estoration o f fu n ction , 7 5 ff. R eten tio n in m em ory, 6 1 4 ff. R eten tiven ess, organic, 6 2 0 ff.; it is u n ­ ch an geab le, 6 2 4 ff. R etin a l im age, 7 3 7 R etin a l sensib ility, see Vision; Space;

Q u estio n in g m an ia, 914 R a b i f . r , 444, 569 R a tio n a l p rop osition s, 1239 R a tio n a lity is based on ap p reh en sion of series, 1253 R a tio n a lity , p ostu lates of, 1263, 1269 R a tio n a lity , sense o f, 250-5, 1242 R ea ciio n -tim e, 92; sim p le, 94; w hat it m easures is n o t conscious th ou gh t, 96-7; Lange's d istin ction betw een m uscu lar and sensorial, 99; its varia­ tion s, 100-3; in flu en ced by exp ectan t a tten tio n , 404 ff.; after in tellectu al process, 409; after d iscrim in ation , 494; after association, 525; after p er­ cep tio n , 773 R eal size and shape o f visual objects, 817, 869 ff. R ea lity , th e P ercep tion of, C hapter X X I: n o t a d istin ct co n ten t o f co n ­ sciousness, 916; various orders of, 917 ff,; the ch o ice o f, 920; every ob ject has som e k in d o f reality, 920 ff.; practical, 923 ff.; m eans relation to th e self, 924-7; relation o f sensations to, 927; o f em otion s, 935 R eason , 520, See Logic R eason in g, C hapter X X II: its d efin i­ tio n , 952; in volves the p ick in g o u t of essences, or sagacity, 956; and abstrac­ tio n , 958; its u tility d ep en d s on the p ecu liar co n stitu tio n o f this w orld, 963 ff,, 1246; dep en d s on association by sim ila rity , 970 R eca ll, 545, 615 •R ecepts,’ 954, 973, 976 R eco g n itio n , 633 R eco llectio n , volu n tary, 551 ff. R ed in teg ra tio n , 536 R ed u ctiv es,’ 768, 920 R eflex acts, 25; reaction -tim e m easures o n e, 96-7; con caten ated h ab its are co n stitu ted by a ch ain of, 120 R f. i d , T h o m a s , 574, 724, 848, 850, 852,

P oints, identical; T h ird dim ension; P rojection, etc. R evival in m em ory, 541 ff., 6 15-6 R e y n o l d s , M a r y , 359 R i b o t , T h ., 354; on a tten tio n , 420, 422, 640, 642 R i c h e t , C h ., 600, 6 0 6 -9 R i e h l , A ., 679 R o b e r t s o n , G. C . , 436, 732 R o m a n e s , G. J., 740, 773, 954-6, 973, 97 6 > 9 7 9 . 1017 R o m an tic and classic,

10 8 3 -4

R o se n t h a l, 85

R o ss, J., 6 5 - 6 R o y c e , J., 3 5 4 ,

9 4 4 -5

R o yer - C o llard , 574 R u t h e r f o r d , 809

Sagacity, 9 5 7 , 9 6 8 Sam eness, 2 6 2 , 4 3 4 , 4 5 3 - 4 , S c h X f e r , E., 4 5 , 6 2 , 6 8 , 7 1 S C H 1F F , M., 6 7 , 8 5 , I O 5 - 6

12 4 5

Sc h m id , 6 4 3

H . D ., 1 0 1 9 - 2 0 G, H ., on H ab its, 1 1 7 , 1 2 3 4 ; on p ercep tion o f m otion , 8 1 2 ; on ev o lu tio n o f m ovem ents, 1 0 0 2 ; on instincts, 1 0 0 8 - 1 0 , 1 0 3 0 , 1 0 3 6 , 1 0 5 5

S c h m id t ,

Sc h n e id e r ,

SC H O rE N H A U E R , 6 8 0 , 9O3 S c h r a d e r , 8 0 ff.

Science, the genesis of, 1 2 5 8 - 6 2 Sciences, the n atu ral, the factors o f their p rod u ction , 1 2 3 0 ff.; a T u rk ish cadi u p on , 1 2 3 6 ; p ostu late thin gs w ith u n ­ ch an geab le p roperties, 1 2 5 0 Sciences, the p u re, they express results o f com parison exclu sively, 12 3 7 ; classifications, 12 4 2 ; logic, 12 4 2 ; m ath em atics, 1 2 4 7 S easick n ess, su scep tib ility to, an acci­ d en t, 1 2 2 5

872. 9 3 7 R ela tin g p rin cip le, 6 4 7-8 R ela tio n , feelin gs of, 236 ff.; space-relation s, 790 ff.

1292

Index S i k o r s k y , 1080 S im ilarity, 499 S im ilarity, association by, 544, 970, 977 Skin, d iscrim in ation o f p oin ts on , 485 S leep, p artial consciousness d u rin g, 210 Sociability, 1047 S om n am b u lism , see H ypnotistn. H ys­

Seat o f consciousness, 74; o f Soul, 210; o f s e n s a t i o n s , n o o r i g i n a l , 681 S e c r e t i v e n e s s , 1049 S e g u i n , 58, 82 Selection , a card in al fun ction o f c o n ­ sciousness, 273 ff„ 380-1, 559, 1186; o f visual reality, 815 ff„ 869; o f reality in gen eral, 920, 923; o f essen tial q u ality, 959- 992-3 . 1230-1 Self, consciousness o f, C hapter X: not prim ary, 263; the em p irical self, 279; its con stitu en ts, 280; the m aterial self, 280; the social self, 281; the sp iritu al self, 283; resolvable in to feelings localized in head, 287 ff.; con scious­ ness of personal id en tity , 314 ff.; its a lteration s, 352 ff. S elf-feelin g, 292 tf. S elf-love, 302; the nam e for active im ­ pulses and em otion s towards certain objects; w e do not love our bare p rin cip le o f in d iv id u a lity , 307 Self-seeking, 293 ff, Selves, their rivalry, 295 ff. Sem i-reflex acts, 26 S ensation, does a tten tion increase its strength? 402; term inus o f thou gh t, 446; C hapter X V II: d istin gu ish ed from p ercep tion , 651, 722; its co g n i­ tive fu n ction , 653; pure sensation an abstraction, 653; the term in u s o f th o u g h t, 657 Sensations, are n ot com p oun d s, 160 ff., 652; their su p p osed com b in ation by a h igh er p rin cip le, 647, 674-7; their in flu en ce on each o ther, 676-7; their eccentric p rojection , 678 ff., 832 ff.; th eir localization in sid e o f o n e a n ­ o ther, 821 ff.; th eir relation to reality, 927 ff.; to em otion s, 1068; their fusion , see M in d -S tu ff theory Sensationalism , 237; criticised by sp iri­ tualism , 647, 655; in th e field o f spacep ercep tion , criticised, 853 ff.; its d if­ ficulties, 864-9; d efen d ed , 869 ff., 1126 S e r g i , 680-1 Serial increase, 464, 1240 Series, 1240-6, 1253 S e t h , A., 654 Sexual fu n ctio n , 34 Shadows, colored, 673 Sham e, 1052 S h o h m a k e r , Dr., 263 Shyness, 1047 Sight, its cortical centre, 51 ff., 74 Sign-m aking, a differen tia o f m an, 980 Signs, local, 796 ff, S icw a r t , C„ 1232

terics Soul, theory o f th e, 181; in accessibility of, 186; its essence is to think (accord­ in g to Descartes), 198; seat of, 210; argum ents for its existen ce, 325 ff,; an unnecessary hypothesis for p sych olo­ gy, 332; com pared w ith transcendenial Ego, 345; a relatin g p rin cip le, 472 Space, the p ercep tion of, C hapter X X : p rim itive exten sity in three d im e n ­ sions, 776-80; sp atial order, 786; space-relations, 790; localization in, 794 ff.; how real space is m en tally constructed, 806 ff,; part played by m ovem ent in , 810-4; m easu rem en t of exten sion s, 815 ff,; synthesis o f orig­ in ally ch aotic sensations o f e x te n ­ sion, 819 ff,; part played by articular surfaces in, 826 ff,; by m uscles, 833 ff,; how the b lin d p erceive space, 838 ff,; visual space, 846-98; theory o f id e n ti­ cal p oin ts, 856; o f p rojection , 861; difficulties o f sensation -theory e x ­ p ou n d ed and rep lied to, 864-98; h is­ torical sketch o f o p in io n , 900 ff. S p a l d i n g , D. A., 1016, 1018, 1020, 1025 Span o f consciousness, 383, 602 Speech, the 'centre' of, 64; its m islead ­ in g influ en ce in psychology, 193; th ou gh t possible w ith o u t it, 259. See A phasia , Phrenology S p f . n c e r , his form ula o f ad ju stm en t,’ 19; on form ation o f paths in nervecentres, 114; on chasm betw een m ind and m atter, 149-50; on origin o f co n ­ sciousness, 151; on 'in tegration ' o f nervous shocks, 154-6; on feelin gs o f relation , 239; on u n ity o f self, 336; on con ceivab ility, 438; on abstraction, 478-9; on association, 565; on tim e p ercep tion , 586, 601; on m em ory, 610; on recogn ition , 633; on feelin g and p ercep tion , 757, 818; on spacep ercep tion , 902, 912; on genesis of em otion s, 1091 ff.; on free-w ill, 1179; on in h eritan ce o f acquired p ecu lia ri­ ties, 1218 ff., 1271; on 'eq u ilib ra tio n ,’ 1224; on genesis o f cogn ition , 1238; on th at o f sociality and p ity, 1277 S p i n o z a , 918 S i ’ iR , A., 1258, 1270

1293

Index on u n ity o f self, 336; on a l­ terations o f d itto, 355; on recollect­ ing, 620, 631; on projection o f sensa­ tions, 680; on im ages, 694, and th eir ‘red u ction ,’ 768-9; on reality, 920 T a k a c s , 1102 T a r d e , G., 254 T a y l o r , C. F., 744 T e d iu m , 589 T e le o lo g y , created by consciousness, 143-4; essence o f in tellig en ce, 455-6; in volved in th e fact o f essences, 961; its barrenness in th e natural sciences, 1259 T en d en cy, feelin gs of, 240-6 T h a c k e r a y , W . M„ 1050 T h erm om etry, cerebral, 105 ‘T h in g ,’ 821, 890 T h in k in g , the consciousness of, 287 ff. T h in k in g p rin cip le, 324 T h ir d d im ension o f space, 776 ff„ 847 ff., 854 T h o m p s o n , D. G., 336, 1255 T h o m s o n , A l l e n , 91 T h o u g h t, synonym for consciousness at large, 186; the stream of, C hapter IX : it ten ds to personal form , 220; sam e th ou gh t never com es tw ice, 225 ff.; sense in w h ich it is con tin u ou s, 231; can be carried on in any term s, 2519; w hat con stitu tes its rational ch ar­ acter, 260; is cogn itive, 262; n ot m ade u p o f parts, 266 ff„ 725 ff.; always partial to som e o f its objects, 273 ff.; the consciousness o f it as a process, 287 ff.; th e p resent th o u g h t is the thinker, 349, 379; d ep en d s on m ate­ rial [mechanical?] con d ition s, 521 ‘T h o u g h t-rea d in g ,’ 1133 T im e , u n con sciou s registration of, 199; occu p ied by neural and m en tal processes, see R eaction-tim e T im e , the p ercep tion of, C hapter XV: b egin s w ith d u ration , 574; com pared w ith p ercep tion o f space, 575 ff.; em p ty tim e n ot perceived, 583; its discrete flow, 585, 599-600; lo n g in ­ tervals con ceived sym bolically, 586 ff,; variations in ou r estim ate o f its len gth , 587 ff.; cerebral process u n d er­

'Spirit-control,' 223 S p iritu alist theory o f the self, 325, 655 Spiritualists, 163 S t a n l e y , H e n r y M., 938 S t a r r , A., 63, 64 Statistical m eth o d in psychology, 193 S t e i n e r , 80 S t e i n t h a l , 568, 751-3 ST K PA N O F F , 809 Stereoscope, 732 Stereoscopy, 856, 883. See T h ird d im ­

T a i n e , H .,

ension 749, 1125 581 S t e v e n s , E. W ., 375 S t f . w a r t , D „ 383, 404 S t o r y , J e a n , 254 Stream o f T h o u g h t, C hapter I X : schem atic rep resen tation s of, 269-72 S t r i c k e r , S ., 709 ff. S t r O m p f .l l , A ., 355, 1071, 1101, 1103 S t r ü m p e l l , Prof., 977 S t u m f f , C., on a tten tio n , 403; on d if­ ference, 467; on fusion o f im pressions, 494, 501-3; on stron g and weak sensa­ tions, 516; on relativity o f k n ow led ge, 660; on sensation s o f ex ten t, 853, 854 Subjective sensations, 488 ff. Substance, sp iritu al, 327 Su bstantive states o f m in d , 236 S u b stitu tion o f parts for w h oles in rea­ son in g, 957: o f the sam e for the sam e, Ster n ber g , St e v e n s ,

1245 S u b su m ption , the p rin cip le o f m ed iate, ■243

Succession, vs. d u ration , 574; not know n by successive feelin gs, 591 Suggestion, in h y p n otism , 1198-1201; p ost-h yp n otic, 1211 Suicide, 302 S u l l y , J„ 191, 725, 855, 902, 911, 949, 1043 Su m m ation o f stim u li, 89; o f elem en ts o f feelin g , 153; th e latter is in ad m issi­ ble, 160 S u perposition, in space-m easurem ents, 815, 897 ff. Sym bols as su b stitu tes for reality, 933 Sym pathy, 1029 Syn th etic ju d gm en ts a priori, 1255 System s, p h ilo so p h ic, sen tim en tal, and m ech an ical, 1258-60

lyin g. 5 9 ° ff495, 498 T o u ch , cortical centre for, 67 T rance, see H y p n o tism T ran scen d en talist theory o f the Self, 325, 841 ff.; criticised , 343 ff. T ran sitive states o f m in d , 236 ff. T s c h i s c h , v o n , 391, 528

T is c h e r ,

T a c tile centre, 67 T a c tile im ages, 712 T a c tile sen sib ility , its cortical centre, 45, 69, 70

1294

Index 329 E. H ., his 'law ,’ 507 ff.; on space-p ercep tion on skin, 783-4; on m uscular feelin g, 834 W e e d , T ., 626 W e i s m a n n , A ., 1278 ff. W ern ick e’s co n v o lu tio n , 49, 63-4 'W h eatston e’s ex p erim en t,’ 859-60 W i g a n , l)r., 369, 635 -6 , 1170-1 W i u s r a n d , 59-60 W ill, C hapter X X V I: in volves m em ory o f past acts, and n o th in g else but c o n ­ sent that they shall occur again, 10991127; th e m em ory m ay in volve im ages o f eith er resident or rem ote effects of th e m ovem ent, 1127-30; k leo-m otor action , 1130-35; action after fleliberation, 1136; d ecision , 1138; effort, 1142; the exp losive w ill, 1144; th e ob stru ct­ ed w ill, 1152; relation o f w ill to p le a ­ sure and p ain , 1156 ff.; to atten tio n , 1166; term in ates in an id ea,’ 1171; the q u estion o f its in d eterm in ism , 1173; p sychology m ust assum e d eter­ m inism , 1179; neural processes co n ­ cerned in ed u cation o f the w ill, 1182 ff. W ill, relation s of, to B elief, 947 W i l l s , J a s ., 234 W itch craft, 937 W o l f e , H . K„ 634, 639 W o l f f , C h r ., 386, 612 W orld, the p ecu liar co n stitu tio n o f the, 963, 1242, 1246-7 W riting, au tom atic, 372 ff. W u n d t , on frontal lobes, 73; on reac­ tio n -tim e, 96-100, 102, 404 ff., 496; on in trosp ective m eth od , 189; on selfconsciousness, 289-90; on percep tion o f strokes o f sou n d , 385; on p ercep ­ tion o f sim u ltan eou s even ts, 388 ft.; on W eb er’s law , 504 ff.; associationtim e, 526, 528; on tim e-p ercep tion , 573- 577 ff-. 5 83-4. 596-7: on local signs, 796-7; on eyeball-m uscles, 836; 011 sensations, 853; on paresis o f ext. rectus, 868; on contrast, 881; on cer­ tain illu sion s, 895; on feelin g o f in ­ nervation, 896, 1104; on space as syn­ thesis, 906; on em otion s, 1094; on d ich otom ic form o f th ou gh t, 1246

I). H ., 772, 1031 E. B „ 932 T y m p a n ic m em brane, its tactile sensi­ b ility , 7 8 1

W ayla n d ,

T u ke,

W f. b e r ,

T ylo r,

T y n d a ll,

15 0 -1

U e b e r w e g , 18 7

U nconscious states o f M ind, proofs of their ex isten ce, 1 6 6 ff.; objections, 1 6 6 ff.

U nconsciousness, 197 ff.; in hysterics, 200 If.; o f useless sensations, 488 ff. U n d erstan d in g o f a senten ce, 270-1 U n its, psychic, 1 5 4 U n ity o f origin al ob ject, 461-2, 657, 821 ir. U niversal con cep tion s, 4 4 7 , See General

propositions U n reality, th e feelin g of,

9 2 6 -7

V a l e n t in , 52 5

V arying con com itan ts, law o f d issocia­ tion by, 4 7 8 V f.n n u m , L u r a n c y , 3 7 5

V en trilo q u ism ,

822

V e rd o n , R „ 645

V ertigo, 734; m en ta l vertigo, 937; o p ti­ cal, 1116 V icariou s fu n ctio n o f brain-parts, 77, ' 45- " 9 3 V lE R O R D T , 5 8 1

If., 7 9 5 , 8 l l 101-2 V ision w ith head u p sid e d ow n , V isu al cen tre in brain, 5 1 f f. V isu al space, 846 ff. V isu alizin g p ow er, 6 9 6 - 7 0 6 V ocalization, 1 0 2 6 V o litio n , see W ill V lN T SC H G A U ,

847

V o l k m a n n , A . W . , 8 3 4 , 8 8 3 ff. V O L K M A N N , W . VON V O L K M A R , 59 O , 5 9 2 ,

594 - 9 0 6 V o lu m in ou sness, p rim itive, tions, 776 V olu n tary th in k in g , 5 4 9 V u lgarity o f m in d , 9 9 3

of

sensa­

V u l p ia n , 80 W a h lf., 467 W a i t z , T h ., 3 8 3 , 5 9 5 ,

W alk in g, in ch ild , W a l t e r , J . E„ 2 1 1 W ard , J „

10 5 2

10 2 4

16 4 , 4 3 0 , 5 1 7 , 5 3 0 , 5 9 2 , 5 9 5 , 9 1 1

Z olln er’s p attern , 865

W a r r e n , J . W -, 10 2

1295

Key to the Pagination of Editions T h e plates o f the H en ry H olt first edition o f The Prin cip les o f P sy ch o lo g y have been rep rinted a num ber o f times, bu t alw ays w ith the same num bering regardless o f the date. Sin ce the original edition has been w id ely used in sch o larly reference, a key is here p ro vid ed b y w h ich the pagination o f the original H olt printin g can be readily equ ated w ith the tex t in the present A C L S edition. In the list that follow s, the first num ber refers to the page o f the S ep tem b er 1 8 9 0 original edition and its printings o f d ifferen t date. Th e num ber to the right after the colon represents the page(s) o f the present edition on w h ich the co rresp o n d in g tex t w ill be found. V o lu m e I v:5-6 vi:6 vii: 6 - 7 ix:9 O 1 cn xi: 10-11 xii: 1 1 [11=15 2:15-16 3:16-17 4:17-18 5:18-19 6:19-20 7 :2 0 -2 1 8:21 9:21-22 1 0 : 2 2 -2 3 11:23-24 12:25-26 1 3 : 2 6 -2 7 14:27-28 15:28-29 16:29 17:29-30 18:30 -3 1 19:31-32 20:32-33 21:33-34 22:34-35 2 3 :35 24:36 25:36-37 26:37-38 27:38-39 28:39-40 2 9 : 4 0 -4 1 30:41-42 31:42-43 32:43-44 3 3 :4 4

3 4 :4 5 35:45-46 36:46-47 37:46-49 38:48-49 39:49-50 4 0 : 5 0 -5 1 41:51-52 42:52-53 4 3 :5 3 44:53-54 45:54-55 46:55-56 47:56-57 48:57-59 49:58-59 50:59-60 5 1 : 6 0 -6 1 52:61-62 53:62-63 54:63 55:63-64 56:64-65 57:65-66 58:66-67 59:67-68 60:68-69 61:69-70 6 2 :70 6 3 : 7 0 -7 1 64:71-73 65:73-74 66:74-75 67:75-76 68:76 69:76-77 70:77-78 71:78-79 72:79-80 7 3 : 8 0 -8 1 74:81-82

75:82-83 76:83 77:33-84 78:84-85 79:85-86 80:86-87 81:88-89 82:89-90 83:90 8 4 : 9 0 -9 1 85:91-92 86:92-93 87:93-94 88:94-95 89:95-96 90:96-97 91:97-98 92:98-99 93:99 94:99-100 95:100-101 96:101-102 97:102-103 98:103-104 99:104-105 100:105-106 1 0 1 : 1 0 6 -1 0 7 102:107-108 1 0 3 :1 08 104:109-110 1 0 5 :1 10 1 0 6 : 1 1 0 -1 1 1 107:111-112 108:112-113 109:113-114 110:114-115 111:115-116 112:116-117 113:117-118 114:118-119 115:119-120

1296

1 1 6 : 1 2 0 -1 2 1 117:121-122 118:122-123 119:123-124 120:124-125 121:125-126 1 2 2 : 1 2 6 -1 2 7 123:127-128 1 2 4 :1 28 125:1 2 9 126:129-130 1 2 7 : 1 3 0 -1 3 1 128:132-133 129:1 3 3 130:133-134 131:134-135 132:135-136 133:136-137 134:137-138 135:138-139 136:139-140 1 3 7 : 1 4 0 -1 4 1 138:141-142 139:142-143 140:14 3 141:143-144 142:144-145 143:145-146 144:146-147 145:148 146:1 4 9 147:149-150 148:150-152 149:151-152 150:152-153 151:153-154 152:154-155 153:155-156 154:156-157 155:157-158 156:158-159

Key to the Pagination o f Editions 157:159-160 1 5 8 : 1 6 0 -1 6 1 159:161-162 1 60:162-163 161:163-164 1 62:164-165 163:165-166 1 6 4 : 1 6 6 -1 6 7 1 65:167 166:167-168 167:168-169 168:169-170 1 6 9 : 1 7 0 -1 7 1 170:171-172 171:172-173 172:173-174 1 73:174-175 1 74:175-176 1 7 5 :1 7 6 1 7 6 : 1 7 6 -1 7 7 177:177-178 178:178-179 179:179-180 1 8 0 : 1 8 0 -1 8 1 181:181-182 182:1 8 2 183:183-184 1 8 4 :1 84 185:184-185 186:185-186 1 8 7 : 1 8 6 -1 8 7 188:187-188 189:188-189 190:189-190 1 9 1 : 1 9 0 -1 9 1 192:191-192 193:192-193 194:193-194 1 9 5 :1 94 196:194-195 197:195-196 198:1 9 6 199:197-198 200:198 201:198-199 202:199-200 203:200-201 204:201-202 205:202-203 206:203-204 207:204-205 208:205-206 209:206 2 10:206-207 211:207-208 212:208-209

213:209-210 214:210-211 215:211-212 216:212-213 2 1 7 :2 13 218:213-214 219:214-215 220:215-216 221:216-217 222:217-218 223:218 224:219-220 225:220 2 2 6 : 2 2 0 -2 2 1 227:221-222 228:222-223 229:223-224 230:224-225 231:225-226 232:226-227 233:227-228 234:228 235:228-229 236:229-230 237:230-231 238:231-232 239:232-233 240:233-234 241:234-235 242:235-236 243:236 244:236-237 245:237-238 246:238-239 247:239-240 248:239-241 249:240-242 250:240-243 251:243 252:243-244 253:244-245 254:245-246 255:246-247 256:247-248 257:248-249 258:249 259:249-250 260:250-251 261:251-252 262:252-253 263:253-254 264:254-255 265:255-256 266:256-257 267:257-258 268:258-259

269:259-260 270:260-261 271:261-262 272:262-263 273:263-264 274:264-265 275:265-266 276:266 2 7 7 :2 67 278:267-268 279:268-269 280:269-270 281:270-271 282:271-272 283:272-273 284:273-274 285:274-275 286:275 287:275-276 288:276-277 289:277-278 290:278 291:279-280 292:280 293:280-281 294:281-282 295:282-283 296:283-284 297:284-285 298:285-286 299:286-287 300:287-288 301:288 302:288-289 303:289-290 304:290-291 305:291-292 306:292-293 307:293-294 308:294 309:294-295 310:295-296 311:296-297 312:297-298 313:298-299 314:299-300 315:300-301 316:30 1 317:301-302 318:302-303 319:303-304 3 2 0 : 304-305 321:305-306 322:306-307 323:307-308 324:308

1297

325:309 326:309-310 327:310-312 328:312 329:312-314 330:313-314 331:314-315 332:315-316 333:316-317 334:317-318 335:318-319 336:319 337:319-320 338:320-321 339:321-322 340:322-323 341:323-324 342:323-325 343:325-326 344:326-327 345:327 346:327-328 347:328-329 348:329-330 349:330-331 350:331-332 351:332-333 352:333-334 353:334-335 354:335-336 355:336-337 356:337-338 357:338-339 358:339-340 359:339-340 3 6 0 : 3 4 0 -3 4 1 361:341-342 362:342-343 363:343-344 364:344-345 365:345-346 366:346 367:346-347 368:347-348 369:348-349 370:349-350 371:350-351 372:351-352 373:352-353 374:353-354 375:354-355 37 6 : 355-356 377:356-357 378:357-358 379:358 380:358-359

K ey to the Pagination o f Editions 381:359-360 382:360-361 383:361-362 384:362-363 385:363-364 386:364-365 387:365-366 388:366-367 389:367-368 390:368-369 391:369-370 392:370-371 393:371-372 394:372-373 395:373-374 396:374-375 397:375-376 398:376-377 399:377-378 400:378-379 401:379 4 02:380-381 4 03:38 1 404:381-382 405:382-383 406:383-384 407:384-385 408:385-386 409:386-387 410:387-388 411:388-389 412:389-390 413:390-391 414:391-392 415:392-393 416:392-394 417:394-395 418:395-396 419:396-397 420:397-398 421:398 422:398-399 423:399-400 424:400-401 425:401-402 426:402-403 427:403-404 428:404-405 429:405-406 430:406-407 431:407-408 432:408-409 433:409-410 434:410-411 435:411-412 436:412-413

493:466-467 494:467-468 495:468-469 496:469-470 497:470-471 498:471-472 499:472 500:472-473 501:473-474 502:474-475 503:475-476 504:476-477 505:477-478 506:478-479 507:479-480 508:480-481 509:481-482 510:482-483 511:483 512:483-484 513:484-485 514:485-486 515:486-487 516:487-488 517:488-489 518:489-490 519:490-491 520:491-492 521:492-493 522:493-494 523:494-495 524:495-496 525:496 526:497 527:497-498 528:498-499 529:499-500 530:500-501 531:501-502 532:501-503 5 33:503-504 5 34:501 535:504-506 536:506-507 537:507-508 538:508-509 539:509 5 40:509-510 5 41:510-511 542:511-512 543:512-513 5 44:513-514 545:514-515 546:515-516 547:516-517 548:517-518

457:413-414 438:414-415 439:415-416 440:416-417 441:417-418 442:418-419 443:419-420 444:420-421 445:421-422 446:422-423 447:423-424 448:424-425 449:424-425 450:425-426 451:426-427 452:427-428 453:428-429 454:429-430 455:430-431 456:431-432 457:432-433 458:433 459:434-435 4 60:435-436 461:436 462:436-437 463:437-438 464:438-439 4 65:439-440 466:440-441 467:441-442 468:442-443 469:443-444 470:444-445 471:445-446 472:446-447 473:447-448 474:448 475:448-449 476:449-451 477:45 1 478:451-453 479:452-453 480:453-454 4 81:454-455 482:455-456 483:457-458 4 84:458-459 485:459-460 4 86:460-461 487:461-462 4 88:462-463 489:463-464 490:464 491:464-465 492:465-466

1298

549:518 550:519-520 551:520 552:520-521 553:521-522 554:522-523 555:523-524 556:524-525 557:525-526 558:526-527 5 59:527-528 560:528-529 561:529 5 62:529-530 563:530-531 564:531-532 565:532-533 566:533-534 567:534-535 568:535-536 569:536-537 570:537 5 71:537-538 572:538-539 573:539-540 574:540-541 575:541-542 576:542-543 577:543-544 578:544-545 579:545-546 580:546-547 581:547-548 582:548-549 583:549 584:549-550 585:550-551 586:551-552 587:552-553 588:553-554 589:554-555 590:555-556 591:556-557 5 9 2 :5 57 593:557-558 594:558-559 595:559-560 596:560-561 597:561-563 598:563-564 599:564 600:564-566 601:565-566 602:566-567 603:568 604:568-569

Key to the Pagination o f Editions 605:570-571 606:571-572 607:572 608:572-573 609:573-574 610:574-575 611:575-576 612:576-577 613:577-578 614:578-579 615:579-580 616:580-581 617:581-582 618:582 619:582-583 620:583-584 621:584-585 622:585-586 623:586-587 624:587-588 625:588-589 626:589-590 627:590 6 2 8 : 5 9 0 -5 9 1 629:591-592 630:592-593 631:593-594 632:594-595 633:595-597 634:596-597 635:597-598 636:598-599 637:599-600 638:600 6 39 :60 1 640:601-602 641:602-603 642:603-604 643:605-606 644:606-607 645:607 646:607-608 647:608-609 648:609-610 649:610-611 650:611-612 651:612-613 652:613-614 653:614-615 654:615-616 655:616-617 656:617-618 657:618-619 658:618-620 659:620-621 660:621-622

2 2 :6 7 0 2 3 : 6 7 0 -6 7 1 24:671-672 2 5:672-673 26:673-674 2 7:674-675 28:675-676 29:676-677 30:677-678 31:678-679 32:679 3 3 : 6 8 0 -6 8 1 3 4 : 6 8 0 -6 8 1 35:681-682 36:682-683 37:683-684 38:684-685 39:685-686 40:686-687 41:687-688 42:688-689 4 3:688-689 44:690-691 45:691-692 46:692-693 4 7 :693-694 48:694-695 49:695-696 50:696-697 51:696-698 52:698-699 53:699-700 54:700-701 5 5:701-702 5 6:702-703 57:703-704 58:704-705 59:705-706 60:706-707 6 1 :707-708 62:708-709 63:709-710 64:710-711 6 5:711-712 66:712-713 67:713-714 68:714-715 69:715-716 70:716-717 71:717-718 72:718-719 73 : 7 1 9 -7 2 0 7 4 :7 2 0 7 5 :7 2 0 -7 2 1 76:722-723 7 7:723-724

661:622 662:622-623 663:623-624 664:624-625 665:625-626 666:626-627 667:627-628 668:628-629 669:629-630 6 7 0 : 6 3 0 -6 3 1 671:631-632 672:632-633 673:633-634 674:634-635 675:635-636 676:636-637 677:637-638 678:638 679:638-640 6 8 0 : 6 4 0 -6 4 1 681:641-642 682:642-643 683:643 684:643-644 685:644-645 686:645-647 687:647-648 688:648-649 689:649

Volume II ill: 11 -1 2 iv: 1 2 - 1 3 v :1 3 v i: 13

[ 1 ] :651 2 :651-652 3:652-653 4 :653-654 5:654-655 6:655-656 7 : 6 5 6 -6 5 7 8:657-658 9 :658-659 10:658-659 11:659-660 1 2:6 6 0 -6 6 1 13:661-662 14:662-663 1 5:663-664 16:664-665 1 7 : 6 6 5 -6 6 6 1 8 :6 6 6 -6 6 7 1 9:667-668 20:668-669 21:669-670

!299

78:724-725 7 9:7 25 8 0:725-726 81:726-727 82:727-728 8 3:728-729 84:729-730 8 5 : 7 3 0 -7 3 1 86:731-732 87:732-733 88:733-734 89:734 90:734-735 91:735-736 9 2:736-737 93:737-738 94:738-739 95:738-740 9 6 : 7 4 0 -7 4 1 97:741-742 9 8:742-743 99:743-744 100:744-745 101:745-746 102:746-747 1 03:747-748 1 04:748-749 1 05:749-750 1 06:75 0 1 0 7 : 7 5 0 -7 5 1 108:751-752 109:752-753 110:753-754 111:754-755 1 12:755-756 1 1 3 : 7 5 6 -7 5 7 114:757-758 115:758-759 116:759-760 1 1 7 : 7 6 0 -7 6 1 118:761-762 119:762-763 120:763-764 121:764-765 122:765-766 123:766-767 124:767-768 1 2 5 :7 68 1 2 6 : 7 6 8 -7 6 9 127:769-770 1 2 8 :7 7 0 -7 7 1 129 : 7 7 1 -7 7 2 130:772-773 131:77 3 132:773-774 133:774-775

Key to the Pagination o f Editions

134:776-777 135:777 136:777-778 137:778-779 138:779-780 139:780-781 140:781-782 141:782-783 142:783-785 143:785 144:785-786 145:786-787 146:787-788 147:788-789 148:789-790 149:790-791 150:791-792 151:792-793 152:793-794 153:794 154:794-795 155:795-796 156:796-797 157:797-798 158:798-799 159:799-800 160:800-801 161:801-802 162:802-803 163:803 164:803-805 165:804-805 166:805-806 167:806-807 168:807-808 169:808-809 170:809-810 171:810 172:810-811 173:811-812 174:812-813 175:813-814 176:814-815 177:815-816 178:816-817 179:817 180:817-818 181:818-819 182:819-820 183:820-821 184:821-822 185:822-823 186:823-824 187:824-825 188:825 189:826

190:826-827 191:827-828 192:828-829 193:829-830 194:830-831 195:831-832 196:832-833 197:833 198:833-834 199:834-835 200:835-836 201:836-837 202:837-838 203:838-839 204:839-840 205:840-841 206:841-842 207:842-843 208:843-844 209:844 210:844-845 211:845-846 212:846-847 213:847-848 214:848-849 215:849-850 216:850-851 217:851-852 218:852 219:852-853 220:853-854 221:854-855 222:855-856 223:856-857 224:857-858 225:858-859 226:859-860 227:859-860 228:860-861 229:861-862 230:862-863 231:863-864 232:864-865 233:865-866 234:865-867 235:867-868 236:868-869 237:869 238:870 239:870-871 240:871-872 241:872-873 242:873-874 243:874-875 244:875-876 245:876-877

246:877-878 247:878-879 248:879-880 249:880-881 250:881-882 251:882-883 252:883-884 253:883-885 254:885-886 255:886 256:886-887 257:887-888 258:888-889 259:889-890 260:890-891 261:891-892 262:892-893 263:893-894 264:894-895 265:895-896 266:896-897 267:897-898 268:898-899 269:899-900 270:900-901 271:901-902 272:902 273:903-904 274:904-905 275:905-906 276:906 277:906-907 278:907-908 279:908-909 280:909-910 281:910-911 282:911-912 283:913-914 284:914 285:914-915 286:915-916 287:916-917 288:917-918 289:918-919 290:919-920 291:920-921 292:921-922 293:922-923 294:923-924 295:924 296:925 297:925-926 298:926-927 299:927-928 300:928-929 301:929-930

1300

302:930-931 303:931-932 304:932-933 305:933-934 306:934-935 307:935-936 308:936-937 309:937 310:937-939 311:938-939 312:939-940 313:940-941 314:941-942 315:942-943 316:943-944 317:944-945 318:945-946 319:946-947 320:947-948 321:948-949 322:949-950 323:950 324:950-951 325:952-953 326:953-954 327:954 328:954-955 329:955-956 330:956-957 331:957-958 332:958-959 333:959-960 334:960-961 335:961-962 336:961-963 337:963 338:963-964 339:964-965 340:965-966 341:966-967 342:967-968 343:968-969 344:969-970 345:970-971 346:971 347:971-972 348:972-973 349:973-974 350:974-975 351:975-976 352:976-977 353:977 354:977-979 355:979-980 356:980 357:980-981

Key to the Pagination o f Editions

358:981-982 359:982-983 360:983-984 361:984-985 362:985-986 363:986-987 364:987-988 365:988 366:988-989 367:989-990 368:990-991 369:991-992 370:992-993 371:993 372:994-995 373:995-996 374:996 375:997 376:996,998 377:998-999 378:998-1000 379:1000-1001 380:1001-1002 381:1002-1003 382:1003 383:1004-1005 384:1005-1006 385:1006 386:1006-1007 387:1007-1008 388:1008-1009 389:1009-1010 390:1010-1011 391:1011-1012 392:1012-1013 393:1013-1014 394:1014-1015 395:1015-1016 396:1016 397:1017 398:1017-1018 399:1018-1019 400:1019-1020 401:1020-1021 402:1021-1022 403:1022-1023 404:1023-1024 405:1024-1025 406:1025-1026 407:1026 408:1026-1027 409:1027-1028 410:1028-1029 411:1029-1030 412:1030-1031 413:1031-1032

414:1032-1033 415:1033-1034 416:1034-1035 417:1035 418:1035-1037 419:1037 420:1037-1038 421:1038-1039 422:1039-1040 423:1040-1041 424:1041-1042 425:1042-1043 426:1043-1044 427:1044-1045 428:1045 429:1045-1046 430:1046-1047 431:1047-1048 432:1048-1049 433:1049-1050 434:1050-1051 435:1051-1052 436:1052-1053 437:1053-1054 438:1054 439:1054-1055 440:1055-1056 441:1056-1057 442:1058-1059 443:1059-1060 444:1060-1061 445:1061-1062 446:1062-1063 447:1063-1064 448:1064 449:1064-1065 450:1065-1066 451:1066-1067 452:1067-1068 453:1068-1069 454:1069-1070 455:1070-1071 456:1071-1072 457:1072-1073 458:1073 459:1073-1074 460:1074-1075 461:1075-1076 462:1076-1077 463:1077-1078 464:1078-1079 465:1079-1080 466:1080-1081 467:1081-1082 468:1082-1083 469:1083-1084

470:1084 471:1084-1085 472:1085-1086 473:1086-1087 474:1087-1088 475:1088-1089 476:1089-1090 477:1090-1091 478:1091-1092 479:1092 480:1092-1093 481:1093-1094 482:1094-1095 483:1095-1096 484:1096-1097 485:1097 486:1098-1099 487:1099 488:1099-1 100 489:1100-1 101 490:1101-1 102 491:1102-1 103 492:1103-1 104 493:1104-1 105 494:1105-1 106 495:1106-1 107 496:1107-1 108 497:1108-1 109 498:1109 499:1109-1 110 500:1110-1 11 1 501:1111-1 112 502:1112-1 113 503:1113-1 114 504:1114-1 115 505:1115-1 116 506:1116-1 117 507:1 117-1 118 508:1118-1 119 509:1119 510:1119-1 120 511:1120-1 121 512:1121-1 122 513:1122-1 123 514:1123-1 124 515:1124-1 125 516:1125-1 126 517:1126 518:1126-1 127 519:1127-1 128 520:1128-1 129

526:1 134 527:1134-1 135 528:1135-1 136 529:1136-1 137 530:1137-1 138 531:1138-1 139 532:1139-1 140 533:1140-1 141 534:1141 535:1141-1 142 536:1142-1 143 537:1143-1 144 538:1144-1 145 539:1145-1 146 540:1146-1 147 541:1147-1 148 542:1148-1 149 543:1149-1 150 544:1150-1 151 545:1151-1 152 546:1152-1 153 547:1153-1 154 548:1154-1 155 549:1155-1 156 550:1156-1 157 551:1157 552:1157-1 158 553:1158-1 159 554:1159-1 160 555:1160-1 161 556:1161-1 162 557:1162-1 163 558:1163-1 164 559:1164-1 165 560:1165 561:1165-1 166 562:1166-1 167 563:1167-1 168 564:1168-1 169 565:1169-1 170 566:1170-1 171 567:1 171-1 172 568:1172-1 173 569:1173 570:1 173-1 174 571:1174-1 175 572:1175-1 176 573:1176-1 177 574:1 177-1 178 575:1 178-1 179 576:1179-1 180

521:1 129-1 130

577:1 180

522:1130-1 131 523:1131-1 132 524:1132-1 133 525:1133-1 134

1301

578:1180-1 181 579:1181-1 182 580:1182-1 183 581:1183-1 184

Key to the Pagination o f Editions

582 583 584 585 586 587 588 589 590 591 592 593 594 595 596 597 598 599 600 601 602 603 604 605 606 607 608

1184-1185 1185-1186 1186-1187 1187-1188 1188 1188-1189 1189-1190 1190-1191 1191-1192 1192-1193 1193 1194-1195 1195 1195-1196 1196-1197 1197-1198 1198-1199 1199-1200 1200-1201 1201-1202 1202

1202-1203 1203-1204 1204-1205 1205-1206 1206-1207 1207-1208

609:1208-1209 610:1209 611:1209-1210 612:1210-1211 613:1211-1212 614:1212-1213 615:1213-1214 616:1214 617:1215-1216 618:1216 619:1216-1217 620:1217-1218 621:1218-1219 622:1219-1220 623:1220-1221 624:1222 625:1222-1223 626:1223-1224 627:1224-1225 628:1225-1226 629:1226-1227 630:1227-1228 631:1228 632:1229 633:1229-1230 634:1230-1231 635:1231-1232

636:1232-1233 637:1233-1234 638:1233-1235 639:1235-1236 640:1236 641:1236-1237 642:1237-1238 643:1238-1239 644:1239-1240 645:1240-1241 646:1241-1242 647:1242-1243 648:1243-1244 649:1244 650:1244-1245 651:1245-1246 652:1246-1247 653:1247-1248 654:1248-1249 655:1249-1250 656:1250-1251 657:1251-1252 658:1252 659:1252-1253 660:1253-1254 661:1254-1255 662:1255-1256

1302

663:1256-1257 664:1257-1258 665:1258-1259 666:1259-1260 667:1260-1261 668:1261-1262 669:1262-1263 670:1263-1264 671:1263-1264 672:1264-1265 673:1265-1266 674:1266-1267 675:1267-1268 676:1268-1269 677:1269-1270 678:1270-1271 679:1271-1272 680:1272-1273 681:1273-1274 682:1274-1275 683:1275 684:1275-1276 685:1276-1277 686:1277-1278 687:1278-1279 688:1279-1280 689:1280