LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. Class Hsmsz EDUC. PSYHH, LIBi^ARY ETHICAL SERIES THE MIND OF MAN No eye could he too sound To observe a world so vast ; No patience too profound To sort what's here amassed. — Matthew Arnold. Between the muscle-nerve preparation at the one limit, and our conscious willing selves at the other, there is a continuous gradation without a break ; we cannot fix any linear barrier in the brain or in the general nervous system, and say "beyond this there is volition and intelligence, but up to this there is none." — Michael Foster. THE MIND OF MAN A TEXT-BOOK OF PSYCHOLOGY BY GUSTAV SPILLER Xon&on SWAN SONNENSCHIEN & CO., Lim. PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1902 5 6f PS.CH. LIBRARY PREFACE What more interesting study can there be than that of the Mind of Man ? Tennyson wrote enthusiastically of " the fairy tales of science," having in view only the results of physical research, and yet, manifestly, the exploration of the realm of mind must yield information which is no less fascinating. To observe the mind at work — thinking, or imagining, or feeling, or dreaming — must assuredly rival what is given by geology or by astronomy. The scientific study of mind, however, is not only interesting ; it has far-reaching consequences. The principles of education and those of morals and aesthetics are closely bound up with it, while even such sciences as political economy and sociology are likely to be transformed through its influence. Furthermore, a science of mind must revolutionise the whole of philosophy. By determining the nature of mental process and the nature of mind, it will set at rest once for all those discussions which have raged around a unitary conception of the universe. Physical science and mental science will then no more form two independent and hostile camps, and speculative meta- physics will cease to exist, handing over its many interesting problems to science. If psychology cannot as yet boast of any great truths, that is because Introspection has been unjustifiably regarded as impossible or impracticable. Yet, as we shall see, this mode of investiga- tion offers no great difficulties and may be applied with marked advantage. The chapters which follow represent an attempt to apply the scientific method in Psychology. The reader, therefore, will not find here mathematical demonstrations in the style of Herbart, nor will he meet with a neatly elaborated system seemingly flawless in every detail like that of Herbert Spencer. Speculation, meta- physical and non-metaphysical, and hypotheses, large and small, have been severely boycotted, their place being taken by a ceaseless vi. PREFACE and minute experimental examination of the facts, with a view to arriving at comprehensive statements or descriptions. The results, consequently, lay no claim to infallibility, and they obviously, like all work of a scientific character, especially as the ground covered is so vast, require corroboration, checking and extension. The volume consists of three parts : Method, General Analyses, and Special Syntheses. Its most pervading feature is perhaps the organic conception of the life of thought and action which the inquiry has forced to the foreground. Hence the current notions as regards motives, pleasure-pain, reason, attention, association, habit, and the will, — which suggest no intricate and developed organic processes, — have been either rejected or considerably modified. Thus also the tripartite division into Intellect, Feeling and Volition has been replaced by a close analysis of the nature and satisfaction of Needs or functional tendencies. The key to the whole work is contained in chapters 7, 2, and 3. The nature of Needs dwelt upon more especially in chapter 7 forms the root out of which the conclusions of any importance maybe developed ; the process of attention, or the distribution of systems, examined in the second chapter,* goes far towards explaining chapters 3, 5, 10, and 1 1 ; while the fact of habit, or economisation, studied in the third chapter,! paves the way for chapter 4 and is implied throughout the work. Only chapter 8 stands somewhat aloof from its com- panions, as it attempts to show, in the spirit of Mach, that the traditional views on matter and mind are not borne out by a pains- taking inspection of the facts. Perusing the eleven chapters the reader will perhaps recognise that each chapter^ and every portion of each chapter is, in the first instance, the outcome of research, and that the final form, like an equation, merely represents the total labour expended and was in no particular case thought of before the examination had drawn to a close. The work is more especially designed for the use of students. For this reason I have ventured on reviewing the extensive literature of normal psychology, quoting the opinions which are most generally held, and supplying almost a complete bibliography of the subjects dealt with. On the same account " asides " are inserted in the text to encourage observation and experiment on the part of the learner ; the sectioning is continuous, so as to make reference easier ; each chapter finishes with a bird's eye view ; and a general summary (ch. * The substance of this chapter appeared in Mind, 1901. t The substance of this chapter appeared in Mind, 1899, PREFACE vii. 12) offers a comprehensive survey of the whole work. Finally, a psychological terminology has been put forward which is intended to assist ready comprehension. Readers need not go far to understand this work. For the purpose of avoiding perplexity, I have spoken of what every man can verify within himself; that is to say, I have made only casual references to physiology, evolution, anthropology, or to the study of children, of abnormal persons and of animals (sec. 11). This course alone prevented superficial treatment on the one hand and bulkiness on the other. I have been compelled, however, to deal at length with a few extraneous but interesting subjects as they were intimately connected with the chief conclusions arrived at. These are : the nature of genius, with special reference to Shakespeare (ch. 9) ; the nature of dream-life, as also the alleged facts of Spiritualism (ch. 10) ; and, lastly, the problems of aesthetics (ch. II)- The point of view from which this work is written will, it is hoped, commend itself to the lovers of science. I have attempted to walk the straight and narrow path, and I have consequently declined to accommodate my conclusions to any party. To my mind, the amazing backwardness of psychology is principally due to its having been almost exclusively cultivated by philosophers or those philosophically inclined, i.e., by those who have settled doctrines to begin with, instead of by men of science who possess only the desire for truth as such. This work will have fulfilled its author's purpose if it accentuates the need of, and assists in establishing, a psychology of a strictly scientific character. CONTENTS PART I Method chapter i iNTKOnUCTION 1. The Foundations of Psychology - - - 3: 2. The Use of Hypotheses ....-..--. 10. 3. Approaches to the Study of Psychology ■ - 14 4. Introspection - - - - - ■ - ■ • - -15 5. Practical Psychologj- ----.-.---- 20 6. Detail and General Fact -..--....- 23 7. Systematic Observation ..-.-..... 25 8. Quantitative Psychology - - - - - - - - 31 9. Experimental Introspection 34 10. Definition - 37 11. Literature of the Subject ---------- 38 12. Psychological Terminology --------- 35. 13. A Bird's Eye View 42 PART II General Analyses chapter ii Systems as Distributed 14. Attention and Inattention ---------- 45, 15. Sensations, Images and Feelings do not exist apart from Attention - 45 16. Attention is Dependent on Stimuli -------- 47 17. The Beginnings of Sensations --------- 47 18. The Area of Sensations and Images -------- 49 19. The Sense Problem ----------- ^o 20. Classification of Systems ---------- 57 21. Keen, Normal and Lax Attention 59 22. Attention, in the Normal Waking State, is Quantitatively alike with All Men at All Times --.---..--. 60 23. Felt Strain, Desire to Attend, etc. ........ ^i 24. Deliberate Attention ----------- 65 25. The Measure of Attention is its Effectiveness ------ 66- 26. Attention has no Focus .-.......- Qy zy. Abnormal Attention - - - 67 28. The Larger Waves of Attention --------- 69 29. The Smaller Waves of Attention -------- ^g. 30. Narrowing the Normal P'ield of Attention 7O' 31. Expanding the Normal Field of Attention ------- 71 32. Brain and Mind - - - - - - - - - - - - 71 33. The Field of Attention 72^ CONTENTS ix. 34. Attention Energy and Motion Energy are One 72 35. Attention and Heredity . . . 74. 36. Observation and Attention 75 37. The Growth of Knowledge Complexes 76 38. Attention to One Object at a Time 77 39. Do we Attend in Habit? 79 40. Can we Attend to Habits? 80 41. The Routine of Life - - - - - - - - - ■ - 81 42. Attention and Memory ...------- 81 43. Sub-conscious and Unconscious Thought ------- 82 44. Conditions Favouring Attention -------- 84 45. The Education of the Attention -..------ 87 46. Factors producing Changes in the Field of Attention - - - - -87 47. General Conclusions ----------- 88 48. A Bird's Eye View - - 88 CHAPTER HI Systems as Organised 49. The History of a Habit 91 50. Memorising the Facts ---------- 92 51. The Process of Simplification --------- 93 52. Reduction of Eftbrt - - - 97 53. Appropriate Exercise ----------- 97 54. A Comparison ------------ 97 55. The Result of Liberating Attention Energy ------ 98 56. Does an Organised Trend ever become Automatic ? ■ - - - - 99 57. Organised Trends and Memory --------- loi 58. The Place of Exercise 102 59. The Place of Judgment .-.-.----- 103 60. Why is it Difficult to influence Habits ? 105 61. Early Education 107 62. Each Habit is based on Others of its Kind - - - . . . 108 63. Each Habit forms a Basis for Others of its Kind - - - - - - 1 10 64. What is a Habit ? - - - - 1 1 1 65. All Thought is Organised - - - - - - - - - - 114 65a. Habit and Thought 119 66. 'J he Psychological Method 120 67. A Bird's Eye View I20 CHAPTER IV Systems as Need-Satisfying 68. What is implied in a Secondary Unit or Idea? - - - - - - 122 69. Richness and Poverty of Detail in a Secondary Unit or Idea • - -123 70. Each of the Five Senses supplies us with the Material for Secondary Units or Ideas ------------- 124 71. Other Sources of Secondary Units or Ideas - ....-- 124 72. Secondary Units or Ideas which are generally Overlooked . - - - 125 73. Word-Ideas as such 126 74. Words Rich and Poor in Meaning -.-.-... 126 75. Why Secondary Units or Ideas tend to have Little Content - - - - 127 76. Secondary Units or Ideas reflect Individual Situations .... 127 76a. General Ideas --..---.--- 128 76b. Speech and Thought - - - - - - - - - - 1 30 X X. CONTENTS 77. Re-produclion of Motion and Detail - 131 78. Observation is Teleologically Determined 133 79. Memory Contents Dwindle - - - - - - 134 80. Every Secondary Unit or Idea represents a Set of Activities, and cannot be Stored - - - - - - - - - - - • - 134 Si. Sense Impressions are One with Images - - - - - - 136 82. Movement and Thought - - - - - 137 83. Units and Trains of Units - 137 84. The Nature of Language ■ - - - - - - - - 138 85. What is a Secondary Unit or an Idea? - - 139 86. Summary - - - - - - - • - - - - - 140 87. The Dynamics of our Subject .---..-.. 141 88. The Composition of Secondary Systems ------- 141 89. Secondary CompHcations - - - - - - - - . 143 90. Devehipment, Excitement and Secondary Complications - - - - 144 90a. Associationism - - - - - - - - - - - 146 91. Ideational Complications 151 92. Thought represents the Satisfaction of Needs - - - - - -151 93. Some Results of Economisation 152 94. The Language of the Adult - - - - - - - - 153 95. We are not restricted to One Unit or Idea at a Time ----- 154 96. General Methods in Thought - - - - - - - - - 155 97. Knowledge is mostly a Social Product -...-.. i^g 98. The Origin of Needs and their Classification -...-- 160 99. A Complex Ideational Process Examined - - - - - - - 161 99a. Comparison .---.-----. 161 99b. Semi-Connection or Doubt and Related States 163 99c. Generalisation or Topical Reaction 164 99d. Abstraction - - - - - - - - - - - 165 100. Attention and Combination 165 loi. Economisation and Combination - - - - - - - - 166 102. Memory and Combination ------... 167 103. Habit and Thought 167 104. Interdependence and Interaction in Combining ------ 169 105. History of the Subject - - 170 106. A Bird's Eye View 172 CHAPTER V Systems as Re-Developed 107. Primary Systems imply Re- Development - - - - - - 173 108. The Persistence of Neural Modifications ------- 176 109. Neural Excitement • - - - - - - - - - - 17S no. Sudden Re-Collection ---------- 175 lioa. The Nature of Recency --------- 181 111. Neural Excitement implies Neural Momentum 182 112. Memory Slowly Fades 184 113. Cramming 185 114. We forget Most Things 186 115. The Process of De-Developmeni 190 116. Re-Development is Attention to Surviving Traces ----- igj 117. No Detailed Image in the Memory ------ - 192 118. Images are soon Exhausted -..-...-- igj 119. Visuals, Audiles, Motiles, Emotiles, and Mentals 195 CONTENTS xi. 120. The Matter of Memory 197 1 20a. Motion as Imaged ---------- 203 1 20b. Thinking in Words .-..----- 204 121. The Growth of the Memory 205 122. The Elements of Memory 207 123. What constitutes a Perfect Memory ? 208 124. Primary and Secondary Series Distinguished ------ 209 125. After-images, etc., 210 126. Intuitions 213 127. Organised Re-Development .-.--..-- 215 128. Novelty and Familiarity 217 129. The Gaping Void 218 130. The Part stands for the Whole 219 131. Why the Memory leans Forward ...-.--- 219 132. Vividness is no Test of Objectivity -------- 220 133. The Present Ends where Obliviscence Begins 222 1 34. The Dynamics of Memory 224 135. The Physical Aspect of Memory 231 136. How to Re-Develop 234 137. A Bird's Eye View 239 CHAPTER VI Systems as Disturbed 138. Pleasure and Pain are neither Sensations nor Feelings . - . . 240 139. The Nature of the Nervous System determines how far we are Drawn to- wards, or Recoil from, an Object -------- 246 140. Definition of Pleasure-Pain 251 141. Irritants 259 142. Organised Reaction Largely Decides what shall be regarded as Pleasurable or Painful 263 143. Inference as a Determining Factor in Pleasure-Pain ----- 264 144. Neural Disturbance is Absent from Normal Defensive Activity - - - 265 145. Normal Thought and Action are Neutral as regards Pleasure-Pain - - 266 146. The Relation of the Emotions to Neural Disturbances . - - - 267 147. Feeling Pained, and Imaged Pain .--..--- 271 148. Principles Ride Rough-Shod over Disturbances - * 273 149. Moods largely determine the Drift of Thought ------ 276 150. Conclusions -.....------ 279 151. A Bird's Eye View - - - 280 CHAPTER VII Systems as Need-Determined 152. Experimental Willing ..--...--- 282 153. The Effect of Volitions 286 154. Will as Absolute 287 155- Uniqueness in Willing ...-.-.-.. 291 156. Voluntary, Non-Voluntary and Involuntary Activity ----- 293 157. Depreciating and Appreciating the Will-Value ------ 297 158. Deliberation 299 159. Desire 301 160. Neural Disturbances 302 161. Choice from Weaker Motive --------- 305 162. Action from Special Motives 307 xii. CONTENTS 163. I Will . . -^ 309 164. Will as Assertion - - - - - - 311 165. The Absolute Value of Felt Effort 313 166. The Sense of Effort - 315 167. The Tripartite Division in Psychology 318 168. A Bird's Eye View - - • - - - - - 321 CHAPTER VIII Systems as Unified 169. Objective, Reflected and Imaged Sight ...... 322 170. Other Classes of Systems ... - 323 171. Mind and Body ........... 323 172. Mind and Matter .... - 324 173. Force 326 174. Motion 326 175. Appearance and Reality ... - - 327 176. The Self 328 176a. The Nature of Mind 330 177. Presentations ..---....... 332 178. Inner and Outer ........... 333 179. Experience ............ 333 180. Psychophysical Parallelism - - 333 181. Memory - - 335 182. Space 335 iS2a. The Space of Sight and Touch ... ... 347 183. Time .....---...-. 348 184. Order 348 185. Cause and Effect ........... 349 186. Freedom 351 187. Mental Activity 352 188. Reason, Understanding .--....... 3^3 189. The Senses - 353 190. Persistence 355 191. Evolution 356 192. Others 357 193. Subject and Object ..-.----..- 359 194. Life 361 195. Death 363 196. Immortality ............ 363 197. Science -.....-.--..- 364 198. Physical Science and Psychology ........ 366 199. Monism, Dualism, etc. .......... 367 200. A Bird's Eye View 370 PART III Special Syntheses chapter ix Systems as Individualised 201. The Immediate Relation of the Individual to his Environment - - - 373 202. Shakespeare and the Sonnet ......... 373 203 Shakespeare and the Sonnet Form 375 CONTENTS xiii. 204. Peculiar Sonnets -,y5 205. Shakespeare's Language -------... ^^g 206. Shakespeare's Insight - - - - - - - . . . ^g^ 207. The Object of Shakespeare's Sonnets 7^5 208. The Place of Shakespeare's Sonnets •---.... -^g^ 209. Shakespeare as Dramatist -------... ogg 210. Obstacles to Genius - - - . - 211. Men of Genius 393 - 397 212. Individual Character- -■----.-.. ,q-, 213. Relation to Needs --■-----... 407 214. The Evolution of the Individual ----.... ^qq 215. The Acquisition of Language - - - - - - - . - 413 216. A Bird's Eye View - - 417 CHAPTER X Systems as Classified 217. Highest Products -----...... ^jg 218. Deliberate Action, Speech and Thought - - - ■ - - 421 219. Average Thought ■■----.... ^22 220. Afferent Activity ........... ^jc 221. Efferent Activity 428 222. Central Activity . . . ----... 429 223. 'Twixt Waking and Sleeping ---.-.... ^^q 224. Dreams ----.-.--.... ^^5 225. Extra-Organic Stimuli in Dreams -----... 4^6 226. Intra-Organic and Efferent Stimuli in Dreams --.... ^-jg 227. The Place of Reason in the Dream-State ------- 441 228. Influencing the Dream-State 44^ 229. The Origin of Dreams .......... 44g 230. The History of Dream-Life 4^2 231. Additional Considerations - 4^2 232. Provoked Dreams and Related Facts ----... a,^(Q 233. Animal Psychology 462 234. A Bird's Eye View . - - 455 CHAPTER XI Systems as Attention-Determined 235. General 468 236. The Beautiful in Visual Forms . 468 237. Inference 479 238. Misleading Beliefs 481 239. Education -------.-... 482 240. Fashion 483 241. Secondary Factors 483 242. The Esthetic Standard 485 243. Prose and Poetry 487 244. Music, etc. ............ 4gj 245. The Comic ............ 4^2 246. The Imagination 4q6 247- Play 499 248. A Bird's Eye View - . . ^qi xiv. CONTENTS CHAPTER XII Summary 249. The Totality of Existence regarded as Static ...... C03 250. The Totality of Existence regarded as Dynamic ..... ^04 251. Disturbances ---......... co6 252. The Business of Psychology - 507 Indexes Index of Subjects 509 Index of Authors 522 Index of Publications ........... j-j2 ERRATA Page 17, ., 79. „ 80, „ 80, „ 96, „ 125, ,, 129, „ 131. „ 148, „ 186, ,. 191, ,, 207, „ 217, „ 230, „ 239, „ 256, „ 258, ,, 346, ,, 349, „ 395. 6 from below, for " physical " read " psychical " 20 ,, below, for "Habit." read "Habit?" 21 ,, above, for " Habits." read " Habits?" 15 ,, below, for "pocesses" read "processes" 9 ,, above, for "occasions" read "occasion" 6 ,, below, for "and" read "or" 14 ,, above, for "difference" read "differences" s. 12 and 13 from below are to be transferred to the end of sec. 76a. . 9 from above, for " remaing " read " remaining " . II ,, above, for " re-membering" read "remembering" . 5 ,, above, for " ultimalely " read "ultimately" s. 21 and 22 from below, for "Allen" read " AUin " . 9 from above, for "similiar" read "similar " . 5 ,, below, for "praise" read "condemn" . 9 ,, above, for " uutractable " read " untractable " .6 ,, below, for "Practice" read "Practise" I ,, below, for "normla" read "normal" . 18 ,, below, for "Arber" read " Arrer " . 16 ,, above, for "perfections" read " perfection," . 9 ,, above, for " geuius " read "genius' PART I METHOD OF CHAPTER I INTRODUCTION If the method be but true, Ours shall be the truths we woo. I. — The Foundations of Psychology.* Of late it has almost become the fashion to assume that the foundations of psychology are firmly laid, and that all that remains is to work out pro- blems of secondary importance. It is argued that we have now only to apply the knowledge which has been gained, and to occupy ourselves with an exhaustive examination of the psychology of the child, of races, of animals, and so forth. If this be so, the reader should find in this book a methodical restatement, a dogmatic exposition of the established body of psychological conclusions. Should he expect that, he will be dis- appointed. According to my interpretation of the data, the ship of psychology is still in mid-ocean, still at the mercy of storms of doubt, still without chart or compass, and still far from port. I maintain not only that the elementary principles of psychology have still to be established ; but I believe that, from the scientific point of view, no serious attempt has yet been made in that direction. So daring an assertion necessitates a prolonged defence. When a literature is so voluminous as is that of psychology— when Americans, Englishmen, Frenchmen and Germans are vying with each other in the production of learned treatises, it seems almost madness to suggest that the scheme of operations is strategically suicidal, and that nothing but a retreat to the base, and a new plan of campaign, can ensure success. How- ever, such is my contention, a contention which, in the interests of science, I feel bound to make and to substantiate. Grave as is my task, its gravity is yet exceeded by its unpleasantness. One shrinks, and never ceases to shrink, from the unwelcome duty of sounding a retreat. The * "Not Descartes, nor Malebranche, nor Locke, nor Berkeley, nor Hume, nor Leibnitz, seem to be acquainted with this word" (Boirac, article " Psycholcgie,"' in La Gtatde Encyclopidie, 1900). II 4 METHOD heart almost fails when one has to announce to others that the news of victory which we all greeted with joy, is void of truth. Yet, while destructive criticism may give rise to bitter disappointment, we endure it because of its ultimately beneficial effects. In accordance with the only justifiable mode of procedure, I shall attempt to make good my contention by an appeal to history. First, we will dwell upon the history of the famous doctrine of the Association of Ideas — a doctrine which, while generally correct in its contention that every given idea is connected with the idea which preceded it, is, as I hope to show hereafter (sees. 88-92), quite in error when it reasons backwards, that the likeness between two ideas makes the one follow the other, since, as I hold, relevancy to a topic determines which, if any, of the part-ideas shall be developed.* In some form or another, Associationism was recog- nised, there seems little doubt, from the days of Aristotle right through the Middle Ages.f It was Hobbes who in more modern times explained the flow of thought by having recourse to an associative principle. He held that one parti- cular thought or portion of thought followed another because antecedent and consequent formed originally part of one continuous state, and for no other reason. To him, however vaguely he stated it {Leviathan, 1651, part I, ch. 3), the principle of the Association of Ideas offered a complete explanation of consecutive thought. We are not, in this section, interested in the truth, or otherwise, of this supposed key. It need only be observed that there is no evidence that either Aristotle or his followers, or Hobbes, iTiade an exhaustive study of the subject, for the purpose of either dis- covering or verifying the explanation. We are nowhere led to believe that these thinkers, for instance, endeavoured to take note of an entire section of thought lasting for a minute or so, and then applied their theory. Nor have we any reason to think that they examined a large number of examples in such a manner as to exclude prejudice and to make their con- clusions comprehensive. Nor can it be said that they verified their results experimentally. Their method was the same as that of the geographers and naturalists of the Middle Ages, and completely unlike that of the school of which Galileo was one of the early champions. It is, indeed, an abuse of terms to call by the name of method a procedure from which all orderliness is missing. In the one case, the observer follows vague sug- gestions which are not verified. In the other, he pursues a method which has taken centuries in the shaping, and w'hich is almost wholly secure * In this section I am perhaps unduly severe towards the Associationists. While it is true that they offer no explanation of ihe Jlow of thought, it must yet be borne in mind that their principle of contiguity forms a valuable basis for such an explanation. The woodenness and hastiness of their statements, however, called for censure. (See sees, 90-1). t See Hamilton, Note D** in his edition of Reid's ^Vorks ; Croom Robertson, article "Association," in Eric. Brit.; Volkmann, Lehrbuch der Psycholooie, 1894-5, PP- 452-6, iKite 4 ; Mervoycr, V Association des IJt'es, 1S64 ; and Ferri, Psychologic de V Association, INTRODUCTION ,5 against superficial reasoning. So long as science was left to Divine Philosophy, progress remained an impossibility, because of the absence of objective tests in the mode of inquiry. Science became fruitful when she evolved a method. The grounds on which she based it, we shall discuss later on. Suffice it to have shown that Hobbes and his precursors pos- sessed no warrant for their conclusions. If they were right, theirs were courageous guesses, and nothing more. Locke, in his Human Underskxfiding, 1690, bk. 2, ch. 33, gave birth, in an incidental way, to the phrase Association of Ideas. He employed it in explaining certain obstinate and injurious associations which men, if they were careless, were likely to form. The theory plays otherwise no part in his system, and his short and casual reference makes it undoubted that he arrived at his conclusions by no scientific route. Hobbes and Locke having watered the plant, it began quietly to grow. When Hume referred to it {A Treatise on Human Nature, 1739, bk. I, part I, sec. 4), it was already attracting a good deal of attention. The great and genial sceptic professed to expound a principle which was to the realm of thought — to psychology, what gravitation was to the material universe — to physics. Contiguity or proximity in place or time, resemblance, and cause and effect, were the three masters of the ceremonies, who allotted to each unit its position in a train of thought. Given these, and we had an explanation of the procession of things or mental pheno- mena, such as was established in regard to gravitation by Newton. These principles, it was held, were elemental, and could not be reduced to other principles ; and one must admit that they were eminently plausible, especially when illuminated by means of a multiplicity of examples which led the student in a predetermined direction, and kept him from searching for instances of a conflicting character. One single illustration must suffice. On a windy day I look at a field of barley, and observe how the blades bend in the eastern portion, and how, in succession, the contiguous blades, right to the western portion, also bend. Does it follow of necessity that the bending of one blade caused the next one to it to bend, and so on till the last of the series had bent ? We know that this presents a false explanation ; and hence we may assume it at least as possible that contiguous mental changes are not due to con- tiguous association at all.* The chief point, however, is that Hume's ably urged assertions were speculative and not scientific. He applied no canons in which we have confidence. Meanwhile Hartley was pondering over the same problem. In 1749, ten years after Hume's treatise had appeared, he published his Observations on Man's Frame, which is an elaborate physiological vindication of As- sociationism, based on a theory of vibrations. He went further than Hume and allowed only for contiguity, or proximity in space and time. The student will observe, as he proceeds, how sadly ignorant we are at * See Paulhan, V Activite Mentale, 1889, p. 422. 6 METHOD this late date, of the more intimate processes of the central nervous system. Hence Hartley's physiology was conjectural, and that is all one can say of his psychology. There is everything to indicate that he did not follow a scientific mode of procedure, as we understand it to-day, and that what- ever his success, he only sought for proofs in the scholastic fashion. The physical sciences were, at that period, progressing by leaps and bounds, conquering realm after realm of nature. The pace was so swift that men felt assured that the millenium was near. It was then that James Mill published his work. An Analysts of the Human Mi?id, 1829. In this work, the elder Mill seemingly applied the scientific method to psychology ; and he is not the first, if Ophelia is to be believed, whose practice was not consistent with his profession. According to him, the firmness of the associative process depended on frequency of impressions in conjunc tion with vividness (i, p. 83). He has been, and has remained, the As- sociationist par excellence. Yet, correct as he was in breaking with metaphysics, more correct than many later psychologists, he nevertheless mistook philosophic naturalism for scientific method. One might almost say that he discovered nothing ; that he verified nothing ; and that he only elaborated in a speculative fashion a speculative system. Though I agree that his work is profoundly stimulating, his conclusions were yet far from being in advance of those of Brown's, published some five years previously. After Mill the elder, came a deluge of WTiters who laid more or less stress on Association, their explanations differing in detail only. Thus Hamilton (d. 1856) tells us {Lectures on Metaphysics^ 1877, ii, p. 238) that " those thoughts suggest each other which had previously constituted parts of the same entire or total act of cognition," and that this law is "an ultimate fact" {ibid, p. 240). Shadworth Hodgson {Time and Space, 1865, pp. 266-8) contends that in any state of consciousness, the uninteresting part fades, and the interesting portion develops, thus forming a train of thought. Bradley, again {Logic, 1883, p. 278), argues that "any part of a single state of mind tends, if reproduced, to re-instate the remainder; or any element tends to reproduce those elements with which it has formed one state of mind." John Stuart Mill boldly pressed the notion into philosophic service. Nevertheless, with characteristic hesitancy, he admits (Footnote in his father's Analysis, 1869, ii, p. 71) that "the highly interesting idea of the end in view .... determines, within certain limits, which of the ideas associated with each link of the chain shall be aroused and form the next link," a passing admission, which, if consistently elaborated, would have re- volutionised the Associationist position. He also, like Hamilton, quotes to a similar effect, Cardaillac, Etudes Elenientaires de Philosophie. Bain, in his Senses and Lntellect, 1894, following Hartley, Brown and James Mill, again elaborated what had already been over-elaborated. Without being, unfortunately, one whit less speculative than his pre- decessors, he set himself more clearly to determine the supposed laws of INTRODUCTION ; 7 Association. Leaving aside compound and constructive association, and premising that he rejects, as derived, the law of contrast, the two remaining laws read as follows : — Law of Contiguity : " Actions, sensations, and states of feeling, occurring together or in close succession, tend to grow together or cohere, in such a way that, when any one of them is afterwards pre- sented to the mind, the others are apt to be brought up in idea" (p. 341). Law of Similarity : " Present actions, sensations, thoughts or emotions tend to revive their like among previous Impressions or States (p. 486)." Yet even Bain casually allows, without recognising the radical nature of his admission, that recency and interest may influence the course of association between one antecedent and its consequent. He says, for instance : " If historical events have been recently in my mind, the events referable to this locality are suggested" (p. 595). According to Spencer {Psychology, 1890, i, pp. 269-70) "the funda- mental law of association of relations, like the fundamental law of association of feelings, is that each, at the moment of presentation, aggregates with its like in past experience." This, however, he explains (i, p. 416) "is the law of intelligence in the abstract," and "the change which actually takes place is the resultant of many tendencies acting together." James {Psychology, 1890, i, p. 566) says similarly that "when two elementary brain processes have been active together or in immediate succession, one of them, on reoccurring, tends to propagate its excitement into the other," a thesis which he further develops on p. 567. Baldwin {^Senses afid Intellect, 1890) likewise gives his assent to the principle. To return to England. Sully joins the chorus {Human Mind, 1892). Lloyd Morgan {An Introduction to Comparative Psychology, 1894) adopts the principle in a slightly modified form. He writes : " The recurrence of a will be followed by the recurrence of / ufider similar marginal conditions " (p. 72), and "only under similar marginal conditions will the impression a suggest /" (p. 72). He defends his slight heresy by saying that the first law of motion — viz., that a body, if left free, will move at a uniform rate and in a straight line, — -is true, though bodies are never left free, for- getting that the marginal conditions are, according to him, essential. Stout {Analytic Psychology, 1896, and Alanual, 1898-9) accepts the principle in a modified form. In one place {Ma?iual, 1898, p. 74) he states, how- ever, that "each phase of the process before the end is reached is in- complete, and tends by its own inherent constitution to pass beyond itself." We have seen the manner in which Hobbes and Hume and their pre- decessors attained their results. The later English writers, including the latest, have pursued the same policy. Not one of them seems to have thought of testing the doctrine, as men are accustomed to do in scientific inquiries. From first to last, scarcely veiled speculation determined the opinion of English and American psychologists in so important a matter. A belief thus based can claim no respect on scientific grounds. It may be true or it may not be true ; it certainly is not proven. If we turn to Germany we find that Herbart {Lehrbuch, 1816, p. 69), 8 METHOD the founder of an important school, as well as Beneke, adopted Associa- tionism. According to the Herbartian school, presentations hinder or facilitate others coming into the foreground of consciousness. The Herbartians possess an elaborate mechanism, reminding one of pulleys, levers, crowbars, cranes, and what not, for the transporting hither and thither of presentations. Of science there is not a grain. Like Hans Andersen's tailors, the presentations appear to be busily engaged, but pro- duce nothing. Such huge treatises as those of Volkmann, a follower of Herbart, and Lipps, a follower of Beneke, form the completest indictment of present-day psychological methods. Lotze, again {Microcosfitus, 1885, i, p, 215), says: "That a newly-produced impression revives the forgotten idea of a previous and similar one, or recalls it to consciousness, is the simplest of the universal laws that regulate the course of memory." In Germany, then, we find, to a large extent, a similar state of affairs to that existing in England. Paulhan {^LActivite Mentale, 1889), in France, with his Systematic Association, has broken through the tradition. He rightly holds that actions are determined by ends, and that each fraction of a train of thought is not determined primarily by its predecessor, but by the end in view. In a word, association is systematic or topical, and not atomic. To this view Ladd {Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, 1S94) subscribes. Largely as I agree with Paulhan, I still wish to insist that there is no sign that he deduced his theory from scientific observation or has verified it in fact. Taking Associationism as a whole, omitting for the present the experi- mental school, one feels justified in maintaining that its procedure has been unscientific, and its results, as will be shown, unsatisfactory. So far the foundations of psychology remain to be laid. (See sec. 90a.) The most striking exemplification of unscientific method is offered in the case of Habit. Locke tells us {Human Understanding, 1690, bk. 2, ch, 22, sec. 10) that the "power or ability in man, of doing anything, when it has been acquired by frequently doing the same thing, is that idea we name habit." And in another place he compares the acquirement of habit to a path worn smooth, saying that repetition of action has the same effect on the brain. [Ibid, bk. 2, ch. 2s?ii sec. 6.) This hazarded conjecture, utterly unsubstantiated, has been the first and the last word of the psycho- logists on the subject. As any well-known work on physiology will show, our knowledge of brain processes is unspeakably inadequate to permit us to make such an assertion. When Ave come to psychology, we find no other confirma- tion than popular rumour might lend; there is not even the faintest suspicion of scientific caution. Everybody acknowledges what has not even been tentatively examined. So complete has been the acceptance of this theory that the leading psychological journals, such as Mitid (omitting my own con- tribution), The Psychological Review, The American Journal of Psychology, Braifi, and Philosophische Studie?t, have not a single contribution on the subject, whilst the Revue Philosophique had one article twenty-six years ago. This is not owing to indifference. James and others insist upon its importance at some length, and there are few psychologists who pass it by. INTR ODUC TION 9 Yet the feeblest attempt at investigation would have shown the difference between complacent popular acquiescence, which selects some superficial aspect, and scientific comprehension, which points to the general facts. The complex nature of habit the student will find exhaustively discussed in ch. 3. As a third illustration in point, one may take Attention. The subject is part of the time-honoured stock-in-trade of psychology. It is also one which has been seriously studied ; and the failure in this case has, therefore, not been so complete, though even here a certain degree of attention has been generally mistaken for attention, as such. Had there been only a consistent and thorough neglect of data other than those arrived at by direct study — a neglect of metaphysics, of irrelevant theology, of slipshod theory, of commonplaces, we might be near the end of its problems instead of near the beginning. The trouble has been that theories have so darkened the minds of students, that the light of the most powerful intellects scarcely shed a glimmer along the path. By means of almost superhuman efforts a trifle was gained here and there, and these trifles tended more to bewilder than to encourage. The primitive tools worked wonders. Taking a general survey, however, the subject is still buried in obscurity, though the outlook is not so unpromising as in the two other cases. As I hope to explain in ch. 2, attention is not an intermittent process requiring strain, but it is activity itself from the point of view of the direction in which it is engaged. The three illustrations I have given — Association, Habit and Attention — are, I believe, typical of the present-day state of reflective psychology as a whole. They justify the contention that the scientific foundations have still to be laid. When one turns to those who emphasise the physiological aspect, scholars such as Maudsley {Physiolog}' of Alind, 1876), Lewes [Problems of Life and Mind, 1874-9), and Bastian {T/ie Brain as an Organ of Mind, 18S0), one is even more disappointed. I fully appreciate their insistence upon the neural aspect of thought, with which their work began and ended ; but their positive results were most meagre, since they tried to establish a fictitious psychology by means of an admittedly fictitious neurology. The work of the psycho-physical school will be examined in sec. 8. What is the nature of the method which I have called unscientific and barren ? It may be illustrated as follows. Owing to a new departure in psychological thinking some fresh problem has arisen, say, the problem of effort. Men ask themselves accordingly what is effort, and in asking recall what seem relevant illustrations. These illustrations, being what is uppermost in thought, display some particular and striking characteristic, and men then turn over the old clothes of memory for proof. At the same time they more or less carefully note this or that particular case of living effort. Meanwhile (sec. 160) the suggested solution attracts as much what is favourable to itself as it prevents from developing what is unfavourable to the theory, while the situation is aggravated by the fact that the actual things observed are illegitimately suggested by the hypothesis. Thence follows some chance conclusion which, psychologically considered, appears firmly based. As against this method, I would advise the exhaustive study of a large variety of facts, with no anxiety — until we have proceeded far — to obtain conclusions. We vvould apply impartially such rules as shall eliminate any bias (sec. 136), and we would lay no lo METHOD stress on anything recollected unless it be something due to careful examination, and unless we have, by rule (sec. 136), exhausted all the relevant material to be found in the memory, the stores of which are useful for conduct, but not for eliciting truths. Such a method, I hold, is scientific, fruitful and well-based. Such a method, I claim, is the quintessence of the scientific method as applied in the physical sciences. Instruments and mathematical treatment may supplement it, but not displace it. These latter only give polish and precision to the great truths otherwise obtained. \Let the student observe that the mere neglect of metaphysics or theology will not assist him in the discovery of truth. '\ 2. — The Use of Hypotheses. In his Comparative Psychology, Lloyd Morgan tells the world that " Psychologists make, or should make, no claim to any monopoly of know- ledge in the subject they study ; their province is mainly to systematise that knowledge" (p. 44). Fortunately for us, this author's practice is not in accord with his theory, for his conception of focal and marginal conscious- ness forms a valuable contribution to psychology. Nevertheless there is incalculable mischief in his assertion, however hedged round. What would be thought of a physicist or an astronomer who mainly systematised knowledge without seeing that it was gathered at first hand by competent specialists or by himself, or who gave a locus standi to " the plain man of shrewd insight " ? The idea is monstrous. A psychology which mainly busied itself with systematising the conclusions of " those who are not pro- fessed psychologists " might as well relieve Sisyphus of his task. The one is as likely to be successful as the other. Underlying the statement I am criticising, there is an unpleasant truth. Unhappily, psychologists have been too anxious to systematise that which they had not previously examined. They leaned fatally to the opinion that truth could be sifted from popular notions as is sand by means of a sieve. The student must recognise once for all that if he is to be on the scientific plane he must make a claim on behalf of psychologists to a "monopoly of knowledge," and that he must not attempt to systematise what has not been procured through the application of scientific methods. It has been the bane of psychologists that they have tacitly assumed that facts of consciousness do not require to be collected with the disciplined care which other sciences employ. I have advisedly said "tacitly" assumed, because few men have spoken out boldly as Lloyd Morgan does. The mischief has lain in unthinkingly proceeding along the wrong path, in giving elaborate explanations of popular fictions, and in not deliberately recognising that in psychology, as in physics, unbridled speculation is criminal waste. It is always dangerous to make unqualified statements. Instead of con- demning speculation outright, it would be perhaps better to pronounce sentence against it when its excursions are not rigorously limited. Few can object wheti "speculation is but the play of the imagination along the fringe which borders our knowledge" (Lloyd Morgan, Comparative Psychology, 1894, p. 323). But then we must insist upon a reasonable interpretation which shall not make the fringe equal to the robe to which it INTROD UCTION 1 1 belongs. Speculation thus interpreted is not only innocent ; it is an impera- tive necessity. If men formed hypotheses about the things on the borders of knowledge, they would never go far astray, and often return laden with trophies. Let me, however, define this term. "By an hypothesis we understand an assertion which is employed as a principle of explanation, though its correctness is yet unproven " (Volkmann, Lehrhiich, 1894, i, p. T03). I should say, then, that accepting the above definition, hypotheses are legitimate when they apply to the fringe which borders our knowledge. In thus limiting their uses one seems not only to be cutting at the root of ordinary psychological speculation, but to be contradicting weighty authorities. According to Jevons, study without hypothesis is not scientific. ♦'The true course of inductive procedure is that which has yielded all the more lofty results of science. It consists in Anticipating A^ature, in the sense of forming hypotheses as to the laws which are probably in operation ; and then observing whether the combinations of phenomena are such as would follow from the laws supposed" {Principles of Science, 1877, p. 509), The fallacy underlying the preceding statement must be exposed. Where, the student should ask himself, do we find our hypotheses ? Do they come to us as divine intuitions ? Can we obtain them, or any new truth, by a course of abstract reasoning? Or is it not rather that we act on the basis of one observation, and note " whether the phenomena are such as would " be in accordance with that observation ? This must obviously be the case, for no compounding of zeros can force the gates of nothingness. If that be so, Jevons' statement implies that there are no hidden facts which are not amenable to casual and superficial observation. That, as we shall see, is an indefensible position. There is no guessing which can take us farther than the fringe W'hich borders our knowledge. We may set up the wildest theory, and yet it will be composed of what is known, its extravagance arguing no fresh knowledge. Take, for instance, a passage from Volkrnann, which well illustrates the length to which fanciful speculation or adaptation may go: "The presentational mass, which is helplessly sinking, meets with the freely-rising apperception mass, is gripped and firmly held by that, and placed before the ego as an object to ho. viewed" {Lehrbuch, 1895, ii) P- 206). This pretentious psychic mechanism to which we are here introduced is but a copy of material meclianisms, and the hypothesis underlying its use implies that analogy holds the key to the whole realm of the unknown, while the truth is that the master facts of a science are due to deliberate research. It is for this reason that one can scarcely detect a single sound brick in the elaborate Herbartian structure — unsophisticated observation of a scientific type has been scouted, and hypotheses were powerless to discover the new facts. If my interpretation be correct, the progress of science should bear me out,* as indeed it does. The serious study of fact is continually going hand in hand with tentative speculation " along the fringe which borders * See, however, Rigg, The Place of Hypothesis in Experimental Science, 1887. 12 METHOD our knowledge." Workers here and there wrest from nature trivial secrets. These secrets accumulate, and men now and then tentatively combine a few of them. As the store of knowledge assumes considerable proportions, so larger and larger generalisations are ventured upon in every direction. At last, when general statements of a far-reaching nature abound, men rightly venture to speculate as to the broadest generalisations possible. Already the chief notions are in the air ; already those engaged in the search feel that they are approaching a solution. After many minor attempts some one, a Newton or a Darwin, sometimes comes to the front and completes the structure. As knowledge progresses, new speculations and observations " along the fringe which borders our knowledge " are readily suggested and easily verified. No stupid guess is possible to the tnan icho has ascertained facts to go upon ; and when he goes astray, the clashing of his theory ivith his existing store soon brings him back to the right path. Progress, though slow, is hence certain and reliable when men shun the use of large hypotheses. In the absence of well-ascertained facts, everything is changed. A guess, under these conditions, has no inherent plausibility, and what is as bad, any attempt at verification in an unexplored realm can only end in failure either acknowledged, or, as is more usual, disguised. Our intellectual sense of equilibration forsakes us when it has no general facts to assist it. Thus large hypotheses in neurology are not only worth- less, but vicious, because it is only by the accumulation of facts and generalisations that solutions of neural difficulties can be reached, at all. Sciences cannot be, and never have been, guessed at. Jevons' mistake was a plausible one. In the physical sciences so huge a body of organised observations has been accumulated that the guesses of men of learning are at once permissible and easily verified. Where, on the other hand, as in psychology, the stock of genuine observations is infiinitesimal, these guesses will be unreasonable, and their verification will consist of an immensely protracted process, equal to the building up of the science itself. Indeed, Jevons supplies his own antidote. He says of the alchemists, of whom Newton was one, that " Many of them were men of the greatest acuteness, and their indefatigable labours were pursued through many centuries. A few things were discovered by them, but a true insight into nature now enables chemists to discover more useful facts in a year than were yielded by the alchemists during many centuries " {ibid, p. 505). The alchemists, like many present-day psychologists, indulged in large hypotheses, and large hypotheses are useless, are itnpedimefita in more senses than one. I, therefore, side with Bacon (d. 1626) Who says: "The subtilty of nature is far beyond that of sense or of the understanding : so that the specious meditations, speculations, and theories of mankind are but a kind of insanity, only there is no one to stand by and observe it" {Novum Organum, ed. 1893, bk. i, x) ; and who draws this admirably prophetic picture of some modern thinkers : " When any one prepares himself for discovery, he first inquires and obtains a full account of all that has INTRODUCTION 13 been said on the subject by others, then adds his own reflections, and stirs up, and, as it were, invokes his own spirit, after much mental labour, to disclose its oracles. All which is a method without foundation and merely turns on opinion " {ibid^ bk. i, Ixxxii). Bacon has been roundly attacked for his views, which are all too sound. Even Newton has not escaped chastisement. His celebrated pronouncements against hypotheses are discounted on the assumption that he himself gained his great successes by their means. The censure on him is wholly inapplicable, for his great generalisation was no more self-evolved than that of Darwin. No man of his attainments could have been far wrong in his surmises, and the accumu- lations of organised knowledge were so extensive that verification was within easy reach. Newton focussed the learning of his time. When he goes beyond that, as in his conjectures concerning general stellar problems, he is only a wordy theologian. Hence, regarding the term hypothesis as implying a supposition which is not preceded by exact study, we can heartily agree with Newton's strong and unmistakable language. "What- ever is not deduced from the phenomena, is to be called an hypothesis ; and hypotheses, whether metaphysical or physical, whether of occult qualities or mechanical, have no place in experimental philosophy. In this philosophy particular propositions are inferred from the phenomena, and afterwards rendered general by induction " {Mathematical Principles, trans, by A. Motte, 1729, ii, p. 392). Compare this hesitancy with the impatience of a modern writer : " Give us theories, theories, always theories!" (Baldwin, Mental Development, 1895, p. 38); or compare it with the speculative deductions of the learned Whewell : "... an Art of Discovery is not possible. At each step of the progress of science, are needed invention, sagacity, genius — elements which no Art can give. We may hope in vain, as Bacon hoped, for an organ which shall enable all men to construct scientific truths, as a pair of compasses enables all men to construct exact circles" {Philosophy of -the Inductive Sciences, 1847, p. viii. See also his Novum Organon Renovatum, 1858). The essential thing for the student to remember is that the chief facts of every science are only obtainable by the close observer after laborious research.* Let me give one illustration. What are dreams ? Seeming to resemble the waking imagination, we forthwith guess that they are the result of vivid imaginings. Quantities of books had been written on the subject, based on speculation and occasional observation. Yet proper light only began to be thrown on the problems of dream-life when men methodically and for a considerable period observed their own dream-states. Excepting such contributions as those of Giessler and Schwartzkopff, most of the books are almost superfluous. Let me now state the dream facts as they appear to me (ch. 10). (i) The muscular and sensory tones are lowered, and the position of the various parts of the body is unknown (sec. 19, ist and 2nd conclusion). (2) The characteristic pictures spring usually out of the * Men are sometimes said to stumble upon important discoveries. In such c:ises it is the preparedness of the discoverer which accounts for the discovery. 14 METHOD dark or closed-eye field of vision, and are not imaginings at all. (3) Most of the dreams are initiated and maintained from without, resembling waking life and not waking imagination. (4) The amount of possible effort is largely reduced, whence follows confused thinking, (5) impossi- bility of strenuous thought, (6) inappropriate recollection, (7) a strong tendency for appetites, expectations, doubts, hopes and fears to actualise themselves, (8) the continual creation of a setting to each picture, giving it an air of reality, and (9) the fact that the happenings are compounded out of most recent events and those immediately passed. Thus points (2) and (3) argue afferent or outer influences, and the other points follow from the lack of strenuousness. Now, by what rational calculus could one have jumped from imaginative seeing to the retinal pictures which are plainly due, in part at least, to new circumstances. And, suppose we had not previously ascertained the fact, how could we have discovered the arbitrary creation of settings to the dream-pictures ? The two essential facts of dream-life are afferent, or outward, influences and a drop in strenuousness. Yet the waking imagination has nothing to do with either of those factors : it tends away from outer impressions and implies considerable force of thought. Where, we may ask accordingly, lies the difference between the methods of ancient philosophy and those of current psychology ? And who would ever confound scientific with philosophic procedure ? The traditional philosophic method is as barren as the syllogism which it has produced. It may, therefore, be laid down for the student's guidance that scientific progress depends on gaining new classes of facts, that such can only be acquired by painfully close and methodical observation in the first instance, and that they are not obtainable by employing hypotheses which go beyond well-ascertained facts and established generalisations. As Tyndall puts it : " The thing to be encouraged here is a reverent freedom — a freedom preceded by the hard discipline which checks licentiousness in speculation" [Scie7itific Use of the Imagi?iatio)i, 1872, p. ^l)- Adam, L Imagination dans la D^converte Scientifiquey 1890 ; Boirac, La Mi'thode ExperimentaU, 1898 ; Naville, De la Place de P Hypothhe dans la Science, 1876 ; Naville, Les Conditions des Hypotheses S^rieuses, 1877 ; Naville, Les Principes Directeurs des Hypotheses, 1877 ; and Venn, The Use of Hypotheses, 1878. 3. — Approaches to the Study of Psychology. To understand the human frame, we require to know its constitution to the minutest part, together with its reactions when stimulated : a micro- scope and a dissecting knife, with a battery, might be an adequate equipment for this task. As matters stand, these tools are found to be inadequate, and secondary means are, therefore, resorted to in addition. We study the development of the embryo, animal characteristics, evolutionary traits, and cases of disease or malformation. We also stain the tissues with pre- parations which affect only certain parts; we cut nerve bundles, as we might cut strings, and notice which of the nerves degenerate as a consequence ; and we experimentally alter or remove structures or parts of structures. INTRODUCTION 15 With no understanding, or next to none, of actual structure, the secondary means would be of less than doubtful value. Vague and diffuse observations would of necessity be followed by vague and diffuse conclusions. So with psychology. In the absence of a power of self-observation, advance would be barred, for secondary means can only be helpful when the primary approach is not virtually closed. If a direct approach be im- practicable, we shall be compelled to rest satisfied with vague hints. Yet, taking a broad view, our aim is to ascertain the whole edifice of thought by experimentally looking within, or, as it is called, by introspection. Not until this approach is found to be demonstrably inaccessible like the centre of the earth is now, may we think of applying other methods. Most thinkers have, however, despaired of obtaining a satisfactory peep into the thought jungle, and have consequently advocated secondary means of attaining their object. One of these means which Herbart eloquently advocated, the use of hypotheses, I have already examined and rejected. The others areas follows: retrospection ; the comparative study of child7-en, races, animals^ criminals, the insane, hypnotised and diseased persons ; as well as the examina- tioji of products such as facial expressions, monuments or hooks. As I believe that introspection is eminently practicable, I consider the other means to be of secondary importance, and shall refer to them only incidentally, if at all. 4. — Introspection. The difficulties of introspection were insisted on at an early date by Hume : " It is remarkable concerning the operations of the mind, that, though most intimately present to us, yet, whenever they become the object of reflection, they seem involved in obscurity ; nor can the eye readily find, those lines and boundaries, which discriminate and distinguish them. The objects are too fine to remain long in the same aspect or situation ; and must be apprehended in an instant, by a superior penetration, derived from nature, and improved by habit and reflection" {Inquiry, 1747, sec. i. See also Hume's Introduction to his Treatise on Hutnan Nature). If the objects " must be apprehended in an instant," reasonable observation is out of the question ; but we are convinced that absence of adequate introspective training accounted for Hume's opinion. To one hypothesis we owe almost the entire neglect of introspection. Auguste Comte (d. 1857) maintained that "the affective functions, and yet more the intellectual, exhibit .... this particular characteristic, that they cannot be observed during their operation, but only in their results" {Positive Philosophy, 1875, tr., i, p. 382). This belief, never thoroughly tested, pervades most criticism. Herbart* {Psychologie, i, p. 206), says: *'Do you intend to observe yourself passively, so as to clearly perceive what is *For accounts of Herbart and Herbaitians, see Stout, The Hcrbartian Psychology, 1S88; Stout, Herbart compared with the English Psychologists, 1889; Stout, Herbart'' s Disciples, 18S9 ; Ward, article " Herbart," in Enc. Brit., 1886 ; Ribot, La Psychologie di Plerbart, 1876. See also my account of Herbart in sec. 80. i6 METHOD proceeding within? Only the sooner will everything that was to be seen, become dark, and very soon the spectator will only face himself and his own attitude." Again, in his Lehrbuch, 1816, p. 56, he says : "That which we are specially anxious to observe within ourselves, becomes confused during the inspection." If Herbart be correct, then self-observation be- comes useless ; but here, too, we see that the existence of an indivisible ego is implied, for why otherwise should not one state be able to exist alongside of another state. Herbart's disciple, Volkmann,* takes sides with equal boldness. Introspection " pre-supposes a breaking-up of the observer in a subjective portion which observes and an objective portion which is observed. . . . Outside its range fall all those phenomena which, like passion, arduous thinking, . . . and attention, pre-suppose the undivided concentration and devotion of the whole process of presentation " (Volk- niann, Lehrbiuh, 1894, i, p. 41). And again, "the effort of the observer appreciably alters the object to be observed . . . The more seriously we wish to observe ourselves, the less do we find to observe" {ibid, p. 42). Thus Waitz {Fsychologie, 1849, P- ^13)^ another Herbartian : "The keenest self-inspection reveals only what is past." So Nahlowsky {Das Gefilhlskben, 1862, p. 6), still another Herbartian: "As long as one is subject to a certain feeling, it is impossible to attend to it ; v/e become ac- quainted with it only through memory." Thus Brentano, Fsychologie, 1874, pp. 35-6 : "Objects which, as the saying is, are perceived without us are amenable to observation. . . . To objects which are perceived within us this procedure is totally inapplicable." In a similar vein Wundt (Grimdriss, 1896, p. 25) says that "the intention of observing, which must exist in all exact observation, materially affects . . . psychic processes." Why, in the nature of things, this should be, he leaves unexplained. Kant {Anthropo- logic, 1800, p. x), who, like Herbart {Psychologic, i, p. 233, and other places), confounds self-observation with morbid self-consciousness, writes : " The man who desires to explore his inner life puts himself in a critical condition, especially where the feelings are concerned, i.e., when his impulses are in action, he cannot observe himself, and when he observes himself, his impulses are at rest." Ebbinghaus {Psychologic, 1897, i, p. 57) tells us that self-observation "cannot clearly and objectively apprehend the things towards which it is directed ; it unavoidably displaces and falsifies them." Tool {Lehrbuch, 1896, p. 10) says that his remarks do not imply "the im- possibility of introspection, but only a difficulty, now more, now less, prominent in certain cases." Thus Heinrich, Die moderne Psychologic, 1899, p. 97: "In self-inspection we can only note that which, on the ground of a hypothesis, we wish to observe ; for introspection is made possible only by the reproduction of the phenomenon ; and in reproducing we are always determined by a settled^opinion." Maudsley, who cannot be suspected of possessing metaphysical bias, also reasons against introspection. "To direct consciousness inwardly to *Fcr an account of Vo'ikmann, see Whitlaker, Volkmann^s Psycliology, 1890. INTRODUCTION ij the observation of a particular state of mind is to isolate that activity for the time, to cut it off from its relations, and, therefore, to render it unnatural. In order to observe its own action, it is necessary that the mind pause from activity ; and yet it is the train of activity that is to be observed. So long as you cannot effect the pause necessary for self-contemplation, there cannot be a sufficient observation of the current of activity ; if the pause is effected, then there can be nothing to observe ; there would be no consciousness, for consciousness is awakened by the transition from one physical or mental state to another" {Physiology of Mind, 1876, p. 17). To which we reply that the dilemma does not exist for the skilled observer. Hamilton is unambiguous. " Before we can observe a modification, it is already altered ; nay, the very intention of observing it, suffices for the change. It hence results that the phenomenon can only be studied through its remini- scence" {Metaphysics, 1877, i, p. 379). Ward is equally unfriendly, as is Stout. The former speaks of " . . . . the very obvious fact that our powers of attention are limited, so that we cannot alter the distribution of attention at any moment without altering the contents of consciousness at that moment," implying, as I understand him, that each observation occupies the whole field of attention or that the connection between what co-exists is organic {Psychology, 1886, p. 37). The latter says : " It has been maintained that all so-called introspection is in reality retrospective. On this view, the modifications of our conscious- ness vanish on being noticed, so that we do not apprehend them until they are past. We shall see later on that there is sufficient justification for this doctrine " {Analytic Psychology, 1 896, i, p. 1 3). The remaining EngHsh psychologists whom I shall quote, write in a similar strain. Sully says : "The very directness of the inspection gives rise to special difficulties. For all accurate and scientific observation requires a certain aloofness of mind and absence of all but a purely scientific interest in what is observed. When, however, we are called on to observe our own mental states we cannot put ourselves into this cool scrutinising attitude. The same person whose mind is agitated by a passion is required to dispassionately inspect its characteristics. Thus in the very process of observing we necessarily change the phenomena to be observed" {Human Mind, 1892, i, p. 16. See also his Illusions of Introspection, 1881, pp. 11 -8). John Stuart Mill, as usual, is non-committal, saying that at all events retrospection is possible {Auguste Comte and Positivism, 1865, p. 64). Lloyd Morgan is also a hostile witness: " Directly we begin to examine and measure any part of the margin, it thereby ceases to be marginal and becomes focal" {Comparative Psychology, 1894, p. 19). "We cannot examine the physical wave as it passes ; we can only endeavour to focus it, or its constituent parts, in the mental vision, as it was when it was passing" (p. 20). Again, "Introspec- tion always deals with past experience. . . . Introspection is thus always retrospection" {Psychology' for Teachers, 1894, pp. 83-4). Turning to America, opinion is also almost unanimous against intro- 2 i8 METHOD spection. James, in his characteristic style, says with regard to thoughts and feelings: "Whilst alive they are their own property; it is ox\\y post- mortem that they become his [the psychologist's] prey" {Psychology, 1890, i, p. 189). And Baldwin: "All our mental states are rendered more intense by the attention : consequently as soon as the state observed conies within the range of fruitful observation, it is changed, both in its own integrity and in its relative importance in the mental life" {Serises and Intellect, 1890, p. 10). So Titchener : "Direct introspection — observation of a process which is still running its course — is, as a matter of fact, en- tirely worthless ; it defeats its own object" {Ati Otitlifie of Psychology, 1896, P- 33)- Egger, in a dissertation on internal speech, pronounces against intro- spection and for retrospection. " Instead of observing directly our present condition," he says, "let us interrogate our memory" {La Parole Interiein-e, 1881, p. 79). Paulhan {La Perception Interne et la Psychologic, 1888) sails round the subject, enlarging upon the possibilities of error. Ribot {Psychology of the Emotions, 1897) speaks of introspection, "always an uncertain guide which leads us but a little way " (p. vi). The army of the faithful is very small. Lewes {The Study of Psycholo^, 1879) seems to support the possibility of introspection unconditionally. Ladd and Miinsterberg are, generally speaking, favourable. The former sensibly remarks that " the risks, limitations, possibilities, and proper uses of introspection in psychology can only be made known in connection with the development of the science itself" {Psychologv, 1894, p. 15), while the latter rightly urges that talent, training and appropriate know- ledge are requisite {Ueber Aufgaben, 1891). Yet, however, in another place Miinsterberg writes: "To direct the attention, or the will, to our volitions, would mean the possession of a doubled self-consciousness, and is, therefore, a complete inner contradiction. Psychological analysis is, in consequence, restricted to the memory pictures of inner processes " {Die Willenshandhing, 1888, p. 57). Lipps {Grundtatsachen, 18S3, pp. lo-i) rebuts the attacks on self-inspection in a general way. Beneke holds views as strong as mine, though one cannot detect any attempt at realising those views : "As for the objection that self-observation is impossible, it can be made only by those who have never seriously set themselves the task" {Neue Psychologie, 1845, p. 15. See also the preface to Beneke's Lehrhich, 1845). So Robertson {Elements of Psychology, 1896, p. 14) says : "Without making light of the difficulties attending introspection, we may therefore rest satisfied that there is no reason why it should not, when properly conducted, lead to results of a purely scientific character." But this is a mere theoretical plea. Similarly Bailey {Letters, 1855-63), especially in his Third Series, pp. 1-13, argues in favour of introspection as against Comte. No application, however, is made by Bailey of the introspective method. We have heard the witnesses for and against. Almost without exception, the testimony, directly or by implication, against introspection is crushing. I NT ROD UCTION 19 My reply is as follows : retrospection is, of necessity, introspection, and if, therefore, introspection be impossible, our minds are absolute bianks* All that can be said in favour of the former is that memories are; less vivid (Miinsterberg, Ueber Attfgaben, 189 1, p. 171). On the other hand we must note that memory is but a poor copy, most of the details disappearing, and the very faintness being as often as not an obstacle to observation. Observe yourself, for instance, when you are being surprised, and compare your notes with those gained from a previous recollection of a state of surprise : the difference is that between poverty and wealth, while, at the same time, prejudice is more likely to alter what is faint than what is vivid. Psycho- logists speak of obtaining furtive glances; but if we reflect that only sustained and close observation is ever of use, we shall learn that these glances have no scientific value. Let us now meet the chief charge by an illustration. Listening to a light conversation, I, at the same time, study the cover of an art journal and also tap the table ; but, on another occasion, when I attend to a difficult argu- ment, all my activity is absorbed in the one task of comprehending what is put forward. Attention, then, need not be directed to one object alone. Indeed, as we shall see in ch. 2, normal attention represents a stable quantity, and in proportion as an object requires less than that quantity, so ■we attend in two or more directions. To the attention it is indifferent whether we attend to five separate objects or to one. Hence, as we become absorbed in one direction, all other things fade — we hear nothing, we see nothing, we feel nothing, we think of nothing but what we are absorbed in. Suppose now that I am looking at the reading lamp before me. As my ■ft-hole attention is not required to perform the feat, I can still hear the fowls running to be fed. Now it does not matter to the attention, as such, what I do as long as I do not leave it unoccupied. Further, the mere shifting, as such, of one portion of the contents does not necessarily interfere with the other portions. I can be attending to one object con- tinuously while changing the other contents. The various loirelated objects of thought, to all intents and purposes, are like so many logs of wood lying at a distance from one another a?id removable separately. Only one condition must any second object of thought fulfil, it must not make such a call on our attention as shall interfere with the first object of thought. Let us apply this. To attend to a trend of thought or action is possible in so far as the second trend of thought does not, owing to its volume, affect the first one. Since, then, attending to the object of our attention, with those who are trained, requires the veriest trifle of exertion, it follows that the artificial objections against introspection fall. There is scarcely a passion so wild, or a dream so subtle, that a trained psychologist cannot collectedly turn round and with freedom inspect the related process. This is not the place to go into fine details. The student, who takes his * " A mental state that is past is a mental state no longer, and to be unable to know it as present until it is past is to be unable to know it until it is non-existent and is as such beyond being known at all" (Hodder, T/ie Adve7-saries of the Sceptic, 1901, p. 41). 20 METHOD study seriously, and who knows that without effort nothing worthy is achieved, will persist, according to instructions, until he can walk about the thought smithy as self-possessed as the physicist in his laboratory. Great authorities who, like great mountains, echo each other, must not impose upon him. He must test, and not slavishly obey. In view of Wundt's criticism {Selbstbeohachtims; iindinnere Wahmehviung, i887)of Vol- kelt, it will be well to fix the meaning of the term Observation. For instance, a speech repeated by the phonograph in my hearing, while I was absorbed in thinking out some problem, never existed for me, that is to say, if I had a perfect memory and deliVierately recol- lected the period during which the instrument was at work, I should not be able to recollect the speech. Again, the speech repeated by the phonograph in my hearing, while I was not otherwise engaged, did exist for me. A perfect memory would prove that. However, lacking an unexceptionable memory, I may have forgotten what I heard. In the latter case the final effects of hearing and not hearing are equally negative, though there was observation of the speech in one instance and not in the other. If we add, then, to the ordinary observant state an implicit desire to remember what is observed, and set the phonograph at work again, the effect will be that I not only heard a speech, but that I also am pretty certain to remember it. The presence of the implicit desire, however, gives rise to no important modification, i.e., if a perfect memory reproduced both sets of observations, the differences would be insignificant. Accordingly, scientific observation always looks beyond the moment, and carries with it, therefore, the implicit desire spoken of. Now what is true of observation holds of introspection. I may observe comparatively little ; I may observe much and forget it almost instantly ; or I may observe as well as remember, because there is an implicit desire to do so. Hence both in outer and inner observation the implicit desire to remember is essential for scientific purposes. To deny that we discriminate is to assert that nothing exists. If, then, discrimination be a fact, it becomes a question whether the implicit desire to remember introduces a fatal factor in introspection. My contention is that it does not ; and that a perfect memory would reveal nothing appreciably different from what is actually disclosed. There is only one danger we must guard against. When we attend to a slightly discriminated state, say to what lies in the margin of vision, we must not assume an attitude which would transform it into a highly discriminated state, as by focussing an object. We must remain unbiassed spectators, a thing not at all impossible. Indeed, the slightly discriminated state may be produced experimentally just as much as the opposite state. Our conclusion, then, is that while discrimination, inner and outer, varies, the implicit desire to remember what has been discriminated, or to observe what is being discriminated, introduces no disturbing, factor in the case of a skilled observer. * 5. — Practical Psychology. In the physical sciences it is considered essential that a student should be experimentally trained. One who only knows chemistry from books, or even from observing demonstrations, is not regarded as seriously acquainted with it ; and one who is ignorant of practice is generally not considered as trained in that subject. What we have just said concerning the physical sciences must in the future hold of psychology. A student not trained in psychologising or in performing introspective experiments, is a superficial amateur. The method-in-chief which the psychologist has to employ is that of in- trospection. The student must, therefore, practise that art until he has fairly * See Volkelt, Psychologische Sireitfragen, 1886, pp. 8 ff. Volkelt's theory is that self- observation consists in involuntarily consulting the_memory contents {ibid, p. 12). INTRO D UCTION 2 1 mastered it. Ordinary scientific observation is unquestionably beyond the uninitiated.* This is also true of self-observation. At first we must expect the student to be helpless and inefficient. Only with time and practice will his ability to grapple effectually with psychic facts assume any considerable proportions. Like every discipline, psychology has its own difficulties which the student must overcome. Failure at first should no more discourage or dishearten him than the corresponding failure to ride a bicycle easily and gracefully when mounting one for the first time. He must judiciously practise until the so-called impossibilities, of which we heard so much in the last section, become commonplace realities. " Be normal " in your psychologising, is the supreme rule. To show nervousness, to become excited, to be full of anxiety, to wonder, to doubt, to desire, are states which the student must ignore. Ordinary attentioti is liable to these very freaks, and passes beyond them by dint of intelligent practice. Average individuals go about their affairs without becoming morbidly self- conscious and agitated. In a similar manner, agitation in self-observation argues the apprentice eye. We must become accustomed to turn inwards with as little ado as when turning outwards. Let us leave generalities. As I am writing at the present moment I do not, as far as the writing is concerned, in the slightest measure feel excited or confused. If I shut my eyes, as I have done just now, the writing ought to proceed with no more transformation in the process than is implied in the absence of sight. Any excitement or change in the attention is of the evil one, and the most delicate instrument should scarcely record any modifica- tion. Mechanically the eyes are closed, and mechanically we proceed. After some practice it should be difficult to tell which out of a number of short hnes were written with e3'es closed or eyes open.f On the intel- lectual side, too, the severest scrutiny should reveal only serene peacefulness. \Repeat this experi?fient a niwiber of titnes, and record results^ Thus with walking. At any convenient moment I shut my eyes and walk along as if they were open. My thoughts also keep unchanged, and there is altogether no alteration except as regards the absence of sight and its results. Should I be self-conscious and find normal thought difficult, or should I detect that I am different, it would be a proof that my experiment has been a failure and that I require further practice. \Test experimentally?^ Thus with eyes open, after due exercise, I attend to what can be observed as regards the process of walking : how I lift the legs, how I put them down, and the sensations connected with these acts. If I am thoroughly trained, there will be no normal feelings suppressed or added to, and there will only be noted what a perfect memory of the normal process would redevelop. * "Observation is not, like perception and sensation, sometliing that comes to man of itself; witness the fact that there are countless numbers who never reach the point of observing the phenomona of outer existence" (Beneke, Die neue Psychologic, 1845, P- 15)- t Bain {Senses and Intellect, 1894, p. 348) incautiously observes: "When we make our signature without seeing it, the execution is very faulty." \_Test this.'\ 22 METHOD All accounts which disagree with this, stamp the narrator as a beginner, for development or suppression of ideas should be entirely in our power. Having several times observed myself walking, and having written down the observations, I repeat the experiments with eyes shut. The closing of the eyelids, experiment has taught us, makes no difference. Walking for about ten yards in a perfectly normal frame of mind, I learn that my walk is not in the straight line which marks open-eyed walking. Attending to the reasons, with eyes closed, I find further confirmation of the same fact. How often, indeed, do we not talk in the most natural manner to our neighbour, while all the time observing the effect of our speech, or attending in addition to something else. Irrelevant modifications condemn the observer at once. \Observe yourself while ivalking tviih eyes closed ; try and practise varied distances, directions, speeds, obstacles, etc.^ When we first attend to a habitual action there is a tendency to con- fusion. Thus, when I first attempted to do so deliberately — being under the influence of the current psychology — I felt convinced that it was im- possible. Practice, however, soon disclosed the fact that nothing was easier. The student should be able to observe any habit of his to the minutest detail without interfering with the habitual action itself There must be no change or confusion, and there need not be. With many habits it is easy to test whether attention thereto perceptibly interferes with the process. At all events, while at the beginning there is hopeless chaos, at the end the practised intellect detects no change. Some games illustrate this gemmation of the attention. Try to tap the table with one hand while stroking it continuously witli the other, and do the first more quickly than the second. Or perform the experiment so that the chest shall take the place of the table. [J^epeat.] In these instances, a little practice will demonstrate that what could at first not be done at all, can be done later on with ease. Redistribution of the attention over a limited area is alone necessary in self-observation, and can become as easy of accomplishment in the one case as in the other. A favourite illustration of the drawbacks of introspection is that passion excludes calm self-observation ; that, in short, you are either in a passion or you observe. Strange to say, the truth seems to lie in the opposite direction, for a passion is never a momentary fact, and is, by its nature, far-reaching in its bodily effects, while it hardly ever has complete hold on us. Since self-observation requires but a modicum of attenticjn, there is nothing easier than to observe oneself when excited. For example, walking through the fields, it happens that I am startled by a covey of partridges suddenly rising within a few feet of me. Forewarned, I in- stantly pull out my ready note book and write down the various changes I undergo from the very beginning till the subsidence of the upheaval. Since I cannot write as quickly as I observe, it only requires repetitions of the exciting occurrence to embrace its many aspects. Again, for functional or other reasons, I feel in a boorish mood. There is nothing easier in this case than to sit for hours together, if one wished, writing down the exact INTRODUCTION 23 condition one is in. Thus, however annoyed I am, I find no difficulty in analysing my condition. Wherever self-observation cannot reach, there analogy at once fills in the outlines. It would be tedious to pile up ex- amples where verification is readily accessible. \Exanmie, making use of 7wte book, cases of surprise, mood and passion^ Introspection must never, unless deliberately required, change the relevant state of thought. I say advisedly "relevant," because some re- distribution must take place. Usually it will be sufficietit, if our attention^ say, to a mood, excludes the ordinary ftoises we should otherwise be aware of There is not a spark of truth in the statement that there is such a thing as " a state of mind " in the sense of an indivisible whole which constitutes the field of thought at any one time. We might as legitimately speak of "a state of Europe," meaning thereby that when some one in London has the toothache, every one everywhere else in Europe is profoundly modified in his whole being. The residual illicit effects of introspection, as of observa- tion, may be ignored without any danger. "Be normal," is one rule of self-inspection ; "Be minutely observant," is another. Not only should we insist that the observer shall not interfere with the observed state ; but it is also necessary that he shall train himself to observe the veriest trifles. He should give ever fuller and more accurate accounts of what he sees in thought land. Much of what is called introspection is merely conscientious observation. It is the power of discovering all sides of a subject and unearthing what is hidden instead of heap- ing up instances to support stray notions. Not the difficulties of introspection, but the absence of method is responsible for psychological vagaries. Indeed, the distinction be- tween introspection and observation is not scietitific, for the worlds of mind and ??iatter are one in the final analysis. (Ch. 8.) 6. — Detail and General Fact. In sec. 2 we condemned the free use of hypotheses, and we insisted upon an exhaustive study of detail. Yet a very little reflection shows that details may be collected ad i?ifi?iitum, without furthering a science. It is easy to imagine a novelist making a life-study of Drink. He draws, per- haps, most harrowing or most amusing pictures. He gives us many situations and scores of divergent characters. One man is made generous by drink, another mean ; one persists in giggling, another becomes morose ; one is loquacious, another taciturn ; one is made sleepy, another lively. The observable situations are also inexhaustible, and innumerable are the note books which one observer could fill with his observations of the con- crete consequences of drink. There is, perhaps, no crime under the sun which is not chargeable to it, and himdreds of thousands of homes have been turned by it into so many hells. Yet any conceivable array of books treating of these concrete facts leave the scientific observer as such unin- terested. He wants something else. Particular facts, in science, are a means to an end. It is only be- cause they help us to arrive at general facts, or simplified statements, as 24 METHOD Mach would say, that they are of importance, science being the shorthand of knowledge. Hence a collector is not necessarily a man of science, though a man of science is, of necessity, a collector. A student, then, who is a close observer and nothing else, is not on the scientific plane at all. His observation must serve a purpose. He must collect with some end in view, with the notion of attaining to, or helping others to attain to, general facts — facts which widely hold. Let us again examine our typical drink problem. I wish to under- stand the nature of drunkenness. Preliminary to any generalisation what- ever, I examine a number of instances, ignoring the general memory contents. In each case I pass by what is plainly incidental, and note what repeats itself under varying circumstances. I want as many facts as possible, so that any generalisations I venture on are quickly verified or checked. I also demand many diverging instances, so as to determine by an after- appeal to memory what is special and general. One evening — it is a bank holiday — I am returning to town by rail. \Observe some such case^ Opposite me sits a middle-aged man who is the worse for drink. As he holds the glass, his hand shakes ; so his other hand trembles as he pours out some of the liquor. He puts down the glass in a position which allows it to tumble over at the first jolting of the train. He does not recollect where he placed the bottle a minute previous, nor who has the glass. I am aiming in this typical example at general facts, at general ante- cedents. So, with exact details to help me, I begin. His hand shakes. Is he unsteady on his legs ? Can he carry his body or his head properly ? Is there any portion of his body which shows steadiness ? I now draw up the tentative statement that every one of his movements lacks firmness. " What is the reason of it ? " I ask, looking at the disgraceful scene. I decide that his muscles are affected owing to an abnormal state of the nerves. Reasoning must, in this wise, proceed from step to step in a graduated fashion. Naturally I first referred to the body and its parts. Having settled that portion of the whole man, I make another move. "How does drink affect his reasoning, his judgment, his vision, his sensibility, his memory, his powers of attention, his discrimination ? " The progress from one part of the body to every one of its parts ; from thence to one part of thought and then to every other, should be a fixed custom. At every stage the student should have general rules for his guidance. What, then, is the conclusion as to his brain ? It is that, as in the body, there is a tendency towards fitfulness and prostration. And have the peculiar physical and neural states a common factor which shall account for their likeness ? Most probably ; the nervous system being generally affected, brain as well as body suffer throughout and equally so. The last query should, of course, also rise mechanically on all appropriate occasions. But what seems true of this person now, would it be generally true of him? And what holds good of him, does it hold good of every one without exception ? And do only drunkards behave like that ? And what is the precise point of drunkenness where such behaviour ensues ? And what INTRO D UCTION 2 5 is the particular process by which intoxicants produce the result ? And what practical conclusions can we draw ? Every one of these queries should arise unerringly, and does so arise with the trained thinker. The method of eliciting general facts must not be left to chance suggestions. We see now that while duly appreciating an intimate acquaintance with details, our aim nevertheless lies beyond them. Without abundant details we should blunder repeatedly. Suppose I know a drunken person. Every few steps he takes he makes a little jump ; aware of his condition he wisely refrains from speaking ; and occasionally he bursts into a towering passion. The little jumps, the taciturnity and the wildness, would never suggest that the whole of the nervous system is in a quite abnormal state. The longer I study such an instance by itself, the further I stray from the truth. A large quantity of varied detail is, therefore, an essential as a preliminary to reasonable generalisation. Again, the conclusions we de- liberately arrive at are, in their nature, different from those of the market place. As in the first inquiry we had comprehensiveness exclusively in view; so here we aim directly at definite generalisation. Amusement, interest, prejudice, are naturally absent. We do not hazard reckless may- be's, which we do not take the trouble to verify ; but we think of what is reasonable, and rigorously verify our conclusions. In this light the work done by the current psychology, still leaving aside the experimental school, resembles to some extent scientific procedure, as the crow with its few peacock feathers attached resembled a peacock. So blinded are we by an old tradition that we do not see the gulf which as yet separates psychology from the established sciences. The method above described precludes " licentiousness in speculation," though it allows of " a reverent freedom." Such problems as the psychology of V/estern nations, the psychology of war, or the psychology of a certain man's character whom we for the first time meet, we shall of necessity pass by as being for the moment beyond us. Only that which requires limited attention can repay study. When the majority of elementary notions have been ascertained, we can, with boldness, as in physics, proceed to unravel larger and larger issues. Arrived at the stage when physchological material abounds, we may freely venture to put on the seven-league boots of specu- lation. At every point then happy guessing will be possible, and verifica- tion easy. Until that time sails into sight, we must pay almost superstitious homage to minute details and cautious generalisation. 7. — Systematic Observation. We have seen that hypotheses or general speculation are of little use in a new science. We have learnt that introspection, normal and minutely observant, is the avenue by which to approach our subject. Lastly, we have tried to weigh the value of details. We shall now urge that useful observation must be systematic, or pursued according to a defined plan. Sir Michael Foster's Physiology is a splendid illustration of the rigorous application of deliberate method. Take, for instance, the question of 26 METHOD cutaneous sensations or feelings. An average individual, and also an average psychologist, accepts the popular conclusions as to touch, pain, and temperature feelings. He then aimlessly speculates concerning them. If he, perchance, as an act of supererogation, makes half-a-dozen special observations, and performs an experiment or two, he thinks he is worthy of admiration. Let us compare such a method with that referred to in Foster. By systematic observation every part of the bodily surface is explored, and that most thoroughly. In this fashion differences of sensibility of various parts to touch, say, are determined. The observa- tions are repeated on the same individual and on others, and nothing is set down as generally true to which there attaches the faintest suspicion. Anxiously the slightest hint is watched which shall throw more light or which shall qualify the observations made. The examination is then con- ducted under new circumstances. Perhaps a part is diseased or insensible, and we note the differences. We also systematically increase or decrease the pressure. Then we experiment with a view to seeing whether direct contact with the nerves which convey skin or cutaneous feelings to the brain, yields the same results. As such contact gives rise to pain, and not to feelings of touch, we ask to what factors the different effects are due. Then we separate feelings of touch from feelings of pressure, temperature and pain. We, therefore, start a fresh series of systematic observations, more prolonged than the first series. In each instance every point of the skin is carefully and repeatedly tested, and the results are again put to the test as in the case of touch. We thus determine variations of different classes of sensibility, in the same individual under different circumstances, and in different individuals. We find that different parts of the body are much less affected than others by irritation ; that touch alone is felt in some parts ; that some " spots " are sensitive to cold alone, and others only to heat ; that under certain conditions we may be sensitive to cold and not to heat, and vice versa ; that, in short, feelings of touchy pressure, heat and cold, and even sub-classes of these, may be observed independently. (Foster, Fhysiolog}', part 3, 1897, ch. 2, sec. 9.) In the above we have judgment entered in our favour, and directed against current psychological methods. Here is systematic and close observation, and cautious progress towards large generalisations. No proud hypothesis is postulated ; but the careful investigation proceeds from step to step. Most of the results thus achieved, revealing as they do what is inaccessible to passing observation, are beyond the power of the keenest speculative intellect. The student must particularly note the method, and apply it himself always, tvithout exceptiott. First, one portion of a problem should be studied thoroughly. Then, we must remember that since what is true of one thing is not Jtecessarily true of any other, observation must be extensive; that the very opposite may be true; that the same thing may be true of apparently unrelated things ; that the same thing may not always be true to the same degree; that change of circianstances may ?nake a crucial differe?ue ; INTRODUCTION 27 and, with these facts m view, we must find out in what direction a?iy dis- coverable differences may lie. Our scientific mood must be so familiar with these cross-questions, that no problem for solution should ever suggest itself without our being prepared and able to apply the most rigorous standards. One psychological issue after another should be attacked in this manner. Mere reflection or recollection, unconnected with detailed and systematic analysis, should not even be thought of. We must examine the thing itself to the minutest fraction, repeatedly, and under every variety of circumstance. We must p?-ovisionally hold that the suggested solution is wholly or partly incorrect, that its opposite is true, and that it is true of other things also. Only by strenuously applying such canons as tests and pre- cautions, shall we be worthy servants of science. I reproduced from Foster the interesting example of the nature of skin or cutaneous feelings. His Physiology is full of records of examinations as beautiful as that. It was thought at one time that the cortex, or rind, or surface of the brain was the seat of intelligence and volition. Observers had discovered, for instance, that on application of an electrode to a certain portion on the surface, a particular movement was initiated. The theory seemed proved until some one cut away the brain in slices, and found that the surface could be removed without doing away with movements.* Touching in an appropriate manner a certain area of the brain of the frog, an area very ill-defined, we learn that motion of the shoulder results. Touching other similarly ill-defined areas, we discover that every class of motion can be produced automatically. Having abundantly verified this fact in frogs under various circumstances, we proceed to examine pigeons, then rabbits, then dogs, then monkeys, and then men. In systematic order we examine animal life, and find that the irritation areas become more defined as we rise higher in the scale, being most defined in man. [Ibid, ch. 2, sec. 7.) It must be noted that the examination does not proceed at haphazard, and that often the placing of undoubted facts in a certain order tends of itself to elicit general truths. Or consider again the example of brainless animals. A frog deprived of its cerebrum will only move when it is stimulated from without. Under such stimulation, if continuous, it will behave almost as intelligently as an uninjured frog. So profound is its want of initiative, however, that, if close round its body a circle be drawn with chalk, it will, we are assured, die on that spot without any attempt at movement unless stimulated. This state- ment must nevertheless be qualified, for the operation involved injury besides that intended. Immediate results, Foster over and over again urges, must be discounted. The "deficiency" phenomena are not Ukely to be pure at first, and the longer the animal lives after the operation the more important, therefore, become the observations. Hence we find that initiative, in the absence of any growth of the cerebrum, is, to some * This experiment should certainly have been made at the first, if such experiments be allowable at all. 28 METHOD extent, restored when the animal has, after some months, completely recovered from " shock " and other irrelevant injuries. It is, therefore, proved that initiative is not solely dependent on the cerebrum, and that motion is also not exclusively connected with the cortex. Yet once more we cautiously climb up the animal ladder, and find that while injuries, as we ascend in the scale, become more and more immediately fatal, initiative grows more independent of the cerebrum. {Ibid, ch. 2, sec. 4.) Take again the case of ingoing and outgoing, or afferent and efferent, nerves. Cutting through a bundle of spinal nerves, as we might cut through a rope, we notice that some degenerate and others do not. Those which degenerate downward, we are tempted to consider as fed from above, and, therefore, carrying messages upward ; and those which degenerate upward, we consider as giving rise to movements and other changes in lower centres. However, if we carefully examine the matter by the methods which we have insisted upon, we find that the problem is by no means so simple. It seems as if there were relays of nerve fibres ; then fibres— internuncial or commissary — which connect the various parts of the spinal cord horizon- tally and longitudinally ; and, lastly, stimulation may proceed physiologically along the grey matter. Instead of single nerve wires connecting skin with cortex and cortex with skin, Foster continually insists that the true process which ends in motion and sensation, is one of complex elaboration, utterly unlike the single wire system which we have assumed. [Ibid, part 3, passim.) Here, again, we learn the folly of paying heed to large hypotheses, and the absolute necessity of proceeding by systematic examination. A child could make as good a guess at the nature of the Himalayan flora as we at the nature of cerebration or thought. The preceding references to Foster's Physiology — which nmst also serve as a very brief account of the more important facts of brai7i physiology — have made clear what we mean by systematic observation. However, the student of psychology must not only know, but be skilled. He must methodically learn to apply what he knows. It would be well for him to practise on a large scale, unless he has done so already. For instance, to start with extra- psychological examples, he might, from minute observation, give the com- pletest general account of which he is capable of the history of a dandelion or any other flower he chooses, from the moment it is discovered above ground to the time when the wind has scattered the seeds. He should examine samples in all sorts of places, high and low, shady and sunny, cold and warm, wet and dry, windy or sheltered, at different times of the day or the season, and in various soils. Every kind of variation should be noted ; and, if time permits, comparisons might be made with like and unlike species. \Its large size and its interesting transforrtiations make the dandelion peculiarly suited for st2idy?\^ Or the student might be inclined to write an essay on stamens and pistils, on sepals, on coroUae, on leaves, and the like. A limited task, efficiently carried out, is the ideal for practice in general skill; an intricate problem is beyond the beginner. Or the student may watch a thermometer, a barometer, or the movements of the sun, INTRODUCTION 29 the moon, the wind, or the clouds. Or he may take account of the trans- formations which one particular bush undergoes in a twelvemonth, and possibly generalise tentatively at the same time as to our common flora. As explained more especially in sec. 136, he will examine concrete facts; he will choose a simple problem and give his whole attention to it ; he will proceed methodically, and reason as boldly and as systematically as his facts allow. I have referred to brain physiology, botany and some facts in physics. The application to psychology is no less in place. The study of a science whose facts we merely store as we usually do the data of geography, does not cultivate the judgment : physical science thus taught is not to be com- pared in its effect with the benefit de?-ived from a classical education where skill is constantly required in the interpretation 0/ a?i author. In psychology, too, the appeal must be to the student's judgment rather than to his memory. Let us examine some psychological problems in the light of the principles I have endeavoured to expound in this section. Everybody knows, we are told, what is pleasure and what is pain : they are elemental facts which admit of no explanation. Apply now the rules of investigation which have been referred to. First, we go to the facts. We do not recall illustra- tions, which might or might not be the result of bias ; we observe at first hand. Observation, again, must not be without guidance. We observe pain after pain in mechanical succession ; every pain as it occurs ; and not only one here and there, where subjective selection may play some part. We observe for as long periods together as possible. Our experiments are as minute and as guarded as were the experiments about skin sensa- tions already dealt with. We notice kinds and degrees of pain, and try to define them accurately. We learn what are the most regular accompani- ments or signs of pain. We compare our painful states with other states where pain appears to be absent or pleasure present. We are on the look- out to see what pain has in common with other states, such as sensations, emotions, feelings of doubt or touch, inclinations or disinclinations, habits, and effort. Of all our observations we keep full notes. As facts repeat themselves, so we tentatively, but none the less boldly, suppose them to be general facts. At last no new classes of facts seem to come forward, and to go on, is to be thrashing chaff. We proceed now to set down those features which were repeated oftenest, and we arrange our material, with our tentative minor conclusions, systematically. Is it then true, we ask ourselves, that in pain we always tend to turn away from the object which causes it, and that in accordance with the degree of pain ? And is it correct that in nothing else do we tend to turn away from an object ? Is pain an elementary fact, not to be defined, always recognised with certainty as soon as met with, and never confounded with anything else? The answers to these questions the student will find in ch. 6. Here I insist that even a tentatively correct reply must be based on an examination such as I have fore- 30 METHOD shadowed. Observation must be systematic and exhaustive if we are to offer any solution at all. No new problem is so simple that method can be dispensed with. Let us take another case. James tells us that in certain critical instances our conscious wills can, by means of a special effort, add to the sum of physical energy existing. Just as a flash of lightning comes from cloud- land, so occasionally a bottle of extra energy is poured into the stagnant world pool.* What is effort? we ask ourselves, and proceed to observe systematically every kind of effort. We examine methodically phases from the clearest to the vaguest, from the most obvious to the least obvious. On every possible occasion, and under every conceivable circumstance, we attempt to trace its origin, its nature and its effect. We note how far its own states resemble one another, and how far these resemble other states which are not usually classed as efforts. We observe how far they univers- ally prevail, and how far there are other forces. Having conscientiously examined the material, we pronounce judgment either for or against James. At the same time we have probably been able to find a more or less per- manent niche for that phase of thought which we call effort. Examination of facts is absolutely essential : the cleverest reasoning in its absence is only a jugglery with words ; the most neatly written essay, with its firstly to Xthly, is as unsatisfactory as an imaginary fortune. All the quoted arguments against introspection have no more solidity than the reflection of a fortress in a looking glass. Every one of the questions treated of in this volume should be ex- amined systematically. " I can, therefore I must," is even more impera- tive in scientific inquiry than in moral conduct. When it is asserted that attention is a casual process (ch. 2), or that action may be divided into habitual and non-habitual (ch. 3), or that ideas are of such and such a nature (ch. 4), or that conscious process should be divided from not con- scious process (ch. 8), we must in each case fall back on our first principles of investigation. When once a number of problems of crucial importance has been disposed of, sufficient facts will have accumulated to allow of a quicker procedure in psychology. Until then, oceans of ink imprinted on balls of paper as big as the sun, will not advance psychology. The scientific method varies in kind from current psychologising, and hence the two are incommensurable. In connection with every problem or assertion, the student must have recourse to systematic observation. He should put a query against every psychological statement, however emphatically put forward. He must let no supposed truism pass, and no maxim or axiom should be left un- challenged. Fiction has often been so cleverly attached to fiction that the student is likely to be deluded into seeing an imposing edifice where there are only bits of coloured glass. A true generalisation is soon verified. So also Ward, Naturalism and A^^nosticisnt, \\ INTR OD UCTION 3 1 8. — Quantitative Psychology. The senses of sight and sound have long been favourites with physicists. In Germany, Hehnholtz, and in England, Tyndall, are best known as having devoted some of their genius to the task of resolving problems of this class. Physiologists, in the same manner, have not been remiss in dealing with the instruments of sensations. I have already referred (sec. i) to the speculative attempts of Maudsley and Lewes, among others, to interpret thought in neural or brain terms. Further investigations since their time have been satisfactory, but extremely slow. The perusal of a work such as Foster's {Physiolog}', part 3, 1897), or Ferrier's {The Functions of the Brain, 1886), leaves one with the impression that the possibilities are great, but the results small. The neural facts known, form, as yet, an insufficient basis for any wide conclusions. However, it is in neurology, or brain science, coupled with introspection, that our hope ultimately lies. Psychology, jealously separated from physiology, as we shall abundantly see in the following chapters, cannot supply us with a consistent account of the facts of mind. There was but one step from probing sense problems to exploring quantitatively some of the simpler sensations and images. Following Fechner, Wundt, about a generation ago, in a large work, PhysiologiscJie Psychologies was the foremost in popularising such inquiries. His labora- tory in Leipsic became a centre of interest and the type of many which were to follow, till now both Germany and America boast a number of psychological laboratories. Since Wundt's time, also, books on the sub- ject have been on the increase, whilst a multitude of articles and essays have seen the light. Such publications as Philosophische Studien, Zeit- schrift filr Psychologic, The American Journal of Psychology, and The Psy- chological Revieiv, are largely devoted to the interests of Quantitative Psychology or Psycho-Physics. The object of the quantitative school is to examine psychological facts experimentally. For this purpose laboratories are fitted up, containing the necessary appliances. All the customary scientific checks are employed. The number of experiments is recorded, as well as the number of persons experimented upon. The time taken by each experiment is determined by electric clocks which generally mark thousandths of a second and which are usually stopped by pressing a button on which the hand already rests. In short, these experiments are distinguished by an ingenuity and a care which is scarcely exceeded in physical inquiries. We cannot determine the current of thought by withdrawing or adding to it half-pints or spoonfuls, nor can we yet ascertain the length of a string of ideas with a tape measure. Psycho-physicists, therefore, approach their subject tentatively. Here is a simple experiment. It is arranged by a mechanical device that a sound shall be heard or a sight seen by one pre- pared for the task. The subject of the experiment or, shortly, the " re- agent," as soon as he hears or sees the special signal, stops the electric 32 METHOD current which his fingers control. By repeated experiments with many persons we gain at last the knowledge of what average time elapses be- tween a sound or a sight and its apprehension. Following scientific method, we find accordingly the experiments varied, account being taken of different ages and races, different times of the day, and different seasons. So also the reaction time is determined when the " reagent " is smoking or under the influence of intoxicants, or hashish or morphia. Each of these sets of experiments is carefully recorded, and naturally presents great difficulties. What is true of sight and hearing holds, of course, of the other senses, including pain and the so-called muscular sense. Mere recognition of what is expected is the simplest form. The sensations are now tested as to their intensity (or obviousness), and especially as to the smallest added degree of an impression which is immediately perceiv- able ; or the effects of fatigue are studied in this connection ; or we learn how far a preceding sound affects vision, and vice versa. Assuming that .we have exhausted repetition, obviousness, quickness and circumstance, we proceed to more complex experiments. The " reagent " is told that it will be either a colour or a sound. Here the preparedness is divided between two possibilities, and the results are noted. Then the changes are rung on this set of experiments as on the preceding set. We come next to more extensive discrimination experiments. The "reagent" is informed that he is to tell the capital of any country that may be named. Or he is asked to tell the country when its capital is given. Or he is requested to give the name of a great man, a great poet, a great painter, when he is asked. In each case the " discrimination period," the time it takes to discriminate, is determined. Obviously, experiments in this direction admit of endless complexity, and become progressively more difficult. Experiments are of various kinds. A number of writers have sought to determine the sleep curve, i.e., how far during the night the depth of sleep varies in an average individual. Ebbinghaus, again, made experiments with nonsense syllables, so as to determine, in its purity, the nature of memory (sec. 135). So Miss Calkins has carefully tabulated the facts of a series of over three hundred dreams (sec. 228), while various experimenters have made a variety of experiments to elucidate the process of attention (ch. 2), the capacities of school children, and racial differences. I welcome the quantitative method as such. If it can best elucidate the problems of psychology, it must take the first place. One does not know what it may accomplish in the future ; but up to the present, after a generation of toil, its many solid achievements have scarcely touched the borders of psychology proper. It has thrown no light whatever on any of our chief problems. It deals with borderland affairs which apparently yield no glimpse of the far interior. The facts of psychology seem so varied that once psycho-physicists forsake the frontiers, endless discussion instead of fruitful research ensues. It is perhaps the absence of continuity in the investigations that is to blame. Experimenters take up subject after subject, INTRODUCTION 2>Z when perhaps some years spent by one person in studying one aspect, such as memory, attention or dreams, might end in valuable contributions. Another fault lies undoubtedly in the too ready acceptance of the chief propositions of reflective psychology. Associationism is tested as if it only required exemplification or correction, and attention theories are unsatis- factorily dealt with in the same manner. The quantitative method itself is overdone. Ebbinghaus' huge inquiry as to memory (sec. 135) settles practically nothing. The simple factors he experiments with — nonsense syllables — no more give a satisfactory solution than an examination of pinches of powdered bones would yield the key with which to unlock the secrets of the central nervous system. In my opinion a broad-based inquiry into what we actually do remember and forget, and the circum- stances which favour the one and the other, would have yielded more pro- mising material. So also with the question of dreams. To tabulate dreams according to the hours when they are supposed to have occurred, to divide them into reasonable and unreasonable ones, to tell us what relations and persons were seen, as Miss Calkins does, is to supply us with meaningless figures. Giessler's detailed non-quantitative analysis towers far above such mechanical figure-work. Finally, as to Thorndike's very interesting experiments with animals (sec. 2^,';^, we may observe that valuable as are some of the results, suggestive as are others, yet the re- stricted method employed entailed as many fallacies as a non-quantitative analysis in that direction. Nearly every point is vitiated by the absence of an appropriate background of general fact. Much again rests on in- defensible assumptions which the inquiry hides rather than exposes. A few months' careful observation of a healthy ape, or, in default, of an average dog and cat, should have resulted in wider and less disputable conclusions. Lastly, when we come to directly observed trains of thought, the quantitative method sheds no light whatever. A book, such as Scripture's, makes us feel that psycho-physics will not have the last word to say in matters psychological ; and Wundt's latest edition of his large Psychology only confirms us in our conclusions. On examining the psycho-physical literature two failings become specially prominent. There is a superstitious belief in the magic of figures, a belief not to be found in the physical sciences.* To an outsider it seems that judicious observation and chance experiment could settle with comparative ease many of the questions which demand mountainous labour from the figure school. Or we may say that instruments would be better used after other methods have prepared the way. At all events, the second faiUng illustrates the first. Psycho-physicists are now insisting that figures, uninterpreted by the state of mind of the " reagent," are not to be relied on. We are thus completing a circle. First, men rushed to figures because introspection seemed unreliable ; and now self-observation is * " I highly esteem figures which prove something or which can be utilised theoreti- cally ; but I am at a loss to understand the special dignity which figures and rows of figures possess in the eyes of some men" (Lipps, Grundtatsachen, 1883, p. 421). 3 34 METHOD demanded to give a meaning to the figures. Systematic introspection must, therefore, ere long, be generally acknowledged as essential to psycholo- gising. We conclude, then, that there is still room for a method different from that of the speculative or the quantitative school. After reviewing what is practically the whole field of psycho-physics, my misgivings as to its value have grown stronger than ever. The method seems fundamentally wrong. A problem is posited, reduced to its simplest form, and then rigorously tested. It appears to me that the simplicity is in every instance nonexistent. It is a hypothetical simplicity, a simplicity suggested by surface knowledge. The primary facts of a science, I cannot help thinking, must be obtained by tentative and resourceful trials, and are not obtainable by stiff laboratory experiments. The two chief works of the quantitative school are Wundt's Grundzuge, 1893, and Munsterberg's Bcitrdge, 18S9-92. A simple exposition of psycho-physics will be found in Scripture, The New Psychology., 1897. See also Bain, Introspection and Psycho- fihvsical Experiment, 1893 ; Bettmann, Beeinflussting einfacher psychischer Voigdvge, 1895 ; Binet, La Mhure en Psychologie Individuelle, 1898 ; Cattell, The Psychological Laboratory at Leipsic, 1888; Cattell, Mental Tests and Measurements, 1890; Cattell, Menial Measurement, 1893; Fechner, Elemcnte der Psychophysik, i860; Heinrich, rhysiologische Psychologie, 1899 ; Henri, Les Laboratoires de Psychologie Expiritnentale en Allemagne, 1S93 ; Scripture, Psychological Measurement, 1893 ; Titchener, The Leipsic School of Experimental Psychology, 1S92; Titchener, A Psychological Laboratory, 189S ; Titchener, The Equipment of a Psychological Laboratory, 1900 ; Titchener, Experimental Psychology, 1901 ; and Wundt, Uebcr psychologische Methoden, 18S1. 9. — Experimental Introspection. The experimental method is rightly esteemed to surpass the method of simple observation, for there is something exhilarating in grasping the gate of time, and swinging it to and fro at our pleasure. In observation we have to wait months and years to observe a fact, when in experiment we can often produce it as soon as thought of. In observation we are de- pendents whose desires may never be satisfied ; in experiment, we are masters whose word is decisive. Wherever, therefore, experiment can be applied, it will be folly to continue with simple observation, the latter being to the former, as "moonshine unto sunshine, and as water unto Avine." An observational science is, for these reasons, generally viewed with suspicion, while the use of experiment adds dignity and inspires confidence. What marks an experiment? Professor Titchener says: "An experi- ment is a trial, test, or observation, carefully made under certain special conditions : the object of the conditions being (i) to render it possible for any one who will to repeat the test, in the exact manner in which it was first performed, and (2) to help the observer to rule out disturbing in- fluences during his observation, and so to get at the desired result in a pure form . . . Experiment thus secures accuracy of observation, and the connection of every result with its own conditions " {Outline of Psy- chology, 1896, p. 35). This definition strikes one as unsatisfactory. It savours too much of the psychological laboratory. It resembles danger- ously those definitions of religion which, by implication, prove that our pet- INTRO D UCTION 35 creed has no rival. It would be safer to say, *' An experiment is a trial, test, or observation, carefully made .... so [as] to get the desired result in Ti pure form." This again sounds vague. Stout's definition is no more satisfactory. Experiment, he says, "is only observation under test conditions, deliberately pre-arranged for the purpose of settling a definite question" {Ma7iual, 189S, p. 26). It seems that one may vary con- ditions at will without having deliberately pre-arranged anything and without one's having in view the settling of a definite question. For instance, in pulling hard at something firmly fixed I notice that I hold back my breath. In accordance with customary method, I try to pull hard while breathing normally. Here, instead of waiting for an opportunity, I create it. In that — in the creation of an opportunity, or in varying and controlling the conditions — lies probably the nature of experiment. Stout's definition applies only to special experiments ; since even many of the quantitative attempts start without hypothesis. Most probably, there is no clear line of division between observation and experiment. As the former becomes systematic and varied, so it approaches the nature of the latter. Experimental introspection is not a subject usually discussed in treatises on psychology. When we are told that self-observation is an absurdity (Comte and others), or that we must become skilled if we are to take a momentary glance at what is happening (Hume and others), it follows that experiment is out of the question. Herbart, indeed, takes high ground. He tells us that " psychology must not experiment with man " {Lehrbuch, 1834, p. 9). Is then experimental introspection impossible or impracti- cable? We have seen that attention to selected portions of the field of attention is possible to a high degree. Does then the creation of an opportunity, instead of waiting for it, introduce a fatal, disturbing factor? Observation replies in the negative. It was as easy to allow breathing to proceed normally in the "pulling" experiment, as to do anything else which one is not accustomed to. Experimental introspection, in short, has certain advantages, but no appreciable drawbacks. As Beneke puts it : " Nothing is falser than the assertion that introspection cannot be assisted by experiment. Not only is such assistance possible, but it offers here perhaps greater scope than in any other department of nature, and that because the necessary control is generally more in our power " [Die neue Fsychologie, 1845, p. 21). Everybody recognises the superiority of experiment over simple observa- tion. The student must, therefore, be prepared to learn that i?i psychology every inquiry must be experimental. Simple observation is only permis- sible when, for peculiar reasons, experiment is undesirable or out of the question. The normal procedure, the all but exceptional method, must include experiment. The reader will see that in sec. 7 I applied systematic observation to the elucidation of the problems of pleasure, pain and volition. Accord- ing to the last ruling, these inquiries should be experimental. Take the 36 METHOD question of pleasure-pain. Instead of waiting, like wall-flowers in a ball-room, we take the initiative. We deliberately heat a glass and gauge our feelings with the changing heat. We deliberately and repeatedly touch the marble or iron on which the sun is striking with its beams. We go to the fire and expose ourselves to its heat, in order to test our powers of resistance, and ascertain the changes in our sensations. We deliberately cool one hand and warm the other to test the relative aggressiveness and diffusion of the feelings of cold and warmth. We pinch our hands till they ache,, etc., etc. Thus there is the fullest room for experiment since we need not wait for chance opportunities. We compare experimentally various sensations and feelings with one another, and examine their degrees, their resemblances, their differences and their conditions. We de- liberately ignore a so-called feeling of pain which we have de- liberately inflicted, or attempt to reduce or increase the pain value by inhibition or by removal of inhibition. In psychological experiment we thus control the conditions, and test our conclusions at our own discretion. Results can in this way be attained which otherwise might scarcely be approachable. As with pleasure-pain, so with volition experiments. In systematic observation there is only a preparedness to perceive or record facts of a certain order as they arise. In systematic experiment we act on our preparedness : we summon the actors to the footlights. Instead, therefore, of waiting for volitions to occur, we initiate them, and we also purposely watch whole trains of our actions for any signs of volitions. We deliberately will, and in doing so we make an effort to trace the antecedents of our volitions. If a sensation of sight is perhaps connected with the act, we endeavour to eliminate it, or even instal in its place an irrelevant sight sensation. One after another, we push rudely aside every factor which admits of being so treated. We measure the relation between will, effort and action, finding perhaps in some in- stances that they have nothing in common. We see whether there are similar states to that of volition, and experimentally test the relationship. In a like manner we examine our volitions during joyous or depressed moods, when we are in robust health, or when we are ill or fatigued, and under other special circumstances. After such an inquiry, and only after such an inquiry, we may be able to agree with Professor James, or to differ from him. To meet his gratuitous assertion, based on a tempera- mental view, with one equally gratuitous and temperamental, is to forget that experimental introspection should be the final arbiter. A tempera- mental psychology is as irrational as a temperamental chemistry. The rules which we have selected for guidance in systematic observation apply here. An experiment, not protected by method, is a poor instrument of research. Experimentation is an art with canons to be observed, and not the equivalent of the method employed by a careless child. Merely to shift things and to break them, is something different from experiment- ing. The student must, therefore, see that his experiments are conducted INTRODUCTION 37 -on a proper plan, and that they are accompanied by "normal" and "minutely observant" observation (sec. 5). As I have already indicated, the student should pursue his studies experimentally. To assist him in this, I have inserted in the body of the book italicised remarks in brackets. Every statement of any import- ance should be at once challenged and tested, or if testing be sometimes inconvenient, the statement should be marked as doubtful. There must be no acquiescence. When experimental introspection has been pursued by many, then, and not until then, can statements of any kind pass unchallenged. \Note that all complicated and viokfit experiments defeat themselves.'] I suggest the following experiments or observations, and must remark that repetition under varying circumstances is necessary, and that notes should be taken at the time, of what is observed. Write mentally in characters of various sizes ; so also employ mentally printed and sounded characters. Use lips as in vigorous speech, without making any sound, and also observe the various organs employed in speech. Picture to yourself squares, triangles, etc., of various sizes. Observe eye movements in seeing, also move- ments in walking, running, working, etc. Examine mentally form, detail, as many colours as possible, shades of colour, relief, scenes, motion of eyes in watching moving objects. Hold steadily pencil, pencils, etc., in hand, behind the ear, etc., and note result. Recall various smells of things just smelt, lately smelt, and smelt long ago. Describe bodily feelings in sitting (in various positions), standing, walking, etc., and describe what you feel, passively and actively, of feet, legs, back, arm, head, teeth, tongue, separate fingers, etc. Recall in succession relatives, intimate friends, acquaint- ances, celebrities, movements, houses, cities, events, villages, flowing rivers, mountains. Recall young people, old people, poor people, rich people, and other classes of persons. Write letters, etc., in the imagination, and watch for eye movements ; connect thus sormds with the ear, smells with the nose, tastes with the mouth, movement with the muscles, etc. Write, speak, move, distinctly in the imagination, and note rate ot progress. Think of two or more colours at once. Think of coloured things, of sounds, tastes, smells, touches, pains. Mentally see things moving ; see two things moving in different directions. Think of yourself moving along a room, passage, stairs, hall, street, etc. ; also measure distance and time, by feet and seconds. Observe mentally and in motion, train, cab, cart, bicycle. In mentally writing, do you see arms, hands, fingers, pen, paper, characters ; do you feel pressure oh pen, and do you hear the scratching of the pen? Imagine man, cow, horse, etc., as blue, green, violet, pink, scarlet, etc. Look at some pebbles, etc. ; then see whether you can count them mentally. Hear with one ear, both ears, far and near, much and little, different kinds of sounds. Examine degrees of cold, warmth, touch, soft, hard, rough, smooth, pushing, pulling, effort. Each of the experiments suq\^ested above sJiould be made in the light of the rules laid down in this Introduction. Barely to observe this or that is of no use at all. 10. — Definition. Volkmann {Lehrbuch, 1894, i, p. i) says that the success of every .scientific enterprise is essentially conditioned by the accurate definition of its aim. On this hypothesis, which is in accord with the current respect for hypotheses, the writer of this work should have had his definition cut in adamant before starting his inquiry ; but, as it happens, research and 38 METHOD not hypothesis, determines its contents. Only subsequent to the arrange- ment of the data is there a possibiUty of venturing on a definition. The latter embraces the most general facts, and only after wc know these is a summing up possible. It is, therefore, not surprising that the definition here put forward, began only to be framed after the ten chapters which follow were completed. My definition, tentative in its way, is as follows : Psychology treats of the nature and tJu satisfaction of tJiose distinctive needs which are connected with the central nervous system, and this it treats of in systematic conjunc- tion ivith the systems of sights^ sounds, smells, etc., -which are developing con- currently, i.e., psychology treats of the needs which arise out of the relations of the various systems in the organism, and out of the relations of that organism to its environment (sec. 156). The book itself is the most concise explanation of the definition which can be ofiered. The student will find therein why needs play the part we have allotted to them, why the central nervous system is here coupled with sights, sounds, etc., and why the nature of needs and the method of their satisfaction is the be-all and end-all, the base and the summit, of psychological inquiry. II. — Literature of the Subject. The text of the ten chapters which follow, leaving out of account most of what appears in small type, was written away from, and, humanly speaking, independent of, books. It was only afterwards that the useful- ness of literary references occurred to me. Accordingly, I determined to make a survey of the whole field of psychological literature. Let me begin by stating what I shall not treat of in this volume: (i) Everything per- taining to, or bordering on, philosophy, including free-will controversies ; (2) most of what is related to physiology and the study of the special senses ; (3) the mass of that which refers to experiments in reaction time, to the psycho-physical law, and the theory of innervation ; (4) nearly everything specialised, such as the psychology of music, or painters, or races ; and (5) abnormal psychology, such as is implied in studying insane and hypnotic subjects and cases of aphasia. Those are the studied omissions. On the other hand, I have attempted to include (i) all the principal psy- chologists; (2) all the writers of special treatises, such as on memory, attention, etc., which I could obtain ; and (3) all the articles in reviews which had a bearing on the subjects dealt with in the body of the book. The reviews consulted, from the first issue to the end of 1 900, or to the last issue, are as follows : — American : American Journal of Psychology ; The Psychological Review ; The Philosophical Review ; and The Journal of Speculative Philosophy. English: Brain, and Mind. French: La Revue Philosophique, and La Revue Scientifique. And German : Philosophische Studien ; Zeitschrift fiir Psychologic und Physiologic der Sinnesorgane ; Psychologische Arbeiten ; Pfliiger's Archiv fiir die gesammte Physiologic der Menschen und Thiere; and Vierteljahrsschrift fiir die wissenschaft- INTRODUCTION 39 liche Philosophic. In this manner, students will find ahtiost a complete bibliography of such subjects as Attention, Habit, Association, Memory, Feelings, Dreams and Genius. 12. — Psychological Terminology. In this Introduction I have employed the current psychological termin- ology. In the sequel, however, it suggested itself as best to introduce, without labouring the matter, a terminology which shall be simple, free from misleading implications, consistent, impersonal, and which shall reflect the systematic conclusions we reach. At the same time I have, by re- defining, been enabled to retain many of the well-known psychological expressions. The terms chosen indicate degrees of systematic complexity, and nothing besides. They are, therefore, descriptive of the facts, without carrying with them extra-psychological implications. Furthermore, the words are well known, easily adapted to psychology, readily admit of prefixes and as readily form adjectives and verbs. The precise meaning given to the terms requires nevertheless some explanation, (i) The word System indicates that psychology, like physiology, deals with determinate complexes, and only with such. (2) The word Integral expresses the lowest form dealt with by psychology ; it indicates the simplest whole, a sensation or an image. Integrals are for us the elementary units or integers of thought and action. (3) The word Compound leads us a step further. We have here two or more integrals in intimate union, as in perception. (4) The word Complication marks another form of systems. Here two otherwise uncon- nected primary or (and) secondary systems appear together, as when the sight of a fire engine is always or generally accompanied by the re-collec- tion of a certain conflagration. (5) The word Connection suggests that with any given system is connected some other system, connection being another general word for consciousness, awareness, knowledge, ignorance, belief, doubt, certainty. (6) Lastly, the word Combinatioii hints at a com- bination of systems as in a train of thought or action, and it may be divided into sub-combination and super-combination, the former referring to partial needs, and the latter to the principal need at any time. Useful as the above terms may be, they are yet too vague from a scientific point of view ; for the meaning underlying any one of the terms underlies all others to some degree. Hence we may, as in sec. 107, describe the rising complexity spoken of in terms of units of various degrees. How- ever, there can be no disputing that the words do reflect increasing complexity. The prefixes employed are of some importance in showing diversity within unity, and also in preventing too bulky a vocabulary. As to their appropriateness, much may be said for and against. It is assuredly useful that thought and action, memory and activity, should be readily dis- tinguished or combined, and this the prefixes do. Since in thought there 40 METHOD is no new material, we are justified in systematically applying the prefix rCy indicating recurrence, to all its phases. And, by contrast, it is not a far stretch to employ the prefix pre to point to those systems which are new, e.g.^ as we say, arrange, pre-arrange, re-arrange, so we say, combine, pre- combine, re-combine. To indicate imagination and work, we may, in addition, employ the prefix trans, thus trans-combine (primary or secondary action), trans-pre-combine (work), trans-re-combine (imagine). The general problem of a psychological terminology is far from simple. On reflection one finds that our whole vocabulary reflects the psychology of the past, and that, therefore, nothing less than a total reconstruction of human language can satisfy rational demands. Such a revolution, not an unlikely one, must be, however, the work of centuries and not that of a solitary individual. Suffice it, therefore, that an attempt has been made at linguistic reform and interpretation. Descartes is responsible for the notion that we must see that our ideas are clear and dis- tinct. Perhaps on account of the turbidity and indistinctness implied in that rule, the cry was re-echoed everywhere, Locke being the principal sinner in England. The question of terminology is fully discussed by Tonnies, Philosophical Terminology, 1899. My own opinion is that a close study of a subject, together with a desire to a mutual under- standing among experts, are the chief pillars of a solid terminology. When all is confusion, as in present-day psychology, one smiles as one hears complaints against the varied ways in which words are used. Here are Descartes' four rules, which will repay careful study : "The first rule was never to receive as true anything which I did not demonstrably recognise as such; that is to say, to carefully avoid precipitation and prejudice; and to include in my judgments nothing which did not present itself to my mind so clearly and distinctly that I had no occasion to doubt it. The second rule was to divide every difficulty under examination into as many parts as possible, or into as many as might be necessary for its solution. The third was to conduct my thoughts in an orderly manner, by beginning with the simplest objects and those easiest known, slowly rising by degrees to what is most complex, and postulating an order even among those objects which do not at all naturally follow one another. And the last rule, to make such a complete induction, and to take such a comprehensive view, that I might be sure of having omitted nought" {Discours de la Mithode, 1637, second part). See Gibson, Regulae of Descartes, 1898. System. — Anything given whatever. [To develop]. A. Primary system. — Any system referable to the Present. [To pre- develop.] B. Secondary system. — Any system referable to the Past. [To re-develop.] [In the place oi pre and re, primary and secondary can be used.] A and B are again divided into — C. Integral [system], where a system is considered apart from any inter- pretation placed upon it, as when a coloured surface is seen, without being connected with (say) the name of an orange or a lamp. [An integral, or a sensation or image; a pre-integral, or a sensation; a re-integral, or an image. To integrate, or to sense or image; to pre-integrate, or to sense; to re-integrate, or to image. Integrate also equals to member, to collect.] [Thus also de-develop, dis- integrate, etc., equal to forget.] INTRODUCTION 41 D. Compound [system], where the opposite to C takes place, as where a certain coloured surface has attached to it the name of a hat or a desk. [A compound, or a percept or idea ; a pre-compound, or a percept ; a re-compound, or an idea. To compound, or to perceive or ideate ; to pre-compound, or perceive ; to re-compound, or ideate.] [Combination unit or unit = the unit in a train of thought or action.] C and D are again divided into — E. Elementary [integral or compound] system, wherein is included every system, except visual, auditory, olfactory and gustatory systems. [A feeling ; elementary sensation, elementary image, etc. To feel ; to develop an elementary sensation, etc.] [Summary feeling = the impression an event makes on us. Combination feelings = feelings, such as are implied in doubt, belief, etc.] F. Semi-advanced [integral or compound] systems, wherein smell and taste alone are included. [Semi-advanced sensation, image, etc. To develop a semi-advanced sensation, image, etc.] G. Advanced [integral or compound] system, wherein only sights and sounds are included. [An advanced sensation, image, etc. To develop an advanced sensation, image, etc.] A to G have as a sub-form — IT. Transformed systems, embracing illusion, delusion, imagination and all productive activity. [Illusion ; delusion ; imagination ; produc- tion; etc. To be illuded, to be deluded, to imagine, to produce, etc. ; or to trans-integrate, to trans-compound, etc.] I. Complication [of systems], as where two sensations or two images, or a sensation and an image, or any two or more systems, are connected together to form one whole, e.g., when treating of a conflagration I am always reminded of a particular conflagration which I had been a witness of. [A complication ; a pre-complica- tion, a re-complication. To complicate; to pre-complicate, to re- complicate.] IC. Connection [of systems], as in consciousness, awareness, knowledge, belief, doubt and certainty, where something is connected or linked with something else. [A connection, linking, or chaining. To con- nect, to link, to chain.] See sec. 99b.] L. Combination [of systems], i.e., a train of thought or action. [A com- bination, or thought or action ; a pre-combination, or action ; a re-combination, or thought. To combine ; to pre-combine, or to act; to re-combine, or to think.] [Combination unit or unit=the unit in a train of thought or action.] M. Exhausted system, i.e., an object or a notion as interpreted in the light of fullest knowledge, e.g., a seen clock and all that that implies, a felt love and all that that impHes. JV. Unexhausted system, i.e., an object or a notion as immediately given, and apart from all inference, e.g., a clock as just seen, a love as just felt. 42 METHOD O. iV^d' also Lotze, Psychologic, 18S1, ch. 3, § 4. 4S GENERAL ANALYSES brain? Inquiry negatives these suggestions. I know that if I had been reading the book in a room where all was still, the course of thought would have been in an appreciably different state from what it is when I am reading in a noisy railway station. \Test //«>.] I somehow continue to ignore the conversation. I hold the sounds back, as it were. I stave them off. I prevent their intrusion. That is to say, I attend, among other things, to something which, when more fully or differently attended to, is sound. At this lowest point we are confronted with a vague detailless feeling. As tlie air-waves are less impetuous, so is the feeling vaguer, until at last we detect neither sound nor feeling. Probably there is a point where minimal systems become differentiated, and that point must be for us the threshold of a particular system. The lowest element is, therefore, a very faint feeling, — a feeling so faint that it makes no perceptible stir, and is apparently not reproducible, — a feeling which is perhaps so unstable that it disappears immediately it is specially attended to. States of this faint quality exist in abundance. A good example is the effect produced by a noisy clock in an otherwise quiet room. Ordinarily, when absorbed, we do not hear the ticking, except at intervals. \Is that so ?] We seem oblivious of the acoustic waves. Yet when the clock stops, we frequently notice the fact. \Experime7it i?i this direction^] If the air-waves have left no mark, then their cessation should have made no difference. We conclude, therefore, that the sounds from the clock leave a faint trace on the organism ; and also that this trace is not a sound, not the monotonous tick-tick, but some residue. The same holds true under certain circumstances of the innumerable "possible" sensations which we are ever ignoring, and of the silent working of the brain as a whole. We often observe things indolently. In such cases, our attention no sooner turns away than we forget that we have been attending in those directions. The subject is frequently discussed among psycho-physicists. (Mdnsterberg, Intensifying Effect of Atte7ition, 1894.) Faint feelings are of considerable frequency. Systems which were at one time sharp in outline and could be easily developed and re-membered, gradually lose these properties without being essentially changed in their constitution. (Ch. 3.) In casual routine processes (or organised re- action)* the feelings are still there generally ; but they are no longer lively. The gentle stimulus, under the changed conditions, preserves the motive force of the pronounced activity. The general organic life of the body, the general individual life, as well as the routine of life, swarm with these silent and impalpable presences. However, as organic adjustments to demands become closer and induce far-reaching changes, so feelings are more and more dispensed with, till, with total re-adjustment, they cease to exist. In less extreme cases, the feelings remain, but become almost wholly unobtrusive. I have said that the dimmest of these feelings form the first degree in *To emphasise the process involved in habit, I shall generally speak of habitual pro- cess as organised process, organised trend, trend, and cconomisation. SYSTEMS AS DISTRIBUTED 49 the scale of sensations. At their faintest they probably cease to exert an influence individually. It may be asked, " Is it not possible that in routine of a pronounced kind the work is done apart from any feeling?" This is extremely improbable. Reflection, strengthened by observation and ex- periment, admits feeling wherever there has been feeling before, provided that there has not been a profound change in the form of the activity. Where feeling wholly or nearly ceases, with the attention not diverted, we have discontinuance of the accompanying activity. If any action is ever accompanied by feelings, it will be continued only so long as the feelings continue. If these abate, the action also abates. Common sensibility supplies us plentifully with partial proof. We often sit in a certain position brooding over some problem and apparently oblivious of organic stimuli. [Repeat this experimentally, recording the results?^ Gradually, quite gradu- ally, the fact obtrudes itself that a limb is tired. There is no reason to believe that in such an instance there has not been a feeling for some time previous ; only the uneasiness was so faint that it made no appreciable difference to the organism. Very slowly that difference developed until it is recognised as a particular stimulus. Hence when we are strongly absorbed, it is necessary to increase a stimulus considerably before action or feeling ensues. One other instance. I go to my shelves to take down a volume. \Observe such instances?\ I do not apparently think of my errand. Suddenly, in the midst of some thought, I come to a stand- still, and ask myself where I am going. However faint the residue or whatever its form, we must yet assume that the notion of an errand normally persists, and that when the notion vanishes, we naturally stop. Considering such happenings as these, we are warranted in assuming that no felt process ever becomes a feelingless process unless, indeed, a change or growth supervenes which displaces such process. (Sec. 56.) \_Exa?nine?[ 18. — The Area of Sensations and Images. More difficult still than fixing the beginnings of sensations and images (or primary and secondary systems), is the determination of their sphere of influence. It may be generally posited that wherever there are nerve-endings, or that wherever the influence of the cerebro-spinal system extends, there exists at least a possibility of connected feeling. Under ordinary circum- stances, it is reasonable to suppose, the majority of the feehngs are so void of detail that they do not affect the general development of systems, at least not individually. The same holds good of stimuli when we turn towards them only minimally. Exploiting our general sensibility, i.e., those sensations not derived from the five senses, we gather that various portions of the body yield sensory systems when attended to. [Carefully repeat the following experimefit.'] I feel that I possess toes and feet, though I cannot tell from my observations the number of toes, or the fact that they are imprisoned in wool and leather. The feelings are extremely 4 50 GENERAL ANAL YSES homogeneous, and it is very difficult to discover any details. Thus I observe feelings of the same simple nature throughout the length of the lower limbs, especially where they are crossed, as they sometimes are, in sitting. So the other portions of the body, more particularly where they touch an object or produce slight discomfort, give rise to feelings which are little differentiated. Ordinarily the.se do not develop ; but now this portion becomes stiff, now that becomes tired ; now this position is un- suitable, now that part is over-heated or too cool. For this reason, atten- tion to the body is intermittent. 19. — The Sense Problem.* Five senses are generally allowed for, to wit, sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste. Inquirers have not been slow to add to this list. Among the additions proposed are the muscular sense, the temperature sense, the organic sense, the sense of equilibration, as also the pleasure-pain sense, and others. A strictly psychological investigation is not satisfied with these classifications ; for they are based primarily on the circumstance that certain easily definable happenings go with certain sensations, e.g.^ the feel- ing of heat goes with frequently observed wax-melting weather, and that of cold with weather which sets the teeth chattering. Reasoning along this line, an event only needs to repeat itself often enough and it is assumed that a new sense is created. Leaving aside, however, the sources of the sensa- tions, we come to the conclusion that there appears no good reason why all the sensory shocks we are liable to, with the provisional exception of sight, hearing and smell, should not be regarded as one sense. Cold, heat, pains, organic and muscular feelings, may well be thrown together for scientific purposes. So with the sense of contact. Touching a light object of similar temperature to my hand, it soon becomes doubtful whether I am touching anything at all, and, similarly, I believe I can feel the pencil behind my ear, though I have removed it some time previously. The various sensory systems connected with touch, such as contact, pressure, softness, hardness, smoothness, roughness, are, therefore, essentially organic sensations, only to be differentiated for practical purposes or for pur- poses of restricted classification. The sense of smell falls into the same category of feelings as the other senses we have mentioned. It is so evident that we connect the sense of smell with our breathing through the nostrils [Experimen/^ and that the reference to an object of sight or touch outside the body, e.g., to a seen flower, is an after-thought. The sense of taste naturally forms no exception, for here also the thing tasted may be ignored. Objective reference is, however, seemingly unavoidable in thought when the sense of hearing is in question. I have not been able hitherto to localise my hearing in the ear or in any other portion of the body, except when the sounds were shown to proceed from parts of the * The known facts as regards the sensations are well marshalled in the second chapter of Kulpe's Psychologic, 1893. SYSTEMS AS DISTRIBUTED 51 body. To naive observation it is as easy to imagine that the auditory nerves are placed on the finger-tips as in the ear, a fact which separates hearing from the sensations previously referred to. This unlocalisability is almost as strongly marked in the sense of sight. These two most highly developed senses, employed as they are incessantly, constitute at present in the adult — not in the child — a group which is clearly distinguishable from the dependent senses which are referred to some portion of the body. Another difference between the two groups remains to be noted : in the dependent group the sensations show little detail, while the senses of sight and hearing display much detail. However, I will assume here that the two groups appear as one in the final analysis ; and I would suggest also that the secondary or memory group may profitably be assimilated with the first two groups.* We may approach the sense problem from another direction. Finding that a sensation, say between the shoulders or in the mouth, is imperfectly localised, i.e., unaccompanied by another class of sensation, we learn, on reflection, that localisation is itself a matter of growth. Thus the infant, omitting hereditary tendencies, is readily thought of as having sensations -which are not connected with other sensations, and which become so only in process of time, e.g., the feeling of cold is only gradually connected with the visual and other sensory and motor constituents of the bodily parts which suffer. The adult's sensory field, in this respect, may be, therefore, regarded as a highly developed complex. Attempts at unifying the senses have been chiefly made in two quarters. Spencer {Psychology, 1890, i, pp. 148-52) assumes a primitive shock as the origin of all sense systems; while Horwicz {Analyse?:, 1872-8, passim) traces every primary or secondary system back to the primitive sense of pain. Sensations are regarded as possessing several properties in common. Each sensation is supposed to possess (j) intensity,! (2) quaUty, (3) feeling tone or pleasure-pain tone, and (4) extensity or local sign, besides (5) duration. (i) The existence of intensity is not an easily demonstrable fact. We speak readily of a sensation being intensely painful, as a toothache, for instance. Yet if we compare different painful sensations, we find in the sensations themselves no obvious marks which can serve as a basis of division. One of two pains may be judged much more intense, yet an analysis scarcely discloses a difterence as regards sensations. In other cases, again, the so-called intensity must be connected with an increase in * See for further discussion the end of this section and ch. S. t " All our ideas of intensity, when traced to their origin, refer to the degrees of our feelings. We speak of intense heat and cold, intense pressure, intense pleasure and pain, intense passion, intense bitterness and sourness, intense irritation ; in all of which cases we speak of feelings in respect to their degrees" (Spencer, Psychology, 1890, ii, p. 266). See also Sully, Human Mind, i, pp. 86-90 ; Preyer, Ekmcnte der reiiicn Einpfindungs- lehre, 1877 ; Preyer, Ueher die Grenzen des Empfindungsverni'ogens, 1868 ; Preyer, Die 'Grenzen der Tonwahmehmting, 1876. 53 GENERAL ANALYSES the painful area afTected. Strictly speaking, it would be impossible to tell from a pain sensation whether it is intense or not, e.g., a bad attack of neuralgia did not reveal to me sensations of any intensity. We tell (ch. 6) the diflcrence by the varied manner in which the central nervous system reacts. A\'hen we consider the question of heat and cold, the same facts meet us. As we become hotter, a host of changes are engendered : the heat spreads; comfort is felt; the heat becomes uncomfortable, and, at last, intolerable and burning. Indeed, when we touch unawares something ice- cold, we may think that we have touched something hot. In the evolution of felt cold, non-cold sensations indicate what is called the intensity. The stiffness and unmanageableness of the Hmbs, the smoothness of the palms, and the reactions generally, are the principal indications of cold. A very cold hand yields a wealth of sensations for the classification of which I should not like to be responsible. Organic changes of an extensive order destroy in this way the notion of simple intensity. Experimenting with pressures, no more satisfactory result is obtained. Lifting an ounce is accompanied by passing sensations in the finger tips ; in lifting a heavy book, sensory changes supervene right up the arm ; and in lifting a heavy piece of metal, the whole body — head, trunk, extremities — seems to become alive with sensations. On the other hand, putting these different weights in a balance, no such multitude of changes is traceable. Hence "intensely heavy" has here again reference to complex organic changes which are of secondary importance as far as the feeling of pressure is concerned. We conclude, therefore, that increase or decrease of weight or pressure, is marked by changes which defy mathematical statement. If we examine the other senses, the same state of things repeats itself. An intense light is one that hurts our eyes or one that illuminates well. In the first case we have a special non-light effect, for pain is not a fact of light. In the second case we also ignore the light, and study its illumina- tive effects. An intense light is also better seen, shows more details, and is more easily attended to ; but these properties refer to the nature of the attention process. A dull light has after all a different quality from a bright light. A similar analysis holds of the other senses. \Test?[ We may hence conclude generally that while certain definite and easily calculable changes are observable in the non-organic world, these are, roughly speaking, accompanied in the organic world by indefinite and only indirectly calculable effects. It is one thing to register the fact that a change is felt ; it is quite another to determine the nature of that change. For this reason the word Intensity is scarcely used in the following pages, the words aggressiveness, obviousness and warmth of feeling taking its place. However, I have no intention of declaring that the question is settled.* *See Heinrich, Die modcrnc physiologische FsycJwlogie, 1899, pp. 43-58. SYSTEMS AS DISTRIBUTED 53 Fechner (Revision, 1882, p. 146) thus defines Weber's celebrated law dealing with intensities. "The sensory difference for two stimuli does not alter when the stimuli, on a change in their absolute magnitude, retain the same relation to one another, that is to say, when the relative difference between the stimuli remains unaffected." (2) The quality of a sensation is more evident. * Blue is different from red and red is different from green. The difficulty arises when we wish to determine the limits of qualities, and for this reason it would perhaps be safest to say that every appreciable sense-change is a change in sense-quality. Thus two reds which impressed us alike would be the same in quality; while absence of identity would imply difference in quality. It is not easy to discover sharp divisions in the qualities. If a certain shade of bright scarlet and a certain shade of dark green were the only two shades known to us, we should have two defined colour qualities ; but this is far from being the case. The sea at which I was looking yesterday, showed, if I mistake not, distinct traces of all shades of grey — from white to nearly black, all shades of green, all shades of blue — from greenish blue to purple, all shades of yellow, and traces of red in the purple. And these variations melted one into the other. f What is true of the colour sense, seems generally true of each of the higher senses, [2>^/.] The graver question now arises as to whether one sense shades into the other, whether, for instance, hearing shades into seeing. We have learnt already in this section that the inferior senses apparently do so. If I now gradually lower the eyelids till they are almost closed and look at an inverted picture, I notice the following. [Experiment.^ Through loss in ■detail the sense of depth is entirely gone, and from the same cause, things are located nowhere, or, as we should say, in the eye. The blur which ■excludes colours, forms and spatial relations, suggests something felt rather than seen. At all events, this blur seems to me distinctly of the nature of a confused feeling, almost void of all optical suggestion, certainly free from shapes or lines. In this manner it is possible that we may bridge the widest gulf between the senses. Again, a low hum, when it is a question of the sense of hearing, is equally suggestive of feelings like touches or temperatures.:}: (3) The nature of feeling tone or sense-feeling, is amply discussed in ch. 6. (4) According to Prof. Ward and others the feeling of extensity is the basis of extension. Thus he reasons that if we paste one postage stamp on the back of the hand and then one next to it, we obtain a sense of difference which lies at the basis of the sense of extension. [T^x/.] I have tried the experiment, but with most disappointing effect, for the sensa- tions themselves gave no notion of the space covered ; strictly speaking, indeed, they did not tell that any space was covered. The sensation was * As to the nature of quality, see Sully, Human Mind, 1892, i, pp. 90-4. t Magnus, Die Entwickelung des FarbensinneSy 1 877. iFor a fuller discussion, see sec. 189. 54 GENERAL ANALYSES only connected, and that at first alone, presumably through fore-knowledge, with a particular portion of the known hand. From this Prof. Ward and others argue that every point of the body's surface yields sensations of its own, and that from these differences, from these local signs, we develop the notion of extension. Hence even in sight the points affected by stimuli are supposed to yield us the material for spatial judgment. The fact that the bodily surfaces are part of an organic structure, should make us diffident in too readily adopting Prof Ward's view. Besides, the cases cited are far from convincing. I may have a piece of something in a tooth, and yet not know which tooth, whether upper or lower, whether to the right or to the left. Thus perhaps, generally speaking, localisation is the result of organisation of sensations into systems with the constitution of which we have become familiar. Prof. James has a long chapter on Space, in which he contends, unfortunately without referring to the facts, that extensity is a primitive quality of sensations. As Ward, equally with James, says little concerning the actual cutaneous systems, I shall here insert a few words on the subject. (i) I pass the tip of a finger across a basket chair. Here we have alternating feelings of pressure, warmth, smoothness, softness and strain, besides the feelings connected with the other portions of the hand and arm affected ; and in addition, there are feeling-less intervals, and the skin feelings are connected with sights, movements, etc. (2) Instead of passing the finger tip over the object, I pass the object over the finger tip, with similar results. (3) Instead now of using one finger tip, I experi- ment with various portions of the body, with like results. (4) Much practice has made us experts in interpreting touch systems, e.g., the bridge of the nose feels hard and smooth ; the lips feel soft, warm and rounded ; the back of the hands feels hairy, irregular ; and so forth. Since, then, movements and sensory systems are familiar to us, we interpret what happens by means of a number of signs which remain almost the same with every portion of the body usually employed in touching. This is the easier to understand when, as we shall learn further on, we find that change or movement is essential to tactile divination, and that absence of attention leads to tactile insensibility. Our first con- clusion, therefore, is that as localised cutaneous feelings are largely due to touch, they are interpreted in the same way; the relative softness, warmth, irregularity and strain being our guide. The whole body would in this way come to be known, and the cutaneous feelings would be connected with sights, touches, notions, etc., forming an easily inter- preted system of knowledge. Further, the most intimate cutaneous feelings are only exemplifications of the factors met with in touch. Hence a variety of factors and not specialised feelings, will indicate the locality of a hurt or a single touch. It would be dangerous to dogmatise as to whether there are any essential differences. in the different feelings derivable from various parts of the cutaneous surface. What I do hold is that there are no appreciable differences. There may be more diffused strains, more pricks, more changes ; but these cannot be called sensory qualities. Consider the complexity of the problem. A small piece of paper is allowed to touch the back of the hand, and is then removed. Now touch fibres are not very closely placed, and therefore only some points of the surface are touched ; the surface is very irregular, and hence not every fibre has been touched ; the effect extends to other parts and to deeper lying parts of the hand ; strains diffuse the effect of the contact ; and constant atten- tional and organic re-adaptation produces other rapid changes. If we carefully attend to the feelings, nothing but casual pricks or dim changeable feelings are noticeable, while where a feeling is only vaguely localised, there the feelings connected with it and already known hint at its position. Thus the data in any instance warrant no conclusion as to size of any part affected or as to its position or shape. To put it differently, any SYSTEMS AS DISTRIBUTED 55 of the various cutaneous feelings, however extensive in fact, are easily imagined as being connected with a spot of i mm. in circumference in any portion of the body* Hence our general conclusion is that sensations have no primitive quality of extensity or volume, and that such qualities are due to complex developments.! A special study of the nature of touch suggests conclusions of wide bearing and cardinal importance. Placing the fingers, hands, arms, limbs, head and other portions of the body, in different positions, and resting them in that position for some little time, it is found that the customary sensations connected with such acts of contact disappear. Especially is this the case when the eyes are diverted or closed, or better still when the position is not uncomfortable and is not chosen. Hence the first conclusion, generalised, runs: Total rest excludes all sensations.X \Test?\ This proposition explains various points of interest. It obviates the strained assumption that there is a hidden field of attention in which all that would be detected by the live senses within and without the body, has a place and leaves an effect. It implies rather that absence of normal attention argues a deadness or slumber as regards feelings in those directions. It explains how that which is monotonous makes men drowsy, tends to hypnotise them, and how quiet sleep, and life immediately after birth, is sensationless. Hence, natu- rally, when falling asleep or awaking, we cannot easily tell how the different portions of the body are disposed. Sensations, then, imply change or movement. If, accordingly, after care- ful conjecture, with eyes closed, I calculate that a finger lies in such and such a position, I have only to move if I wish to make certain of whether I am right or wrong. Consequeiltly, we reach our second conclusion that sensations only exist w/ierf there is change and where such chaJige is not mono- tonous or repetitive. \^Test.^ This conclusion completes the first one, for we find that any monotonous system of changes leaves as little of a sensory residue as monotonous rest ; that, indeed, the two, if closely considered, are one. These two conclusions fail apparently to explain how we can, for in- stance, apprehend a series of touches simultaneously ; and, in fact, by themselves the two conclusions leave the problem just raised unsolved. What we find, however, is that all normal sensing or integrating implies after-sensations. For example, trying to read a newspaper poster at some little distance in a very busy thoroughfare, I find that, owing to the many iiitervening passers-by, I can only catch a few letters at a time. This suggests that though after the reading, and as we read, we may see a con- * Strieker {Das Bewusstsein, 1S79) reasons, incorrectly in my opinion, that we in- stinctively know where a sensation is to be located. He says, for instance : " Persons who have not the slightest notion of the position of their internal organs, can tell immediately where the pain is felt when an internal organ becomes diseased and pains them" (p. 33). _ tThe question of extensity is ably and almost exhaustively discussed by Lotze, Medicinische Psychologic, 1852, bk. 2, ch. 4. + Preyer {Uie fiinf Sintie, 1S70, pp. 26-7) mentions that in sitting quite still, all sense of position is lost, and he explains that active touch and sight are necessary to determine position. See also Sternberg, Die Lage unserer Glicder, 1S85. 56 GENERAL ANALYSES siderable portion at a glance, we really observe but a minimum at a time, the other portion being the effect of the retarded death or slow vanishing of minimal sensations. Hence we reach the third conclusion that without after-sensations^ there are no sensations proper. \Test?\ A difficulty which was met with in the course of arriving at the first con- clusion, brings us to our fourth conclusion. I had frequently noted that I interpreted any particular sensation or position by the many others that were combined with it, e.g.^ I connected the sensations in the fingers with the sensations in hand, arm and trunk. Following the hint, I arrived, after some experimenting, at the result that we very seldom observe a sensation by itself; but that we generally deduce its place from its known position in a considerable system of sensations. In any case of doubt, due to whatever causes, as we have seen when speaking of extensity, we, therefore, to some extent, arrive deductively at the nature and the place of any sensation. For this reason, to the adult, and this is our fourth conclusion, sensations are given in an orgafiised system. [^Test.^ An organised system implies a pre- ceding chaos, and accordingly we learn that to the infant, sensations appear, as it were, in the air. Unfamiliar and unconnected as the infant's sensa- tions are, he neither places them nor heeds them much. Only with more of life, do the tactile feelings become connected with each other and with other classes of feelings and sensations. Hence touching, like seeing, is meaningless to the infant, and only grows to have a meaning for him as the course of events welds together similar sensations into different systems. At least, the infant of four months whom I had under observation since birth, fully illustrates what has been said above. Two problems are in- volved, among others, in the conclusion reached in this paragraph. The first one is that all uniformity as expressed in character, gefieral tJwught, special thought, primary and secondary existence, action, movement, space, time, order, and the like, are but an exemplification of organised complica- tions, of precisely the same iveight fundamentally. My observations on infants, and the experiments which form the basis of these conclusions, also suggest that, in the human being at least, there is steady development along all the lines, and not full-blown inheritance. The second problem refers to dreams specially, and illustrates incidentally some of the problems of the imagination and the memory. Mr. Bradley {On the Failure of Movement in Dreams, 1894) has raised the question of how far we feel whilst asleep, and here I may venture on an answer to his query. As dream-life implies considerable disorganisation, so it implies disorganisation among the sensations, aggravated by disorganised movement. Hence I have more than once satisfied myself that in dream-life touch (and other) sensations are freely ignored and freely placed into any kind of fanciful system, the reason being that fundamentally the value of the parts has no defined meaning apart from a larger whole. In some experiments upon effort, with the attention diverted, I found to my surprise that while the effort — say, of freely holding some heavy object — continued, all *' sense " of effort, together with the many connected arm SYSTEMS AS DISTRIBUTED 57 and other sensations, were lacking. This confirms our second conclusion that sensations only exist where there is change. I have since observed in many instances that habitual action — and most action is habitual — is only accompanied by sensations when a certain maximum share of atten- tion is turned towards it. So in all kinds of aches, as neuralgia, ?nininial .concern with the ache, excludes sensations. Hence we reach the fifth con- clusion, that sensation a?id muscular activity are not necessarily con7iected. This becomes obvious when studying the development of an infant : the incessant movements (still fitful and clumsy) of every limb and every portion of it, are evidently something quite apart from the accompanying sensations. As we shall see in ch. 6, the bare feelings in aches sug- gest no pleasure-pain value and no action ; and what holds good of the adult, holds good, of course, with increased force of the infant. Strictly speaking, the sensations are one thing, and the movements another. The feelings — as distinct from movements — connected with fears, joys, pleasures and pains, are something separate and develop to a large degree separately -and differently, and to some extent remain always separate. Finally, our special study of touch sensations suggests a sixth con- clusion, namely, that all sensations and sensation complexes, all movements and movement complexes, as they appear in the life of an adult, are close repeti- tions of previous sensory and motor complexes. \Test?\ I found that, how- ever I varied or found varied the postures in sitting or standing, or whatever varied movements of a large or a small range I made, it was always some movement which I had previously practised. The only excep- tions were such as occurred in accidents or in learning a movement. Infant life makes this conclusion intelligible. The child, as if it had in ^iew a deliberate purpose and one well-conceived, is constantly performing fitful movements of endless variety ; and it keeps performing these till, to all intents and purposes, it has run the gammot of possible movements and their combinations. An adult, therefore, re-members, re-performs the overwhelming majority of his actions. And what is true of movement, is true of percepts and ideas, of primary and secondary compounds. By the time the infant has been transformed into the adult, the thoughts and the classes of thoughts combine according to habits that have become no less unbending than the laws of the Medes and Persians. Petty shifts, undiscriminating habits and piercing thoughts, are all equally the result of growing organisation, determined by natural selection within the life-time of the individual. As we shall see in chs. 3 and 4, our whole life, at every .stage of development — including the simplest sensations and movements, — reflects systems of organised complexes, and all change is produced by a further differentiation in such systems under the pressure of needs. 20. — Classification of Systems. The classification of systems, after what has been stated, becomes a com- paratively unimportant matter. Perhaps neurology will, in time, draw for us distinctions which we do not now admit. Still, such conclusions as we 58 GENERAL ANALYSES have reached shall be exhibited here. Under the heading of feelings should be ranged sensory systems which are indefinite and not easily defin- able in their nature. (i) Those feelings which generally accom])any pleasure-pain belong to the class we are considering. They cannot be defined from each other or from other feelings. The connection between them and pleasure-pain is accidental. (Ch. 6.) (2) The feeling of effort or self-assertion must be ranged with the above. Were it not for the physical effects which we note, we should never think of distinguishing between it and other feelings. In itself it has no power, no more than a visual system. It is a servant and not a master. It is in attendance and not in command. (Ch. 7.) (3) To the same series belong the emotions. Their importance is fictitious, and is only derived from their association with activities more or less violent. They have no more power to move us than the other feelings. (Ch. 7.) (4) The passions, desires and appetites belong to the same category, their complexity being constituted by their many known relations. (5) So also do the feelings of touch ; those connected with temperature, pressure and the muscles; and intra-organic feelings generally. (6) Those feelings which constitute the general impression which an object makes on us, and which we shall call summary feelings, belong to the above order. (7) Combination feelings must be similarly placed ; they embrace those feelings of doubt, certainty, reminiscence, oblivion, etc., etc., which can be traced in the course of thought. With a more detailed study of sensibility these are destined to gather more and more meaning; but at present they are unattached, like the infant's bodily sensations. With psychological progress will come localisation in a system. The above enumerated feefings should be looked upon as elementary systems or feelings. Nearest to the above feelings is the sense of taste and that of smell. These, especially the latter, have a stronger individuality than the feelings we have enumerated. Let us call these semi-advanced se?2sa- tions, as representing a transitional form between feelings and advanced sensations. The sensations of the first order are seeing and hearing. In these alone, if we omit physical exercise, is a synthesis possible. There is no- counterpart to a melody or a picture in either feelings or semi-advanced sensations. However, sight and hearing do not occupy the same position, for sound has considerable affinity with feelings. The sensation of hearing, except for its synthetic and objective character, is hard to distinguish from feelings proper. A noise in the head, a jarring sound, reminds us of the latter. In sight, on the other hand, the synthetic character is prominently marked ; the features can be distinctly defined ; and passivity of effect is almost absolute. The life of action, inclusive of memory, falls under the headings of primary and secondary feelings, feelings or elementary systems, semi- advanced systems, and advanced systems. In the secondary series there are no new elements discernible : we see and hear and feel as in normal 5 VSTEMS A S DISTRIB UTED S9' outward life, only the springs are central rather than outward or afferent (ch. 5) ; but that in itself constitutes no striking difference. If sight is best re-produced, that is because it is the king of senses ; and if smells are hard to re-integrate, that is probably because smell is so seldom resorted to. With varying evolution any of the other senses or feelings might occupy the place of sight (sec. 189.) Systems are thus divided into (i) feelings or elementary systems, (2) semi-advanced systems and (3) advanced systems. The three together may be called Systems. The mechanism of thought is as yet only traceable on the neural side. 21. — Keen, Normal and Lax Attention. We have seen that the endeavour to understand difficult paragraphs was inconsistent with following a conversation. What is the fact which explains this inconsistency ? Why should keen activity in some directions exclude keen activity in other directions? Further investigation will, I hope, supply the explanation. Meanwhile we may here profitably investi- gate the degrees of attention. The book which I read I found, at best, troublesome to follow. To secure adequate comprehension, intricate passages, with their windings and interconnections, had to be grasped simultaneously. In trying to assimilate what I was reading, the attention had to be more and more restricted to the elucidation of some detail, and had to be kept fixed on that. \_Chanenge the preceding statement^ I had to be oblivious of everything that passed about me. Such keenness, such prolonged preference, is, how- ever, not common. It more frequently happens that we are interrupted by a conversation going on near us, or by any striking sound, sight or other sensation. \Observe normal occasions.^ Usually we should find it difficult not to listen to at least parts of the conversation, and commonly we should also notice various trifles. In this normal condition the field of attention is not determined for any length of time by one thought, and we are not so absorbed that we could not be easily aroused. We still ignore the majority of objects around us ; but these are not of a nature to appeal to us strongly. Advancing another step, in the opposite direction to that of being absorbed, the attention becomes lax, and we find our- selves rambling in thought, following everything in turn, but nothing long. We are, in fact, in a state of reverie : more open to overtures, while the field of activity is changing repeatedly. [Exaniitie suck cases.] Hence we see that (i) in keen attention we are almost wholly oblivious of our sur- roundings (inner and outer) ; (2) in normal attention we are to some extent oblivious of our surroundings ; and (3) in lax attention we are guided almost solely by casual impressions derived from our surroundings (inner and outer). To conclude. Looking about me carelessly I fwtice little in each of a large number of objects. Looking closely L apprehend about as much in one of -60 GENERAL ANALYSES those objects* The amount observed has remained the same in both ■instances.! Whether attention is keen, normal or lax, entails no difference as to the quantity dealt with. \Try to disprove this^ 22. — Attention, in thk Normal Waking Statk, is Quantitatively ALIKE WITH All Men at Am. Times. It appears from the above that the total ([uantity of attention or neural activity is always the same, or nearly so, increased activity in one direction being at the expense of decreased activity in another. Attention, again, being transformation or expenditure of energy — on the physiological side — • we can understand how it is that, if our fund is limited, employing labour in one direction, as in concentrating our forces on the niceties of one problem, we are debarred from employing the same part of the fund in another direction. If we, therefore, wish to attend to many details at once, the activity must be judiciously distributed over a large area, i.e., we notice little in each of several objects. Hence keenness of attention will vary inversely with the quantity which we wish distinctly to observe or under- stand. This we find is actually the case, e.g., we can sharply fix a whole landscape ; but then its bare form alone can be apprehended. \^Exafni?ie the limits of fixation.^ We are not surprised, therefore, that under ordinary circumstances we meet with an amount of attention, or neural activity, of almost equal degree in every human being. Lipps rout^hly agrees with the tenor of this section. " When the vital conditions remain uniform, and during short periods, psychic force may be considered as at least approximately constant, and this constancy may be applied to explain conscious facts" {Grundla/sachen des Seelenlebens, 1883, p. 174). Here the agreement ends. Ladd makes primary attention to cover the whole field of consciousness. He says : " Primary attention, essentially considered, is the variously related degrees of psychic energy expended upon the different aspects, elements, and objects, in the one field of conscious- ness" {Psychology, 1894, pp. 74-5). Here, if I am not mistaken, Ladd fails to recognise that the "aspects, elements, and objects," are themselves complexes. Kohn {Zttr Theorie der Aufnierksanikeit, 1895) holds opinions similar to those of Ladd. Excepting these three writers I recall no others who do not very considerably limit the * " The greater the number of objects to which our consciousness is simultaneously ■extended, the smaller is the intensity with which it is able to consider each." So writes Hamilton {Metaphysics, ed. 1S77, i, p. 237). From the point of view of attention, the