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Encyclopedia Britannica - Main :: MEC-MIC |
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MENTAL ASSOCIATION) Mental Association and the Memory-Continuum. 24. Great confusion has been occasioned, as we have seen incidentally, by the lax use of the term " association," and this Association confusion has been increased by a further laxity in by similar- the use of the term " association by similarity." ity not In so far as the similarity amounts to identity, as in Funds- assimilation, we have a process which is more mental. fundamental than association by contiguity, but then it is not a process of association. And when the reviving presentation is only partially similar to the presentation revived, the nature of the association does not appear to differ from that operative when one " contiguous " presentation revives another. In the one case we have, say, a b x recalling a b y , and in the other a b c recalling d e f. Now anybody who will reflect must surely see that the similarity between. a b x and a b y, as distinct from the identity of their partial constituent a b, cannot be the means of recall; for this similarity is nothing but the state of mindto be studied presentlywhich results when a b x and a b y, having been recalled are in consciousness together and then compared. But if a b, having concurred with y before and being now present in a b x, again revives y, the association, so far as that goes, is manifestly one of contiguity, albeit as soon as the revivalis complete, the state of mindimmediatelyincident may be what Bain loved to style " the flash of similarity." So far as the mere revival itself goes, there is no more similarity in this case than there is when a b c revives d e f. For the very a b c that now operates as the reviving presentation was obviously never in time contiguous with the d e f that is revived; if all traces of previous experiences of a b c were obliterated there would be no revival. In other words, the a b c now present must be " automatically associated," or, as we prefer to say, must be assimilated to those residua of a b c which were " contiguous " with d e f, before the representation of this can occur. And this, and nothing more than this, we have seen, is all the " similarity " that could be at work when a b x " brought up "aby. On the whole, then, we may assume that the only principle of association we have to examine is the so-called association by Contiguity contiguity, which, as ordinarily formulated, runs: Inexplicable. Any presentations whatever, which are in conscious- ness together or in close succession, cohere in such a way that when one recurs it tends to revive the rest, such tendency increasing with the frequency of the conjunction. It has been often contended that any investigation into the nature of association must be fruitless.' But, if association is thus a first principle, it ought at least to admit of such a statement as shall remove the necessity for inquiry. So long, however, as we are asked to conceive presentations originally distinct and isolated becoming eventually linked together, we shall naturally feel the need of some explanation of the process, for neither the isolation nor the links are clearnot the isolation, for we can only conceive two presentations separated by other presentations intervening; nor the links, unless these are also presentations, and then the difficulty recurs. But, if for contiguity we substitute continuity and regard the associated presentations as parts of a new continuum, the only important inquiry is how this new whole was first of all integrated. To ascertain this point we must examine each of the two leading divisions of contiguous associationthat of simultaneous Formation presentations and that of presentations occurring of Memory- in close succession. The last, being the clearer, may continuum. be taken first. In a series of associated presentations A B C D E, such as the movements made in writing, the words of a poem learned by heart, or the simple letters of the alphabet themselves, we find that each member recalls its successor but not its predecessor. Familiar as this fact is, it is not perhaps easy to explain it satisfactorily. Since C is associated both with B and D, and apparently as intimately with the one as with the other, why does it revive the later only and not the earlier? B recalls C; why does not C recall B? We have seen that any ' So Hume, Treatise of Human Nature, pt. i. 4 (Green and Grose's ed., p. 321); also Lotze, Metaphysik, 1st ed., p. 526.573 reproduction at all of B, C or D depends primarily upon its having been the object of special attention, so as to occupy at least momentarily the focus of consciousness. Now we can in the first instance only surmise that the order in which they are reproduced is determined by the order in which they were thus attended to when first presented. The next question is whether the association of objects simultaneously presented can be resolved into an association of objects successively attended to. Whenever we try to recall a scene we saw but for a moment there are always a few traits that recur, the rest being blurred and vague, instead of the whole being revived in equal distinctness or indistinctnpss. On seeing the same scene a second time our attention is apt to be caught by something unnoticed before, as this has the advantage of novelty; and so on, till we have " lived ourselves into " the whole, which may then admit of simultaneous recall. Bain, who is rightly held to have given the best exposition of the laws of association, admits something very like this in saying that " coexistence is an artificial growth formed from a certain peculiar class of mental successions." But, while it is easy to think of instances in which the associated objects were attended to successively, and we are all perfectly aware that the surestnot to say the onlyway to fix the association of a number of objects is by thus concentrating attention on each in turn, it seems hardly possible to mention a case in which attention to the associated objects could not have been successive. In fact, an aggregate of objects on which attention could be focused at once would be already associated. The exclusively successional character of contiguous association has recently been denied, and its exclusively simultaneous character maintained instead. It is at once obvious that this opposition of succession and simultaneity cannot be pressed so as to exclude duration altogether and reduce the whole process to an instantaneous event. Nor is there any ground for saying that there is a fixed and even distribution of attention to whatever is simultaneously presented: facts all point the other way. Still, though we cannot exclude the notion of process from consciousness, we may say that presentations attended to together become pro tanto a new whole, are synthesized or complicated. Such primary synthesis leads not to an association of ideas, but rather to the formation of one percept, which may be-come eventually a free idea. The disconcerted preperception which sets this free may likewise liberate a similar or contrasting idea, but it will not resolve either complex into the several " ideas of its sensory or motor constituents, with which only the psychologist is familiar. The actual recurrence of some of these constituents may again reinstate the rest, not, however, as memories or as " thoughts," but only as tied ideas in a renewed perception. Again, it has become usual to distinguish the association of contiguous experiences and the so-called association of similars or opposites as respectively external and internal forms of association. The new terminology is illuminating: the substitution of forms for laws marks the abandonment of the old notion that association was by " adhesion " of the contiguous and " attraction " of the similar. We are thus left to find the cause of association in interested attention; and that, we may safely say, is an adequate, and apparently the sole adequate, cause for the two commonly recognized forms of external association, the so-called simultaneous and the successive. But these two are certainly not co-ordinate; and if our analysis be sound, the formerfor which we would retain the Herbartian term complicationyields us not members of an association but a member for association. So far, then, we should have but one form of association, that of the successive contents of focalized attention: and but one result, the representation or memory-continuum,' in contrast to the primary- or presentation-continuum, whence its constituents arise. Turning now to the distinction of external and internal, it at once strikes the unprejudiced mind that " internal association " is something of an anomaly, since the very notion of association implies externality. Also, on closer inspection what we find is not an association of similars or opposites as such, butsomething quite distincta similarity or contrast of associates; of ideas, that is to say, which are contiguous members of the memory (or experience) continuum, or of ideas which have become contiguous through its reduplication. The only case, then, that now remains to be considered is thatto take it in its simplest formof two primary presentations A and X, parts of different special continua or distincti.e. non-adjacentparts of the same, and occupying the focus of consciousness in immediate succession. This constitutes z Experience-continuum would perhaps be a better name, since it is only a preliminary to a true memory record, as we shall presently see. their integration; for the result of this occupation may be regarded as a new continuum in which A and X become adjacent parts. For it is characteristic of a continuum that an increase in the intensity of any part leads to the intenser presentation of adjacent parts; and in this sense A and X, which were not originally continuous, have come to be so. We have here, then, some justification for the term secondary- or memory-continuum when applied to this continuous series of representations to distinguish it from the primary or presentation-continuum from which its constituents are derived. The most important peculiarity of this continuum, therefore, is that it is a series of representations integrated by means of the movements of attention out of the differentiations of the primary or presentation-continuum, or rather out of so much of these differentiations as pertain to what we know as the primary memory-image. These movements of attention, if the phrase may be allowed, come in the end to depend mainly upon interest
25. In actual fact, however, the memory-train is liable to change in two respects, which considerably modify its structure, viz. (1) through the evanescence of some parts, and (2) through the partial recurrence of like impressions, which produces reduplications of varying amount and extent in other parts. As regards the first, we may infer that the waning or sinking towards the threshold of consciousness which we can observe Formation in the primary mental image continues in sub-of ideational consciousness after the threshold is past. For the Continuum. longer the time that elapses before their revival the fainter, the less distinct, and the less complete are the images when revived, and the more slowly they rise. All the elements of a complex are not equally revivable, as we have seen already: tastes, smells and organic sensations, though powerful as impressions to revive other images, have little capacity for ideal ' This connexion of association with continuous movements of attention makes it easier to understand the difficulty above referred to, viz. that in a series A B C D ... B revives C but not A, and so on a difficulty that the analogy of adhesiveness or links leaves unaccountable. To ignore the part played by attention in association, to represent the memory-continuum as due solely to the concurrence of presentations, is perhaps the chief defectof the associationist psychology, both English and German. Spencer's endeavour to show " that psychical life is distinguished from physical life by consisting of successive changes only instead of successive and simultaneous changes " (Principles of Psychology, pt. iv. ch. ii., in particular pp. 403, 406) is really nothing but so much testimony to the work of attention in forming the memory-continuum, especially when, as there is good reason to do, we reject his assumption that this growing seriality is physically determined. 2 A term borrowed from Lotze (Metaphysik, 1st ed., p. 295), but the present writer is alone responsible for the sense here given to it and the hypothesis in which it is used. ' Apart, that is to say, of course, from the reduplications of the memory-train spoken of below.reproduction themselves, while muscular movements, though perhaps of all presentations the most readily revived, do not so readily revive other presentations. Idiosyncrasies are, however, frequent; thus we find one person has an exceptional memory for sounds, another for colours, another for forms. Still it is in general true that the most intense, the most impressive, and the most interesting presentations persist the longest. But the evanescence, which is in all cases comparatively rapid at first, deepens sooner or later into real or apparent oblivion. In this manner it comes about that parts of the memory-continuum lose all distinctness of feature and, being without Obiiriscence. recognizable content, shrivel up to a dim and meagre representation of life that has lapseda representation that just suffices, for example, to show us that " our earliest recollections " are not of our first experiences, or to save them from being not only isolated but discontinuous. Such discontinuity can, of course, never be absolute; we must have something represented even to mark the gap. Oblivion and the absence of all representation are thus the same, and the absence of all representation cannot psychologically constitute a break. The terms " evolution " and " involution " have in this respect been happily applied to the rising and falling of representations. When we recall a particular period of our past life, or what has long ceased to be a familiar scene, events and features gradually unfold and, as it were, spread out as we keep on attending. A precisely opposite process may then be supposed to take place when they are left in undisturbed forgetfulness; this process is called obliviscence. More important changes are produced by the repetition of parts of the memory-train. The effect of this is not merely to prevent the evanescence of the particular image Repetition. or series of images, but by partial and more or less frequent reduplications of the memory-train or " thread " upon itself to convert it into a partially new continuum, which we might perhaps call the ideational continuum or " tissue." The reduplicated portions of the train are strengthened, while at the points of divergence it becomes comparatively weakened, and this apart from the effects of obliviscence. One who had seen the king but once would scarcely be likely to think of him without finding the attendant circumstances recur as well; this could not happen after seeing him in a hundred different scenes. The central representation of the whole complex would have become more distinct, whereas the several Generic diverging lines would tend to dissipate attention and, Images. by involving opposing representations, to neutralize each other, so that probably no definite background would be re-instated. Even this central representation would be more or less generalized. It has been often remarked that one's most familiar friends are apt to be mentally pictured less concretely and vividly than persons seen more seldom and then in similar attitudes and moods; in the former case a " generic image " has grown out of such more specific representations as the latter affords. Still further removed from memory-images are the images that result from such familiar percepts as those of horses, houses, trees, &c. Thus as the joint effect of obliviscence and reduplication we are provided with trains of ideas distinct from the memory-thread and thereby with the material, already more Trains of or less organized, for intellectual and volitional Ideas. manipulation. We do not experience the flow of ideassave very momentarily and occasionallyaltogether undisturbed; even in dreams and reverie it is continually interrupted and diverted. Nevertheless it is not difficult to ascertain that, so far as it is left to itself, it takes a very different course from that which we should have to retrace if bent on reminiscence and able to recollect perfectly. The readiness and steadiness of this flow are shown by the extremely small effort necessary in order to follow it. Nevertheless from its very nature it is liable, though not to positive breaches This contrast of thread and tissue is suggested, of course, by Herbart's terms Reihe and Gewebe. It is justified by the fact that memory proper follows the single line of temporal continuity, while ideation furnishes the basis for manifold logical connexions. of continuity from its own working, yet to occasional blocks or impediments to the smooth succession of images at points where reduplications diverge, and either permanently or at the particular time neutralize each other.' The flow of ideas is, however, exposed to positive interruptions from -two distinct sidesby the intrusion of new presentations and Cont7icto! of voluntary interference. The only result of such interruptions which we need here consider is the conflict Presents- of presentations that may ensue. Herbart and his dons. followers have gone so far as to elaborate a complete system of psychical statics and dynamics, based on the conception of presentations as, forces and on certain more or, less improbable assumptions as to the modes in which such forces interact. Since our power of attention is limited, it continually .happens that attention is drawn off by new presentations at the expense of old ones. But, even if we regard this non-voluntary redistribution of attention as implying a struggle between presentations, still such conflict to secure a place in consciousness is very different from a conflict between presentations that are already there. Either may be experienced to any degree possible without the other appearing at all; thus, absorbed in watching a starry sky, one might be unaware of the chilliness of the air, though recognizing at once, as soon as the cold is felt, that, so far from being incompatible, the clearness and the coldness are causally connected. This difference between a conflict of presentations to enter the field of consciousnessif we allow for a moment the propriety of the expressionand that opposition or incompatibility between presentations which is only possible when they are in consciousness has been strangely confused by the Herbartians. In the former the intensity of the presentation is primarily alone of account; in the latter, on the contrary, quality and content are mainly concerned. Only the last requires any notice here, since such opposition arises when the ideational continuum is interrupted in the ways just mentioned, and apparently arises in no other way. Certainly there is no such opposition between primary presentations: there we have the law of incopresentability preventing the presentation of opposites with the same local sign; and their presentation with different local signs involves, on this level at all events, no conflict. But what has never been presented could hardly be represented, if the ideational process were undisturbed: even in our dreams white negroes or round squares, for instance, never appear. In fact, absurd and bizarre as dream-imagery is, it never at any moment entails overt contradictions, though contradiction may be implicit. But between ideas and percepts actual incompatibility is frequent. In the perplexity of Isaac, e.g. " The voice is Jacob's voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau "we have such a case in a familiar form. There is here not merely mental arrest but actual conflict: the voice perceived identifies Jacob, at the same time the hands identify Esau. The images of Esau and Jacob by themselves are different, but do not conflict; neither is there any strain, quite the contrary, in recognizing a person partly like Jacob and partly like Esau. For there is no direct incompatibility between smooth and rough, so long as one pertains only to voice and the other only to hands, but the same hands and voice cannot be both smooth and rough. Similar incompatibilities may arise without the intrusion of percepts, as when, in trying to guess a riddle or to solve a problem, or generally to eliminate intellectual differences, we have images which in themselves are only logically opposite, psychologically opposed, or in conflict, because each strives to enter the same complex. In all such conflicts alike we find, in fact, a relation of presentations the exact converse] of that which constitutes similarity. In the latter we have two complete presentations, a b x and a b y, as similar, each including the common part a b; in the former we have two partial presentations, x and y, as contraries, each excluding the other from the incomplete a b. And this a b, it is to be noted, is not more essential to the similarity than to the conflict. But in the one case it is a generic image (and can logically be predicated of two subjects) ; in the other it is a partially determined individual (and cannot be subject to opposing predicates). Except as thus supplementing a b, x and y do not conflict; black and white are not incompatible save as-attributes of the same thing. The possibility of most of these conflictsof all, indeed, that have any logical interestlies in that reduplication of the memory-continuum which gives rise to these new complexes, generic images or general ideas. Reminiscence and Expectation: Temporal Perception. 26. Having thus attempted to ascertain the formation of the ideational continuum out of the memory-train, the question arises: How now are we to distinguish between imagining and remembering, and again, between imagining and expecting? ' It is a mark of the looseness of much of our psychological terminology that facts of this kind are commonly described as cases of association. Dr Bain calls them " obstructive association," which is about on a par with " progress backwards " ; Mr Sully's " divergent association " is better. But it is plain that what we really have is an arrest or inhibition consequent on association, and nothing that is either itself association or that leads to association. It is plainly absurd to make the difference depend on the presence of belief in memory and expectation and on its absence in mere imagination; for the belief itself depends on this difference instead of constituting it. One real and obvious distinction, however, which Hume pointed out as regards memory, is the fixed order and position of the ideas of what is remembered or expected as contrasted with " the liberty " of the imagination to transpose and change its ideas. This order and Imagination and Memory position in the case of memory are, of course, norm- ally those of the original impressions, but it seems rather naive of Hume to tell us that memory " is tied down to these without any power of variation," while imagination has liberty to trans-pose as it pleases, as if the originals sat to memory for their portraits, while to imagination they were but studies. Such correspondence being out of the questionas Hume takes care to state as soon as it suits himall we have, so far, is this fixity and definiteness as contrasted with the kaleidoscopic instability of ideation. In this respect what is remembered or expected resembles what is perceived: the grouping not only does not change capriciously and spontaneously, but resists any mental efforts to change it. But, provided these characteristics are there, we should be apt to believe that we are remembering, just as, mutatis mutandis, with like characteristics we might believe that we were perceiving: hallucination is possible in either case. This fixity of order and position is, however, not sufficient to constitute a typical reminiscence where the term is exactly used. But remembering is often regarded as equivalent to knowing and recognizing, as when on revisiting some once familiar place one remarks, " How well I remember it!" What is meant is that the place is recognized, and that its recognition awakens memories. Memory includes recognition; recognition as such does not include memory. In human consciousness, as we directly observe it, there is, perhaps, no pure recognition: here the new presentation in not only assimilated to the old, but the former framing of circumstance is reinstated, and so perforce distinguished from the present. It may be there is no warrant for supposing that such redintegration of a preceding field is ever absolutely nil, still we are justified in regarding it as extremely vague and meagre, both where mental evolution is but slightly advanced and where frequent repetition in varying and irrelevant circumstances has produced a blurred and neutral zone. The last is the case with a great part of our knowledge; the writer happens to know that bos is the Latin for " ox " and bufo the Latin for " toad," and may be said to remember both items of knowledge, if " remember " is only to be synonymous with " retain." But if he came across bos in reading he would think of an ox and nothing more; bufo would immediately call up not only " toad " but Virgil's Georgics, the only place in which he has seen the word, and which he never read but once. In the former there is so far nothing but recognition (which, however, of course rests upon retentiveness); in the latter there is also remembrance of the time and circumstances in which that piece of knowledge was acquired. Of course in so far as we are aware that we recognize we also think that remembrance is at any rate possible, since what we know we must previously have learnedrecognition excluding novelty. But the point here urged is that there is an actual reminiscence only when the recognition is accompanied by a reinstatement of portions of the memory-train continuous with the previous presentation of what is now recognized. Summarily stated, we may say that between knowing and remembering on the one hand and imagining on the other the difference primarily turns on the fixity and completeness of the grouping in the former; in the latter there is a shifting play of images more or less " generic," reminding one of " dissolving views." Hence the first two approximate in character to perception, and are rightly called recognitions. Between them, again, the difference turns primarily on the presence or absence of temporal signs. In what is remembered these are still intact enough to ensure a localization in the past of what is recognized; in what is known merely such localization is prevented, either because of the obliviscence of temporal connexions or because the reduplications of the memory-train that have consolidated the central group have entailed their suppression. There is further the difference first mentioned, which is often only a difference of degree, viz. that reminiscences have more circumstantiality, so to say, than mere recognitions have: more of the collateral constituents of the original concrete field of consciousness are reinstated. But of the two characteristics of memory proper(a) concreteness or circumstantiality, and (b) localization in the pastthe latter is the more essential. It sometimes happens that we have the one with little or nothing of the other. For example, we may have but a faint and meagre representation of a scene, yet if it falls into and retains a fixed place in the memory train we have no doubt that some such experience was once actually ours. On the other hand, as in certain so-called illusions of memory, we may suddenly find ourselves reminded by what is happening at the moment of a preceding experience exactly like itsome even feel that they know from what is thus recalled what will happen next; and yet, because we are wholly unable to assign such representation a place in the past, instead of a belief that it happened, there arises a most distressing sense of bewilderment, as if one were haunted and had lost one's personal bearings.' It has been held by some psychologists 2 that memory proper includes the representation of one's past self as agent or patient in the event or situation recalled. And this is true as regards all but the earliest human experience, at any rate; still, whereas it is easy to see that memory is essential to any development of self consciousness, the converse is not at all clear, and would involve us in a needless circle. 27. Intimately connected with memory is expectation. We may as the result of reasoning conclude that a certain event Expectation. will happen; we may also, in like manner, conclude that a certain other event has happened. But as we should not call the latter memory, so it is desirable to distinguish such indirect anticipation as the former from that expectation which is directly due to the interaction of ideas. Any man knows that he will die, and may make a variety of arrangements in anticipation of death, but he cannot with propriety be said to be expecting it unless he has actually present to his mind a series of ideas ending in that of death, such series being due to previous associations, and unless, further, this series owes its representation at this moment to the actual recurrence of some experience to which that series succeeded before. And as familiarity with an object or event in very various settings may be a bar to recollection, so it may be to expectation: the average Englishman, e.g. is continually surprised without his umbrella, though only too familiar with rain, since in our climate one not specially attentive to the weather obtains no clear representation of its successive phases. But after a series of events A B C D E . . . has been once experienced we instinctively expect the recurrence of B C . . . on the recurrence of A, i.e. provided the memory-train continues so far intact. Such expectation, at first perhaps slighta mere tendency easily overbornebecomes strengthened by every repetition of the series in the old order, till eventually, if often fulfilled and never falsified, it becomes certain and, as we commonly say, irresistible. To have a clear case of expectation, then, it is not necessary that we should distinctly remember any previous experience like it, but only that we should have actually present some earlier member of a series which has been firmly associated by such previous experiences, the remaining members, or at least the next, if they continue serial, being revived through that which is once again realized. This expectation may be instantly checked by reflection, just as it may, of course, be disappointed in fact;'but these are matters which do not concern the inquiry as to the nature of expectation while expectation lasts. We shall continue this inquiry to most advantage by widening it into an examination of the distinction of present, past and future. To a being whose presentations never passed through ' Any full discussion of paramnesia, as these very interesting states of mind are called, belongs to mental pathology. 2 As, e.g. James Mill (Analysis of the Human Mind, ch. x.), who treats this difficult subject with great acuteness and thoroughness.the transitions which ours undergofirst divested of the strength and vividness of impressions, again reinvested with them and brought back from the faint world of ideas present, the sharp
attribute to the " uniformity of nature. " If we never had the continuum preserves the order of events intact, we have still no same series of impressions twice, knowledge of time would be impossible, as indeed would knowledge of any sort. 28. Time is often figuratively represented as a line, and we may perhaps utilize this figure to make clear the relation of our perception of time to what we call time itself. The Succession. present, though conceived as a point or instant of time, is still such that we actually can and do in that moment attend to a plurality of presentations to which we might other-wise have attended to severally in successive moments. Granting this implication of simultaneity and succession, we may, if we represent succession as a line, represent simultaneity as a second line at right angles to the first; pure timeor time-length without time-breadth, we may say is a mere abstraction. Now it is with the former line that we have to do in treating of time as it is (or as we conceive it), and with the latter in treating of our perception of time, where, just as in a perspective representation of distance, we are confined to lines in a plane at right angles to the actual line of depth. In a succession of events A B C D E ... the presence of B means the absence of A and of C, but the presentation of this succession involves the simultaneous presence, in some mode or other, of two or more of the presentations A B C D. In our temporal perception, then, all that corresponds to the differences of past, present and future is presented simultaneously. To this fact the name of " specious present or " psychical present " has been given. What we have is not a moving point or moment of objective time, but rather a moving line, the contents of which, continuously changing, simultaneously represent a portion of the line of objective succession, viz. the immediate past as still present in primary memory-images, and the immediate future as anticipated in prepercepts and nascent acts.' This truismor paradoxthat all we know of succession is but an interpretation of what is really simultaneous or coexistent, we may then concisely express by saying that we are aware of time only through time-perspective, and experience shows that it is a long step from a succession of presentations to such presentation of succession. The first condition of such presentation is that we should have represented together presentations that were in the first instance attended to successively, and this we have both in the persistence of primary memory-images and in the simultaneous reproduction of longer or shorter portions of the memory-train. In a series thus secured there may be time-marks, though no time, and by these marks the series will be distinguished from other simultaneous series. To ask which is first among a number of simultaneous presentations is unmeaning; one might be logically prior to another, but in time they are together and priority. is excluded. Nevertheless after each distinct representation a, b, c, d there probably follows, as we have supposed, some trace of that movement
' Cf. W. James, Principles of Psychology, i. 629 sqq. ; L. W. Stern, "Psychische Prasenzzeit," Z. f. Psych., (1897), xiii. 325 sqq. such distinct appreciation of comparative distance in time as we have nearer the present where these perspective effects are considerable. 29. When in retrospect we note that a particular presentation X has had a place in the field of consciousness, while certain other presentations, A B C D ..., have succeeded each other, then we may be said in observing this Duration. relation of the two to perceive the duration of X. And it is in this way that we do subjectively estimate longer periods of time. But first, it is evident that we cannot apply this method to indefinitely short periods without passing beyond the region of distinct presentation; and, since the knowledge of duration implies a relation between distinguishable presentations ABC D and X, the case is one in which the hypothesis of subconsciousness can hardly help any but those who confound the fact of time with the knowledge of it. Secondly, if we are to compare different durations at all, it is not enough that one of them should last out a series A B C D, and another a series L M N 0; we also want some sort of common measure of those series. Locke was awake to this point, though he expresses himself vaguely (Essay, ii. r4, 9-12). He speaks of our ideas succeeding each other " at certain distances not much unlike the images in the inside of a lantern turned round by the heat of a candle, " and " guesses " that " this appearance of theirs in train varies not very much in a waking man." Now what is this " distance " that separates A from B, B from C, and so on, and what means have we of knowing that it is tolerably constant in waking life? It is probably that the residuum of which we have called a temporal sign; or, in other words, it is the movement
II of the other. What tells in retrospect is the series a b e d e, &c.; what tells in the wearisome present is the intervening t,t213, &c., or rather the original accommodation of which these temporal signs are the residuum. For, as we have seen elsewhere, the intensity of a presentation does not persist, so that in memory the residuum of the most intense feeling of tedium may only be so many is in a memory-continuum whose surviving members are few and uninteresting. But in the actual experience, say, of a wearisome sermon, when the expectation of release is continually balked and attention forced back upon a monotonous dribble of platitudes, the one impressive fact is the hearer's impatience. On the other hand, so long as we are entertained, attention is never involuntary, and there is no continually deferred expectation. Just as we are said to walk with least effort when our pace accords with the rate of swing of our legs regarded as pendulums, so in pastimes impressions succeed each other at the rate at which attention can be most easily accommodated, and are such that we attend willingly.' We are absorbed in the present without being unwillingly confined to it; not only is there no motive for retrospect or expectation, but there is no feeling that the present endures. Each impression lasts as long as it is interesting, but does not continue to monopolize the focus of consciousness till attention to it is fatiguing, because uninteresting. In such facts, then, we seem to have proof that our perception of duration rests ultimately upon quasi-motor acts of varying intensity, the duration of which we do not directly experience as duration at all. They do endure and their intensity is a function of their duration; but the intensity is all that we directly perceive. In other words, it is here con-tended that what Locke called an instant or moment" the time of one idea in our minds without the succession of another, of one wherein therefore we perceive no succession at all "is psychologically not " a part in duration " in that sense in which, as he says, " we cannot conceive any duration without succession " (Essay, ii. 16, 12). But, if our experience of time depends primarily upon acts of attention to a succession of distinct objects, it would seem that Is time time, subjectively regarded, must be discrete and not Discrete or continuous. This, which is the view steadily main-Continuous? tained by the psychologists of Herbart's school, was implied if not stated by Locke, Berkeley and Hume. Locke hopelessly confuses time as perceived and time as conceived, and can only save himself from pressing objections by the retort, " It is very common to observe intelligible discourses spoiled by too much subtlety in nice divisions." But Berkeley and Hume, with the mathematical discoveries of Newton and Leibnitz before them, could only protest that there was nothing answering to mathematical continuity in our experience. And, whereas Locke had tried to combine with his general psychological account the inconsistent position that " none of the distinct ideas we have of either [space or time] is without all manner of composition," Berkeley declares, " For my own part, whenever I attempt to frame a simple idea of time, abstracted from the succession of ideas in my mind, which flows uniformly and is participated by all beings, I am lost and embrangled in inextricable difficulties. I have no notion of it at all, only I hear others say it is infinitely divisible, and speak of it in such a manner as leads me to harbour odd thoughts of my existence. Time therefore being nothing, abstracted from the succession of ideas in our minds, it follows that the duration of any finite spirit must be estimated by the number of ideas or actions succeeding each other in that same spirit or mind " (Principles of Knowledge, i. 98).. Hume, again, is at still greater pains to show that " the idea which we form of any finite quality is not infinitely divisible, but that by proper distinctions and separations we may run this idea up to inferior ones, which will be perfectly simple and indivisible . . that the imagination reaches a minimum, and may raise up to itself an idea of which it cannot conceive any subdivision, and which cannot be diminished without a total annihilation " (Human Nature, pt. ii. 1, Green's ed., pp. 334 seq.). At first blush we are perhaps disposed to accept this account of our time-perception, as Wundt, e.g. does, and to regard the attribution of continuity as wholly the result of after-reflection.' But it may be doubted if this is really an exact analysis of the case. ' To this rate the " indifference point " mentioned above is obviously related. It has also been called " adequate time " or " optional time." It is, however, a tempo that varies with the subject-matter attended to; when effective attention is more difficult the tempo is slower than it is when to attend is easy. 2 Cf. Wundt, Logik, i. 432.Granted that the impressions to which we chiefly attend are distinct and discontinuous in their occupation of the focus of consciousness, and that, so far, the most vivid element in our time-experience is discrete; granted further that in recollection and expectation such objects are still distinctall which seems to imply that time is a mere pluralityyet there is more behind. The whole field of consciousness is not occupied by distinct objects, neither are the changes in this field discontinuous. The experimental facts above-mentioned illustrate the transition from a succession the members of which are distinctly attended to to one in which they are indistinctly attended to, i.e. are not discontinuous enough to be separately distinguished. Attention does not move by hops from one definite spot to another. but, as Wundt himself allows, by alternate diffusion and concentration, like the foot of a snail, which never leaves the surface it is traversing. We have a clear presentation discerned as A or B when attention is gathered up; and, when attention spreads out, we have confused presentations not admitting of recognition. But, though not recognizable, such confused presentations are represented, and so serve to bridge over the comparatively empty interval during which attention is unfocused. Thus our perception of a period of time is not comparable to so many terms in a series of finite units any more than it is to a series of infinitesimals. When attention is concentrated in expectation of some single impression, then, no doubt, it is brought to a very fine point (" zugespitzt," as Herbart would say) ; and a succession of such impressions would be represented as relatively discrete compared with the representation of the scenery of a day-dream. But absolutely discrete it is not and cannot be. In this respect the truth is rather with Herbert Spencer, who, treating of this subject from another point of view, remarks, " When the facts are contemplated objectively, it becomes manifest that, though the changes constituting intelligence approach to a single succession, they do not absolutely form one " (Psychology, i.' 18o). On the whole, then, we may conclude that our concrete time-experiences are due to the simultaneous representation of a series of definite presentations both accompanied and separated by more or fewer indefinite presentations more or less confused; that, further, the definite presentations have certain marks or temporal signs due to the movements of attention; that the rate of these movements or accommodations is approximately constant; and that each movement itself is primarily experienced as an intensity. Experimental Investigations concerning Memory and Association. 3o. Of the vast mass of experimental work 'undertaken in recent years, that relating to memory and association is probably the most important. A brief account of some of it is therefore offered at this point, by way of illustrating the character of the " new psychology." The learning and retaining of a stanza of poetry, say, is obviously a function of many variables, such as the mode of presentation (whether the words are heard only, or heard and seen, or both heard, seen and spoken aloud), the length, familiarity with the words and ideas used, the number of repetitions, the attention given, &c. Familiarity of course implies previous learning and retaining; the first essential, there-fore, in any attempt to study these processes from the beginning, is the exclusion of this factor. Accordingly Ebbinghaus, the pioneer in experiments of this kind,3 devised the new material, which is now regularly employed, namely, closed monosyllables, not themselves words, and strung together promiscuously into lines of fixed length so as never to form words: bam, rit, por, sig, nef, gud, &c., is an instance of such " senseless verses." With very slight attention most persons would be able to reproduce three or four such syllables on a single reading or hearing; and by greater concentration six or seven might be so reproduced. This maximum, called sometimes the " span of prehension, " has been repeatedly made the subject of special inquiry. In idiots it is found, as might be expected, remarkably low; in school children it increases rapidly between the ages of eight and fourteen, and then remains almost stationary, individual differences being small compared with the striking differences that appear when longer lines make repetitions necessary.'. This comparatively constant span of prehension is doubtless 3 H. Ebbinghaus, " Ueber das Gednchtniss: Untersuchungen zur experimentellen Psychologie " (1885). ' Cf. J. Jacobs and F. Calton on the " Span of Prehension," Mind, (1887), pp. 75 sqq.; Bourdon, " Influence de Page sur la memoire immediate," Rev. Phil. (1894) xxxviii., 148 sqq. closely connected with certain other psychical constants, such as the duration of the psychical present and of the primary memory-image, the tempo of movements of attention ( 28, 29), &c. There are isolated investigations of these several conditions, but the subject as a whole still awaits systematic treatment.' That it is not wanting in interest
With lines of greater length than seven syllables some repetition is requisite before they can be said correctly: the number of such repetitions was found by Ebbinghaus to increase very rapidly with the number of syllables to be learnt. In his own case, for lines of 12, 16, 24, 36 syllables the repetitions necessary were on the average 16.6, 30, 44, 55 respectively. Thus for a line exceeding in length that of the span of prehension only about five times, he required fifty-five times as many repetitions, if we may call the single presentation of the syllables a " repetition." Substituting poetry for gibberish of equal amount, Ebbinghaus found that one-tenth the number of repetitions sufficed; the enormous saving thus effected showing how numerous and intimate are the ready-made associations that " rhyme and reason " involve. But at one and the same time to memorize five verses even of sense requires more than five times as many repetitions as the memorizing of one. Two or three lines of inquiry here present themselves, e.g. (1) as to the comparative value of successive repetitions when several are taken together; (2) as to retention after an interval, as (a) a function of the number of repetitions previously made, and as (b) a function of the time; (3) as to the respective effects of more or less cumulating, or more or less distributing, the repetitions, on the number of these required. 1. It is at once obvious that beyond a certain point exhaustion of attention renders further repetition for a time futile; thus Ebbinghaus found 64 repetitions at one sitting of six 16-syllable nonsense verses, a task lasting some three-quarters of an hour, " was apt to bring on asthenia, a sort of epileptic aura, and the like!" But keeping well within this heroic limit, a certain " law of diminishing return," to use an economic analogy, discloses itself. Thus taking a line of 10 syllables, the number of syllables reproduced correctly and in their proper order, after 1, 3, 6, 9 and 12 " repetitions," were 2.2, 2.5, 2.8, 3'4, 3'9 respectively, as the averages of a series of experiments with each of eight persons.2 " The first repetition is undoubtedly the best," assuming, of course, that the subjects start with their attention fully concentrated. Some persons naturally do this, many do not; the experimenter has therefore to take special precautions to secure uniformity in this respect. 2. (a) On relearning a line after an interval of twenty-four hours there was in Ebbinghaus's case an average saving of one repetition for every three made the day before. A line of 16 syllables, for example, required some 30 repetitions, and could then be said off correctly. If only 8 repetitions were taken at first, the line being " underlearnt," it probably appeared quite strange the next day, yet the proportional saving was no less; on the other hand, if an additional 30 repetitions followed immediately on the first, the line being " doubly learnt," in spite of the ' Cf. Dietze, " Untersuchungen fiber den Umfang des Bewusst- seins u.s.w.," Phil. Studien (1885), pp. 362 sqq.; L. W. Stern, " Psychische Prasenzzeit," Ztschr. f. Psychologie (1897), xiii. 325 sqq.; Daniels, " Memory After-image and Attention," Am. Jour. of Psychology (1893), vi. 558 sqq. ' W. G. Smith, " The Place of Repetition in Memory," Psycho-logical Rev. (1896), pp. 20 sqq. The figures given are unquestionably low, partly, as the writer point: out, in consequence of the method employed, but partly, as his detailed tables show, in consequence of the lax attention of three out of his eight subjects. Objections have been taken to the plan of this investigation, but it is doubtful if they invalidate the result here mentioned. Cf. Jost, " Die Associationsfestigkeit in ihrer Abhangigkeit von der Vertheilung der Wiederholungen," Ztschr. f. Psychologie, xiv. 455 sqq.familiarity next day apparent, the proportional saving was no greater. The absolute saving would, of course, be less. We are so far led to infer that the stronger associations effected by many repetitions at one time fall off more rapidly than weaker associations effected by fewer repetitions in the same way. Herbart in his " psychical dynamics "influenced probably by physical analogiesconjectured that the " sinking " or " inhibition " of presentations generally was proportional to their intensity: the less there was to sink, the slower the sinking became. Recent experiments certainly point in this direction. (b) As to retention as a function of the timewe all know that memories fade with time, but not at what precise rate. Ebbinghaus, by a series of prolonged experiments, ascertained the rate to be proportional to the logarithm of the timea result already implied in that connecting retention and intensity; albeit in inquiries of this kind independent confirmation is always of value. 3. Had the proportional saving just described held good indefinitely, some loo repetitions of the 16 syllables at one time should have dispensed with any further repetition twentyfour hours afterwards; whereas, in fact, this result seemed never attainable. Beyond a certain degree of accumulation, an ever-diminishing return was manifest, and that apparently short of the stage at which exhaustion of attention began to be felt. But, contrariwise, when the repetitions were distributed over several days, an ever-increasing efficiency was then the result. Thus, for Ebbinghaus, 38 repetitions spread over three days were as effective as 68 taken together. The results of careful experiments by Jost with two different subjects, using G. E. Mailer's " method of telling " (to be described later on), are still more conclusive. Comparing 8 repetitions on three successive days with 4 repetitions on six, and 2 on twelve, the efficiencies, tested twenty-four hours later, were respectively as 11.5, 35, and 54; and probably, as Jost surmises, the effect of the maximum distributionsingle " repetition " on twenty-four successive dayswould have been more advantageous still, securing in fact the superiority of a first impression (cf. 1, above) on every occasion. This result again, is in part explained by the law of sinking already found. For if the sinking were simply proportional to the time, or were independent of the intensity, there would so far be no reason why one mode of distributing a given number of repetitions should be more economical than another. There is, however, another reason for this superiority, less clearly implied, to which we shall come presently. Invariably, and almost of necessity, a more or less complex rhythmical articulation becomes apparent as the syllables are repeated, even whenas in the improved methods of G. E. Mailer and his collaborateursthey are presented singly and at regular intervals. A series of twelve syllables, for example, would be connected into six trochees, with a caesura in the middle of the verse; while in each half of it the first and last accented syllables would be specially emphasized; thus: Min ifs I lap tol gen ker 11 dub naf &c. In trying to suppress this tendency and to repeat the syllables in a monotonous, staccato fashion, just as they were presented, the tempo, though really unchanged, seemed to be distinctly quickened, a consequence, doubtless, of the greater effort involved. Moreover, the attempt, which was seldom successful, about doubled the number of repetitions required for learning off, thereby showing how much is gained by this psychical organization of disconnected material. But the gain thus ensured was manifest in other ways. Each foot, whether dissyllabic or trisyllabic, became a new complex unit, the elements to be connected by successive association being thereby reduced to a half or a third, and the whole line seemingly shortened. The varied intonation, again, helped to fix the place of each foot in the verse, thus further facilitating the mind's survey of the whole. Such a transformation can hardly be accounted for so long as retention and association are regarded as merely mechanical and passive processes. Psychical rhythm, upon which we here touch, has also been experimentally investigated at great length, alike in its physiological psychological and aesthetical aspects. The topic is far too intricate and unsettled for discussion here, yet two or three points may be noted in passing. We are not specially concerned with objective rhythms, recurring series of impressionsthat is to say, in which there are actually periodic variations of intensity, interval and the like. What is remarkable is that even a perfectly regular succession of sounds (or touches), qualitatively and quantitatively all alike, a series therefore devoid of all objective rhythm, is nevertheless apprehended as rhythmically grouped, provided the rate lies between the limits of about o8" and 0.14". The slower of these rates leads to simple groups of two, replaced by groups of four or eight as the rate increases; groups of three and six also occur, though less frequently. The average duration of the groups, whether these are large or small, is comparatively constant, measuring rather more than one second. The subject usually keeps time by taps, nods or other accompanying movements; the pulse and respiration are also implicated. These organic rhythms have even been regarded as the prime source of all psychical rhythm and of its manifold aesthetic effects. Some connexion there is unquestionably. As the decimal system corresponds to our possession of ten fingers, and our movements to the structure of our limbs, so here we may assume that physiological processes fix the limits within which psychical rhythm is possible, but yet may be as little an adequate cause of it or its developments as fingers are of arithmetic, or legs of an Irish jig. In motor rhythms, such as the last, the initiative is obviously psychical, and the respiratory and other periodic organic processes simply follow suit. And even sensory rhythms can often be varied at the subject's own choice, or on the suggestion of another; and then again the breathing is altered in consequence. Familiar instances of such procedure are to be found in the " tunes " so readily attributed to the puff of a locomotive, to the churning of a steamer's screw, and the like. Psychical rhythm, then, we may conclude, is due to attention or apperception, but the conditions determining it are many, and their relations very complex. If the presentations to be " rhythmized " (the rhythmizomenon, as the Germans say) succeed each other slowly, the length (or shall we say the breadth?) of the " psychical present " tells one way: the first impression is below the threshold when the third appears. If they arrive rapidly, their intensity and duration and the span of prehension tell another way; for it is essential that they retain their individual distinctness and only so many can be grasped at once. But if the series continue long enough, or be frequently experienced, sub-groups may be treated as individuals; and indeed till some facility is acquired, the subject attending is aware of no rhythm. In the act of attention itself there are phases, in so far as expectation involves preadjustment to what is coming: usually the first members of a tact are predominant, and the rhythm tends to " fall "; several alternations of accent
But first a new method of dealing with memory-problems must he mentioned, in which the connexion between rhythmizing and memorizing has been turned to account by the Gottingen psychologists. The method of Ebbinghaus consisted in ascertaining the repetitions saved in consequence of previous repetitions, when the verse was relearnt some fixed time later. Hence this method is called the learning method or the method of saving. When, a given time after a certain number of repetitions (say) in trochaic measure, the subject is confronted with one of the accented syllables and asked to name the unaccented syllable that belongs to it, he will answer sometimes rightly, sometimes wrongly, and sometimes be unable to answer at all. This, the new, method is therefore named Tre,Jfer-methode, the method of " shots," or, let us say, the telling method. It enables the experimenter to obtain far more insight into details than was possible before, for the " misses " as well as the " hits " are instructive. Moreover, by measuring the time of each answer-(Trefferzeit) and comparing these times together, much can be learnt; in stronger or recent associations, for example, the answers being quicker than in weaker or older ones. Does association work forwards only or backwards also, as the middle link of a chain, when lifted, raises the contiguous links on either side of it? This is certainly not the case when the forward direction makes sense, but with nonsense verses, if the mechanical analogy is a sound one, such reversal is to be expected. For here there are none of the " obstructing associations " which ' The following are among the more important papers on rhythm: T. L. Bolton, " Rhythm," Am. Journ. of Psychology (1894), pp. 145 sqq.; E. E. Meumann, " Untersuchungen z. Psychologie u. Aesthetik des Rhythmus," Phil. Studien (1894), X. 249 sqq., 393 sqq.; M. K. Smith, " Rhythmus and Arbeit," Phil Studien (1900), xvi. 71 sqq. 197 sqq.; Arbeit and Rhythmus (1899), by K. Bucher, a well-known economist, bringing out the teleological aspects of rhythm." rhyme and reason " imply. In learning a verse backwards Ebbinghaus found a saving of 12.4 % of the time originally taken up in learning it forwards. A saving almost as great (10.4 %) was effected by relearning a like verse forwards, but skipping one syllable: the order of syllables, that is to say, being 1, 3, 5, . . . 15, 2, 4, . . . 16. Even when learning backwards and skipping one syllable, Ebbinghaus found a saving of 5 %. But the number of his experiments (four) was too few to give this result much value, as he fully admits. These experiments as a whole, then, might incline us to suppose that association does work in both directions, though the connexions backwards are considerably weaker. But if so the associations both ways should be alike at least in formcontinuous, that is to say, backwards, d c b a, as well as forwards, a b c d. The facts at present available are, however, against this. In two or three hundred. experiments by Muller and Pilzecker, verses of twelve syllables were repeated a set number of times in anapaestic measure accented, that is to say, on the 3rd, 6th, 9th and 12th. After a fixed interval the subject, confronted with one of the accented syllables, mentioned any of the other syllables which he called to mind. Now the cases in which the syllable immediately preceding was revived were only about half as frequent as those in which the syllable next but one preceding was revived; the time of telling (Trefferzeit) for the latter was also shorter. This result is incompatible with the theory of continuous backward association, but it is readily explained by the fact that the group of three syllables had become one complex whole, and it shows that the tendency to reinstate the initial member of the group is stronger than that to reinstate the middle. The saving effected in Ebbinghaus's experiment is also thus explained.2 A somewhat paradoxical situation is brought to light when the method of saving and the method of telling are used together. In the experiments by Jost, mentioned above, the series of verses were repeated thirty times; after an interval of twenty-four hours one series was tested by the first method and the other by the second. Two new series were then taken: the first repeated four times, and after an interval of a minute tested by the first method; the other was then repeated in like manner, and tested after the same interval by the second method. The old series was found (by the method of saving) to require on an average 5.85 repetitions for relearning, and the new 9.6; yet on the method of telling, the new series yielded 2.7 " hits," with an average time of about i second for each, while the old yielded only 9 " hits," with an average time of 41 seconds for each. Thus one may be able to reproduce relatively little of a given subject-matter, and yet require only a few repetitions in order to learn it off anew; on the other hand, one may know relatively much, and still find many more repetitions requisite for such complete learning. The " age " of the associations is then important. Other things being equal, we may conclude that each fresh repetition effects more for old associations than for recent ones. It might be supposed that the strength of the old associations was more uniform and on the average greater than the strength of the new; so that while none of the old were far below the threshold, few, if any, were above it; whereas more of the new might be above the threshold though the majority had lapsed entirely. And the latter would certainly be the case if the subject of experiment tried to make sure of a few " hits," and paid no attention to the rest of the series. Due care was, however, taken that the ends of the experiment should not in this way be defeated. Also, there is ample evidence to show that the, supposed greater uniformity in strength of old associations is not, in fact, the rule. We seem left, then, to conjecture that the difference is the effect of the process of assimilation working subconsciouslythat psychical aspect of nervous growth which Professor James has aptly characterized by saying that " we learn to skate in summer and to swim in winter." It continually happens that we can recognize connexions that we are quite unable to reproduce. To the diminished "strength" of an association, as tested by the 2 There are still other forms of what seems at first sight to be regressive association, but none that do not admit of explanation without this assumption. method of telling, there may then quite well be an equivalent set-off in more developed assimilation. As a seed germinates it has less latent energy, but this is replaced by growth in root and stem: similar relations may obtain when an old association is said merely to lose " strength." On the other handwithin the range of the primary memory-imagewe can often reproduce what after a longer interval we should fail to recognize. We seem warranted, then, in concluding that this conception of " association-strength," so freely used by G. E. Muller and his co-workers, requires more analysis than it has yet received. The two factors which their methods disclose in it appear to confirm the distinction we have already made between impressions and free ideas. They help us also to understand, further, the superiority of distributed over cumulated repetition, of " inwardly digesting " over " cram." Feeling. 31. Such summary survey as these limits allow of the more elementary facts of cognition is here at an end; so far the most conspicuous factors at work have been those of what might be termed the ideational mechanism. In the higher processes of thought we have to take more account of mental activity and of the part played by language. But it seems preferable, before entering upon this, to explore also the emotional and active constituents of mind in their more elementary phases. In our preliminary survey we have seen that psychical life consists in the main of a continuous alternation of predominantly receptive and predominantly reactive consciousness. In its earliest form experience is simply an interplay of alternations of sensation and movement. At a later stage we find that in the receptive phase ideation is added to sensation; and that in the active phase thought and fancy, or the voluntary manipulation and control of the ideational trains, are added to the voluntary manipulation and control of the muscles. At this higher level also it is possible that either form of receptive consciousness may lead to either form of active: sensations may lead to thought rather than to action in the restricted sense, and ideas apart from sensations may prompt to muscular exertion. There is a further complication still: not only may either sensations or ideas lead to either muscular or mental movements, but movements themselves, whether of mind or limb, may as mere presentations determine other movements of either kind. In this respect, however, movements and thoughts either in themselves or through their sensational and ideational accompaniments may be regarded as pertaining to the receptive side of consciousness. With these provisos, then, the, broad generalization may hold that receptive states lead through feeling to active states, and that presentations that give neither pleasure nor pain meet with no responsive action. But first the objection must be met that presentations that are in themselves purely indifferent lead continually to very energetic action, often the promptest and most definite action. To this there are two answers. First, on the higher levels of psychical life presentations in themselves indifferent are often indirectly interesting as signs of, or as means to, other presentations that are more directly interesting. It is enough for the present, therefore, if it be admitted that all such indifferent presentations are without effect as often as they are not instrumental in furthering the realization of some desirable end. Secondly, a large class of movements, such as those called sensori-motor and ideo-motor, are initiated by presentations that are frequently, it must be allowed, neither pleasurable nor painful. In all such cases, however, there is probably only an apparent exception to the principle of subjective selection. They may all be regarded as instances of another important psychological principle which we shall have to deal with more fully by and by, viz. that voluntary actions, and especially those that either only avert pain or are merely subsidiary to pleasure-giving actions, tend at length, as the effect of habit in the individual and of heredity in the race, to become " secondarily automatic," as it has been called. Such mechanical or instinctive dexterities make possible a more efficient use of present energies in securing pleasurable and interesting experiences, and, like the rings of former growths in a tree, afford a basis for further advance, as old interests pall
Of the feeling itself that intervenes between these sensory and motor presentations there is but little to be said. The chief points have been already insisted upon, viz. that it is not itself a presentation, but a purely subjective state, at once the effect of a change in receptive consciousness and the cause of a change in motor consciousness; hence its continual confusion either with the movements, whether ideational or muscular, that are itscauses of feeling on the one hand, and on the other causes of Feeling. in its manifestations and effects. To begin with the first question, which we may thus formulate: What, if any, are the invariable differences characteristic of the presentations or states of mind we respectively like and dislike; or, taking account of the diverse sources of feelingsensuous, aesthetic, intellectual, activeis there anything that we can predicate alike of all that are pleasurable and deny of all that are painful, and vice versa? It is at once evident that at least in presentations objectively regarded no such common characters will be found; if we find them anywhere it must be in some relation to the conscious subject i.e. in the fact of presentation itself. There is one important truth concerning pleasures and pains that may occur at once as an answer to our inquiry, and that is often advanced as such, viz. that whatever is pleasurable tends to further and perfect life, and whatever is painful to disturb or destroy it. The many seeming exceptions to this law of self-conservation, as it has been called, probably all admit of explanation in conformity with it, so as to leave its substantial truth unimpeached.' But this law, however stated, is too teleological to serve as a purely psychological principle, and, as generally formulated and illustrated, it takes account of matters quite outside the psychologist's ken. We are not now concerned to know why a bitter taste e.g. is painful or the gratification of an appetite pleasant, but what marks distinctive of all painful presentations the one has and the other lacks. From a biological standpoint it may be true enough that the final cause of sexual and parental feelings is the perpetuation of the species; but this does not help us to ascertain what common character they have as actual sources of feeling for the individual. From the biological standpoint again, even the senile decadence and death of the individual may be shown to be advantageous to the race; but it would certainly be odd to describe this as advantageous to the individual; so different are the two points of view. What we are in search of, although a generalization, has reference to some-thing much more concrete than concepts like race or life, and does not require us to go beyond the consciousness of the moment to such ulterior facts as they imply. Were it possible it would be quite unnecessary to examine in detail every variety of pleasurable and painful consciousness in connexion with a general inquiry of this sort. It will be best to enumerate at the outset the only cases that specially call for investigation. Feeling may arise mainly from (a) single sensations or movements, including in these what recent psychologists call their tone; or it may be chiefly determined by (b) some combination or arrangement of these primary presentationshence what might be styled the lower aesthetic feelings. We have thus among primary presentations a more material and a more formal cause or ground of feeling. The mere representation of these sources of feeling involves nothing of moment: the idea of a bright colour or a bitter taste has not definiteness or intensity enough to produce feeling; and the ideal presentation of a harmonious arrangement of sounds or colours does not in itself differ essentially as regards the feeling it occasions from the actual presentation. When we advance to the level at which there occur ideas more complex and more highly representative or re-representative, as Mr Spencer would saythan any we have yet considered we can again distinguish between material and formal grounds of feeling. To the first we might refer, e.g. (c) the egoistic, sympathetic, and religious feelings; this class will probably require but brief notice. The second, consisting of (d) the intellectual and (e) the higher aesthetic feelings, is psychologically more important. There is a special class of ' See Spencer, Data of Ethics, chs. i.iv.; G. H. Schneider, Freud and Leid des Menschengeschlechts, ch. i. expression, or with the sensations or ideas that are its cause. For feeling as such is, so to put it, matter of being rather than of direct knowledge; and all that we know about it we know from its antecedents or consequents in presentation. Pure feeling, then, ranging solely between the opposite extremes of pleasure and pain, we are naturally led to inquire whether there is any corresponding contrast in the feelings, which might be distinguished from all the preceding as reflex, since they arise from the memory or expectation of feelings but in fact these are largely involved in all the higher feelings, and this brief reference to them will suffice: of such hope, fear, regret are examples. a. The quality and intensity as well as the duration and frequency of a sensation or movement all have to do with Sensations determining to what feeling it gives rise. It will and Move- be best to leave the last two out of account for a time. meats. Apart from these, the pleasantness or painfulness of a movement appears to depend solely upon its intensity, that is to say, upon the amount of effort necessary to effect it, in such wise that a certain amount of exertion is agreeable and any excess disagreeable. Some sensations also, such as those of light and sound, are agreeable if not too intense, their pleasantness increasing with their intensity up to a certain point, on nearing which the feeling rapidly changes and becomes disagreeable or even painful. Other sensations, as bitter tastes, e.g. are naturally unpleasant, however faintthough we must allow the possibility of an acquired liking for moderately bitter or pungent flavours. But in every case such sensations produce unmistakable manifestations of disgust, if at all intense. Sweet tastes, on the other hand, however intense, are pleasant to an unspoiled palate, though apt before long to become mawkish, like " sweetest honey, loathsome in his own deliciousness," as confectioners' apprentices are said soon to find. The painfulness of all painful sensations or movements increases with their intensity without any assignable maximum being reached. A comparison of examples of this kind, which it would be tedious to describe more fully and which are indeed too familiar to need much description, seems to show (r) that, so far as feeling is determined by the intensity of a presentation, there is pleasure so long as attention can be adapted or accommodated to the presentation, and pain so soon as the intensity is too great for this; and (2) that, so far as feeling is determined by the quality of a presentation, those that are pleasurable enlarge the field of consciousness and introduce or agreeably increase in intensity certain organic sensations, while those that are painful contract the field of consciousness and introduce or disagreeably increase in intensity certain organic sensations. There are certain other hedonic effects due to quality, the examination of which we must for the present defer. Meanwhile as to the first point it may be suggested, as at any rate a working hypothesis, that in itself any and every simple sensation or movement is pleasurable if there is attention forthcoming adequate to its intensity. In the earliest and simplest phases of life, in which the presentation-continuum is but little differentiated, it is reasonable to suppose that variation in the intensity of presentation preponderates over changes in the quality of presentation, and that to the same extent feeling is determined by the former and not by the latter. And, whereas this dependence on intensity is invariable, there is no ground for supposing the quality of any primary presentation, when not of excessive intensity, to be invariably disagreeable; the changes above-mentioned in the hedonic effects of bitter tastes, sweet tastes, or the like tend rather to prove the contrary. This brings us to the second point, and it requires some elucidation. We need here to call to mind the continuity of our presentations and especially the existence of a background of organic sensations or somatic consciousness, as it is variously termed. By the time that qualitatively distinct presentations have been differentiated from this common basis it becomes possible for any of these, without having the intensity requisite to affect feeling directly, to change it indirectly by means of the systemic sensations accompanying them, or, in other words, by their tone. The physiological concomitants of these changes of somatic tone are largely reflex movements or equivalents of movements, such as alterations in circulatory, respiratory and excretory processes. Such movements are psychologically movements no longer, and are rightly regarded as pertaining wholly to the sensory division of presentations. But originally it may have been otherwise. To us now, these organic reflexes seem but part and parcel of the special sensation whose tone theyform, and which they accompany even when that sensation, so far as its mere intensity goes, might be deemed indifferent. But perhaps at first the special qualities that are now throughout unpleasant may have been always presented with an excessive intensity that would be painful on this score alone, and the reflexes that at present pertain to them may then have been psychologically the expression of this pain). At any rate it is manifestly unfair to refuse either to seek out the primitive effects of the sensations in question and allow for the workings of heredity, or to reckon this accompanying systemic feeling as part of them. The latter seems the readier and perhaps, too, the preferable course. A word will now suffice to explain what is meant by enlarging and contracting the field of consciousness and agreeably increasing or decreasing certain elements therein. The difference in point is manifest on comparing the flow of spirits, buoyancy and animation which result from a certain duration of pleasurable sensations with the lowness or depression of spirits, the gloom and heaviness of heart, apt to ensue from prolonged physical pain. Common language, in fact, leaves us no choice but to describe these contrasted states by figures which clearly imply that they differ in the range and variety of the presentations that make up consciousness, and in the quickness with which these succeed each other? It is not merely that in hilarity as contrasted with dejection the train of ideas takes a wider sweep and shows greater liveliness, but as it were at the back of this, on the lower level of purely sensory experience, certain organic sensations which are ordinarily indifferent acquire a gentle intensity, which seems by flowing over to quicken and expand the ideational stream as we see, for instance, in the effects of mountain air and sushine. Or, on the other hand, these sensations become so violently intense as to drain off and ingulf all available energy in one monotonous corroding care, an oppressive weight which leaves no place for free movement, no life or leisure to respond to what are wont to be pleasurable solicitations .3 As regards the duration and the frequency of presentation, it is in general true that the hedonic effect soon attains its maxi-mum, and then, if pleasant, rapidly declines, or even changes to its opposite. Pains in like manner decline, but more slowly and without in the same sense changing to pleasures. The like holds of too frequent repetition. Physiological explanation of these facts, good as far as it goes, is, of course, at once forth-coming: sensibility is blunted, time is required for restoration, and so forth; but at least we want the psychological equivalent of all this. In one respect we find nothing materially new; so . In the lowly organisms that absorb food directly through the skin such bitter juices as exist naturally might at once produce very violent effectscomparable, say, to scalding; and the reflexes then established may have been continued by natural selection so as to save from poisoning the higher organisms, whose absorbent surfaces are internal and only guarded in this way by the organ of taste. Some light is thrown on questions of this kind by the very interesting experiments of Dr Romanes; for a general account of these see his Jelly-fish, Star-fish, and Sea-urchins, ch. ix. 2 This is one among many cases in which the study of a vocabulary is full of instruction to the psychologist. The reader who will be at the trouble to compare the parallel columns under the heading " Passive Affections," in Roget's Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases, will find ample proof both of this general statement and of what is said above in the text. 3 Observation and experiment show that the physical signs of pain in the higher animals consist in such changes as a lowered and weaker pulse, reduction of the surface temperature, quickened respiration, dilatation of the iris, and the like. And so far as can be ascertained these effects are not altogether the emotional reaction to pain but in large measure its actual accompaniments, the physical side of what we have called its tone. The following is a good description of these general characteristics of feeling: " En meme temps, it se fait une serie de mouvements generaux de flexion, comme si ]'animal voulait se rendre plus petit, et offrir moins de surface a la douleur. I1 est interessant de remarquer que, pour 1'homme comme pour tons les animaux, on retrouve ces memes mouvements generaux de flexion et d'extension repondant aux sentiments differents de plaisir et de la douleur. Le piaisir repond a un mouvement d'epanouissement, de dilatation, d'extension. Au contraire, dans la douleur, on se rapetisse, on se referme sur soi; c'est un mouvement general de flexion " (C. Richet, L'Homme et .'Intelligence: la douleur, P. 9). far as continued presentation entails diminished intensity we have nothing but diminished feeling as a consequence; so far as its continued presentation entails satiety the train of agreeable accompaniments ceases in which the pleasurable tone consisted. But in another way long duration and frequent repetition produce indirectly certain characteristic effects on feeling in consequence of habituation and accommodation. We may get used to a painful presentation in such wise that we cease to be conscious of it as positively disagreeable, though its cessation is at once a source of pleasure; in like manner we come to require things simply because it is painful to be without them, although their possession has long ceased to be a ground of positive enjoyment. This loss (or gain) consequent on accommodation has a most important effect in changing the sources of feeling: it helps to transfer attention from mere sensations to what we may distinguish as interests. b. Certain sensations or movements not separately unpleasant become so when presented together or in immediate succession; Combina- and contrariwise, some combinations of sensations Lions of or of movements may be such as to afford pleasure sensations distinct from, and often greater than, any that and of they separately yield. Here again we find that in movements. some cases the effect seems mainly to depend on intensity, in others mainly on quality. (i.) As instances of the former may be mentioned the pleasurableness of a rhythmic succession of sounds or movements, of symmetrical forms and curved outlines, of gentle crescendos and diminuendos in sound, and of gradual variations of shade in colour, and the painfulness of flickering lights, " beats " in musical notes, false time, false steps, false quantities, and the like. In all these, whenever the result is pleasurable, attention can be readily accommodatedis, so to say, economically meted out; and, whenever the result is painful, attention is surprised, balked, wasted. Thus we can make more movements and with less expenditure of energy when they are rhythmic than when they are not, as the performances of a ball-room or of troops marching to music amply testify. Of this economy we have also a striking proof in the ease with which rhythmic language is retained. (ii.) As instances of the latter may be cited those arrangements of musical tones and of colours that are called harmonious or the opposite. Harmony, however, must be taken to have a different meaning in the two cases. When two or three tones harmonize there results, as is well known, a distinct pleasure over and above any pleasure due to the tones themselves. On the other hand, tones that are discordant are unpleasant in spite of any pleasantness they may have singly. Besides the negative condition of absence of beats, a musical interval to be pleasant must fulfil certain positive conditions, sufficiently expressed for our purpose by saying that two tones are pleasant when they give rise to few combination-tones, and when among these there are several that coincide, and that they are unpleasant when they give rise to many combination-tones, and when among these there are few or none that coincide. Too many tones together prevent any from being distinct. But where tones coincide the number of tones actually present is less than the number of possible tones, and there is a proportionate simplification, so to put it: more is commanded and with less effort. An ingenious writer2 on harmony, in fact, compares the confusion of a discord to that of " trying to reckon up a sum in one's head and failing because the numbers are too high." A different explanation must be given of the so-called harmonies of colour. The pleasurable effect of graduations of colour or shadeto which, as Ruskin tells us, the rose owes its victorious beauty when compared with other flowershas been already mentioned: it is rather a quantitative than a qualitative effect. What we are t It has been definitely formulated, but in physiological language, by Bain as the Law of Novelty: " No second occurrence of any great shock or stimulus, whether pleasure, pain, or mere excitement, is ever fully equal to the first, notwithstanding that full time has been given for the nerves to recover from their exhaustion " (Mind and Body, p. 51). Cf. also his Emotions and Will, 3rd ed., p. 83. 2 Preyer, Akustische Untersuchungen, p. 59now concerned with are the pleasurable or painful combinations of different ungraduated colours. A comparison of these seems to justify the general statement that those colours yield good combinations that are far apart in the colour circle, while those near together are apt to be discordant. The explanation given, viz. that the one arrangement secures and the other prevents perfect retinal activity, seems on the whole satisfactoryespecially if we acknowledge the tendency of all recent investigations and distinguish sensibility to colour and sensibility to mere light as both psychologically and physiologically two separate facts. Thus, when red and green are juxtaposed, the red increases the saturation of the green and the green that of the red, so that both colours are heightened in brilliance. But such an effect is only pleasing to the child and the savage; for civilized men the contrast is excessive, and colours less completely opposed, as red and blue, are preferred, each being a rest from the other, so that as the eye wanders to and fro over their border different elements are active by turns. Red and orange, again, are bad, in that both exhaust in a similar manner and leave the remaining factors out of play. c. The more or less spontaneous workings of imagination, as well as that direct control of this working necessary to thinking in the stricter sense, are always productive of pain or pleasure in varying degrees. Though the ex- Ideation and intellect ion. position of the higher intellectual processes has not yet been reached, there will be no inconvenience in at once taking account of their effects on feeling, since these are fairly obvious and largely independent of any analysis of the processes themselves. It will also be convenient to include under the one term " intellectual feelings," not only the feelings connected with certainty, doubt, perplexity, comprehension, and so forth, but also what the Herbartian psychologistswhose work in this department of psychology is classicalhave called par excellence the formal feelingsthat is to say, feelings which they regard as entirely determined by the form of the flow of ideas, and not by the ideas themselves. Thus, be the ideas what they may, when their onward movement is checked by divergent or obstructing lines of association, and especially when in this manner we are hindered, say, from recollecting a name or a quotation (as if, e.g. the names of Archimedes, Anaximenes and Anaximander each arrested the clear revival of the other), we are conscious of a certain strain and oppressiveness, which give way to momentary relief when at length what is wanted rises into distinct consciousness and our ideas resume their flow. Here again, too, as in muscular movements, we have the contrast of exertion and facility, when " thoughts refuse to flow " and we work " invita Minerva," or when the appropriate ideas seem to unfold and display themselves before us like a vision before one inspired. To be confronted with propositions we cannot reconcile i.e. with what is or appears inconsistent, false, contradictoryis apt to be painful; the recognition of truth or logical coherence, on the other hand, is pleasurable. The feeling in either case is, no doubt, greater the greater our interest in the subject-matter; but the mere conflict of ideas as such is in itself depressing, while the discernment of agreement, of the one in the many, is a distinct satisfaction. Now in the one case we are conscious of futile efforts to comprehend as one ideas which the more distinctly we apprehend them for the purpose only prove to be the more completely and diametrically opposed: we can only affirm and mentally envisage the one by denying and suppressing the representation of the other; and yet we have to strive to predicate both and to embody them together in the same mental image. Attention is like a house divided against itself: there is effort but it is not effective, for the field of consciousness is narrowed and the flow of ideas arrested. When, on the other hand, we discern a common principle among diverse and apparently disconnected particulars, instead of all the attention we can command being taxed in the separate apprehension of these " disjecta membra," they become as one, and we seem at once to have at our disposal resources for the command of an enlarged field and the detection of new resemblances. d. Closely related to these formal intellectual feelings are certain of the higher aesthetic feelings. A reference to some Higher of the commonplaces of aesthetical writers may be Aesthetic sufficient briefly to exhibit the leading characteristics Feelings. of these feelings. There is a wide agreement among men in general as to what is beautiful and what is not, and it is the business of a treatise on empirical aesthetics from an analysis of these matters of fact to generalize the principles of tasteto do, in fact, for one source of pleasure and pain what we are here attempting in a meagre fashion for all. And these principles are the more important in their bearing upon the larger psychological question, because among aesthetic effects are reckoned only such as are pleasing or otherwise in themselves, apart from all recognition of utility, of possession, or of ulterior gratification of any kind whatever. Thus, if it should be objected that the intellectual satisfaction of consistency is really due to its utility, to the fact that what is incompatible and incomprehensible is of no avail for practical guidance, at least this objection will not hold against the aesthetic principle of unity in variety. In accordance with this primary maxim of art criticism, at the one extreme art productions are condemned for monotony, as incapable of sustaining interest because " empty," " bald " and " poor "; at the other extreme they are condemned as too incoherent and disconnected to furnish a centre of interest. And those are held as so far praiseworthy in which a variety of elements, be they movements, forms, colours or incidents, instead of conflicting, all unite to enhance each other and to form not merely a mass but a whole. Another principle that serves to throw light on our inquiry is that which has been called the principle of economy,' viz. that an effect is pleasing in proportion as it is attained by little effort and simple means. The brothers Weber in their classic work on human locomotion discovered that those movements that are aesthetically beautiful are also physiologically correct; grace and ease, in fact, are well-nigh synonymous, as Herbert Spencer points out, and illustrates by apt instances of graceful attitudes, motions and forms. The same writer,'- again, in seeking for a more general law underlying the current maxims of writers on composition and rhetoric is led to a special formulation of this principle as applied to style, viz. that " economy of the recipient's attention is the secret of effect." Perhaps of all aesthetical principles the most wide-reaching, as well as practically the most important, is that which explains aesthetic effects by association. Thus, to take one example where so many are possible, the croaking of frogs and the monotonous ditty of the cuckoo owe their pleasantness, not directly to what they are in themselves, but entirely to their intimate association with spring-time and its gladness. At first it might seem, therefore, that in this principle there is nothing fresh that is relevant to our present inquiry, since a pleasure that is only due to association at once carries back the question to its sources; so that in asking why the spring, for example, is pleasant we should be returning to old ground. But this is not altogether true; aesthetic effects call up not merely ideas but ideals. A great work of art improves upon the real in two respects: it intensifies and it transfigures. It is for art to gather into one focus, cleared from dross and commonplace, the genial memories of a life-time, the instinctive memories of a race; and, where theory can only classify and arrange what it receives, artin a measure free from " the literal unities of time and place "creates and glorifies. Still art eschews the abstract and speculative; however plastic in its hands, the material wrought is always that of sense. We have already noticed more than once the power which primary presentations have to sustain vivid re-presentations, and the, bearing of this on the aesthetic effects of works of art must be straightway obvious. The notes and colours, rhymes and rhythms, forms and movements, which produce the lower aesthetic feelings also serve as the means of bringing into view, ' Cf. Fechner, Vorschule der Aesthetik, ii. 263. Fechner's full style for it is " Princip der okonomischen Verwendung der Mittel oder des kleinsten Kraftmasses." 2 Essays, Scientific, Political and Speculative, vol. ii., Ess. I. and VIII.and maintaining at a higher level of vividness, a wider range and flow of pleasing ideas than we can ordinarily command. When we reach the level at which there is distinct self-consciousness (cf. 44), we have an important class of feelings determined by the relation of the presenta- Egnisticand tion of self to the other contents of consciousness. socialistic And as the knowledge of other selves advances pari Feelings. passu with that of one's own self, so along with the egoistic feelings appear certain social or altruistic feelings. The two have much in common; in pride and shame, for example, account is taken of the estimate other persons form of us and of our regard for them; while, on the other hand, when we admire or despise, congratulate or pity another, we have always present to our mind a more or less definite conception of self in like circumstances. It will therefore amply serve all the ends of our present inquiry if we briefly survey the leading characteristics of some contrasted egoistic feelings, such as self-complacency and disappointment. When a man is pleased with himself, his achievements, possessions or circumstances, such pleasure is the result of a comparison of his present position in this respect with some former position or with the position of someone else. Without descending to details, we may say that two prospects are before him, and the larger and fairer is recognized as his own. Under disappointment or reverse the same two pictures may be present to his mind, but accompanied by the certainty that the better is not his or is his no more. So far, then, it might be said the contents of his consciousness are in each case the same, the whole difference lying in the different relationship to self. But this makes all the difference even to the contents of his consciousness, as we shall at once see if we consider its active side. Even the idlest and most thoughtless mind teems with intentions and expectations, and in its prosperity, like the fool in the parable, thinks to pull down its barns and build greater, to take its ease, eat, drink and be merry. The support of all this pleasing show and these far-reaching aims is, not the bare knowledge of what abundance .will do, but the reflectionThese many goods are mine. In mind alone final causes have a place, and the end can produce the beginning; the prospect of a summer makes the present into spring. But action is paralysed or impossible when the means evade us. In so far as a man's life consists in the abundance of the things he possesseth, we see then why it dwindles with these. The like holds where self-complacency or displicency rests on a sense of personal worth or on the honour or affection of others. 32. We are now at the end of our survey of certain typical pleasurable and painful states. The answer to our inquiry which it seems to suggest is that there is pleasure in proportion as a maximum of attention is effectively andQesu/ Summary t. exercised, and pain in proportion as such effective attention is frustrated by distractions, shocks, or incomplete and faulty adaptations, or fails of exercise, owing to the narrowness of the field of consciousness and the slowness and smallness of its changes. Something must be said in explication of this formula, and certain objections that might be made to it must be considered. First of all it implies that feeling is determined partly by quantitative, or, as we might say, material conditions, and partly by conditions that are formal or qualitative. As regards the former, both the intensity or concentration of attention and its diffusion or the extent of the field of consciousness have to be taken into account. Attention, whatever else it is, is a limited quantity Pluribus intentus minor est ad singula sensus- to quote Hamilton's pet adage. Moreover, as we have seen, attention requires time. If, then, attention be distributed over too wide a field, there is a corresponding loss of intensity, and so of distinctness: we tend towards a succession of indistinguishablesindistinguishable, therefore, from no succession. We must not have more presentations in the field of consciousness than will allow of some concentration of attention: a maximum diffusion will not do. A maximum concentration, in like mannereven if there were no other objection to it- would seem to conflict with the general conditions of consciousness, inasmuch ag a single simple presentation, however intense, would admit of no differentiation, and any complex presentation is in some sort a plurality. The most effective attention, then, as regards its quantitative conditions, must lie somewhere between the two zeros of complete indifference and complete absorption. If there be an excess of diffusion, effective attention will increase up to a certain point as concentration increases, but beyond that point will decrease if this intensification continues to increase; and vice versa, if there be an excess of concentration. But, inasmuch as these quantitative conditions involve a plurality of distinguishable presentations or changes in consciousness, the way is open for formal conditions as well. Since different presentations consort differently when above the threshold of consciousness together, one field may be wider and yet as intense as another, or intenser and yet as wide, owing to a more advantageous arrangement of its constituents.' The doctrine here developed, viz., that feeling depends on efficiency, is in the main as old as Aristotle; all that has been done is to give it a more accurately psychological pleasure pleasures. expression, and to free it from the implications of the faculty theory, in which form it was expounded by Hamilton. Of possible objections there are at least two that we must anticipate, and the consideration of which will help to make the general view clearer. First, it may be urged that, according to this view, it ought to be one continuous pain to fall asleep, since in this state consciousness is rapidly restricted both as to intensity and range. This statement is entirely true as regards the intensity and substantially true as regards the range, at least of the higher consciousness: certain massive and agreeable organic sensations pertain to falling asleep, but the variety of presentations at all events grows less. But then the capacity to attend is also rapidly declining; even a slight intruding sensation entails an acute sense of strain in one sense, in place of the massive pleasure of repose through-out; and any voluntary concentration either in order to move or to think involves a like organic conflict, futile effort, and arrest of balmy ease. There is as regards the more definite constituents of the field of consciousness a close resemblance between natural sleepiness and the state of monotonous humdrum we call tedium or ennui; and yet the very same excitement that would relieve the one by dissipating the weariness of inaction would disturb the other by renewing the weariness of action: the one is commensurate with the resources of the moment, the other is not. Thus the maximum of effective attention in question is, as Aristotle would say, a maximum " relative to us." It is possible, therefore, that a change from a wider to a narrower field of consciousness may be a pleasurable change, if attention is more effectively engaged. Strictly speaking, however, the so-called negative pleasures of rest do not consist in a mere narrowing of the field of consciousness so much as in a change in the amount of concentration. Massive organic sensations connected with restoration take the place of the comparatively acute sensations of jaded powers forced to work. We have, then, in all cases to bear in mind this subjective relativity of all pleasurable or painful states of consciousness. ' As it is impossible to say that any distinguishable presentation is absolutely simple, the hypothesis of subconsciousness would leave us free to assume that any pleasantness or unpleasantness that cannot be explained on the score of intensity is due to some obscure harmony or discord, compatibility or incompatibility, of elements not separately discernible. But this, though tempting, is not really a very scientific procedure. If a particular presentation is pleasurable or painful in such wise as to lead to a redistribution of attention, it is reasonable to look for an explanation primarily in its connexion with the rest of the field of consciousness. Moreover, it is obvioussince what takes place in subconsciousness can only be explained in analogy with what takes place in consciousnessthat, if we have an inexplicable in the one, we must have a corresponding inexplicable in the other. If the feeling produced by what comports itself as a simple presentation cannot be explained by what is in consciousness, we should be forced to admit that some presentations are unpleasant simply because they are unpleasantan inexplicability which the hypothesis of subconsciousness might push farther back but would not remove. 33. But there is still another and more serious difficulty to face. It has long been a burning question with theoretical moralists whether pleasures differ only quantita- Do pleasures tively or differ qualitatively as well, whether psycho- Differ Qualilogical analysis will justify the common distinction tatlrel'? of higher and lower pleasures or force us to recognize nothing but differences of degree, of duration, and so forthas expounded, e.g. by Bentham, whose cynical mot, " pushpin is as good as poetry provided it be as pleasant," was long a stumbling block
The question, then, is : How, if action depends in the last resort on a merely quantitative difference, could it ever come about that what we call the higher sources of feeling should supersede the lower? If it is only quantity that turns the scales, where does quality come in, for we cannot say, e.g. that the astronomer experiences a greater thrill of delight when a new planet rewards his search than the hungry savage in finding a clump of pig-nuts? Tempera mutentur nos et mutamur in illis contains the answer in brief. We shall understand this answer better if we look at a parallel case, or what is really our own from another point of view. We distinguish between higher and lower forms of life: we might say there is more life in a large oyster
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