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Psychological Review 













Volume i. 1894. 




Copyright, 1894, by MACMILLAN & Co. 


An alphabetical index of names and subjects will be found at the end of the volume. 



President's Address before the New York Meeting of the American 

Psychological Association : GEORGE TRUMBULL LADD ... r 

The Case of John Bunyan (I.) : JOSIAH ROYCE 22; 

Studies from the Harvard Psychological Laboratory (I.) : 

Memory ' 34 

The Intensifying Effect of Attention 395 

A Psychometric Study of the Psycho-physic Law 45 

Optical Time -content 51 

A Stereoscope Without Mirrors or Prisms (with Plate I.) : HUGO 


Arithmetic by Smell : FRANCIS GALTON 61 

The Psychology of Infant Language : JOHN DEWEY 63 

Work at the Yale Laboratory : E. W. SCRIPTURE 66 

The Psychological Standpoint : GEORGE STUART FULLERTON . .113 
The Case of John Bunyan (II.) : JOSIAH ROYCE ...... 134 

Community and Association of Ideas : A Statistical Study : JOSEPH 


Reaction-times and the Velocity of the Nervous Impulse : CHARLES 

S. DOLLEY and J. McK. CATTELL 159 

Freedom and Psycho-genesis : ALEXANDER T. ORMOND 217 

The Case of John Bunyan (III.) : JOSIAH ROYCE 230 

A Study of Fear as Primitive Emotion : HIRAM M. STANLEY . . 241 
Experiments in Space Perception (I.) : JAMES H. HYSLOP. . . .257 

Personality-suggestion : J. MARK BALDWIN 274 

Sensation-areas and Movement : W. O. KROHN 280 

Adjustment of Simple Psychological Measurements : E. W. SCRIPTURE 281 

Reverse Illusions of Orientation : ALFRED BINET 337 

Direct Control of the Retinal Field : GEORGE TRUMBULL LADD. . 351 
Psychological Notes on Helen Kellar : JOSEPH JASTROW .... 356, 



Psychology, Past and Present : J. MARK BALDWIN 363 

Studies from the Harvard Psychological Laboratory (II.) : com- 
municated by HUGO MUNSTERBERG : 

A. The Motor Power of Ideas: HUGO MUNSTERBERG and W. 


B. Memory (II.) : JOHN BIGHAM 453 

C. The Localization of Sound: HUGO MUNSTERBERG and AR- 


D. Association (I.) : MARY WHITON CALKINS 476 

E. Aesthetics of Simple Forms ; (I. ) Symmetry : EDGAR PIERCE. 483 
The Imagery of American Students : A. C. ARMSTRONG, JR. . . 496 
The Pendulum as a Control-instrument for the Hipp Chronoscope : 


The Theory of Emotion ; (I.) Emotional Attitudes : JOHN DEWEY . 553 
The Study of a Case of Amnesia or ' Double Consciousness ' : 


Experiments in Space Perception (II.) : JAMES H. HYSLOP . . . 581 
An Experimental Study of Memory : E. A. KIRKPATRICK . . . 602 


Professor Wundt and Feelings of Innervation : William James. . 70 
Mr. James Ward on Modern Psychology : Charles A. Strong . . 73 

Color-sensation Theory : Christine Ladd Franklin 169 

Herr Lasswitz on Energy and Epistemology : George H. Mead . 172 
Judgment as * The Collective Becoming Abstract ' : A. H. Lloyd . 283 

Is Psychology a Science ? George Trumbull Ladd 392 

The Bearing of the After-image : C. L. Franklin 396 

The Physical Basis of Emotion : William James 516 

The Origin of Emotional Expression : J. Mark Baldwin .... 610 


Educational : Nicholas Murray Butler 82 

The Nervous System : H. H. D 83 

Aphasia : M. A. S 88 

Hysteria, Paramnesia : W. J 93 

The Perception of Light and Color : C. L. Franklin, E. C. Sanford 96 

The Muscular Sense : E. B. Delabarre 100 

Experimental : W. L. Bryan, H. C. Warren . . . .. . . .101 

Epistemological : G. S. F 107 

Ethical: J. D 109 



Orr's Theory of Development and Heredity: Henry F. Osborn . 176 

Baldwin's Elements of Psychology: G.M.Duncan 178 

Child-psychology : J. M. B 182 

The Nervous System : H. H. D 184 

Binet's Les alterations de la personalite : T. Courtier 187 

Hysteria : W. J 195 

The Perception of Light and Color : C. L. Franklin 200 

Binocular Vision : E. B. Delabarre 202 

Esthetics of Form : Lightner Witmer 205 

Music, Speech, and Song : H. C. Warren, W. J 208 

Epistemological : G. H. Mead 210 

The American Psychological Association : J McK. C 214. 

Ladd's Psychology : W. J 286 

Bain's The Senses and the Intellect : A. Bain 295 

KUlpe's Grundriss der Psychologic : H. M. . . 295 

Uphues' Psychologic des Erkennens : G. S. ? 301 

Bradley 's Appearance and Reality : A. H. Hodder 307 

The Discussion Between Spencer and Weismann : Henry F. 

Osborn 312 

Hysteria, Alternating Personality, Paramnesia, Thought Trans- 
ference : W. J 315 

Flournoy's Les phenomenes de synopsie : J.Philippe 318 

Vision : C. L. Franklin : J. McK. C 322 

The Sense of Touch : W. O. Krohn 326 

Experimental : M. W. Calkins 327 

Memory, Imagination : H. N. Gardiner 329 

Rhythm : E. A. Pace 330 

Logical : A. H. Lloyd 333 

Pathological : E. B. Delabarre 334 

Social Psychology Ward's Psychic Factor of Civilization, Kidd's 
Social Evolution, Adam's Civilization during the Middle 
Ages, Flint's History of the Philosophy of History : J. D. . 400 
Marshall's Pain, Pleasure, and ^Esthetics : George Santayana . .411 

Ormond's Basal Concepts in Philosophy : G. T. L 415 

Kirkpatrick's Inductive Psychology : A. C. Armstrong .... 416 
Mosso's La Fatigue, Paulhan's Les caracteres, Payot's L'6duca- 

tion de la volunte : A. B 417 

Starr's Brain Surgery : Livingston Farrand 419 

The Nervous System : H. H. D 420 

Anthropological : W. R. Newbold 423 

Child-psychology : W. L. Bryan, Frederick Tracy, J. M. B. . . . 425 



Vision : C. L. Franklin, E. B. Delabarre, J. Philippe 428 

Hearing : F. Angell 433 

Memory : J. R. Angell 435 

Cams' Le probleme de la conscience du moi : H. C. Warren . . 438 

Binet's Introduction d la psychologic experimental : H. C. Warren. 530 

Krohn's Practical Lessons in Psychology : A. C. Armstrong, Jr. . 531 

Ellis' Man and Woman : D. G. Brinton 532 

Van Norden's The Psychic Factor : J. M. B 534 

Grasserie's Classification objective et subjective des arts de la 

literature et des sciences : J. Philippe 535 

Hegel's Philosophy of Mind : J. M. B 536 

Sensations of the Skin : J. Jastrow 538 

Functions of the Internal Ear : F. Angell 538 

The Perception of Distance : E. B. Delabarre 540 

Association, Reaction : J. McK. C 541 

Pleasure and Pain : G. Santayana 544 

Emotion : H. N. Gardiner 544 

Logical : H. C. Warren 551 

Godfernaux's Le sentiment et la pensee : W. J 624 

Bateson's Materials for the Study of Variation : W. J 627 

Lang's Cock-Lane and Common Sense, Du-Prel's Die Entdeckung 

der Seele : W. J 630 

The Nervous System : H. H. D. Adolf Meyer 632 

Idiocy and Imbecility : Livingston Farrand 636 

The Perception of Time : Herbert Nichols 638 

Experimental : James R. Angell, Mary Whiton Calkins, H. C. 

Warren 641 

Psychological Analysis : D. S. Miller 644 

The Personal and Social Sense : J. M. B 646 

The British Association : J. McK. C 652 

New Books 112,213,335,439,551,653 

Notes -112,214,335,440,552,654 

VOL. I. No. i. JANUARY, 1894. 



Yale University. 


The time and manner of the organization of this Associa- 
tion seem to me significant of certain important truths which 
concern the science in whose behalf the organization has been 
effected. Without undue modesty we should perhaps speak 
of ourselves as the youngest the most nearly embryonic 
of all similar scientific bodies ; and it is, of course, well 
known that many workmen in other lines of scientific en- 
deavor, and even some of the most notable and helpful 
among ourselves, still deny that psychology is entitled to 
be called a 'science.' On the other hand, it is not un- 
becoming pride which leads us to maintain that no similar 
organization is more hopeful, more disposed to be credit- 
ably aggressive, than are we. For few, if any, of the most 
firmly established and highly accredited scientific associations 
can rely upon a more devoted and well-trained membership, 
or upon more interest both popular and permanent in the 
results of their researches and speculations, than can those 
formed for the cultivation, in the use of modern methods, of 
the science of psychology. 

Such a position as that which we occupy has certain dis- 
advantages and certain equally great advantages. It cannot, 
indeed, be truthfully claimed that psychology has at present 

* Held at Columbia College, December 27th and 28th, 1893. 


the same settled and accepted principles of method as those 
which belong for example to the modern sciences of phy- 
sics and chemistry. Possibly though doubt is certainly per- 
missible here in respect of its possession of an accredited 
method, it is not even the peer of biology, or of a so-called 
'social science.' Neither is it possible for psychology, at 
least as yet, to formulate its ascertained facts, and announce 
the discovery of universal Maws/ with the precision which 
belongs to the more advanced physical sciences. On the 
other hand, I am bold enough (perhaps rash enough would 
seem the more appropriate word) to predict that some of 
the most widely accepted of these physical formulas are 
destined to be thoroughly shaken up, in the not far away 
future. But, however this may be, there is always a cer- 
tain advantage in the plasticity, the superior mouldableness, 
of the origin of scientific products and their developments. 
And if psychology, as a science, must be considered embry- 
onic in its present stage, there is on this account the more 
opportunity for a band of students and investigators, such as 
we aim to be, to contribute something important to its more 
stable and higher evolution. 

Now it seems to me that the large and final success of an 
Association like this will depend very conspicuously upon 
the attitude which its members maintain toward the three 
following classes of inquiries. I say ' classes ' of inquiries, 
because each of the questions which I am about to raise 
includes an indefinite number of subordinate questions. As 
to these subordinate questions, probably no two members 
of this Association could be found in perfect agreement. 
But as to the right general attitude toward each of the three 
classes of inquiries, it seems to me possible that we may start 
our special lines of work with something approaching a 
common consent. A detailed discussion of even such general 
questions, and a defence of the attitude which I think should 
be taken toward them, would be quite too much of a task 
for the present occasion. I shall limit myself to a brief 
statement, followed by some rather indefinite remarks upon 
what seems to me to be the right attitude toward each. 
I shall be content with gaining something in comprehensive- 


ness of view, and in largeness and freedom of spirit, even if I 
lose much as respects precision and satisfactoriness of proof. 

In other words, gentlemen, let us allow our eyes to wander 
with an sesthetical and ethical, rather than purely scientific, 
intent over our broad and fair domain, before we settle down, 
as a well-organized colony, to its minuter exploration and 

The three classes of inquiries to which reference was just 
made are the following: (i) What is the relation in which the 
statistical and experimental investigation of mental phenom 
ena stands to the total science of psychology, in the larger 
meaning of the latter words? (2) What is the relation in 
which the science of psychology, thus understood, stands to 
that interpretation of the external world and of human life, 
in its yet larger and profounder experiences, which we are 
wont to call philosophy ? (3) What is the relation in which 
the science of psychology stands to conduct and to the prac- 
tical welfare of mankind ? More briefly expressed : How 
shall we regard the science of mental life as related to the 
methods and conclusions of the most nearly allied physical 
sciences, to philosophy, and to human action and character ? 

Now, if I were to speak my mind at all fully in answer to 
either of these three questions, I should doubtless find the 
amount of assent which my words commanded varying for 
each of the three. As to the last of the three questions, it 
would probably be possible to receive the adherence of all 
my auditors; as to the second of the three (namely, the rela- 
tion of psychology to philosophy), a pretty general agreement 
might perhaps be reached ; but as to the nature of the science 
called psychology, and as to the use of laboratory and other 
allied methods for its cultivation, perhaps any one of our 
number, if addressing the Association, should be amply sat- 
isfied if he had succeeded in carrying the assent of a bare 
majority. This last remark is made in passing, partly as a 
matter of rhetorical policy ; for the order of treatment which 
I have adopted compels me to speak of the most contro- 
verted subjects first. 

First, then, as to the question of method, and of the pos- 
sibility of rendering psychology more truly scientific, by use 


of right method ; as well as of the value and limits of the more 
modern statistical and experimental researches. On all these 
matters I begin with an exhortation addressed not less to my- 
self than to all my colleagues in the common work. Let us all 
always be just : nay, let us be something more than merely 
just ; let us be generous. And let our generosity include all 
workmen of all times, with their works, from Aristotle's De 
Anima to the latest thesis by the youngest aspirant for the de- 
gree of Doctor of Philosophy, even if months of painstaking 
experiment in some German or American laboratory have led 
him to merely 'negative' results. Let this same generosity 
also include all methods of dealing with mental phenomena; 
from experimenting with key and chronometer, through 
thousands of trials in reaction-time and elaborate mathematical 
discussion of general averages, to the introspective seizure of 
some rare happening in individual consciousness, with the 
felicitous guess which genius makes as to the meaning of the 
fact thus surprised ; or to the reflective study of that artistic 
delineation of soul-life in which the best novels, poems, and 
dramas are so wonderfully successful. 

Nor can I approve of the proposal to restrict the use of 
the words ' science ' and ' scientific ' ; or of the denial that 
psychology is a science, or of the refusal to accept as scientific 
other contributions than those of the physiological or psycho- 
physical laboratory. Apropos of the correct and courteous 
use of these terms, I recall a colleague of my younger days, a 
young professor of physics; this ardent 'scientist* boldly 
denied the right of any other branch of human knowledge to 
the term ' science '; with him, there was only one science, 
namely, physics. But, on the other hand, I shall not soon for- 
get the reply, made by one of the most distinguished inves- 
tigators and writers on this subject, to my question (half 
jestingly put), whether he considered meteorology a science. 
Said the veteran : " Meteorology is just as much of a science as 
geology is." 

Now no fixed line can ever be drawn between science and 
ordinary knowledge ; and science begins whenever and wher- 
ever facts begin to be carefully observed and classified, and 
attempts at explanation, by way of stating the customary 


forms of the occurrence of the facts in relation, are made. 
To affirm that psychology is not a science, whether reference 
be had to the study of mental phenomena by the so-called 
introspective or by the so-called experimental method, seems 
to me both philologically and historically indefensible. While 
to postpone the gift of the title until some law, like that 
of gravitation in physics or of chemical sequivalency in 
chemistry, has been discovered, is to assume, unwarrantably, 
that some such law is actually followed by the phenomena. 
Such an assumption is, itself, at least premature and un- 
scientific ; even if we are not justified in saying that the very 
nature of psychical facts, and of their origin and sequence, is 
such as to render it forever unrealizable. In brief, there is 
every reason why we should be both just and generous in 
our use of terminology. This Association is formed for the 
advancement of a science already existing, and, indeed, like 
all the other principal sciences, some centuries old. We of 
to-day have entered into the inheritance of past ages ; and it is 
becoming for us to do so with generous acknowledgment of 
what the past has done for us. And yet, although we are 
children of the ages, we are pre-eminently children of the 
present age. For a certain way of studying the phenomena 
of mental life is comparatively modern ; and the hopes which 
are entertained respecting results from this method are by no 
means altogether misleading. 

This last remark introduces certain considerations respect- 
ing the relation of introspection and the use of statistics and 
experimentation in psychology. I need not speak in detail of 
the burning and strife which have too often accompanied the 
mere mention not to say, the discussion of this subject. I 
venture to hope that I speak for the great majority of this 
Association when I say that this feeling is to be deprecated ; 
and, except so far as all controversy, however conducted, 
helps in a measure to elicit truth at last, it is to be distinctly 
avoided. Whoever takes a wide historical and philosophical 
view of the evolution of science in general I do not say 
simply of psychology, in particular can sympathize fully 
with neither of the two extreme views. He will neither, on 
the one hand, quake with fear lest the foundations of the 


world's stock of truths in ethics and philosophy are to be 
undermined by the discovery of the function of Broca's con- 
volution, or of the laws of reaction-time where apparent 
choice is concerned ; nor, on the other hand, will he under- 
take to deny the verity of aesthetical, ethical, and religious 
consciousness, or pride himself on his ability to dispense with 
introspective psychology and philosophy, because of some new 
device in mechanism to aid the solution of certain subordinate 
psycho-physical problems. 

The question how far laboratory and other methods akin 
to those of the most advanced physical sciences can be used 
in the development of a scientific psychology will answer 
itself only in the course of history. It is always a venture- 
some thing to lay down limits that anticipate the requisite 
experience. That can be which will be ; and what will be 
cannot always be precisely predicted by means of what now 
is. Yet certain observations occur to me which seem more or 
less certain of realization. That no method can be developed 
in psychology which will enable us to dispense with intro- 
spection, or which will cease to be very largely dependent, 
for its own value, upon the value of the introspection which 
accompanies it, is too obvious to require discussion. Of 
course, the proposal wholly to get rid of self-consciousness as 
the medium of knowledge of the phenomena of consciousness 
is absurd. And however we may seem compelled to interpret 
the language of any advocate of experimentation and ' objec- 
tive' observation in the stead of introspection, we can scarcely 
believe that his proposal is to be seriously and intelligently 
understood. The results of any 'series' of experiments, the 
generalizations from any 'pile' of statistics, become material 
for psychology only when they are interpreted in terms of 
consciousness. For scientific psychology is the science of the 
phenomena of consciousness, as such. And no interpretation 
of consciousness is possible in any terms whatever without 
self-consciousness. Every intelligent and sincere worker by 
laboratory methods knows that there is nothing of more 
doubtful scientific value than are the results obtained when 
the man behind the key is reacting in the interests, as it were, 
of his own self-consciously or unconsciously adopted theory ; 


unless, indeed, it be the interpretation of results obtained from 
an unprejudiced reacting agent by some prejudiced theorizer. 
Twist the matter as we may, we cannot get rid of the fact: 
skill in introspective observation and analysis sits at one end 
of the series of experiments as witness being examined, and 
at the other end as judge pronouncing after, or even before, 
the examination of the witness. It is plainly worth while to 
remark in passing that the same thing is true, though in far 
less degree, in all the physical sciences. The history of biol- 
ogy, of geology, and even of astronomy is full of examples of 
failure to arrive at truth objective and universal through lack 
of skill in self-knowledge. Hence the safe conclusion that a 
scientific psychology is the handmaid of all the sciences. 

Furthermore, any attempt to separate introspection from 
experimentation and the more objective estimate of statistical 
material is as impolitic as it is plainly impossible. In past 
time the science of psychology has been advanced far more 
by those guesses at the truth .based upon my truth, those 
leaps from what is self-consciously discerned as in me to what 
belongs to all men, to human nature as such, which charac- 
terize the " born psychologist," than by long series of trial 
experiments or by vast collections of "data" so called. Nor 
am I sure that this will not always continue to be so. Here 
again, however, the method of psychology is not so wholly 
unlike that by which the physical sciences have grown. 
They, too, have made their great advances chiefly through the 
intuitive flashes of that genius which sees the general and the 
universal as it manifests itself in the particular. In psychol- 
ogy, as in these physical sciences, the truth which Aristotle 
recognized, of course, always holds : there can be no science of 
that which is individual merely. But in psychology more, by 
far, than in the physical sciences, the observation and skilled 
interpretation of the facts of individual experience are likely 
to lead directly to what is true and valuable for the entire 

Once more, it seems to me that there are certain factors 
and aspects of all, even the commonest mental life, which will 
never readily lend themselves to refined methods of experi- 
mental analysis and interpretation ; which will never yield to 


the attempts, however persistent, of the collectors of ' data/ 
I am well aware that my opinion here will by no means com- 
mand universal assent. It will probably seem to some that I 
am violating my own caution, not to limit in lofty a priori 
fashion the possibilities of triumph which lie before the new 
methods of solving psychological problems. 

In illustration of my meaning, however, let me call atten- 
tion to the following facts. We have had of late many 
considerable volumes on psychology ; as, indeed, voluminous 
works abound on all the modern sciences. But perhaps we 
do not often enough consider how exceedingly meagre, as 
compared with the wealth and complexity of actual mental 
life, are the most voluminous of these treatises. Let the plain 
man read carefully through the biggest of all these books ; 
and the astonishing thing is that so large a part of his daily 
experience is, not simply left unexplained to his satisfaction; 
it is not even treated at all. This is, of course, no sure proof 
that psychology is still in a lamentably backward condition. 
It is an illustration of the general truth that all human science 
is but patches of a shallow, superficial stratum, dimly lit 
through occasional rifts in the clouds, over the fathomless 
depths of the ocean of reality. For example, how absolutely 
dumb is all our most advanced evolutionary biology, when 
the common gardener asks for an explanation of the changes 
through which pass the phylloxera that are destroying the 
roots of his vines, or the moths that feed upon the leaves of 
his fruit-trees ! 

In further illustration of my meaning let me though with 
a protest looking toward its definitive and final rejection 
adopt for the moment the customary division of mental phe- 
nomena into knowledge, feeling, and will. It is simple matter 
of fact that, thus far in the development of laboratory and statis- 
tical methods for dealing with mental phenomena, it is the ever- 
present sensation-content of all these aspects of mental life 
which has chiefly, and almost exclusively, been the subject of 
treatment. This is, in part, perhaps the reason why some who 
are most nobly impatient of the limitations which have hitherto 
surrounded the use of experimental methods are so strongly 
inclined to identify feeling with quality of sensation, ' pleasure- 


pain '-wise, and volition with dominant stress of sensation. But 
let us place the plain man in the presence of any common thing, 
and let him attain what he calls a ' knowledge ' of that thing, 
and then summon the psychologist who is most expert in 
laboratory methods, and most learned in the results of such 
methods, to explain his knowledge of the * Thing/ and pardon 
the uncouth word the thinghood of that which is known ; and 
how far, pray, will the explanation go in reliance on the con- 
clusions of a strictly inductive and experimental psychology ? 
The expert will have to stop short when he has enumerated 
certain principles that have respect to the quality, quantity, 
time-rate, and combination of the sensation-factors whose syn- 
thesis is the sensation-content of knowledge. But in doing 
this he has not explained, he has not even described with any 
approach to completeness, that state of consciousness which 
we call an act of knowledge. And here I am not asking of 
the psychologist a system of metaphysics or a theory of knowl- 
edge, to incorporate into his experimental resultant. But I 
am simply asking that he shall describe and explain, as suck, 
that common enough state of consciousness which everybody 
calls ' the knowledge of a thing.' Nor does it seem to me at 
all likely that our physiological and psycho-physical labora- 
tories will ever be able to handle certain factors and aspects of 
this psychological problem of knowledge. For example, how 
shall we experiment or collect statistics to elucidate the ' be- 
lief ' in reality which different writers have assigned, now to 
intellection, and now to feeling, and now to will, but without 
which no knowledge of anything can take place? For my 
part, I am just as firm in my opinion as the most old-fashioned 
psychologist, while in admiration for the new psychology I 
yield to none, that self-consciousness envisages a self-activity, 
and a conviction of extra-mental reality; in all knowledge, 
which experimental data are quite powerless either to deny or 
to explain. 

Nor do I look forward with much confidence to the eluci- 
dation of our so-called ' higher ' sesthetical, ethical or religious 
sentiments, by experimental analysis or by collection of statis- 
tics. Something worth while will doubtless be done in the 
region of the simpler and more fundamental feelings, by labo- 


ratory methods ; and what is done in this region will help us 
the better to understand what happens in the higher regions 
of affective phenomena. But I suspect that the limitations ot 
the successful use of these methods are likely to be pretty 
quickly reached ; and that we shall have to go to art and to 
literature, as interpreted through our own best self-conscious 
feeling, for the clearer understanding of all such phenomena. 

With respect to choice and free will so called, as elucidated 
by the modern experimental methods, my hopes are very 
moderate, and my fears are nil. In this line of investigation 
it is quite too often forgotten what it is, taken in its depth and 
entirety, which needs to be described and explained. You 
may seat your reacting agent, tabulate and arrange your 
results, and conclude we will suppose, for the sake of illustra- 
tion that theoretical determinism has received an experi- 
mental demonstration. But suppose that I, in common with 
the great majority of men in all ages, doubt the truthfulness of 
your conclusion ; and that to your conclusion I oppose a cer- 
tain conviction that sometimes, somehow, I determine instead 
of being determined, a conviction which I also share with the 
great majority of mankind. Now this doubt and this convic- 
tion are themselves psychological facts ; they are of no small 
import and of almost universal occurrence. But how are you 
going to investigate them experimentally ; how describe, ex- 
plain, or explain away, the doubt and the conviction, by psy- 
cho-physical methods? To be sure, you may tell me that, if a 
stone, which flies through the air to its predetermined spot on 
the ground, had & plus of consciousness added to its motion, it 
would be conscious of self-directed motion, in the absence of 
any knowledge of the laws of gravitation, pressure from atmos- 
pheric currents, etc. But here again suppose that I doubt ; 
and perhaps revive the time-worn conviction. For I do not 
see why consciousness -j- motion should equal anything more 
than consciousness of motion ; or why consciousness of motion 
+ ignorance should develop doubt of determinism and convic- 
tion of freedom. But, since it is in no respect my intention 
to argue this ancient problem, I will conclude this point by 
returning to my mam thought: I do not see how the hypo- 
thetical instance of a conscious machine enables us the better 


to handle the aforesaid doubt and the aforesaid conviction, by 
the methods of the psycho-physical laboratory. 

It is high time, however, to turn our attention to the other 
side of the relation we are discussing. A mere glance at this 
other side is sufficient ; because I suppose there is not a mem- 
ber of this Association who does not approve of the study of 
mental phenomena by experimental and statistical methods. 
This country, following Germany and in marked contrast to 
Great Britain, has eagerly and on the whole I am sure very 
intelligently and safely adopted this method. Our larger 
universities have already equipped, or are rapidly equipping, 
themselves with psycho-physical laboratories ; our smaller in- 
stitutions even are demanding of their teachers some acquaint- 
ance, at least, with modern ways, and modern results, in the 
study of psychological science. All this is very stimulating, 
very hopeful. The expectation is not unwarranted that the 
United States will soon become the coworker, on equal terms, 
of the best European laboratories. It is not for purposes of 
flattery, but rather of warning, that I venture to say : The fate 
of this movement in this country will depend very largely 
upon the action, individually and in corporate fashion, of the 
members of this Association. For myself, within limits which 
I have already roughly and inaccurately sketched, I look for a 
large development of the science of psychology, in the near 
future ; and I am certain that this development will not be 
without influence upon the current philosophy and theology, 
as well as upon the practical welfare of the people. This con- 
fidence has its principal reasons in the necessarily close rela- 
tions that exist among all the subordinate departments of the 
science of psychology, and the especially intimate relations in 
which the science stands to philosophy and to the life of con- 
duct and the development of character. This last remark 
brings me to the second of the three points which it is my 
purpose to consider. 

Philosophy is on the whole much older and more interest- 
ing to the human mind than is the science of psychology. 
Indeed, philosophy is older than any science, whether of 
mind or of matter. Various definitions setting forth different 
conceptions of philosophy have been put forth at different 


epochs in its development. Perhaps the chief characteristic 
of the modern conception has reference to the relation in 
which philosophy stands to the various concrete or particular 
sciences. A passing glance at the way in which the present 
more cordial understanding of the two has come about may 
fitly be given; for here, as everywhere, the history of the 
evolution of human knowledge is full of instructive lessons. 
We go no farther back than to recall how the most stu- 
pendous systems of speculative thinking were built on ground 
which had been apparently swept quite bare by the criticism 
of Kant. This 'astounding' thinker, as Schopenhauer has 
called him, supposed that the negative result of his labors 
would be to remove forever the pretence of ontological knowl- 
edge, while ' making room' to use his own phrase for faith 
in the verity of certain postulates respecting ethical and 
religious entities. Much has been written concerning the 
failures and successes of the Kantian criticism, and concern- 
ing the causes of both. In my judgment although I speak 
somewhat diffidently, because I am not aware that any of the 
most distinguished critical students of Kant have put the 
matter in just this light the chief cause of the failures of 
this greatest of all modern thinkers lay in his imperfect and 
wrong conceptions of a psychological sort. Kant did not 
understand in a scientific way the common consciousness of 
the race. Especially defective and erroneous is his conception 
of knowledge ; I do not now mean his theory of knowledge, 
but his descriptive history and implied analysis of that state 
of consciousness which all men recognize as entitled to be 
called 'knowledge/ But without proving this charge, and 
not to be drawn too far aside from the main current of my 
intention, the issue showed that men would not be warned 
off by a critical theory of cognition from the * pretence ' of 
ontological and systematic knowledge. And, indeed, how 
could they be ; since there is no such thing as knowledge that 
is not ontological? 'Ordinary' knowledge and 'scientific* 
knowledge are as full of unverifiable postulates as were the 
old-fashioned rational psychology or the rational theology ; 
the only net, valuable result of no end of criticism being to 
discover what postulates, or fundamental faiths, enter into 


all knowledge, and how they may be so understood and 
expressed as best to hang together. 

Now, contemporaneously with the strong reaction against 
the negative conclusions of the Kantian criticism, in philo- 
sophical circles, there went on a mighty forward movement of 
the physical sciences as pursued by the more strictly inductive 
method, with the determination to prove all speculative hypo- 
theses by experimental tests, and to express such of them as 
stood the testing in the intelligible and accurate terms of 
mathematical formulas. It was inevitable that these two 
movements should have a somewhat varied and sometimes 
painful experience in the effort to adjust relations with each 
other. In my opinion, if we set aside the theologians, the 
students of philosophy have on the whole behaved far better 
than the ' scientists ' so called. I am not aware that even 
Hegel anywhere manifests a contempt for facts, as such, or 
flouts at the conclusions of his contemporaries in physical 
science, so far as he understood them to be scientifically 
derived. He undoubtedly everywhere manifests an over- 
weening confidence in his ability to give an ultimate explana- 
tion of all these facts in accordance with the method and 
principles of the dialectical philosophy. But Mr. Herbert 
Spencer has not half as much expressed horror for the merely 
abstract, or manifest eagerness to get at the heart of the 
concrete and the real; and perhaps Hegel, when he steps 
over too far upon the domain of the positive sciences, is not- 
making allowance for the condition of things in his day any 
more ridiculous than some of the modern disciples of science 
have been when they have transgressed the limits of their 
specialties (for example, Mr. Huxley in the arena of biblical 

For an entire generation, which now seems happily draw- 
ing to a close, the relation of philosophy to the positive 
sciences, or rather of these sciences to it, was one of open 
antagonism or half-concealed contempt. ' Metaphysics ' for 
so all branches of philosophy were often sneermgly called 
was a tabooed subject for the student of physics. And yet 
what was actually going on all this time ? Why, within the 
domains of physics, chemistry, and biology, a system of ' meta- 


physics ' was being evolved which, although it does not know 
itself by that name and rarely arrives at an adult stage of 
self-consciousness, is quite as wonderful and stupendous in 
respect of its postulates as were any of the philosophical 
systems which followed the criticism of Kant. Nor will it 
do to maintain that this underlying and interpenetrating on- 
tology can be removed and the modern system of the physical 
sciences remain, as sciences, in the same condition as before. 
The rather is it true that the complete removal of this meta- 
physical system would reduce the sciences from the condition 
of knowledge to the mere pretence of knowledge ; from the 
claim to be systematized truth about real things and real 
events to mere Sc/iein, as it were. Indeed, if it were in the 
line of my present pursuit to do this, I think it could be 
shown that the only result of the consistent carrying-out of 
this negative criticism and the resulting agnosticism is the 
falling in one common ruin of the rational foundations of 
daily conduct, of the natural and physical sciences, of ethics, 
and of theology of the whole temple of human knowledge. 

Of late and for some time, however, there have been plain 
signs that the age of opposition and conflict between science 
and philosophy is being replaced by an age of ' reconciliation/ 
Indeed, 'reconcilers ' of science and religion, of science and 
philosophy, of philosophy and religion, are everywhere, 
thicker than bees in the blossoming-time of a Southern 
spring. Plainly, it is reconciliation which is in the air; and 
he is an ' old fogy ' in spirit, however youthful he may be in 
age or appearance, who continues to talk with Haeckel about 
" strangled snakes lying around the cradle of the young Her- 
cules " namely, modern science and other high-sounding but 
ill-timed phrases to the same effect. Better and wiser, by far, 
and at once more philosophical and more scientific, to hold 
out the hand, with Helmholtz and Du Bois-Reymond, or with 
Lotze and Herbert Spencer, towards the other party, to 
whichever of the two one happens to belong. For my own 
part, I have no great confidence in the permanency of the 
actual reconciliations thus far effected ; and this both because 
they have been made for the most part by men of only second- 
rate quality, and also because they have been quite too super- 


ficial in the selection of subjects on which to make the attempt 
at reconciliation. But the spirit is admirable ; and good 
results cannot fail to follow in the near future. 

For science and philosophy will always exist ; neither can 
expel the other from the region of human interests and human 
endeavor ; indeed, no rigid demarcation can ever permanently 
divide them ; each will flourish only in dependence upon the 
other. Moreover, minds whose interest is chiefly in facts and 
whose skill discovers itself chiefly in collection of, and lower 
generalizations from, facts, will always exist ; nor will the race 
of other minds cease whose interest leaps forward toward the 
places from which to survey the more ultimate meanings of 
the facts, and whose greatest skill shows itself in the wider 
speculative treatment of them. And occasionally great minds 
will be vouchsafed to the race, who will combine the ability to 
acquire a large amount of scientific data of various kinds with 
skill in philosophical analysis and a genius for philosophical 
synthesis ; and these minds will be among the greatest bene- 
factors of mankind with respect to the development of both 
science and philosophy. For philosophy is but wild and mis- 
chievous speculation, unless it build itself upon the concrete 
and particular sciences ; and science is but the unsatisfying 
husk of knowledge, is without rational self-consciousness and 
highest import and divinest interest, unless it intelligently 
lend itself to help, and to be helped by, philosophy. 

But of all the particular sciences it is psychology which 
stands in the most intimate relation to philosophy. We are in 
this day making an attempt, both valiant and in large meas- 
ure wise, to separate between the science of mental phenom- 
ena and those metaphysical assumptions which have hitherto 
so largely overlaid and suppressed the growth of the science. 
In the interest of this separation we are told that a mixture of 
metaphysics and psychology as 'a natural science* spoils 
both ingredients, and, as a mixture, is apt to please neither of 
the two classes of patients for whom it may be supposed to 
be prepared and prescribed. This is true ; although the truth 
depends chiefly upon the proportion of the ingredients which 
enter into the mixture. 

Yet there is another side to all this which we cannot afford 


to lose out of our total account. We have seen that it is diffi- 
cult to pursue any form of a so-called ' natural science ' with- 
out being called to consider, philosophically, its principles, 
their import, and their relation to the principles of other more 
or less closely allied sciences. The moment we begin to 
strive for a knowledge of principles, however, we come peril- 
ously near to the border-line all invisible as it is between 
science and philosophy. But, however this may be in the case 
of the physical sciences, there can be little doubt that the rela- 
tions between psychology and philosophy are much more inti- 
mate. They are so intimate, indeed, that many of the most 
profound students of both, approaching them from varying 
points of view, have declared it to be impossible to separate 
between the two. It is well known that Herbart to whom, 
in spite of his many errors, the modern science of psychology 
owes an enormous debt declared : " The whole series of the 
forms of experience must be investigated twice over, once 
metaphysically and then again psychologically ;" although he 
adds that these investigations must lie " side by side" and be 
compared so that we may never again confuse them. His 
most distinguished disciple, Volkmann von Volkmar, whose 
work on psychology, although I differ in toto from many of its 
conclusions, seems to me the most mature and magnificent of 
modern times, declares it to be impossible to separate between 
psychology as a science of mental phenomena and rational 
psychology, or the philosophy of mind. While Wundt, who 
differs very widely in method and conclusions from the Her- 
bartians, affirms that the relation of psychology to philoso- 
phy is so close and peculiar that the partition of sovereignty 
between the two is an abstract scheme which, in the presence 
of actuality, must always appear unsatisfactory. 

It is both significant and amusing to notice the actual 
behavior of many who theoretically deny that any such inti- 
mate relation must be acknowledged. For example, Hoffding, 
in his most interesting and excellent treatise on psychology, 
after formally announcing that he proposes to treat the 
subject solely in a scientific way, almost immediately, and 
without waiting to marshal his facts, declares philosophical 
monism to be the only tenable view of the relations of mind 


and body. And it is not long since I read in a magazine 
article, designed to set forth results in experimental psychol- 
ogy, the astonishing statement that no truly * scientific ' (sic) 
psychologist in these days held any other view on this question 
than the monistic ; it would seem, then, that all dissenters on 
philosophical grounds from the modern Spinozism are to be 
read out of the ranks of science by this ardent young brother. 

Now I do not mention these two classes of opinions for 
either confirmation, denial, or debate. That a worker in psy- 
chology may conduct an elaborate series of experiments, or 
discuss some important psychological principle, without once 
raising the questions in discussion between monism and 
dualism, materialism and spiritism, there can be no doubt. 
But surely psychology has as much right as has physics to its 
speculative hypotheses and supreme generalizations, if only 
these are kept in their place of close dependence on observed 
facts and sound reasoning. Much more than this is, in my 
judgment, however, true. For the relation of psychology, as 
a science, to the philosophy of mind, and through it to all 
philosophy, is so intimate and binding that not one of the 
larger psychological problems can be thoroughly discussed 
without leading up to some great debate in the field of phi- 
losophy. As long as psychology is naturally propaedeutic to 
philosophy every one must be puzzled to tell just when he has 
crossed over the line and left the plain paths of science behind 
in order to get lost in the jungles of metaphysics. 

If time permitted, this general statement might be en- 
forced with almost indefinite detail. Thus it is exceedingly 
difficult, if not impossible, to give a thorough psychological 
discussion to the phenomena of perception by the senses with- 
out taking some position at least an implied one respecting 
the philosophical questions in debate between Realism and 
Idealism. Who would willingly undertake to separate strictly 
between the psychology as ' natural science ' and the psychol- 
ogy as philosophy that are involved in the Empiricism of 
Wundt and Helmholtz, and in the Nativism of Dr. Ward or 
of the exceptionally admirable treatise of our own Professor 
James ? This relation of well-nigh inseparable intimacy must 
continue to exist, and it will survive all warnings and all ex- 


hortations ; because it is not, in the last and supreme and most 
difficult effort, some account simply of the intensity and con- 
tent and time-rate of sensations which psychological science 
has to render ; it is rather of the faiths and fears and opinions 
and knowledges of mankind about things. And as the late 
Professor Croom Robertson said : " We may view knowledge 
as mere subjective function" (that is, psychologically) ; " but it 
has its full meaning only as it is taken to represent what we 
may call objective fact, or is such as is named (in different 
circumstances) real, valid, true." But he goes on to say : 
" Philosophy, on the other hand, is the theory of knowledge (as 
that which is known)." Yet again, we agree further with 
Professor Seth when he says : " It is evident, then, that phi- 
losophy as theory of knowledge must have for its complement 
philosophy as metaphysics or ontology." Putting all these 
declarations together, what can be made to follow besides the 
obvious proposition that a full-orbed science of psychology is 
propaedeutic to and implicative of both epistemology and 
ontology ? 

This Association is formed in the interests of a science of 
psychology ; it cannot therefore be expected to occupy its 
time and energies largely in the discussion of philosophical 
problems. Its members, however, would be something either 
more or less than completely human if they took no interest in 
any of these problems. The preceding remarks have been 
designed to introduce the exhortation that, since, from the very 
nature of our science, we shall scarcely always be able to avoid 
all seeming of entanglements more or less epistemological 
and ontological (and perhaps even ethical and theological), we 
should, first, add the philosophical spirit to our scientific intent ; 
and, second, be not only wise and cautious, but also tolerant 
and generous toward the various possible expressions of 
philosophical views. 

A few words will suffice for suggestions on the third of my 
three points ; since as has already been said no considerable 
divergence of opinion is to be anticipated here. It is reason- 
able now to be very enthusiastic concerning the contributions 
which a scientific psychology may be expected to make 
toward the practical welfare of mankind. This fact seems to 


me to place a certain weight of responsibility, which is of a 
quasi-ethical sort, upon such an Association as ours. It is 
sometimes supposed that the truly scientific spirit and attitude 
require a man to be interested in science solely for science's 
sake ; or to put the case in a yet more captivating way in 
scientific truth for this truth's sake. Now I should not will- 
ingly be inferior to any one in devotion to the truth for ' its 
own sake ' (as we are wont to say) ; and I trust that I have a 
sufficient admiration for the scientific spirit and for the splendid 
triumphs of modern science so called. At the same time my 
observations lead me to admit that not a few who cry most 
loudly in the name of * science ' show quite too plainly that 
it is chiefly for their own sakes ; nor do I find that it has been 
the thing of smallest import with the truly great men in science 
that their pursuits enabled them to be, in no small measure, 
benefactors of mankind. And while they have been more 
unwilling than ordinary men to swerve a hair's breadth con- 
sciously from the strictest truth, and have had a generous 
confidence in that blessing which adherence to the truth brings, 
they have also recognized that the highest and truest truth 
which it is given us men to know, somehow seeks and finds 
an embodiment in conduct and character. 

For example, astronomy, being originally devised in the 
interests of humanity as astrology, and then becoming truly 
scientific, has returned far more than all its costs as navigation, 
meteorology, natural theology so called, etc. 

A fortiori is the obligation to be of practical benefit heavily 
laid upon psychology. The more I study and teach this 
science, the deeper does the impression become that it is able 
and destined to contribute greatly to the welfare of mankind. 
I shall now close these remarks with a brief enumeration of 
some of the well-known directions in which we all hope to see 
this impression realized. 

First : the science of psychology may be expected to make 
large contributions toward the improvement of the art and 
practice of teaching. Pedagogics so called is already a con- 
siderable ' fad ' in this country. It is, however, I assure you, 
something far different from the contempt born of professional 
pride which leads me to say that, with comparatively few 


exceptions, the written and oral work on this important subject, 
in America, is shallow and misleading to an almost incredible 
degree. Meantime, an enormous waste amounting to some 
three or four years in the ten or twelve of our public-school 
life, on the average, for each one of the millions of our school- 
children is ceaselessly going on. Several causes combine to 
bring about this deplorable result; the most complete cure 
possible can, of course, be effected only by dealing with all 
these causes. But one of the most important helps to improve- 
ment must come through the instruction of the teachers of 
these children in the principles of a truly scientific psychology. 
And such instruction must emanate from the highest expert 
sources, and penetrate to the lowest strata and the remotest 
regions in the public-school system. It can never come in the 
form of half-baked treatises put forth by writers who, however 
seemingly successful they may have been in practice, have no 
scientific understanding of the principles on which even their 
own too often merely apparent success has been based. 

Again, the science of psychology may be expected to con- 
tribute much to the science and practice of medicine, espe- 
cially, of course, in the department of neurology. Even 
modern surgery has already been guided by the help which 
physiological psychology has rendered in the discoveries, 
since 1870, in the localization of cerebral function. Looked at 
from a truly rational point of view, what can be more amazing 
than the fact that thousands of doctors are to-day treating 
patients suffering from 'mental* disease, who themselves 
never made the slightest study of mental phenomena, sane or 
abnormal, in any scientific way ? With so many quacks, on the 
one side, medicating the mind with drugs, is it greatly to be 
wondered at that there are so many cranks on the other side 
who are advocating the treatment of all disease with ' mind- 
cure' or 'faith-cure'? In my opinion the time will come 
when no reputable medical school will think of giving a 
diploma to a student who has not made a thorough study of 
psychology, at least as far as its elements may be pursued 
from the physiological and experimental points of view. 

In the diagnosis and treatment of the insane, the incorrigi- 
ble, the idiotic, etc., scientific psychology is surely destined 


to exert a growing influence. In time it will come to appear 
that the student of anthropology, of criminology, or of soci- 
ology, who has failed thoroughly to lay his foundations in 
the modern psychology has been guilty of an oversight or 
neglect fatal to his highest success. Nor will certain forms 
of jurisprudence long continue to disregard their natural rela- 
tion to the scientific study of mental phenomena. As civilized 
nations come to distinguish between the man who is fit to be 
a ' keeper ' of the insane or the criminal, and the man who is 
fit to give expert testimony to distinguish between the insane 
and the sane criminal, the advantages of prolonged psycho- 
logical investigation for the improvement of jurisprudence will 
be more clearly discerned. 

But there is no need to specialize further. In general, why 
should we not expect to see our science contributing to the 
improved conduct and character of men, in the school, in the 
court-room, the prison, and the asylum ? Nay, I am not with- 
out hope and expectation that even the sacred offices of the 
religious teacher, as well as the no less sacred offices of the 
teacher of ethics by parental influence of the mother whose 
breasts with their stores of nourishment, and face-to-face inter- 
course with the infant according to principles which regulate 
the earliest sensory-motor and imitative functions, fix the lines 
of behavior and of destiny may all be helped and blessed in 
no small degree by the recent rapid advances of human 
psychology. And this is the chief reason why I close, as I 
began, with words of cheering reminder that this Association 
snould enter upon its career with a sufficiently generous esti- 
mate of its privileges and of its responsibility. 


Harvard University. 

THE casuistry of the numerous forms of insistent mental 
processes of a pathological character has of late years become 
very extensive. The names and sub-classes of these morbidly 
insistent kinds of feeling-, thought, or volition have occasion- 
ally been multiplied beyond any reason, until, in view of the 
endless 'manias' and 'phobias' that some writers have been 
disposed to dignify with special titles, I myself have sometimes 
wondered whether it would not be wise for some one, in the 
interests of good sense, to try to check this process by defin- 
ing, as a peculiarly dangerous type of insistent impulses, a 
'new mental disorder,' to be described as the 'mania* for 
multiplying words ending in mania or in phobia. Meanwhile, 
despite this inconvenience, and despite numerous hasty specu- 
lations upon the whole subject, there can be no doubt that the 
theoretical interest of these morbidly insistent mental processes 
is great, and that the pathological secret and the genuine 
natural classification of these disorders will be such as well to 
repay the trouble of the most minute study of cases, if only 
that secret ever comes to be made out, and that natural classifi- 
cation is ever set up. And while we wait for further light, the 
careful preliminary scrutiny of cases is indeed the only course 
open to students of psychology. 

The present paper is but a very modest contribution to the 
casuistry of the morbidly insistent mental processes. I have no 
new phobia or mania to define, and in any case I speak only as 
student of psychology. The medical reader might be able to 
see much more in the documents to which I here wish to 
attract his attention than I am able to see. My task is simply 
one of summary and report. The case to which I wish to call 



attention is meanwhile one of peculiar interest, namely, that of 
the author of the Pilgrim's Progress. The principal document 
concerned is John Bunyan's remarkable confession, entitled 
Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinner s y an autobiographical 
statement which Bunyan wrote and published, as the title-page 
tells us, " for the support of the weak and tempted people of 
God." This little book is, from the literary point of view, of 
very high interest, ranking, as I suppose, amongst all the 
author's works, second only to the great Pilgrims Progress 
itself. As a record of human experience, the Grace Abounding 
will never lose its charm, both for lovers of religious biography, 
and for admirers of honesty, of sincerity, and of simple pathos. 
Nothing that can be said as to the psychological significance 
of the author's recorded experiences will ever detract from the 
worth of the book, even when viewed just as the author 
viewed it, as a 'support* for the ' weak and tempted/ 
Bunyan, as we shall see, had at one time a decidedly heavy and 
morbid burden to bear. But, like many another nervous suf- 
ferer of the ' strong type ' (Koch's starker Typus\ Bunyan 
carried this burden with heroic perseverance, and in the end 
won the mastery over it by a most instructive kind of self- 
discipline. In view of this fact, a clearer recognition of the 
nature of the burden, from the psychological point of view, 
rather helps than hinders our admiration for the author's 
genius, and our respect for his unconquerable manhood. It is 
this sort of case, in fact, that renders the study of the nervous 
disorders so frequently associated with genius, a pursuit 
adapted, in very many instances, not to cheapen our sense of 
the dignity of genius, but to heighten our reverence for the 
strength that could contend, as some men of genius have done, 
with their disorders, and that could conquer the nervous 
1 Apollyon ' on his own chosen battle-ground. 

But an estimate of Bunyan's genius belongs not here. I 
venture only to say that I write as an especially profound 
admirer of this wonderful and untaught artist, whose homely 
style shows in almost every line the born master, whose 
simple realism in portraying human character as he saw it 
amongst the live men about him often puts to shame the 
ingenuity of scores of cunning literary craftsmen in these our 


own most realistic days, and whose few highest flights of 
poetic imagination, such as the closing scenes of the first part 
of the Pilgrim's Progress, belong without question in the really 
loftiest regions of art. Range of invention, self-control in pro- 
duction, perfect objectivity in the portrayal of human life, 
these are leading traits in the work of this man ; and these 
things, as well as others that we shall later see, forever forbid 
our classing Bunyan, taken as a whole, amongst the weak- 
lings. It is perfectly consistent with this fact, however, when 
we find this admirable man and artist living, for a bitter and 
instructive period of his early years, a life of stern conflict 
with a nervous foe of a fairly recognizable and, under the 
circumstances, decidedly grave type. How, unaided and 
ignorant, he won the victory, is in itself an interesting tale. 
And, for the rest, the case tends to throw light on the interest- 
ing problem as to how far the presence of elaborate insistent 
mental processes of a morbid type is of itself a sufficient indica- 
tion of the depth of the ' degeneracy ' of constitution of the 
subject who, is for a time burdened with them.* That 
Bunyan's malady must have had a certain constitutional basis 
will, I suppose, appear decidedly probable to most readers of 
the following summary. Yet it will be hard to question the fact 
that, quite apart from his special creative abilities, Bunyan's 
general constitution, his extraordinary and persistent power 
of work, his long endurance of very serious mental and 
physical hardships, his reasonably lengthy life of sixty years 
(ended by an acute disease, due to an exposure), his apparently 
even temper and self-possession in later years, his sustained 
influence over men as leader, adviser, and preacher, when 
taken all together, must give us an idea of his inherited orga- 
nization that will, in any event, stand in a fairly strong con- 

* The frequent association of the morbidly insistent processes with the nervously 
' degenerate ' type is a commonplace in the literature of the subject, and a few 
years since it was, I believe, an almost if not quite universal dogma that considerable 
masses of insistent fears, impulses, or thoughts occurred only as part of the ' stig- 
mata ' of degeneracy. The possibility of the development of even elaborate systems 
of such 'nsistent impulses upon a basis of wholly acquired neurasthenia was main- 
tained by Dr. Cowles, in his well-known paper on Insistent and Fixed Ideas in the 
Atner. Journal of Psychology (vol. i. p, 222 sq.), and has also been asserted by 


trast to the impression that the temporary nervous disorder 
of his early manhood, if it were taken alone, would leave upon 
our minds. 

But a deeper estimate of such things I must leave to more 
competent judges. I have here only to present the facts. 


John Bunyan was born November 30, 1628, and died August 
31, 1688. The principal known facts of his life which bear in 
any way upon the question of his health and constitution, apart 
from the narrative in the Grace Abounding, are as follows:* 
Bunyan was a native of the little village of Elstow, near Bed- 
ford. His family can be traced in Bedfordshire as far back as 
1 200. In the sixteenth century, an ancestor of Bunyan, and 
the wife of this ancestor, appear in court records as brewers 
and bakers. Thomas Bunyan, his grandfather, was ' a small 
village trader.' Difficulties in the courts are the occasion of 
some of the records preserved of these ancestors, but the diffi- 
culties named are petty, e.g., minor violations of excise laws, 
disrespect to churchwardens, and perhaps religious nonconfor- 
mity .f Bunyan's father was notoriously, like Bunyan himself, 
a 'tinker' or ' brasier,' probably, says Brown, "neither better 
nor worse than the rest of the craftsmen of the hammer and 
the forge." Tinkers had, to be sure, in that time and place, a 
reputation as rather hard drinkers ; but on the other hand they 
wandered much on foot, and so lived freely out of doors. 
Bunyan's father lived until 1676, dying at seventy-three years 
of age. The poet's mother was of a poor but very honest and 
thrifty family; she died when John Bunyan himself had reached 
the age of fifteen. Little more is known of the family before 
we reach our poet himself. He was not an only child. One 
sister is known to have died early. One brother is known to 
have lived until 1695. 

* I use, for the most part, the principal recent biography, that of John Brown 
(2d edition, London, 1886) an elaborate and extremely patient research into every 
discoverable detail relating to Bunyan's family and fortunes. Other recent accounts 
are those of Venables (in the 'Great Writers' series, London, 1888) and of Froude 
(in the ' English Men of Letters ' series). The ground has thus been very thorough- 
ly gone over, for all literary purposes, in recent years. 

t Brown, pp. 27-31. 


Of John Bunyan's childhood history we shall see a little 
soon. In youth he was apparently, until after the time of his 
marriage, of pretty lusty health. The ' wicked ' early life of 
which he speaks so severely in his Grace Abounding proves, on 
the whole, to have been, physically speaking, a wholesome 
life, during all the time preceding his conversion. Alcoholic 
excesses and unchastity are, in the opinion of all his modern 
biographers, nearly or quite excluded by what we most certainly 
know of him at this time. At about sixteen years of age 
Bunyan was enrolled in the army, probably on the Parliament- 
ary side, and remained some two years in service, but appar- 
ently without any physical ill effects. He married at twenty 
years of age, both himself and his wife being very poor. He 
now followed his trade as tinker. Within the next four years 
fall, first his conversion, and then the experiences of which we 
are principally to speak in what follows. In these years, fur- 
thermore, falls also the birth of his first child, a daughter who 
was very early blind. In 1653, after he had passed through 
these principal experiences, he joined the church in Bedford. 
In 1654 his second child was born, also a daughter. In 1655 he 
began that career as preacher which he continued thencefor- 
ward, so far as he was permitted to do so, until the end. In 
1660 he was imprisoned in the county jail at Bedford, for 
violating the law by acting as an irregular preacher ; and there 
he remained, in a confinement which varied in its degrees of 
strictness, for some twelve years. The physical strain of this 
imprisonment must have been great, and the mental anxieties 
involved were of the severest, as we learn from his own 
account; yet Bunyan plainly experienced no return of his pre- 
vious mental troubles with anything like their old force. He 
was now often weak in body and depressed in mind, but never 
long despairing. He busied himself both in preaching to his 
fellow-prisoners and in writing. He was released in 1672. For 
three years thereafter he was at liberty. In 1675-6 he suffered 
a second imprisonment, during which it was, according to re- 
cent research, that he wrote the Pilgrim's Progress* Thence- 
forth he continued working as writer and preacher to the end. 

* Brown, p. 254; Venables, p. 151. 


The list of his works contains ' sixty pieces/ says his first bib- 
liographer, ' and he was sixty years of age/ One standard 
edition occupies four volumes octavo. His works are, of course, 
largely theological. They are certainly laborious productions, 
even apart from the genius involved ; for this man was never 
trained to write. 

As to his health otherwise, we know that, after 1653, there 
was a time in his early life when, as he says, " I was much 
inclining to a consumption, wherewith, about the Spring, I was 
suddenly and violently seized with much weakness in my out- 
ward man, insomuch that I thought I could not live." Other 
times, still later, he mentions, when he was * very ill and weak'; 
and he notes great depression of spirits as characteristic of his 
state at all such times. * Brown f holds, concerning Bunyan, 
that "at any time he was far from strong" as to physical 
health. But when one considers his remarkable activity both 
as writer and preacher, and the long and severe strains to 
which he had been subject before he reached sixty years of age, 
and when one remembers also the possibly hypochondriac 
nature of the disorders of which his own account, as just cited, 
speaks, it seems hard, after all, to form any exact opinion as to 
the actual degree of the physical weakness of his constitution. 
One is disposed to set the work done and the external suffer- 
ings endured over against the rather meagre record of later 
illnesses in his life. "His friend," says Brown (a friend, 
namely, who wrote an account of Bunyan), "tells us that 
though he was only sixty he was worn out with sufferings, 
age, and often teaching." One remembers hereupon that a 
persecuted genius who had written ' sixty pieces ' without 
having received any sort of early scholarly training, and who 
had passed more than twelve years in unjust imprisonment, 
and all his life in struggle, had a right to be somewhat worn 
at sixty. 

He died of ' a violent fever,' or, as others say, of ' the 
sweating distemper,' after having been exposed to 'heavy 

* "The Tempter did beset me strongly (for I find he is much for assaulting the 
soul when it begins to approach towards the grave, then is his opportunity." Grace 
Abounding (Clarendon Press Ed.), p. 375. 

f Op. dt. p. 390. 


rains and drenched to the skin* while on a preaching journey. 
Bunyan was twice married. He had in all three daughters 
and three sons. His first child, born during the time of his 
early disorder a daughter was, as observed above, blind, 
and died before him. Descendants of another of his daugh- 
ters are the only descendants of Bunyan still known to sur- 
vive. The later history 01 the family is incomplete, but, as 
reported by Brown, contains nothing of any note for our 
present purpose, no record, namely, of remarkable disease or 

Of Bunyan's outward seeming, in his later years, we have 
two good accounts by contemporaries. One runs thus : 

" As for his person, he was tall of stature, strong-boned, 
though not corpulent, somewhat of a ruddy face, with spark- 
ling eyes ; ... his hair reddish, but in his latter days time had 
sprinkled it with gray ; his nose well set, but not declining or 
bending, and his mouth moderately large ; his forehead some- 
thing high, and his habit always plain and modest. He 
appeared in countenance to be of a stern and rough temper, 
but in his conversation mild and affable, not given to loquacity 
or much discourse in company, unless some urgent occasion 
required it ; observing never to boast of himself or his parts, 
but rather to seem low in his own eyes and submit himself to 
the judgment of others. . . . He had a sharp quick eye, accom- 
plished with an excellent discerning of persons, being of good 
judgment and quick wit." 

The other account speaks of his countenance as ' grave 
and sedate/ and of a sort to " strike something of awe into 
them that had nothing of the fear of God." The writer adds 
that his memory was " tenacious, it being customary with 
him to commit his sermons to writing after he had preached 
them." Bunyan's executive ability in church management and 
discipline is also noted in this account. As to his eloquence 
as a preacher, all accounts agree. This great ' dreamer,' 
then, was also, in his later years, a man of decided practical 
power, dignified in bearing, accustomed to control other 



So much, then, for the man as a whole. As to the experi- 
ences of his early manhood, recorded in the Grace Abounding, 
biographers in general have felt their perplexing intensity and 
abnormity, but have been accustomed either to refer them 
once for all to Bunyan's theological associations and ideas, or 
else to conceive them as indeed somehow pathological, but 
then to define their abnormal nature with the utmost looseness 
and confusedness.* 

Patent, then, as are the reported experiences, beautifully 
as Bunyan confesses them, transparently as he unveils him- 
self, one still has to go almost alone in trying to portray 
their actual connections ; for biographer after biographer has 
passed these connections by with blindfold eyes. Yet the 
story, read in its psychological aspect, is as follows : 

As a child Bunyan showed some of the familiar signs of 
the sensitive brain. He is not at all concerned, in his Auto- 
biography, to gossip as to any minor matters. He tells us 
almost nothing of the externals of his life. He is wholly con- 
cerned in setting forth what God has done for his soul. He 
feels it worth while, however, to describe to us, in beginning 
the narration of his spiritual conflicts, certain of his early 
mental experiences. In childhood, so we learn, his ' cursing, 
swearing, lying, and blaspheming ' were very marked faults. 
To quote his own words : " So settled and rooted was I in 
these things, that they became as a second Nature to me. 
The which, as I have with soberness considered since, did so 

* Macaulay, for instance, in his Miscellanies, declares that, at a certain point, 
Bunyan's mind began to be 'fearfully disordered'; but he then proceeds, with a 
very undiscriminating analysis of the data, to define Bunyan's mental symptoms so 
that, if this analysis were sound, they would make up a case of what we should now 
define as 'hallucinatory delirium.' This Bunyan's disorder very certainly was not, 
in any fashion whatever. Taine, who, as psychologist, should have seen more 
clearly, is, in his way, (in the account of Bunyan in the English Literature,) almost 
equally confused as to Bunyan's true temperament and condition, and even imagines 
the calm and self-possessed art of Pilgrim's Progress to be the outcome of the 
'inflamed brain 'whose sufferings are depicted in the Grace Abounding. But the 
Bunyan of 1650 was not yet the Bunyan of the Pilgrim's Progress of 1675. Ven- 
ables and Brown, well as they summarize the salient facts, fail to see their psycho- 
logical significance. Froude also appears to go wholly astray in this respect. 


offend the Lord, that even in my Childhood He did scare 
and affright me with fearful Dreams, and did terrify me with 
dreadful Visions. For often after I had spent this and the 
other day in sin, I have in my Bed been greatly afflicted, while 
asleep, with the apprehensions of Devils and wicked Spirits, 
who still, as I then thought, laboured to draw me away with 
them, of which I could never be rid." To these persistent 
nocturnal terrors there were added still other and evidently 
often waking troubles, ' thoughts of the Day of Judgment,' 
which gave him fears and l distressed ' his ' soul,' ' both 
night and day/ so that " I was often much cast down and 
afflicted . . . yet could I not let go my sins." These experi- 
ences came " when I was but a child, nine or ten years old." 
" Yea," he adds, " I was also then so overcome with despair of 
life and heaven, that I should often wish either that there had 
been no Hell, or that I had been a Devil supposing they 
were only Tormentors ; that if it must needs be that I went 
thither, I might be rather a Tormentor, than tormented myself." 
Of such early sufferings we have several accounts besides the 
foregoing summary statements. 

Childhood experiences of this sort have to be estimated as 
important in direct proportion to their depth and in inverse 
proportion to their dependence upon the suggestions to which 
a given child is subjected. These dreams were, plainly, in 
some instances very elaborate and detailed. Bunyan's later 
youthful ignorance, so freely confessed, concerning all theo- 
logical matters indicates, however, that these fears and this 
despair were no part of any very coherent system of childish 
thoughts on religious topics. The content of his ' terrible 
dreams' was of course derived from what he heard at church 
and elsewhere ; but a sufficient basis, in these suggested ideas, 
for such marked trouble seems very improbable. That the 
nocturnal terrors and the despair were in part primary symp- 
toms of nervous irritability, one can thus hardly doubt. As 
to the depth of the experiences themselves, the very fact of 
Bunyan's careful report of them is, under the circumstances, 
convincing. For his Autobiography is, as has just been noted, 
extremely reticent as to all matters that he does not consider 
essential parts of the tale of God's dealings with his soul. 


In youth, at what seems to have been the healthiest period 
of his life, these dreams left him, and were " soon forgot . . . 
as if they never had been." And now began the wilful and 
sinful time which Bunyan later so unsparingly condemns. 
That his sins did not include unchastity or drunkenness seems, 
as aforesaid, clear to all his recent biographers, and for good 
reasons too, into which I need not here enter. Bunyan was 
now a very active and daring lad, who, in his almost complete 
ignorance, as Froude and others have observed, had no other 
way of expressing his genius than by " inventing lies to amuse 
his companions, and swearing they were true " (Froude's 
expression), and by showing extraordinary ingenuity as the 
chief swearer and wild talker of the village, so that even 
'very loose and ungodly' wretches, as Bunyan tells us, were 
shocked by the flood of bad language in which this still 
unconscious poet was moved to voice his latent powers. 
These offences, and the still worse crime of playing tip-cat on 
Sundays, abide later in Bunyan's memory as evidences of the 
depth of his lost condition during these days. Meanwhile, 
despite the vulgarity of his surroundings and the restless way- 
wardness of his life, Bunyan would otherwise appear to have 
been, on the whole, an exceptionally pure-minded youth. His 
early education, obtained in a local school, was extremely 

His boyish marriage must have involved serious responsi- 
bilities. He and his young wife had at first not * so much 
household stuff as a Dish or Spoon' between them. But the 
wife, * whose Father was counted godly,' had, as her inherit- 
ance from this now dead father, two religious books, which 
Bunyan read with her, yet, so far as he was concerned, with- 
out ' conviction.' But ere long these books and his wife's 
speech ' did beget within me some desires to religion,' and for 
.a while Bunyan attended church busily, 'still retaining my 
wicked life/ but already feeling some doubtful concern as to 
his own salvation, and much admiration for the formal side of 
church worship. A sermon against Sabbath-breaking brought 
him his first 'conviction.' After service and dinner, that day, 
when his full stomach had made him already cheerfully forget 
iiis transient remorse, he went, as usually on Sunday after- 


noons, to play his game of cat. But having struck the cat one 
blow from the hole, " just as I was about to strike it a second 
time, a Voice did suddenly dart from Heaven into my Soul, 
which said, Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to Heaven, or have thy 
sins and go to Hell? At this," he goes on, " I was put to an ex, 
ceeding maze. Wherefore, leaving my Cat upon the ground, 
I looked up to Heaven, and was as if I had, with the Eyes of 
my understanding, seen the Lord Jesus looking down upon 
me, as being very hotly displeased with me, and as if he did 
severely threaten me." The result of this sudden internal 
vision, of which he said nothing to his comrades, was an 
immediate sense of his general sinfulness, an overwhelming 
despair, which kept him standing 'in the midst of my Play, 
before all that were then present/ until, with a swift dialectic 
characteristic of all his later experiences, he had reasoned out 
the conclusion that it was now too late, since he had sinned so 
much, and that the only hope was to go back to sin, and take 
his fill of present sweets. " I can but be damned, and if I 
must be so, I had as good be damned for many sins as damned 
for few." He thereupon went on with the game, and in the 
immediately subsequent days swore, played, and ' went on in 
sin with great greediness of mind.' 

The automatic internal vision seen with 'the eyes of the 
understanding/ but seen more or less suddenly, with extra- 
ordinary detail and with strong emotional accompaniment, 
appears henceforth as a frequent incident in Bunyan's inner 
life, and later became, of course, the main source of his pecuL 
iar artistic power. He was plainly always a good visualizer. 
But this automatic organization of his images was an added 
characteristic of the man, and an invaluable one. This 'power 
of vision' remained, as the Pilgrims Progress itself shows, late 
in life ; and without it our ' dreamer's ' genius could not be 
conceived. In his times of depression these visions, in later 
days, took on the shading of his mood ; but in themselves they 
were of course signs, not of depression, but of poetic power. 
Apart from other and serious causes of disturbance they 
plainly never approached near to any hallucinatory degree; 
and Bunyan always describes them so as to distinguish them 


clearly from hallucinations, even when his condition, as de- 
scribed, is one of great agitation. 

Shortly after this time the reproof of a neighbor again 
startled Bunyan from his reckless ways, and he resolved to 
begin in earnest the work of reform. The result was a period 
of a year (or probably somewhat less), during which he under- 
took nothing less than a systematic course of conscientious 
self-suppression. He 'left' his swearing at once, and in a 
way that astonished himself. He gave up his games as vain 
practices ; after a long struggle he even abandoned dancing. 
He read the Bible ; he lived a life of reform that astonished 
his neighbors ; " for this my conversion was as great as for 
Tom of Bethlem to become a sober man." Inhibition of all 
outwardly suspicious deeds became the one rule of his life. 
He still wholly lacked what he later regarded as true piety, 
and he indulged in some spiritual pride in view of the appro- 
bation of his neighbors ; but he cultivated a painful scrupu- 
losity. We can well conceive how the material cares that 
beset this very poor but now married youth, and this sudden 
change from a careless life, of numerous relaxations, to an 
existence wherein every act was a matter of scruple, and 
wherein the opinions of all his neighbors were now so much 
taken into account, must have involved a considerable strain. 
The immediate consequences were characteristic of the whole 

(To be continued?) 




(With the assistance of Mr. J. BIGHAM.) 

The experimental study of memory, important both for 
psychology and for pedagogics, is as yet only begun. The 
only experiments we have are those of Ebbinghaus, which 
cover simply the question of the influence of repetition and of 
the time-interval, made with but one material (syllables), and 
with only one subject*. Many other questions arise if we wish 
to understand the mechanism and the conditions of reproduc- 
tion and memory. We began our systematic study of these 
questions by an investigation the purpose of which was to 
determine the action of disparate senses in recollection, espe- 
cially to discover whether the different senses act at the same 
time independently, or help, or hinder each other. Collateral 
questions as to the influence of various modes of presentation, 
of various content, etc., could be answered by the same ex- 
periments. Studies on the reproduction of more complicated 
content, on the influence of the filling of time-interval, etc., 
will be reported later. 

The simple apparatus used in the experiments consists of 
several series of ten small squares of paper of different colors, 
and of several series of black numbers, each one mounted 
upon a square white card of the same size as the colored 
squares. For audible presentations the names of the colors or 
numbers were spoken by the conductor of the work, while for 
visible presentations those colors and numbers were exposed 
upon a black background. The subjects were supplied with 
several corresponding series of colored squares (3^ cm) and 

* The experiments on memory by G. E. Miiller and F.Schumann (Zeitsch. f. 
Psychol. Nov. 1893), published while this article is in press, have in like manner no 
direct relation to the present investigation. 



mounted numbers. After learning the presented series the 
subjects arranged these small numbers and colored papers in 
the order of the given series as these were recollected. The 
purpose in using numbers and colors was to secure a presenta- 
tion-content as free from associations as possible. The length 
of the series consisted of either 10 or 20 presentations. Two 
sets of digits and colors were used, so that the same presenta- 
tion might be given twice in a series even of ten presentations. 
The content of each series might be entirely audible, en- 
tirely visible, or partly audible and partly visible; it could 
consist wholly of numbers, wholly of colors, or of numbers 
and colors arranged in groups, in pairs, or in alternation. 
Thirty-two different kinds of series were employed : 20 suc- 
cessive audible numbers, 20 successive audible colors, and 10 
successive colors alternating with 10 numbers (for instance : 
red, 6, gray, 2, green, o, yellow, 7, etc.), 10 successive audible 
numbers followed by 10 successive audible colors, or the 
reverse, etc., 20 successive visible numbers, 20 simultaneous 
visible numbers, 20 successive visible colors, 20 simultaneous 
visible colors, 10 successive visible colors alternating with 10 
successive visible numbers, 10 visible colors alternating with 
10 visible numbers all presented simultaneously, etc., etc., 10 
successive colors audible followed by 10 successive numbers 
visible, 10 numbers visible followed by 10 colors audible, 10 
numbers visible alternating with 10 colors audible, 10 succes- 
sive colors visible and 10 numbers audible presented in pairs 
(number given while color is seen), 10 successive colors visible 
and their names heard at the same time, etc. altogether, 
32 combinations in perfectly symmetrical arrangement. The 
time taken for learning each single presentation was 2 seconds, 
therefore 40 seconds for a series of 20 presentations, seen or 
heard, simultaneously or successively presented. The subjects 
saw or heard the series only once ; the recollecting was done 
immediately at the conclusion of each single series. The sub- 
jects were cautioned against the use of mnemonic devices, and 
were informed beforehand of the length, the character, the 
content, and the mode of presentation of each series. Five 
subjects of the average age of 24 years took part, all making 
the same experiments, each man working fifty hours, during 


the winter of 1892-93. Every day a few short series were 
used as preparatory practice ; these were not recorded. Pro- 
vision was made for resting the subjects. To avoid any 
disturbance by mere training, each person made only two 
experiments at a time with each of the 32 series. All the 
results which are to be compared came, therefore, under the 
same conditions of practice, training, and fatigue. The errors 
were recorded solely as displacements of the single presenta- 
tions in each series ; blue-red instead of red-blue were there- 
fore two errors, so that in a series of 20 presentations 20 errors 
were possible. 

We shall first consider the 32 kinds of series only as audi- 
ble, visible, or mixed, and disregard all other elements in the 
experiments. We add for each of the five subjects the pres- 
entations of all the visible series and the errors made in them. 
The pure visible series offered 2140 presentations (colors or 
numbers); in these series A. P. had 365, Bu. 413, E. P. 479, 
etc., errors. If we take the percentages and calculate them in 
the same way for the pure audible series, the result is : 

Visible series per cent of error: Bi. 18.7$, Bu. 19.3$, 
A. P. 17.1$, E. P. 22.4$, W. 25.1$ average. 20.5$. 

Audible series : Bi. 34.1$, Bu. 31.4$, A. P. 25. i#, E. P. 35.9$, 
W. 31.6$ average, 31.6$. 

With all the subjects the visual memory excels strongly 
the aural when they act independently. When sight and 
hearing act together as in the mixed series (excluding of 
course those series in which numbers or colors are seen and 
their own names heard at the same time), we have the 
following data : 

Mixed series: Bi. 44.4$, Bu. 46.9$, A. P. 26.5$, E. P. 41.9$, 
W. 38.9^ average, 39.3^. 

The memory for mixed series is therefore much weaker 
than for visible, and with one exception (A. P.) also weaker 
than for audible presentations. When the two senses act together 
in recollection, they hinder each other. But a special analysis of 
the mixed series can be made, to secure comparative tables 
of the audible and visible presentations which are variously 
combined in them. In the mixed series the percentages ot 
errors in visible presentations are: Bi. 45.2$, Bu. 50.2$, A. P. 


26.7$, E. P. 41.2$, W. 41.7$ average, 41.0$. In audible pres- 
entations: Bi. 43.5$, Bu. 43.5$, A. P. 26.2$, E. P. 42.5$, W. 
36.0$ average, 38.3$. Within the mixed series the aural 
memory is with one exception stronger than the visual, i.e., 
we have the interesting result, that in the united action of the 
senses of sight and hearing, their relative strength is just the 
reverse of what it is when they act independently. When 
isolated the visual memory surpasses by far the aural ; when com- 
bined the aural excels the visual. 

If we disregard the difference of audible and visible modes 
of presentation, we may consider the contents of our series as : 
(i) simple contents (series consisting entirely of numbers or of 
colors) ; (2) grouped contents (a group of colors followed by a 
group of numbers or the reverse) ; (3) alternate contents (a 
single color followed by a single number) ; (4) paired contents 
(a number and a color presented together) ; (5) doubled con- 
tents (a color or a number visible and its name audible at the 
same time). Beginning with the simple content, the errors are 
for numbers: Bi. 15.2$, Bu. 16.2$, A. P. 16.50, E. P. 23.8$, W. 
1 8.1$ average, i8.o0. Colors : Bi. 26.6$, Bu. 27.2$, A. P. 24.1$, 
E. P. 33.7$, W. 30.6$ average, 28.4$. The memory for num- 
bers was accordingly much stronger than for colors. 

With the grouped content there is a greater difficulty than 
in recollecting the simple content. Error for numbers in the 
grouped content: Bi. 26.5$, Bu. 34.7$, A. P. 15.70, E. P. I8.I0, 
W. 20.4$ average, 23.1$. For colors: Bi. 43.1$, Bu. 36.1$, 
A. P. 13.8$, E. P. 35.80, W. 30.40 average, 31. 80. 

With the alternate content the various series yield the fol- 
lowing data: For numbers: Bi. 46.10, Bu. 37.8$, A. P. 21. 10, 
E. P. 21.70, W. 32.80 average, 31.90. For colors: Bi. 5O.60 
Bu. 6o.o0, A. P. 39.4$, E. P. 48.90, W. 38.30 average 4740. 

With the paired content the error for numbers is : Bi. 41.20, 
Bu. 35.60, A. P. 18.70, E. P. 33.10, W. 39.40 average, 33.60. 
For colors: Bi. 56.80, Bu. 63.10, A. P. 55.00, E. P. 48.10, W. 
53.70 average, 55.30. 

The general result of these four contents therefore is that 
the memory is impeded by a closer combination of different contents. 
The more closely numbers and colors are united in presenta- 
tion, the weaker the memory. For 20 numbers alone or 20 


colors alone the average error was 23.2$ ; for 10 numbers fol- 
lowed by 10 colors or the reverse, 27.4$ ; for 10 numbers alter- 
nating with 10 colors, 39.6$ ; for 10 pairs of numbers and colors, 
44.5$. In all groups the error for numbers is smaller than 
for colors ; this difference increases with the increasing close- 
ness of the two contents. 

The doubled content may finally be compared with those 
series in which the same number of figures or colors was only 
audible or only visible. The errors are these: Ten numbers 
heard: Bi. 6.20, Bu. 4.30, A. P. 17.5$, E. P. 23.57;, W. 18.9^- 
average, 14.1$. Ten numbers seen: Bi. 5.3$, Bu. 11.2$, A. P. 
13.70, E. P. 15.90, W. 6.30 average, io.50. Ten numbers seen 
and heard at the same time: Bi. 6.20, Bu. 2.50, A. P. 2.50, E. P. 
7.50, W. 1.20 average, 3.90. Ten colors heard: Bi. 25.00, Bu. 
30.30, A. P. 26.40, E. P. 32.50, W. 32.10 average, 29.3$. Ten 
colors seen: Bi. 15.30, Bu - 17-80, A. P. 13.60, E. P. 20.90, w - 
21.90 average, 17.90. Ten colors seen and heard at the same 
time: Bi. 5o0, Bu. 8-70, A. P. o.o0, E. P. 7.50, W. 3.70 
average, 4.90 . A series of presentations offered to two senses at 
the same time is much more easily reproduced than if given only to 
sight or only to hearing. 

We consider finally the differences of simultaneous and 
successive presentations. As all the audible series had to be 
successive, the pure visible series only give a basis for com- 
parison. Half of the visible series were successive, the other 
half simultaneous, both halves corresponding in every respect 
except in the manner of presentation. The time was the same, 
as 20 simultaneous presentations were to be looked at during 
40 seconds and each of the 20 successive ones for 2 seconds 
each. The error was for simultaneous series: Bi. 13.60, Bu. 
9.80, A. P. 15.30, E. P. 17.90, w - 15-00 average, 14.30. For 
successive series: Bi. 18.50, Bu. 23.30, A - p - i6.60, E. P. 24.10, 
W. 21.60 average, 2O.80. With each observer the memory 
was stronger for simultaneous than for successive presenta- 



(With the assistance of Mr. N. KOZ'AKI.) 

It is usually held that when the attention is directed to 
objects of sense, its effect is not only to increase the clearness 
and liveliness of the impressions, and strengthen the resulting 
associations in consciousness, but also to intensify the impres- 
sions themselves. The majority of psychologists, influenced 
partly by the experiences of daily life and partly by theoreti- 
cal considerations, have acceded to this popular view. But 
Fechner long ago pointed out that a piece of gray paper does 
not appear lighter, nor the ticking of a clock louder, however 
much we direct the attention to them. And more recently 
Stumpf has shown in his Tonpsychologie (l. 71, II. 291) that the 
ordinary views are by no means self-evident. James (Princ. of 
Psychology, I. 426) comes to the same conclusion as Stumpf, and 
closes his discussion of the matter with the remark : " The sub- 
ject is one which would well repay exact experiment." An 
account of such experiments I shall now give. 

The only experiments on the subject (those of Helmholtz 
and Stumpf) concern the bringing into prominence of one 
from among several simultaneous impressions. It is clear 
that the interpretations here may differ. Our problem was to 
arrange the experiments in such a manner that the intensities 
of two impressions of moderate strength could be compared, 
and at the same time the attention be directed toward one 
and away from the other. In this way we examined intensi- 
ties produced by light, sound, and the lifting of weights, and 
also the distances between visible points, the distances serving 
as measures for the intensity of the sensations produced by 
the movement of the eyes. The method always employed 
for diverting the attention was as follows : the subject was 
directed to give his attention fully to the adding of numbers, 
which in the case of the optical impressions were read to 
him, and in the case of the auditory impressions were read by 
him. The adding took place before and during the time the 
stimulus was present. Since the order of the stimuli to be 
compared is of great influence upon the judgment, two sorts 


of experiments were arranged for each series. In one case, 
the attention was directed to the first stimulus, while the 
second was perceived with diverted attention ; and in the 
other case, the attention was directed to the second stimulus, 
while the first was perceived with diverted attention. In 
order to discover from these series the influence of the atten- 
tion, independently of other conditions, both series must be 
compared with the results of experiments in which the atten- 
tion was either directed to both stimuli, or turned away from 
both. If we designate attention to the first stimulus by A, 
and that to the second by A', and, correspondingly, the inat- 
tention by / and I', we have then for each sense and for the 
same magnitude experiments with A A' , A /', / A', and 
/ /'. A A', as well as / /', give the constant error 
resulting from position, although with a different mean varia- 
tion. It appears, however, that the results in the two series 
are different ; the overestimating of the second stimulus in the 
case of A A' being much more marked than in the case of 
/ /'. Accordingly, we should compare those series only 
in which the judgment is made under the same conditions. 
That is, A A' ought to be compared only with IA', and 
in the same way / I' only with A I' . And from such com- 
parisons the direction of the changing influence of attention 
must appear. Obviously the actual numbers are valid merely 
for the relations of these stimuli chosen arbitrarily, and only 
their relative value, considered as plus or minus, comes in 

The optical distances were given by an apparatus consist- 
ing of a black cloth surface, 80 cm square, upon which were 
two white points. The vertical distance between these points 
could be changed by a screw upon the back of the screen, and 
the exact distance moved could be accurately read (Beitrdge, 
Heft IV.). At the beginning of each experiment the white 
points were covered by a strip of black paper. This was 
swung to one side, leaving the points visible for 3 sec. ; the 
strip was then returned to its place for 6 sec., during which 
time the distance of the points was changed ; and finally 
the points were again made visible for 3 sec. The normal 
distance which was exposed first in one half of the series and 


second in the remainder was 30 cm. This was compared 
with 27.5, 28, 28.5, 29, 29.5, 30, 30.5, 31, 31.5, 32, and 32.5 cm, 
the various pairs being given in irregular order but sym- 
metrically in each series. The judgment was then noted, i.e., 
whether the second length appeared greater, equal to, or less 
than the first. For the light-stimulus a gray was used, pro- 
duced by a black rotating disk with a white sector. The disk 
was hidden behind a black screen, then shown for 3 sec. ; then 
it was covered for 8 sec. while the sector was changed, and 
finally shown again for 3 sec. The normal size of the white 
sector was 90, and this was compared with 65, 70, 75, 80, 
85, 90, 95, 100, 105, 110, and 115. The striking of a 
metallic ball upon an ebony plate served for the sound. The 
ball was held by an electro-magnet and fell at the breaking of 
the current. The time between the two sounds was 5 sec. 
The normal height of the fall, 50 cm, was compared with 35, 
40, 45, 50, 55, 60, and 65 cm. A signal preceded the sound, and 
simultaneously with this the adding of the numbers began as 
they were read. The weight was given by lifting a funnel- 
shaped vessel, held between the thumb and first finger. The 
elbow rested upon the table, and the weight was raised without 
movement of the wrist. Weights were put into the funnel in 
such a way that they could be easily changed. The funnel 
was supported from below, and the hand lifted it and after 4 
sec. lowered it again. After a pause of 6 sec. it was again 
raised for 4 sec., but with the weight changed. A weight of 
300 gm, including, of course, the weight of the vessel, was 
compared with weights varying from 250 gm to 350 gm with 
successive intervals of 10 gm. 

From only two of the five subjects did we get complete 
series with weights (1280 experiments with each); from two 
in the distance experiments (440 with each) ; from four with 
the lights (440 with each) ; and from two with sounds (280 
with each). The calculation was made by dividing the judg- 
ments into correct and false ; the false being those of overesti- 
mation (i.e., smaller taken for equal, or smaller and equal for 
greater), and those of underestimation (i.e., equal taken for 
smaller, or greater for equal or smaller). Then the per cent 
was calculated, and the preponderance of the overestimation 


over the underestimation (or vice versa) was determined. The 
number of the overestimations, or underestimations, depends 
upon the sensitiveness and upon the attention at the time at 
which the judgment is given. The preponderance of the one 
over the other gives the constant error. The question there- 
fore is, how the constant error changes when calculated first 
for A A' and then for IA', or first for A I 1 and then for 
/ /'. The absolute numbers are of course dependent upon 
the chosen gradations of the stimulus, and consequently have 
no value of their own. On the other hand, the direction of 
the change ought to bring out clearly the law of the relation. 
The results are as follows : 

Distances. First person. A A'. The second stimulus 
was correctly judged, 72. 2#; overestimated, 18.8$; underesti- 
mated, 9$. Preponderance of overestimation, 9.8$. 

/ A'. Second stimulus correctly judged, 63.7$; overesti- 
mated, 21% ; underestimated, 15.3$. Preponderance of over- 
estimation, 5.7$. If A A' gives 9.8$ and / A' only 5.7$, for 
the preponderance of overestimation, the difference means that 
the second stimulus is overestimated more frequently by 4.1%, 
or that the first stimulus is underestimated by that amount, 
when the attention is turned to the first stimulus. The direct- 
ing of the attention, therefore, causes the first stimulus to 
appear weaker. 

The same result followed for 7 /' and A I'. In the 
case of / /' the second stimulus was correctly estimated 
6i%\ overestimated, 22.5$ ; underestimated, 16.5$. Prepon- 
derance of overestimation, 6%. In the case of A /'. cor- 
rectly judged, 69.4$; overestimated, 21.2$; underestimated, 
9.4$. Preponderance of overestimation, 11.8$. The overesti- 
mation of the second stimulus, or the underestimation of 
the first stimulus, occurs therefore more frequently (11.8$, 

6$, i.e., by 5.8$) when the attention is directed to the first 

Second person. A A ', preponderance of overestimation, 

3.2$ That is, with this person the underestimation of 
the second stimulus preponderates. IA', preponderance of 
overestimation, 11$. Difference, 7.8$, by which the first 


stimulus is less often overestimated, when the attention is 
turned to it. 

/ /', preponderance of overestimation, 2.4$ ; A /', 
-f- 3.5$. Difference, 5.9$. For both persons, therefore, the 
distances, when attentively observed, appear smaller than 
those perceived in a state of inattention. This is true for both 
classes of judgments. 

Sound. First person. A A', preponderance of overesti- 
mation, 16.2$ ; / A', 9.4$. Again, therefore, the attention 
causes the first stimulus to appear smaller. / I', 2.5^ ; 
A I', 5.8 ; that is, the effect of the attention here also is to 
weaken the first stimulus. 

Second person. A A f , 4.7$ ; IA', 4.0$ ; / /', 1.60 ; 
A /', 3.2$. The differences are here exceedingly small, but 
in each case in the direction that shows the weakening effect 
of the attention. 

Light. I. AA', 0.6$ ; I A', 5.7* ; / /', 5-50 ; A I', 
2.7$. Here the effect of the attention is an intensifying one 
in both cases. The same occurs in a much less degree with 
a second subject. 

II. A A', 3-80; I A 1 , 440; / /', 1.5*; A I', i$. But 
in the case of two other subjects there is again a marked de- 
crease due to the attention. 

III. A A', 16.2$ ; I A', 970 ; / /', 4-80 ; AI', 8.9*. 

IV. A A 1 , 14.7*; I A', io0; / /', 7-5^; A I', 12.2$. 
Finally, the diminishing effect of the attention comes out 

most strongly in the experiments with weights. 

Weights. I. A A', io.80; IA', 20; / /', 3.70; A I', 

II. A A', 4-3$ ; IA' t - 7-60 ; I I', 2.70 ; A I', 8.30. 

The unexpected result is reached, therefore, that all stimuli 
appear relatively less ^vhen the attention is from the outset directed 
to them. The light experiments with two persons form the 
only exception. Now it has often been urged that the 
changes in the brightness of a gray disk do not always run 
subjectively parallel to the physical changes. Physically 
speaking, the increase of darkness is a decrease of light. 
Psychologically speaking, the increase of darkness may be 
looked upon as an increase of a positive quality, just as well as 


the increase of light. If we grant, now, that these two sub- 
jects were inclined to perceive the changes in this sense, the 
intensity of the darkness is with them lessened by the atten- 
tion, and thus the single exception vanishes. But even if 
we disregard these results, those for distances, sounds, and 
weights remain fully in agreement with each other. The 
attention causes the intensities to appear smaller. The expla- 
nation seems to me to rest in the fact that we must always 
judge intensities relatively, the standard being in our muscular 
tensions. The interesting experiments of G. E. Miiller have 
shown how much we underestimate weights if, in consequence 
of a particular preparatory motor adjustment, we lift them 
with too great a tension of the muscles. Exactly this ought 
to occur in cases in which the attention is previously pre- 
pared. We judge the intensities relatively to our sensations 
of tension. Let these, however, be previously strengthened 
by expectant attention and the stimulus will appear weaker 
than if the stimulus itself were to arouse reflexly all the corre- 
sponding muscular tensions. We interpret our retinal images 
as spatial magnitudes on the basis of our feelings of converg- 
ence and accommodation. In the same way the feeling of 
intensity comes to represent the intensity of a stimulus only 
through its relation to the subjective sense of strain. If 
we purposely strengthen the subjective strain simultaneously 
with the strains aroused by the stimulus, the stimulus will 
indeed appear stronger, because we interpret the tension as 
the result of the stimulus. In the same manner, if we wish, 
we can make certain beats of a rhythm appear stronger by a 
voluntary accentuation. If, on the other hand, the tension 
precede the stimulus as an element in the preparatory adjust- 
ment of the attention ; and if consequently it be interpreted 
by consciousness, from the outset, as a subjective function, the 
increase of the tension aroused by the stimulus can appear 
only slight, the ratio of the two intensities has become re- 
versed, and accordingly the stimulus is slightly underesti- 



(With the assistance of Mr. W. T. BUSH.) 

The theory of the judging and comparing of differences 
of sensation has thus far rested chiefly upon the study of just 
perceptible and just imperceptible differences. But recently 
the conviction has arisen more and more that as soon as the 
deductions from such experiments step beyond the mere 
establishing of a threshold of excitation, they come upon pre- 
suppositions, which are at least open to discussion. Sensations 
are not magnitudes which can be added. Weaker sensations 
are not contained in stronger. Differences of sensation, then, 
should appear equal to us only when they arouse in us equal 
feelings of difference ; which feelings depend upon the degree 
of the similarity of the sensations, and upon other circum- 
stances. I have already tried to show that it is probable that 
we measure and compare these feelings of difference subjec- 
tively by means of sensations of tension. The question arises, 
how far we also possess objective means for measuring the 
differences of sensation. The degree of the subjective differ- 
ence is obviously identical with the relative ease of discrimina- 
tion. If, then, we possessed a measure for the ease with which 
we discriminate between two stimuli, we should have a meas- 
ure of their subjective difference. In time-measurements we 
do have exactly this. We ought to designate as equal the 
differences between two pairs of intensities of stimuli, if equal 
times are necessary to distinguish them. It is clear that this 
method, which frees us from just perceptible differences, has 
at the same time the advantage that it is applicable to the 
study of differences of quality, as well as of differences of in- 
tensity. If the psycho-physic law be true, the time necessary 
to discriminate between weights of 100 and 200 grams must be 
just as long as the discrimination-time for 200 and 400 grams. 

That group of stimuli, with which we began the study 
of this relation, consisted of lines of various lengths. It is 
well known that in this field the threshold of excitation 
follows Weber's law within wide limits. The problem, then, 


was to compare stimuli whose differences were always clearly 
perceptible. To eliminate individual differences, the measure- 
ment of the time was effected by the method of chain-reaction, 
the fundamental principles and advantages of which I have 
elsewhere described (Beitr. z. exp. Psych., Heft IV. p. 40). A 
chain of persons so reacted that the first person gave the 
stimulus to the second, and the second through his reaction 
gave the stimulus to the third, and so on until the last person 
gave the stimulus again to the first. The occurrence of the 
first stimulus and that of the last reaction accomplished re- 
spectively the opening and closing of the current in a Hipp's 
chronoscope, and so the time was measured which elapsed 
between the first stimulus and the last reaction. If we are 
dealing with reactions after choice, as in this case, it is clear 
that the time occupied is the sum of the discrimination-times 
of all the persons, with the exception of the first. The first 
person knows the stimulus, and therefore has no choice to 
make at the end, but only a simple reaction. If we subtract 
the simple reaction-time of this first person from the total time, 
and divide the remainder by the number of other persons, we 
obtain the average discrimination-time, whose relative value 
must change with the difficulty of the discrimination. For 
optical stimuli this method is of course not applicable without 
the use of complicated apparatus. The instruments which we 
employed permitted the use of five different optical stimuli for 
any desired number of persons. Each subject had upon the 
table before him a black metal plate 50 cm square. This was 
inclined a little away from the subject and had in its centre a 
round opening 6 cm in diameter. The eyes were opposite 
this window and at a constant distance from it. At the same 
time, the five fingers of the right hand rested upon a set of five 
electric keys, made invisible by a box. If one of these five 
keys was pressed down by the first person, one of the five 
pictures appeared immediately in the window of the second 
instrument. This was accomplished by five electro-magnets, 
on the back of the plate. If the armature of one of these was 
drawn down, a lever was released at the end of which there was 
a circular frame the same size as the window. As soon as this 
lever was released, it was thrown forward by a strong spring 


so that the frame stopped exactly behind the window, and the 
paper in the frame upon which might be pictures, or colors, 
or words, or, as in this case, black horizontal lines upon a white 
ground became visible to the subject. The five levers and 
the five frames (all of hard rubber), and the five electro-mag- 
nets, corresponding to the five electric keys, were so sym- 
metrically arranged that every lever had exactly the same 
distance to move. To obviate the possibility of observing the 
direction from which the lever came, which would facilitate 
the discrimination of the optical stimuli, the window was 
covered by a black shutter of hard rubber, which was opened 
in two halves, through the action of electro-magnets and 
springs, as soon as one of the keys was pressed down. The 
same current that carried the frame to the window opened the 
shutter in front of it, and thus the recognition of direction was 
rendered impossible. One electric battery was sufficient for 
the whole apparatus, and it was only for the chronoscope that 
a second battery was necessary. 

We made use of three only of the five frames and worked 
with six instruments ; the total time thus always included the 
reaction - time of the first subject, Mr. Bush, and the dis- 
crimination-time as well as the choice-time of the other five. In 
the first three frames of each instrument there were to choose 
a single example white disks with lines 5, 10, and 15 mm long. 
Each subject had upon the table before him a corresponding 
disk with a line 10 mm long, and was expected to look at this 
until immediately before the time when the line to be judged 
came to the window of the instrument. This line was 5, 10, or 
15 mm, according to the key which his neighbor had pressed ; 
and a judgment was to be given as quickly as possible as to 
whether the line were shorter, equal, or longer than the 
standard line seen immediately before. Then as quickly as 
possible the corresponding key was to be pressed, the first if 
shorter, the second if equal, and the third if longer. Since the 
working of the instrument, as well as the choice between the 
three fingers and the movements themselves, remained the 
same in all the experiments, and since all the magnitudes ex- 
perimented upon were clearly distinguishable, the differences 

4 8 


in time were in direct relation to the differences in discrimina- 

To come more closely to the question of the pscho-physic 
law, we were obliged to choose such intensities of stimulus as 
were multiples of certain simple differences. For such funda- 
mental differences we chose first, 2.5 5 7.5 mm, secondly, 
4 5 6 mm, and thirdly, 4.5 5 5.5 mm. From each of 
these relations four multiples were investigated ; i.e. 4 5 6, 
8 10 12, 12 15 18, 16 20 24. In this way we obtained 
twelve groups of experiments. Each group contained four 
series, and each series fifteen experiments, which followed 
one another in a wholly irregular arrangement and included 
five greater, five equal, and five smaller stimuli. In each of 
the twelve groups, therefore, there are twenty cases of each 
kind. And since in every case the choice-times of five persons 
were measured at the same time, we have 3600 discrimination- 
and choice-times, which were scattered throughout the entire 
winter of 1892-93, and were conducted with all possible regard 
to practice, fatigue, etc. 

The averages must be especially calculated from each set 
of twenty cases ; first, because the ratio, 4 : 5, is not the same 
as 5 : 6, and therefore the discrimination will also be different; 
and secondly, because the equal judgments must not be con- 
founded with the greater or the less. 

If now 0.15 sec. be subtracted, as representing the reaction- 
time of Bush, and the remainder be divided by five, so that 
every number represents the average of a hundred single 
reactions, we have the following results : (cr = o.ooi sec.). 

Smaller: 5120- 
Smaller : 4910- 
Smaller : 4600- 
Smaller : 4430- 

First Group. 

Equal : 5740" 

5 10 15 mm 
Equal : 5 5 1 cr 

7.51522.5 mm 
Equal : 5390* 

10 20 30 mm 
Equal : 5190- 

Greater : 5300* 
Greater : 5270* 
Greater : 5050* 
Greater : 5050" 



Smaller : 5720- 
Smaller: 5570- 
Smaller : 5260- 
Smaller: 5340" 

Smaller : 7920- 
Smaller : 7560- 
Smaller: 6980- 
Smaller : 6820- 

Second Group. 

4 5 6 mm 

Equal : 7370- 
8 10 12 mm 

Equal: 7330- 
12 15 18 mm 

Equal : 7100- 
1 6 20 24 mm 

Equal : 6470- 

Third Group. 

4.555.5 mm 
Equal : 8560- 

9 10 n mm 
Equal : 8440- 

1 8 20 22 mm 
Equal : 7780- 

27 30 33 mm 
Equal : 7720- 

Greater: 6850* 

Greater : 6370* 

Greater : 6000- 

Greater: 5780- 

Greater : 8360- 

Greater: 7750- 

Greater : 7600* 

Greater : 7400- 

All the figures are of course relatively large, since they 
include the discrimination-time for three magnitudes and the 
will-time for three fingers. It is especially noticeable that the 
time in the equal cases is without exception longer than in the 
greater and smaller cases. This fact, which was also often 
subjectively noticed, rests evidently upon the consideration 
that, in the cases of the longer and shorter judgments, there 
was a summation of two similarly directed judgments. The 
longest line is longer than the middle one, and much longer 
than the shortest. This latter judgment strengthens the for- 
mer, and so the correct reaction is accelerated. In the case of 
the middle line, however, the two opposite judgments are 
mutually conflicting. The estimating of the longer line, also, 
is shown no less regularly to take longer than the estimating 
of the shorter. The reason lies evidently in the fact that all 
the relations of the lines represent multiples of three numbers, 
which have equal absolute differences : and, consequently, the 
relative difference between the longer and the middle lines 


is less in each case than the relative difference between the 
middle and the shorter lines. To discriminate between 5 and 
6 must therefore take longer than to discriminate between 
5 and 4. This leads us to the psycho-physic law, which claims 
that equal subjective differences are correlated with equal 
objective relations of stimuli. There is no doubt that this law 
is corroborated for line-lengths by our psychometric investi- 
gation. The four series of each group maintained the same 
relations of stimuli. A wide-reaching constancy in the corre- 
sponding numbers cannot be disputed. Group I., containing 
the relations 2.5 5 7.5, multiplied by one, two, three, and 
four, gives for the shortest line intermediate values from 4430- 
to 5120-; for the middle line, from 5190- to 5740"; and for the 
longer line, from 5050" to 5300-. Group II., containing the 
relation 4 5 6, multiplied likewise by one, two, three, and 
four, gives for the smaller line intermediate values from 5340" 
to 5720- ; for the middle line, from 6470- to 7370" ; and for the 
longer line, from 578 <r to 6850-. Finally, Group III., with the 
relation 4.5 5 5.5, multiplied by one, two, four, and six, 
gives for the shorter line 682 7920-; for the middle line, 
772 8560-; and for the longer line, 740 8360-. The limits 
between which the intermediate values of the three groups 
vary do not overlap ; the figures for the shorter line being, in 
Group I., 443 5120-; in Group II., 534 5720- ; in Group III., 
682 7920- ; and for the other categories equally marked differ- 
ences. The approximate validity of the psycho-physic law 
for optical distances admits of proof, therefore, by psych O' 
metric methods. 

But at the same time it is evident that this validity is only 
approximate, and that there exists a perfectly regular varia- 
tion from the law, in that the subjective difference increases, 
i.e., the difficulty of the discrimination decreases, with the 
increasing length of the line. In every group we see that the 
times become smaller, the higher the number by which the 
fundamental relation is multiplied. While 792 856 8360- 
are the times that correspond to the numbers 4.5 5 5.5 mm, 
only 6827727400-, i.e. about a tenth of a second less, is 
needed with 27 30 33 mm lines, six times as long. For our 
subjective discrimination, therefore, the stronger effect of the 


relative differences of stimuli is constantly influenced by the weaker 
effect of the absolute differences of stimuli. The numbers show 
clearly how superior the psychometric method is to the other 
psycho-physic methods, for the finer analysis of the processes 
in an act of discrimination ; and that too without regard to the 
fact that we are freed from the necessity of using the just per- 
ceptible differences in a way that is theoretically questionable. 
Similar psychometric investigations with weights, sounds, and 
lights are in progress, but are not yet completed. 


(With the assistance of Mr. A. R. T. WYLIE.) 

The discussion on the time-sense, which has been carried 
on in recent years with more warmth than politeness, has 
unfortunately not led thus far to much agreement either as to 
results or as to explanations. On the other hand agreement 
has happily been reached in the statement of the question. It 
is not our task to follow the earlier investigators and pile up 
numbers about the comparison of times, without regard to the 
subjective means by which we judge the magnitude of the times; 
but rather to study these subjective means, and so to arrange the 
experiments that the analysis of the characteristic psychical 
factors is made possible. We are also agreed that the results 
of experiments thus far made are not sufficient for the support 
of the common theories. They must be supplemented in 
various directions. Another point is also universally granted: 
that the judgment of longer time-lengths, as hours, days, 
years, which rests upon the manifoldness of the presentations, 
and is indirect throughout, must be clearly distinguished from 
the comparison of lesser time-lengths, e.g., parts of a minute. 
In the latter, it is true, the indirect time-consciousness is not 
wholly wanting; but the direct time-sense stands foremost. 
Our problem is to study the mechanism of this direct time- 

Farther this again is universally admitted, viz., that the 
judgment of the shortest times, say periods shorter than 
two seconds, does not take place under the same conditions 
as the judgment of longer time-lengths, say five, ten, or twenty 


seconds. The study of these two processes is accordingly to 
be kept distinct. The investigation of such longer time-lengths 
is theoretically the more important, since it allows a wider 
latitude to the change of outer conditions, as well as to self- 
observation. With this in mind I prepared the investigations 
on time-content which I published a short time ago (Beitrdge 
zur exp. Psych., Heft IV. p. 89). The experiments gave the gen- 
eral result, that time-intervals of from eight to twelve seconds, 
marked off and filled with auditory impressions, can, with the 
most varied content, be compared with sufficient accuracy 
to show that the judgment does not depend upon the number 
of separate presentations in the interval ; while on the other 
hand these presentations do exercise a constant influence 
upon the estimate of the time. It was shown, namely, that 
those lengths were constantly underestimated, whose contents 
highly engrossed the interest of the observer. Words ap- 
peared shorter than noises, verses shorter than the strokes 
of a pendulum, chords shorter than simple tones, and sentences 
shorter than strings of nonsense-syllables. These results 
corresponded throughout with those theoretical views which 
I had formed earlier, on the basis of the self-observation 
of my subjects, the analysis of the results of others, and 
experiments of my own. And all the more recent researches 
substantiate these views much more strongly than the experi- 
menters themselves are inclined to admit. I mention here 
only one point drawn from these theoretical considerations. 
The subjective measure for such time-lengths seems to me 
to lie in sensations peripherally aroused by muscular activity, 
especially by the strains and relaxations which take place 
in the various groups of muscles conditioned upon bodily 
reactions to changing intensities ot stimuli. Such reactions 
occur in the functions of breathing, in the voluntary move- 
ments of the eyes, limbs, etc. We can therefore compare 
intervals with some certainty, even when the number ot outer 
stimuli filling them is quite varied. On the other hand we 
lose that standard of comparison as soon as our attention 
is fully directed to those outer stimuli and thus withdrawn 
from our muscular sensations. This is plain from the fact that 
at the start all subjects are quite helpless in the comparison of 


intervals with different contents. The influence of practice 
consists just in this, that one learns to divide the attention 
between the presentations of the outer stimuli and the bodily 
sensations. The more strongly these stimuli absorb the 
attention, the more must the bodily sensations retreat into 
the background of consciousness, even with experienced 
observers, and the shorter must the lapse of time appear. 
The less interesting the stimuli, the more obtrusive the bodily 
sensations and the longer the apparent time. It is clear 
that the results mentioned correspond perfectly with these 
theoretical deductions. 

I then proposed to continue the research by investigating 
the influence of the time-content, when the marking off and 
filling of the time-intervals was accomplished by optical in 
place of auditory stimuli. Such optical experiments upon 
the time-sense have thus far never been made, if we disregard 
.earlier investigations on the comparison of rapidities. 

The method of investigation was as follows: a Ludwig 
kymograph, with drum placed vertically, was so set that 
every point moved exactly one centimeter in a second. 
Between the drum and the subjects there was a screen of 
black paper, in which an opening 2 cm square was cut. 
Immediately behind this opening moved the black paper 
which covered the drum. On a level with the opening there 
were fastened pieces of paper of any desired color or degree 
of brightness, of uniform surface or covered with print. 
These passed by the square opening at the rate of one 
centimeter a second, and the lengths to be compared followed 
one another immediately with no intervening period. Sup- 
pose for example that yellow and red papers are fastened 
to the drum. The subject sees first a black, then a yellow, 
then a red, and finally again a black square, and judges 
whether the red seems to occupy a longer, shorter, or equal 
time, as compared with the yellow, in passing by the opening 
in the screen. If letters or numbers were employed as stimuli, 
the white papers on which they were printed served as the 
lengths for comparison. The numbers and letters were 
arranged singly, or in groups, at such irregular intervals 
that their number gave the subject no clue whatever. The 


question is really therefore one of comparing" spatial extents,, 
in which, since the lengths pass by with equal rapidity, our 
time-sense can give the only standard for judgment. The 
lengths to be compared were so chosen that in every experi- 
ment one length was 10 cm, and the other 7, 8, 9, 10, n, 12, or 
13 cm. Every full series comprised twenty experiments, in 
which 10 was compared four times with 9, 10, and 1 1 respect- 
ively, and twice with 7, 8, 12, and 13. And, further, in ten 
cases 10 cm served for the first, and in ten cases for the second 
length. These twenty possibilities followed irregularly in 
every series. Then in the next series the order of the first 
series was reversed. If at the start yellow was the first and 
blue the second length, in the succeeding twenty experi- 
ments blue was the first and yellow the second. Then 
the same forty experiments were repeated. The experi- 
ments were, therefore, distributed with perfect symmetry, 
exactly as in the case of my auditory experiments, which 
have been already described. Meumann's criticism of my 
method has only the more strongly convinced me of its cor- 

Obviously the time-order exercises a great influence. A 
strong tendency was shown to overestimate the second length. 
Since, however, the influence of the position does not here 
concern us, we have only to eliminate it by reckoning together 
the results of the symmetrical experiments in both positions. 
If in one hundred experiments yellow was first and blue 
second, and in another hundred blue was first and yellow 
second, we have to ask how often in two hundred experiments 
the yellow appeared longer than the blue. We find that the 
one content was objectively longer than the other forty times 
in every one hundred experiments, equal to it twenty times, 
and shorter forty times. If we halve the equal judgments and 
assign them equally to both sides, fifty per cent would con 
stantly appear longer and fifty per cent shorter if the qualit}^ 
of the content were without influence since the influence of 
position has been eliminated. The actual result may now be 

Six subjects took part, and each one was given more or less 
preliminary practice ; for here as in other investigations some 


practice proved necessary. The good experiments were as 
follows : 

I. Yellow and light green were compared. The results 
fluctuate throughout and show no decided tendency. Mani- 
festly both colors make equal claims upon the attention. 

II. Brilliant yellow and dark red. A decided tendency in- 
each person is clearly manifest, but it varies with the indi- 
viduals. In one hundred cases yellow is estimated longer, as 
follows: with B., 62.30; H., 67.8$; J., 42.6$; K., 460; P., 43.80; 
W., 39.5$ ; that is, two persons overestimated and four under- 
estimated. The tendency is in every case so strong that there 
may be a question here as to the individually different atti- 
tudes of the attention. In all the following groups, however, 
the tendency is perfectly uniform. 

III. A continuous color is compared with a series of from 
six to ten strips of different colors and of varying widths. 
The many-colored band appears regularly shorter than the 
continuous color. In each one hundred experiments the one 
continuous color appeared of longer duration : for B., 59.5$ ; 
H., 63.80; J., 51.20; K., 540; P., 65.30; W., 58.70 average, 
58.7$. Here it appears to me unquestionable that the chang- 
ing colors attract the attention more than the monotonous 

IV. A continuous color is compared with a series of from 
six to fifteen letters on a white background. The letters 
appear shorter. The color is held to be of longer duration, as 
follows: with B., 5 1.20; H., 55$ ; J., 49.10 ; K., 52.30 ; P., 50.8$ ; 
W., 62.3^ average 5 3. 50. The underestimating of the letters 
is therefore somewhat less. Evidently, single letters, moving 
by so slowly, have far less tendency to catch the attention 
than bright changing colors. But the result gains especial 
interest from comparison with the following group. 

V. The same optical impressions as in group IV. But 
the subjects were obliged now to take care to keep the letters 
in memory, and write them down after each experiment. 
The result is that the color appears longer than the letters, as 
follows: with B., 62.30; H., 71.50; J., 53.20; K., 56.30; P., 580; 
W., 54.90 average, 5940. The more marked straining of 
the attention leads, therefore, at once to a more marked under- 


estimation of the time. This reaches its culmination in the 
next group. 

VI. A continuous color is compared with a series of num- 
bers between one and forty these to be added as they pass 
by, and the sum noted. The color appears longer : for B., 
75.6^ ; H., 54.3^ ; J-> 52-8^ ; K., 69.3^ ; P, 56.2^ ; W., 68.7^ 
average, 62.8$. 

With the use of optical stimuli I arrive, therefore, at 
exactly the same result as with auditory stimuli, viz., that, 
irrespective of the number of the presentations, the times appear 
shorter the more the given optical time-content attracts the attention, 
and thus diverts it from the observation of the accompanying sub- 
jective phenomena produced by bodily changes. 

I limit myself here to the experimental results. What the 
subjects have said about their subjective experiences in refer- 
ence to subjective rhythmical strains, respiration, and eye- 
movements I shall give at another time in a theoretical 
discussion of the time-sense. 


(With Plate I.) 

The stereoscope, as every one knows, is an instrument by 
means of which the two eyes are made to see different pictures, 
and yet to converge at a point corresponding to the apparent 
distance of the object seen. If these two pictures correspond 
to the views that a person's right and left eyes have respectively 
of a solid object, they unite, and the two flat pictures fuse into 
one solid figure. Up to the present, the problem of the stereo- 
scope has been solved either by the use of mirrors (Wheatstone, 
Helmholtz, Duboscq, etc.), or prisms (Brewster, etc.). With- 
out mirrors or prisms the converging eyes would be obliged 
to see the same picture always. 

But this is a fact for simultaneous impressions only, 
not for successive impressions ; which, as far as I know, have 
never been considered available for stereoscopic purposes. As 
the stroboscopic disks and the zootrope demonstrate, the 
subjective visual impression considerably outlasts its objective 
stimulus. If, then, we suppose that for the stereoscopic union 
it is not the simultaneity of the visual stimuli that is necessary, 


but only the simultaneity of the two visual impressions, the 
effect must also be produced when the two pictures are pre- 
sented to the two eyes in rapidly-changing succession, in such 
a way that the impression upon the left eye is still effective 
when the right eye is stimulated, and vice versa. But in this 
case it is evident that no mirror or prism is necessary, since 
now the eyes can rest in their natural position of convergence ; 
and the two pictures appear successively at the same spot 
provided only that care be taken that each picture be always 
accessible to the corresponding eye, and to that eye only. 

The easiest way of accomplishing this is by using rotating 
disks. Stroboscopic disks preceded the ordinary stroboscopic 
drum of to-day ; and disks, with slits for the right and left eyes 
respectively, and separated from one another by equal angles, 
have also been made use of for other optical purposes (Sanford, 
Dvorak). The only thing which I found necessary, then, was to 
fasten such a disk upon the same axis with, and at a certain dis- 
tance from, another disk, so that the pictures were displayed al- 
ternately to the right and left eyes, the pictures being placed at 
angular distances corresponding to the slits, and at equal radial 
distances from the middle point. The slits must be as narrow 
as possible, in order that the pictures may be seen unmoved ; 
and must be as numerous as possible, in order that the pictures 
may be seen clearly. A trial gave the expected effect with 
surprising vividness. 

The form of apparatus used by me is as follows (see 
Plate I.): a strongly built color-mixer, or a centrifugal ma- 
chine placed vertically, is provided with a steel axle 40 cm 
long, in such a way that one half of the axle is in front 
and the other half behind the machine. On both the front 
and the back of the axle is a brass screw, which holds 
securely a card-board disk. In order that the distance of 
the disk could be changed at will, I used perforated brass 
disks with collar-attachments which can be slid along the 
rod and secured at any desired point. The disk to be fas- 
tened in front is made of heavy black card-board, and has 
a radius of 25 cm. The disk has twelve slits, six inner and 
six outer. The inner ends of the former are 10 cm from the 
centre and the slits are 5 cm long : i.e., the outer ends are 


15 cm from the centre. At 1 8 cm from the centre the outer 
slits begin and they end at 23 cm. The inner and outer slits 
alternate regularly at angular distances of 30. The slits are 
bounded by radii, so that their widths increase from within 
outwards. The outer slits are 8 mm wide at their outer 
ends, the inner slits 5 mm. If, now, one sits before the disk 
in such a way that the eyes are on a level with the shaft, one 
eye is always obscured while the other sees through one of 
the slits. If one sits in front of the left half of the disk, the 
inner slits correspond to the right and the outer slits to the 
left eye. And if the propelling wheel be set in motion, so that 
the disk makes, say, five revolutions in a second, each eye must 
look thirty times a second upon the second disk behind. This 
second disk, which is fastened to the rear half of the shaft, is, 
in its simplest form, a circle of white card-board, of 25 cm 
radius, upon which, at intervals of 30, are drawn twelve 
figures whose middle points are 16.5 cm from the centre of 
the disk. Six of these twelve figures are for the right and six 
for the left eye, the two kinds alternating regularly. One disk 
has, for example, the well-known outline of a truncated pyra- 
mid, with which the result is that the smaller inner square is 
six times on the right side and six times on the left side of the 
larger square. On the other hand, the middle points of all the 
twelve larger squares are at exactly equal distances from the 
edge of the disk, so that during rotation they completely cover 
one another. If now the rear disk be so secured that any one 
picture for the right eye stands opposite any inner slit, the 
pictures for the left eye are then, of course, opposite the outer 
slits. If the shaft be now set in rotation, the eyes can converge 
readily upon the second disk, which is perhaps 20 cm distant, 
and then the right and the left eyes look upon the same spot 
of the background of the rapidly changing pictures. Subjec- 
tively, however, we believe that we are continually observing 
the solid object. The pyramid stands out in relief, as with the 
best stereoscopes. If one looks in turn through the right side 
of the disk, one sees the pyramid hollow ; since now the outer 
slits correspond to the right eye, and the right eye, therefore, 
sees the picture intended for the left eye. For the same 
reason the succeeding and preceding pyramids upon the left 


side also appear hollow, while only that one which stands 
exactly opposite comes out in relief. Of course pictures for 
this disk-stereoscope can be printed just as simply as for the 
zootrope, etc. Instead of changing the disks each time, we 
use another variety of disk, which is so provided with slits 
that the desired pictures can be easily inserted. Instead of the 
twelve pictures, it is more convenient to make use of two only, 
as in the case of the stereoscope. The disk with the twelve 
slits may also be used for the two pictures, if the rear disk be 
rotated exactly six times as rapidly as the one in front ; an ar- 
rangement which is technically inconvenient. On the other 
hand, the twelve slits can be reduced in number, if only the 
pictures give a sufficiently strong impression. Eight slits 
with eight pictures generally give strong effects, but two slits 
with two pictures separated by 180 prove successful only with 
such clear impressions as, say, white stereometric drawings 
upon a black ground. 

Obviously other forms of movement can also be chosen 
in order to present the two pictures successively; for example, 
both pictures may be glued back to back and turned about 
a horizontal or vertical axis. It depends only upon whether a 
rotation of 180 takes place between the view of the left eye 
and that of the right. A very convenient further arrangement 
is this: a black paper cylinder, of say 20 cm diameter and 15 
cm in height, is fastened to a vertical wooden disk and rotated 
like a color disk upon a centrifugal machine. If two slits are 
made in this for the two eyes, something like 120 from one 
another, and the pictures fastened to the inner side of the 
cylinder opposite the slits and equally distant from the base of 
the cylinder, so that they cover one another at rotation, the 
stereoscopic effect is well produced. The slits ought not to be 
1 80 apart, since the pictures would then partly cover up the 
opposite slits. So it is evident that unlimited variations of the 
same principle are possible. 

Among the practical advantages of this stereoscope I may 
mention as most important that it admits of an immediate 
union of the stereoscopic with the zootropic effects. A dozen 
figures or more can be easily printed upon a disk just as 
they are now printed upon a single strip for the zootrope ; 


and in such a way that the right eye's views of the phases 
of movement alternate with those of the left. The effect 
then is that the solid object is seen in movement. For the 
illustration of physical apparatus and machines in action, of 
animals in motion, of physiological and pathological forms 
of movement in man, and so on, unusually clear representations 
may be secured. A further advantage is the unlimited size 
of the stereoscopic pictures to be combined, and the circum- 
stance that for each eye the distance of the picture from it can 
be chosen at will. Since the rotating wheel for mixing colors 
is very common in schools and elsewhere, it would require but 
a longer axle and some paper disks to add to the pedagogical 
equipment a stereoscope both easy to understand and easy to 
operate, having also the advantage that it is at the same time 
stroboscopic and strobo-stereoscopic. But the application of 
this simple apparatus to theoretical studies appears to me 
essentially more important. All the questions not only of 
stereoscopic vision, but also of binocular vision in general, the 
question of the rivalry of the visual fields, the questions 
of binocular color-mixing, of contrasts, of lustre, etc., can be 
studied here from a new point of view. By being able not only 
to give different pictures to the two eyes, but also to give at 
the same time different stimuli to each eye successively ; by 
being able to vary at will the time between the stimulation of 
the two eyes ; by being able to present a picture more fre- 
quently to one eye than to the other, etc., there arise a multitude 
of new and interesting problems. 





It seems worth while to put a few simple experiments on 
record, which I made for my own satisfaction a few months 
ago, in order to assure myself that arithmetic may be per- 
formed by the sole medium of imaginary smells, just as by 
imaginary figures or sounds. I had first to familiarize myself 
with a variety of scents, for which purpose the following 
arrangement was provided. Each scent was poured profusely 
upon cotton wool, loosely packed in a brass tube inch 
in outside diameter, which had a nozzle at one of its ends. 
The other wide-open end of the brass tube was pushed into 
a tightly fitting piece of caoutchouc tubing, 4^ inches long, 
and the opposite end of the tubing was stopped with a cork. 
Whenever the tubing is grasped by the hand, a whiff of scented 
air is forced through the nozzle ; when the grasp is relaxed, 
fresh air enters through the nozzle and passing through the 
wool becomes quickly impregnated with scent. The apparatus 
is then ready to be used again. Whiffs of scented air may 
thus be sent out four or five times in moderately quick 
succession and be almost equally odorous throughout. In 
using the apparatus, I begin by breathing out slowly through 
the nose, to prevent any scent from being prematurely 
perceived ; in the mean time the nozzle is brought below the 
nostrils. Then I simultaneously give a sudden grasp and 
a sudden sniff up. A separate apparatus is used for each 
scent. They are made as alike as possible, and are scarcely 


distinguishable ; nevertheless it is well to operate with the eyes 
shut. The scents chiefly used were peppermint, camphor, 
carbolic acid, ammonia, and aniseed. I taught myself to 
associate two whiffs of peppermint with one whiff of camphor ; 
three of peppermint with one of carbolic acid, and so on. 
Next, I practised at some small sums in addition ; at first with 
the scents themselves, and afterwards altogether with the 
imagination of them. There was not the slightest difficulty 
in banishing all visual and auditory images from the mind, 
leaving nothing in the consciousness besides real or imaginary 
scents. In this way, without, it is true, becoming very apt 
at the process, I convinced myself of the possibility of doing 
sums in simple addition with considerable speed and accuracy 
solely by means of imaginary scents. Further than this I did 
not go, so far as addition was concerned. It seemed a serious 
waste of time to continue the experiments further, because 
their difficulty and complexity rapidly increased. There were 
also provoking lapses of memory. For instance, at the present 
moment, having discontinued the experiments for three 
months, I find my old lessons almost wholly forgotten. Few 
persons appreciate the severity of the task imposed on children 
in making them learn the simple multiplication table, with 
its 8 1 pairs of values each associated with a third value. 
No wonder that they puzzle over it for months, notwith- 
standing the remarkable receptivity of their fresh brains. 
I did not attempt multiplication by smell. 

Subtraction succeeded as well as addition. I did not 
go so far as to associate separate scents with the attitudes 
of mind severally appropriate to subtraction and addition, 
but determined by my ordinary mental processes which 
attitude to assume, before isolating myself in the world of 

Few experiments were made with taste. Salt, sugar, citric 
acid, and quinine seemed suitable for the purpose, and there 
appeared to be little difficulty in carrying on the experiments 
to a sufficient extent to show that arithmetic by taste was as 
feasible as arithmetic by smell. 



University of Michigan. 

In his interesting and valuable article on The Language of 
Childhood, * Mr. Tracy undertakes, upon a basis of 5400 words 
used by at least twenty different children, to determine the 
relative frequency of the various parts of speech. Before 
making some remarks, I wish first to submit my own mite for 
the further use of students. A refers to a boy ; B to a girl, 
20 months younger, f 

A at 19 mos. old. 
Parts of Speech. Per cent. 
Nouns. . . 68 60 
Verbs ... 24 21 
Adjectives .13 n 
Adverbs . . 4 3 
Interjections 6 5 

B$ at 18 mos. old. 
Parts of Speech. Per cent. 
Nouns. . . 76 53 
Verbs ... 40 28 
Adjectives . 2 i 
Adverbs . . 9 6 
Interjections 7 5 
Pronouns . 8 6 
Conjunctions 2 i 

Total . .115 100 
Pronouns, prepositions, con- 
junctions, none. 

For purposes of comparh 
reached by Mr. Tracy by aver 

Total . . 144 
Prepositions, none. 

>on, I append the per 
aging all his results: 



Verbs 20 

Adjectives 9 

Adverbs 5 

Prepositions 2 

Interjections 1.7 

Conjunctions 0.3 


*Am. Jour. Psychol., vol. vi., No. i, reprinted in The Psychology of Child- 
hood, Boston, Heath & Co., 1893. 

f The presence of other children in the family should always, I think, form part 
of the data with reference to a child's vocabulary. At least, it is one of the old 
wives' saws on this matter that the presence of other children both hastens and 
extends a vocabulary. 

\ A's vocabulary was kept continuously ; B's vocabulary was taken from words 
actually used within a period of five or six days ; a number of words contained in 
her vocabulary four months previously do not appear at all. 


I wish to remark (i) concerning the relative frequency of 
verbs, and (2) concerning the different rates of distribution in 
different children : 

i. Mr. Tracy notes that since the relative frequency of 
verbs in the language is but 11 per cent, the child, com- 
paratively speaking, uses verbs with 1.81 the ease with which 
he uses nouns, and makes some judicious remarks concerning 
the prevalence of concepts of activity in the child mind. 
I think he could make his case much stronger. Mr. Tracy, 
I take it, has classified his words according to the sense 
which they have to an adult, and I have followed that principle 
in my own table.* In a sense, however, this is as artificial as 
Mr. Tracy notes that it is to put knife under k instead of 
under n, because ive spell it with a k. The psychological 
classification is to class the word according to what it means 
to a child, not to an adult with his grammatical forms all 

Such a classification would in all probability increase im- 
mensely the percentage of verbs. It is true that such a 
method demands much more care in observation, and opens 
the way to the very variable error of interpretation ; but the 
greater certainty of the method followed above is after all 
only seeming it does not express the child's vocabulary, but 
our interpretation of it according to a fixed but highly con- 
ventional standard. It is out of the question to redistribute 
the language of A and B, given above; but I subjoin the 
vocabulary of a child in his twefth month where contempo- 
raneous observation makes me reasonably sure of what the 
child means: 

See there ; bye-bye ; bottle ; papa ; mamma ; grandma ; 
Freddy; burn; fall; water; down; door; no, no; stop; thank 
you; boo (peek-a-boo); daw (used when he sees anything 
which he wants given to him) 17 in all. 

Of the above, only the four proper nouns are, psychologi- 
cally speaking, names of objects. Water is a verb as well as 

* Phrases like ' all light,' 'all dark,' 'all gone,' 'out* (for 'go out'), etc., I have 
treated as verbs. It is obvious that they might be considered either as interjec- 
tions or as adjectives. The relatively larger per cent of verbs in my table may be 
due to this classification. 


a noun ; door is always accompanied by gestures of reaching, 
and an attempt to swing the door back and fro ; ' daw ' is 
apparently a request, an expression of expectation of something 
good to eat and the name of a thing all together ; bottle cer- 
tainly has adjectival and verbal implications as well as nominal. 
At present I should regard it as a complex, ' nominal-adjectival- 
verbal/ the emphasis being on the noun, while six weeks pre- 
viously it was, say, ' verbal-adjectival-nominal/ * Stop ' ; ' no, 
no'; 'burn'; 'see there', etc., are equally interjections and 
verbs. * Thank you ' is at times a request for something, and is 
almost invariably said when giving an article to any one else. 
We have then a graded and continuous series, so far as seme is 
concerned, the proper names (23 per cent) at one end, and the 
interjectional forms 'no, no', 'peek-a-boo', at the other. These 
have a verbal coloring, however. Between these classes are 
a nominal-adjectival-verbal-interjectional complex, the verbal- 
interjectional meaning prevailing on the whole, the adjectival 
in all cases subordinate.* The tendency to apply the same 
term to a large number of objects (' ball' to ball, orange, moon, 
lamp-globe, etc.) can be understood, I think, only if we keep in 
mind the extent to which the formal noun, ' ball,' has really 
an active sense. ' Ball ' is ' to throw ' just as much as it is the 
round thing. I do not believe that the child either confuses 
the moon with his ball, or abstracts the roundness of it; the 
roundness suggests to him something which he has thrown, so 
that the moon is something to throw if he could only get 
hold of it. 

What I would suggest, then, along the line of a study 
of the distribution of vocabulary into parts of speech is such 
observation and record as would note carefully the original 
sense to the child of his words, and the gradual differentiation 

* The fact that interjections fail so late, as a rule, in aphasia, taken with 
the highly immediate and emotional character of child-life, indicates the defective 
character of a method of classification which reduces the percentage of interjections 
to 1.7. The philologist's objections to making interjections a primitive form of 
speech, however sound grammatically, seem to me to rest upon attaching a limited, 
technical sense to the concept interjection, which is without ground psychologically. 
In the infant mind (whether race or child) the emotional state and the tendency to 
react aroused by an object must, I should say, be fused, and both precede any clear 
recognition of the ' object ' as such, or of any objective quality. 


of the original protoplasmic verbal-nominal-interjectional form 
(as it seems to me), until words assume their present rigidity. 

2. No one can examine the statistics given without being 
struck by the great differences in different children. F, in 
Mr. Tracy's tables, has 15 per cent interjections; while K, 
with a vocabulary of 250 words, has none at all. F has n 
per cent adverbs ; while K has but 2 per cent ; in my own 
table, A has 4, while B has 9 per cent. So in my two, A has 
ii per cent adjectives; B, i per cent; while Mr. Tracy's 
vary from a maximum of 13 to a minimum of 3 per cent. 
I believe the tendency in all psychological investigation, at 
present, is to attempt to get a uniform mathematical statement, 
eliminating individual differences; for pedagogical and ethical 
purposes, at least, it is these differences which are, finally, 
most important. And on strictly psychological grounds the 
varying ratio of adverbs and pronouns on one side and nouns 
and adjectives on the other must denote a very different 
psychological attitude different methods of attaching interest 
and distributing attention. Observation of different mental 
traits as connected with these linguistic differences would not 
only add to the terra incognita, individual psychology (and 
it would seem that all psychology must be finally individual), 
but throw great light upon the psychology of language. How 
vague and formal at present our answers, for example, when 
we are asked to what psychological state and need an adverb 
corresponds ! 



The first year in the life of a laboratory is one of incredible 
difficulties and incessant labor in getting matters arranged. 
Nevertheless, we have been able to carry on several investiga- 
tions and bring them to successful conclusion and publication.* 

The most extensive investigation was that by C. B. Bliss 
on reaction-time and attention. The graphic method was 
developed so that records absolutely accurate to thousandths of 

* Studies from the Yale Psychological Laboratory, 1892-1893, edited by E. W. 
Scripture, New Haven, 1893. 


a second can be made and counted with less trouble than 
chronoscope records. The vibrating line receives a spark- 
record at the instant of the stimulus and another at the instant 
of reaction. The single waves, .01 sec., are counted and the 
odd tenths obtained by the eye. The necessary arrange- 
ment of the currents led to the invention of a multiple key. 
The reaction-time to sound was measured with and with- 
out disturbances of attention. When the attention was dis- 
tracted by a steady light the disturbance of the reaction-time 
to sound was very small ; with an unsteady, moving light it 
was very great. When the attention was disturbed by a steady 
sound, e.g., a tone, no disturbance resulted in the reaction to 
sound ; with an intermittent sound, e.g., a metronome, it was 
very marked. In making these experiments some unexpected 
results were obtained, showing that the reaction-time to a 
sound heard in both ears is shorter than when the sound is 
heard only in one ear, even after making allowance for the 
difference in intensity. 

Dr. Bliss made the attempt to determine the relation of 
changes in reaction-time to various other mental disturbances. 
After each set of experiments records were made of anything 
worth noting that had passed in the mind. The conclusions 
from these introspective observations are : 

1. Reaction-time is constantly affected by irregular dis- 
turbances a large part of which may be detected by intro- 

2. Introspection is not to be trusted in estimating results. 

3. Reactions to the wrong signal, reactions before the 
signal is heard, and the reflex nature of reactions are not 
sufficient criteria to distinguish muscular from sensorial re- 

4. There are at least six distinct kinds of voluntary atten- 
tion: ideational attention, neural attention, feeling attention, 
muscular attention, preparatory attention, and inattention. 

5. The involuntary attention is constantly changing. 
Experiments were made showing the influence of various 

distractions and mental operations on the rate of voluntary 
tapping and on the steadiness with which a lever could be 
kept at a given place. 


C. E. Seashore succeeded in making the first trustworthy 
measurements on the time required for altering the accom- 
modation of the eye. He has established three important 
principles : 

1. Within certain limits the accommodation-time varies 
with the distance between the points for which the eye is to be 

2. It takes longer to change the accommodation from near 
to far than from far to near, and this difference in time varies 
directly with the length of the accommodation-time. 

3. For equal distances in the same range the accommoda- 
tion-time is greatest for points near the eye and decreases with 
the distance of the points from the eye. 

The investigations on reaction-time in relation to intensity 
and pitch, made by Dr. M. D. Slattery, lead to these con- 
clusions : 

1. The law that the reaction-time decreases with increas- 
ing intensity of stimulus does not hold good for the sense of 
hearing, i.e., the reaction-time to tones is nearly the same 
for all moderate intensities. 

2. The longer time registered for very weak tones or 
noises by some observers is probably not due to any con- 
scious change, but is caused by hesitation as to the actual 
hearing of the stimulus. 

3. The reaction-time to tones decreases as the pitch rises. 

4. The view held by Exner, von Kries, and Auerbach and 
rejected by Martius namely, that about ten vibrations are 
necessary to the perception of a tone, no matter what its pitch 
is sufficient to explain the differences in the reaction-times 
for different tones. 

5. In the domain of tactile stimulation by electricity the 
reaction-time decreases with the increase in the intensity of 
the stimulus. 

The experiments of J. A. Gilbert on the musical sensitive- 
ness of school-children involved in the first place the invention 
of a new piece of apparatus, the tone-tester, which has proved 
an exceedingly convenient instrument for much demonstra- 
tional work on the psychological methods. The sensitiveness 
to differences in pitch increases with age ; at first rapidly, then 


very slowly. The least perceptible difference at 6 years is f 
of a tone, at 19 years it is 2 ^. At 10 years and at 15 years 
the sensitiveness suddenly falls off. 

A new reaction-key, designed to avoid the objections to the 
usual telegraph-key, is described in an article on the time of 
voluntary movement. Being a new instrument it opened up 
new methods of solution ; one of these was the measurement 
of the time of voluntary movement. The time of flexion of 
the finger was found to decrease as the distance of movement 
increased from 5 mm to 20 mm ; the time of extension, how- 
ever, increased. This is explained by J. M. Moore as the 
result of the favorable leverage for the flexor muscles at 
the smaller distances. 

An article on drawing a straight line makes the attempt 
to apply experimental methods to pedagogical problems. 
The average errors for various positions, inclinations, grasps 
of the pencil, etc., were determined. 

The equipment of the workshop in the laboratory has 
proved an excellent investment. The room is the one most 
used in the building and is often quite overcrowded. To have 
accomplished without a workshop the amount of work actually 
done in the laboratory would have cost more than the two 
hundred dollars spent in its equipment ; thus at the beginning 
of the second year we are in possession of a well-equipped 
workshop which has already paid for itself. The employment 
of a mechanic has furnished the opportunity for the invention 
of several pieces of apparatus. The multiple key has been 
much improved in a later model. A novel clock contact 
makes platinum contact in the middle of the arc of swing. 
A new drum built with the durability of a piece of machinery 
is run either by hand or by motor. 



A note to page 432 of Vol. I. of the fourth edition of Wundt's 
Physiologische Psychologic quotes an opinion of mine and corrects it 
in a manner that seems to demand a word of reply. When the exter- 
nal rectus-muscle of a man's eye (say the left eye) is wholly or partly 
paralyzed, objects lying in the left half of the field of view appear to 
that left eye to lie farther to the left than they really are. In Prof. 
Wundt's earlier writings he agreed with Von Graefe and others in 
explaining this phenomenon by the man's consciousness of the exces- 
sive leftward innervation which he must employ in turning his diseased 
eye towards the object. The existence of feelings of innervation was 
attacked presently by Bastian, Ferrier, and others, and this particular 
supposed case of it was explained away by G. E. Miiller and myself. 
We pointed out that the true cause of the object's false leftward loca- 
tion was rather to be found in the inward squint of the right eye when 
the left one vainly or successfully turns to look at the object. The 
leftward innervation is indeed increased, but there is no need of 
assuming the feeling of it to be increased, when the feeling of its results 
in the turning of the right eyeball (even when its lid is closed or it is 
screened from the object) explains sufficiently why the man should 
think himself looking farther to the left with both eyes than he really is. 

Professor Wundt, in the third edition of his book, definitively 
abandoned the theory of feelings of innervation. In the present fourth 
edition he adds to what he has to say upon the subject some novel 
remarks of detail. Inter alia he says that it is impossible to explain 
the false location of the object in the case before us by the position of 
the sound, or right, eye. It seems to me, however, that he has failed 
to understand correctly the facts and his authorities for them, and 
that Miiller's and my explanation stands as firm as it did before. 

Wundt says (p. 424): " To the movement of the sound eye the false 
localization cannot be ascribed, for the images seen by the two eyes 
are distinct, and only that of the lame eye is falsely placed." In the 


not 3 to p. 432 he quotes a passage from Alfred Graefe and thereupon 
makes the remark that more particularly provokes the present note 
from me. I must leave Graefe's passage in the transparency and 
elegance of the original : " Die Richtung in welcher sich das (dem > 
paralytischen Auge angehorende] Scheinbild von dem (vom nor male n 
Auge herriihrenden) wahren Bilde entfernt, liegt stets in der nach aussen 
projicirten Wirkungsbahn des geldhmten Muskels, d.h. in der Ebene, 
welche die Sehlinie um die Drehungsaxe desselben beschreibt" Wundt's 
remark hereupon is : " When therefore W. James (Psychology, ii. 506) 
and others aver that the displacement of the false image comes from 
the movement of the normal eye, they would seem to ascribe to this 
latter the marvellous capacity of a simultaneous twofold localization, 
first a normal one coming from the said eye's real position, and second 
an abnormal one, corresponding to the position which the paralytic 
eye is striving to reach." 

What meaning the special quotation from Graefe may have for 
Prof. Wundt's mind I cannot tell, but the rest of Graefe's text, and the 
facts themselves are so simple that one wonders how there can be two 
opinions about them. The case Wundt is considering is apparently 
that in which both eyes are open, the object lies or moves towards the 
left, and the sound right eye turns to it and sees it where it is, whilst 
the lame left eye fails to rotate so as to fixate it and consequently gets 
its image on the nasal half of the retina or, in other words, sees the 
object in indirect vision to the left of the point at which it directly 
looks. During all this there is a convergent squint, the right eye 
being turned in and looking farther to the left than does the left eye.* 
The question now is : where do the two images appear ? The left 
eye's image must in any case appear to the left of the right eye's 
image, because whilst the latter falls on the right fovea, the former 
falls on the nasal half of the left retina. But where does the right 
eye's image appear? In its real place, or thereabouts, according to 
all accounts. Thus the position of the right eye is what determines a 
place, to the left of which the left eye's image is falsely referred. 
There is no question of any twofold localization here by the right 
or normal eye. That eye sees in the direction of its own line of 
sight, of which direction it would appear to be made conscious by 
its feelings of rotation. The left eye also has feelings of rotation, but 

* For simplicity's sake I omit the variation in which the left eye succeeds in 
rotating so as to fixate the object, whilst the right eye turns violently in, and, 
fixating a point leftward of the object, gets the image of the latter on the nasal 
half of its retina, or sees it in indirect vision to the right of the spot which it fixates. 
The principles of explanation are here the same. 


they would appear to be overpowered by those of the right eye, first 
because the actual rotations of the latter eye are the stronger, and 
second because (as a host of similar pathological examples show) we 
are liable (until trained by contrary experience) to suppose, when we 
have intended a movement, that the movement has taken place. The 
patient intends to move both his eyes considerably to the left. He 
does so move his right eye only ; but failing, in the novelty of the 
whole experience, to discriminate in his orbital feelings just what new 
and strange things have occurred, he thinks he has performed the 
entire movement as usual in spite of the fact that he has not. He 
sees double ; he locates the left eye's image according to the fatal laws 
of retinal projection ; and he gets a strong vertigo as the result of the 
unusual behavior of the field of view. How Professor Wundt himself 
would explain the wrong localization by the left eye without invoking 
either the right eye's position or the feelings of innervation in which 
he formerly believed, he does not deign to say. 

The point is a minute one, certainly in itself not worthy of notice; 
and the existence or non-existence of feelings of innervation is an 
alternative on which, so far as I can see at present, no general theoretic 
consequences seem to hinge. I should consequently not have been 
stirred to write this note were it not that Professor Wundt's peculiar 
manner of revising his opinions is objectionable from the point of view 
of literary ethics, and is beginning, I fancy, to arouse in other readers 
besides myself an irritation to which it is but just that some expression 
should be given. 

First, it would seem better, in issuing revised editions of works as 
weighty as those of this author, to name explicitly in the new prefaces 
the pages where modifications of doctrine are to be found. No one 
ought to be forced to read a thousand pages merely to ascertain 
what an author's newest formulations are. Second, it would seem 
well, in parts of the text where a change of view has occurred, to 
announce that fact explicitly in the text. And third, it would be fair, 
if one cited authors already identified with the new view, to cite them 
so as to award to them some degree of credit. In this overburdened 
age the reader has a right to clearness on every point. But Prof. 
Wundt's new prefaces contain no reference by pages to what is revised; 
his text habitually lacks any indication that his thought may once 
have been different from what it is; and his citations are almost always 
by way of discrediting the predecessors quoted and clearing their 
opinions out of the way. No one, I think, who should be introduced 
to Psychology by Wundt's third edition could come to any other con- 
clusion than that Bastian, Ferrier, and others were adherents of a 


foolish theory of innervation-feelings to which Wundt himself now and 
ever stood opposed. In the fourth edition Munsterberg, one of the 
most original opponents of innervation-feelings, is quoted only once and 
then actually so as to make the reader think that he might most 
naturally have got his views from Wundt himself (see p. 431, note). 

The mania for a plausible smoothness, the shrinking from an 
appearance of fallibility, seem in fact in Wundt's later writings to be 
driven so far as seriously to neutralize the clearness and value of the 
work. A thinker so learned, so intelligent, before whose encyclopaedic 
capacity an entire generation bows down with cordial admiration, ought 
to be above such foibles. Not in such ways were the best parts of the 
reputation of a Fechner, a Mill, a Darwin, made. 



Mr. Ward's noteworthy article in Mind for January last, under 
the title * Modern ' Psychology : a Reflexion, may be described as a 
critique of the fundamental conceptions on which Prof. Munsterberg 
and others of the younger physiological psychologists base their 
experimental work. It was in his brilliant little book, Die Willens- 
handlung (1888), that Prof. Munsterberg first advanced the view that 
all mental states, emotions and volitions as well as cognitive states, 
are simply complexes of sensations, that is, of elements each essen- 
tially similar to blue, hot, sour.* This view was briefly but severely 
criticised by Prof. Wundt in his article ' Zur Lehre von den Gemiiths- 
bewegungen' (1890), who designated it as intellectualism, that is to 
say, the ignoring of any but cognitive elements.f It is against the 
same view that Mr. Ward's criticisms are directed ; and though he 
prefers to call it presentationism, he is as outspoken in his condemna- 
tion of it as Prof. Wundt, whom he claims as an ally. 

Now I observe that Mr. Ward uses the word presentationism in two 
senses, a narrow sense and a broad sense, which he equally condemns. 
In the narrow sense he means by presentationism the doctrine that all 
mental states may be resolved into sensations. In the broad sense 
he means by it the doctrine that psychology has to do solely with 
conscious events. And what I shall try to show is, that it is only 
in the narrow sense that Prof. Wundt agrees with him in condemning 
presentationism ; whereas, if the word be taken in the broad sense, 

* Willenshandlungy p. 62. Cf . Beitrage zur exp. Psych., I. p. 28. 
f Philos. Studien, vi. 3 (1890), pp. 387-8. 


Prof. Wundt becomes himself a preservationist ; in fact, if Mr. Ward 
realized how truly he is one, we should find him denouncing Prof. 
Wundt as the greatest and most dangerous of presentationists, instead 
of claiming him as an ally. This seemingly personal issue will be 
found, I believe, to involve an important question of psychological 

A word, first, in regard to presentationism in the narrow sense, the 
sense which Prof. Wundt and Mr. Ward agree in condemning. Here 
I will only say that I am inclined to sympathize with Prof. Miinster- 
berg's critics. He himself admits that every sensation is accompanied 
by feeling as its inseparable subjective aspect. Every sensation, 
so the doctrine runs, has a quality and an intensity which are its 
objective aspect, and which represent the nature and strength of the 
stimulus, and an emotional tone, which expresses the attitude of the 
organism towards this stimulus. But it seems to me that the accom- 
panying feeling gets but scanty justice when described as emotional 
tone. The description overlooks the fact that the feeling has an active 
as well as a passive side. For though retrospectively and with reference 
to the sensation it attends we call it pleasure or pain, yet prospectively 
and with reference to the changes it effects in consciousness it 
deserves the name of impulse or will. But this is not the question I 
wish to discuss, which is that of presentationism in the broad sense 
or rather the doctrine I find Mr. Ward attacking under that not very 
appropriate name. 

Presentationism in the broad sense is the doctrine, not that " all the 
elements of psychical life are primarily and ultimately cognitive ele- 
ments," which is presentationism in the narrow sense, but that all the 
elements of psychical life are facts of conscious experience, and that 
" psychology has to do solely with conscious processes and events." 
This doctrine admits feelings and attention as distinct from sensations 
and ideas, and also a self which has these feelings and exerts this atten- 
tion. But it holds that the feelings are facts of conscious experience, 
that the attention is a fact of conscious experience, that the self is a 
fact of conscious experience. The very being of feelings, attention, 
and self, as much as of sensations and ideas, consists in their being 
facts of conscious experience ; if they were not such facts, we should 
never know anything about them. And since this is so, psychology 
may restrict itself to the facts of conscious experience, and trouble 
itself as little with the question of a soul, or of a subject not given in 
consciousness and without influence upon the course of conscious 
events, as physics does with the question of material substance. Its 
proper task is to study the empirical facts and to trace out their con- 


nections as physics and chemistry do those of material phenomena. 
Psychology may, in short, be an empirical or natural science, the 
science of conscious processes and events. 

Now I think it would be safe to say that this general conception of 
the facts of mind and the duties of psychology with reference to them 
is shared by practically all of the younger men who take an interest in 
neurology and in experimental work, many of whom are very far from 
being presentationists in the narrow sense. I think further that there 
can be no doubt of Prof. Wundt's entire sympathy with this concep- 
tion and no doubt, for that matter, that it is largely from him that 
the younger men have learned it.* But, for Mr. Ward, a psychology 
which recognizes only conscious processes and events still falls under 
the reproach of presentationism. Such a psychology may succeed in 
explaining nine tenths of the facts, but when it comes to the other 
tenth, to the subject and its activities, it inevitably breaks down. 
And so I should like to consider, very briefly, whether ,Mr. Ward's 
account of the subject is the only possible account, or whether 
'modern' psychology can offer one which shall be adequate to all the 
facts. I believe not only that it can do so, but that it can offer an 
account which will not be open to a very serious objection lying 
against Mr. Ward's, an objection admitted to be such by Mr. Ward 

Mr. Ward's account of the subject may be summarized in an intro- 
spective observation and three inferences.! First the introspective 
observation. The facts of mind cannot be properly expressed by 
saying, * There are feelings, ideas, volitions,' but only by saying, ' / 
have feelings, ideas, volitions,' or more briefly, 'I feel, I know, I will.' 
Every mental state, in other words, involves a subject by whom it is 
known or felt or willed. Now the three inferences. First, the subject 
must be conceived as distinct from the state which it knows or feels 
or wills. Second, it must be conceived as different in kind from all 
ideas or feelings or possibilities of such. Third, since all knowledge 
implies a subject which knows, all feeling a subject which feels, it 
follows that this subject, just because it is the subject, cannot itself be 
directly known or felt. 

I imagine that the plain man, who began by acquiescing in Mr. 
Ward's judicious words, will be brought up with a start by this last 
conclusion. What ! he will exclaim, we have no direct knowledge of 

* Cf. Philos. Studien, vi. 3 (1890), p. 391. 

f Mr. Ward is of course in no way responsible for the form in which I have 
stated his doctrine. His own best statement of it is that given in his valuable 
article Psychology, in the Qth ed. of the Enc. Brit., p. 39. 


the subject at all ? Then how do we ever come to know that there is 
such a thing ? And Mr. Ward acknowledges that the plain man's 
question is a very difficult one to answer. In fact, he frankly admits, 
as I have said, that the difficulty of answering it forms a serious objec- 
tion to his doctrine. 

The difficulty is not lightened when Mr. Ward proceeds to draw the 
further consequence that feelings and volitions, being subjective facts 
as compared with sensations and ideas, cannot be given in experience 
any more than the subject. We do not know them directly, we only 
know of them by their effects. If we could know them directly, they 
would be cognitive states, not feelings and volitions. And here the 
plain man asks again, If we are not directly conscious of our feelings 
and volitions, how do we ever learn that there are such things ? 

Now the * modern ' psychologist surely has common sense on his 
side when he protests that pleasures and pains and desires and re- 
solves are facts of conscious experience, and that the self too is a fact 
of conscious experience. But Mr. Ward immediately points out to 
him that there cannot be an experience without some one who experi- 
ences, a feeling without some one who feels ; and that consequently, 
if the self is felt, there must be another hidden self which feels it. 
Feeling, he insists, implies a subject which is not itself felt. 

It seems to me that the ' modern ' psychologist's cue at this point 
is to turn upon Mr. Ward and demand his warrant for the assumption 
that the subject is not itself felt. This is the very essence of Mr. 
Ward's doctrine. The doctrine must either be accepted, or the as- 
sumption challenged. And I think that the ' modern ' psychologist 
may challenge it with a courageous heart. For what is the source of 
this assumption ? It is an inference from the introspective observa- 
tion with which we started, the familiar fact of ' I know, I feel, I 
will.' But is there anything in this fact to justify the inference that 
the ' I ' is not felt? Must we not rather say that the 'I* and the 
' know,' the ' I ' and the ' feel,' the ' I ' and the ' will,' are equally 
facts of conscious experience ? And if an inference is to be drawn, 
must it not be that all feeling involves a subject which is also felt, 
rather than that all feeling implies a subject which is not felt ? But 
if this is the true account of the matter, how comes Mr. Ward to 
draw his inference that the subject is not felt ? I believe that he 
is led to do so by a preconceived theory of consciousness, a theory 
not so much extracted from the facts as superinduced upon them. 

There are two theories of consciousness. The first conceives it 
after the analogy of the eye, which sees other objects but cannot see 


itself. The other conceives it as analogous to light, which in illumi- 
nating other objects illuminates itself also.* 

Mr. Ward's is the eye-theory. His principal argument in its favor 
is that the relation of knowledge logically implies two terms, a knower 
and a known, and that the knower must needs be distinct from the 
known, and therefore itself unknown. I should admit that this is 
true in a sense, but deny that it justifies the eye-theory of conscious- 
ness. I should hold that, though the knower is not known, it is never- 
theless always experienced or felt, and should rely on concrete exam- 
ples of knowledge to prove this. In representative knowledge, for 
instance in memory, that which knows is a present cognitive state, 
which of course is experienced. And in presentative knowledge, or 
attention, the self is not prevented from knowing, in the sense of 
attending, by the fact that it is itself dimly experienced. Mr. Ward's 
fallacy may therefore be said to lie in applying to conscious experience 
or feeling an analysis which holds good only for knowledge. As for 
the other argument, if it is another, that mental states are phenomena, 
or appearances, and must therefore appear to something, I should 
reply that it begs the question. For whether mental states are in the 
proper sense of the term phenomena is precisely the question. 

The great objection to the eye-theory is, however, the difficulty 
already mentioned in regard to the knowledge of the subject. If the 
subject is not directly experienced or felt, it is impossible to under- 
stand how we ever learn of its existence. To my mind this is not 
merely an objection : it is a refutation. 

The difficulty referred to is sometimes evaded in the following 
way. Though the subject cannot know itself at the moment when it 
knows, it is assumed that it can turn and know itself the moment 
after. Prof. James's line of argument on this point is so instructive 
that I cannot forbear reproducing it here.f After getting happily rid 
of the soul, and identifying the knower as the passing state, he finds 
that this state, just because it knows, cannot also be an object of 
knowledge. Thus the present moment of consciousness, instead of 
being the lightest in the series of mental states, becomes the darkest. 
Indeed, it is not an empirical fact at all. Only after it is gone have we 
any knowledge of it. As it vanishes it becomes the object of a new 
unknown state. It thus appears that we have no direct evidence of 
the existence of mental states while they last ; they are not verifiable 
facts. For once, and once only, one is tempted to regret that Mr. James 
is such a devout reader of Mr. Shadworth Hodgson. 

* Cf . Wundt, Logik, II. 502 ff. f Principles of Psychology, I. p. 304. 


Such difficulties and absurdities as these are the inevitable out- 
come of the eye-theory. In Mr. Ward's account, the self, the real 
efficient one, loses its status in consciousness and becomes a quasi- 
transcendent entity, little better than the soul in disguise. Our knowl- 
edge of it is a sort of standing miracle. We are cut off from ourselves : 
an impenetrable curtain is drawn between us and that which should be 
nearest and most familiar. In Mr. James's, we are told that the lamp 
of consciousness is dark while it burns, luminous only after it has gone 
out ; that we cannot see it while it is present, but may do so as it begins 
to be absent ; in short, that we may remember and reflect upon that 
which we have never experienced. The only escape from these 
absurdities and difficulties lies in breaking with the eye-theory, and 
putting the light-theory in its place. But can the light-theory explain 
the self and its activity in attention ? This is the question that now 
calls for an answer. 

An attempt to solve the problem of the self and its activity in 
accordance with the light-theory, the only such attempt in fact with 
which I am acquainted, is Prof. Wundt's much-maligned theory of 
apperception. This theory has been strangely misunderstood. It 
has oftenest been regarded as a form of the eye-theory, or even as a 
crude relapse into the old faculty psychology. Yet there is not the 
slightest ground for either of these assumptions, and I think it may 
be shown that the theory is perfectly consistent with the conception 
of psychology as a science dealing solely with conscious processes and 
events. In fact, one of the greatest merits of Prof. Wundt's psychol- 
ogizing seems to me to be the consistency with which he holds to this 
conception. It is usual for psychologists to say that they have not 
been able to understand the theory of apperception. I believe that this 
is true both of Prof. Mlinsterberg who combats it, and of Mr. Ward 
who appeals to it against presentationism. Prof. Miinsterberg combats 
it because he supposes it to contain non-empirical elements ; whereas 
his own impersonal subject-Ego is a non-empirical element of the 
most obvious kind, a relic of the eye-theory, which might to the 
advantage of his psychology be altogether dropped.* Mr. Ward, on 
the other hand, supposes that the theory of apperception is a form 
of the eye-theory, like his own doctrine of the subject, while in truth 
it is the legitimate outcome of the light-theory. 

The theory of apperception, then, is an attempt to solve the problem 
of the self and its activity in terms of the light-theory. According to 
Prof. Wundt, we have not two selves, an unknown subject and an 

*Cf. Beitrdge zur exp. Psych., I. p. 38, and esp. p. 55 : "So wenig wie die Netz- 
haut sich selber sehen kann. ..." 


objective self-consciousness,* or an impersonal subject-Ego and a 
personal object-Ego, f or a 'self as knower' and a 'self as known '.J 
We have but one, the self which is a fact of every one's conscious 
experience, the empirical self. It is the empirical self which attends 
that is, determines what shall be attended to. But what shall be 
attended to depends on the contents of our minds, on the totality of 
our latent ideas on these, however, not merely as ideas, but as accom- 
panied by feeling in other words, on our likes and dislikes, on our 
interests. These constitute the very essence of ourselves. The self 
may therefore be denned as the manifestation in consciousness of our 
latent ideas, of our likes and dislikes, of our interests, in so far as these 
are operative in determining what shall be attended to. According to 
Prof. Wundt, they are manifested in a state of fusion, under the form 
of a * total feeling,' which occupies the background of consciousness.! 

Not only does the self, as thus conceived, determine what shall be 
attended to, but it does so actively ; and we may rightly speak of its 
activity, and call it an agent. For the self is a relatively permanent 
fact ; it has much the same permanence that belongs to a material 
object. And if we are justified in speaking of the sun as active when 
it melts wax, or of the wind when it moves the sails of a windmill, or 
of the windmill when it grinds corn, then to the same extent we are 
justified in speaking of the self as active when it attends. 1" Indeed, it 
is only so far as the latent ideas are active in attention that they are 
called the self.** 

It will be evident that there is a wide difference between the rela- 
tion of the self to the idea attended to and that of the eye to the object 
it sees ; for the eye can catch no glimpse of itself, whereas the self 
which attends, though not in the focus, is yet in the fringe. Thus 
Prof. Wundt, after insisting that the facts of mind are one and 
all conscious events, proceeds : " Above all the percipient subject 
is not an independent spectator standing over against its own ideas, as 
under the treacherous figure of external sense-perception it is here 
represented, but forms an inseparable constituent of the psychic pro- 
cess itself." ft The reader may judge from this passage how far Mr. 
Ward is justified in claiming Prof. Wundt as an ally. 

If the above account of the self is correct, there is evidently no 

* Cf. Dr. Ward's article, f Cf. Miinsterberg, Beitrdge zur exp. Psych., I. p. 55. 

$ Cf. James, Psychology, Briefer Course, pp. 176 and 195. 

Vorlesungen iiber Menschen u. Thierseele, 2d ed. (1892), pp. 248-9, 269. 

| Philos. Studien, vi. 3 (1890), pp. 392-393, 

T Vorlesungen, p. 245. **Ibid., p. 269. 

If Philos. Studien, vi. 3 (1890), p. 389. 


ground for denying that feelings and volitions are facts of conscious 
experience because they are subjective. Nor is there any ground for 
denying this because they are cognitive states. For a state is cogni- 
tive, not because it is known, but because it knows ; a memory, for 
instance, is cognitive because it knows a past experience. But cogni- 
tive states, like all others, are in their first intention facts of conscious 
experience ; therein lies their immediate being. Mr. Ward's denial, in 
short, that we consciously experience our feelings and volitions is in 
reality, what he says it will seem, an extravagant paradox.* 

If it be asked whether we can attend to our feelings, I should 
answer that we attend to them in attending to the cognitive states of 
which they are the subjective side. And the same remark applies to 
attention. Although what we ordinarily mean, when we speak of 
attending to attention, is that we remember states just past and attend 
discriminatively to the aspect of attention in them. This would, in 
fact, be my solution of Mr. Ward's puzzle about ' consciousness of 
consciousness ' or reflection. 

If, finally, it be asked whether we remember our feelings, I should 
say that we undoubtedly do as a matter of fact, but always in con- 
nection with the cognitive states of which they are the subjective 
side. I do not mean by this that past feelings are remembered by 
means of present feelings. Such an assumption would indeed make 
feelings cognitive. What I mean is that every experience may leave 
behind a representative idea of itself, an idea which will be cognitive 
of the emotional aspect as well as of the cognitive aspect of the expe- 
rience, but which will itself be attended by a new feeling. 

Sensations and ideas, then, feelings, acts of will, and the self as 
well, are all facts of conscious experience, and in this they have 
their being. The self with its feelings and activities is consubstantial 
with all other mental facts, and is known in the same identical way. 

A chief point in the Kantian philosophy is the proof that we have 
no direct and intuitive knowledge of other beings than ourselves, but 
can know them only representatively, through the medium of our 
own conscious states. This doctrine seems to interpose an opaque 
barrier between us and the things we would know, and to make any- 
thing like a full and satisfactory knowledge of them forever impossible. 
Is our idea of an intuitive knowledge of things, then, nowhere realized ? 
Are we as ignorant of ourselves as we are of other beings ? Do " all 
the great realities escape us " ? It seems to me that the Kantian doc- 
trine requires a complement. Representative knowledge holds for 

* Enc. Brit., gth ed., art. Psychology \ p. 44. 


other beings, but it does not hold for ourselves. In conscious expe- 
rience we have the realization of the demand which in the case of 
other beings was judged unattainable, the demand to know things 
as they are in themselves. Conscious experience is not less than 
knowledge, but more. In it we immediately grasp ourselves and know 
ourselves for what we truly are. Conscious experience is, in brief, the 
one point at which we come into immediate contact with reality.* It 
seems to me therefore that the philosopher is not less concerned 
than the psychologist to hold fast to the principle that there is nothing 
in consciousness of which we are not conscious, nothing in experience 
which is not experienced. C. A. STRONG. 


*Cf. Paulsen, Einleitung in die Philosophic (1892), p. 377. 



The Science of Education : Its General Principles deduced from its Aim. 
By JOHANN FRIEDRICH HERBART. Translated from the German, 
with a Biographical Introduction, by HENRY M. and EMMIE FEL- 
KIN. pp. 268. Boston : D. C. Heath & Co. 1893. Price $1.00. 
Apperception : A Monograph on Psychology and Pedagogy. By Dr. KARL 
LANGE, Director of the Higher-Burgher School, Plauen, Germany. 
Translated by members of the HERBART CLUB, and Edited by 
CHARLES DE GARMO. pp. 279. Boston: D. C. Heath & Co. 1893. 
Price $1.00. 

The interest in Herbart's psychology is to-day based almost wholly 
upon its applications in education. This interest is not only wide- 
spread, but growing. In America it has reached very respectable 
proportions. In England it is gathering force. Even in France it is 
discernible. The reason for this is not far to seek. Ever since the 
conviction was established that sound educational theory must find its 
justification and support in psychology, there has been a searching for 
light. Bain and Herbert Spencer contributed something, and Sully a 
great deal ; yet Herbart contributes still more. It is probably true, as 
De Garmo has said, that no other system of psychology assigns to the 
teacher so important a function as Herbart's, and no other is so well 
adapted for practical application in the work of education. Proof of this 
is to be found by measuring the success of its use in the elementary 
schools of Germany, and, under the stimulus of Frick, in some second- 
ary schools as well. 

The two volumes under notice are translations of material that has 
been found suggestive and useful in Germany by followers of Herbart. 
The first shows us Herbart himself, and the second analyzes what has 
come to be regarded as his main doctrine, that of apperception. In 
both works the purely psychological element is subordinated to the 
educational applications. They belong therefore to the field of applied 
or, as it is sometimes called, educational psychology. It may be said at 


the outset that both translations seem to be unusually well done, and 
that the thought has lost nothing indeed at some points it has dis- 
tinctly gained by transference to the English. 

Herbart cherished the individual and would not crush him under 
the weight of the mass. The individual's development, particularly 
on his active side, is constantly before Herbart as the educational 
aim. Government (Regierung\ instruction ( Unterrichi], and discipline 
(Zucht} are the three educational stages or moments. They co-operate to 
produce intelligent character. In the discussion of each he combines 
the practical with the theoretical and formulates rules of procedure in 
dealing with the growing mind. If some of the analyses yield results 
that are almost too precise and if portions of the praxis are so formal 
and well-fitted as to appear mechanical, the blame must be laid on the 
psychological presuppositions on which they rest. For many of these 
are mechanical to the last degree. Yet the suggestiveness of the 
treatment given by Herbart is not to be denied or minimized. It has 
done and is doing an important work in the schoolroom. 

Lange's exposition of apperception is much more psychological, 
though of course his eye is always fixed on educational practice. The 
assimilation of a perception is apperception, and in the process of being 
assimilated the perception gains in clearness. In a brief historical 
sketch, Lange shows that the idea of apperception is not an artificial 
one invented for the purpose of giving a new and more learned appear- 
ance to well-known educational maxims ; but that, on the contrary, it 
has been under discussion since Leibnitz. Its meaning for Herbart is 
contrasted with the use of the term by Kant, and with the later theories 
of Lazarus, Steinthal, and Wundt. Admirable accuracy and precision 
characterize this portion of the book. 

On the purely educational phases of these books this is not the 
place to enlarge. My purpose has been simply to call attention to 
them as indicating a tendency in the educational applications of 



1. Zahl und Vertheilung der markhaltigen Fasern im Froschriicken- 

mark. J. GAULE. Leipzig, 1889. 

2. D/veloppement des Elements de Systme Nerveux Ce're'bro- Spinal. W. 

VIGNAL. Paris, 1889. 

3. The Structure and Combination of the Histological Elements of the 


Central Nervous System. F. NANSEN. Bergens Museums. Aars- 
beretning, 1891. 

4. Ueber einige neuere Forschungcn im Gebiete der Anatomic des Cen- 

tralnervensystems. W. WALDEYER. Leipzig, 1891. 

5. Die Funktionen der Ganglienzellen des Halsmarkes. O. KAISER. 

Leiden, 1891. 

6. A Microscopical Study of Changes due to Activity in Nerve-cells. 

C. F. HODGE. Journal of Morphology, vn. 1892. 

7. Nuevo concepto de la Histologia de los Centros Nerviosos. RAMON 

Y CAJAL. Revista de Ciencias Medicas de Barcelona, xvm, 
Nums. 16, 20, 22, and 23. 1892. 

8. The Structures and Functions of the Brain and Spinal Cord. V. 

HORSLEY. Fullerian Lectures for 1891. London, 1892. 

9. A Physiological, Histological, and Clinical Study of the Degeneration 

and Regeneration in Peripheral Nerve-fibres, after Severance of 
their Connections with the Nerve-centres. W. H. HOWELL. Jour- 
nal of Physiology, xm. No. 5. 1892. 

TO. Notes on the Arrangement of some Motor Fibres in the Lumbo- 
sacral Plexus. Plates 20, 21, 22, 23. C. S. SHERRINGTON. 
Journal of Physiology, xm. No. 6. 1892. 

11. Der feinere Bau des Nervensy stems im Lichte neuester Forschungen. 

M. LENHOSSEK. Berlin, 1893. 

12. The Nerve-cell considered as the Basis of Neurology. E. A. 

SCHAFER. Brain. 1893. 

13. The Arrangement of the Sympathetic Nervous System, based chiefly 

upon Observations upon Pilo-motor Nerves. J. N. LANGLEY. Jour- 
nal of Physiology, xv. No. 3. 1893. 

In a recent paper Prof. Schafer (12) has made some very useful 
suggestions concerning the nomenclature. We look upon the so- 
called nerve-fibres as outgrowths of the nerve-cell. Prof. Schafer 
suggests that, since in all other cases we make the term cell cover 
not only the principal mass of cytoplasm with its nucleus, but also 
all the processes of this mass, it would be advantageous to be con- 
sistent in this case and, in describing the elements of the nervous 
system, to use the term cell in an inclusive sense. 

In 1891 Prof. Waldeyer (4) in his admirable review of the recent 
studies in the anatomy of the central nervous system proposed the 
term neuron for the nerve-cell and its processes. This term was so 
convenient that many have already accepted it; but there is more 
to be said in favor of Schafer's suggestion, which we here adopt. The 
processes of the cell are by him designated as neurons so far as they 


form the axis-cylinder of the nerve-fibres, or dendrons so tar as 
they form the protoplasmic prolongations. The examination of nerve- 
cells has been most successfully carried on by the methods of Nissl, 
Ehrlich, Weigert, and Golgi. Improvements in the technique have 
increased the number of processes which can be demonstrated in con- 
nection with the cell-body. The exact meaning of these processes is 
still open for discussion. The method of Golgi shows that in a typical 
cell, such as one from the human cerebral cortex, there are differences 
of form and outline which clearly mark the dendrons from the neuron. 
But as we descend the vertebrate scale, the two sorts of processes come 
to look much more alike under this treatment. This at once suggests 
that in the lower vertebrates the dendrons may be more similar to the 
neuron physiologically also (7). The older histology taught that many 
nerve-cells had but a single neuron which was unbranched and the 
function of which was to carry impulses from the cell-body to their 
destination. It also recognized bipolar nerve-cells which had two 
neurons, such as are found in the spinal ganglia of the fish, but the 
effort was not made to reduce these apparently divergent forms to a 
common type. 

In the spinal ganglia of mammals we find a cell which during its 
development is at first dineuric (i.e., has two neurons), and later 
by the fusion of the two for a short distance into a common stem 
becomes mononeuric. This stem so formed, may be looked on as 
having two branches, along one of which nervous impulses arrive and 
by the other of which they leave the cell, each branch being continued 
as a portion of the single neuron which unites both with the cell-body. 
There is no reason that these two branches should be of the same size, 
and thus it is possible that all apparently mononeuric nerve-cells 
receive the incoming impulses by way of one or more of these branches, 
so called (n). Thus it is possible to reduce all nerve-cells to one 
type. It seems necessary that we should have some such pathway into 
the cell-body as well as one out of it. In some cases the surface of the 
nerve-cell is covered by minute disks which appear to be the enlarged 
termination of fine fibrils surrounding it. This arrangement suggests 
that impulses arriving by that fibre may in this way pass to the cell-body. 

For the most part the neurons from elsewhere break up into fine 
brushes in the neighborhood of the cells among which they end; and 
just how the impulse passes from one nerve-cell to another is thus a 
matter of much speculation. The mass of evidence not all is to 
the effect that under ordinary conditions we do not have continuity 
between one nerve-cell and another, and, that being the case, the diffi- 
culty is to show how the nervous impulse crosses the gap. But the 


other alternative is always open to us, namely, to question the reality 
of the gap. The nerve-cell of the day, then, has a cell-body and 
processes which may be more or less different. When well differentiated 
these processes are assumed to be of two sorts. The dendrons are 
contrasted with the neuric processes, and of the latter there may be 
one or more. The length of the neuric process may range from a 
small fraction of a millimeter to more than a meter. It ends, however, 
always in a brush (7). The cell-body, the neuron, and the brush-like 
termination form the three important subdivisions. 

One chief difference between cells lies in the length of the 
neuron. When this is very short, the brush is formed close to the 
cell-body and within the central system, and such cells appear to be 
interpolated in the pathways of the surrounding neurons. Wide study 
of the nervous system in different forms shows that the general 
arrangement of the elements is that of a series of cells so placed that 
from one cell-body a neuron passes to the neighborhood of another 
cell-body and there terminates in its brush, and so the units repeat 
themselves to the end. 

When a group of cell-bodies is located at a point where incoming 
neurons terminate, each neuron may have connection with a number of 
cells, and in this way the impulse arriving at any point may pass on by 
either a number of paths Or by one of the several paths open to it. 
Here we reach a fundamental fact, the explanation for which is obscure. 
It is plain that the possible pathways for an impulse within the nervous 
system are very numerous indeed. For example, any voluntary muscle 
can be contracted in response to any possible stimulus from any part of 
the sensorium. The arrangement which permits of this must be highly 
complicated. In view of this complication, it has even been suggested 
that the cell-body is, so to speak, a bystander, and that the physiological 
reactions go on in the branches of the neurons, the cell-body itself 
acting simply as a nutritive centre (3) ; but the idea has little to sup- 
port it. Indeed, the size of the nerve-element has, without doubt, some 
connection with the energy it can put forth. Where a group of nerve- 
cells controls a limb, it is found to be the larger cells that are associ- 
ated with the more proximal and more bulky muscles, which are at 
the same time those that do the most work. As the result of exercise, 
it is the nerve-centres that first run down, and muscular contractions 
cease because in some way the nervous impulse has changed. The 
size of cells increases so long as general growth continues ; and in 
those animals in which growth is practically indefinite the range may 
be very great. In man, we consider that the formation of nerve-cells 
ceases some time before birth, so that the individual comes into 


existence with marked limitations regarding the possible number of 
elements composing the nervous system (i). The existence of this 
numerical limitation seems to offer difficulties in explaining the mar- 
vellous capacity for development, through exercise and training, which 
is so peculiar a character of the central nervous system. These 
difficulties are lessened, however, when we remember that by no 
means all these possible nerve-elements undergo further development. 

Vignal's (2) study of the development of the nerve-cell shows in a 
given species of animals more and more cells that are fully formed 
and characterized with advancing age; and Kaiser (5), from the study 
of the spinal cord, shows that in man between birth and maturity 
the number of well-developed nerve-cells is doubled. There is no 
evidence that these cells are newly formed, but there is some evidence 
that they are from the first present in petto and developed in serial 

Concerning the undeveloped nerve-cells between birth and maturity, 
we have much to learn ; and, curiously enough, the current histological 
methods bring out these structures but poorly. There is another 
standpoint from which size is of interest. It has long been recognized 
that in man the male was possessed of the heavier central nervous 
system. This has been interpreted as indicating the mental superi- 
ority of the male. It is not our object to enter into a controversy in 
which there are so many vested interests, but to point out simply that 
among males the taller individuals also have a decidedly greater brain- 
weight than the shorter ones, and that another curious weight-relation 
exists, of such a nature that, when we compare the brains of the two 
sexes, first from persons on the limits of intelligence, and second from 
those with just enough brain to keep alive, though idiotic, we find in 
both cases the average weights less for the female than for the male. 
In these instances we may fairly assume that lack of complexity in 
structure is at the basis of the intellectual condition; and if such were 
the case, we could most easily explain the differences in the gross 
weight of the brains as due to differences in the size of the constituent 
elements. This, however, leaves the size of the elements still to be 
explained. Possibly when the experiments of Hodge (6) shall have 
been more extensively applied, we may get assistance from the com- 
parison of the way in which small and large cells change as the result 
of exercise. Hodge finds that fatigued cells have changed their shape 
and grown smaller. Whether this change in the shape of the cell and 
its nucleus is simply the physical result of the shrinkage, or whether it 
is a remnant of the capacity for contraction, is a point that would bear 


Schafer (12) suggests that the rhythmic manner in which central 
nerve-cells can be shown to discharge may be the result of a series of 
contractions which, if the axis-cylinder of the neurons be considered as 
made up of a series of tubules, might be supposed to give rise to varia- 
tions in the surface-tension of the fluid substance within these tubules. 
The passage of this wave of varying surface-tension would then 
coincide with the passage of the nervous impulse. If this were the 
case, it should be possible to obtain both reinforcement and inter- 
ference of two impulses. The tubular character of the cell-contents 
has been contended for by Nansen (3), but it is hardly probable that 
the structure of the nerve-cell is unique ; and if this tubular character 
is genuine, indications of it should be found elsewhere. Again, the 
physiology of the nervous system is complicated by the fact of mul- 
tiple innervation, in the sense that afferent and efferent fibres from 
more than one centre are distributed to the same region. The return 
of motor functions after injuries to the cerebral hemispheres or to the 
spinal nerves, the reactions of the pilo-motor nerves, all point to the 
fact that there is a preferred path for the impulses under normal con- 
ditions; but this may be by no means the only path (8, 9, 10, 13). 

H. H. D. 


Ein Fall von Seelenblindheit und Hemianopsie mit Sectionsbefund. HER- 
MANN WILBRAND. Deut. Zeitschr. f. Nervenheilkunde, n. 5 u. 6. 

Ein Fall von aphasischen Symptomen, Hemianopsie^ amnestischer Far- 
benblindheit und Seelenldhmung. E. BLEULER. Archiv fiir Psychi- 
atric, xxv. 32. 1893. 

Die Bedeutung der Aphasie fur die Musikvorstellung. R. WALLASCHEK. 
Zeitsch. fur Psychol., vi. 8. Sept. 1893. 

The study of the different forms of disturbances of speech, and of 
the various processes of disease in the brain which are capable of pro- 
ducing them, has thrown much light upon the normal action of the 
brain in thought. And as new forms of aphasia are discovered and the de- 
fects which they imply in mental processes are more closely analyzed it 
is quite clear that considerable insight can be gained into the mechanism 
of thinking. Before proceeding to review some recent observations 
upon aphasia it may be well to present a brief summary of the facts so 
far as they are already determined which are accepted regarding the 
physical basis of speech. 

It is now known that as the physical basis of any word, be it noun 


or verb, there is a series of mental images acquired through different 
senses, located in different regions of the gray cortex of the brain, and 
joined together in a unit by a series of association-tracts which pass in 
the white matter under the cortex. The word " concept " long used 
by psychologists to denote congeries of mental images making up an 
idea conveyed by a single word may be adopted by the pathologist to 
indicate this collection of mental images. To be complete, such a 
concept must have all its parts intact and the connections between 
those parts also intact. 

If we take such a word as ' book ' or ' rose ' as an example and 
watch the process going on in the mind of a child as it acquires a 
primary knowledge of some particular book or rose, we at once see that 
this particular concept has a limited extent, consisting of the mental 
images of the object (i) as seen (form, color), (2) as felt (shape, size, 
temperature, hardness), (3) as smelt, (4) as tasted, if the object has. 
odor or taste, (5) as heard, if the object is audible. These five mental 
pictures comprise the concept of the object, and the separate mental 
images are associated with all the others, so that when one arises in 
memory it inevitably recalls all the rest. 

If we take as another example the verbs ' to run,' ' to sew,' we 
call up to the mind memory-pictures of some individual in action or of 
some act of our own with its attendant sensations ; and thus as the 
basis of any verb, as well as of any noun, we must think of a congeries 
of mental images closely associated with one another, forming a mental 

So far our analysis of the basis of concepts would apply equally 
well to a child who had not learned to speak, to a deaf-and-dumb per- 
son, or to a healthy man. In the man, however, who can talk, there 
has been added to this original concept a " word-concept " quite simi- 
lar in its parts to the other and consisting of an image of the word (i) 
as heard, (2) as seen in print or writing, (3) as pronounced by mus- 
cular effort, or (4) as produced in writing by movements of the hand. 
Each of these separate word-images is joined with the others, and each 
part of this word-concept is also connected with every part of the 
mental concept which the word enables us to convey to others. Each 
one of these various mental images is known to have a separate 
location in the brain. Thus it becomes evident that the psychological 
term " concept " (German Begriff} stands, not for a simple thing, but 
for a very complex thing, having as its physical basis an activity not 
only of widely distant gray cortical areas of the brain, in each of which 
a separate memory-picture is located, but also of long or short associa- 
tion-tracts, running in every conceivable direction between these vari- 


cms areas. If there is such complexity in the physical basis of so 
simple a concept as a particular book or rose or as a simple act like 
running or sewing, it is evident that the physical basis of more complex 
concepts such as the class books or roses or the complex acts implied 
by the verbs ' to educate,' ' to civilize,' is very difficult to fathom. It 
becomes equally evident that for the conduct of thought or the whole- 
some action of the mind in dealing with concepts, be they simple 
or complex, an integrity of the entire brain is necessary both in its 
gray cortical extent and in the white subjacent association-tracts. 

Small lesions of the gray cortex in various parts may injure these 
concepts by depriving them of some constituent mental image, and 
small lesions in the white matter may disturb the use of these concepts 
by dissociating images which should be closely bound. Hence it is 
evident that lesions in various parts of the cerebral hemispheres 
will produce disturbance in the use of our mental concepts, and this 
may be manifest either as an inability to recognize by any sense 
places or objects, the conditions known as mind-blindness, mind-deaf- 
ness, and mind-paralysis ; or as a condition of aphasia, of the form of 
word-blindness, or word-deafness, or inability to speak or to write. 

The localization of the various lesions producing such conditions 
is a subject apart from our present purpose ; it is only to be said that 
from the condition present a very precise conclusion as to the part of 
the brain affected can be reached. 

But while the various well-marked forms of aphasia indicate large 
lesions in various situations, many particular cases of aphasia cannot 
be assigned to any one of these forms, but present very interesting 
features. When, for example, a person loses the power of reading, yet 
can copy any word which he sees, and in the act of copying becomes 
conscious of the meaning of the word which he is writing, being thus 
able to read by means of his muscular sense, it is evident that he 
has not lost the visual memory-pictures, but that it has been possible 
to awaken them in consciousness only in an unusual manner. This 
may be likened to a break in a railroad which compels a passenger to 
reach his destination by a roundabout route with one or more changes 
of cars, instead of by the direct road. It is the study of these partial 
forms of aphasia which is now exciting interest. It may be stated that 
they are usually produced by small areas of disease in the subcortical 
white matter of the brain in the association-tracts, which cut off the 
connection between various mental images forming the concept. 

Wilbrand has described a most interesting case of mind-blindness 
with word-blindness in which a small region of disease affecting chiefly 
the assooiation-tracts in one occipital lobe of the brain was found. 


His analysis of the defects of speech and thought produced by the 
break in these association-tracts is too elaborate to be reproduced 
here. He shows, however, that the area of the brain concerned in the 
reception of visual impressions and that in which the visual memories 
are stored are distinct from one another, but are closely joined by as- 
sociating fibres. If these fibres are broken, the sight of an object no 
longer brings up its memory and there is no conscious recognition of a 
thing when it is seen. But the recollection of an object may occur not 
only by means of seeing it but also by a train of ideas or by hearing its 
name. Hence the break in the one association-tract does not neces- 
sarily prevent the individual from recollecting the object or calling its 
memory-picture up to consciousness when it is spoken of or when the 
train of thought leads to it. On the other hand, a break in the associ- 
tion-tract joining the visual memory-picture of the object with the 
memory-picture of its name results in an inability to call to mind the 
object when its name is heard or to name an object which is recognized 
when seen. 

Bleuler, in a very carefully written article upon a case of amnesic 
aphasia with word-blindness and mind-blindness, discusses many of the 
processes of association and their defects. He calls attention to the 
fact that it is rare for an entire concept to be obliterated from the 
mind, because its parts, being widely scattered through various re- 
gions of the cortex, are not all involved in a single lesion. And it 
is easy to call* up to the mind any concept in various ways, as numer- 
ous associations are capable of arousing some one of its parts and thus 
leading to the whole. On the other hand, it is common to find a 
single part affected by disease, e.g., names of objects. But this 
amnesic aphasia has its degrees, from the physiological inability to recall 
a name, up to complete loss of memory. Even in the latter there is 
in many cases rather a hindrance in finding the words than a loss of 
words ; the acoustic word-picture is not lost, for when the word is heard 
it is recognized. Bleuler asks, Why is the way open from the ear 
through the word-memory to the concept, when it is closed from the 
concept to the word-memory ? Why will a man call to mind a person 
whose name he hears, yet be unable to name a person about whom he 
has a knowledge perhaps quite complete ? The difference appears to 
lie in the course taken by the associating impulse : in the one case 
from a small region of the cortex outward to a general centre or 
rather collection of centres, in the other case from this collection of 
centres to a particular area of the cortex. The first he likens to the 
iway taken by a fish down a brook and river into the sea, easy to follow 
down the current. The second he likens to the difficulty the fish 


would find in coming from the sea to the particular little brook from 
which it started. Or, to take another illustration, it is easy to get 
from a particular town into a neighboring country, but much more 
difficult to reach that town from any part of the country. If the asso- 
ciations between various parts of the concept are not entirely intact 
if the concept is injured the normal easy flow of associating processes 
to one focus in the word-hearing memory is interfered with, and there 
results a difficulty in calling the word to mind. Thus amnesic aphasia 
may occur when lesions are purely subcortical and the word-memory is 
actually intact. In daily life the word easily evokes the idea, but ideas 
are more difficult to state in words. In the first case we go from the 
particular to the general, in the latter from the general to the par- 
ticular. The keenest subjective mental analysis therefore is inferior 
to the study of such cases of disease in throwing light upon the actual 
physical mechanism of thought. 

Wallaschek has shown that disturbances in musical expression and 
appreciation, quite similar to those in speech and its understanding, 
have been observed. These may or may not be attended by aphasia. 
He distinguishes several forms of this condition, which he names 
amusia, viz.: I. Disturbance in singing: (a) motor amusia, in which the 
person can no longer produce a note or tune ; (b) sensory amusia or 
tone-deafness, in which the person cannot recognize various tones or 
tunes; (c) paramusia, in which the effort to sing is unsuccessful because 
wrong notes are struck; (d) musical amnesia, in which a person can 
sing with or after another but cannot sing alone correctly. Thus a well- 
known Wagner-opera singer who was suffering from incipient soften- 
ing of the brain demanded of the manager that some one in the wings 
should whistle the notes he was to sing, as without help of this kind he 
could no longer remember the notes or their'succession. This occurred 
prior to any disturbance of speech. Other singers have suddenly lost 
for a time all memory of music. II. Disturbance in writing music may 
occur independently of loss of the power of writing words (musical 
agraphia). One person has been seen who could write music when he 
had lost the power of writing letters. III. A loss of ability to read 
music has been observed in one patient (musical alexia). IV. Ina- 
bility to perform on a musical instrument formerly used has been 
noticed when other movements were preserved (musical amimia). 

Numerous interesting examples of these defects are given in the 
article. The reviewer can confirm some of its statements. A patient 
now under his observation with total loss of power of speaking, the 
understanding of speech being preserved, is being successfully taught 
to sing in a high pitch words which he cannot be taught to say. In 


many cases of aphasia the condition of amusia is also present, but their 
separate occurrence proves conclusively that the two functions are 
performed by distinct parts of the brain. This is confirmed by the fact 
that infants may learn to sing a melody before they learn to talk. 
Wallaschek further calls attention to the numerous association pro- 
cesses which music awakens. Few can hear a melody without keeping 
time by some movement or by silently humming the tune to them- 
selves. For some the association of music with motion is very close 
and musical memories may often be of a motor kind. Persons may 
commit to memory the succession of finger positions on a piano which 
are necessary to play a piece and be then able to render it when their 
knowledge of music is too slight to allow them to play by ear. Some 
can only reproduce a melody of which they know the words, the latter 
awakening the former ; others, while able to recall the words in the act 
of singing, cannot do so without the tune. The author attempts to 
group persons into types 'visuels,' 'auditifs,' and 'moteurs' after 
Ribot, in respect to their predominant kind of musical memory. And 
he intimates that the various theories as to the origin of music, some 
regarding it as a method of speech, others as a method of dramatic 
action, others as a method of emotional expression, may be traced 
to the individual variations of the theorizers. It is possible that the 
old controversy regarding the ' universal ' in logic which divided 
the schoolmen into nominalists, conceptualists, and realists may be 
similarly solved. The article closes by an attempt to show that a mu- 
sical person differs from a non-musical person rather in the superior 
number and activity of his association-processes than in any distinct 
quality of mind. 

It is evident that in the later studies of aphasia the importance of 
a study of the processes of association is being appreciated. 

M. A. S. 


On the Psychical Nature of Hysterical Unilateral Amblyopia and 
Sensitivo-sensorial Hemianasthesia. Professor BERNHEIM. Brain, 
Parts LXI. and LXII. 181-190. 1893. 

Taking the case of a youth of 19, the upper left half of whose 
body was completely anaesthetic, Bernheim defends the view that the 
insensibility in such hysterical cases is not real, but only mental, just 
like that produced by suggestion in hypnotic subjects. The boy's 
left eye, used alone, appeared both dim-sighted and color-blind, but 
varied so from day to day that one was led to believe 'that the 


imagination played a part in the results." Experiments with a prism 
and with Snellen's apparatus (red and green letters used as objects 
and eyes armed with red and green glasses) proved that under these 
conditions, both eyes being used together, each of them saw its own 
proper letters distinctly. Moreover, under certain unusual experi- 
mental conditions employed for testing the acuteness of sight, the 
left eye used alone was able to read large print easily at a distance 
of five metres, but not within that distance. The mind, disturbed 
by the new conditions, says Prof. Bernheim, omitted to inhibit the 
sensations received, and the auto-suggestion arose, to see at the 
distance of five paces. Once surprised into seeing, the eye for a 
while kept up the habit under these conditions. The patient more- 
over called hot cold, black white, and vice versa results only to be 
explained by perverted imagination. He had no resident sensations 
in his left arm, and with eyes closed could not find his left hand 
with his right one. The suggestion that the one was a magnet 
attracting the other enabled them to find each other ; but on this 
being explained aloud to a clinical audience, the effect ceased, and 
the youth relapsed into the old symptoms. His left ear was stone- 
deaf, but could be surprised by artifice into hearing. When he 
discovered the artifice he over-corrected himself and then appeared 
deaf in his right ear also. All these results, which suggest shamming, 
and would make most examining physicians unhesitatingly condemn 
such a patient for an impostor, are explained by Bernheim as effects 
of * auto-suggestion,' analogous in all points to the systematized anaes- 
thesias which suggestion produces in hypnotic subjects, and in which 
it is now well proved that the patient must by one part of his con- 
sciousness pick out and recognize the object which it is the duty of 
the other part of his consciousness to ignore. Bernheim insists 
that all hysteric anaesthesias are of this type, and that the contrac- 
tion of the field of view, for example, which they so generally present 
is a symptom which it is impossible that ignorant patients could 
deliberately conspire with such unanimity to simulate. Simulation 
is present, if you like, but it is unwitting and involuntary, and the 
patient's own consciousness is its first victim. One is reminded of 
Mr. Myers's phrase that hysteria is a * disease of the hypnotic stratum.' 

w. j. 

Des Paramne'sies. A. LALANDE. Revue Philosophique, xxxvi. 485. 
Nov. 1893. 

This name has been given to the very common illusion of feeling as 
if one had already undergone the experience which may be passing, 


already been with just these people, in just this place, saying just 
these things, etc. Usually a strong emotion accompanies the sense of 
recognition. M. Lalande says that of 100 persons interrogated, 30 
know the phenomenon, and that the completeness of detail in the 
recognition makes it impossible to confound it with a mere judgment 
of imperfectly discerned resemblance between the present and a real 
past situation. He also notes, and gives several cases of, the asserted 
fact that the recognition of the situation sometimes goes so far as to 
lead to a correct expectation of what the next-following details are to 
be. The phenomenon is too wide-spread to be considered pathologi- 
cal. Both sexes and all ages and temperaments present it. Passing to 
its explanation Lalande rejects Wigan's theory of the non-synchronous 
action of the hemispheres, and An j el's of a tardy act of perception, 
which, when accomplished, looks back on the just previous sensation 
as if it were another perception remotely past. He himself gives a 
first explanation similar to Anjel's, by assuming momentary absences 
of mind with an exaggerated impression of the duration of the lapse, 
and a return to the object, which thus appears to be seen after a con- 
siderable interval and for the second time. But admitting the insuf- 
ficiency of this theory, he proposes another more original one based 
on subliminal or ' unconscious ' telepathic perception. This percep- 
tion, if made conscious by the succeeding mental state, might give rise to 
the sense of a previous experience repeated : " Thus, I am walking 
ivith a friend, and he thinks of something which he is going to say. 
\ telepathic sensation occurs in me, and I perceive directly the 
interior thought by which he has thought his phrase. But this percep- 
tion, to which I am unaccustomed, remains unconscious unless the 
phrase is actually pronounced. If, on the contrary, he pronounces his 
phrase, the auditory sensation may awaken in the obscure recesses of 
my mind the identical perception which I have just received ; I shall 
seem then to recognize it, or rather I shall really recognize it. The 
only illusion is that of projecting my remembrance into a more or less 
remote past, in order to account for the confused character which 
comes only from its origin." This theory, says its author, would also 
account for the element of prevision. " In any case," he adds, " the 
key to paramnesia must be sought in the existence of a double percep- 
tion, unconscious at first, then conscious." W. J. 



On a Photometric Method which is independent of Color. OGDEN N. 
ROOD. Am. Jour, of Science, 3d Ser. XLVI. 173-176. 1893, 

Prof. Rood has rendered a very important service to those who are 
interested in theories of color-vision by devising a simple and certain 
method for determining the brightness of colored papers. The only 
methods that have yet been devised consist in simply putting the 
question to consciousness, does this or that surface seem to be the 
brighter ? Prof. Rood's plan consists in mixing the papers to be com- 
pared upon the color-wheel, and observing whether the sensation of 
flickering is produced or not ; that sensation diminishes in intensity 
the more nearly the papers are alike in brightness, and ceases only 
when (as tested by the ordinary means) the difference in brightness 
is reduced to -g 1 ^ of the total light. To test the method, the bright- 
ness-values of six disks (three pairs of complementary colors) were 
obtained by it ; the complementary colors were then mixed in the 
proportion necessary to produce gray, the brightness of the resulting 
gray was calculated, and compared with its brightness as observed 
by the ordinary method. The differences were found to be very 

There is this interesting psychological difference between this 
method and the direct one. When one endeavors to decide by simple 
inspection which is the brighter of two colors widely different in tone 
but not in brightness, a disagreeable feeling of uncertainty and em- 
barrassment is experienced (cf. PhysioL Optik, p. 428). Helmholtz says: 
" I must personally repeatedly declare that I can hardly trust myself to 
form a judgment upon the equality of heterochrome brightnesses. . . . 
I have always the sense-impression that it is not a question of the 
comparison of one quantity, but of the combined effect of two, 
brightness and color-glow (Farbengluth), for which I do not know 
how to form any simple sum, and which I also cannot scientifically 
define " (p. 440).* Upon Prof. Rood's method, on the other hand, 
the moment of deciding that the two brightnesses are equal would 
seem to be a moment of certainty and agreeableness, " no shock is 
experienced and the colors are seen to mingle in a soft streaky way." 
As regards the accuracy of the determination by the old method, 

* It will be noticed that this is a most important statement, on the part of Helm- 
holtz, for those who believe that what we speak of as the brightness of a color is, in 
fact, a sort of combined voluminousness of sensation due in part to amount of 
specific color-process and in part to amount of accompanying white-process. 


Brodhun (who is green-blind, and skilled in such observations) found 
his mean error to be: 

For comparison of red with red 3# 

" " " blue with blue 3.8^ 

" " red with blue 5.8$ 

(Since Brodhun and Ritter [red-blind] showed superior facility in 
these comparisons, it was at first supposed that that might be due to 
their color-blindness, but they have both since been somewhat sur- 
passed by Frl. Elise Kottgen \Helmholtz Festgruss, p. 337]). It will 
be interesting to know how great is the mean error by the method of 
Prof. Rood. As regards the least difference perceptible by flickering 
between like colors (grays), it is very exactly the same as that found 
by Konig and Brodhun, for all colors and for white, at moderate 
intensities, but it would appear that, by the flicker-method, this is a 
difference which can be detected without trouble by untrained ob- 
servers, and, what is most important, it would seem to be as readily 
observed between unlike colors as between like ones. 


1. A New Theory of Light Sensation. CHRISTINE LADD FRANKLIN. 

Proceedings of the International Congress of Experimental Psy- 
chology, 103-108. London, 1892. Also reprinted in the Johns 
Hopkins University Circulars, xn. 108-110 (June 1893), and in 
Science, xxn. 18, 19 (July 14, 1893). 

2. Eine neue Theorie der Lichtempfindungen. Same author. Zeit- 

schrift fur Psychologic, iv. 211221. 1892. 

3. Theory of Color Sensation. Same author. Science, xxn. 80, 81. 


4. Color Vision. Same author. Science, xxn. 135. 1893. 

5. On Theories of Light Sensation. Same author. Mind, New Series, 

ii. 473-489. 1893. 

Workers on the psycho-physiology of vision are indebted to Mrs. 
Franklin for the clear light in which she has set their problem. The 
second and fifth of her papers are the most important, the first being 
an abstract of matter more fully presented in the second, the third a 
reply to a criticism, and the fourth a notice of priority. A statement 
of the shortcomings of current theories naturally paves the way for the 
proposal of a new one. The theory of Helmholtz is at fault in that it 
disregards sensation in making white a mixture. While a combination 
of red, green, and blue lights does appear white, it is illegitimate to 


infer that the white sensation is a compound of the red, green, and 
blue sensations. The theory is strained and artificial in its account of 
total color-blindness. Its explanation of complementary colored after- 
images with closed eyes by the ' self-light ' of the retina is inadequate. 
Its explanation of simultaneous contrast has been proved to be wrong. 
Against Hering it is urged that his conception of reciprocal processes 
in the retina, both of which are attended by sensation (yellow, for ex- 
ample, being caused by a katabolic change and blue by an anabolic 
change in a single photochemical substance), is wholly unparalleled in 
the physiology of other sense-organs, sensation, so far as known, 
attending katabolism only; further, that the impossibility of color- 
intensity apart from color-whiteness (saturation) to which his theory 
leads is something not readily conceivable; that his explanation of 
simultaneous contrast is a mere translation of the facts into the terms 
of his theory without much demonstrative weight. Against this theory 
also the author brings the experimental objection that a gray resulting 
from complementary red and green and an exactly similar gray from 
complementary blue and yellow do not remain exactly matched when 
the total illumination is varied, as they must do on Hering's theory. 
The experiment was made, however, with the color-top and can hardly 
be regarded as conclusive. Hering himself denies the conclusiveness 
of similar experiments with spectral colors, unless made under special 
conditions, and asserts that when the experiment is properly made the 
matched grays remain matched at all intensities (Pftiiger's Archiv t 
LIV. 299 ff., 1893). The theory of Bonders is briefly criticised in the 
first paper above, and a criticism of Ebbinghaus' new theory is 
promised in the next number of Mind. 

The author's theory, which is regarded, indeed, rather as an indica- 
tion of the direction that such a theory should take than as a 
developed scheme, is in outline as follows. There are in the eye two 
sorts of photochemical substance : one, decomposed by all kinds of 
light, which gives, by the action of its decomposition-product on the 
nervous organs of the retina, the sensations of the black-gray-white 
series ; the other, decomposed in particular ways by red, green, and 
blue lights, which gives these colors and their mixtures. When 
all three of these decompositions take place at once, the decomposition- 
product is the same as that resulting from the breaking up of the 
black-gray-white substance and accordingly gives the same sensation. 
Complementary pairs of colors give white because they cause all three 
of the decompositions at once ; red and blue-green, for example, give 
white because red causes the partial decomposition corresponding to 
that color, and blue-green the decomposition corresponding to the 


other two primary colors. The theory without great difficulty also 
accounts for the cases in which colors appear colorless, e.g., at the 
extremes of intensity, when the retinal area is very small, when the 
eye is color-blind, etc., but on these the author lays little stress. The 
account that the theory gives of complementary colored after-images 
with closed eyes and of simultaneous contrast is regarded as following 
so unavoidably from the theory as to be a justification of it. When 
the eye is stimulated for a time with light of a given color (e.g., red) 
the corresponding decomposition takes place and the decomposition- 
product is used up in causing the red sensation. The molecules thus 
partially decomposed are in an extremely unstable condition, and in 
going to pieces set free the decomposition-products that give blue and 
green, whence the blue-green after-image. In simultaneous contrast, 
where, for example, a red field induces a tinge of blue-green upon an 
adjacent gray field, the effect on the color-molecules is the same as 
that just mentioned, but in this case the mutilated molecules (or their 
decomposition-product) are carried out over the retinal area corre- 
sponding to the gray field by the rapid retinal circulation. The 
theory can easily be made to fit also, with the distribution of the rods 
and cones, the saturation differences of spectral colors, the retinal 
areas sensitive to different colors, and the unmixed appearance of 

Difficulties and objections naturally suggest themselves with every 
new theory. What, for example, is this theory to do with black, 
especially with black in simultaneous contrast ? And granting that 
the retinal circulation is rapid enough for the use made of it in 
explaining simultaneous contrasts (which seems doubtful to the 
reviewer), how is the reversal of colors which is found in the after- 
image of the contrasting fields to be accounted for ? Finally, as the 
author herself observes, if Hillebrand's demonstration of Hering's 
theories of complementary colors stands, it is fatal to her theory, at 
least in its present form. 

Some of the advantages of the theory can be inferred from what 
has already been said. It has three primary colors, an independent 
white, and need make no unusual physiological assumptions. Its chief 
advantage, perhaps, and one that it shares with the theory of Donders, 
is its use of partial decompositions in the photochemical substance. 





Uber den Muskelsinn bei Blinden. PAUL HOCHEISEN. Zeitschrift f. 
Psychol., v. 239-282. 1893. 

The author shares the views of Goldscheider, under whose direc- 
tion the experiments were made, as to the peripheral sources of the 
muscle-sense. Since the threshold of excursion for just perceptible 
active movements hardly differs from that for passive, we can use 
the threshold-values found for passive movements as measure for 
sensitiveness to active movements, hence, together with the extensive 
discriminative sensibility of the skin, as measure for the fineness of 
muscle-sense in blind persons. 

Experiments were carried out on Goldscheider's apparatus for 
measuring movements. Three joints of each hand were investigated, 
both as to extension and as to contraction. An average of 100-150 
trials was made for each determination, a total of more than 6500 
experiments for determining movement-thresholds in the blind, with 
about 3000 more on seeing persons for comparison. Each determina- 
tion of the skin-sensibility in different parts was the result of 50 trials 
with varying distance of the points. The conclusions arrived at were 
as follows : 

It makes no difference for the fineness of sensation whether an 
individual was born blind or became so later. Blind persons who 
have cultivated the sense of touch show an objectively provable refine- 
ment of sensibility to passive movements, and thus of the muscle- 
sense; this refinement is, however, not very great and not present in 
all blind persons. The cause of the refinement is a psychical one, 
due to the fact that, through improvement of the attention and 
through practice in interpreting sensory signs, sensations of intensity 
usually indistinguishable are raised above the threshold. Children 
have a finer sensibility for movements than adults. Little difference 
can be found between right and left sides in case of movement- 
sensations. The discriminative sensibility of the skin is increased in 
slight degree, cannot always be clearly proved, and is due to practice. 




Minor Studies from the Psychological Laboratory of Clark Univer- 
sity, I. Am. Jour. Psychology, V. 294-389. Apr. 1893. 

1. THADDEUS L. BOLTON : On the Discrimination of Groups of Rapid 


2. MARY WHITON CALKINS : Statistics of Dreams. 

3. F. B. DRESSLAR : On the Pressure-sense of the Drum of the Ear and 

'Facial Vision: 

4. J. F. REIGART and E. C. SANFORD : On Reaction-times when the 

Stimulus is applied to the Reacting-hand. 

5. JOHN A. BERGSTROM : Experiments upon Physiological Memory by 

means of the Interference of Associations. 

6. JAMES H. LEUBA : A New Instrument for Weber's Law ; with Indi- 

cations of a Law of Sense-memory. 

7. EDMUND C. SANFORD : A New Pendulum Chronograph. 

Dr. Sanford explains in a brief preface that these studies were 
planned and carried out primarily as practice in research by his stu- 
dents. The studies are not for that reason either unimportant or 
untrustworthy, for the contributors have had good training, some of 
them are of independent strength, and all of them have enjoyed the 
intimate co-operation of Dr. Sanford. The title ' Minor Studies ' is a 
very modest one, for it would be easy to find Doctors' Theses and 
other pretentious articles less significant and less thorough than some 
of these. For one thing, if for no other, these studies must receive the 
highest praise. One cannot find a line of verbal padding. Essential 
psychological explanations are put as concisely as are the statements 
of fact. This is a thing as excellent as it is rare. 

i. The chief specific question considered in Mr. Bolton's paper is : 
" Can the presence of one click more or one click less be recognized 
when successive groups of different numbers of clicks are given, and 
under what conditions as to rate and number ? " 

The results with three subjects show that such differences can be 
recognized in a majority of the observations (57^-95$), with two of 
these subjects in more than 75$ of the observations, provided that 
the rate be not more than about 133 per second for groups of 10 or 
more clicks, and not more than 153 per second for groups of 9 or less 
clicks. The fact is observed that the errors of judgment are fewer 
when the standard number of clicks is compared with a smaller group 
than when the standard is compared with a larger group. An attempt 
to measure the difference between the two cases showed that an increase 


of two clicks is recognized more accurately than is a decrease of one 
click. For possible explanation of the difference in the two cases the 
following is proposed : " Our memory-image of the first actually in- 
creases in length between the first and second set of clicks. When 
the lesser group follows the standard, the second seems decidedly less 
than the first ; but when the same or a greater number follows, the 
difference is not so great and more difficulty in discriminating is experi- 
enced." For explanation of the lengthening of the memory-image see, 
below, Mr. Leuba's * Indications of a Law of Sense-memory.' 

It is thought improbable " that any clicks are lost in the perception 
of a rapid group, at least up to 153 per second," since groups of 8 and 
9 are distinguished at that rate. It is also thought improbable that 
the number of clicks in the group affects the impression of discreteness. 
The paper concludes with a brief statement by Dr. Sanford of the 
work of Dietze, Hall and Jastrow, and F. Schumann in the same field. 

2. The * Statistics of Dreams ' is based upon " the accurate record 
of two people, from notes made by themselves during the night and 
supplemented by careful study and recollection on the following day." 
The observers were S., a man of thirty-two (taking records 46 nights, 
170 dreams) ; and C., the writer, a woman of twenty-eight (taking 
records 55 nights, 205 dreams). A study of the results shows the fol- 
lowing main results : 

" Most of our dreams occur during the light morning sleep," but 
" the sleep of the middle of the night is in no sense a dreamless sleep." 
In a majority of the dreams, some connection with waking life could 
be traced, but " the influence of the time of the dream upon the degree 
to which it is associated with the waking experience " could not be 
accurately calculated. An attempted classification of the dreams 
according to their vividness showed that vivid dreams occur most 
frequently, but not always, in the morning. A small per cent of the 
dreams were classified as presentative, visual, auditory, tactual, tem- 
perature, gustatory, and organic sensations appearing in the list, audi- 
tory sensations most frequently. The influence of actually present 
stimuli in occasioning such dreams is pointed out. The so-called 
* representation dreams ' were classified with respect to their repre- 
sentation elements. In this table visual elements greatly predominate. 
Word-dreams (spoken or heard) are very frequent, especially with the 
observer C, who reports dreams in five languages. 

The connection between waking and dream life was studied by 
noting the presence and frequency in the dreams of perception, accu- 
rate and illusory memory, imagination, thought (contrary to Spitta), 
emotions of many sorts, and volition involving deliberation and de- 


cision (contrary to a common opinion). There is noted further the 
presence in the dreams of persons, places, and other things from 
waking experience, together with the number and character of these. 
It is observed that many but not all (contrary to Delage) of these are 
of trivial importance. The connection of the dream with the waking 
life is put thus : " The dream will reproduce in general the persons, 
places, and events of recent sense-perception or of very vivid imagina- 
tion not the objects of ordinary imagination, of thought, of emotion, 
or of will, so far as these are not also perceived objects. Further- 
more, thoughts, emotions, experiences, and personal relations that 
mean most to us are generally extremely complex and depend for 
their reproduction on the integrity of very many lines of association. 
When a number of these are put temporarily out of function by sleep, 
it is next to impossible to bring about these complicated mental 
states, though less complicated ones can be reproduced with tolerable 

Differences between waking and dream life are pointed out, as the 
isolation of the dreamer, partial or complete loss of personal identity, 
and various types of paramnesia, leading to various degrees of absurd- 
ity in the dream. 

The writer questions the popular belief as to the swiftness of 
dreams, explaining the facts as resulting from a quickening of the 
memory-time, which makes what was dreamed in a long period seem 
to have been dreamed in a short one. This explanation does not, 
however, account for all such dreams, for in some cases the total time 
of the sleep is reported very short. The paper concludes with a brief 
consideration of prevision in dreams, with suggestions in explanation. 
The paper is by no means the statistical skeleton which its title and 
this statement of its contents might indicate, but is mature prose and 
good psychology. Even if it were not so, the collection of facts is 
very important. It is only to be wished that we had innumerable 
other collections as good. 

3. Mr. Dresslar notes Prof. James' remark (Prmc. of PsychoL, n. 140) 
that " the tympanic membrane is able to render sensible differences in 
pressure of the external atmosphere too slight to be felt as sound." 
Mr. Dresslar devised a simple apparatus for applying a measured 
pressure to the ear-drum and proved that " it is a mistake to ascribe 
to the tympanum a very great delicacy in the perception of pressure," 
and that accordingly Prof. James* explanation of the ' shut in ' feel- 
ing sometimes called ' facial vision ' is erroneous. Careful tests with 
three subjects verify the result that blindfolded subjects can distin- 
guish in a majority of cases whether a frame brought near the side of 


the face is open, solid, lattice, or wire. Temperature sensations were 
shown not to furnish the basis of judgment and the conclusion was 
reached that, after all, the basis of judgment is furnished by auditory 

When a partial report of the foregoing result was made at the 
Philadelphia Meeting of the Am. Psychol. Assoc., Professor Ladd made 
the point that this is one of many cases of a kind of tact, where we 
have fairly reliable knowledge without at all knowing through what 
means we obtain it. 

4. The statement of Exner (Pfliiger's Archiv, vn) that, contrary to 
his expectation, the reaction-time for electrical stimulation is longer 
by about IOCT when the stimulus is received by the reacting hand than 
when it is received by the other hand, was tested by careful repetitions 
of the experiment. The results show a slightly greater difference in 
the contrary direction. 

5. Mr. Bergstrom took blank playing-cards, had abstract words or 
pictures of common objects printed upon these and so made up packs 
of eighty cards, ten kinds of cards to the pack. Having shuffled the 
cards so that two of a kind would not come together he directed his 
subject to sort the cards as rapidly as possible into ten piles, each pile 
to contain the eight cards of a given kind, and the order of the piles 
to be determined by a plan (see original) which prevented the subject 
from knowing the order in advance. 

In the first set of experiments abstract words were used ; two 
packs of eighty cards each, and alike in all respects except in the order 
of the cards, were placed before the subject. He was required to sort 
first the one and then the other pack, the order of the piles being in 
the two cases different and in both cases determined by the plan as 

The results for five subjects show that the sorting of the first pack 
required from 122" to 159", while the sorting of the second pack 
required from 3.5" to 18" more time. That this increase of time was 
not due to fatigue is proved by the fact that when different words 
were used in the second pack, there was practically no increase of 

To simplify the conditions, pictures of common objects were sub- 
stituted for words. One pack was sorted and then after an interval of 
3"> I 5" 3"> 60", 120", 240", 480", or 960", a second pack was 
sorted in entirely different positions. Five subjects were tested, each 
at a given hour on successive (12 to 21) days. See the original for 
precautionary details. The results show that at each of the intervals 
the sorting of the second pack requires more time. The curve of 


recovery as the interval becomes longer is determined. It was again 
proved that fatigue is not the cause of the retardation. Mr. Bergstrom 
believes the cause to be interference of associations and that his 
method is ' a laboratory method of studying habits.' The paper is 
short and the apparatus is simple and inexpensive ; but the study deals 
with one of the most important problems of physiological psychology 
and does so with very considerable precision and success. 

6. Mr. Leuba describes an apparatus devised by Dr. Sanford and 
modified by himself for testing Weber's law with lights, by the 
method of equal interval. For a detailed description of the appa- 
ratus (whose essential parts are a blackened tube and an episkotister) 
see the original. In using an apparatus copied after that of Dr. San- 
ford the reviewer found that the time during which the eye was 
directed into the dark tube made significant differences in the obser- 
vation of faint lights. Whether this point was regarded in Mr. Leuba's 
work does not appear. The results obtained by him " do not show 
the uniformity of ratio required " by Weber's law, but " the deviations 
are not extremely great " and the series of magnitudes is much more 
nearly a geometrical series than an arithmetical. Mr. Leuba com- 
pares a series of experiments in which the standard lights had to be 
held in memory with a series in which the standards were visible all 
the time, and finds " a striking difference in the ratios at the lower end 
of the scale." He explains this outcome as follows: "The image of 
a recent sensation tends to recall, by association, the united residual of 
all the past sensations of the same kind, and in so doing passes over in 
some degree to this sub-conscious resultant impression." Hence 
" there seems to be a natural tendency in us to shift the sensation held 
in memory towards the middle of the scale of intensities." This the 
author thinks to indicate a Maw of sense-memory,' which falls in 
general line with results and theories in other fields of psychology. 

7. Dr. Sanford's Pendulum Chronograph is simple and inexpensive, 
and under favorable treatment the gross error is reported not greater 
than 3<r or 40- for short intervals and one part in fifty for times of a 
second or longer, " a degree of accuracy that is sufficient for all prac- 
tice work in psychological time-measurements and for many kinds 
of research." For details of construction see the original. 



Zur Physiologie u. Pathologic des Lesens. By Dr. GOLBSCHEIDER and 

R. F. MULLER. Ztschrft. f. klin. Medicin, xxm. i, 1893. 
Recherches sur la Succession des Phe'nomines Psychologiques. B. BOURDON. 

Rev. Philos., xvm. 225-260. 1893. 

Goldscheider and Mtiller have made an important series of experi- 
ments to determine whether, in reading, we ' spell out ' letter by letter, 
or grasp several letters at once. By means of a slit in a rapidly rotating 
disk a number of symbols or letters could be exposed to view for a 
short but accurately measurable time. An exposure of .01 second 
(slightly above the lower limit of visibility) was used ; more could be 
distinguished with this than with longer exposures. The symbols 
used were lines, arcs, squares, etc., very heavily printed. Any arrange- 
ment of three different, or four similar, symbols was generally repro- 
duced correctly at once. More trials were required as this number was 
increased, except when the arrangement was symmetrical or suggested 
some well-known figure. Similarly, with numerals or meaningless 
combinations of letters, four were usually seen at first, five after a 
second trial, etc. Words of five letters were generally read at once, but 
with longer words the results varied considerably : mistakes were often 
made and persisted in, rendering repeated trials necessary. Three 
words of four letters were placed one above the other and exposed for 
.03 second ; between eight and ten letters were recognized at the first 
trial. Any well-known phrase of three words could be read at once, 
but in this case the omission or misprinting of certain letters passed 
unnoticed. The writers draw a distinction between ' determining ' 
and 'indifferent' letters of words. "The initial letter is almost 
always one of the determining letters." A vowel, when not forming 
a syllable by itself, is generally less important than a consonant, e.g., 
* Kl ngb Id ' was read as ' Klangbild,' but ' Ian bild ' was not com- 
pleted. [The writers are in error when they speak of "recognizing" 
(erkennen) * Charite ' from ' Ch te,' ' Object ' from ' bj t,' etc., for 
these might be completed in other ways; e.g., * Subject '.] 

The results show that "the time of recognition is dependent on 
the number of letters and the degree of familiarity" of the word. 
Except with unfamiliar words, we do not * spell ' in ordinary reading, 
but observe certain letters, or parts of letters, here and there, and fill in 
the rest by association generally of the word-sound, but often of the 
word-picture. This renders improbable the existence of any * memory- 
cells ' for calling up memory-pictures by association with apperceived 
elements, for the memory-picture must be called up before appercep- 
tion occurs, if it is to hasten and extend the apperception, as it does. 
The writers remark that in speech, unlike reading, there is always a 


'spelling out of words.' But may not the muscular co-ordinations for 
speech proceed by syllables, or even phrases, as well as by single letters ? 

Bourdon uttered single words (or letters) at intervals of about four 
seconds ; the subjects were to write down each time the first thing 
occurring to them. i. A letter or simple sound (a, b, ch, gn, etc.) was 
given, with which a word was to be associated. Compared with the 
chance resemblance (calculated) of any word-pairs, the pairs thus 
obtained showed considerable phonetic and remarkable syllabic resem- 
blance. 2. When a letter was required as * answer,' alphabetic con- 
tiguity gave the association as often as phonetic resemblance. 3. If a 
color was required, the pair (letter and color-name) usually showed 
phonetic resemblance. The writer also claims association between 
1 open ' vowels and bright colors, between ' dull ' sounds and dark 
colors, etc. 4. A word was given, another word ' answered.' Here 
the meaning generally determined the association, the phonetic resem- 
blance bearing about the random average, with important individual 

Distinguishing between names of qualities, objects and acts, the 
two latter were generally associated each with a word of its own class, 
the first about equally with qualities and objects. In general the 
two phenomena were co-ordinate, although with objects the second 
was often subordinate. They were rarely heterogeneous, but exhibited 
difference oftener than likeness (e.g., red and blue). Combining all 
these categories, the answers of some persons come under fewer head- 
ings than those of others, though greater in number ; this indicates a 
more logical mind. To prove this, the writer analyses several passages 
typical of the literary and scientific styles. 




Idealism and Epistemology. H. JONES. Mind, N. S. No. 7, 289-306, 

and No. 8, 457-472. July and Oct. 1893. 
Mctaphysic and Psychology. JOHN WATSON. Phil. Rev., vol. u. 513- 

528. Sept. 1893. 
The Meaning of Truth and Error. DICKINSON S. MILLER. Phil. Rev., 

vol. u. 408-425. July 1893. 
Old and New in Philosophic Method. HENRY CALDERWOOD. Phil. 

Rev., vol. n. 641-651. Nov. 1893. 

The first of Prof. Jones' two papers may be called a defence of 
Neo-Hegelian doctrine, and the second an attack upon the attempt to 
obtain Reality by inference from subjective states. The charge made 


against Hegelians and Neo-Hegelians, to wit, that they confound their 
thoughts of things with things, the Logic of Hegel with the system of 
the universe, is answered by the statement that their Epistemology is 
not at fault, for they have none, not recognizing two worlds to be 
brought together, but accepting ideas and things as manifestations of 
the one Reality and belonging to the same world. Yet Prof. Jones, 
while unwilling to call ideas 'existential realities,' admits that they 
have existence, and distinguishes between them as mere occurrences 
in consciousness and as having 'objective reference.' His position 
reminds one of Hamilton's distinction between the 'facts' of con- 
sciousness and the 'testimony' of the facts, and his opponent may 
still object that he appears to confound the idea and its ' reference ' 
with the thing to which reference is made, assuming the latter given 
when the former is given. The second paper is largely an answer to 
Prof. Seth's article in the Philosophical Review (vol. i. pp. 504-517). 
The critical parts are more satisfactory than the constructive. 

Prof. Watson's article is also written from the Neo-Hegelian point 
of view. It is a critique of Prof. Andrew Seth's position regarding the 
subject-matter of psychology, epistemology, and metaphysic, which 
allots to them respectively the self, the world, and God. Dr. Watson 
objects to regarding the world as known by inference from subjective 
states, and claims that one who does not start with ' reality ' can never 
end with it. Mr. Seth's distinctions between psychology, epistemology, 
and metaphysic ' vanish away ' when we bear in mind that " there is 
no consciousness of self apart from the consciousness of other selves 
and things, and no consciousness of the world apart from the conscious- 
ness of the single reality presupposed in both." 

Mr. Miller's paper on the ' Meaning of Truth and Error ' develops 
the consequences of the assumption that an idea can in no sense be 
said to reach out beyond itself and know an object beyond itself, 
whether this object be an external material thing or a past or future 
idea. It follows that truth and error must be found within the idea 
itself, must be gotten out of it by an analysis, for the mind is wholly 
shut up to its actual content at a single moment, the present. This 
doctrine, he maintains, is in no sense sceptical, permitting one to 
believe in an external world, a past and a future it analyzes, but does 
not deny. The chief criticism to be made upon the article is that it 
does not distinguish between the psychological and the epistemological 
points of view, and even one who accepted its first assumption might 
desire to have some of its assertions pretty carefully restated. 

Prof. Calderwood's paper is taken up with the problem of the signifi- 
cance for psychology and philosophy of the experimental and physio- 


logical psychology. He points out with justice that there must always 
be ultimate reference to introspection whatever method be employed, 
and he also calls attention to the fact that the results so far obtained 
cover rather a narrow field, stating that they " do not constitute a psy- 
chology, or doctrine of the soul. At best, they supply a view of the 
soul's relations with its environment, more especially with its own 
organism, as the vehicle of sensibility and of motion. But mental 
action is not included. The further we advance into the knowledge of 
mind, the further we travel from the borderland on which the results 
are obtained." Dr. Calderwood concludes that experimental psy- 
chology can contribute little to a knowledge of the more complex 
mental phenomena, and that men must come and go by ' the old path- 
ways of introspection ' as before. One cannot object to the statement 
that ultimate recourse must always be had to introspection, in some 
sense of that term, but God forbid that we always follow the old path- 
ways of introspection as they have been followed in the past. And one 
cannot object to Dr. Calderwood's statement of the present limitations 
of experimental research, but it is still too early to prophesy what may 
or may not lie outside its territory in the future. The tone of Dr. 
Calderwood's discussion and his estimate of the outlook for experi- 
mental work are evidently determined by his view of the soul and its 
environment. Were he an adherent of, say, the doctrine of a parallel- 
ism of cerebral states and mental states, it is probable that he would 
write differently on this question. G. S. F. 


On Certain Psychological Aspects of Moral Training. J. ROYCE. 

Intern. Journal of Ethics, in. 413-436. July 1893. 
Moral Deficiencies as determining Intellectual Functions. G. SIMMEL. 

Journal of Ethics, in. 490-507. July 1893. 
The Knowledge of Good and Evil. J. ROYCE. Intern. Journal of 

Ethics. Oct. 1893. 

The problem proposed by Dr. Royce is to discover the mental fac- 
tors, or the psychological side, of the fact ethically called conscience ; 
to show, so far as psychology is concerned, why we have a sense that 
conscience is immutable and authoritative, while, at the same time, 
it is historically fallible and variable. The judgments of conscience 
reduce themselves to two types : one advises sympathy, devotion to a 
will beyond one's own ; the other, justice, reasonableness, the regula- 
tion of life according to a consistent plan. Morality is the complete 
union of these two principles, and comes into play when these motives 


conflict either with opposing forces or with one another. Conscience, 
as thus defined, is our awareness of certain fundamental psychological 
tendencies the tendency to imitate, leading to sympathy, and the 
tendency to form fixed habits, leading to regularity and consistency 
of conduct. The authoritative nature of conscience, its innate charac- 
ter, is due to the radical nature of these instincts. Its fallibility, its 
origin in experience, is due to conflict between these tendencies. Our 
imitativeness, our social suggestibility, act immediately, giving us gen- 
erous impulses, but always tend to confuse our general plans. Our 
fixed habits, on the contrary, lend themselves to generality, but tend to 
become so fixed as to make us unmindful of the calls of sympathy. 

The moral bearings of the discussion lie, of course, outside our 
scope. The psychological identification of imitation with immediacy 
of action, and of habits with reasonableness of action, seem to me, 
however, very questionable. Habit, as such, (apart from a need of 
changing it,) is, upon the whole, opposed to conscious reflection : and 
one could make out a very fair case for the hypothesis that imitation 
is one form of the law of habit, instead of a principle opposed to it. 
Dr. Royce, to be sure, makes much of the element of conflict, but only 
as affecting the ethical value, not as having an intrinsic psychological 

Simmers extremely acute essay falls within our range so far only 
as it deals with the psychological and anthropological relation exist- 
ing between knowledge and intellectual acuteness on one side, and 
activity denominated moral on the other. It is noteworthy for 
maintaining the anti-Socratic paradox that immorality is important 
to intellectual development in certain directions. It is a fundamental 
principle of modern psychology that an idea of an act is the first 
inclination to its execution ; that, indeed, there is an organic psycho- 
physical connection between a conception of an act and its perform- 
ance. This granted, it follows that complete recognition of the act 
can be had only by following the idea to its consummation that the 
act is the idea consummated. Hence immoral acts are the condition 
of our comprehension of immorality; the reproduction of the evil pas- 
sion the only way to know it. This general principle is reinforced by 
considerations from criminal anthropology the immoral man swims 
against the stream, and, hence, requires more strength, acuteness, etc., to 
succeed. Through lying, the mind grows wary, comprehensive, delicate 
and strong, acquires a good memory, quickness of invention, power of 
imagination, etc. A third psychological connection is found in the 
relation of the emotions to knowledge. Morality requires interest, 
sympathy with subject-matter ; science requires indifference, approach- 


ing hard-heartedness e.g., vivisection. Development of aesthetic power, 
regard for the picturesque, etc., requires also quiescence of altruistic 

Dr. Royce's second article (considering the same problem as the 
foregoing, and, in part, a reply to it) attempts to reduce the apparent 
conflict between the demands of morality and those of intellectual 
progress to one special case of a more general law, psychological and 
even biological in character. This law is that every organic process 
is the combination in harmony of opposing tendencies : living tissue 
involves, as part of its own activity, phenomena which by themselves 
would mean death ; every voluntary movement, action on the part of 
antagonist muscles ; every nervous stimulation a corresponding in- 
hibition ; every virtuous act a known tendency to evil. In each case, 
the organic activity involves the reduction of an opposing tendency to 
a contributing factor in the activity itself. Applying this to the para- 
dox of Simmel, it follows (i) that knowledge of evil does not require 
the actual evil-doing, but simply the presence of an evil tendency; 
and (2) that there is deep insight into the nature of the evil deed only 
so far as it is transcended; this being, apparently, a special case of the 
general law that we do not truly know any'activity as long as we remain 
in it, but only when, by getting beyond it, we are able to turn back on 
it as an * object ' of reflection.* The same principle is involved in the 
fact that the attainment of virtue involves a constant approach to a con- 
dition where evil motives have no force and are ignored. Here the ques- 
tion is as to the relation of habit and consciousness. We are completely 
conscious only when the function concerned is learning, only when it is 
novel ; mastered, or become habitual, it passes into unconsciousness. We 
cannot affirm from this, however, that consciousness is aiming at its 
own absolute extinction, for this unconscious function is the instrument 
for mastering wider situations and thus subserves a wider conscious- 

Dr. Royce would have made his case still stronger, psychologically, 
it seems to me, if he had not admitted that the evil tendency is evil 
per se. It is difficult to see how any organic process can be bad in 
and of itself. It is in entering into a larger activity, of which, there- 
fore, it must become an inhibited factor, that it becomes bad as it 
would be in itself. Instead, then, of saying with Simmel that only the 
bad man can know evil, it is a psychological necessity to say that only 
the good man can know it know it, that is, as evil. J. D. 

* I say apparently, because, while this is implied, I do not quite know whether 
Dr. Royce expressly means it. J. D. 



Grundziige der physiologischen Psychologic. WILHELM WUNDT. Vierte 

umgearbeitete Auflage. Engelmann, Leipzig, 1893. Pp. xv, 600, 

and xii, 684. M. 12 and 10. (The third edition is here enlarged 

by 181 pages.) 
Grundriss der Psychologic auf experimenteller Grundlage dargestellt. 

OSWALD KULPE. Engelmann, Leipzig, 1893. M. 9. 
Psychologic des Erkenncns vom cmpirischen Standpunkte. GOSWIN K. 

UPHUES. Erster Band. Engelmann, Leipzig, 1893. M. 6. 
EEvolution Intcllectucllc et Morale de I'Enfant. G. COMPAYRE. 

Hachette, Paris ; 1893. Pp. xxiv, 371. 
The Psychology of Childhood. F. TRACY. Heath, Boston, 1893. 

Pp. 94. 
Appearance and Reality. A Metaphysical Essay. F. H. BRADLEY. 

(Library of Philosophy.) Swan Sonnenschein, London ; Mac- 

millan & Co., New York ; 1893. Pp. xxiv, 558. 


Prof. STUMPF has accepted a call to the Berlin chair of Philoso- 
phy, which will be vacated by Prof. Zeller on attaining his eightieth 

According to Nature, Drs. G. DWELSHAUVERS and P. STROOBANT 
will have charge of a laboratory of ' Psychological Physics' in the 
University of Brussels ; and Dr. W. H. RIVERS, of St. John's College, 
will conduct practical work in the Psycho-physical laboratory at Cam- 

Prof. ALEXANDER, who takes the chair in Owens College, Man- 
chester, vacated by the remova lof Prof. ADAMSON to Aberdeen, will 
offer opportunity for work in Experimental Psychology. 

A. KIRSCHMANN, Ph.D., and F. TRACY, Ph.D., have been appointed 
Lecturers in Philosophy in the University of Toronto. Dr. Kirsch- 
mann will have charge of the Psychology, and will direct the labora- 

JAMES R. ANGELL, A.M., has been appointed Instructor in Philos- 
ophy in the University of Minnesota, and offers laboratory courses in 
Experimental Psychology. 

HOWARD C. WARREN, A.M., has been appointed Instructor in 
Experimental Psychology in Princeton College. ' 

LIVINGSTON FARRAND, A.M., M.D., has been appointed Instructor 
in Physiological Psychology in Columbia College. 

VOL. I. No. 2. MARCH, 1894. 




University of Pennsylvania. 


The plain man who is innocent of special psychological 
culture, and has only the knowledge of his own mind and 
of other minds which is forced upon him by experience and 
the unavoidable half-conscious reflection upon experience 
to which one is led by every-day life, is still pretty well 
provided with psychological knowledge of a certain sort, 
and he uses with some skill the psychological methods in 
vogue in the schools. His thinking is by no means clear, it is 
sometimes quite inconsistent, it is limited to a narrow field. 
Still, I should hold it to be, in embryo, psychology as natural 
science, for it is psychology from the standpoint of the com- 
mon understanding, and in thinking about minds and their 
relations to things the plain man thinks very much as he 
does when he is concerned with material objects. He be- 
lieves that he has a mind, though he has no very distinct 
notion of what it is. He believes that this mind is intimately 
related to his body, which is a thing outside of his mind. He 
believes that through this body it is related to an external real 
world, from which it receives influences and which it can in- 
fluence in return. In this external world he thinks he finds 
other bodies more or less like his own, and believes that 
there are, connected with them, other minds, as his mind is 
connected with his body. Further, he believes that, as he 
can express by actions of his body ideas or emotions in his 
mind, so the minds connected with other bodies can give 


expression to their ideas or emotions, and such an expression 
is to him the revelation of the contents of these other minds. 
He thus compares the mental states of other men with his 
own, and forms some general notions of the contents of minds 
and the ways in which they act, thus arriving at the begin- 
ning of a mental science. He may have done all this without 
even having heard of the science of psychology. 

The handbooks of psychology describe at length the stages 
by which our plain man arrives at the knowledge of minds 
which he possesses, and describe it much better than the pos- 
sessor himself could do. His thinking has been half-conscious 
and unanalytic ; he has rather felt his way than seen it. And 
yet we may note that the psychologist, in obtaining the 
knowledge which has made it possible for him to write such 
a description, has followed no method not already applied by 
the unscientific subject of his description. Our subject has 
had recourse to introspection ; he has made use of the object- 
ive method ; he has not confined himself wholly to passive 
observation, but has sometimes experimented. Experience of 
his own conscious states has given him the key which is to 
make significant the expressions and actions of other men and 
of brutes. He has certainly observed these expressions and 
actions, and framed a more general notion of mind than he 
could have done by a mere examination of his own mental 
processes. And every time he has sought by persuasion or 
by any other means to produce a given mental state in an- 
other he has employed experiment, as does the galopin who 
rides on the back-platform of the bob-tailed car, at a personal 
inconvenience to himself, with the avowed purpose of getting 
the driver * wild.' Of course, such introspection as we are 
discussing is blind and instinctive, such observation is loose 
and inaccurate, such experiment is undertaken for no scientific 
purpose, and sins in all sorts of ways against the canons of ex- 
perimental investigation. Nevertheless, they remain intro- 
spection, observation, and experiment. The difference between 
the plain man and the psychologist does not lie in the fact that 
the latter uses any method peculiar to himself, esoteric and 
above the comprehension of the unlearned. It is simply a 
case of the difference everywhere found between the scientific 


and the unscientific, the man who applies methods carefully 
and seeks accurate and exhaustive knowledge of a subject, 
and the man who feels his way blindly, going only so far as 
he is impelled to go by immediate practical needs. The 
knowledge of mind gained by the plain man is loose and 
vague, more or less inconsistent, and very limited in extent. 
Yet it is, as far as it goes, a knowledge of mind, and does not 
differ in kind from that of the psychologist. 


Now that psychology is emerging gradually from that ill- 
defined medley which has passed by the name of philosophy, 
and is taking its place as a distinct discipline, it is coming, I 
think, to be generally accepted that the psychologist must 
occupy much the same standpoint as the ordinary man. I do 
not, of course, mean that he must be as loose and careless in 
his thinking, but that he must be scientific rather than meta- 
physical, accepting without question the assumptions upon 
which the natural sciences rest, and investigating the phenom- 
ena of mind much as they investigate material phenomena. 
The plain man becomes more careful and accurate when he 
becomes scientific, but he does not change his whole point of 
view. He is still in a real world of things about which he 
reasons as he did before. As a plain man he knew something 
about plants ; as a botanist he knows much more, but he has 
passed through no intellectual revolution in becoming a 
botanist. There in the real world are real plants which he 
may examine, and upon which he may try experiments. The 
results obtained by the botanist are sufficiently intelligible to 
him, even if he be a very poor botanist himself. They are ex- 
pressed in a language of which he has always known at least 
the rudiments. And the physiologist assumes an external 
world, in which are a number of organized bodies, forming a 
part of a real system of things. He seeks to obtain a general 
knowledge of the peculiar phenomena presented by these 
bodies, and to fix their relations to the rest of the system. 
Every one knows something about physiology, even if he has 
never heard the word pronounced. One may know very little 


indeed, but even in that case one's ignorance differs from that 
of the physiologist only in degree. The point of view is es- 
sentially the same. Lungs are lungs, and exist and function 
in a real external world among other real things, and the only 
problem is to discover how they conduct themselves there. 
Physiological truths do not lead one away from the ways of 
thinking to which one is accustomed in common life. 

In the same way the psychologist assumes an external real 
world, the world of matter and motion. In this world there 
are organized bodies presenting certain peculiar phenomena 
which he regards as indications of mental action. He accepts 
a plurality of minds distinct from each other and from the sys- 
tem of material things, each standing in a peculiar and intimate 
relation to one body. Each mind knows directly its own 
states, and knows everything else by inference from those 
states, receiving messages along certain bodily channels and 
reacting along others. Upon this basis he strives to give an 
accurate account of the contents of minds and to trace the 
history of their development. He stands upon the same 
ground as the ordinary man, and, as has been said above, he 
follows the same methods in his investigations, making use of 
introspection, observation, and experiment. He applies the 
methods in a broader and more scientific way ; he is clearer, 
and more exact and thorough ; but he remains a student of 
* natural science.' However he may modify, as a result of his 
studies, his views of minds and of their relation to a material 
world, he still holds to the existence of distinct individual 
minds in certain relations to such a world and through that to 
each other. He conceives each as shut up to its representa- 
tions of things, and dependent upon messages conveyed to it 
from without, as does the disciple of Locke. Ideas are, to 
him, like images in a mirror, numerically distinct from the 
things which they represent, and of which they give informa- 

A psychologist is, it is true, also a man, and he may be 
a metaphysician or epistemologist as well as a psychologist. 
In such capacity he may have his own opinion about these 
psychological assumptions. He may be a natural dualist or 
a hypothetical realist, a materialist or an idealist. As a phi- 


losopher he is free to choose, but not as a psychologist. 
In the latter capacity he puts all this aside, and remains on 
the plane of the common understanding, the plane of natural 
science. There is, of course, much that is vague in the 
thinking of the man who rests wholly on the plane of natural 
science. The physicist may have no very clear notion of 
what he really means by matter and energy, and yet he may 
be a good physicist. He may experiment with ingenuity, 
and observe and record phenomena with accuracy. And the 
psychologist may have the vaguest of notions as to the whole 
connotation of the word * mind,' or of the phrase l a material 
world/ and yet he may be a good psychologist, and materially 
add to our knowledge of minds. If he has not carried on 
with some measure of success the sort of reflective thinking 
demanded in epistemology or metaphysics, he will probably 
mix from time to time with his psychology more or less 
crude material that is not strictly psychological. But this 
is on his part a work of supererogation. He has the right, 
as has the physicist, to work in his own field, and to make 
use of some concepts he has not completely analyzed. 


It must be admitted that the position regarding minds 
and their relation to an external world taken by the plain man 
and by the psychologist contains, when criticised from the 
standpoint of epistemology, that most serious of difficulties, 
a flat contradiction. It assumes that each mind has only its 
representative images of things, and not the things them- 
selves. When it asks how a given mind comes to have a 
knowledge of an external thing, it concerns itself with the 
messages that have been conveyed to the mind, the materials, 
so to speak, out of which the image has been built up. It 
describes the process of building up such an image, and, 
distinguishing sharply between the image and the thing, 
maintains that the mind knows only so much about the thing 
as is contained in this image or in other images obtained in 
the same way. It admits that, given such an image in the 
absence of the thing (a hallucination), the mind will have 


absolutely no way of knowing the thing absent except by 
referring to its other experiences and assuming this one,, 
as abnormal, to be a false representative, and without a corre- 
sponding reality behind it. In other words, it shuts the mind 
up to its own circle of consciousness, and makes the external 
world present to it only by proxy. The outer world, as 
the mind knows it, is a complex mental experience, built 
up out of mental elements, and not the real outer world 
at all. It is only something that stands for the real outer 
world. Thus the very idea 'outer' is, to the mind possessing 
it, only a something in consciousness an inner representative 
of genuine externality, but, in itself, not external at all. 

Yet all this rests upon reasoning in which it has been* 
assumed that the mind is not shut up to its own experiences, 
but directly knows an external world of things. A man looks 
at his own body, the body of his neighbor, and some material 
object in front of which both are standing, and he seems 
to himself to be immediately conscious of all three. He 
grants his neighbor a knowledge of the object, reasoning 
as I have indicated in an earlier section, and distinguishes 
between this man's knowledge of the object and the object 
itself. The former he makes a representative of the latter, 
connects it in thought with the man's brain, and admits that 
it may even not wholly resemble the object as he sees it. 
He holds that the man is not directly conscious of the object 
itself, but infers it through the representative image. He 
then applies the same reasoning to himself, -and concludes 
that he is himself not really conscious of the three objects 
with which he started, but only of representative images. 
Through such images he must infer the whole outer world 
his own body, other men, other things. 

But if he is not really conscious of his own body, the 
other man's body, and the real object, what becomes of his 
reasoning ? Of what is the other man's image representative, 
and with what is it connected? Is it representative of an 
external object? The object which it has been assumed 
to represent is now seen to be an image in his own con- 
sciousness, and there is not a shadow of evidence that it 
represents any other. With what brain is it connected ? 


The brain belonging to that body which is under obser- 
vation? That body, too, is now seen to be his own image 
and relegated to consciousness. And what do his own images 
represent and where are they ? His image of the object 
cannot represent that object seen out there in front of his 
body. That object is his image, if he is shut up to images, 
and his body as perceived is another image in his conscious- 
ness with the object. The real object, the real body, are 
things to be inferred. They are not open to direct inspection. 
His image of the thing must not be referred to the brain 
which belongs to the body of whose existence he is directly 
aware. It must be referred to a brain in a totally different 
world. Where look for evidence that it is connected with 
any such brain in any such body? Yet evidence must be 
adduced for all this. The doctrine that there is an external 
world, and that it is mirrored by a number of minds which 
are shut up to their own representations of it, is not usually 
advanced as a gratuitous fiction. It is supposed to rest 
upon evidence. Is not one conscious of one's own mental 
experiences ? Can one not observe the relations of these 
to the material world? Can one not arrive by analogical 
reasoning at some notion of the mental states of others, and 
apply one's results to one's self ? The appeal is to experience, 
to observation and induction. And yet if the conclusion of 
the argument be true, the foundation upon which it rests 
is a delusion. If one be really shut up to one's own mental 
states, one has never observed their relations to material 
things, and never inferred from changes in material things 
the mental states of another. It is a strange argument that 
rests upon an assumption which its conclusion declares to be 

The difficulty here pointed out is not assumed gratuitously. 
It is really inseparable from the psychological position both 
of the plain man and of the psychologist, though it is forced 
into greater prominence by the superior consistency and 
clearness of the latter. The plain man distinguishes in his 
loose fashion between a man's ideas of things and the things 
themselves, and he admits that if the ideas are not true 
representatives, their possessor will not truly know the things. 


The psychologist makes more distinct the line of separation, 
and conceives the man's whole experience of an outer world 
as a mere copy of what is external, describing in detail the 
elements of which it is built up, and the process of its for- 
mation. Both hold, explicitly or implicitly, that we perceive 
directly the outer world, and that we do not so perceive it, 
but only infer it. The contradiction is there. It is imbedded 
in the very structure of the psychological position, the stand- 
point of common thought and natural science.* Psychology 
is not called upon to solve it, for it does not concern psy- 
chology. The psychologist has done and still does excellent 
work while simply disregarding it. It may safely be left to 
the epistemologist. 

And the epistemologist, if he be wise, will not quarrel 
with the psychological standpoint. He will recognize its 
value as a basis for work of a certain kind, and he will object 
to the psychologist's mixing with his psychology reasonings 
which, however true and valuable in themselves, serve only 
to darken counsel when mingled injudiciously with other 
things. He may, as epistemologist, point out where the 
difficulty really lies, show why the psychologist's assumption 
does not lead to error, and indicate how the results obtained 
by him are true even for epistemology when restated in 
certain ways. But he will regard such discussions as more 
or less out of place in a text-book of psychology, and 
regret finding them there, much as he would regret finding 

* I shall not here discuss at length the peculiar philosophical doctrine which 
attempts to hold to the psychological standpoint and remove the contradiction 
by declaring that both the ideas and the things are really given in experience. One 
need only read what has been written in support of it to be convinced that its 
adherents, after distinguishing between ideas and things, confound them com- 
pletely. If consciousness testifies to anything clearly and unmistakably, it is to the 
fact that we do not under normal circumstances see things double. The inkstand 
in front of me I see. I see only one. I may call that one idea or thing as I please. 
I am certainly not conscious in looking at it of both a copy and an original. How 
would a hallucination be possible if, in addition to the image, there were immedi- 
ately present to the mind in perception also the thing represented by the image ? 
The absence of the thing would be remarked at once. The doctrine is bad as 
psychology, and bad as epistemology. It cannot afford to be really clear, and 
it wisely takes refuge in obscurity, making the phrase ' knowledge of things ' 
unintelligible. I shall again touch upon this point later. 


metaphysical reflections introduced to any great extent in 
a treatise on physics. 


The psychologist should, then, frankly accept the stand- 
point of common thinking, the natural science standpoint, 
without attempting to make it consistent. He should accept 
without question an external world ; should assume that his 
own ideas of things represent it, and can be proved by obser- 
vation to represent it truly ; should infer from the actions 
of other bodies ideas more or less like his own, which are 
representatives of external things as are his ideas.* He 
should then, in harmony with the psychological fiction that 
no one is directly conscious of external real things, assume 
that each mind is shut up to its own representations ; that the 
world is mirrored in each consciousness, and that the pictures 
of it in different minds may differ. To him each mind's 
knowledge of the external world should mean the presence 
in it of such a picture of such and such mental elements 
arranged in such and such ways. He can then set before 
himself the difficult but perfectly definite task of discovering 
just the elements present in a consciousness, and the method 
of their arrangement. He may describe the building up of a 
consciousness, and may relate everything in it to the system 
of real things in an intelligible way. His work is, in a real 
sense of the word, scientific, and resembles closely what 
scientific men are trying to do in other fields. It does not 
demand metaphysical reflection. And the best results are 
to be obtained in psychology, I feel sure, by holding firmly 
to this scientific standpoint. When it is abandoned, as it 
sometimes is even by men whom one would most naturally 
expect to be strictly ' scientific/ the resulting obscurity and 
confusion are positively depressing to a lover of clear think- 
ing. Of course, until epistemology as well as psychology has 
done its perfect work all one's thinking will not be perfectly 
clear. The plain man and the scientist both employ, as has 

* I, of course, do not limit a consciousness to such ideas with ' objective 


been indicated above, some conceptions that they have not 
completely analyzed. Such obscurities in their thought need 
not prevent it from being, as common thought or as scientific 
reasoning, clear and effective. One may reason well and 
clearly about spaces and times without being a philosopher, 
provided one remain on the plane of the common under- 
standing, and ask only for scientific clearness. But when one 
occupied with scientific reasonings abandons the scientific 
standpoint, he is apt to introduce a very different kind of 
obscurity, and to encumber his task with serious and needless 

One or two illustrations will serve to make more clear the 
point upon which I wish to insist here. Within the limits 
dictated by an article of this kind no thought can be devel- 
oped at great length. But I hope to make plain in one or two 
instances that psychology is a loser when the psychologist 
abandons the psychological standpoint, and tries to be psy- 
chologist and epistemologist at the same time. 


The psychological standpoint assumes, as I have said, an 
external world and a number of minds or consciousnesses 
reflecting it. To it, knowledge of the external world or 
knowledge in any sense means the presence of such and such 
complexes in a consciousness. The psychologist sets himself 
the task of analyzing these, exhibiting their elements, and 
giving an account of their genesis and their relations to other 
things. Now, as all external things, in so far as they are 
to enter a. consciousness and be known, must enter through 
their proxies, it is of the very first importance not to conceive 
of the contents of a consciousness in such a way as to make 
it inconceivable how they can act as representatives at all. 
For example, the external thing to be known is a chair ; the 
representative of this in a particular consciousness is the idea 
of a chair. Since a chair has legs, a seat, and a back, and is 
by these and other marks distinguished from other objects, 
must there not be in the representative, in the idea itself, 
something to correspond to these ? If the chair has color as 


well as form, must not both elements be in some way repre- 
sented in the idea? Must not the arrangement of represented 
elements in the object have its representative in an arrange- 
ment of representing elements in the idea? If one is to have 
a true and complete knowledge of any external thing, must 
not every single element in the external object have its 
correlate in consciousness? Surely it is inconceivable that 
one and the same thing in consciousness should stand for 
half a dozen things outside, and yet give true knowledge 
of them or truly represent them. Is the external object 
complex and the representative idea simple, the complexity 
of the object is not represented at all. If we assume, as 
I think the psychologist must, that each man knows of things 
only as much as is represented in his ideas, we must conceive 
of his ideas as really capable of being representatives of 
complex things. We must make his consciousness complex. 

I do. not think I can better emphasize the point I am 
making than by referring to the treatment of consciousness 
contained in Professor James' able book, which every one has 
so lately been reading.* This paper is in no sense a general 
criticism of the book, to which I refer merely for the sake of 
illustration. The book is, however, so frank, and so positive 
in its statements, that one naturally turns to it rather than to 
another, when one wishes to find a doctrine * writ large.' 

Professor James gives as the irreducible data of psychol- 
ogy four things, which he emphasizes by numbering them 
and putting them in separate frames. These four things are 
the psychologist, the thought studied, the thought's object, 
and the psychologist's reality (vol. I. p. 184). Why he has 
selected as the fourth the psychologist's reality, it is a little 
hard to say, for he states immediately afterwards that the 
psychologist believes in the reality of numbers 2, 3, and 4, and 
he himself evidently assumes without question, throughout 
the book, the reality of 2 and 3. One is further puzzled to 
know why Professor James has omitted from his enumeration 
something else which he appears to distinguish from all the 
things mentioned above, and to treat as an irreducible datum* 

* Principles of Psychology, N. Y. 1890. 


This something, the most mysterious thing in the world (p. 
216), is Knowledge. Knowledge is, it is true, spoken of in 
one passage as a ' particular quality ' or ' cognitive function ' 
of states of consciousness (p. 185), and it is asserted in another 
that * the brain being struck, the knowledge is constituted by 
a new construction that occurs altogether in the mind' (p. 
219). One who read such passages alone might be inclined 
to regard knowledge as * a mode of being of ideas ' or a kind 
of consciousness. But Professor James considers the view of 
knowledge which would make it " a mode of being of * ideas ' ' 
as ' pitifully impotent ' (p. 476) ; and distinguishes between 
thoughts (consciousness, p. 185) and knowledge, as follows: 
" Almost anyone will tell us that thought is a different sort of 
existence from things, because many sorts of thought are 
of no things e.g., pleasures, pains, and emotions ; others are 
of non-existent things errors and fictions; others again of 
existent things, but in a form that is symbolic and does not 
resemble them abstract ideas and concepts; whilst in the 
thoughts that do resemble the things they are ' of ' (percepts, 
sensations), we can feel, alongside of the thing known, the 
thought of it going on as an altogther separate act and opera- 
tion in the mind " (p. 297). When one reads these passages and 
others like them, one feels that Professor James must look upon 
knowledge as a something quite distinct from all that to which 
he refers under the various names of thoughts, feelings, mental 
states, and states of consciousness. He must use the word mind 
to indicate a something which contains both states of conscious- 
ness and knowledge, two elements differing in kind, irreducible 
and ultimate. Such a position, consistently held, involves one, 
it is true, in difficulties that must seem to the average man 
rather startling. If, for instance, when one perceives a chair, 
one directly knows the chair, and feels, alongside of this 
knowledge, the thought or percept, it would seem quite 
conceivable that one could know the chair in the absence 
of the percept, and the function of percepts in perceiving is 
not apparent. One might know all sorts of things without 
having any mental states at all. One would have only knowL 
edge no consciousness, no thoughts. 

It is merely possible that Professor James has omitted 


knowledge from his list of irreducibles because he does not 
regard it as concerning psychology at all. We naturally 
think of everything that can be found in a mind as a legitimate 
object of psychological study, but, according to an explicit 
statement in the chapter on ' The Methods and Snares of 
Psychology,' this science is limited to the study of thoughts^ 
or states of consciousness, and their relations to things. In 
summing up his chapter Professor James says, with the em- 
phasis of italics : " These thoughts are the subjective data of 
which he (the psychologist) treats, and their relations to their 
objects, to the brain, and to the rest of the world constitute 
the subject-matter of psychologic science." If psychology be 
really limited to this field, and if knowledge be something 
different from thoughts, of course it does not concern the psy- 
chologist. Nevertheless, in spite of the above citation, I can 
scarcely believe that Professor James seriously means to thus 
turn his back upon knowledge. He certainly uses it more or 
less in his psychology. I can think of only one pretext under 
which he may introduce it. It may be made to fall within the 
limits he has indicated, if it be defined as a relation between 
thoughts and external objects. In some passages Professor 
James appears to so define it. And yet, if this be the defi- 
nition of knowledge, it is hard to see how knowledge can be 
wholly in the mind, and once there ' may remain there, what- 
ever becomes of the thing' (p. 219). 

I confess I am puzzled to know what to do with knowl- 
edge as treated by Professor James, but, all things considered, 
I think it must be added to the above-mentioned list of irre- 
ducibles or rather may be allowed to take the place left 
vacant by the psychologist, the thinker, who turns out later in 
the book (Chapter X.) to be a thought, or pulse of conscious- 
ness. (In speaking above of the possibility of knowledge 
without consciousness, the knower was assumed to be an irre- 
ducible.) With his conversion into a thought, we have still 
on our hands thoughts or states of consciousness, objects, and 
knowledge. The last I will leave at this point, frankly admit- 
ting that, with all Professor James' assistance, I can form no 
clear notion of what he makes knowledge, or even feel certain 
whether he puts it in the mind or outside of it. It appears to 


be distinct from consciousness and also distinct from objects 
known. States of consciousness are generally admitted to 
differ from one another, and so are objects, but whether we 
are to regard knowledges as differing, so that what is in one 
mind can be distinguished from what is in another simply by 
a difference in this element, I cannot guess. If there be no 
difference in this knowledge element, then the contents of 
different minds, or of the same mind at different times, must 
be distinguished and classified through differences in their 
other elements they differ in containing different conscious 
states. Psychology, in so far as it is concerned in distinguish- 
ing and describing mental contents, may go on while ignoring 

To turn to something less mysterious and more familiar, 
conscious states these are recognized in every psychology, 
and by psychology as natural science must, I think, be made 
to cover even what is meant by knowledge. It must regard 
a man's consciousness as all he gets of anything, and must 
conceive even his knowledge or belief that there is something 
beyond his consciousness as in itself a mental complex, a con- 
scious state, which can be analyzed, and described, and the 
genesis of which can be traced. Since, to it, conscious states 
must serve as the representatives of all that is external, it 
must, as has been said, so think of them that it will not be 
impossible to conceive how they can serve as representatives 
at all. It may enter an energetic protest and this is the 
point to which what I have said in the paragraphs preceding 
has been leading up it may enter an energetic protest against 
Professor James' conception of consciousness as an unana- 
lyzable, indivisible unit, a something in which no parts can 
be distinguished. How can such a consciousness represent 
any object not itself unanalyzable and indivisible ? How can 
it represent two objects as two, or an extended thing as 
extended ? 

Professor James declares unintelligible the assumption that 
our mental states are composite in structure, made up of 
smaller states conjoined (p. 145). Consciousness he regards 
as 'an integral thing not made of parts' (p. 177); it is a 'single 
pulse of subjectivity ' (p. 278), ' undivided ' (p. 277), 'containing 


no manifold of coexisting ideas ' (p. 278). Every * pulse of 
thought' (state of consciousness at a given moment) is an 
'indecomposable unity' (p. 371), ' an uncompounded psychic 
thing' (p. 179). Feelings cannot be put together to make a 
consciousness : " Take a hundred of them, shuffle them and 
pack them as close together as you can (whatever that may 
mean) ; still each remains the same feeling it always was, shut 
in its own skin, windowless, ignorant of what the other feel- 
ings are and mean. There would be a hundred-and-first 
feeling there, if, when a group or series of such feelings were 
set up, a consciousness belonging to the group as such should 
emerge. And this one-hundred-and-first feeling would be a 
totally new fact ; the one hundred original feelings might, by 
a curious physical law, be a signal for its creation, when they 
came together ; but they would have no substantial identity 
with it, nor it with them, and one could never deduce the one 
from the others, or (in any intelligible sense) say that they 
evolved \\." ($. 160). A consciousness supposed to consist of a 
dozen feelings Professor James compares to a sentence con- 
sisting of a dozen words each of which is in the mind of a 
different man. There is nowhere a consciousness of the whole 
sentence (p. 160). 

Conscious states are, therefore, simple, unanalyzable units. 
They may, then, differ from each other, and be distinguished 
as this state or that, but they cannot be analyzed and de- 
scribed, they can only be named. How do sensations- differ 
from percepts, percepts from concepts, memories from fic- 
tions ? As well ask how the sensation of redness differs from 
that of blueness. The psychologist may arrange in a given 
order a number of unanalyzable units, and state their relations 
to other things, but a descriptive psychology which busies 
itself with such units can be called descriptive only by way of 
courtesy. It cannot give any sort of an answer to the ques- 
tion, ' What are they like ?' or, ' How do they differ from each 
other?' It cannot describe. Of course Professor James does 
not attempt a psychology upon any such basis. When he 
treats of the various mental states he talks of them as does 
any one else, making them composite, analyzable, and describ- 


able. It is because he has done so pretty consistently that he 
has written so good a book. 

It is difficult to know, in view of the wealth of material at 
hand, just what to cite in illustration of the fact that Professor 
James does not treat consciousness as an indivisible, unanalyz- 
able unit at all. One must, however, begin somewhere, and I 
shall refer to a few passages almost at random. In the open- 
ing sentences of his book Professor James does not hesitate 
to speak of the 'complexity' of mental phenomena (i. p. i) ; a 
little further on he speaks of ' groups of sensations forming 
determinate objects or things ' (i. p. 19) ; and on the next 
page he asks : ' What are perceptions but sensations grouped 
together ? ' In the same chapter he regards it as certain that 
consciousness is much more ' developed ' in the hemispheres 
than it is anywhere else, and asserts that the development of 
will must be ' proportional to the possible complication of the 
consciousness ' (p. 78). In the chapter on ' The Perception of 
Space* we find such statements as the following : " In the sen- 
sations of hearing, touch, sight, and pain we are accustomed 
to distinguish from among the other elements the element of 
voluminousness " (II. p. 134) ; " Now my first thesis is that this 
element, discernible in each and every sensation, though more 
developed in some than in others, is the original sensation of 
space" ... (p. 135) ; " If a number of sensible extents are to be 
perceived alongside of each other and in definite order, they 
must appear as parts in a vaster sensible extent which can 
.enter the mind simply and all at once" (p. 146); " Measurement 
implies a stuff to measure. Retinal sensations give the stuff; 
objective things form the yard-stick ; motion does the measur- 
ing operation" (p. 267). These sentences stand out from their 
context in all the prominence given by italics. They have not 
been penned thoughtlessly. And yet one marvels to think 
they are intended to apply to a something in which no parts 
can be distinguished to an indecomposable unity. How can 
such a unity have elements distinguishable from other ele- 
ments, or parts which can be placed alongside of each other, 
or portions which can be measured ? And how can one speak 
of what is present in imagination as a blurred picture or a 
sharp image, or describe it as an image surrounded by a 


'fringe' composed of ' transitive ' parts of consciousness, if all 
that is in consciousness be wholly without parts, an inde- 
composable unit (II. p. 49). Such partless images we might 
naturally suppose capable of representing only mathematical 
points, but we discover one of them to be the image of Profes- 
sor James' absent friend. How Professor James can know of 
whom he is thinking is a mystery a mystery worthy, I think, 
of a place beside ' knowledge ' as one of the most mysterious 
things in all the world. What, too, shall we say to the per- 
cept, which is also indecomposable, when we find it to be the 
general law of perception that whilst part of what we perceive 
comes through our senses from the object before us, another 
part always comes out of our own head (n. p. 103) ? or when 
we read : " Who can be sure, in his sensible perception of a 
chair, how much comes from the eye, and how much is sup- 
plied out of the previous knowledge of the mind ?" (l. p. 191). 
And how can we regard an emotion as an indecomposable 
unit, when we happen upon the exclamation, " Who can enu- 
merate all the distinct ingredients of such a complicated feel- 
ing as anger ? " (l. p. 191). 

We have, furthermore, repeated statements from our author 
to the effect that this indivisible something called conscious- 
ness can be split. " We shall find," he says, " in Chapter X, 
numerous proofs of the reality of this split-off condition of 
portions of consciousness" (l. p. 165). Again: "It must be 
admitted, therefore, that, in certain persons, at least, the total 
possible consciousness may be split into parts, which coexist 
but mutually ignore each other, and share the objects of 
knowledge between them " (p. 206) ; " How far this splitting 
up of the mind (consciousness) into separate consciousnesses 
may exist in each one of us is a problem " (p. 210); we " are 
forced to admit that a part of consciousness may sever its 
connections with other parts and yet continue to be" (p. 213); 
" Now although the size of a secondary self thus formed will 
depend upon the number of thoughts that are thus split off 
from the main consciousness, the form of it tends to personal- 
ity, . . ." (p. 227). Are we really concerned here with an inde- 
composable unit ? To conceive such a thing split into two or 
more parts of different sizes is indeed a difficult task. I can 


think of only one way in which such a consciousness as 
Professor James supposes can be divided. It is granted 
time-parts (p. 279), and the fragmentary consciousnesses may, 
perhaps, divide these among themselves. This interpretation 
does not, however, adjust itself to the text at all, and it would 
be doing Professor James an injustice to foist it upon him. 

The chapter on ' The Consciousness of Self/ although it 
contains occasional lapses into the ' indecomposable unity ' 
idea, may yet be said to treat consciousness with fair con- 
sistency as a complex and decomposable thing. It has ' ele- 
ments ' and * parts.' " Compared with this element of the 
stream," says our author, " the other parts, even of the sub- 
jective life, seem transient external possessions, of which each 
in turn can be disowned, whilst that which disowns them re- 
mains" (p. 297). As this element is "more incessantly there 
than any other single element of the mental life, the other 
elements end by seeming to accrete round it and to belong to 
it " (p. 298). The self under discussion is never found in the 
stream of consciousness all alone (p. 299) ; it is strongly con- 
trasted with all the other things consciousness contains (p. 

It is unnecessary, I think, to multiply citations. The few 
that I have given are sufficiently direct and unambiguous. 
One might quote from almost any chapter from that, for 
example, on attention, where we find such phrases as : " It is 
the simplest possible case of two discrepant concepts simul- 
taneously occupying the mind " (p. 410); or from that on con- 
ception, where an image held before the mental eye is distin- 
guished from the vague consciousness which surrounds it 
(p. 473). But as my object is illustration and not criticism, 
I shall quote but one more passage, which we may take as an 
apology (Professor James gives several such) for the ex- 
pressions used in the citations already given. It reads as 
follows : " For the ordinary ' analytic ' psychology, each 
sensibly discernible element of the object imagined is 
represented by its own separate idea, and the total object 
is imagined by a * cluster ' or * gang ' of ideas. We have 
seen abundant reason to reject this view. An imagined 
object, however complex, is at any one moment thought 


in one idea, which is aware of all its qualities together. If 
I slip into the ordinary way of talking, and speak of various 
ideas * combining/ the reader will understand that this is 
only for popularity and convenience, and he will not construe 
it into a concession to the atomistic theory in psychology " 
(II. p. 45). 

Now far be it from me to insist that one may not, for 
convenience, speak with the vulgar, while thinking with the 
learned. It may be wise to do so on occasion. But it does 
not seem unreasonable to demand that the language one uses 
shall be capable of a translation into the tongue of the scholar 
when such a translation is asked for. In the present instance, 
I do not believe the thing can be done. I do not think Pro- 
fessor James could possibly say what he has said about 
mental phenomena and consistently use language which 
would treat consciousness as an indecomposable unit. As 
a philosopher he has accepted such a consciousness : as a 
psychologist he has fallen to the level of natural science 
and common-sense, and eschewed it completely. The in- 
terruptions from the philosopher introduce a disturbing 
element into the lucid expositions of the psychologist. One 
meets with difficulties which seem gratuitous. Much of the 
blame I should be inclined to lay on the shoulders of that 
unhappy intruder 'knowledge,' who seems to love darkness 
rather than light, and whose deeds may be more than sus- 
pected to be evil.* 

* We may at least, with some confidence, accuse ' knowledge ' of arbitrariness 
and unjust discrimination. We find that a consciousness cannot consist of a hun- 
dred feelings for the reason that each feeling is "shut in its own skin, windowless, 
ignorant of what other feelings are and mean" (i. p. 160). No feeling being thus 
windowless and ' hide-bound ' can know another existent feeling. But a feeling 
(thought, consciousness) may know a material object which is not a feeling (p. 197); 
and it may also know another feeling, provided that other be non-existent nay, in 
that case, it may even adopt it and hug it to itself (p. 340). 

I am inclined to think that Professor James' treatment of consciousness is the 
result of a conspiracy between two quite distinct influences. We are almost tired of 
hearing from the apperceptionists that the contents of a consciousness must not be 
regarded as resembling a heap of wooden counters to which we may add, or from 
which we may subtract, a given number without causing any change in the rest. 
The notion of consciousness as an organic whole, and not an aggregate of change- 
less elements, is in the air, and deservedly receives emphasis. In the associational 


The remedy for these ills appears to me to lie in a return 
to psychology as natural science. The excellence of Professor 
James' book which I have chosen out of a large class .for use 
as a text-book in the University of Pennsylvania lies to a 
great degree in the fact that he does, in spite of himself, 
usually treat psychology as a natural science. It is easy 
to find fault with special points in almost any book, but it 
would be the extremest injustice to estimate a book after a 
consideration of such points alone. And I hope that what I 
have said will not be taken as an expression of opinion regard- 
ing Professor James' work as a whole. From many points of 
view I admire his volumes greatly. 


I have developed my first point at such length that I 
cannot do more than mention a second. I must, however, 
mention it, for it seems to me of such importance that it 
should not be wholly passed over. Psychology as natural 
science must not merely assume a consciousness complex 
and capable of representing, in some intelligible sense of 
the word, an external world beyond it, but it must also 
recognize all conscious states to be mere phenomena, reso- 
lutely confine itself to phenomena, and, as science, eschew 
all metaphysical entities ' substrata,' * unit-beings,' ' tran- 
scendental' selves, and what not. Whether one conceive 
conscious states as ' parallel ' to brain states, or conceive 
of them as belonging with these latter to the one series 

psychology which Professor James criticises ideas were much deader things than 
they are to us to-day, and I think his reaction against such a view of ideas very 
natural. But this influence alone would not have made him, I think, speak of con- 
sciousness as an indecomposable unity. The blame for this lies with his doctrine 
as to the nature of knowledge. If, when I perceive an object, I have, in addition 
to my percept, a ' knowledge ' of the object, which gives me, somehow, the object 
known and the percept ' alongside ' of each other. I may reduce my percept to a 
mathematical point if I choose, and yet go on talking about the parts of the object. 
The percept has become a useless thing. Its function has been usurped by 'knowl- 
edge.' I think that this is the real explanation of the fact that Professor James can 
speak of consciousness, even occasionally, as having no parts. He falls back on 
'knowledge' for information which could not possibly be extorted from 'an un- 
compounded psychic thing.' 


of causes, and determining physical movements, in either 
case one may study them from the natural-science point of 
view. They are in any case phenomena, which may be 
analyzed and described, and the relations of which to other 
phenomena may be determined by accepted scientific meth- 
ods. The physiologist studies the phenomena presented by 
organized bodies without reference to any metaphysical * sub- 
stratum ' or ' reality ' underlying them, and so should the 
psychologist study the phenomena of mind. To him sensa- 
tions, percepts, judgments, knowledge, the self, everything 
he may find in a consciousness should be a phenomenon and 
nothing more, a conscious state or a component part of a 
conscious state. To divide mental phenomena into classes, 
and account for the one class by reference to that phenomenal 
something we call the brain, while referring the other to a 
4 self ' not belonging to the world of phenomena at all, is 
surely unscientific. As well might the physiologist refer 
some of the phenomena of the human body to the ' sub- 
stratum ' granted it by the philosopher, holding explanation 
of them, in the ordinary sense of the word, inadmissible. 
The world of * substrata ' belongs to the metaphysician, 
if it belong to any one, and the psychologist will not gain by 
trespass. Let him stay on his own ground. 



Harvard University. 


" Now you must know," says Bunyan, " that before this i 
had taken much delight in Ringing,* but my Conscience begin- 
ning to be tender, I thought such practice was but vain, and 
therefore forced myself to leave it, yet my mind hankered. 
Wherefore I should go to the Steeple-house, and look on it r 
though I durst not ring. . . . But quickly after, I began to 
think, How if one of the Bells should fall f Then I chose to 
stand under a main Beam, that lay overthwart the Steeple, 
from side to side, thinking there I might stand sure. But 
then I should think again, Should the Bell fall with a swing, 
it might first hit the wall, and then rebounding upon me, 
might kill me for all this Beam. This made me stand in the 
Steeple-door ; and now, thought I, I am safe enough ; for, 
if a Bell should then fall I can slip out behind these thick 
Walls, and so be preserved notwithstanding. So after this I 
would yet go to see them ring, but would not go further than 
the Steeple-door. But then it came into my Head, How if 
the Steeple itself should fall ? And this thought, it may fall 
for aught I know, when I stood and looked on, did continually 
so shake my mind that I durst not stand at the Steeple-door 
any longer, but was forced to flee for fear the Steeple should 
fall on my head." 

The parallel between Bunyan's case and that of Dr. 
Cowles's patient, whose experience is so fully described in the 

* I.e., of course, in ringing the chimes of the village church. Venables has 
skilfully pointed out, in various passages of Bunyan's writings, how deep a train of 
associations this practice later involved for the poet. 



remarkable paper before cited, will from this point onwards 
become interesting to us. It is noteworthy that Dr. Cowles's 
patient, after some history of childhood fears, beginning at 
about ten years of age, became, for a time, ' well of these 
morbid experiences,'* but afterwards, in youth, experienced a 
fresh form of her previous disorder, and met this relapse at 
first in the form of ' feelings of hesitation in performing simple 
acts/ with a consequent necessity of repeating many such acts 
to be sure that they were right. ' From this point/ says Dr. 
Cowles of his patient, * all the rest follows in its morbid train/ 
The fortunes of Bunyan were to be, up to a certain point, 
decidedly similar. The childhood period, with its warning 
terrors, had given place for a time to a healthy youth. But 
the elementary conscientious fears which now appeared, and 
which forced the lately reckless Bunyan to outward acts of 
unreasonable timidity, were soon to give place, as in Dr. 
Cowles s patient, to tar more insistent and systematized im- 
pulses. In both ot tnese cases the topics about which the 
insistent impulses finally systematized were matters of inner 
conscientious scruples. In both cases the general outward 
bearing and conduct long remained as far as possible normal, 
except where the inner sufferings of the patient must perforce 
break through and show themselves. In Bunyan's case it is 
interesting that these first signs of the coming storm were 
motor reflexes of a timid and partly of a morbidly inhibitory 
sort, produced irresistibly at the sound of those bells which 
he had so much loved to hear, and which, as Venables has 
shown by quotations from his later works, he never after- 
wards learned to forget. 

The conversation of certain poor and godly people, about 
this time, revealed to Bunyan that, with all his legality, he 
had not yet learned what the true spiritual life is ; and here- 
with began a second stage of his conversion. The conse- 
quence was much continuous meditation upon this higher 
religious life, and 'a softness and tenderness of Heart/ 
whereby his mind became 'fixed on Eternity/ and, for the 
time, refused 'to be taken from Heaven to Earth.' Theologi- 

* Cowles, loc. cit. p. 238. 


cal controversy with companions added itself to the foregoing 
to intensify Bunyan's interest in the secret of true faith. He 
now constantly read the Bible, which, however, to him, in his 
environment, seemed rather a collection of texts than of con- 
nected treatises. Henceforth his inner life was full of a not 
uncommon, but in his case especially significant, associative 
process, whereby he was largely at the mercy of any single 
text of his now well-thumbed Bible that at any moment 
might chance to occur to him, wholly separated, of course, 
from its context. He might be depressed. At such a 
time a threatening or discouraging text would come to 
mind ; this or that Scripture would ' creep into his soul,' 
and wound him, or chill him all through. He could in 
but very small degree resist the effect of chance association 
by recalling the original relations or the meaning of this 
text as determined by its actual setting at the place where 
it occurs. No, this 'word* had come to him alone; alone 
he must interpret it and apply it to his case. Did its serious 
import overwhelm him? Then there was no way but to hunt 
at random, either in his Bible, or in the recesses of his chance 
associations, for some other ' word ' to set over against the 
first. Then would follow very possibly long processes of this 
mere balancing of texts. One ' word ' must be set against 
another, one set of texts must be neutralized by texts whose 
immediate emotional effects were more comforting. Bunyan 
also developed in connection with such tasks a peculiarly 
skilful sort of inner dialectic whereby he estimated the force 
of each text. He reasoned very subtly with these his own 
shadows. The decision of nearly every such crisis was deter- 
mined in the end, however, less by the conscious dialectic 
itself than by the chances of association. At last, perhaps 
after days, in the later stages of his malady after months, of 
conflict, some decisive word would come to mind, would more 
or less irresistibly 'dart' into his soul, would even half seem 
to be spoken within him (a few times with the force of a 
pseudo-hallucination, and only once or twice with almost 
complete hallucinatory vigor). The ' word ' that association 
thus made victorious might by its very clearness, or by 
the strength of its emotional setting, banish all the former 


* words' from mind, and for the time doubts would leave him. 
Or again 'two Scriptures' would 'meet' in his heart, and 
one of them would triumph. This process is frequently 
exemplified in the Grace Abounding, and was of course largely 
determined, apart from the abnormal capriciousness of his 
associative processes, by Bunyan's religious opinions and com 
panionships. But this method of thinking was of course an 
inconvenient complication in view of his now imminent dis- 

At the stage of his pilgrimage now reached, he began to 
read Paul's epistles with eagerness. They did not decrease 
his dialectical tendencies. One day, when alone on the road, 
he found himself wondering gloomily, as he had been doing 
for some time, whether he really had saving faith or no. 
Whereupon the ' Tempter,' who of course, in our author's 
account, has to bear the responsibility for many of Bunyan's 
insistent impulses, and for a large part of his associative 
processes, suggested, as he had several times done before, that 
there was no way for Bunyan to prove that he had faith save by 
trying to work some miracle; " which Miracle at that time was 
this, i must say to the Puddles that were in the horse-pads, 
Be dry, and to the dry places, Be you the Puddles. And truly, 
one time I was going to say so indeed ; but just as I was about 
to speak, this thought came into my mind, But go under yonder 
Hedge and pray first that God would make you able. But when 
I had concluded to pray, this came hot upon me, That if I 
prayed, and came again and tried to do it, and yet did nothing 
notwithstanding, then be sure I had no Faith, but was a Cast- 
away and lost. Nay, thought I, if it be so, I will never try 
yet, but will stay a little longer." 

In this account it is of course the hesitancy and the brood- 
ing, questioning attitude that is symptomatic, and not the logic 
of the quaint reasoning process, which, in view of Bunyan's 
presuppositions, is normal enough in form. To such brood- 
ings the dreamer added about this time one very elaborate 
symbolic inner vision of his unhappy state as related to the 
state of the godly people whose faith he envied. The vision, 
which, as reported, is a fine instance of the automatic visual- 
izing process already characterized, need detain us here no 


further. It is noteworthy that Bunyan reports it without any 
surprise, as an incident of a type very familiar in his inner life. 
The striving with chance Scripture passages continued, and 
now often drove him to his ' wit's end.' The comforting pas- 
sages were occasionally hit upon, but only to give way soon 
to doubts. His questions as to what faith is, and whether he 
was of the elect, had already reached the limits of the normal. 
He was " greatly assaulted and perplexed, and was often," he 
says, "when I have been walking, ready to sink where I went 
with faintness in my mind." This is one of the few hints 
that we get of Bunyan's physical state at this time. The 
'Tempter' was meanwhile quite capable of suggesting, as 
regards Bunyan's relation to his fellows in the faith, that these 
[viz., the known * godly people' aforesaid] being converted 
already, " they were all that God would save in those parts ; 
and that I came too late, for these had got the Blessing before 
I came." This thought was insistent enough to cause Bunyan 
great distress, and even anger at himself for having lost so 
much time in the past. After really desperate and lonely 
struggles with such wavering hopes, gloomy fears as to his 
salvation, and insistent questions and doubts on the whole 
subject, he at length forsook his solitude, and appealed for 
help to the* godly people' themselves, who took him to their 
pastor, Mr. Gifford. 

But herewith Gifford only made Bunyan's case for he 
time worse, by assuring him that he was a very grievous 
sinner, and by drawing his attention away from the universal 
problems about faith and election, back to the particular facts 
concerning the vanity of his wicked heart. The result was 
a new stage, wherein all the elements present in the two 
previous stages of his experience were morbidly combined, 
and the associative processes so inimical to his peace were 
rendered more automatic and systematic than ever. The first 
stage, it will be remembered, had been one of systematically 
insistent scrupulosity as to the details of his conduct, with 
elementary inhibitions and fears. The second stage had been 
one of large and more 'tender' emotional states, and of gen- 
eralized broodings and doubts as to faith and election, accom- 
panied with occasional feelings of general physical weakness 


and faintness. But now this elaborate process of morbid 
training came Jto combine both generalized and specialized 
elements. The first effect was that instead of the * longing 
after God ' which had characterized the immediately previous 
state of mind, Bunyan now found in himself a perfect chaos 
of ' Lusts and Corruptions/ ' wicked thoughts and desires 
which I did not regard before.' He must ' hanker after 
every foolish vanity.' His heart " began to be careless both 
of my Soul and Heaven ; it would now continually hang back, 
both to and in every duty ; and was as a Clog to the Leg of a 
Bird to hinder her from flying. Nay, thought I, now I grow 
worse and worse ; now am I further from Conversion than 
ever I was before. Wherefore I began to sink greatly in my 
Soul, and began to entertain such discouragement in my 
Heart as laid me low as Hell. If now I should have burned 
at the stake, I could not believe that Christ had love for me : 
alas, I could neither hear him, nor see him, nor feel him, nor 
savour any of his things. I was driven as with a Tempest; 
my Heart would be unclean ; the Canaanites would dwell in 
the land." To this fairly classic description of his general 
state, Bunyan now adds for the first time a mention of the 
presence of insistent 'unbelief,' whereof we shall soon hear 
more. Meanwhile, however, as he adds in a most charac- 
teristic fashion : " As to the act of sinning, I was never more 
tender than now. I durst not take a pin or a stick, though 
but so big as a straw, for my conscience now was sore, and 
would smart at every touch ; I could not now tell how to 
speak my words, for fear I should misplace them. Oh, how 
gingerly did I then go in all I did or said ! I found myself as 
on a miry Bog that shook if I did but stir ; and was as there 
left both of God and Christ and the Spirit, and all good 

When a man has once got so far into the 'Slough of 
Despond' as this, there is indeed no way but to go on. Such 
insistent trains of morbid association cannot be mended until 
they first have grown worse. The process of systematization 
continued in this case, much as in that of Dr. Cowles's 
patient.* There were for Bunyan, to be sure, the occasional 

* Cowles, loc. cit. pp. 240-45. 


remissions due to the temporary success of this or that Scrip- 
ture passage. So in one instance the effective suggestion 
came from without, through a sermon on the text, Behold, thou 
art fair, my Love ; behold, thou art fair a sermon whose pedan- 
tically multiplied headings Bunyan years later remembered 
with perfect clearness. As he was going home after the 
sermon the two words, My Love, came into his thoughts, and 
" I said thus in my heart, What shall I get by thinking on these 
two words f " Whereupon " the words began thus to kindle in 
my spirit, Thou art my Love, thou art my Love, twenty times 
together, and still as they ran thus in my mind, they waxed 
stronger and warmer, and began to make me look up. But 
being as yet between hope and fear, I replied in my heart, 
But is it true ? At which that Sentence fell in upon me, He 
ivist not that it was true which was done by the angel. Then I 
began to give place to the Word, which with power did over 
and over make this joyful sound within my soul, Thou art my 
Love, thou art my Love ; and nothing shall separate me from my 
Love ; and with that Romans eight, thirty-nine, came into my 
mind. Now was my heart full of comfort and hope, . . . yea, 
I was now so taken with the love and mercy of God that I 
could not tell how to contain till I got Home." But this 
mood of course proved to be unstable, and Bunyan soon " lost 
much of the life and savour of it." 

" About a Week or a Fortnight after this," continues Bun- 
yan, " I was much followed by this Scripture, Simon, Simon, 
Satan hath desired to have you. And sometimes it would sound 
so loud within me, yea, and as it were call so strongly after 
me, that once above all the rest, I turned my head over my 
shoulder, thinking verily that some Man had, behind me, 
called to me ; being at a great distance, methought he called 
so loud." This pseudo-hallucination of hearing, secondary, be 
it noted, to the now frequent and insistent automatic motor 
process of internal speech, whereby Bunyan obviously found 
such texts forced upon his attention, concluded this special 
episode, and this particular text, as he expressly tells us, came 
no more. Hallucinations of hearing form no part of this case 
in any but this secondary, transient, and ' borderland' form 
a fact, of course, which has to be clearly borne in mind in 


estimating the phenomena. Later reflection, of a sort per- 
fectly normal upon Bunyan's presuppositions, convinced him 
afterwards that this visitation was a heavenly warning that a 
4 cloud and a storm was coming down ' upon him ; but at the 
time he ' understood it not.' The minuteness of the account 
hereabouts is evidence both of the depth of the experiences, 
and of the remarkable intactness of Bunyan's memory amidst 
all this condition of irritable nervous instability of mood on 
the one hand, and of morbidly persistent brooding on the 


But now for the culmination of the disorder, a culmina- 
tion which appeared in three successive and intensly interest- 
ing periods or stages, each one of which Bunyan narrates to 
us with extraordinary skill and vigor. 

" About the space of a month after," he continues, " a very 
great storm came down upon me, which handled me twenty 
times worse than all I had met with before." Of this * storm * 
the primary element, as we should now say, was a melancholic 
mood, of a depth and origin to him unaccountable. Former 
moods had been largely secondary, as would appear, to his 
doubts, although primary states of depression had also played 
their part. But this time the insistent impulses appeared as 
obviously quite secondary to the mood. The latter " came 
stealing upon me, now by one piece, then by another ; first all 
my comfort was taken from me, then darkness seized upon 
me, after which " (the order is noteworthy) " whole floods of 
blasphemies, both against God, Christ, and the Scriptures, 
were poured upon my spirit, to my great confusion and 
astonishment. These blasphemous thoughts were such as also 
stirred up questions in me, against the very Being of God, 
and of his only beloved Son ; as, whether there were, in truth, 
a God, or Christ, or no? And. whether the holy Scriptures 
were not rather a fable, and cunning story, than the holy and 
pure Word of God? The tempter would also much assault 
me with this : How can you tell but that the Turks had as good 
Scriptures to prove their Mahomet the Saviour as we have to prove 


our Jesus is? And could I think that so many ten thousands in so 
many Countries and Kingdoms, should be without the knowledge of 
the right way to Heaven (if indeed there were a heaven], arid that 
we only who live in a corner of the Earth should alone be blessed 
therewith. Every one doth think his own religion rightest, both 
Jews and Moors and Pagans ! And how if all our Faith, and 
Christ, and Scriptures should be but a Think-so too ? " 

Bunyan of course sought to argue with these doubts, but 
this expert in the dialectics of the inner life now very naturally 
found all the weapons in the enemy's hands. He would try 
using the ' sentences of blessed Paul ' against the ' tempter.' 
But alas ! it was Paul who had taught both Bunyan and the 
' tempter ' how to argue with subtlety, and now the reply at 
once came, in interrogative form : How if Paul too were a 
cunning deceiver, who had taken 'pains and travail to undo 
and destroy his fellows ' ? Bunyan's only remaining comfort 
was at this point the usual one of the patients afflicted with 
such harassing enemies. He was aware, namely, that he 
hated his own doubts, and was so, in a way, better than they. 
But, as he expressively words it : " This consideration I then 
only had when God gave me leave to swallow my Spittle ; 
otherwise the noise and strength and force of these tempta- 
tions would drown and overflow and as it were bury all such 
thoughts." Meanwhile insistent motor impulses of a still 
more specific sort occurred. Bunyan frequently felt himself 
tempted ' to curse and swear, or speak some grievous thing 
against God.' He compares his state to that of a child whom 
a gipsy is stealing and carrying away, 'under her apron,' 
* from friend and country.' " Kick sometimes I did, and also 
shriek and cry ; but yet I was bound in the wings of the temp- 
tation, and the wind would carry me away." Nor were the 
fears of hopeless insanity, so common in such patients, absent 
from Bunyan's mind, so far as his knowledge permitted him 
to formulate them. " I thought also of Saul, and of the evil 
spirit that did possess him ; and did greatly fear that my con- 
dition was the same with that of his." The sin against the 
Holy Ghost was of course suggested to Bunyan's mind amongst 
other possible crimes, and it seemed at once, of course, as if he 
' could not, must not, neither should be quiet ' until he had 


committed that. "Now, no sin would serve but that; if it 
were to be committed by speaking of such a word, then I have 
been as if my Mouth would have spoken that word, whether 
I would or no ; and in so strong a measure was this temptation 
upon me, that often I have been ready to clasp my hand under 
my Chin, to hold my Mouth from opening ; and to that end 
also I have had thoughts at other times, to leap downward 
into some muck-hill hole or other to keep my mouth from 

But to follow further this chaos of motor processes is, for 
our purposes, hardly necessary. A system there indeed was 
amidst the chaos, but this system is now manifest enough. 
Suffice it that the whole race had now to be run. At prayer 
Bunyan was tempted to blaspheme, or the 'tempter' moved 
him with the thought, Fall down and worship me. At the sacra- 
ments of the church, which, although not yet a member of the 
church, he attended as spectator, in hope of comfort, he was 
also ' distressed with blasphemies.' There were still no true 
hallucinations, but " sometimes I have thoughts I should see 
the devil, nay, thought I have felt him, behind me, pluck my 
Clothes." As to mood, Bunyan was now usually ' hard of 
heart.' " If I would have given thousands of pounds for a 
Tear, I could not shed one ; no, nor sometimes scarce desire 
to shed one." Others 'could mourn and lament their sin.' 
But he was, as he saw, alone among men, in this hardness of 
heart, as in the rest of his troubles. The unclean thoughts 
and blasphemies aforesaid were likely, as is obvious, to appear 
as reflexes, of an inhibitory type and meaning interestingly 
analogous to his earlier conscientious scruples themselves. 
For these blasphemies were excited by and opposed to any 
pious activity, precisely as the old conscientious fears had 
been excited by and inhibitory of any activity which his 
natural heart had most loved. Hearing or reading the Word 
would be sure, for instance, to bring to pass the blasphemous 
temptations. The * tempter ' was a sort of inverted con- 
science, busily insisting upon whatever was opposed to the 
pious intention. Meanwhile Bunyan of course complains of 
that general confusion of head of which all such sufferers are 
likely to speak. When he was reading, " sometimes my mind 


would be so strangely snatched away and possessed with 
other things, that I have neither known, nor regarded, nor 
remembered so much as that sentence that but now I have 
read." This ' distraction ' was often at prayer-time associated 
with insistent inner visual images, as of a ' Bull, a Besom, or 
the like/ to which Bunyan was tempted to pray. 

Bunyan attributes to this condition an endurance of about 
a year. Detailed and obviously trustworthy as his psycho- 
logical memory is, his chronology seems to suffer, very natu- 
rally, with a tendency to lengthen in memory the successive 
stages of his affliction. One can hardly find room, in the 
known period occupied by the entire experience, for such 
lengthy separate stages as the writer assumes. The present, 
or first culminating period of the malady, finally passed off 
by a gradual decline of the insistent symptoms, a decline 
assisted, as would appear, by a controversial interest which 
Bunyan was just then led to take in the ' errors of the 
Quakers/ to whose condemnation he devotes a paragragh of 
his text, hereabouts, in his Autobiography. The objective 
turn which such controversial thoughts gave his mind was 
used, as he himself feels, by the Lord, to 'confirm' him. 

One would suppose that the foregoing story, written with 
the most moving pathos by Bunyan, ought of itself to be 
a sufficiently obvious confession, even to readers of com- 
paratively little psychological knowledge. The long-trained 
habits of verbal and emotional association which are exempli- 
fied in these repeated experiences with the remembered pas- 
sages of Scripture, the systematized attitudes of conscientious 
fear and inhibition which date back to the beginning of our 
author's conversion, the obvious essential identity between 
all these mental habits, and those which Bunyan's ' tempter/ 
his inverted conscience, equally fear-compelling, equally in- 
hibitory of his present ardent desires, represented, whenever 
this ' tempter' disturbed him at prayer, even as his conscience 
had in former days learned to disturb him at bell-ringing, all 
these phenomena give us a most instructive object-lesson 
concerning the familiar processes by which the human brain, 
whether in health or in disorder, gets moulded. The emo- 
tional instability that lies at the basis of this particular morbid 


process, an instability without which, of course, just these 
habits could never have become such formidable enemies, is 
perfectly clear before us. Of the precise physical basis of 
this instability we can indeed only form conjectures ; but we 
know that this was an extremely sensitive brain, and that the 
childhood dreams and terrors had been of a type such as to 
furnish obvious warnings that this mind needed especial care. 
We know too that such care was in so far lacking, as this still 
very young man had now to suffer the anxieties of providing 
for his family at a moment when his troubles about his soul 
were intense, and when his poverty was great. Meanwhile, 
one aspect of the symptoms, which we have already noticed, 
is as obvious as it has been, in the past, neglected by Bunyan's 
readers. This man, a born genius as to his whole range of 
language-functions, had been from the start a ready speaker, 
had developed in boyhood an abounding wealth of skilfully 
bad language, and had then, in terror-stricken repentance, 
suddenly devoted himself for many months to a merciless 
inhibition of every doubtful word. We observe now that 
insistent motor speech-functions were the most marked and 
distressing of his mental enemies, and that both the tempter, 
and that comforter whose strangely suggested Scripture pas- 
sages occasionally consoled Bunyan's heart, tended to speak, 
' as it were,' within the suffering soul. When one considers, 
still further, the careful way in which, by his own description, 
Bunyan excludes from his case all hallucinatory elements 
except the few pseudo-hallucinations, how can one doubt the 
type of patient with whom one has to deal ? Memory, as one 
sees, is remarkably intact. Any tendency to pathological 
delusion is obviously lacking ; for that Bunyan is beset by the 
'tempter' is for him a mere statement of the obvious facts in. 
the light of his accepted faith, and is, from his point of view, a 
strictly normal and inevitable hypothesis, which he never in 
any morbid fashion misuses. For the rest, he retains through- 
out as clearly critical an attitude towards his case as the situa- 
tion in any wise permits ; otherwise we should never have 
come to get this beautiful confession. 

And yet, as said, the biographers have repeatedly missed 
nearly all these psychological aspects of the case, and that, 


too, whatever their theory of the poet's experiences. Some, 
as pointed out, have endeavored to conceive all this as merely 
the deep religious experience of an untutored genius. Re- 
ligious experience it indeed was; nor does its deep human 
interest suffer from our recognition of its pathological char- 
acter. Genius there also, indeed, is in every word of the 
written story. But the specific sequence of the symptoms 
thus recorded, and the striking parallel with such modern 
cases as that of Dr. Cowles's patient (who was surely no 
genius, and whose morbid conscience busied itself with far 
more earthly matters than the religious issues central in 
Bunyan's mind) these things forbid us to doubt that the 
phenomena are characteristic of a pretty typical morbid 
process, which has certainly gone on in very many less 
exalted brains than was that of Bunyan. Other biographers 
have spoken, as Macaulay did, of ' fearful disorder,' but have 
had no sense of the clear difference between an hallucinatory 
delirium, which could only develop either in a very deeply 
intoxicated or exhausted, or else in a hopelessly wrecked 
brain, and a disorder such as this of Bunyan's, which could 
get thus dramatically systematized only in a sensitive but 
nevertheless extremely tough and highly organized brain, 
whose general functions were still largely intact. So sym- 
pathetic an observer as Froude, on the other hand, almost 
wholly ignoring the pathological aspect of the case, can 
actually suppose that Bunyan's * doubts and misgivings ' were 
4 suggested by a desire for truth ' ; because, forsooth, from the 
point of view of a nineteenth-century thinker : " No honest 
soul can look out upon the world, and see it as it really is, 
without the question rising in him whether there be any 
God that governs it all." Froude imagines, therefore, that 
Bunyan later went no further in doubt largely because 
* critical investigation had not yet analyzed the historical 
construction of the sacred books.' But surely thus to argue 
is wholly to miss what it is that makes a given sort of ques- 
tioning, or of other impulse, normal or morbid, for a given 
man, and under given circumstances. And here is perhaps 
the place to define more precisely this very matter in our 
-own way. 


Morbidly insistent impulses, of whatever sort, are, oddly 
enough, never morbid merely because they insist. For all 
our most normal impulses are, or may become, insistent. One 
has a constantly insistent impulse to breathe, a frequently 
insistent impulse to eat ; and one's life depends upon just such 
insistences. Insistent desires keep us in love with our work, 
take us daily about our duties, guide our steps back to our 
homes, seat us in our chairs to rest, are with us, in their due 
order, from morning to night, whether we bathe, dress, walk, 
speak, write, or go to bed. To run counter to such normally 
insistent impulses pains, and may in extreme cases very greatly 
distress, or even in the end quite demoralize us. Insistence 
of will-functions is, then, so far, a sign of health, and means 
only the kindly might of sound habit. An * imperative im- 
pulse ' of the morbid sort is therefore, in the first place, one 
that, under the circumstances, opposes instead of helping 
our normal process of ' adjustment to our environment.' But 
herewith we have still only defined, so far, that element of 
the morbid impulse which the latter shares in common with 
all defective mental processes. The peculiar differentia, how- 
ever, of all the various forms of morbidly insistent thoughts, 
fears, temptations, etc., is that their tendency to bring one out 
of ' harmony with his environment ' is subjectively expressed, 
for the sufferer himself, in the form of a sense that the fear, 
thought, or other impulse in question is opposed to his fitting 
relation to his environment as he himself conceives that relation. 
The hallucination or the delusion gives one a pathologically 
falsified environment, and then one's adjustment objectively 
fails, because one knows not rightly the truth to which one 
ought to be adjusted. Confusedness, or mere incoherence 
of ideas and impulses, or other such general alteration of 
consciousness, equally means failure, but here also without 
any completer subjective sense of what one's failure objec- 
tively involves. But the sufferer from morbidly insistent 
impulses, whether or no he conceives his environment rightly, 
still knows how he conceives it, and has his general plans 
of thought and will ; but he himself, meanwhile, finds, within 
himself, * in his members,' * another law warring against the 
law ' which he has accepted as his own. Without pretty deft- 


nite plans, then, there can be no morbidly insistent impulses. 
Failure, or strong tendency to failure, in the adjustment, as 
conceived and planned by the sufferer himself, such failure 
being due to this inner conflict, this it is alone that makes us 
speak of m6rbidly insistent impulses. 

But not even thus do we define all that it is necessary 
to bear in mind in judging such cases. Impulses, feelings, 
thoughts, more or less inimical to our deliberate plans, are 
constantly, if but faintly, suggested to us, by our normal 
overwealth of perceptions and of associations. Without such 
overwealth of offered perceptions and associations, we should 
not have sufficient material for mental selection ; yet such 
overwealth is necessarily full of solicitations, tempting us, 
with greater or less clearness, to abandon or to interrupt our 
chosen plans of action. Nor is there any fixed limit to the 
range of those ' imaginations as one would,' that, as Hobbes 
already pointed out, may at any moment be initiated in 
a man's inner life by chance experience and association. 
Therefore, mere opposition between our chance impulses and 
our plans is a perfectly normal experience. 

Normal impulses then are insistent. And normal trains 
of impulse, or plans of conduct, are constantly besieged by 
the faint but more or less inimical distractions of normal 
experience. When, then, is any single impulse, as such, 
abnormal? When it insists? No, for breathing is an insist- 
ent impulse. When it opposes the current trains of coherent 
thought or volition ? No, for every momentary inner or 
outer distraction tends to do that; and there is hardly any 
known impulse or thought or feeling of which a normal 
man may not at almost any moment be reminded, through 
the chances of perception and of association. What then 
is the subjective test of the abnormal in impulse? One 
can only find it in this: Association chances to suggest any 
impulse inimical to one's actually chosen plans for 'adjust- 
ment to the environment.' So far there is no essential 
defect. This happens to anybody. But normally the co- 
herence of one's series of healthily insistent or of voluntary 
impulses is so great, or the strength of the intruder soon 
becomes, under the influence of the opposed ruling interests, 


so faint, that this intruder is erelong sent below the level 
of consciousness, or harmlessly ' segmented,' and that with 
an ease and a speed proportioned to the incongruity and to 
the felt inconvenience of this enemy itself. But, in the 
abnormal cases, things go otherwise. Perhaps the intruding 
impulse is not a chance one, but is itself part of a previously 
established system of inhibitory habits. Or perhaps it is 
supported by numerous now partly or wholly unconscious 
motives, say by masses of internal bodily sensations (as in 
case of pathological fears or of certain physical temptations 
of abnormal vigor). In all such cases it may prove too 
strong to be controlled. Or again, the general condition of 
the sufferer is one of irritable weakness. The sustained 
coherence of normal functions is then already impaired by 
nervous exhaustion ; the main trains of association hang 
weakly together; their general power of resistance, so to 
speak, is lowered. The intruding impulse, on the contrary, 
is then the mental aspect of a suggested nervous excitement 
that, beginning at one point, quickly spreads to others, and 
for the time takes possession of the functions of this unstable 
brain. And now, in any of these cases, we have a failure 
to resist the intruder, a failure which the sufferer himself 
bitterly feels. Objectively the failing adjustment appears as 
hesitation, or as useless repetition of acts, or as unaccount- 
able impulsive ' queerness ' of conduct, or even as helpless 
inactivity, with various quasi-melancholic symptoms, silence, 
hiding, self-reproach, lamentation. Within, the sufferer, who, 
to suffer decidedly from this sort of malady must be a person 
of highly organized plans and of self-observant intelligence, 
feels a prodigious struggle going on. All seems to him 
activity, warfare, self-division, tumult. 

In judging of such a case, one must therefore carefully 
avoid being deceived either by the imperativeness or by the 
quaintness of the particular impulses involved. All depends 
upon their relations in a man's mental life. The intense 
interests of the inventor, of the man of science, of the rapt 
public speaker, are not necessarily at all analogous to the 
* obsessions ' of the sufferer from insistent impulses, although 
the former are, like breathing, imperative. Nor are the 


merrily absurd impulses of a gay party of young people at 
a picnic abnormal, merely because they are for the time 
incoherent, and are thus opposed to serious thought and 
conduct. No, it is the union of a tendency towards inco- 
herence in feeling and conduct, with an imperative resist- 
ance to the actual and conscious plans, whereby the sufferer 
deliberately intends to be in some chosen fashion coherent, it 
is this union of incongruity with insistence that constitutes the 
subjective note of the morbidly insistent impulse. 

These are commonplace considerations. I should not 
introduce them here, were not the literature of this whole 
topic so often affected by confusions of conception. In the 
light of such obvious considerations, Froude's refusal to see 
the abnormity of Bunyan's insistent questions or ' blasphemies ' 
as to the being of God, and the like, becomes sufficiently 
insignificant as affecting our present judgment. Any man 
may by chance, in his mind, come momentarily to question 
anything. That is so far a matter of passing association, and 
involves nothing suspicious. A modern or, for that matter, an 
ancient thinker may moreover persistently question God's 
existence. If the thinker is a philosopher, or other theoretical 
inquirer, such doubts may form part of his general plans, and 
may so be as healthy in character as any other forms of in- 
tellectual considerateness. But if a man's whole inner life, 
in so far as it is coherent, is built upon a system of plans and 
of faiths which involve as part of themselves the steadfast 
principle that to doubt God's existence is horrible blasphemy, 
and if, nevertheless, after a fearful fit of darkness, such a man 
finds, amidst ' whole floods ' of other * blasphemies,' doubts 
about God not only suddenly forced upon him, but persistent 
despite his horror and his struggles, then it is vain for a 
trained sceptic of another age to pretend an enlightened 
sympathy, and to say to this agonized nervous patient: 
'Doubt? Why, I have doubted God's existence too.' The 
ducklings can safely swim, but that does not make their 
conduct more congruous with the plans and the feelings 
of the hen. The professional doubters may normally doubt* 
But that does not make doubt less a malady in those who 
suffer from it, and strive, and cry out, but cannot get free. 


This observation, that the symptomatic value of these 
insistent impulses lies solely in the relation between the 
impulses themselves and the organized mental life, the plans, 
insight, and chosen habits of the patient, reminds us also 
in this case that Bunyan's experiences clearly indicate the 
essential psychological equivalence of several of the various 
sorts of manias and phobias which some authors, imagining 
that the content rather than the relations of the impulses con- 
cerned is important, have so needlessly chosen to distinguish. 
Bunyan was tempted to doubt, fear, question, blaspheme, 
curse, swear, pray to the devil, or to do whatever else con- 
scientious inhibition and irritably weak speech functions had 
prepared him to find peculiarly fascinating and horrible. 
There was no importance in the mere variety of the wicked 
ideas that the one ' tempter ' suggested. The evil lay in the 
systematized character of the morbid habits involved, and in 
the exhausting multitude of the tempter's assaults. 

(To be concluded.} 


University of Wisconsin. 

The application of statistics to the study of mental phenom- 
ena promises to supply the data for new and suggestive gene- 
ralizations, as well as to corroborate, often in an unexpected 
manner, the laws of mind derived from off-hand observation. 
The census and newspaper statistics on matters large and 
small have familiarized us with the notion that facts which 
separately may have but little importance, when considered in 
groups give rise to significant truths. In the hope of contrib- 
uting to our knowledge of the nature and regularity of such 
mental processes, I have upon various occasions requested a 
class of students to serve as the subjects of experiment.* In 
the test here to be described a word was written upon the 
blackboard and, by the withdrawal of a screen, was shown to 
the whole class at the same moment ; each student thereupon 
wrote as rapidly as possible the five words first suggested to Jiim 
by the word upon the board. In this way five associations 
were obtained from each student to each of the following ten 
words : book, man, tree, cat, hand, hat, bread, pen, write, blue. By 
counting separately for each of the five associations how often 
different students have written the same word we may deter- 
mine the degree of similarity of their associations, and further 
how this community of ideas varies as the associations recede 
from their common starting-point. The result of this enumer- 
ation appears in the following table. 

This table is based upon 69 f lists of words, theoretically 

* One of these tests is described in A Study in Mental Statistics (New 
Review, December 1891) and another in A Statistical Study of Memory and 
Association (Educational Review, December 1891). 

f This number is too small to establish beyond the influence of chance detailed 
conclusions ; the conclusions most firmly established and thoee simply suggested 
or made probable are indicated as they occur. 










Number of different words . . . 
Percentage of " 





80. 1 



Number of * unique ' words. . . 
Percentage of " "... 








Total number of words 







" w j 




















Curves showing the relation of the community of ideas to the 'distance' in 
-associated words from the original suggesting word. I, II, III, IV, V, represent 
the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth association to a given word ; the vertical 
distances to the intersections of the heavy curve with these lines when measured 
from below represent the percentages of 'different words, when maesured from 
above, the percentages of same words in the entire list of first, second, third, 
fourth, and fifth associated words respectively. The lighter curve represents the 
same relations for the percentages of words occurring but once in the same position 
on the entire lists. The short marks to the left represent the mean values of each 


of 50 words each, but actually containing in all 3262 words. 
In the first line of the table appear the number of different 
words written as the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth 
associations respectively, with their sum total ; in the second 
line these numbers are expressed in percentages of the total 
number of words written, which in turn are given in the low- 
est line of the table. A second indication of the community 
of ideas may be obtained from the proportion of associations 
written by but one person of the entire 69; these once-occur- 
ring or * unique ' words are tabulated in precisely the same 
way as the number of different words and appear in the third 
and fourth lines of the table. 

The significance of these numbers appears most clearly in 
a graphic presentation ; we see at a glance how regularly the 
proportion of different words, as also of unique or once-used words, 
increases as the associations proceed. There is most community 
of ideas amongst the first associations to a given word, dis- 
tinctly less community amongst the second associations, and 
progressively less, on to the fifth. The greatest difference is 
between the first and second associations, the differences 
decreasing with successive associations. The complete paral- 
lelism between the proportions of different and of unique 
words is also striking. The divergence of mental paths from 
a common centre, the appearance of individuality and disap- 
pearance of community of ideas, are thus clearly exhibited ; 
and the result is important as well for its psychological bear- 
ings as for its testimony to the value of the statistical method 
in psychological investigations.* 

It is always interesting to compare the mental processes of 
men and women. Former investigations have indicated that 

* These results invite comparison with those of the former study ; the percent- 
age of different words for the first associated words is here 46.2 ; in the former 
study 34.4 ; of 'unique' words 33.4 and in the former study 20.0, the number of 
lists being the same in the two cases. This would indicate a greater amount of 
individuality in the contributors to this than in those to the former study. As 
above recorded, the same association occurring in two different positions is counted 
as two ; if counted as one only, that is, irrespective of position, the percentage of 
different words becomes 45.7, and of 'unique ' words 31.3 ; a comparison of these 
with the former averages, 69.8^ and 55-2#, indicates that 24. ig of all the words 
recur in different positions and that 23.9^ of words occur but once in one position, 
but again in other positions. 



in unrestricted and extended series of associations such as the 
writing of the first one hundred words thought of, women 
repeat one another's ideas more frequently (in one result 
about 25$ more frequently) than men. When the suggesting 
word was supplied no noteworthy difference between the 
sexes appeared, regarding the community of ideas amongst 
the first suggested words. In the present study two entirely 
different groups of nineteen men were selected by chance for 
comparison with the nineteen women who took part in the 
test. The result of the comparison appears in the accompany- 
ing table. 








7O A. 

85 8 

87 A. 

02 i 

06 c 

86 2 

Percentage of } Men:GroupA 
different words \ Men . Grou 








y u o 


AO 1 

C-j n 

c6 7 

72 C 

77 8 

CQ 6 

Percentage of M C G A 
umque words ( M en: Group B 

*f w 'O 




60. 1 
5 6 -4 


/ /" 

DV' U 

It will be seen that in all but the third word and in both 
the proportion of different and of ' unique ' words there is less 
community of associations amongst the women. This result, 
however, is based upon too limited data to be accepted as 
final, and there are indications that the associations of these 
nineteen women have unusually little in common. 

With regard to the difference in tendency amongst the ten 
words to suggest the same associations, it appears, as a result 
of various modes of measuring them, that blue, cat, and pen are 
most apt to suggest the same words to different persons, hand, 
book, and man least apt to do so, while tree, hat, write, and bread 
present an average tendency in this respect. 

The most frequent associations with the number of their 
occurrences without regard to place are : pen ink, 43 ; hand 
finger, 31 ; blue sky, 30; tree leaf, 29; blue green, 28 ; cat dog, 
28 ; pen paper, 27 ; bread butter, 27 ; blue red, 27 ; man 
woman, 26 ; cat mouse, 25 ; pen write, 24 ; write pen, 24. 

It remains to investigate the nature of the associations. 

1 5 6 


For this purpose a classification followed in a former study 
and suggested by an analysis of the associations themselves 
may be adopted. (I) Whole to Part, or General to Special, 
such as tree leaf 'or tree oak ; (II) Part to Whole, or Special 
to General, as hand arm, blue color ; (III) Object to Activity, 
as pen write ; (IV) Activity to Object, as write pen; (V) 
Object to Quality, as tree green; (VI) Quality to Object, as 
blue sky ; (VII) by Natural Kind or one object suggesting 
another of the same class, as cat dog, both being names of 
animals, as bread suggests other articles of food, blue other 
colors, and the like; (VIII) by Similarity of Sound, as man 
can, write height ; (IX) Miscellaneous, including all that 
are ambiguous or not readily classified. 

The distribution of the associations amongst the nine types 
appears in the table ; the percentages of each kind of associa- 
tion both in general and for each position separately are 
likewise given. 














tr . 2 

14 Q 

3. ? 

2 A . A 


16 7 

J. J . V 

*^ . y 


* w y 

** / 

ist assoc. . . 






2 -5 




2d assoc 










3d assoc .... 


2. I 







J 7-5 

4th assoc . . . 










5th assoc. . . 






3- 2 




The types of associations found to be prominent in the 
former study are also prominent in this; the most frequent 
associations are those by Natural Kind, while those from 
Whole to Part and from Object to Quality are also prominent. 
Associations in one direction may be more frequent than in 
the reverse direction Whole to Part more frequent than 
Part to Whole, and the like. 

In the change in distribution of the associations in the 
several positions, it is possible to distinguish certain significant 


tendencies ; more extended data would be necessary to estab- 
lish completely the relations involved. The two most regular 
and prominent changes are the decrease of associations by 
Natural Kind, and the increase of Miscellaneous associations 
as the associations proceed ; the one decreases by regular steps 
from 34.3$ to 16.7$, and the other increases from 8.5$ to 26.3$ 
of all the associations. Associations by Natural Kind are 
simple, while those termed Miscellaneous are thus indicated 
as variable and unusual ; it appears then that the simple 
associations are exhausted before the more remote ones are 
thought of. This conclusion reinforces from a new point of 
view the result formulated in the general curve ; the per- 
centage of common words decreases at the same time that the 
nature of association varies ; it is a variation of types of asso- 
ciation as ivell as of words. Furthermore, by calculating the 
proportion of different as also of * unique ' words among the 
associations by Natural Kind without regard to position, we 
find only 25.6$ and 10.5$, as against 45. 7# and 31.3$ for all 
associations in general certainly a marked contrast. 

The next table furnishes the data for comparing the dis- 
tribution of the various kinds of association among men and 
women ; it is formed just as was the former table, but the 
smallness of the numbers emphasizes the necessity of great 
caution in drawing deductions. Masculine preferences appear 
to be for associations by Sound, from Whole to Part, from 
Object to Activity from Activity to Object, and also for those 
by Natural Kind. Feminine preferences are for associations 
from Part to Whole, from Object to Quality, Quality to 
Object, and Miscellaneous. These differences are in general 
in accord with those formerly established and may be brought 
into relation with recognized differences in the mental pro- 
cesses of men and women. 

A word should be added regarding the method of classify- 
ing and counting these associations. Inasmuch as no restric- 
tions were imposed upon the words to be written it was left 
open whether the five words should all be associated with the 
original word, or the second word be suggested by the first, 
the third by the second, and so on, with little or no thought of 
the original word. After due consideration the former plan 

















5- 2 






2O. 2 


























n. i 

















21 .2 







10. I 







5- 1 

2O. I 

10. I 














I8. 7 




was adopted as following more closely than the other the 
natural order of thought. A large majority of associations are 
either clearly associated with the original word, or are capable 
of either interpretation ; the thought rarely wandering en- 
tirely or far away from the original word. It is estimated 
that in not more than five per cent of the words is the associa- 
tion clearly with the preceding and not with the original 
word. Typical instances of such associations are : Bread, cow, 
milk, pitcher, crockery ; Write, letter, home, brother, vacation, 
school ; Cat, mouse, trap, cheese, poison, death. With more than 
five associations to each word it would undoubtedly be 
necessary to recognize more completely this difference in the 
nature of the associations, whether serial like the links of a 
chain, or radiating like the spokes of a wheel. 






Columbia College, New York. 

Our object was to determine the conditions which affect 
the length of reaction-times on dermal stimuli, and to study the 
application of the reaction-time to the measurement of the 
velocity of the nervous impulse in motor and sensory nerves, 
and in the motor and sensory tracts of the spinal cord. 

Sec. i. Apparatus and Methods. In order to measure a 
reaction-time at least three instruments are required one to 
give the stimulus and record the instant at which it is given, 
one to record the instant at which a movement is made, and 
one to measure the intervening time. We used the Hipp 
electric chronoscope for measuring the time, having made 
several improvements in its construction and regulation. 
With our apparatus we could measure the time of a reac- 
tion with a variable error of about I<T (i.e. one thousandth of 
a sec.), and a constant error of about the same size. The 
variable error is practically eliminated in the average of 100 
measurements, and the constant error is practically eliminated 
when a difference is taken. We used various methods to 
apply an electric shock or a blow to the skin. In the case 
of a blow we were able to measure exactly its force. The 
greater part of the apparatus was secured through an ap- 
propriation from the Bache Fund, and is the property ot 
the National Academy of Sciences. 

* Abstract of a paper presented before the meeting of the National Academy 01 
Sciences, Albany, 1893. The paper with description of apparatus, tabulated results, 
and historical references will be printed in the Memoirs of the Academy. 



We made 10 reactions in a series and 10 series in a set, 
each time given in the Tables being the average of 100 
reactions. We give the mean variation of the separate reac- 
tions and of the separate series and probable errors when 
it seems needful. The mean variation of the separate reac- 
tions is on the average about IOCT, and the probable error of the 
figures given in the Tables would be about ICT. Although 
we omitted no measurements in calculating the averages, 
the probable errors are much smaller than in previous in- 
vestigations on reaction-times. In some cases we made 10 
reactions in succession at intervals of 2 sec., and only meas- 
ured the resultant time. By this method more reactions can 
be made in a given time, but the probable error of the single 
reactions is not known. 

The experiments were begun in 1889 m tne psychological 
laboratory of the University of Pennsylvania and completed 
in 1893 at Columbia College. The experiments were made 
by D and C (the writers) and J, all of whom were used to 
scientific work. 

Sec. 2. Reactions on Electrical Stimuli. An electric shock 
can be applied conveniently to different parts of the body. 
The shock may be made as strong as desired and the moment 
of its occurrence registered. We used electrodes of various 
sorts. The method we found best was to apply one electrode 
(usually a platinum surface 10 mm in diameter) to the points 
on the skin which we wished to stimulate, while the other 
electrode was conducted to a pail of saturated salt water in 
which the left foot was placed. The stimulus was given 10 
times in succession at the same point, and then immediately 
switched to another point without shifting the electrodes 
The shock was usually given on the left-hand side of the 
body, the reaction being made with the right hand or foot. 

The sensory effects of electrical stimulation of the skin 
have not been properly investigated, and this is the more 
curious as the effects on the organs of sight, hearing, taste, 
and smell have been thoroughly studied. With a galvanic 
current from 28 cells in pairs we found a decided difference 
in sensation according to the pole with which the electrode 
was connected. Thus when the positive pole was applied 


to the outside of the upper lip (the other pole being con- 
ducted to the foot) there was a prickling sensation, a strong 
taste and a flash of light, the prickling and taste continued 
while the current was closed and there was a flash of light 
on breaking. When the negative pole was applied to the 
same point there was a slight shock and flash of light and 
no taste, but sensations of piercing and boring followed which 
were unendurably painful. The current caused tetanus of the 
muscle and left blisters. This experiment shows that the cur- 
rent from the negative pole was more intense and from the 
positive pole more diffused (extending with much energy to 
the organs of taste and sight), which indicates that the cur- 
rent passes through the body from negative to positive pole. 

We used in our experiments the momentary shock follow- 
ing breaking of the primary circuit. The same objective 
current does not give a shock of the same subjective quality 
and intensity when applied to different parts of the body. 
The sensation is more piercing when the electrode is applied 
close to the nerve, and more massive (as from a blow) when 
there is muscle intervening. The sensation of a shock from 8 
cells on the upper arm might be as intense as that from 28 
cells on the wrist. The shock from the same current also 
varied with the pressure of the electrode and especially with 
the moisture of the skin. Further as the experiments pro- 
ceeded the part of the skin to which the shock was applied 
became continually more sensitive. The shock is more 
piercing from a small electrode and more massive from ai 
large electrode. 

We have made so many experiments (more than twenty, 
four thousand reactions) and with such numerous variations in 
the place of applying the stimulus, and in the nature of the 
stimulus and of the movement, that we fear an abstract of our 
results will be somewhat confusing. The details could only be 
properly understood from the Tables, and a study of these 
will only be undertaken by those especially interested in 
research in this direction. 

In our first experiments we chose four points on the skin 
for the application of the stimulus. These were permanently 
fixed by pricking the skin and introducing nitrate of silver. 


Two of the points were on the arm over the median nerve, 
and two on the leg over the posterior tibial nerve. The 
points on the arm were 30 cm apart and those on the leg 
50 cm apart, and the length of intervening nerve would be 
nearly the same. To stimulation of these points 5360 reac- 
tions were made, the movement being made in two thirds of 
the cases with the hand and in one third with the foot. 

The reaction-time was the shortest when the stimulus was 
applied to the upper arm and the movement made with the 
hand. The time was 149.60- for D and 113.10- for C, about \ 
and % sec. respectively. Such a personal difference must be due 
either to differences in the nature of the process or to differ- 
ences in the sensitiveness of the parts of the nervous system 
concerned. The variation from time to time is much greater 
than can be due to chance variations, and the differences must 
measure secular changes in the nervous system. 

When the stimulus was applied to the lower arm or on the 
leg the reaction-time was longer, the excess of time for the 
lower arm being 14.20- for D and 6.90- for C. The lower point 
was 30 cm further from the brain than the upper point, and if 
we could assume the difference in time to be due to the differ- 
ence in length of the nerve travelled we should have a velocity 
of the impulse in the sensory nerve of per sec. for D 
and 49.5 m per sec. for C. The velocity in the sensory fibres 
of the posterior tibial nerve would be per sec. for D 
and 64.9 m per sec. for C. We are not, however, prepared to 
accept these velocities as valid. The differences in the time 
of reaction are undoubtedly correct, the variable error being 
practically eliminated. But the variation of the two ob- 
servers and of the same observer at different times are so 
considerable, that we think these must be attributed to 
differences in the cerebral processes rather than to differ- 
ences in the velocity of the impulse in the sensory nerve. 
The shorter reactions on the upper point might be due to 
other causes than nearness to the brain, such as to greater 

When the shock was applied to the leg in one case, and to 
the arm in the other, the impulse in the former case had in 
addition to travel through the spinal cord from the lumbar to 


the brachial plexus, and the times are considerably longer. 
The differences when the movement was made with the hand 
were 260- for D and 27.10- for C. When, however, the move- 
ment was made with the foot the differences were 18.40- for D 
and 18.70- for C. The excess of distance in the spinal cord 
was the same as before, but the times were about 80- shorter. 
We thus show that when the stimulus is applied to the left leg 
the cerebral reflex is relatively shorter to the right foot, and 
when applied to the left arm is relatively shorter to the right 
hand. The sensory fibres from one part of the body are most 
closely connected with the motor fibres to the same part. 
If we may assume that the cerebral reflex occupied the same 
time in the cases compared we should have a velocity in the 
motor tracts of the spinal cord of about 15 m per sec., and we 
may at least assume that the velocity is not less than this. 

When the movement was made with the foot in one case 
and with the hand in the other, the stimulus being applied to 
the arm, the excess of time with the foot was 37.70- for D and 
54.40- for C. When the stimulus was applied to the leg the 
differences were less (8.50- for D and 9.40- for C). We have 
thus again measured the difference in time of the cerebral 
reflex when the motor impulse proceeds to the part of the 
body from which the sensory impulse arrives and when it 
proceeds to a different part. 

The difference in the time when the reaction is made with 
the hand and foot, respectively, is partly due to the time 
required to traverse the motor tracts of the spinal cord, but it 
may also be due to differences in the cerebral processes. The 
cerebral reflex is undoubtedly less perfect to the foot than to 
the hand. The difference in the case of the two observers is 
almost certainly a difference in the cerebral process. C's 
reaction with the hand is very automatic, with the foot it is 
more nearly like D's. If the whole excess of time in the case 
of D were consumed in traversing the motor tracts of the 
cord between the brachial and lumbar plexus we should have 
a velocity of about 10 m per sec. In so far as we can accept 
these results, the velocity in the sensory tracts of the cord 
would be greater than in the motor tracts, and this could be 


explained by a partial co-ordination of the movement in the 

As the differences found might be due to varying intensity 
of the shock or differences in the cerebral reflex, we made a 
large number of reactions (10,400) with a view to studying 
these factors. After some diverse experiments which will be 
found in our paper, we chose four points on the arm, and in 
some of the experiments used three intensities of shock. Two 
of the points were the same as before, but we chose an addi- 
tional point on the lower arm near the wrist the stimulation 
of which was followed by muscular contractions and a massive 
sensation, and a point on the middle arm the stimulation of 
which was followed by a prickling or piercing sensation. We 
had thus two points on the lower arm close together, the 
stimulation of one giving a strong and massive sensation, the 
stimulation of the other giving a weaker and more prickling 
sensation. On the mid-arm the stimulation was followed by a 
prickling sensation, on the upper arm by a massive sensation. 
As a result of our experiments we found that the time of reac- 
tion was shorter when the intensity of sensation was greater, 
whether the increase in intensity were due to a stronger 
objective shock or to greater physiological effect on different 
points from the same shock. Thus as the final result of 1200 
reactions on each point (made by J and C ), we found the time 
on the lower point giving the massive sensation to be 126.60-, 
and on the upper point giving a similar sensation to be 126.8(7, 
almost exactly the same. We must therefore conclude that 
the time of transmission in the nerve was exactly counterbal- 
anced by a shorter cerebral reflex in the case of the point 
further from the brain. In the case of C the subjective inten- 
sity of the shock was greatest on the upper point and the final 
time was 2.20- shorter on this point. In the case of J the 
subjective sensation was stronger on the lower point and the 
time was 2.40- shorter. These differences are so small that the 
velocity of the impulse was not counterbalanced by any differ- 
ence in intensity in favor of the lower point, but we conclude 
that the cerebral reflex is shorter when the stimulus is applied 
to a point near the hand, the movement being made with the 
hand on the opposite side of the body. The sensory fibres 


from one part of the body are most closely connected with 
the motor fibres to a corresponding part. 

When the same stimulus was applied to two points on the 
arm nearly equidistant from the brain but accompanied by 
different sensations, the reaction-time was 10.20- shorter on the 
point for which the sensation was the stronger. When it was 
applied to the point on the lower arm and to the point on the 
mid-arm giving nearly the same sensation, the times differed 
by only 0.60-. 

When three intensities of shock were used, the time of 
reaction was on the average 19.60- shorter for a very strong 
shock than for a medium shock, and 9.80- shorter for the 
medium shock than for the weak shock. But the physiologi- 
cal intensities of the shocks could not be measured. The 
reaction times were nearly the same for the two observers 
{J, 127.40- and C, 128.30-) when the shock was strong, but were 
longer for C when the shocks were very weak. 

When the size of the electrode was altered the difference 
in the length of the reaction-time seemed due to the intensity 
only. The time was also nearly the same when the shock was 
applied from electrodes 5 cm apart, when the current was 
sent through the limb, and when it was sent through the 
entire body. 

When the attention was directed alternately to the stimu- 
lus and to the movement no difference in reaction-time was 
found for J and C, but D's reaction-time was longer when 
the attention was directed to the movement, he being in the 
habit of attending to the stimulus. When the reaction-time is 
short and regular the amount and direction of the attention 
does not materially affect the time of reaction ; but when the 
process is less reflex, it may be lengthened by an unusual 
direction of attention. 

The reaction-time was shorter (J, 18.90-, C, 14.20-) when the 
shock is applied to the hand with which the movement is 
made than when it is applied to the other hand. This might 
be expected, as the movement is a natural reflex a person 
will without reflection withdraw the hand when it touches a 
hot object. The fact is of interest in connection with the 
results already noticed, which show that the cerebral reflex is 


in general quicker when the sensory fibres stimulated are from 
the same part of the body as that with which the movement is 

The reaction-time is longer when the movement is made 
from the shoulder, and nearly the same when it is made from 
the fore-arm, wrist, or finger. This shows that when the 
movement is made with the foot the delay may be partly 
due to a more difficult co-ordination in the higher centres. 
The reaction-time is longer with the organs of speech than 
with the hand, but it is the same for the right and left hands. 

Sec. 3. Reactions on Touch. In the case of reaction experi- 
ments with dermal stimuli the electric shock has mostly been 
used, as it is easy to apply the shock to different parts of the 
body. We have, however, seen that the physiological effects- 
of the shock vary greatly on different parts of the body, and 
even at the same point they cannot be kept constant. We 
have found that the same objective force of blow is followed 
by the same subjective sensation more nearly than in the 
case of electrical stimulation. On different parts of the body 
the same blow, indeed, calls forth different sensations, the 
sensations being more intense when the part is hard, as over 
a bone. But the difference is not so great as in the case of 
the electric shock, and at the same point the same sensation 
can be given time after time and day after day. The probable 
error is consequently smaller than in the case of the electric 
shock ; indeed, the variable error in our experiments on touch 
is much smaller than in any reaction-time experiments hitherto 

We used various methods for applying a touch or blow, 
but in this abstract we need only describe the method which 
we find best. We allowed a hammer to fall from a fixed 
height, the current controlling the chronoscope being closed 
when the blow was given. The weight of the hammer and 
the height from which it fell could be altered, as also the 
area with which the blow was given. A blow of a given 
force could consequently be given time after time, and the 
force and area of the blow could be varied when desired. 
We made reactions in answer to blows on different parts of 


the body, the hammer weighing 30 g and falling 20 cm. The 
area which gave the blow was circular, i cm across. 

The reaction-time with a blow was about 100- shorter 
than with an electric shock. It was nearly the same for J 
and C, and about 300- longer for D. Thus when the blow 
was given on the arm the reaction-time was (as the result of 
600 experiments with each observer) 113.90- for C and 114.70- 
for J. When the blow was given on the thigh the time was 
148.50- for D and 121.50- for C. 

In some of the experiments we used three intensities of 
stimulus, the hammer weighing 15, 30, or 60 g and falling 
20 cm. The blow from the 60 g weight was nearly painful 
on a hard part of the body, and the blow from 15 g was 
quite strong. There was not much difference in intensity 
of sensation and the decrease in reaction-time was not great. 
As a result of all the experiments (2400) the time was 
decreased 1.30- when the weight was increased from 15 to 30 
g, and was decreased 1.70- when the weight was increased 
from 30 to 60 g. If, as Fechner's law assumes, the intensity 
of a sensation increase as the logarithm of the stimulus, the 
reaction-time would tend to vary inversely as the intensity 
of sensation. 

The shortest reaction-time followed stimulation of the 
finger or cheek in the case of C (105.80- for the finger and 
103.10- for the cheek). The reaction-time on stimulation 
of the finger was thus about 80- shorter than on stimulation of 
the arm. As in the case of electrical stimulation we find 
that the cerebral reflex is shortened when the stimulus is 
applied to the opposite side of the body to a point corre- 
sponding to that with which the movement is made. The 
time was about icr shorter for the toe than for the thigh. 
As the average of two observers, the times for the neck and 
cheek were nearly the same. 

The time was 7.80- shorter when the stimulus was applied 
to the arm than when it was applied to the thigh. If this 
difference be due to the time of transmission from the lumbar 
to the brachial plexus, we should have a velocity of the 
nervous impulse in the sensory tracts of the spinal cord 
of about 40 m per sec. The times on the upper and lower 


arm and on the upper and lower thigh, respectively, were the 
same. In the case of the arm the time for the upper point 
was o.2<r shorter for J and o.6cr longer for C. In the case 
of the thigh the time for the upper point was i.i<r longer 
for D, and o.i<r shorter for C. The difference in the length 
of nerve traversed is not counterbalanced by a difference in 
intensity. Doubling the stimulus shortens the reaction by 
only 1.50", and the differences in sensation were not so great 
on the different points as on the same point when the stimulus 
was doubled. When the stimulus is applied to a point 
further from the brain the time of transmission in the nerve 
seems to be exactly counterbalanced by a shorter cerebral 
time, the sensory fibres from a point nearer the extremities 
discharging more quickly into motor fibres to the extremities. 

We do not think that the velocity in the plain nerve 
can at the present time be determined by differences in the 
reaction-time. But equal difficulties are present when the 
motor nerve is stimulated electrically. It would seem that 
the velocity of the impulse in the nerve can only be measured 
when we are able to record its progress, perhaps by electrical 
or chemical changes. But we hope our work has thrown 
some light on the subject, especially in the case of the motor 
and sensory tracts of the spinal cord. We think, further, 
that a general survey of our experiments indicates a rate in 
the plain nerve much greater than that commonly accepted 
of 30 m per sec. 

We think that the study of the reaction-time is itself im- 
portant both for physiology and psychology. These sciences 
cannot rank co-ordinate with the physical sciences until 
they consist of exact measurements. Experiments on the 
reaction-time have been of use in the analysis of physiological 
and mental processes and in studying the relations of these. 
The reaction-time has also certain practical applications in 
pedagogy and medicine. Thus experiments such as these 
indicate important personal differences, or they may be used 
to locate exactly the place of disease in the nervous system. 



I find myself much indebted to Dr. Sanford for his admirably 
lucid exposition of my color theory, but truthfulness compels me to 
confess that he attributes to me a degree of modesty to which I can 
lay no claim. The way in which I regard my own theory is perhaps 
rather difficult to seize : Dr. Sanford has quite misconceived the mean- 
ing of what I say concerning my attitude towards it. He says : " The 
author's theory, which is regarded, indeed, rather as an indication of 
the direction that such a theory should take than as a developed 
scheme, is," etc. Now I neither regard my theory as an indication of 
the direction that such a theory should take, nor as an undeveloped 
scheme. I do, on the contrary, regard it as (i) a perfectly adequate 
theory, that is, as a theory which actually does that which a theory of 
the phenomena in question is required to do ; but, on account of the 
purely hypothetical character of the conception by which it accom- 
plishes this (partial decomposition is one of the most familiar things 
in chemistry, but we do not know thajt it takes place in the retina), 
there is no reason to suppose that there may not be other conceptions 
possible which would fulfil the requirements equally well. In other 
words, I look upon it as a member of a class of theories, all satisfactory, 
and all, with our present knowledge, unprovable, but of a class which 
at this moment is composed of a single member only. The one great 
requirement of a color-sensation theory and it is an immensely dif- 
ficult one is that it account for the absolutely unique fact in sensation 
that certain sensation-pairs (viz., any two complementary colors) lose 
themselves in a totally different sensation, and that other sensation- 
pairs, undistinguishable from these objectively, do nothing of the sort. 
Helmholtz explains this characteristic of color-vision by ignoring it. 
Hering gives a perfectly adequate explanation of it, but by means of a 
conception which has no parallel among physiological doctrines. My 
conception, 1 find myself obliged to think, is both physiologically 
unobjectionable, and capable of furnishing an easy explanation of the 



critical facts of color-vision.* Of course, I am not saying that a good 
explanation of the most important fact of color-vision is sufficient for a 
theory, but only that it is necessary. The smallest fact discoverable, 
if it were incompatible with a theory, would suffice to overthrow it. 
Now any number of other members of this class of ' adequate ' 
theories may spring up at any moment, but there is no reason to 
suppose that they would be at all similar to my theory, or at all in the 
same direction with it. It is much more likely that they would make 
use of totally different conceptions derived from the phenomena of 
photo-electricity or of polarization of light, or even from something that 
would not be a vera causa at all, and not simply not a vera causa in situ. 

Neither do I regard my theory (2) as an undeveloped scheme. It 
is true that the fictitious process in the retina to which I attribute the 
transformation of light into some sort of nervous excitation is an 
excessively simple one, but on the other hand it is quite sufficiently 
complicated for doing the work which is required of it ; and any 
degree of complexity or development in a purely hypothetical scheme, 
beyond what is absolutely required in order that it may fulfil the func- 
tion demanded of it, has no other effect than to render the theory 
needlessly cumbrous. The carrying out of the work of translating all 
the facts of color-vision into the terms of the theory will, I hope, follow 
in course of time, unless, indeed, it should receive such hard blows as 
to lay it low before that time shall come. 

But the sentence of my reviewer's to which I particularly take 
exception is this. He says : " As the author herself observes, if 
Hillebrand's demonstration of Hering's theories of complementary 
colors stands, it is fatal to her theory, at least in its present form." 
It would, indeed, be fatal to my theory, in any possible form, if Hille- 
brand's supposed proof that white-producing colors are antagonistic, 
and not complementary, were valid. (This is a very different thing, 
by the way, from a proof of Hering's theories ; there may be many 
other antagonistic color theories, and there is one that of Ebbing- 
haus.) Now it is open to my reviewer to say that it is matter of 
doubt whether Hillebrand's proof is valid or not, but to say that I say 
so is again to attribute to me a degree of modesty which I must hasten 
to disclaim. What I did say was, " Were Hillebrand's proof valid," 
etc., and I go on to say that I believe it to be thoroughly fallacious. 
My reviewer may consider that my objections to Hillebrand's argument 
do not hold, but to attribute to me the opinion that it is matter of even 

* I am naturally very much gratified at finding that so acute a physiologist as 
Prof. Burdon-Sanderson has also expressed himself as of this opinion. Naturt t 
vol. 48, p. 469. 


doubt which way the truth may lie, on account of the slightly rhetorical 
way in which I have expressed myself, is hardly fair. To inflict upon 
the world a theory which was in my own opinion so near as that to 
being upset beforehand would be a highly reprehensible proceeding 
and one which I should not like to be guilty of. 

I mention briefly (i) that I consider Dr. Sanford's objection to my 
explanation of simultaneous contrast to be well taken, and that I shall 
hereafter attribute that phenomenon to a purposeful reflex action, 
which is also Hering's explanation of it, at bottom ; and (2) that the 
sensation of black is accounted for, upon my hypothesis, as the effect 
on the nerve-ends of the resting condition of the photo-chemical sub- 
stance ; it is therefore the antithesis to every color as well as to white,, 
and it is the constant background against which all colors and white 
are seen. This is in harmony with the fact that, while Hering's 
Lichthof must play an important rdle among the phenomena of vision 
there is no such thing as a Dunkelhof. But this subject needs to be set 
forth at greater length. One other point I touch upon, experiments 
upon the color wheel are inconclusive when their results are of a negative 
character, but only then. If a red-green gray and a blue-yellow gray, 
when made out of colored papers, act alike, it cannot be inferred 
that there is no difference between them, merely because the things 
sought to be compared not have been obtained with much purity ; 
but if they act differently, it is another matter. A difference in the 
properties of two things can only be due to a difference in their con- 
stitution, and the fact that they are not as purely different as they 
might be does nothing to invalidate this conclusion. Moreover, the 
fact that two differently constituted grays vary unequally with changing 
illumination is, as I have mentioned, a deduction from Konig's exceed- 
ingly exact measurements of the Purkinje phenomenon. Hering 
attempts to account for it by a very rapid variation in the amount of 
coloring matter in the yellow spot under different illuminations. This 
would seem to be as inadequate to explain the large amount of 
difference which is observable as is his scheme for explaining the 
difference between the red-blind and the green-blind by differences in 
the amount of yellow substance in the retina of different individuals. 
That the phenomenon should cease to be detected at some little dis- 
tance from the fovea is not strange in view of the very rapid falling off 
of the color sense on leaving the fovea, as exhibited in the curves laid 
down by Eugen Fick (Pfluger's Archiv, Bd. XLIV). 





Herr Lasswitz draws two conclusions in his epistemological study 
of the modern theory of energy (see notice of articles under Psycho- 
logical Literature) which have a psychological value. The first is that 
the substitution of energy for mass in formulating the equations be- 
tween the so-called 'forces of nature ' obviates the fallacy which fol- 
lows a too common interpretation of physics, that its fundamental 
unit is expressed in terms of the sensation of touch. A molecule or 
atom is of course as far beyond the possibility of a sensation of touch 
as it is beyond one of sight. Nor are we justified in carrying beyond 
the limits of perception, by magnifying in imagination, those sensations 
which have followed the exact determinations of the phenomena of 
nature down to this threshold ; for these very determinations demon- 
strate that below this point the balancing of energies between spatial 
objects, among which is the human organism, does not allow of a read- 
ing into terms of any sensation. 

We are forced by this into the conclusion that physics in so far as 
it involves determinations which run out to the indefinitely small must 
always abstract from the quality of the sensation, and leave simply the 
rational statement, in terms of magnitude, of the dependence of the 
processes of nature upon each other. 

We wish to draw one important corollary from this proposition. 
The impossibility of dividing the sensation up into equal parts of 
dividing one sensation up into the several sensations which should 
compose it has been already maintained with sufficient emphasis in 
criticism of Fechner's Psycho-physical Law, but the essential difference 
which lies between the methods of the natural sciences and those of 
psychology expressed in the threshold values of the various sensations 
(that is, the absolute beginnings of sensations contrasted with the pos- 
sibility of reducing the stimulus to an indefinitely small magnitude) 
has not been sufficiently insisted upon. 

The difference is perhaps most succinctly brought out by the con- 
trast between the quality in sensuous experience and the same in 
physics. The first is static in its value that out of which a naive 
dualism constructs matter. The second is but the law in the midst 
of change. It is only by the infinitesimal concept that the physicist is 
able to express color, sound, resistance (touch), etc. The problem of 
the physicist is to make a magnitude out of change by means of the 
mathematical formula. He has, in expressing color, only a periodicity 


in a process of radiation upon which to base the static element that 
makes up the content of most objects of perception. 

The problem of the experimental psychologist is just the opposite. 
It is to find a change that may be expressed in law, in a magnitude 
which cannot be broken up. Sensation, emotion, feeling are magni- 
tudes which within themselves suffer no disintegration, can be broken 
up into no parts. The psycho-physicist has hit therefore upon the in- 
genious expedient of paralleling the infinitesimal state in the physical 
phenomena by the just observable differences in the psychical. The 
results of this method of research have, however, but poorly rewarded 
the remarkable ingenuity expended upon it. And a moment's thought 
will reveal the inefficiency of this tool borrowed from the physical 

The validity of the infinitesimal statement lies in its definition in 
terms of the law. The process is but arrested to assert the relations 
which lie between its different moments. How different the just ob- 
servable difference in psycho-physics ! Here there is no law in which 
to define the state, but we are confronted by a series of equations in 
which a = b, and b = c, but in which a ^ c* Instead of defining the 
arrested process in terms of its formula, psycho-physics has striven to 
formulate a law out of a series of states that can be defined no more 
nearly than in the assertion that they are different. How futile would 
be the attempt to build up the law of the circle out of successive rela- 
tions of the co-ordinates, these not being defined in terms of the angles 
made with a vanishing secant, but only in the assertion that the suc- 
cessive co-ordinates are just perceptibly different from each other ! 
Measure these co-ordinates as exactly as one may, and he has still no 
content in the successive states and can reach such a content only 
when he can define the relations of the co-ordinates absolutely by 
means of the law of the curve. 

In a word, the physicist has abstracted the entire mathematically 
statable content of the sensation and only this ; and for the psycho- 
physicist to strive to use that which is left for the same purpose is 
to make it evident that he does not comprehend the relations of the 
two fields. We trust with Herr Lasswitz that the substitution of energy 
for mass in the physicist's statement will carry home the nature of the 
scientist's abstraction. 

The unity which underlies the physical object or system (Gebilde) 
is thus reduced to a rational categorization which is the framework of 
consciousness a framework which is given and of which the unity 
of the individual consciousness is but an expression. This is the sec- 

* Natorp's Einleitung in die Psychologie, p. 84. 


ond of Herr Lasswitz's propositions, and he draws from it the solution 
of the problem of the relation of the unity of the object to the unity 
of the individual consciousness. It is really only a deduction from 
the first proposition. Granted that the unity of the full sensuous ob- 
ject is that of the individual consciousness, the categorization in terms 
of space, time, and energy abstracted from this must fall under the 
same unity. 

An important corollary to this, which also fills out the criticism 
passed upon the method of psycho-physics, is to be found in the con- 
tinuity of the methods of exact science even if carried up to the full 
psychical phenomenon. 

Professor Baldwin has identified Kant's transcendental unity of 
consciousness with attention. If we now define attention as the domi- 
nation of any one act over all tendencies to action within the organism 
at any one time, and define the object as a group of activities co-or- 
dinated with reference to some particular act,* we have a psycho- 
physical fact which can be stated in terms of the food-process by the 
biologist and of the compensation of the intensities of energy by the 
physicist. For an object which is a co-ordinated group of activities 
must have developed in the process of evolution under the same law 
which governed the development of the whole organism. This can 
be stated in terms of a food-process involving the assimilating of 
food, its expenditure in motion which brings the organism in contact 
with new food, a negative reaction upon a non-nutritious or dangerous 
environment, and an overflow in reproduction. The same process 
must serve as a formula for the development of the psychological 
object, constructed as it is out of the activities which the search for 
food in an increasingly complicated environment has called out. 

But the more abstract laws of physics are no less applicable than 
those of evolution to objects so constructed. A single instance may 
be found in the parallel set of relations of the various energies of light, 
sound, etc., to that of mass ; of the sense-organs of color, tone, etc., 
to that of touch ; of the sensations of color, sound, etc., to those of 

These may be read into a relation between an energy acting con- 
tinuously along a single line and periodical energies of radiation acting 
along innumerable lines. Whether these latter may be expressed in 
terms of vibrations of particles of a ponderable medium and so be 
reduced to mass or not, the ideal of physics will hardly be reached 

* Professor James has shown that our object changes completely with the ac- 
tivity which it represents, that a paper which presents a surface for the pen is 
quite a different object from paper used for kindling a fire. 


before they are reduced to some single form of energy. We shall have 
something strictly analogous to the relation between direct action and 
action through media. The assumption that all senses may be reduced to 
that of touch or contact has long been practically unquestioned. And 
here we have the relation between sense-organs that receive direct con- 
tinuous contact and those that respond to radiating periodical stimuli, 
serving as before to express immediate relation and that through media : 
or, in other words, the relation between physiological reactions upon 
direct contacts and those upon medial contacts which serve to make 
the direct contacts possible. Lastly we have the sensations of color 
and sound which have a character symbolical with reference to touch, 
and the activities which they call forth mediating the more important 
activities which are called forth by the stimuli of contact. 

If, now, the psychological object be formed out of full sensuous 
activities responding to stimuli which affect the different sense-organs ; 
if these reactions take place in a system built up by action upon its 
environment, and if the relations of its environment to it are expressed 
in the fundamental laws of energy, evidently those reactions and those 
objects must be functions of the laws of physics. A statement of the 
object in terms of our activities enables us to apply the laws of the 
exact sciences to their development and relative values. 





i A Theory of Development and Heredity. HENRY B. ORR, Professor at 
the Tulane University of Louisiana. Macmillan & Co., New York 
and London, 1893. Pp. ix + 255. 

This very interesting and suggestive little volume by Professor Orr 
follows Professor Brooks' 'The Law of Heredity' of 1883, as the 
second work upon this subject which has appeared in this country. 
Professor Brooks' theory was an expansion and modification of Dar- 
win's provisional hypothesis of Pangenesis, and was truly a theory both 
of Development and of Heredity. Professor Orr's work is an original 
modification of the speculations of Lamarck, Spencer, Butler, Haeckel, 
and others, and is a theory of Development based upon the psychic 
properties of living matter. The reviewer is unable to see wherein the 
author has advanced a theory of Heredity proper. 

Lamarck ignored embryology in his work of 1802, but it is clear 
that a modern theory of Heredity must take into account the facts of 
embryology, and recognize that new individuals arise, not from all parts 
of the body, but from extremely circumscribed germinal cells. These 
cells are set apart at the outset of the life of the individual, and become, 
so far as we can see, among the most isolated in the body ; yet they 
contain the whole store of Heredity. It is further clear that a La- 
marckian theory of Heredity must connect the activities of the body 
in some way with the activities of these cells. Otherwise these activi- 
ties can in no way be impressed upon the second generation. Profes- 
sor Orr passes over this supremely difficult point in the transmission of 
somatogenic or acquired characters as if it were of no consequence, 
but it is one which Lamarckians cannot evade. From the fundamental 
principle of elementary nervousness running through this book, the 
reviewer expected that the author would seek to connect his psychic 
development of the individual with the hereditary germinal substance 
through the nervous system, as this system is essentially the material 
vehicle of the psychic side of organic matter, but he does not do so. 
The investigations of Golgi, Cajal, and Retzius have revealed a nerve- 
supply of all parts of the body vastly greater in extent than we ever 



supposed. Every tissue is permeated with an infinite network of the 
finest nerve-fibrils. Retzius has especially investigated the nerve-end- 
ings in the region of the germinal cells, but thus far his preparations 
show that these cells have rather an under than an over supply of nerve- 
fibrillae. The sympathetic connections of various parts of the body 
through the nervous system are so remarkable that we can conceive 
that this system may be the medium of connecting the changes in the 
body with the potential activities of the germinal cells. Yet, at present, 
we must admit that in all the activities of the body there is nothing 
analogous to that which would be requisite for a nervous theory of 
Heredity, namely, that certain specific changes in certain parts of the 
body should affect the hereditary germinal substance in such a manner 
as to cause similar changes to appear in the offspring. 

The strength of this work lies, therefore, upon the side of individual 
development ; and, as it is a psychic theory, it appears to be especially 
timely in connection with the present monistic development of biologi- 
cal thought as expressed by such writers as Lloyd Morgan, Romanes, 
and Haeckel. The gist of the argument is that, starting with elemen- 
tary nervousness as one of the fundamental properties, the effects of the 
reactions of living matter to environment are analogous to those seen 
under the laws of repetition and association in mental phenomena ; that 
stability of function and structure bears a direct ratio to the frequency 
of reaction, and that all functions are built up in association with 
others. The volume opens with a general statement of the problems 
of evolution raised by Weismann, and throughout there are scattered 
some very forcible arguments against the theory of evolution exclusively 
by the survival of fortuitous favorable variations. The standpoint of 
the author is with Lamarck and Spencer, that the reactions of the in- 
dividual to environment is by transmission, the main factor of evolution. 
Nervous conductivity in animals, and some similar power in plants,, 
connects the organism with its environment. We follow the author 
step by step in his long and very ingenious argument based upon the 
analogy between mental processes and the slow steps by which living 
matter gradually acquires its more and more complex characters. As 
the mind gains ease, frequency and fixation of certain processes by 
frequent repetition, so in development characters become stable accord- 
ing to the period of time in which they have been performed. Thus 
the strong * hereditary impulse ' is built up. The application of this 
analogy to the simple life-processes of the single-celled organisms, of 
the two-layered organisms such as Hydra, and of the highly compound 
organisms, is carried out with a great deal of force in the sixth and 
seventh chapters. On the mechanical side of development and the 

1 78 GENERAL. 

origin of variations Professor Orr gives a rather naive treatment of the 
kinetogenesis theory as applied to the skeleton (page 158), not referring 
in any way to the researches of Hyatt, Ryder, Cope, Arbuthnot, Lane, 
and others, which have covered this subject in such detail, the evolu- 
tion of the complex surfaces of joints and relations of these surfaces to 
certain muscles and tendons being one of the favorite subjects with 
the Neo-Lamarckians. He refers degeneration wholly to the inherited 
effects of non-reaction, and points out in the overfed parasitic animals, 
where the economy of growth principle cannot operate, that degenera- 
tion is quite as rapid as in the struggling cave-forms of life. The 
phenomena of correlation of growth, of dimorphism and polymorphism 
in species, of alternation of generations, of the origin and significance 
of sex, are all treated in a thoroughly interesting manner. 

The question remains, in conclusion, whether or not this contribu- 
tion of Professor Orr's advances the great biological question of the 
day ; whether the application of the laws of psychology to all the 
phenomena of life is * a real advance in the right direction.' as the 
author modestly expresses it in his preface. Is this application merely 
based upon analogies or upon a real similarity ? This is the critical 
point. Real similarity necessitates one of two conclusions : either that 
all the activities of the organism contractile, secretory, metabolic, re- 
productive, and mechanical have two sides, the material side and the 
psychic side, and it is only in the irritable and automatic activities that 
the material side is subordinate and the psychic side predominates ; or, 
second, that the elementary nervousness, expressed in the nervous sys- 
tems of higher forms, is the dominating factor in evolution. This 
second conclusion lands us in the difficulty which we have seen at the 
outset that if the author's theory of evolution is the correct one, the 
relation between the nervous system and the hereditary germinal sub- 
stance should be very conspicuous, whereas we find at present that it 
appears to be rather obscure. The prior conclusion forces us to assume 
that besides the nervous system the psychic side of the activities of life 
are carried on by some mechanism or unifying principle in organisms 
at present unknown to us. If there should in future prove to be such 
an unknown unifying principle, Professor Orr will have made a sub- 
stantial advance in the right direction. HENRY F. OSBORN. 

Elements of Psychology. By JAMES MARK BALDWIN. New York, 
Henry Holt & Co., 1893. i2mo. pp. xvi -f 372. 

The aim of the author of this manual is to present the newest essen 
tials of the science in a single compact volume. The book is a con- 


densation of his well-known Handbook of Psychology (2 vols., 8vo, 
same publishers). He has aimed to simplify the exposition throughout 
by omissions, by recasting whole chapters, and by adding illustrative 
facts and explanations. 

The Introduction (pp. 1-55) consists of four chapters. The first 
requisite of a science is the recognition of a distinct group of facts or 
phenomena to be explained. The writer very wisely, therefore, begins 
(ch. i) by drawing attention to the differences between psychological 
and physiological phenomena. The second requisite of a science is 
the application of the methods of science to the facts to be explained. 
The method of psychology is next (ch. 2) presented. Then follows 
(ch. 3) an account of the structure and functions of the nervous sys- 
tem. The treatment of this subject has been put here at the beginning 
as a pedagogical concession to the critics of the Handbook, in which it 
appears as the introduction to part third. It is rather hazardous to 
attempt to present the salient facts of nervous physiology, and that too 
to beginners, in thirty pages ; and the author is to be congratulated on 
the successful way in which he has done it. He closes the Introduc- 
tion by (ch. 4) dividing his subject into four parts : the General Char- 
acteristics of Mind ; Intellect ; Feeling ; Will. 

Part First (pp. 56-80) discusses Consciousness and Attention. He 
distinguishes between Consciousness and Self-Consciousness. The 
former is the common and necessary form of all mental states, their 
one condition and abiding characteristic. The nervous conditions of 
consciousness and the development of consciousness are briefly dis- 
cussed. Then follows (ch. 5) a presentation of the nature, forms, and 
bearings on the mental life, of Attention. 

Part Second, on Intellect (pp. 81-221), consists of nine chapters: 
Division of the Intellectual Functions ; Sensation ; Perception ; Re- 
tention and Reproduction ; Recognition and Localization ; Associa- 
tion ; Imagination ; Illusions ; Thought. The intellectual function is 
divided into the Apperceptive (embracing presentation, representation, 
and elaboration) and the Rational. Strange to say, 140 pages are de- 
voted to the former, while nothing but a bare allusion (p. 221) is found 
in the book about the latter. The treatment of the Rational Function 
in the Handbook was meagre and unsatisfactory, but to pass it over in 
almost absolute silence in the Elements is a serious defect in the book. 
The presentative function is next divided into Sense-Perception and Self- 
Consciousness and then less than a single page (p. 126) is given to the latter 
all-important subject. In these particulars the simplification by conden- 
sation is decidedly no improvement. The next chapters on Sensation 
and Perception are among the clearest and best in the book. Sensa- 


tions are "both affective and preservative," although "the intensive 
subjective state constitutes the sensation proper." They have as gen- 
eral characteristics which may be investigated, quality, quantity, duration, 
and tone. Sensations differ qualitatively independently of their hedonic 
tone. He finds it " reasonably safe to conclude that there are well- 
specialized nervous functions which correspond to the great differences 
of quality in sensations." The various classes of sensations are pre- 
sented, and muscular sensations and the phenomena of contrast are dis- 
cussed at considerable length. Under quantity of sensation, Weber's law 
is stated and the results of the psycho-physical inquiries to which it has 
led are indicated. Incidentally extensity is distinguished from quantity 
viewed as intensive and the remark is made : '* The fact that it is found 
in connection with some of the non-spatial senses, e.g. sound, seems 
to be sufficient proof that it is not an immediate datum of space-knowl- 
edge, as some would have it." The time-relations of sensation (Psy- 
chometry) are then summarized, and the subject of their tone post- 
poned for later discussion. The chapter on Perception is brief for so- 
intricate a subject, but it is marked by great simplicity of treatment and 
clearness of statement, whatever may be thought of the positions taken. 
The problem is to explain our adult consciousness of a world of clearly 
discriminated, tri-dimensionally extended, extra-mental objects located 
in the midst of surrounding extents of which the world consists. He 
finds three logically (though not chronologically) distinct stages or 
steps in the development of this consciousness. The first is Differen- 
tiation. " It is probable that the earliest consciousness is a mass of 
touch and muscular sensations experienced in part before birth, and 
that it is only as the special senses become adapted to their living en- 
vironment and sensitive to their peculiar forms of excitation that the 
general organic condition is broken up and the kind of sensations dif- 
ferentiated " (p. 60). The second stage is Localization the mental 
reference of sensations to a locality in space : the passing from a sub- 
jective consciousness to an objective. This is effected in connection 
with our muscular and touch sensations. The third and final stage is 
Sense-Intuition, in which the mind by attention and association identifies 
things seen with things touched, etc., that is, gathers together the sensa- 
tions into the permanent units or wholes which we call ' things. 
Throughout the discussion the activity of mind, and the fact that per- 
ception is an achievement of the mind, are emphasized. 

The next two chapters treat of Reproduction memory as retentive, 
reproductive, and recognitive, together with consciousness of time. A 
satisfactory discussion of the representative ' image ' and its functions 
in the mental life is lacking here ; otherwise the subjects are sugges- 


tively handled, especially the subject of time. Under the head of 
4 Combination ' follow two chapters, one on Association and one on 
Memory. The position is taken that contiguity is the one ultimate law 
of association. The control of association by the rational will and its 
relation to the higher thought-activities is scarcely referred to, and no 
reference is made to the important principle which Professor Ladd so 
happily describes as ' condensation' in association. On the whole the 
discussion of association leaves much to be desired even in so elemen- 
tary a treatise. A helpful chapter on Illusions follows the discussion 
of memory. 

The treatment of the Intellectual Function closes with sixteen 
pages devoted to Elaboration or Thought conception, judgment, and 
reasoning. The treatment of these important subjects is so brief as 
to be almost worthless. The author would have done better if he had 
not attempted to treat these topics in detail. As it is, his treatment is 
not so very serious a defect, as at this point the book would probably 
be supplemented, by those using it as a text-book, by some elementary 
work on logic. 

Part Third, on Feeling (pp. 222-307), consists of seven chapters : 
Nature and Divisions of Sensibility ; Pleasure and Pain ; Nature and 
Divisions of Ideal Feeling ; Common Ideal Feelings Interest, Reality, 
Belief ; Special Ideal Feelings Presentative Emotions ; Special Ideal 
Feelings Emotions of Relation ; Quantity and Duration of Emo- 
tion. For this part we have almost only words of praise. The second 
volume of the author's Handbook, which treated of the Feelings and 
the Will, was a distinct improvement on the first volume, which treated 
of the Intellect. And this condensation is a decided improvement on 
the Handbook in two particulars : sensuous pleasure and pain and 
ideal pleasure and pain are treated together in one chapter and not 
separated as in the larger work ; and much of the indefiniteness which 
characterized the larger work disappears in the smaller. After discuss- 
ing (ch. 1 6) the nature and divisions of sensibility, he divides all feel- 
ing into Sensations and Emotions. All Feeling in addition to its quali- 
tative and quantitative characteristics has tone (pleasure-pain). Having 
in the first part discussed Sensations, he confines himself in part third 
to Pleasure-Pain and the Emotions. The discussion (ch. 17) of the 
physical conditions and the nature of pleasure and pain is excellent. 
A suggestive chapter (19) follows on (Common Ideal Feeling) interest, 
reality, and belief. The next two chapters (20, 21) treat ably, follow- 
ing in the main the Herbartian classification, the various kinds of 
Emotion. The treatment of * Conscience,' however, is unsatisfactory ; 
and all that is said of the religious emotion is : " The great class of 


religious feelings are also most closely connected with ethical emotion 
and rest upon it." This part closes with a chapter on quantity and 
duration of emotion, in which a variety of topics such as emotional 
expression, the association and conflict of emotion, and the like are 

Part Fourth (pp. 308-372) consists of chapters on the Motor Con- 
sciousness, Stimuli to Involuntary Movement, Stimuli to Voluntary 
Movement, Voluntary Movement, Volition. Exception will be taken 
to much that is said or implied here, according as one agrees or dis- 
agrees with the author's general philosophical position. The facts, 
however, are carefully and impartially presented ; and the discussion as 
regards both matter and form is superior to what is usually found in 
elementary works. This third part does much to give completeness to- 
the work. 

We have reviewed this book at such length for the reason that in 
spite of all the defects to which we have alluded, and others which we 
have passed over, we regard it as, on the whole, the best elementary 
text-book on psychology for use in academies, high-schools, and our 
smaller colleges now before the public. It is written from the scien- 
tific standpoint and in a thoroughly scientific spirit by one versed in 
the literature and acquainted with the latest advances of the science* 
The only other book which can compete with it is Professor James* 
Briefer Psychology. It lacks the brilliant qualities of James' book, 
while, on the other hand, it is more systematic and complete and hence 
better adapted for a text-book. The two books admirably supplement 
each other. If the one could be used as a required text-book and the 
other as supplementary reading, we believe that elementary instruc- 
tion in psychology would be vastly improved. The mechanical make- 
up of the book is excellent ; but the publishers should see to it that an 
index is added. GEORGE MARTIN DUNCAN. 


L* Evolution intellectuelle et morale de Venfant. G. COMPAYRE. Paris, 

Hachette, 1893. Pp. xxiv + 3;i. 
The Psychology of Childhood. FRED. TRACY. Boston, Heath & Co., 

1893. Pp. 94. 

In the present condition of the study of the psychology of child- 
hood, books of two classes are necessary aside from the detailed records 
of exact observations and experiments. We need first of all summaries 
which shall offer us from time to time exact and minutely-detailed 
topical statements of all observations already made by everybody and 


everywhere. Such statements are necessary, if reliable and exhaustive, 
to all who are themselves making observations or using them for pur- 
poses of interpretation. The second class of works which are needed, 
and which alone truly represent the object of the study, are works of 
interpretation and theory whereby the net results of the observations of 
all workers are made available for general psychological theory, espe- 
cially on its genetic side. 

The work of Compayre is not adapted to either of these purposes, 
nor does the author himself make new observations of importance on 
children. His book magnificently printed on very heavy paper with 
wide margins follows the French traditions on this topic. He covers 
the whole field in a pleasant, too-talkative style, stating old hypotheses 
clearly and well, without too much criticism, and failing to bring as 
Perez fails to bring the observations cited into range of the more 
important genetic questions ot later discussion by psychologists. Apart 
from interesting aper$us on minor points such as the dependence of 
the child's memory on present objects (127 and 139), the recognition 
of * automatic' imitation (181), etc., I find no important gain either to 
theory or fact. The book, however, will do good service as an ' Intro- 
duction ' to the subject for readers who want to know the general state 
of the questions at issue and the nature of earlier observations and 
literature. It is probably the best book of this character ; and possibly 
this is what the author had mainly in mind. 

Tracy's work falls distinctly under the first of the two useful cate- 
gories I have mentioned a remark which I have a right to make, since 
it was undertaken at my suggestion and much of it written in consulta- 
tion with myself with the purpose explained above in view.* As far as 
the carrying out of this purpose to produce a condensed objective 
statement, by topics, of all work done to date everywhere as far as 
this is concerned, the work is to be heartily commended. Tracy covers 
the literature much better than Compayre (who, for example, makes no 
reference, I think, to American work). He is also less subjective, 
although in this respect some of his sections might be further improved. 
The chapter on * Language,' moreover, makes contribution to the theory 
of infant speech a point which was spoken of by Prof. Dewey in the 
last issue of this REVIEW (i. p. 63 f.). I have, therefore, no hesitation in 
endorsing the words used by President Hall in his preface : " This 
work was greatly needed, and has been done with a thoroughness which 
all interested in the subject must gratefully recognize." The real value 
of the book, however, for its purpose, is almost entirely negatived by its 
external blemishes and deficiencies. It has neither table of contents 
* See the author's note, B, p. 90. 


nor index : a most remarkable double oversight in a book whose raison 
d'etre is ready reference. Suppose a reader desirous of knowing all the 
observations hitherto made on the infant's 'walking reflex': he has 
not only no way to find this topic, but, further, no way to find the 
chapter in which it occurs except as he may turn pages until he find 
the chapter on * Volition,' and then look through that until he find a 
section which would ' seem likely ' (such a section as * reflex movement ') 
and explore that until, not finding what he wants (as he would not 
find this particular topic ; it is probably an omission, though it may be 
where I have not looked), he would have spent and lost his time. It 
would seem necessary, if the book is to do what its excellences really 
fit it to do, that a detailed index should be prepared and sold with the 
work. It could then be bound in by the purchaser. Further blemishes, 
also, increase one's sense of the extreme carelessness of some respon- 
sible party. The print of the text is ruinous to the eyes in any light 
but daylight, and the foot-notes would arouse the laboris amor of his- 
tologists. Further, there are three typographical errors on the first 
three-quarter page of Chapter I, and the proportion seems to be pretty 
well kept up throughout. Nothing but a new edition would correct 
these blemishes : and it is to be hoped, in view both of the late results 
which should be frequently incorporated, and of the merit of the 
author's labor, that a new edition may soon appear. In that case it 
is to be hoped that Dr. Tracy will not again allow his work to be so 
mangled. J. M. B. 


Die trophischen Eigenschaften der Nerven. J. GAULE. Berliner Klin. 
Wochensch. Nos. 44 and 45. 1893. 

Die trophischen Eigenschaften der Nerven. J. GAULE. Auszug aus 
dem in Niirnberg auf der Naturforscherversammlung gehaltenen 
Vortrage. Centralb. f. Nervenh. und Psych., Nov. 1893. 

The background of organic processes of which our special sensa- 
tions form the visible surface is of recognized psychological impor- 
tance. From the physiological side this background may be considered 
as the total result of those activities of the nervous system which are 
called trophic, and hence an interest attaches for us to any advances 
in this field. 

The titles given above refer to a running account of the general 
conclusion at which Gaule has arrived after experimenting for several 
years. He establishes his theoretical standpoint by dividing the forces 
acting upon the living organism into two groups : the group which we 


commonly recognize, which directly affects the sense-organs and thus 
calls forth those responses in the muscles and glands whereby adapta- 
tion is accomplished. But besides this group of which we are conscious 
there are such forces as gravity, humidity, atmospheric pressure, elec- 
trical tension, etc., which are constantly present, which change slowly, 
but of which we have as a rule no direct consciousness. Nevertheless 
we must also adapt ourselves to this latter group, and the processes by 
which this is accomplished may be designated as the trophic functions 
of the nervous system. 

Experimenting, he repeated in the first place Majendie's operation 
on the fifth nerve, in which that nerve is cut intracranially. We know 
that at whatever point in its course this nerve is cut the cornea be- 
comes anaesthetic. If the section be made in such a way as to damage 
the nerve-cells of the great Gasserian ganglion or the smaller number 
of cells found in the course of the nerve where it joins the medulla, 
then besides the anaesthesia, there appear trophic disturbances. 

In this latter instance trophic changes are said to occur in the 
cornea in spite of all possible protection offered to it, whereas in the 
former, in which the cornea is merely anaesthetic, mechanical protection 
from outside influences is sufficient to prevent any trophic change. 

Gaule insists that we are, therefore, to consider the trophic disturb- 
ances as due to the group of the general forces which he has enumer- 
ated and against which it is not possible to offer any protection. Since, 
however, the forces which were involved act in the same manner on 
both the eyes and only one of these shows change under the influence 
of them, we should look for the cause of these changes in the injury to 
the organism itself. From these experiments, then, we conclude that 
the connection of the cornea with injured ganglion-cells belonging to 
the fifth nerve disturbs its normal nutrition, and that this disturbance 
must depend upon some influence emanating from the cells themselves. 
The disturbance, then, has its origin in the nerve-cells, and whether 
we consider it as due to excessive or reduced activity there makes 
comparatively little difference. Furthermore, it is to be noted that 
this influence is transferred from the ganglion along the nerve to the 
periphery, a direction which is the reverse of that in which we ordi- 
narily picture this nerve as acting. 

Gaule next investigated the spinal ganglia in frogs and rabbits, and 
found as a result of excitation trophic changes in the muscles, glands, 
and skin. Taking the rabbits, which give the clearest reaction, the fol- 
lowing results were obtained : these ganglia can be excited so as to 
bring about trophic reactions by the interruption of rather a strong, 
constant current, by cutting in various ways, and by cauterizing. In- 


duction currents were found ineffective, and the stimuli mentioned 
produced results only when acting upon the ganglion still inclosed in 
its sack. If the sack had been previously opened no results followed. 
The distribution of the disturbances was not only in the area supplied 
by the sensory nerve, the ganglion of which was irritated, but it extended 
outside that area. So far as the muscles were concerned the trophic 
changes not only affected those of the same side and those most closely 
associated with the sensory nerve concerned, but also others which 
were remote. At the same time they affected muscles in the opposite 
half of the body. It will be seen from this that the trophic influence 
of the spinal ganglion is not only exerted in the same manner as in the 
case of the Gasserian ganglion, but that also it must act through the 
spinal cord in order to produce the disturbances in the muscles. That 
such is really the pathway for the impulses is indicated by the fact that 
section of the dorsal root between the ganglion and the cord abolishes 
the effect upon the muscles. Both the conditions of effective stimula- 
tion and the distribution of the effects, as thus described, are well cal- 
culated to excite remark, not to mention the fact that the disturbance 
can be passed on from the sensory to the motor fibres. 

When Gaule turned next to the study of the sympathetic ganglion, 
and confined his attention to the changes taking place in the muscles, 
he was able to control the results with more accuracy. He used the 
inferior cervical ganglion which was connected by the ramus commu- 
nicans with the spinal ganglion. Upon injury or stimulation of this 
ganglion there appeared constant changes always occurring in the 
same muscles (biceps brachii and psoas) both upon the same side as 
that of the ganglion which was stimulated and also upon the opposite 
side. The fact that this influence thus crossed the middle line showed 
that the action must take place by way of the spinal cord, and Gaule 
conceives that the pathway is along the ramus communicans to the 
spinal ganglion and thence to the cord. There is one curious condi- 
tion, however, which is said to control these results. One of the 
branches of the inferior cervical ganglion acts to inhibit its trophic 
function in such a way that if, when the ganglion is stimulated, this 
branch is also stimulated, the results recorded do not follow. The 
trophic change which occurs in the muscles as the result of stimulating 
the sympathetic ganglion brings about a solution of the muscle sub- 
stance somewhere about the middle of the muscle, the fibres rupture, 
blood-vessels are broken, and an ulcer is formed, which on the cessation 
of the stimulus slowly disappears with the formation of scar tissue. 

The most striking fact which Gaule has to communicate is that 
this process can be followed from its very beginning in the living 


muscle of the animal undergoing stimulation, and the various changes 
leading up to the formation of the ulcer can be directly observed. 
Such being the case, we have through these investigations some very 
important and wide-reaching phenomena forced upon our attention, 
and the fact that by stimulation of the sympathetic ganglion we can 
regularly develop ulcers in a given muscle must command attention, 
however peculiar and inexplicable some of the minor points may ap- 
pear. H. H. D. 


Les alterations de la personality ALFRED BINET. Internat. Scientific 
Ser. Paris, Alcan, 1892. Pp. viii -f- 323. 

The use and development of the experimental method in psychology 
are giving an entirely different aspect to most of the questions to which 
this science gives rise, and are beginning to profoundly modify our 
views as to some subjects which had remained, almost to our own day, 
the objects merely of abstract analysis. In the mind of the metaphysi- 
cian the idea of personality calls up the conceptions of individuality and 
self-identity. Every one who experiments is continually seeing how 
often the facts contradict theories based solely on logical deductions. 

In this work M. Binet makes a study of the problem of personality. 
He publishes a very considerable number of observations, some of them 
made by himself, and some taken from the works of leading writers on 
this important subject. But, as he states in the introduction, he makes 
it an invariable rule to rely only on such observations as can be easily 
verified. His inductions have been drawn only from facts over which 
those making the experiments have had control, which have been 
reached by different methods, and in the majority of cases from differ- 
ent points of view. Double alterations of the personality of the same 
individual, the alternation or the coexistence, the separation or the 
conjunction of distinct consciousnesses, are the phenomena which he 
analyzes successively, in both natural and artificial sleep, in hysterical 
anaesthesia, in the conditions of diverted attention and of suggestion. 
Even normal subjects may present a plurality of consciousnesses. In 
the light of these phenomena the theories of the association of ideas 
and of memory are enriched. Sensation, judgment, and reasoning may 
manifest their presence subconsciously apart from the normal person- 
ality. The book, although limited to the question of personality, 
throws light on the whole field of psychology. 

Binet first studies the spontaneous phenomena. " They present,'* 
he says, " this great advantage, that the preconceived idea of the nar- 


rator does not involuntarily or unconsciously distort them." The obser- 
vations, some of which have become classic, of Azam on Felida, of 

Bouru and Burot on Louis V , of Mesnet on F the sergeant of 

Bazeilles, of Guinon on B the journalist, etc., show that the same in- 
dividual may have successively two or more mental conditions in which 
it is possible to discern two important psychological modifications, a 
change of character and a modification of memory. When the experi- 
ments come to be more methodically conducted, moreover, a third 
element comes to light, viz., the distribution of sensibility on the sur- 
face of the body. 

Two classes can be named : sometimes the person affected (like 
Felida and Louis V ) continues while experiencing the second con- 
dition to live his ordinary life, keeping his mind open to all the usual 
perceptions and ideas : sometimes (like F and B ) he is deliri- 
ous he is possessed by thoughts which give to his activity a systematic 
trend, and he avoids everything not germane to his immediate pre- 
possession. Nor does it infrequently happen in either the one case 
or the other that the individual affected manifests more than two, 
sometimes even five or six, different mental conditions. 

The changes in character are very marked. Subjects pass from 
melancholy to gayety, from sober and honest persons to gourmands and 

thieves. Their sensibility is altered. F preserved in the second 

condition his muscular sensibility ; but he lost his general sensibility, 
hearing, taste, and smell. His sight was not exercised except on the 
occasion of touch, and was restricted to those objects with which he was 
in actual contact. 

The modifications of memory are also very interesting. In the 
normal state, the subject does not remember what happened during the 
second state. In the latter, when he is not delirious, he sometimes 
forgets the events of the normal state ; but more often he remembers 
them. He remembers, equally well, everything he did and said during 
his former experience of the second state. His memory may also 
extend very far into the past and embrace periods which had been 
entirely forgotten in the normal state, but which he will now recall in 
most minute detail. When he is delirious in his second personality 
what is his condition ? In the absence of direct testimony (since we 
cannot speak with the subject) the repetition or continuation of actions 
begun in the former second state sufficiently demonstrates the unity of 

the somnambulistic personality. B , the journalist, continues while 

in successive second states to write a novel and takes up the story 
each time at the right point, at the very word where he had been inter- 


Certain observers (and among them Menet, who has studied the 

case of F ) believe that in the abnormal state there is no trace of 

conscious thought, of judgment, or of imagination. Huxley, indeed, 
has used this as evidence in support of the epiphenomenon-theory of 
consciousness. They believe that actions of subjects are the effect of 
a purely reflex and mechanical activity. Binet believes this opinion to 
be erroneous. For in the course of the experiments, patients give 
evident signs of surprise or astonishment at sounds, which would not 
happen if consciousness were absent. 

During the normal state, what becomes of that extraordinary exist- 
ence which possesses its own memory and its own character ? Direct 
observation can give no answer. The experiments of Gurney show that 
traces of somnambulistic experience may continue in the waking state 
without the normal patient having the least suspicion of it. Numbers 
and names have been repeated to the somnambulistic subject. On 
awakening he remembers nothing. A rolling planchette with a pencil 
attachment is placed in his hand. In a few minutes his hand moves 
and writes the exact words and numbers which had been pronounced. 
There are thus coexistences of two distinct consciousnesses, " an 
ensemble of distinct psychological phenomena, thoroughly co-ordinated 
the one with the other, kept apart and continued without reference to 
normal personality." The somnambulistic personality is also a unity, 
since when the subject is again put to sleep, he declares that he has 
been writing with the planchette. 

The second part of Binet's book is devoted to these phenomena of 
the coexistence of more than one consciousness. They are most easily 
observed in hysterical insensibility and in the state of diverted atten- 
tion. Hysteric anaesthesia is an insensibility by reason of the partial 
unconsciousness which proceeds from the fact that the personality of 
the subject is cut in two or doubled. From an anaesthetic arm we may 
obtain the phenomena of the repetition of actions and of adaptation. 
When a pencil is placed in the anaesthetic hand of the subject and 
is concealed from him by a hand-screen, the hand itself will repeat a 
great many times a sign or letter which the subject is told to write. The 
subject, however, has consciousness neither of the impulse given to his 
fingers nor of their natural movements. Shall we say, then, that this 
is the effect of a mere physiological mechanism ? This is doubtful, for 
the hand does not give evidence of memory alone. If, with a blunt 
point, we trace on the hand letters or figures (impressions which the 
normal subject does not feel at all) this will be enough to make the 
hand write them. There has been, then, a transformation of cutaneous 
sensations into their graphic equivalents. It is better still if one 


voluntarily alters the spelling of a word. In this case, the hand hesi- 
tates and restores the correct orthography. It cannot, then, be said to 
be a passive condition. Furthermore, when the hand is guided, it is 
often observed to resist or anticipate the movements of the operator. 
When the subject is writing with his anaesthetic hand, it often happens 
that the hand repeats the same letter over and over, a sort of hand- 
stammering in fact. 

Have motor images been partially awakened subconsciously so that 
as long as they meet with no resistance they expend their force in 
repetition of the act ? It may with equal reason be supposed that there 
is something in these actions in the nature of a suggestion comprehended 
by a subconscious subject. 

We now pass to the phenomena of adaptation. Suppose that we 
excite the anaesthetic arm of a subject, concealing it by a screen. If 
the arm is supported for a moment it remains stretched out. If we 
wish it to fall we raise it and suddenly release it. The arm seems to 
understand the wish of the operator. If a weight is suddenly attached 
to the subject's arm, an effort is made proportioned to the new burden. 
If, on the contrary, we support the arm, it will be gradually lowered. 
If a well-known object is placed in the insensible hand, touch will 
suggest its use. It will open and shut a pair of scissors or press a 
dynamometer. Some subjects cannot be influenced except by their 
regular hypnotizers. Neither can an anaesthetic arm be placed in a 
state of catalepsy except by one operator. If any other hand touch the 
subject the phenomenon does not occur. The unconscious subject can 
therefore exhibit choice. Now there are some phenomena more complex 
than these. If the anaesthetic hand of a subject be pricked from behind 
a screen, he exclaims, ' You have hurt me ! ' Should we therefore say 
that sensibility was restored ? We question him, and he replies that he 
has felt nothing and has said nothing. It was the unconscious that 
for a moment appeared upon the scene. 

"To explain how unconscious actions are produced," says Binet 
(p. 117), " we must not be content with the hypothesis of unconscious 
sensations. Isolated, unconscious sensations could produce nothing. 
Now, in analyzing the principal observations which we have collected, 
we have noticed the intervention of phenomena of memory and of rea- 
soning, so that the unconscious movements reveal within us the exist- 
ence of an intelligence other than that of the self of the subject, and 
which acts without his aid and even without his knowledge. 

Binet next studies the phenomena obtained by aid of diverted 
attention. Attention is an effort of the mind and of the organism 
which has the general effect of increasing the intensity of certain states 


of consciousness. This does not happen without attention. All that 
is not the object of attention remains in a condition of less sensibility, 
and the same is true of anaesthesia. The attention contracts the field 
of consciousness. At the same time, among hysterics chiefly, at the side 
of the normal personality, a subconscious personality, with which we 
can communicate and obtain responses, develops itself. For this per- 
son the anaesthesia does not exist : it itself remembers what it has done, 
and can receive suggestions. In writing, it uses the word * I ' to desig- 
nate itself, and speaks of the normal self in the third person. 

A second self, formed by the aid of diverted attention, does not 
make one with the self of the anaesthetic and the self of the somnam- 
bulist. The proof for this is easy. The self of the subject in somnam- 
bulism can repeat the names spoken to the second self in the state of 
diverted attention. Suppose the subconscious personality has been 
created by an involuntary suggestion of the operator, it nevertheless 
remains true that the disaggregated psychic phenomena have grouped 
themselves around a new centre. 

The subconscious self is frequently a colaborer with the normal 
self. The voluntary movements of an anaesthetic member survive the 
loss of the consciousness of passive movements. The question, from 
the point of view of psychology, is very obscure, for the reason 
that anaesthesia of any sense, with rare exceptions, induces the loss 
of memory of the corresponding images. Therefore, the individual 
affected cannot represent to himself beforehand the movement to be 
performed. On the other hand, no afferent sensation can inform him 
as to the position of his limb. Subjects frequently say they represent 
to themselves, visually, the movements of the hand concealed behind 
a screen deceiving themselves again. They are often deceived, while 
it writes, as to what letters it is tracing at any given moment. There- 
fore, no definite image remained in the normal personality, as a visual 
memory which guided the voluntary movements of the anaesthetic 
limb either well or ill. One is therefore obliged to admit the existence 
of sensations and kinaesthetic images in subconsciousness, to explain 
the co-ordination of these movements. The normal self commands 
actions which the subconscious self carries out. 

Moreover, a conscious mental representation can excite subcon- 
scious movements without the knowledge of the subject. This fact is 
shown by the phenomena of automatic writing. The subject is asked 
to tell his age. He does so, and the pencil which has been slipped 
into the anaesthetic hand writes the same response. The movements 
of writing cannot thus produce themselves. The sensations and ideas 
of the principal consciousness determine the different effects within 


the second consciousness. An hysterical patient hears the strokes of 
the metronome. Between her fingers is placed a tube of India rubber 
wound round a cylinder, so arranged that the rubber yields at each 
beat. The patient is told to think of a number. The anaesthetic 
hand makes the corresponding number of strokes. 

We have considered the action of normal consciousness upon sub- 
consciousness. Binet next considers the inverse phenomena. The 
sensations coming from the anaesthetic regions remain unconscious, but 
may penetrate the normal consciousness under the form of images, 
ideas, and false perceptions or hallucinations. 

For example, we may prick an anaesthetic hand nine times. The 
subject has no consciousness of the pricks, but he thinks the number 
nine. He is also able to see points, bars, and columns, corresponding 
in number to that of the stimuli. He also exhibits the transposition 
of sensations. Binet hung around the anaesthetic head of a patient a 
medal with the design in relief. The subject said immediately that she 
was dazed, that she saw bright spots in the form of a circle. When 
asked to state what she saw, she related exactly (much more exactly 
than a normal subject could afterwards do) the details of the design, 
although the subject was an entirely strange one to her. This experi- 
ment indicates on the part of unconsciousness a quite remarkable 
activity of perception. 

" The dividing of consciousness, therefore, is not by a sharp line of 
demarcation, suspending all relations between the consciousnesses,'* 
writes Binet. "On the contrary, the psychological phenomena of 
each group exercise a constant influence upon those of the neighbor- 
ing group. The division leaves unimpaired the automatism of mental 
images, sensations, and movements. It consists solely in a limitation 
of consciousness. Each ego knows only what transpires in its own 

Binet next shows that there may be a plurality of consciousnesses in 
normal subjects. The phenomena above referred to have long been 
observed with nearly the same results, but less marked, in the cases of 
normal subjects. Their unconscious movements should be considered, 
it seems, as the effects of a very slightly marked mental duplication. 
When an individual is told to divide his attention so as to do two 
things at once for example, to talk and to draw it often happens 
that he directs his thought to one of the actions and performs the 
second automatically. Indeed we may sometimes, in the case of a 
normal subject, obtain a complete diversion of the attention and estab- 
lish by means of automatic writing a division of consciousness analo- 
gous to that described above. 


Suggestion is ordinarily followed by a division in consciousness. 
Here suggestions tending to create a new personality may be distin- 
guished from those whose end can only be accomplished by a division 
of consciousness. In the first case the observer bids the subject assume 
this or that personality. Richet has thus made his patients, A and B, 
take the characters, successively, of peasant, actress, general, priest, nun, 
sailor, young woman, and little girl. The subjects retain their halluci- 
1 nations along with their adopted characters. Their faculties of percep- 
tion and ideation are perverted to the same standard, and whatever 
might contradict the suggestion of the operator is cast aside and ban- 
ished from consciousness. In a similar manner the subject may be 
carried back to a previous stage of existence. In such a case many 
things return to the memory which in the normal state had fallen 
into utter oblivion. From this we may infer that the limits of our 
personal and conscious memory are not absolute. "What we know of 
ourselves," says Binet, " is but a part and perhaps an extremely small 
part of what we are." The laws of association fail to explain how it 
is that the things which have been kept in memory do not awaken at 
the stimulus of new impressions to which they should respond. Causes 
the most profound, because unconscious, are operating to distribute 
our ideas, perceptions, and mental images in syntheses at once auto- 
matic and independent. In the case of post-hypnotic suggestions the 
subject fails to perceive the hallucinations of his normal personality. 
For cases of long-deferred suggestion some explanation must be offered 
as to how the subject is able to calculate the time. It is still the sub- 
conscious personality that here intervenes, that keeps mental images 
in the given order and reckons the days and hours. In fact he caix 
make these judgments as well as one who has actually passed throughi 
the experience. We say to the subject of double personality, " Whem 
the sum of the numbers which I am going to pronounce amounts to tern 
you will raise your hands." We murmur 2, 3, i, 4, and the movement is 
made. Such phenomena, therefore, ordinarily take place unconsciously. 

The subject of Systematic Anaesthesia yet remains. It is suggested 
to a subject that on his awakening he will not see a certain person,, 
who, however, remains near him. His vision remains unimpaired, but 
the subject insists that the person in question is not there. The phe- 
nomenon is exceedingly complex. " The inhibited perception contin- 
ues to manifest itself, but it remains unconscious. The subject seems: 
to possess an intelligence different from the normal self, which decides 
whether he shall choose this or that." The facts of spiritualism and of 
the varying personalities which mediums claim to exhibit are explained 
by a division of consciousness accompanied by auto-suggestion. 


Binet's conclusions are as follows : i. The elements entering into 
the normal constitution of self may exist in a state of disaggregation. 
2. A consciousness continues to accompany these elements, although 
the self loses knowledge of it. 3. Sometimes under pathological or 
experimental conditions these elements organize themselves into a 
second personality. 

Binet's work is an extremely interesting study of the phenomena 
of subconsciousness. Psychology extends to the limits of definite con- 
sciousness and normal personality, the unity of which Binet and Ribot 
being here in accord should be sought for only " in the co-ordina- 
tion of a certain number of psychological phenomena during a certain 
time." The hypothesis of subconsciousness, Huxley's adherents will 
say, is unnecessary. The physiological mechanism will account for 
everything. Is it true that the explanation is sufficient when the sub- 
ject writes with an anaesthetic member an entire page in which the ideas 
follow one another in the proper order ? Language, whether written 
or spoken, of course fails to explain either consciousness or person- 
ality. But what is the difficulty in admitting the existence of a second 
personality, when such personalities are produced spontaneously in some 
subjects ? For cases of adaptation, and especially for those of repeti- 
tion, we may appeal to muscular habit. But if the fact of subcon- 
sciousness has been proved, is it not natural to believe that, beneath the 
threshold of personal consciousness, lesser stimuli, down to a certain 
minimum, give rise to the phenomena of subconsciousness ? It is 
rather the mental nothing which it is difficult to conceive. To say 
that beneath a certain stimulus all consciousness vanishes is to dig 
around consciousness an arbitrary ditch. 

Are the subconscious phenomena necessary to explain the cases of 
repetition and adaptation connected with a secondary self ? This 
question is very obscure. The second part of Binet's conclusion seems 
correct in the terms in which he has expressed it, and we agree with 
the author. But it seems to us that he here recedes a little from some 
of his more decided positions in the body of the work. Isolated sub- 
conscious sensations are productive of nothing. But are not the 
elementary syntheses of psychic phenomena enough to explain the 
simplest facts, the repetition in writing a letter, the resistance of the 
anaesthetic arm to strong pressure, its obedience to a moderate one, 
and even the act of pressing the dynamometer ? May not the rectifi- 
cation of a fault in spelling be explained by the facts of motor habit ? 
We hesitate to attribute to subconsciousness an established organiza- 
tion and definiteness analogous to that of normal consciousness when 
a secondary personality has not been clearly proved. 


On the other hand, we hold with Binet that the phenomena per- 
taining to our normal personality remain in a state of disaggregation. 
As we go through life certain of our natural propensities fall into des- 
uetude, certain mental images of past experience sink into oblivion. 
Our self is being made over anew. But nothing perishes that has 
once existed, and the past can be restored to life. Our consciousness 
reveals but a tiny part of what we really are, and " consciousness slips 
away and is lost by imperceptible transitions." * T. COURTIER. 


Etat mental des hyste'riques : les stigmates mentaux j Etat mental des 
hysttriques : les accidents mentaux. PIERRE JANET. Rueff, Paris, 
1892, 1894. 2 vols., i2mo. Pp. 233, 304. 

L'amne'sie continue. PIERRE JANET. Revue generate des sciences, 30 
mars 1893. 

M. Janet is a vidseitiger Mensch, being now an M.D. and visiting 
physician at the Salpetriere, without having ceased to be a Professor 
of Philosophy at the College Rollin. The present volumes continue the 
line of observation and reflection so brilliantly -egun in his earlier work, 
L automatisme psychologique, and may be said to set the seal on the 
revolution which during the last decade has been going on in our 
conceptions of hysterical disease. Amongst all the many victims of 
medical ignorance clad in authority the poor hysteric has hitherto 
perhaps fared worst ; and her gradual rehabilitation and rescue will 
count amongst the philanthropic conquests of our generation. At first 
branded as one inflamed with uterine furor, she was next burned as a 
witch, and finally treated as so radically perverse and mendacious a 
jade as to be theatrical even in the hour of death. Now, thanks first to 
Charcot, Janet, Pitres, Gilles de la Tourette, and in a less degree to 
many others, she or he (for hysteria is now allowed to be a male com- 
plaint) can be regarded as estimable morally, and only pitied as one 
subject to a curious form of weakness of the intellect. 

The weakness in question is described by M. Janet substantially as 
follows. In the constitution called hysterical the threshold of the 
principal consciousness is not fixed, but movable. It can be shifted 
by physical and moral shocks and strains so that sensations and ideas 
of which the patient ought to be fully aware become ' subliminal,' or 
buried and forgotten, and in this parasitic state persist more or less 
monotonously. The nucleus of these subconscious fixed ideas usually 
consists of reminiscences of the shock by which the mind was origi- 
nally shattered ; but in process of time other painful reminiscences 

* Translated by C. A. Tawney, Fellow in Philosophy in Princeton College. 


may be added, and accidental associations may complicate the system 
which, from its hiding-place below the principal consciousness, may 
produce effects of the most baleful sort upon the latter, effects irrup- 
tive (hallucinations and motor impulses) as well as subtractive (anaes- 
thesias, amnesias, aboulias, confusions, etc.), and moreover may influence 
the bodily functions in manifold and formidable ways. 

M. Janet proves the existence of these fixed ideas by many methods, 
by hypnosis, by automatic writing, by the hallucinations that come out 
in ' crystal-gazing,' by the patient's talk in sleep, by utterances during 
the ' attack,' and finally by what he calls the ' method of distraction,' 
which practically is only a variety of automatic writing. In these cir- 
cumstances hysterics will reveal obsessive memories and ideas of which 
their principal consciousness is wholly unaware, and will explain in 
detail the images by which their various symptoms are determined. The 
most general morbid result, or stigma, from which they suffer is a nar- 
rowing of their principal consciousness, to which narrowing M. Janet 
more or less successfully ascribes the various defects by which the 
' hysterical ' character is popularly known : vacillation, inconsistency,, 
revery, lack of will and of power of attention, enfeebled memory, and 
ennui. He shows us one woman acquiring accidentally these symptoms 
in consequence of certain ideas which she had received during hypnosis, 
and which remained subliminal after she was awake; and another re- 
acquiring lost memories and will-power flari passu with the destruction,, 
by suggestion, of her subliminal delusions. The anaesthesias, so char- 
acteristic in hysteria, he explains as acquired habits of ignoring certain 
sensations, which thus get handed over to the subliminal self. That 
they are false anaesthesias, and that the sensations of eye, skin, or what 
not, which appear non-existent, are really there, though hidden from 
view, is, thanks to Binet, Bernheim, Janet, and others, one of the most 
securely established facts of recent psychology. The most immediate 
result of this disintegrated condition of the mind is suggestibility on the 
subject's part, concerning which phenomenon M. Janet's second volume 
contains some very acute pages of psychological reflection. An idea 
implanted in such a mind develops its own eccentric consequences 
in a way impossible where the mental elements are more firmly knit 

Grafted on this general background are the more fluctuating ' acci- 
dents ' of the malady. The subterranean ideas and memories have 
periodical eruptions which constitute the well-known hysterical ' attacks.' 
Of what possesses the consciousness during an attack the patient can 
generally give no account when it is over ; but the emotional attitudes 
and ejaculations of which it consists, and the causes which may provoke 


it, show, when combined with the somnambulic and other revelations, 
that its nucleus is an hallucinatory re-enactment of the shock from 
which the whole morbid history dates. Thus George has an attack if 
you show him a lighted match, or if he looks at the fire in the stove. 
In this attack he shouts * fire ' and calls on the pompiers. He became 
ill after a fright caused by a fire ; Alz . . . had his shoulder wounded 
in an elevator-accident, and now, if you touch the place, you provoke 
an attack characterized by terror of being crushed ; Renee has a clas- 
sical complex attack of 'grande hysteric,' of which most of the elements 
can be traced to reminiscences ; she mews like a certain cat that 
startled her, and barks like a dog that she detested when a child ; she 
imitates a little idiot at whose sight she was once horrified ; she 
strikes an attitude that copies the posture of ' Truth ' in a picture in 
her room ; Marcella has hallucinations which reproduce painful experi- 
ences in short, the attack is everywhere essentially a reminiscent 
dream. Charcot's ' complete ' attack is no special natural entity, but 
only a dream due to the association into a system of a number of dif- 
ferent morbid memories. The ideas may be stratified, as it were : 
41 Is . . . , as a result of having been violated and having clandestinely 
had a child, first manifests refusal to eat (subconscious fixed idea of 
suicide), later is irascible and violent (subconscious idea of homicidal 
revenge), and finally, whilst apparently well, has a bizarrerie which 
remains, and consists in her inability to bear the sight of little children. 
She is impelled to beat them ; and if they remain long in her presence 
she goes into an attack (subconscious aversion to a child as the cause 
of her disgrace). The case of Marcella, published three or four years 
ago by Janet in the Revue philosophique, is a beautiful example of strati- 
fication in fixed ideas. As each one was removed by suggestion, a 
deeper and older one came to the surface and worked itself off, until 
with a final outbreak of suicidal frenzy, the girl got entirely well. The 
fixed ideas may slumber until some weakening of the nervous system 
favors their morbid activity. E.g., Col. is victim of a railroad acci- 
dent, and passes six months in the hospital with a grave abdominal 
injury. During the next six years he seems well, save that he can no 
longer get drunk as he formerly did, for, if he does, he raves of the 
accident and suffers cruelly in his abdominal wound. At the end of 
six years he undergoes domestic calamities, witnesses the death of wife, 
child, etc., whereupon depression, revery, incapacity for work, set in, 
and he comes again to the hospital with a meteorized and hyperaes- 
thetic abdomen, which M. Janet does not hesitate to ascribe to sub- 
conscious reminiscence, for if the old scar be touched an hysterical 
attack is provoked, consisting in hallucinations of the railroad tragedy. 


Spasmodic disorders, tics, as the French call them, are among the 
commonest hysteric symptoms. These also, according to M. Janet 
can be traced to subliminal ideas. The girl Mel . . . has a choreic 
movement night and day, which imitates movements that she daily has 
to perform in her factory. Doing it in her sleep she murmurs, ' tt faut 
travailler, il faut travailler,' and the whole thing is finally explained as 
the result of her having overheard, whilst lying half-awake, her parents 
lament their poverty and inability to pay their rent. " A simple pro- 
cedure cured this chorea, due to filial piety." Vel ... for eight years 
has had a particularly odious tic, consisting in an expulsion of air 
through the nose, and a contortion of one side of the face. This re- 
sists every conceivable treatment, and for the patient's consciousness is 
irresistible and motiveless. The moment he is hypnotized, however, 
he says, l j'ai une croute dans le nez ; elle me gene'; and a corrective 
suggestion then made abolishes the symptom. It would appear that 
the subconscious delusion here dated from certain nose-bleeds in a 
typhoid fever eight years before.- And so we are led by our author 
through the whole train of hysteric symptoms. The paralyses are in- 
terpreted by him as amnesias of certain kinaesthetic images, when they 
are not results of subconscious delusion ; the ' contractures ' come 
from fixed ideas ; so do the dumbnesses and refusals to eat. Isa- 
bella cannot eat. She knows not why, but it appears that during each 
of her * attacks ' her dead mother appears to her, upbraids her for a 
past misdemeanor, calls her unworthy to live, and forbids her to take 
food. Similarly Marcella's anorexia comes from a voice which she 
hears during her attacks and which orders her to starve. 

Our space permits no more details, but the reader can already see 
how rich a mine both of new facts and of new ideas Dr. Janet's little 
volumes are. Every psychologist should make their acquaintance. 
Their author's intellect is, if anything, too inductive ; he is never quite 
at ease when away from one of his concrete examples, and he cares 
perhaps too little for things unlike what he has himself seen. But 
these are the only faults I can find with his work. He has certainly 
established his main point, and the class of cases which he describes will 
hereafter rank as real. But they are all grave cases, where the patients 
were non compos and had to be taken care of at an institution. How 
far their type can be generalized, and how far the milder cases met in 
private practice will also be found to suffer from split-off fixed ideas, 
remains for the future to inquire. According to all past analogies, what 
will probably happen is that the morbid type conceived by M. Janet 
will undergo both restriction and extension. In certain kinds of so- 
called hysteria no subliminal ideas will be ascertained ; whilst such 


ideas probably will be ascertained in cases not easily recognizable 
through their other features as similar to those which M. Janet cites. 
At any rate this observer has set a great ball rolling, and it is to be 
hoped that he will be able to continue playing an active part in the 
superintendence of its career. W. J. 

Uebcr den psychischen Mechanismus hysterischer Phdnomene. J. BREUER 
und S. FREUD. [Mendel's] Neurol. Centralbl., 1893, pp. 4, 43. 

" Hysteria is a disease of the hypnotic stratum," wrote Mr. F. W. H. 
Myers many years ago, and this important paper is a comment on his 
dictum and an independent corroboration of Janet's views reported 
above. The distinguished Viennese neurologists who sign it stumbled 
accidentally on cures which enable them not only to give a general 
formula for the disease, but a general method for its treatment. Hys- 
teria for them starts always from a shock, and is a * disease of the 
memory.' Certain reminiscences of the shock fall into the subliminal 
consciousness, where they can only be discovered in ' hypnoid ' states. 
If left there, they act as permanent * psychic traumata,' thorns in the 
spirit, so to speak. The cure is to draw them out in hypnotism, let 
them produce all their emotional effects, however violent, and work 
themselves off. They make then (apparently) a new connection with 
the principal consciousness, whose breach is thus restored, and the suf- 
ferer gets well. Janet's Marcella, mentioned above, would be a case 
in point. W. J. 

The Philosophy of Mental Healing : a practical exposition of natural re- 
storative power. LEANDER EDMUND WHIPPLE. Metaphysical 
Publishing Co., New York, 1893. 8vo. Pp. 234. 

It is but just to our American mind-curers of the various sects tc* 
say that for years past the notion that all sorts of morbid symptoms 
may spring from subconscious fixed ideas, such as old fears, griefs, and 
remorses, has been the basis of their treatment. Mr. Whipple's book 
sets forth this notion in an earnest way, in the good English of an edu- 
cated man. Although the theoretic exposition seems to the more 
carnal and school-bred mind of the present reporter to lack technical 
sharpness, it is much more assimilable than any previous statement 
which he has read. The most striking feature of the book to him is a 
list of cases which the author gives at length. Neuralgia, rheumatism, 
bronchial catarrh, debility, nervous agitation, chronic diarrhoea, insom- 
nia, dyspepsia, and chills are shown, in as many patients, to have arisen- 
from subconscious or conscious fixed ideas, which being scattered, 


recovery ensued. The author well says that, in patients of this sort, to 
treat the mere external symptom would be as bad practice as for an 
engine-driver to slow his engine by scotching the wheels and pistons 
rather than by regulating the steam-box or the boiler. Yet in cases of 
refusal to eat, like those quoted from Janet in the last review but one, 
the only practice known at an ordinary asylum is forcible feeding by 
the stomach-pump. It is to be regretted that Mr. Whipple gives no 
detailed account of the practical method by which the fixed ideas are 
to be pulverized away. In most ' metaphysical healing ' it seems to 
involve something like the telepathic action of one subliminal self upon 
another ; but with this we navigate in full wonderland, where without 
safe guidance we had better not proceed. W. J. 


Zur Farbenperimetrie. EMIL HEGG. Arch. f. Ophth., xxxvin. (3) 145. 

Eine Methode der objectives, Prufung des Farbensinns. M. SACHS. Arch, 
f. Ophth. xxxix. (3) 108-125. 1893. 

The experiments of Hess (Arch. f. Ophth., xxxv. 4, 1889) have 
made it plain that there are certain colors which do not change their 
tone as they are viewed by portions of the retina more and more 
remote from the fovea. These colors are (with slight variation due 
to individual differences in the retina and to changes in the objective 
illumination): yellow (575/^)1 green (495-497/1/1), blue (471^/1), and 
a red somewhat more blue than the spectral red ; and these colors 
are called by him, in correspondence with this fact, the invariable 
colors. Yellow and blue are visible farther out upon the retinal field 
than red and green ; from this fact it follows that a mixture of red 
and yellow will begin to lose its red constituent first and will grow 
yellower before it grows colorless, and that, in the same way, all colors 
except the invariable ones are subject to changes of tone as they 
approach the periphery. These facts have been confirmed by several 
other observers (the writer has obtained the same results, as regards 
the spectral colors, in Prof. Konig's laboratory). It will therefore be 
necessary, hereafter, to replace the vague statements in regard to 
change of color which are now to be found in the text-books by this 
more definite knowledge. Emil Hegg, in pursuance of the subject, has 
been able, after overcoming many difficulties, to first prepare upon the 
color-wheel, and then to reproduce in paint upon tin plates, colors 
which have these properties : i. They are invariable in tone. 2. Their 


saturation is such that equal sectors, mixed upon the color-wheel, give 
gray. 3. When observed in the extreme periphery of the eye, when 
they are colorless they are of equal brightness. Colors thus prepared 
are found to be, as might be expected, extremely well adapted to 
detecting localized defect in color-sense in diseased retinas, and hence 
are very useful for the practical oculist. They may be obtained from 
Herr Maler Lauterburg, in Berne. 

The writer of this paper shows a confusion in the use of the term 
brightness which is not uncommon among the followers of Hering. 
Colored papers which look equally bright when colorless he sometimes 
refers to as having equal white valence, which is correct for one who 
admits the existence of a separate process for white ; but again he 
speaks of them as being simply equally bright, and he says (p. 149) 
that colors can be compared with each other as regards their bright- 
ness-value by means of the Hering screen used in Hess* experiments 
already referred to. This is not correct. It is now some time since 
Hering has remodelled his theory in such fashion as no longer to say 
that the brightness of a color-sensation is simply its accompanying 
whiteness, but rather that the color-process adds a specific amount 
(positive or negative in quality) to the total brightness-effect. This is, 
of course, a provision which he should have incorporated into his 
theory in the beginning, had he not remained, apparently, for many 
years oblivious of the well-known Purkinie phenomenon. It is there- 
fore not possible, theoretically, to say that colors are equally bright 
because they look equally bright when the illumination is very faint, or 
when they are seen in the extreme periphery of the eye ; nor is it true 
as matter of fact. On the Chevreul brightness-scale, which gives twen- 
ty-one steps between black and white, Hillebrand found that the colors 
had to be moved (up or down as the case might be) from three to six 
steps according as the comparison took place in a bright or in a faint 
illumination. \Specifische Helligkeit der Far ben, Ber. d. Akad. d. Wis- 
sensch. in Wien, xcvin. 3, 1889.) And from this it follows also that 
color-value (Farbenwertti) is a term whose meaning may easily become 
ambiguous ; it might as readily mean the specific brightness due to the 
color-process as the power of quenching its antagonistic color and pro- 
ducing white. It is in the latter sense that Hegg uses it. It might 
perhaps be better to adopt this phraseology : two different colors (in 
the general sense) have equal white-value if they look equally bright 
in the dark ; they have equal color-value if they also look equally 
bright in a good light (but from the fact alone that they look equally 
bright in a good light it does not follow, of course, that their white- 
values and their color-values are severally equal) ; they have equal 


color-quenching value if equal portions of them, mixed on the color- 
wheel, make white (gray). 

In continuation of his former work {Pfliiger's Archiv, Bd. 52, pp. 
79-86) in which he showed that the width of the pupil varies very exactly 
with the subjective brightness of the light which falls upon the eye, 
Dr. Sachs has tested the method as a means of detecting color-blind- 
ness, both partial and total, and has found it to be very effective. The 
person to be examined looked at an opening in the window-shutter of 
a dark room, which was covered in succession with different gray and 
colored glasses, and the varying width of his pupil was observed with 
the aid of a telescope. Two glasses were selected which were of equal 
brightness for the normal eye in an illumination so faint that their 
color was not perceptible, which had, that is to say, equal white va- 
lence. At an ordinary illumination these proved to be of very different 
brightness for the normal eye, as indicated by width of pupil as well as 
by sensation, but for the totally color-blind person no illumination 
could be found at which they affected the pupil differently. A red- 
green blind person was also examined, with the result that to blue and 
yellow glasses he reacted like a person with normal eyes, while red and 
green left him with width of pupil unaltered. An instructive experi- 
ment was the following : a red or yellow glass was found which, while 
it had less white valence, was brighter for the normal eye than a given 
green or blue ; the change from one glass to the other caused the 
pupil of the totally color-blind person to contract and that of the per- 
son with normal vision to widen. The method would be of special 
value for testing persons of defective intelligence, deceitful or hysteri- 
cal persons, and infants. It ought to be used at once to determine 
the question whether the color-sense is developed in infants later than 
the sensitiveness to changes of brightness of white light. 



Die Stabilitdt der Raumwerte auf der Netzhaut. FRANZ HILLEBRAND. 
Zeitschr. f. Psych., v. 1-60. 1893. 

The problem which this paper attempts to solve is thus stated : 
Are, for all cases of binocular single-vision, the space-values of the 
two retinas stable or otherwise ? Historically this question has been 
answered in both ways. The older 'projection-theory,' that an object 
is seen at the intersection of the lines of regard, involves variability of 
space-values ; for if for one distance of the fixation-point these lines 


fall upon retinal points a and a', for any other distance, if one line 
falls upon a, the other cannot fall on a'. Hering, on the other hand, 
maintains that the localization of a point depends, not on the point of 
intersection of the lines of regard, but on the space-values of the two 
retinal points affected. 

Experiments to decide this question must consider only primitive 
sensations (those given by retina and muscles), unmodified by empiri- 
cal elements (perspective, size of retinal image, etc.) which aid in 
localizing with reference to the horopter. Such empirical aids as affect 
the apparent distance of this surface itself are irrelevant, since we 
have to consider only whether particular objects appear in front of, in, 
or behind this surface. The experiments must separately decide as to 
whether the variability, if it exists, is horizontally disparate, or verti- 
cally disparate, or both. 

To determine the first of these questions, three vertical cocoon- 
threads were used, their supports being made invisible by screens. 
The two outermost were fixed at like distances from the frontal plane ; 
the middle one was to be so placed that it appeared in the same plane, 
the eyes being fixed and symmetrically converged. Under these con- 
ditions the middle thread must actually lie behind the plane of the 
other two, if they are near the eye of the observer, in front of it if they 
are farther away. That is, the vertical horopter is only at one par- 
ticular distance a plane; nearer, it is a surface concave toward the 
observer ; farther away, convex. 

This fact, as the author shows at length, can be explained under 
the assumption that retinal space -values are stable, provided we 
assume that, of the angles formed in each eye by the two lines of 
direction with the line of regard, the nasal angle is constantly greater 
than the temporal. Helmholtz, however, believes that it admits of 
explanation only under two assumptions : (i) a falling away of a 
vertical disparity, which when present corrects the illusion; (2) a false 
estimation of distance. This explanation involves the assumption of 
variable space-values. Its two parts are separately examined. 

i. If very minute scraps of paper ( sq. mm) were fastened in 
irregular order on the vertical threads, thus furnishing the otherwise 
lacking vertical disparity, this new factor made no difference in the 
results; the placing of the middle thread remained as before. So, too, 
if the threads were made invisible, a single bright scrap being fastened 
on each at different heights. The same was true if horizontal threads 
were placed directly in front of the three vertical threads (again 
visible, and without the paper scraps). But if the apparatus was so- 
arranged that the pushing back of the middle vertical thread carried 


back with it the middle parts of the horizontal threads, the result was 
changed: they no longer appeared in a plane when in the same posi- 
tion as before, and it was impossible to find a position in which they 
did so appear with any definiteness. 

The other experiments prove that the vertical disparity given by 
the horizontal threads cannot account for the results obtained in this 
last experiment. Their explanation lies rather in the fact that the 
pushing back of the horizontal threads gives an empirical factor, 
namely, perspective, which influences the estimation of distance. But, 
as was pointed out before, not empirical factors, but only the primitive 
sensations, have value in deciding the main question. Now in the 
experiment on which Helmholtz relies to prove the influence of verti- 
cal disparity, gold pearls were so fastened upon vertical threads that 
the resulting estimations were based, not upon this disparity, but upon 
perspective, and perhaps to some extent on size of retinal images: 
both of them empirical factors. The same is true of Helmholtz' 
experiment with stereoscopic figures. It is clear, then, that vertical 
disparity is without influence on localization in distance. 

2. The second factor in Helmholtz' explanation is that the false 
estimation of the distance of the middle thread causes us to make a 
corresponding false judgment as to the relative position of the side 
threads. In case there are no vertical disparities present, the judg- 
ment must be determined by this factor alone. There are two types 
of illusion with respect to distance of objects: (a) when the fixed point 
is localized in accordance with the convergence of the eyes, but this 
convergence is not adjusted to the real distance of the object, e.g., by 
the use of prisms, etc. ; (b) when the localization does not accord with 
the convergence, even when this is adapted to the actual distance of 
the object : when two stereoscopic pictures are joined, the object does 
not appear at an infinite distance. These two cases must be sepa- 
rately experimented with to see if they support Helmholtz' conclusion. 
And in these experiments we must take care that the retinal images 
suffer no change, in spite of any other change in the conditions of the 

(a) If two systems, each of three vertical cocoon-threads, are 
looked at with parallel lines of regard, and thus fuse into apparently 
one system, its apparent distance will coincide with that of a screen 
which may be placed at varying distance behind them. Thus the 
convergence remains constant, while the apparent distance varies. 
If then the middle thread be so placed that it appears in the plane of 
the other two, it still appears in that plane if the apparent distance of 
the plane is changed. When the convergence remains constant, the 


form of the vertical horopter is independent of the apparent distance 
of objects lying within it. 

(b) By the use of a haploscope specially designed for the purpose, 
it was proved also that when the apparent distance remained constant 
or very nearly so, the greatest possible variation in convergence was 
attended by no change in localization with reference to the horopter. 
All the illusions appealed to by Helmholtz can be reduced to one of 
these two types, or to a combination of both. In one experiment by 
Helmholtz, however, namely, that with prisms (Phys. Op., p. 657), the 
localization with respect to the horopter does vary when the con- 
vergence varies ; but this is due, not to the variation of convergence, 
but, as is shown by an extended examination of the influence of the 
reflections and refractions of the prisms, to variation in the retinal 
image of one eye, a factor which causes such results even without 
change in convergence. 

These facts, then, prove that the localization of a point relatively 
to the horopter must be regarded as a physiological function of a 
particular pair of retinal points. To such a pair we can ascribe a 
space-value and maintain that this space-value is stable. As Hering 
had already assumed, in order that a point seen by such a retinal pair 
may appear in the horopter, the two lines of direction of the external 
point must form with the corresponding lines of regard angles of 
which the nasal must be greater than the temporal; i.e., breadth-values 
increase faster on the outer retina than on the inner. This agrees 
with the fact that, in monocularly bisecting a line, the portion whose 
image falls on the inner retina is made longer than the other. Finally, 
binocularly singly-seen objects are not seen at the point of intersection 
of their lines of direction ; the position of the visual object does not 
coincide with that of the corresponding real object. But this illusion 
is not an illusion of judgment in regard to the content of sensation, as 
Helmholtz thought, but one in regard to form and situation of the 
actual object. E. B. DELABARRE. 



Zur experimentellen Aesthetik einfacher rdumlicher Formverhaltnisse. 
LIGHTNER WITMER. Philos. Studien, ix. i. 96-144, 2. 209-263. 
Also separately published by Wilhelm Engelmann, Leipzig. 

The author of this investigation made use of figures cut from card- 
board rectangles, triangles, etc. and of simple linear figures drawn 
on paper crosses, rectangles, vertical lines divided by dots, and others. 


All the figures of a single group or series were placed before the sub- 
ject in a serial order such that the mathematical proportions of the 
parts of the figures varied by a constant amount between the ratio i : i 
and i'.x(x being any large number). For example, in a series of 
crosses comprising perhaps 20 to 30 crosses, the length of crossbar and 
vertical remaining constant, the crossbar moved i mm in each figure 
from the centre point of the vertical to a point i mm from the top 
of the vertical. As far as practicable or necessary for the purposes 
of experiment, every possible mathematical ratio is represented by a 
figure, whose place in the series is determined by the mathematical 
proportion of its parts. This method permits of the easy obser- 
vation of the relative increase or decrease in the aesthetic feeling 
attaching to the regularly-increasing proportions, and is not open to 
certain objections that may be made to the method of choice as 
applied by Fechner to arrive at the aesthetic value of the ' golden sec- 
tion ' and the simple mathematical proportions of the musical har- 
monies. Each series comprised from 15 to 30 figures, and results are 
given in detail from 65 series. Other series were constructed and 
used, but no report is given of results, as it was found that those series 
in which the linear magnitudes under consideration did not stand at 
right angles carried the investigation too far afield, through the multi- 
plication of variable conditions. 

The 65 series are classified under the following groups : i. Pro- 
portional division of a straight line (13 series). 2. Two lines meeting 
to form a right angle (2 series). 3. A line perpendicular to a sec- 
ond line at some point other than the ends of the latter (8 series). 
4. Cross-figures (n series). 5. Various inclosed figures ellipses, rect- 
angles, triangles (12 series). 6. Multiple proportion in simple figures (7 
series). 7. The same in more complicated figures (7 series). 8. Fig- 
ures to investigate the dependence of the pleasing quality upon ab- 
solute size. Of these groups i, 2, 4, and 5 form the experimental basis 
for the main conclusions of the investigation, but all groups are reported 
upon, and the results tabulated, with no omission of individual variant 
results. Sixteen tables present the results of the judgments of the 14 
subjects taking part in the investigation. An additional table gives 
the average variation of the individual judgments of each of seven 
subjects from the average judgment of each, and the average departure 
of the judgment of each subject from the average judgment of all sub- 
jects. A section of the paper is devoted to some hitherto unpublished 
experiments of Fechner's, presented with three tables of results from 
manuscripts kindly loaned the author by Frau Fechner and Fechner's 
literary executor, Prof. Dr. Kuntze. Another section concerns itself 


with a theoretical consideration of methods, containing also six tables 
of control experiments. Still another is devoted to a consideration of 
Fechner's methods; another to Zeising's speculations and investigations; 
an introductory section to a short historical review, and a final section 
to a consideration of possible interpretations of the results. 

These results go to show that the aesthetic value of simple visual 
forms may be represented by a curve the abscissas representing in 
regular succession all proportions from i : i to i : x (x being an indefi- 
nitely large quantity), and the ordinates denoting the degree of sub- 
jective pleasure or displeasure (agreeableness or disagreeableness) 
attaching to a given proportion ; or, looked at from another point of 
view, the objective aesthetic value of the proportion. For all groups 
of figures and for all positions of the figure there are but two even 
relatively most pleasing proportions the ratio i : i, or symmetry, and a 
ratio that lies between 2 : 3 and i : 2, the ' most pleasing proportion? to 
designate which the author suggests a symbol O, to be distinguished 
from Fechner's symbol O for the mathematical ratio of the harmonic 
section. The curve begins as a straight line at i : i (which represents 
that a range of ratios is perceived as i : i) ; it is interrupted, to begin 
with a negative or diminished ordinate value at a ratio that appears 
just 'off' from i : i (about i : 1.18 in rectangles); from this point the 
curve rises to a maximum at i : 1.63, whence it falls gradually but con- 
tinuously to i : x. Symmetry in all figures stands so apart from all 
other proportions that a comparison between it and any other propor- 
tion on the same terms as between the other proportions among them- 
selves is not justifiable. Cutting off the straight line of the subjective 
ratio i : i, the remainder it is proposed to call the * curve of aesthetic 
proportion.' The maximum of this curve in nearly all series falls be- 
tween i : 2 and 2 : 3, and the average of all results places it so near 
the 'golden section' (O = i * 1.63 and O = i : 618) that this formula 
might justifiably be employed to express in mathematical terms the 
'most pleasing proportion.' But its use would be in so far objection- 
able, as it would carry with it the implication that the aesthetic value 
of the ' most pleasing proportion ' is dependent upon the mathematical 
properties of the golden section. If the ' most pleasing proportion ' is 
to be expressed in mathematical terms, the ratio 3 : 5 is suggested as 
being an approximate expression of the results of this investigation, 
free from unnecessary and false implications. 

Summarized, the results of this investigation are as follows : i. 
The most pleasing proportion is a ratio i : 1.63, or expressed in whole 
numbers, approximately 3:5. In reality it is more correct to speak of a 
range of most pleasing proportions, as the curve falls but slowly to both 


sides of the maximum. 2. Symmetry ami Proportion are aesthetically 
quite unlike, and their pleasing character is due to wholly different 
causes. 3. The pleasing character of proportion is not to be explained 
by any association either in the individual or in the race. 4. An ex- 
planation of the ' most pleasing proportion ' is not to be sought in the 
mathematical qualities of the ' golden section,' i.e., in an equality of 
ratios. 5. Still less is the assumption justifiable of a mathematical 
formula as the mystical constructive principle of the universe, the more 
perfect expression of which constitutes the basis of the beauty of visual 
forms. 6. To consider aesthetic proportion as a ' most pleasing differ- 
ence of parts' is justified by the results of the present investigation. 
7. No explanation is offered to show why just this amount of difference 
is most pleasing ; future analysis and experiment will probably unravel 
a multiplicity of factors, physiological and psychological. 



Psychologie du musiden. L. DAURIAC. Rev. philos., xvm. 449-470 
and 595-617. 1893. 

I. The Evolution of Musical Ability. Music is not an imitative 
art. The so-called * music ' of birds consists of noises rather than 
tones ; the discrete scale is a human invention. Music in its higher 
development is essentially modern. Historically, the composer and 
virtuoso precede the * amateur auditor.' At present the 'amateur 
auditor ' generally precedes the virtuoso, and the composer is the latest 
stage of all, though there is no strict law. The composer is so far in- 
fluenced by the productions he has heard that they mould his style, 
without necessarily impairing his originality ; this causes the historical 
progress in music and often produces local coloring. 

II. The ' Ear for Music.' The appreciation of differences in pitch 
is the test of musical appreciation. This seems to grow more delicate 
in the race and in many individuals. A false note is more readily 
detected (i) the longer the tones last ; (2) the larger the number of 
concomitant tones ; (3) the greater their intensity. Distinction of 
timbre is not essential to an ear for music ; it is largely due to volun- 
tary training. The difference between classic and contemporary or- 
chestration is perhaps owing to our present greater knowledge of the 
physiological effects of various timbres. The ability to distinguish the 
relative intensity of tones seems to be always present. Some persons 
distinguish rhythm who confuse all airs having the same rhythm. 


The writer distinguishes between music-deafness and tone-deafness. 
The former is inability to appreciate music (aesthetically), while dis- 
tinguishing between tones ; the latter is inability to tell tones apart. 



| Internal Speech and Song. J. M. BALDWIN. Philos. Review, n. 
385-407. July, 1893. 

The author begins with the question : Can the speech-centre be 
innervated directly by the auditory or other sensory centres, or must the 
kinaesthetic word-centre always stand between? Surveying the evi- 
dence with some detail, he concludes that there may be a direct flow 
from the auditory or visual centre to the motor speech-centre, the kin- 
aesthetic speech-centre not necessarily being excited on the way. 
Speakers are probably of two types, sensory and motor, the latter, 
judging by the analogy of reaction-time (which is usually more rapid 
when the attention is bent upon the movement), being presumably the 
more rapid in their utterance. 

When a man is habitually motor or habitually sensory, is this 
because of a mere habit of his attention ? or are there native motors 
and persons who are natively sensory ? Prof. Baldwin says that we 
cannot be exclusively either motor or sensory in our reactions because 
of the necessary neural circle by which all sensory attention overflows 
into motor adjustments that come back in turn in the shape of an 
augmentation of sensation. He formulates a ' law of sensori-motor as- 
sociation,' as follows : Every sensational state is a complex of sensor and 
motor elements, and any influence which strengthens the one tends to 
strengthen the other also. But our various attentions and memories do 
not develop simultaneously. Motor speech-ideas are preceded by 
visual ideas of objects, and these by auditory ideas of words understood. 
Thus the auditory and visual memories get a good ' start ' on the 
motor ones. Unliterary people may sometimes remain * audiles ' all 
their life. Others, and these apparently the larger number, grow into 
motors. The reaction-time of a sensor will probably be shorter by 
the sensory method, that of a motor will be shorter by the ' muscular * 
method thus Prof. Baldwin would explain the results of some recent 
observations which disagree with those at first obtained. Passing from 
internal speech to internal song, the author seeks a theory of tune- 
recall which shall account for our ideas of pitch, rhythm, and timbre. 
There is a motor type of musical memory which requires to think the 
words or hum the rhythm inwardly before the tune is realized in ful- 
ness. In some cases the tune must even be associated with a particular 


instrument and with the movements made in playing it thereupon. 
But that this is only one type among many is shown by the fact that 
musical recognition and expression may precede verbal recognition and 
expression in childhood, and may be retained when the subject has 
fallen a victim to verbal aphasia, either sensory or motor. That musi- 
cal recall can be auditory is also shown by other facts, especially those 
which relate to the recall of pitch. v. Kries considers that the 
* absolute ' recognition of a note's pitch is due to association with the 
note's name. Obviously it ends in this where the note is named ; but 
Prof. Baldwin suggests that the deeper basis of mere recognition and 
mere recall of a note and its pitch as something familiar consists in the 
revival of those motor associates of the note which are involved in 
adjusting the attention to it. " When a presentation comes a second 
time into consciousness, it is adjusted to more easily because its apper- 
ception in attention proceeds upon a basis of ready-formed association. 
This relative ease of adjustment is felt as the subjective aspect of 

This article (like much of its author's writing) is in places deficient 
in perspicuity. But it is important, apart from its richness in details, 
because it offers a basis of mediation between the two theories of 
Recognition over which Hoffding and Lehmann have recently waged 
war. One theory, stated in its radical form, says that a thing looks 
familiar to us when it recalls to us its past self. The other theory says 
it looks or sounds familiar when it recalls its past surroundings. The 
difficulty with the latter view is that the supposed surroundings fail to 
become explicitly conscious where the recognition is confined to the 
bare ' sense of familiarity.' How do we know, then, that they are at 
all tending to revive? But Prof. Baldwin, in making them sink to 
the level of the mere motor associates of former acts of attention, gives 
a good reason why our consciousness of them should be so indistinct 
and why at the same time we should so unmistakably greet the sensory 
experience which they accompany as one already ' ours.' W. J. 


Die moderne Energetik in ihrer Bedeutung fur die Erkenntnisskritik. 
KURD LASSWITZ. Philos. Mon., xxix. Hefte 1-4. 

The author adds in these articles another chapter to his history of 
modern atomism.* He had reached in his history the conclusion that 
physics find in the kinetic atomism an ideal carrier for its details. 

* Geschichte der modernen Atomistik, K. Lassvvitz, Hamburg, 1891. 


The development of the theory of energy, especially that which it has 
received at the hands of Professor Ostwald of Leipzig, obliges him to 
at least restate this proposition if he is to justify it in the face of this 
most modern theory. 

Herr Lasswitz prefaces his discussion by a deduction of the con- 
cepts of quantity and quality based upon a chapter of Dr. Natorp's 
Logik. Starting from the manifoldness and unity which are the funda- 
mental aspects of all phenomena of nature, the author defines quan- 
tity as that property of things by which they may exhibit a difference 
without a change of the unit the difference of magnitude. From the 
standpoint of quantity the possibility of comparison of things consists 
only in their manifoldness, in so far as multiplicity may be without 
difference. Quality, on the other hand, is that property which involves 
a difference of units every quality is a law of the formation of a 
magnitude. In virtue of the property of quantity things differ only 
so far as they can be brought under a single unit ; in virtue of quality 
things differ in so far as they must be brought under different units. 
The three categories of quantity are unity, plurality, and totality, in 
which the third category is result of combination of the other two. 

Corresponding to these we have three categories of quality iden- 
tity, difference, and variability. These depend upon the fact that every 
qualitative phenomenon is a continuous one in nature. To obtain 
therefore a condition which shall be identical with itself we must have 
recourse to the infinitesimal concept. But even when asserting this as 
identical and therefore different from other states or conditions, we 
must define it by the law of the change from one state to another. 

Color as a qualitative condition of things must be studied in the 
spectrum where it is a continuous phenomenon, continuous by chang- 
ing from the most saturated red to violet. If by the infinitesimal 
concept we fix one portion as identical, we can define it only in 
terms of the law of change, as ordinarily expressed in the number of 
vibrations. This gives us variability as the concept of quality, by 
which it can be treated as a magnitude and so become an object of 
study for physics. States made up of like units and units constructed 
upon the concept of variability form the subject-matter of physics. 
This gives the phenomena of nature as categorically determined, but 
does not give it as actually existing. This element which involves the 
objective existence of a state or condition is energy. This is first 
defined as that magnitude in virtue of which equivalence exists among 
the ' forces of nature.' The three categories of relation which are 
postulated as involving existence are those of substance, causality, and 


The author finds the reality of the category of substance in the 
conservation of energy, i.e., in the fundamental unity which must be 
posited as underlying all the manifoldness of the natural phenomena. 
The reality of the law of causality is identified with the law of the 
compensation of intensities which the theory of energy postulates as 
the law of all change. Two factors determine the amount of energy 
{Energiemcnge) in any spatial configuration its so-called capacity and 
its intensity. Given a number of energies that of mass, of warmth, of 
electricity any one spatial configuration may have relatively varying 
capacities for each or they may (as in many cases) be equal for a 
number. The intensity of this energy, however, may be in a state of 
constant change within the spatial configuration or between different 
spatial configurations or bodies. The heat may equalize itself through- 
out a single body or it may be received from another. On the other 
hand, the differences of intensities in different portions of a body may 
be compensated by different forms of energy. The condition, then, of 
any change will be that there be present uncompensated differences of 
intensity. The relative spatial positions of these differences and their 
varying intensities will determine the temporal order in which change 
shall take place. This law of the theory of energy, therefore, expresses 
the reality in the relation of cause and effect. 

The general interrelations of the energies, the laws in accordance 
with which they are exchanged and compensate each other, and the 
fundamental principles of their action, give us in the third place an 
interrelation between the different objects whose substantial and tem- 
poral reality are given by the laws of energy, which the author expresses 
by the relation of system. The unified groups of objects which exist 
in the world its organisms and systems express this third relation ; 
and by them the whole concept of reality is exhausted. 

Instead, then, of the reduction of ail the phenomena of nature to 
terms of mechanical physics, this theory of energy places the different 
energies upon an equality with each other expresses each as a qualita- 
tive state or condition by the mathematical law of its process. The 
roundabout methods by which light and heat and electricity are 
reduced to facts of molecular motion or energy can be dropped, and 
the mathematically stated facts of each can be brought into correlation 
with each other by means of the principles of conservation and com- 
pensation. In the place of the mechanical unit, the gram, comes the 
erg, i.e., double the energy which a gram of weight possesses when it 
moves with the velocity of a centimeter in a second. 

There are two difficulties which beset physics, in the light of which 
Lasswitz discusses this theory. The first is the imputation against 


modern molecular physics that it arbitrarily reads all other sensations 
into those of touch, or contact. This imputation the author has 
strenuously denied in his history of atomism, and welcomes the theory 
of energy because it shows so clearly that no sensation is laid at the 
basis of the statements of physics, but that this science is a rational- 
ization of the phenomena of nature in abstract terms terms that 
abstract from all qualitative expressions except in so far as these can 
be found in the law of their changes or processes. On the other hand, 
the author is confident that the reduction of all energies to the terms 
of a single one will be a necessary development in the theory of energy, 
and that this will be the energy of mass in a molecular formation. 
The aim of physics to seek a unified statement of the world will drive 
the theory of energy into this. But the means for this expression 
which this theory offers, i.e., the terms of energies expressed in the 
formulae of their laws of change, with the unity of the conservation of 
energy substituted for that of an underlying substance, he finds supe- 
rior to those of the mechanical physics which hold the field to-day. 
The second difficulty is that of the expression of sensation in terms of 
motion : and here Lasswitz finds also that the theory of energy has 
removed inconsistencies that could not be avoided by mechanical 
physics. In the first place physics at once assumes the function of 
stating the phenomena of nature in abstract terms those of the rational 
judgment not in terms of an extra-existent substance which is read in 
terms of sensations of touch. 

In the second place the unity of its determinations are those of the 
objectified subject. They are the laws of the content of consciousness 
abstracted from the ego at its centre. The fundamental inadequacy 
of the expression of sensation in motion is due to the abstract terms 
of the science. The question whether, wherever in nature unity in a 
system is found, we must suppose an ego also, the author leaves unde- 
cided. GEORGE H. MEAD. 


Psychology t Descriptive and Explanatory ; A Treatise of the Phenomena, 
Laws, and Development of Human Mental Life. GEORGE TRUM- 
BULL LADD. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1894. Pp. xiii, 
676. $4-5- 

Inductive Psychology : An Introduction to the Study of Mental Phe- 
mena. E. A. KIRKPATRICK. Winona, Minn., 1893. Pp- I0 4- 
50 cents. 

214 NOTES. 

Le conscience du moi. PAUL CARUS. Alcan, Paris, 1893. Pp. 144. 
Philosophy of Reality : Should it be favored by America ? JAMES 

McCosH. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1894. Pp. vii, 78. 
Mental Development of the Child. W. PREYER. Translated from the 

German by H. W. BROWN. International Education Series. D. 

Appleton & Co., New York, 1893. Pp. xxvi, 170. 
Notes on the Development of a Child. MILICENT WASHBURN SHINN. 

University of California Studies. Berkeley, published by the 

University, 1893. Pp. iv, 88. 

IS Education de la volonttt. J. PAYOT. F. Alcan, Paris, 1894. Pp. 274. 
Les centres ctrebraux de la vision et I'appareil nerveux visuel intra- 

cerebral. VIALET. With Preface by DEJE"RINE and 90 figures. 

F. Alcan, Paris, 1893. Pp. 355. 
The Psychic Factors of Civilization. LESTER F. WARD. Ginn & Co., 

Boston, 1893. Pp. vi, 232. 
Philosophy of History France. ROBERT FLINT. Charles Scribner's 

Sons, New York, 1894. Pp. xxvii, 706. $4. 
Civilization during the Middle Ages. GEORGE B. ADAMS. Charles 

Scribner's Sons, New York, 1894. $2.50. 
Mes nouvelles conclusions sociologiques. COMTE DE CHAMBRUN. Levy, 

Paris, 1893. Pp. 126. 
System der Ethik, mit einem Umriss der Staats- u. Gesellschaftslehre. 

FRIEDR. PAULSEN. Hertz, Berlin, 1894. Verb. u. verm. AufL 

Vol. I, pp. xv, 429 ; Vol. II, pp. v, 576. 
Abnormal Man : being Essays on Education and Crime and related 

Subjects, with Digests of Literature and a Bibliography. ARTHUR 

MACDONALD. Circular of Information No. 4. Bureau of Edu- 
cation, Washington, 1893. Pp. 445. 
Ninth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution 

(1887-1888). J. W. POWELL, Director. With 448 Illustations and 

8 colored Plates. Pp. xlvi, 617. Washington, Gov. Print. Office, 




The second annual meeting of the American Psychological Associa- 
tion was held at Columbia College, New York on Dec. 27th and 28th, 
1893. In the absence of President Low the meeting was called to 
order by Professor Butler, Dean of the Faculty of Philosophy of 
Columbia College, who introduced the President of the Association, 
Professor Ladd of Yale University. There were in all five sessions, 

NOTES. 215 

extending from eleven o'clock on the 2yth to half-past four o'clock on 
the 28th. 

The following papers were presented : (i) * The Psychological 
Standpoint ' ; Professor Fullerton, University of Pennsylvania. (2) 
' The Case of John Bunyan ' ; Professor Royce, Harvard University. 
(3) ' Experiments on Visual Memory ' ; Mr. Warren, Princeton Univer- 
sity. (4) ' The Confusion of Content and Function in the Analysis of 
Ideas ' ; Dr. Miller, Bryn Mawr College. (5) ' Do we ever Dream of 
Tasting?'; Professor Murray, McGill College. (6) 'An early An- 
ticipation of Mr. Fiske's Doctrine as to the Meaning of Infancy ' ; 
Professor Butler, Columbia College. (7) ' Address of the President ' ; 
Professor Ladd, Yale University. (8) * Accurate Work in Psychology ' 
Dr. Scripture, Yale University. (9) * The Problem of Psychological 
Measurement'; Mr. Mead, University of Michigan. (10) 'The Per- 
ception of Magnitude and Distance ' ; Dr. Hyslop, Columbia College. 
(n) * Pain and Pleasure ' ; Mr. Marshall, New York. (12) ' Pain Con- 
trasts ' ; Professor Pace, Catholic University, Washington. In addi- 
tion to these papers, which made up the official programme, informal 
papers were presented by Professor Miinsterberg, Harvard University, 
Professor Cattell, Columbia College, and Dr. Scripture, Yale Univer- 
sity, giving in each case an account of recent research. 

Nearly as much time was taken up in the discussion of papers as 
in the reading of them. The members who took part in the discus- 
sion, in addition to those who presented papers, were Professor James, 
Harvard University, Professor Baldwin, Princeton College, Professor 
Starr, College of Physicians and Surgeons, Professor Dewey, Univer- 
sity of Michigan, Professor Armstrong, Wesleyan University, Pro- 
fessor Strong, University of Chicago, Professor Krohn, University of 
Illinois, Dr. Witmer, University of Pennsylvania, and Brother Chry- 
sostom, Manhattan College. There were in all thirty-three members 
present, representing sixteen of the leading colleges and universities of 
the United States and Canada. 

At the business meeting of the Association it was decided to print 
proceedings, which should include short abstracts of the papers. 
Fourteen new members were elected, and Professor Dewey of the 
University of Michigan was elected a member of the council. Pro- 
fessor James of Harvard University was elected President for the 
coming year and Professor Cattell of Columbia College, Secretary. 
Accepting the invitation of President Patton of Princeton College and 
Professor Baldwin, the Association adjourned to meet at Princeton on 
Dec. 28th and 2Qth, 1894. J. McK. C. 




The account of the Psychological Laboratory of Harvard University 
prepared by Professor MUNSTERBERG and issued by the University as 
part of its exhibit at the Chicago Exposition is an extremely useful 
pamphlet for those having charge of psychological laboratories. In 
addition to an account of the laboratory (with illustrations), a complete 
list of its apparatus, and the subjects of twenty-three researches in 
progress, it contains the names and addresses of seventy makers of, or 
dealers in, psychological apparatus, and an extended bibliography of the 
literature of experimental psychology. 

In addition to the comprehensive treatise on Psychology by Prof. 
LADD, just published by Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons, systematic 
works are announced by Mr. STOUT, St. John's College, Cambridge, 
Professor MULLER, GOttingen, and Professor EBBINGHAUS, Berlin. 

Messrs. J. B. Lippincott & Co. have in press System of Diseases of 
the Eye, edited by Professor NORRIS and Dr OLIVER of Philadelphia. 
The work is written by about sixty American and foreign authors, and 
includes the fullest treatment in English of the development, anatomy, 
and physiology of the eye and of the psychology of vision. 

After Oct. 1894 the Philosophische Monatshefte is to be edited by 
Prof. BENNO ERDMANN of Halle and to be published in conjunction 
with the Archiv fur die Geschichte der Philosophic by REIMER in Berlin. 
The two journals will be conducted on a common plan and will sup- 
plement each other, the former being devoted to systematic philosophy 
and the latter to history of philosophy. 

Dr. L. E. Hill, Associate Professor of Physiology in University 
College, London, is offering during the Easter term of the current year 
a course of lectures on Physiological Psychology. 

M. ALFRED FOUILLE"E, author of Psychologic des idtes- forces, etc., 
has been elected a member of the French Academy of the Moral 

MSS. intended for publication in THE PSYCHOLOGICAL REVIEW 
during 1894 and books, etc., intended for review, should be sent to 
Prof. J. McKEEN CATTELL, Garrison-on-Hudson, N.Y. From Oct. 
1894 to Oct. 1895 they should be sent to Prof. J. MARK BALDWIN, 
Princeton, N. J. 

VOL. I. No. 3. MAY, 1894. 



Princeton University. 

There is a tendency in the thinking of the time to evade 
the question of the freedom of the will. Some excuse them- 
selves for this neglect on the plea that the issue has become 
antiquated or exploded. But so long as the sense of respon- 
sibility for his actions survives in man, the question of freedom 
will remain central for him and his interest in its solution will 
be vital. We may assume then that neither the psychologist 
nor the metaphysician can waive the responsibility of its con- 

Much of the perplexity that surrounds the question arises 
from the absence of any definite concept of the nature of the 
subject under debate. Usually there is in the minds of both 
the asserters and deniers of freedom a kind of vague appre- 
hension is somehow inconsistent with the idea of law, 
and that a world of freedom would be virtually the same thing 
as a world of chance. To a mental state like this the alter- 
natives are chance and fate, and the only escape from the iron 
clutches of an all-devouring necessity seems to be through a 
repeal of the law of causation and a plunge into ' primal eldest 

The dilemma which thus arises supplies a problem to the 
psychologist, although the source of the difficulty is partly 
extra-psychological and consists in the assumption that 
mechanical law or determination by other is the only con- 
ceivable type of orderly activity, and that it must be extended 
over human volition, unless we are prepared to regard the will 



as lawless. The resources of psychology in dealing with the 
question are both direct and indirect. The direct method of 
approach is through the analysis of the activity of choice as 
it manifests itself in consciousness. If we separate this ana- 
lytic business from all questions of the remote antecedents of 
choice and set ourselves to obtain as adequate an intuition as 
possible of the actual factors which enter into a present act of 
volition, we shall, I think, reach something like the following 
conclusion. In the first place the idea of motiveless choice, 
for us men, must be dismissed to the limbo of exploded philo- 
sophical myths. Motivation may be assumed as a universal 
law of choice, and the initial question will be to determine the 
mode of the operation of this law. Here we take the first step 
that lifts the issue above the plane of both fate and chance. 
Psychological analysis proves the immanent character of all 
normal motivation. Whatever relation the remote grounds of 
our actions may bear to us, the immediate determinants of 
choice and action must, in order to influence the will, become 
internal as parts of the energy that wills and chooses. Deter- 
mination here is not external but internal. This conclusion 
taken in connection with two additional considerations will 
suffice to give a fairly adequate notion of the nature of the 
voluntary function. 

One of these is the selective character of choice. True 
choice is always a case where one is taken and another left. 
There are, it is true, influential psychologists like James who 
regard ideomotor action, that is, immediate reaction upon 
presentation, as the type of all volition. Against this position 
the objection holds, I think, that it reduces all choice to im- 
mediacy and leaves no place for deliberation. But the choice 
that we mortals know most about is a mediate function which 
operates through selection of alternatives. And selection of 
alternatives involves a two-sided process, conscious annulment 
of ends as well as conscious self-commitment to the end that is 
chosen. The remaining feature of choice that is vital to it is 
the power of arrest which the mind is able, through its com- 
mand of attention, to exercise over the forces that are impel- 
ling it to volition. Through this power of arrest the mind is 
able to effect a stay of the voluntary proceedings until it has 


collected its scattered forces and is in a position to act as a 
unit. Thus, in what we may call normal choice the determin- 
ing motive is the whole self that chooses,* while abnormal 
forms of choice would arise as departures and aberrations in 
various ways from this normal standard. 

This is perhaps as far as the direct analysis of conscious- 
ness can take us in determining the nature of choice, but it is 
far enough to justify several important conclusions. The first 
of these is that the activity of will cannot be subsumed under 
the category of mechanical causation whose form is determina- 
tion by other, but that in will we come upon a form of activity 
that is self-determining. We have seen that the immediate 
antecedent of choice, when it is normal, is the whole present 
self. In choice then the mind simply determines itself from 
one state to another. If we represent the two states by a and 
b and the activity of choice by x, every case of normal choice 
will involve the self-moving of the mind from a to b through 
function x. The causal antecedent of x is, therefore, the mind 
in state a, while the consequent is the mind in state b, and x is 
the activity or movement in which the transition is made. 
Normal choice is, therefore, self-movement and not movement 
by other. Another conclusion that follows from the above 
analysis is that fatalism rests on a false idea of the relation of 
a man to his own choice. The fatalist is one who denies his 
own agency in volition. The only type of determination, in 
his view, is determination by other. He, therefore, makes a 
false diremption between himself and the determining causes 
of his action and conceives himself to be a mere puppet in the 
hands of God, Nature, Fate, or whatever his Absolute may 
chance to be. But if the immediate antecedent of choice is 
the chooser himself, and if choice is self-determination, the 
presupposition of fatalism falls to the ground ; for, however a 
man's choice may be determined, it cannot be that he is a mere 
spectator of the drama, or that he is run by alien forces that 
act without his own assent. 

Self-determination is freedom : or, if we regard it as a type 

* Two interesting discussions of the relation of motive to choice are Baldwin's 
Hand-book of Psychology, Vol. II.: Feeling and Will, pp. 352-376 ; and Hodgson's 
Mind, April 1891 : Free Will: an Analysis. 


of causation, it is free causation. That freedom is realized, 
therefore, in the form of volition is a psychologically verifiable 
fact. But in arguing the question we have distinguished the 
present act of will from its indirect antecedents and conditions. 
They are, however, never separate in fact, but the present 
choice is, in some sense, what it is, because of its antecedents. 
This changes the issue into a question of predeterminism. 
It may be demonstrated that the present choice is self-deter- 
mined, and at the same time the self that chooses may be pre- 
determined by its antecedents. We may thus escape fatalism 
and still find ourselves in the clutches of necessity. 

It is clear that the issues involved in this phase of the ques- 
tion cannot be settled by an appeal to the individual conscious- 
ness. The problem of predeterminism is one that involves 
the factors of heredity and environment, and the point to be 
debated here is the relation of the present self that chooses to 
these predetermining agencies. At the basis of the inquiry 
rests the fact of a developing series the parts of which are 
bound together by the law of causation and all of which are, 
therefore, dependent on the chain in which they constitute 
individual links. 

Now, the series with which the psychic nature of man is 
most completely identified is the biological. Man is a living 
being and his psychic activity is a species of life. This does 
not, however, reduce psychology to a branch of biology, but 
rather comprehends the biologic activity in that of the soul, 
just as the intelligence of the animal is comprehended in that 
of man. The term that is central in the biological series is the 
germ-cell out of which the organism develops and through 
which it propagates its species, and it is in connection with 
it that the bearings of heredity and environment need to be 
primarily estimated. Of the two factors, that of heredity is 
clearly the more fundamental, since it is through its agency 
that each successive environment is supplied with the special 
material upon which its modifying forces are to play. 

How then are we to conceive heredity ? It is clear that the 
germ-cell is the medium through which persistent effects 
must be produced. But at the very threshold of the inquiry 
into the nature of heredity, biologists have split into two con- 


tending camps known as Neo-Lamarckians and Neo-Darwin- 
ians, the leader of the latter school being Professor Weismann, 
whose whole doctrine of heredity rests on the assumption, 
which is beyond proof, that the germ-cell out of which the 
organism develops, after it has separated from the parent 
organism and become fertilized, breaks into two parts, one of 
these developing into the new organism which is open to the 
modifying influences of the environment, while the other part 
remains unchanged as the germ of a future organism. Weis- 
mann, therefore, denies the modifiability of that part of the 
germ-cell through which the continuity of the species is 
maintained, and on this ground denies the transmissibility of 
acquired characters or modifications. Having virtually elim- 
inated the environment as a factor in development, the Neo- 
Darwinians have three agents left: (i) new combinations of 
original characters which are effected through the modes of 
transmission, sexual or asexual ; (2) accidental variations, or the 
appearance of characters which cannot be accounted for by 
the first cause ; (3) natural selection which tends to eliminate 
all variations arising through the first two agencies, that are 
useless or injurious, and causes only those that are positively 
useful to survive. 

Now, a careful analysis of these factors gives us the some- 
what startling result that a whole class of variations, those 
that have no ancestral copies and on which development most 
directly depends, are left virtually unaccounted for. Darwin 
himself regarded variations in general as accidental ; at least 
he brought forward no theory of explanation, while the Neo- 
Darwinians are able to account for some variations by new 
combinations of ancestral copies, but they have no adequate 
explanation for that large class of changes which the opposing 
school of biologists are in the habit of ascribing to the modify- 
ing influences of the environment. 

It is because the Neo-Lamarckian school have command of 
all the Weismannian resources and are able in addition to fall 
back on the modifying activity of the environment as a cause 
of original variations, that their doctrine seems to possess a 
decided advantage over that of their rivals both as a theory 
of development and of heredity. They reject Weismann's 


absolute isolation of the germ-cell of future organisms and hold 
that it is to some degree open to the modifying influences that 
affect the present organism in which it dwells. They are thus 
able to reach an idea of the development of organisms that is 
more flexible than the Weismannian, since the germ-cell is 
represented as fluent and open to all sorts of modifying in- 
fluences ; as well as more completely mechanical, inasmuch as 
the results are represented as arising out of a long series of 
almost infinitesimal changes produced by the varying play of 
environing forces. 

The functions of heredity and environment will be most 
adequately conceived when considered in their relation to the 
germ-cells out of which the successive organisms develop. 
We have in the germ-cell a biological unit which contains the 
stored-up potence of a developed life, there being included in 
this unit as part of its potential, the accumulated modifications 
of a series of antecedent environments. And this unit con- 
taining the results of past modifications is to be conceived as 
continuing susceptible to all the modifying influences that 
affect the parent organism in which it is latent as well as to 
the more effective agencies which play upon it after it has 
become the active germ of a new organism. 

The history of the living organism may be taken as includ- 
ing that of the mind ; for whether we regard the mental as 
involved in the original potence of the germ-cell, or as super- 
induced upon it at some stage of its development, in either 
case its fortunes will be cast in with the biological unit with 
which it is associated and through this connection it will be 
vitally affected by all those hereditary and environing condi- 
tions which influence the organism. Professor Orr in his 
work entitled A Theory of Development and Heredity has made 
a very interesting contribution to the psychology of the hered 
itary and environing forces. His contention is that the nervous 
system stands as a necessary medium between the environ- 
ment and the living organism, translating the forces of the 
former into nervous energy, in which form it becomes the 
working agent in every part of the system. Now, the nervous 
force builds the organism, especially on its functional side, by 
means of two psychological laws ; namely, repetition and asso- 


ciation, and Professor Orr shows in several chapters , of his 
book how in the sphere of psychic activity the operation of 
these laws leads to the development of habitual responses to 
the forces of the environment and how these tend to become 
ingrained in the nervous tissue and to be transmitted by 
heredity as the organized physical basis of instinct and mental 

The logical import of such considerations as these seems 
on first sight to be the suppression of freedom and the 
re-instatement of strict mechanical necessity, and this is the 
conclusion drawn by physiological psychologists like Dr. 
Maudsley and Professor Ziehen, who dismiss freedom as pure 
illusion, asserting the connection between choice and its an- 
tecedents to be essentially the same as that between a phy- 
sical cause and its effect. It would be useless to deny that 
from the common point of view these conclusions are not with- 
out some reasonable grounds. If the will of man is strictly 
predetermined by its antecedents ; if its choices are but links 
in a chain of mechanical causation, it would seem that the fact 
that the form of choice is self-determination loses most of its 
value, and I am unable to see how a libertarian could continue 
to fight for it with much stoutness of heart. But the irony of 
the situation arises here in the fact that at this point the investi- 
gation is usually dropped and the inquirer goes his way think- 
ing he has solved the problem. As a matter of fact he has 
only succeeded in stating some of its data and the solution is 
yet to be achieved. In the preceding investigations we have 
simply been getting at the two sides of our problem. We 
have demonstrated two conclusions. The first is that all 
choice is self-determination ; that normal choice is the unim- 
peded and full expression of the individuality of the chooser. 
Nothing that we have discovered since has overthrown that 
conclusion. It still holds that man himself chooses and that 
his choice is not a function of some external necessity. The 
second conclusion demonstrated is that this self that chooses 
belongs to a mechanical series and has been helped to its 
present position by the forces of heredity and environment. 
Choice is self-determined, but the chooser is predetermined 
through heredity and environment. 


We have to deal then with the two factors, mechanism and 
self-determination. Any freedom that is open to man must 
include both. It is clear that if freedom and mechanical 
causation are mutually exclusive terms, freedom for man is 
a chimera. Mechanism cannot be expelled from his activity, 
but is inseparable from its highest equally with its lowest 
phases. The freedom that is open to man must be one that 
can be realized through and in connection with mechanism. 
Is any such freedom possible ? In seeking an answer it is to 
be noted in the first place, that the problem of freedom in this 
larger sense could only arise to a consciousness that had stum- 
bled upon a dualism and had been brought face to face with 
the alternatives of a higher and a lower self. When the actual 
consciously faces the ideal whose claim to legislate for it by 
imposing upon it a law of duty, it recognizes, the question 
will inevitably arise as to the practicability of obeying the law 
of the ideal and realizing the higher life which it enjoins. This 
was the issue as it presented itself to Kant, and in his attempt 
to solve it he committed what seems to me to be his gravest 
theoretic mistake. Kant proceeds on the assumption that the 
ideas of mechanical causation and freedom are mutually exclu- 
sive and that the same system of reality cannot contain both, 
and he thinks, therefore, that in order to establish the reality 
of freedom it will be necessary to show that outside of the 
bounds of mechanism there is a sphere of psychic activity 
that is unaffected by mechanical conditions. The only con- 
clusion Kant could reach from such grounds was the one he 
actually drew ; namely, that while there may possibly be a 
transcendent region in which such activity is conceivable, yet 
so far as actual experience goes we never get beyond the reach 
of mechanical influences. 

This conclusion is instructive not only as to Kant's state of 
mind, but also as revealing the morass in which so many con- 
temporary thinkers are still floundering. Kant's trouble arose 
from the fact that while he had a very keen intuition of the 
mechanical conditions with which the mental life is begirt, he 
had scarcely any notion at all of psycho-genesis. Otherwise, 
those forces which seemed to him only to bind and circumscribe 
would have appeared in a new light as conditions of develop- 


ment. As it was, Kant could only sit and wring his hands and 
wish that the universe were different from what it is, until in a 
happy moment it was borne in upon him that the difficulty 
might be overcome by tagging freedom on to the end of a 
moral postulate. But this, at the best, turns out to be a sort of 
device by which morality may comfort itself, the actuality 
being different. It is not open to the contemporary thinker 
who has become disillusioned on this point to betake him- 
self to the Kantian refuge, and it has not occurred to him, as 
yet, to apply the genetic idea to the question of the relation 
between mechanism and freedom. 

The most pregnant application of the genetic idea to the 
basal problems of psychology that has ever been made is that 
of Aristotle. It arises through his translation of the ontologic 
ideas of Platonism into the formal principles of individual 
things, and his conception of these forms dynamically, as 
activities which tend to unfold from a mechanical state of 
mere potence or capacity toward one of actuality or a state of 
self-activity. This view is involved in his treatment of the 
three categories, AvvapiS, 'Evepyeia, and 'EvreXexeia. 'Erep- 
yeia is the category of self-activity in its absolute form, 
while Avvotjjiis and 'Evrehexeia stand as a pair of correlatives 
which together embrace nature and relativity. They also 
represent the opposite poles of a process in which nature 
is conceived as passing from a stage of matter, or pure mechani- 
cal response to external impulsion, to that of soul, in which 
mechanism is subordinated to the form of self-activity. Soul, 
in Aristotle's view, is the climax of nature and embraces in 
its constitution a synthesis of passivity and actuality. This 
appears in his definition of it as the * first Entelechy' of a 
body that has the capacity of life. The fine point of the defi- 
nition is apprehended only when the dual significance which 
Aristotle attaches to the term 'Evrehexeia is kept in mind. 
This term, as he uses it, is a sort of watershed between 
potence and actuality, giving a reminiscent look toward mech- 
anism as well as a prospective glance toward the self-activity 
of spirit. Soul, then, as the first entelechy of a potentially 
living organism, is to be conceived at any and every point of 
its life as embracing a synthesis of polar moments, passivity 


and activity, potence and actuality, and this synthesis may be 
regarded as grounding the relations which arise later between 
the categories of mechanism and spirit, determination by 
other, and free self-activity. But this is anticipating. Again, 
Aristotle's definition connects soul with life as a form of its 
actualization. The highest form of life is soul. This is 
Aristotle's doctrine. It escapes the dualism of the theory that 
soul is a distinct principle introduced into the living organism, 
and plants itself firmly on the ground that life is one, that it 
is not completely actualized, and that it does not reveal its true 
and complete nature, anywhere else than in soul. But the 
point of vitalest interest in connection with the special theme 
of this paper is the fact that Aristotle's conception of soul and 
its relation to life enables him to incorporate the principle of 
development into its very constitution in such a way that it can 
no longer be adequately represented under static categories. 
And it is here that the Aristotelian conception of the soul seems 
to me to furnish a much more adequate and effective basis for 
psychology than that of Herbart-Lotze, for example, in that it 
shows more clearly how the genetic method may be grounded 
in a real principle of psycho-genesis. 

I mean by a real principle of psycho-genesis one that not 
only grounds development as a constitutional law of the psychic 
life, but also supplies some definite notion of what psychic 
development means. The Aristotelian concept helps to the 
formation of such a notion in this way. It asserts, not simply 
that soul-life is a development, but that it is a development 
of a particular species; namely, of a principle of self-active 
consciousness, from a state of potence or mere capacity up to 
a state where all its powers shall have become actual and 
its nature completely revealed. The nature of the psychic 
principle and the species of its development are thus to be 
determined in view of their outcome. If the actualized result is 
a self-active and self-determining consciousness, then we have 
the right to say, on the Aristotelian principle, that it was 
potentially that from the start, and that in every stage of its 
evolution it was going on to be just that. And without raising 
any question of transcendent teleology or design, we see how 
the process is immanently teleological from the beginning. 


The value of the Aristotelian insight will be manifest in 
view of the fact that the two most pregnant ideas in the 
domain of psychology to-day are these of psycho-genesis and 
the immanent teleologic character of consciousness. The ten- 
dency of the one is to modify static conceptions and to view 
the soul-life as fluent and progressive ; that of the other is to 
shatter the hard front of mechanism and to reduce it to the 
position of a servant to a teleological process. The Aris- 
totelian insight enables us to ground these categories in the 
very constitution of the soul itself. So that when we find 
consciousness to be a selective principle which is everlastingly 
in pursuit of ends even when it does not know itself to be 
teleological, we can rationally ground the discovery in a doc- 
trine of the nature of the soul as a self-active principle whose 
law is development from mere potence into the actuality of a 
self-conscious and self-determined life.* And when we find in 
consciousness a dualistic dialectic between an empirical will 
and an ideal which utters itself in conscience, we are able to 
trace this dialectic to the teleological law of psychic develop- 
ment, which is the law of the immanent ideal activity that the 
psychic process is ever going on to actualize, f 

We conclude then that all psychic activity is in its essential 
nature teleological. What it actually is or realizes, never truly 
or completely expresses its nature. But its real character 
only comes out in the light of what it has in it to become, or 
what it is going on to be. Now in the light of this we ask 
why freedom should not be teleologically construed. In the 
former sections of this paper we demonstrated two conclu- 
sions ; namely, that normal choice is a form of self-determining 
activity, and that in its connection with heredity and the 
environment, the self that chooses belongs to a causal series 
and is predetermined. In view of current modes of thinking 
the last conclusion seemed to swallow up the first and to 
leave the life of man in the clutches of necessity. But when 

* The Aristotelian idea of soul thus seems to supply a rational basis for James's 
doctrine of the selective character of consciousness. 

f I do not mean to assert that conscience is completely explained as the imma- 
nent ideal of the soul. In my work on * Basal Concepts in Philosophy' I seek to 
show the relation of immanence to the transcendent. The point here is that con- 
science on its psychic side utters the immanent ethical end of the soul. 


in the light of later conclusions we claim the right to put a 
teleological construction on the whole process, the clutch of 
necessity seems to be loosened. For the developing series 
then acquires a meaning outside of the mere determination 
of consequents by antecedents. Instead of a soulless corpora- 
tion, it becomes animated with spirit, and we see that what has 
outwardly the appearance of dead mechanism becomes a fluent 
and living organism whose whole significance is the immanent 
potence which it contains and the immanent end or ideal 
which it is going on to realize. 

It is clear that from the teleological point of view, whose 
justification has been shown to spring from a profound view 
of the nature of psycho-genesis, mechanism becomes the hand- 
maid of teleology, and while it conditions, also furthers the 
immanent end. Heredity conserves the end by preserving 
and transmitting the gains of individual experiences, while the 
environing forces supply the necessary stimuli of development. 
And when we apply these considerations to the problem of 
freedom it becomes clear that the moment we subordinate 
mechanism in general to teleology, we thereby subordinate 
mechanism also to freedom. And instead of standing by and 
wringing our hands because predeterminism swallows up 
freedom we may go on our way rejoicing, since our new in- 
sight enables us to see that nothing of the sort happens, but 
that free self-determination is the end which all this hard and 
forbidding-looking mechanism has had at heart and has been 
realizing from the beginning. For, just as the end subordi- 
nates the means, so freedom subordinates the mechanical 
agencies through which it is achieved. 

There is no reason why psychology when it has committed 
itself to the genetic idea should stubbornly persist in constru- 
ing freedom in some absolute sense which is above man and 
then deny its existence because it is inconsistent with the 
mechanical conditions of human life. Why should not free- 
dom be construed in harmony with development, and why 
should it not be ideologically conceived ? The questions 
supply their own answer. The teleological idea of freedom 
is the only one that a genetic psychology can consistently 
entertain. For, to genetic psychology conscious activity is 
teleologic activity, and volition is the type of conscious activ- 


ity on the practical side. Volition is self-determining activity, 
as we have seen, and self-determining activity is free activity. 
If free activity is the outcome of mental development and 
this outcome is the immanent end and meaning of the process, 
the conclusion naturally follows that the development only 
achieves its complete reality in freedom. 

Now, if we identify freedom with self-activity and construe 
it teleologically, there are several senses in which the term 
may be used in its relation to mental development. As 
potence or capacity for self-activity, it will be a condition of 
development. As actual self-determination it will be the form 
of all normal choice; whereas, as the self-determination of the 
ideal it will be the end toward which development is tending 
but which it never realizes. But in each and all of these 
senses its vital relation to experience is evident. Freedom is 
not a speculative will-o'-the-wisp, but it is something that, in 
the words of Bacon, concerns ' men's business and their 
bosoms' in that the possession of it is the condition of their 
being men, while the realization of it is the great end of 
rational and spiritual activity. 

The doctrine of freedom here developed has also another 
merit. It supplies a rational ground of distinction between 
the normal and the abnormal in the sphere of choice. Free- 
dom can be postulated without qualification, only of normal 
choice. The normal function of heredity and environment is 
the development of free activity. In other words, the normal 
is the good. The abnormal will enter as some kind of evil or 
aberration from the normal standard, and while it will be 
negative, it will be also real. The abnormal will become 
a factor in both heredity and the environment, and it will 
operate as a kind of loading of the dice, and in the develop- 
ment of predispositions to evil, in diminishing and thwarting 
and turning aside the forces of development. The abnormal 
will embody itself in organic and functional defects, in in- 
grained hereditary evil tendencies, in environments which 
hinder and clog progress. The abnormal thus supplies a 
special problem to the psychologist as it does also to the 
moralist and the jurist. But to the psychologist as well as to 
the moralist and the jurist a correct diagnosis of the normal is a 
necessary condition of the rational treatment of the abnormal. 



Harvard University. 


The malady was now, after the passage of this acute stage, all 
the more certainly in possession of the man. The temporary 
remission was sure to prove deceitful. In Dr. Cowles's patient 
after once the morbid habits had become systematized, to a 
degree similar to the one now reached in Bunyan's case, there 
was apparently no way out of the gloomy labyrinth. Whatever 
devices were tried led, so long as the patient was under Dr. 
Cowles's observation, to renewed struggles with conscientious 
scruples and with ingeniously subtle inner temptations, and 
the sufferer, whatever her temporary stages of relief, was 
doomed to walk round and round the charmed circle of 
doubt, of temptation, of elaborate self-invented exorcising de- 
vices, of failure, of self-reproach, and of despair. It was to be 
Bunyan's good fortune to escape in the end from his tempter. 
How he was thus to escape, the next and most agonizing of 
his acute stages was to determine. The sufferer from such 
morbid systems is at best, as all the evidence shows, in a very 
serious position. That very strength of certain of his highest 
brain-functions which is one condition of the development of 
his weakness as to other functions, makes all the harder the 
task of teaching him wholly new mental habits. Yet without 
such wholly new habits he can never escape. Hence the evil 
prognosis which most observers now unite in attributing to 
this type of disorder, viz., to the chronic malady of insistent 
impulses with intercurrent acute stages. But there is one 
rather desperate chance which most writers on the subject 



have, as I think, generally neglected. Suppose there appears, 
in the life of the chronically affected patient, a new insistent 
impulse, such that yielding to this particular impulse brings 
the patient into some wholly new relation to his environment. 
Suppose, thereupon, that a novel and profoundly different life, 
even if this be a very painful life, is forced upon him in conse- 
quence of his yielding. The result may be a condition of 
things in which, diseased though he still is, the old cares and 
temptations are entirely set aside by the fresh experiences 
given through the new environment. If the patient has now 
strength enough to bear the pangs and the fresh and strongly 
contrasted nervous distresses of this changed life, he may 
actually have time to reform his mental habits before the old 
* tempter ' is able, for his part, to organize his own inimical 
nervous tendencies upon the new battle-field. The substituted 
pangs themselves may then pass before the old are renewed. 
Then indeed, some day, the old enemy will come back, but 
the patient will have become, meanwhile, another man, and 
the whole system of his formerly insistent opponents will have 
been broken up. He will thus find himself thrown back, in 
some sense, to the earlier stages of his own case ; he will once 
more have only elementary doubts and fears to oppose. But 
these his experience will have taught him to circumvent ; and 
so, at any rate with a certain degree of defect, he may have 
become cured. The elements will survive, but will no longer 

This possible good fortune, to be won, if at all, by passing 
through the fiercest fire of painful impulse, Dr. Cowles's 
patient tried in vain to find, when she experimented at pre- 
tending to poison herself, or, later, deliberately wounded her- 
self with a pistol, not hoping to commit suicide, but only 
seeking to expiate her faults, and to get peace from her 
tempter, through novel pangs. Bunyan, without dreaming of 
such relief, actually won it through what seemed, at the time, 
the most hopeless of all the woes that had yet beset him. 

" For after the Lord had, in this manner, thus graciously 
delivered me from this great and sore Temptation . . . the 
Tempter came upon me again, and that with a more grievous 
and dreadful Temptation than before. And that was, To sell 


and part with this most blessed Christ, to exchange him for the 
things of this life, for anything." 

The new temptation had its own typical mental context, dif- 
ferent from that of the previous stage. This was now no single 
member of a ' flood of blasphemies.' It stood nearly alone, 
as equivalent for all the rest of the earlier temptations. Still, 
however, the impulse to sell Christ was merely an imperative 
motor speech-function. No other word seems ever to have 
substituted itself for the word sell-, and the only further act 
involved in yielding to the temptation was a purely formal 
inner assent to the * selling.' The proposed transaction in- 
volved, as a matter of course, no actually conceived exchange 
whatever. Nevertheless, in a most interesting fashion, the 
imperative impulse now appeared as a reflex, which tended, in 
consciousness, to enter into a sort of ' agglutinative ' combina- 
tion (to use one of Wundt's well-known adopted phrases), with 
any object of passing perceptive interest ; so that the special 
form of the experience was that the tempter moved Bunyan to 
sell Christ for this or for that, whatever the insignificant thing 
might be that Bunyan was at the moment attending to, or 
handling, or dealing with in any active way. The painfulness, 
the associated fear, and the violence of the thought, were all 
of the most intense sort ; and this reflex character made the 
temptation infect Bunyan's whole life most horribly ; " for it 
did always, in almost whatever I thought, intermix itself 
therewith, in such sort that I could neither eat my food, stoop 
for a pin, chop a stick, or cast mine eye to look on this or that, 
but still the temptation would come, Sell Christ for this, or sell 
Christ for that ; sell him, sell him." 

The struggle this time very soon led Bunyan to that grave 
stage where the sufferer from insistent impulses resorts to ap- 
parently senseless motor acts that possess for him an exorcising 
significance. " By the very force of my mind, in laboring to 
gainsay and resist this wickedness, my very body also would 
be put into action or motion by way of pushing or thrusting 
with my hands or elbows, still answering as fast as the de- 
stroyer said, Sell him ; I will not, I will not . . . no, not for thou- 
sands, thousands, thousands of worlds" This kind of elaboration 
rapidly grew to its own hopelessly extravagant extremes. But 


in vain. A few added doubts, of the old inhibitory type, 
meanwhile appeared in the background, but the tempter had 
now, so to speak, learned his game, and had no need to waste 
his forces upon general devices of inhibition. This one sug- 
gestion was enough. The loathsome triviality of the motor 
impulse itself, in its pettiness, and the vast dignity of the eter- 
nal issues imperilled, as Bunyan felt, by its presence, combined 
to give the situation all the dreadful and inhibitory features 
that had earlier been spread over so wide a mental range of 
evil interests. 

" But to be brief, one morning, as I did lie in my bed, I 
was, as at other times, most fiercely assaulted with this tempta- 
tion, . . . the wicked suggestion still running in my mind, Sell 
him, sell him, sell him, sell him, as fast as a man could speak. 
Against which also, in my mind, as at other times, I answered, 
No, no, not for thousands, thousands, thousands, at least twenty 
times together. But at last, after much striving, even until 
I was almost out of breath, I felt this thought pass through 
my heart, Let him go, if he will! and I thought also that I felt 
my heart freely consent thereto. Oh the diligence of Satan ! 
Oh the desperateness of man's heart ! " 

" Now was the battle won, and down fell I, as a Bird that 
is shot from the top of a tree, with great guilt, and fearful 
despair. Thus getting out of my Bed, I went moping into 
the field ; but God knows, with as heavy a heart as mortal 
man, I think, could bear ; where, for the space of two hours, I 
was like a man bereft of life, and as now past all recovery, and 
bound over to eternal punishment." 


The nervous crisis thus passed served to introduce a con- 
dition of extremely lengthy, quasi-melancholic, but to Bun- 
yan's consciousness wholly secondary, depression. The 
hopeless sin was committed. Like Esau he had sold his 
birthright. There was now ' no place for repentance.' This, 
the third stage of the culmination of the malady, was marked 
by an almost entire quiescence of the insistently sinful impul- 
ses; for what had the victorious tempter now left to do? 


There were no more minor hesitancies, no loathsome motor 
irritations. One overwhelming idea and grief inhibited all 
these inhibitory symptoms. The insistent associative pro- 
cesses with the scripture passages became, however, for a 
good while, all the more marked, automatic, and commanding. 
Thus the whole mental situation was profoundly altered. 
The secondary melancholic depression expressed itself occa- 
sionally in precordial anxiety. " I have felt also such a clog- 
ging and heat at my stomach, by reason of this my terror, 
that I was, especially at some times, as if my breast bone 
would have split asunder." But Bunyan even now never long 
lost his dialectic skill; and hopeless as seemed his case, he 
from the first set about trying to think of a way of escape 
from destruction, being throughout ' loath to perish/ a fact 
which, viewed in its results, indicates the relative intactness of 
his highest mental functions amidst all his gloom. 

Except for the automatic processes with the scripture 
passages, Bunyan's condition of secondary melancholic de- 
pression had, therefore, despite its depth and its fantastic 
background, many of the more benign characters of normal 
grief. It had, at the worst, its occasional remissions. It left 
his reasoning powers formally unaffected. And it had the 
painful but really invaluable character that, just because his 
fate seemed decided, he had a long and almost total rest from 
the irritating motor processes, whose dependence upon his 
past habits of conscientious anxiety is thus all the more con- 
firmed. For this restless anxiety, the pretty steady assurance 
of damnation was now substituted. This, as the event proved, 
Bunyan's heroic disposition was strong enough to endure, 
despite the * splitting ' sensations in the breast, despite the 
long days of grief and of lonely lamentation ; despite his in- 
ability to get any comfort or help from his few advisers. The 
case was still grave enough, but this light melancholia proved 
to be a decidedly kinder disorder than the foregoing one, and 
it led the way over to recovery. 

In the long tale which follows, in Bunyan's Autobiography, 
and which is largely devoted to the description of the inner 
conflicts amongst the scripture passages (of whose automatic 
evolutions poor Bunyan's consciousness was now long the 


merely passive theatre), there are but few things further to be 
noted for our purpose. But these are extremely instructive. 

The gradual emergence from despair is obviously due, on 
the whole, to the vis medicatrix naturce. Bunyan's general 
physical health gradually improved. His conscientious habits 
of life, freed now from the tempter's teasing interferences, had 
a chance to become healthily fixed and unconscious. He 
grieved too deeply to long for distractions, and never thought 
of returning to his youthful sins as a relief from despair. The 
doubts and other motor inconveniences were of course still in 
the background of his mental life, but it is interesting to note 
how, whenever they appear, they are now simply overshad- 
owed and devitalized by the fixed presence of the ruling mel- 
ancholic ideas. The tempter is thus at length known as a 
relatively foreign and mocking other self, whose power over 
Bunyan's will grows less even while his triumph is supposed 
to be final. He ' becomes humorous,' as Froude observes. 
Bunyan, so the tempter suggests in his old metaphysical 
way and with the old doubting subtlety Bunyan had better 
not pray any more, since God must be weary of the whole 
business ; or if he must pray, let it be to some other person of 
the Trinity instead of to the directly insulted Mediator. 
Could not a new plan of salvation be devised by special 
arrangement, the Father this time kindly acting as mediator 
with the otherwise implacable Son, to meet Bunyan's excep- 
tional case ? But such suggestions, which in an earlier stage 
would have been * fearful blasphemies,' now have to stand in 
contrast to the fixed and central grief which constitutes Bun- 
yan's own personal consciousness. Bunyan knows by the very 
contrast that these suggested words of the tempter are not his 
own. This is the mere fooling of the exultant devil. It is 
meaningless. For Bunyan is consciously on the side of the 
grief itself, and the humorous tempter is the sole owner of the 
blasphemies, which therefore serve all the more to * confirm ' 
the sufferer in his painful faith. A better device than this for 
the ' segmentation ' of insistent questionings could not have 
been imagined by any physician learned in the cure of souls. 
The victorious tempter had unwittingly dug his own grave. 
He could never again get possession of this man's central 


self, nor use this brain as a foundation for systematized evil 

Another instructive aspect of the slow process of recovery 
lies in the fact that Bunyan was, towards the end, able, at some 
moments and despite his always busy dialectic processes, to 
win that attitude of complete resignation, of abandonment of 
all feverish conscious strugglings and pleadings with fate, 
that attitude which, as experience shows, is so often the be- 
ginning of a final recovery from all forms of deeper mental 
distress. Such an attitude is consistent, as it was in Bunyan, 
with a good deal of cool consideration, and with much activity of 
thought, but it was still effectively assumed. There is, for such 
sufferers as Bunyan, and for many others, a mood of gentler 
despair that is often essentially healing, because, as compared 
to their old feverishness, it is peaceful. It is the sort of 
despair that Edgar Poe has put on record in the admirably 
psychological lines ' For Annie.' It is the mood that says, to 
the tempestuous striving self of former days, ' Ich haV meine 
Sache auf Nichts gesetzt! One is lost; only eternal mercy can 
save ; one finally is content to leave all to fate or to God, and 
to ' lie quietly/ like the conscious corpse of Poe's poem, glad 
a little that the 'fever called living is ended at length.' Bun- 
yan is remote enough in type from Poe's lover ; and he was 
never content long to lie quiet. But still, at moments, this 
essentially curative element also is present in this stage of 
his experience. The automatic play of the remembered scrip- 
ture passages became with him more and more complex, im- 
posing, unpredictable, an inner fate that he often helplessly 
watched as one watches the breaking of great waves on the 
beach. Plainly God must be directing the process. Bunyan 
could only pray that God's will might be done, and hope that 
so many kind glimpses of light would not have been shown to 
an utter outcast. ' God and Christ,' he says, ' were continu- 
ally before my face,' and, painful as the experience was, since 
he was facing his judge, this kept down, as he himself recog- 
nizes, all the old temptations to 'atheism.' At last "I saw 
. . . that it was not my good frame of heart that made my 
Righteousness better, nor my bad frame that made my Right- 
eousness worse ; for my righteousness was Jesus Christ him- 
self, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever." And ' now,' he says, 


in narrating this last experience, ' did my chains fall off my 
Legs indeed/ Such is the healing virtue of true resignation. 

The episodes of this whole long final stage were of course 
numerous and of Protean character. There was throughout, 
despite the prevalence of the general despair, considerable 
instability of mood. Intervals of peace, resulting from this or 
that 'sweet glance' of a ' Promise,' alternated with the wildest 
fits of gloom. Two or three times the borderland pseudo-hallu- 
cinations of speech returned. Once, in particular, at a moment 
of this sort, the accompanying experience of calm " made a 
strange seizure upon my spirit ; it brought light with it, and 
commanded a silence in my heart of all those tumultuous 
thoughts that before did use, like masterless hell-hounds, to 
roar and bellow and make a hideous noise within me." And 
this sudden transformation of mood, produced by a comforting 
voice that was 'as if heard/ was so great that, many years 
later, though writing in a very cautious and self-critical spirit, 
Bunyan could not refrain, in a later edition of the 'Grace Abound- 
ing, from inserting this incident, and adding his private opinion 
that this might indeed have been 'an Angel' that 'had come 
upon me.' Yet no element of actual delusion was, at the 
time, involved in the experience. As for the scripture pas- 
sages, their automatic effects were such that Bunyan -ere 
long found himself awaiting with interest what would hap- 
pen when two, already known and often studied ' words ' 
should, by chance, ' meet in my heart ' an event which might 
prove to him of the most critical importance, although, before- 
hand, he could do positively nothing to hasten or to effect this 
event by any voluntary consideration of the passages. Only 
when the suggested passages were numerous, and the 'meet- 
ing' had already often occurred, could he devote himself, with 
his accustomed dialectic skill, to considering with care the 
outcome and its meaning a thing which, just before his 
recovery, he learned to do, in some cases, very coolly and 
with great deliberation. 

The passing of this stage of despair was attended, at the 
end, with many of the usual exaltations and confusions of con- 
valescence. " I had two or three times, at about my deliver- 
ance from this temptation, such strange apprehensions of the 
grace of God, that I could hardly bear up under it ; it was so 


out of measure amazmg, when I thought it could reach me r 
that I do think, if that sense of it had abode long upon me, it 
would have made me incapable of business." 


The cure had come to pass, but it was, and remained, a 
cure with a pretty well-defined defect. The tempter could 
never again obtain control. The diseased habits were reduced 
to their elements, and were unable to systematize themselves 
afresh. The elements, however, proved, as one would expect 
in such a case, too deeply founded in this wonderful constitu- 
tion ever to be eliminated. At the end of the Grace Abounding 
Bunyan, with the simplest humility, records the temptations 
to which his soul is now permanently subjected. His moods 
of spiritual interest and emotion are to a very considerable 
extent unstable, do what he may. There are times when he is 
1 filled with darkness/ however much, at other times, he may 
have been exalted. His heart becomes, at the dark times, 
1 dead and dry/ and he can then find no * comfort.' He is 
also still occasionally tempted * to doubt the being of God 
and the Truth of his Gospel ' ; and this is always the ' worst ' 
of moods. Furthermore, in his preaching, the tempter often 
besets him ' with thoughts of blasphemy/ which he is 
* strongly tempted to speak' 'before the congregation'; or 
again, a strange confusion of head comes upon him as he 
preaches, and straitens ' him, so that he feels " as if I had 
not known or remembered what I have been about, or as if 
my head had been in a bag all the time of the Exercise." 
More subtle assaults of the tempter also come while he 
preaches, condemnations of this or that which he knows it to 
be his duty to utter, or on the other hand movings ' to pride 
and liftings up of heart.' For a while after his malady, when 
he had joined the church, he was tempted to blaspheme dur- 
ing the sacraments. In any of his illnesses, peculiarly black 
and cowardly thoughts always come. At the beginning of his 
imprisonment he long felt himself to be a hopeless coward, 
unable because unworthy to suffer for the faith, and the 
tempter mocked this weakness with all the old subtlety. 

But now here is the important thing all these perma- 


nent enemies are still, and remain for the rest of Bunyan's 
life, in no wise uncontrollable. His deeper consciousness is 
beset, but never overwhelmed, by them. His attitude towards 
them becomes objective, resigned. They teach him to ' watch 
and be sober.' They are useful to him, since 'they keep me 
from trusting my heart.' Of one of his later hours of dark- 
ness he says : " I would not have been without this Trial for 
much. I am comforted every time I think of it, and I hope I 
shall bless God forever for the teaching I have had by it. 
Many more of the dealings of God towards me I might relate, 
but these, out of the spoils won in Battle have I dedicated to main- 
tain the house of God." The words are typical of all the later 
inner experience of Bunyan ; and it is to this spirit in the man 
that we owe his immortal works. 

Of his mental regimen after his recovery a word may yet 
be said. A wise instinct guided the much-tried wanderer IP 
the darker world to forsake henceforth his solitude, to join 
himself 'unto the people of God,' to try to be objectively 
serviceable, and to keep in touch with the needs of his breth- 
ren. His gift of speech hereupon soon discovered itself. He 
was ere long set to preach. His power won multitudes of 
listeners during all his years passed out of prison. In prison 
he wrote busily, and preached to his fellow-prisoners at every 
opportunity. The motor speech-functions, whose inhibition 
had led to such disastrously rebellious insistent habits, were 
never again suffered to remain without absorbing and pro- 
ductive exercise. The decidedly healthy self-contempt engen- 
dered by the experience of his own weakness only served to 
make him more objective in his whole attitude towards life. 
Henceforth he knows every man to be of himself naught. He 
has therefore, as Froude points out, no favorites, and portrays, 
in his literary work, Talkative, and Ignorance, and Mr. Bad- 
man, with as much cool devotion to the task and with as much 
artistic faithfulness, as Christian. He spares no one, himself 
least of all. Yet he sympathizes with every manner of human 
weakness, for his own inner life has furnished him with a brief 
abstract and epitome of all human frailty. His mastery is the 
mastery of the genius who has really entered the Valley of the 
Shadow and has passed through. Hence the seeming of the 
man in the eyes of those who knew him in later life, and who 


could not easily have suspected, in this modest yet command- 
ing presence, the piteous weaknesses of his younger years, had 
he himself not so instructively told the wonderful story. 

Our result can be briefly stated. This is unquestionably a 
fairly typical case of a now often described mental disorder. 
The peculiarities of this special case lie largely in the powers 
of the genius who here suffered from the malady. A man of 
sensitive and probably somewhat burdened nervous constitu- 
tion, whose family history, however, so far as it is known to 
us, gives no positive evidence of serious hereditary weakness, 
is beset in childhood with frequent nocturnal and even diurnal 
terrors of a well-known sort. In youth, after an early mar- 
riage, under the strain of a life of poverty and of many relig- 
ious anxieties, he develops elementary insistent dreads of a 
conscientious sort, and later a collection of habits of questioning 
and of doubt which ere long reach and obviously pass the 
limits of the normal. His general physical condition mean- 
while failing, in a fashion that, in the light of our very imper- 
fect information concerning this aspect of the case, still ap- 
pears to be of some vaguely neurasthenic type, there now 
appears a highly systematized mass of insistent motor speech- 
functions of the most painful sort, accompanied with still more 
of the same fears, doubts, and questions. After enduring for 
a pretty extended period, after one remission, and also after 
a decided change in the contents of the insistent elements, the 
malady then more rapidly approaches a dramatic crisis, which 
leaves the sufferer for a long period in a condition of secondary 
melancholic depression, of a somewhat benign type, a de- 
pression from which, owing to a deep change of his mental 
habits, and to an improvement of his physical condition, he 
finally emerges cured, although with defect, of his greatest 
enemy the systematized insistent impulses. This entire mor- 
bid experience has lasted some four years. Henceforth, under 
a skilful self-imposed mental regimen, this man, although 
always a prey to elementary insistent temptations and to fits 
of deep depression of mood, has no return of his more system 
atized disorders, and endures heavy burdens of work and of 
fortune with excellent success. 

Such is the psychological aspect of a story whose human 
and spiritual interest is and remains of the very highest. 


Lake Forest University. 

It may be considered as plausible that if the first feeling 
was pain (see Philosophical Review, vol. I. p. 433 ff.), the first 
emotion was also of the pain character. The first represen- 
tation of an object as painful induced that reaction of mind 
which we term an emotion, and the painful emotion we call 
fear. That the first emotion to appear was fear, as fright, 
seems likely when we consider that the general alertness and 
defensiveness imperatively required in the struggle for exist- 
ence is thereby most immediately and simply attained. The 
acquirement of the power to become frightened is plainly a 
most important requisite for self-preservation, and thus is 
indicated as a very early factor in conscious life. An animal 
being devoured by another may merely suffer pain without 
any perception of the object as pain-giving and to give 
pain ; but if it attains this perception, there may be added 
to the stimulus of simple pain that of fright. The direct 
actual pain may be but small, and so inducing but feeble re- 
action, as when some less sensitive portion is being injured ; 
but if there occurs a vivid representation of potential pain, 
fright happens and stimulates most strenuous endeavors, and so 
rids the animal both of the immediately and the prospectively 
painful. Thus emotion acts as a complement to simple feel- 
ing, and also secures practically anticipatory reaction. Ani- 
mals which must receive actual injury before experiencing 
pain are clearly inferior to those which experience emotion- 
pain before the injury is actually received. Other things 
being equal, the most easily frightened have, in the midst of 
many destructive agents, the best chance of survival and of 
perpetuating their kind. 



It is unnecessary to dwell at length on child life and savage 
life as illustrating the primitive quality and function of fear. 
The earliest experiences of the child with things are lessons of 
fear. The burnt child dreads the fire, and thus is enabled to 
preserve himself from threatened injury. Fear is a primary 
and most important motive to action in a very wide range of 
the lower mental life. Those who have observed animals and 
man in a state of nature are always greatly impressed with 
the constant and large part which this emotion plays in their 
consciousness. With the timid and weaker species, like the 
rabbit and squirrel, it is likely that a majority of their cogni- 
tions prompt to fear or are prompted by fear, and with some 
persecuted races of savages the same may be said. 

The necessity and value of anticipatory reaction being 
acknowledged in the struggle of existence, we plainly see a 
primitive motive thereto in fear, and the earliest emotional 
life which we can clearly interpret likewise seems to be fear. 

It is sufficiently easy to see the general function of fear 
and its primitive character, but we find it very hard to make 
a satisfactory analysis, and to show the exact steps of its evo- 
lution. It is obvious, however, in the first place, that fear like 
other emotions is purely indirect and secondary experience ; 
it presupposes previous painful experience of the feared ob- 
ject. Pain experienced in connection with cognition of object 
is the basis of all fear. Animals that have not felt pain from 
man do not fear him. But fear while thus based on previous 
direct experience is always hindered by simultaneous direct 
experience, as, for example, sensation. Thus when we, whip 
in hand, say to a child crying from fear, ' I will give you 
something to cry for,' we imply the law that direct pain and 
sensation tend to supplant indirect feeling as emotion. This 
common expression emphasizes the essential representativeness 
of emotion, its imaginary nature, as also the supplanting power 
of direct real experience. The sight of the whip inspires fear 
in the child who has been whipped, but this fear is in the 
course of a punishment wholly eliminated by the direct pain 
endured. The direct experience is thus the basis of every 
fear, but only as it is cognized, and not felt. 

The great difficulty in analyzing fear is in clearly appre- 


bending the mode in which previous experience is utilized. If 
we could study in ourselves the genesis of a simple emotion 
we should doubtless be enabled to see the steps by which ex- 
perience reacts upon itself so as to give a reflex form like the 
emotion of fear, but this is hardly possible. However, cogni- 
tion is evolved at the instance of pain, and all objects are 
viewed not for themselves but in their feeling significance. 
Cognition is imbedded in feeling, and at first is a mere tone 
of feeling. Things are not at first known for themselves but 
solely as sources of pleasure and pain. Things are perceived 
in and through the feeling which has stimulated the percep- 
tion. The immediate feeling value of the object is given by 
the very origin and process of cognition. When an animal is 
pained by contact with a sharp rock a'nd this pain stimulates 
cognition of the rock, this is solely on the pain account. Re- 
peated experiences enable the percept to arise at stimulus of 
less and less pain, and so the proper reaction is accomplished 
more and more economically. 

But how does perception of object appear before any ex- 
perience of pain from it ? How is pre-perception of object in 
its feeling value accomplished ? In emotion as of fear we have 
cognition attained before the paining and as sign of paining, a 
wholly premonitory function. But how can in any case the 
object be perceived before it painfully affects the perceiver? 
How does mind become conscious of a thing whose painful 
effects it is not at the time receiving? 

Emotion certainly seems the reverse of primary cognition 
which comes only by stimulus of present pain from the thing, 
whereas the emotional form includes cognizance of objects be- 
fore they affect consciousness in pleasure and pain mode. 
Simple primary cognition arises from the pain ; in later forms, 
on the contrary, cognition conveys impression of the object's 
pleasure-pain quality, and there results the peculiar disturb- 
ance we term an emotion. Instead of rock causing pain be- 
fore cognition of the rock is accomplished, cognition of the 
rock, in the emotional stage, causes a painful feeling, emotion 
of fear. The feeling is here sequent and result of cognition, 
and not vice versa. 

How pre-perception of object that is, perception before in 


any given case there is direct pleasure-pain experience of it- 
is gained, can only be determined by an analysis of the way in 
which representation has been built up. 

It is evident that the cognition which is stimulated by a 
pain and coexists with it and by it cannot serve as the basis 
of emotion. The object is felt, but there is no feeling about it. 
The thing is given with the immediate feeling value, but there 
is no sense of potential experience which is above the basis of 
such early emotions as anger and fear. In consciousness 
which is only pain plus sense of paining object, there is no at- 
titude of mind toward the paining object. It is scarcely possi- 
ble for us, indeed, to realize this state of mind, for with us to 
have a pain and a sense of its objective source is to invari- 
ably awaken emotion ; yet we must believe that at one period 
in the history of mind emotion was unevolved, and experience 
was wholly direct and simple. 

Pre-perception, the perception of the thing before its 
pleasure-pain agency is felt, certainly this had some mode of 
evolution in slow stages through revivals and association. 
What is the feeling motive of the pre-perception ? what is the 
nature of this perception of experience value in pleasure-pain 
terms of the cognized object? and how does this perception 
generate emotion ? These are difficult questions. It is plain 
that the primary cognition which rises by and with the pain 
is merely cognition of the object, but not cognition of its pain 
value, which is certainly a complex and later form somehow 
based on the former. Injury and pain early involve cognition, 
but this cognition does not from the first involve emotion 
which implies representation. Knowledge is in its origin a 
search for pain-bringer, objects are discovered as vehicles of 
pleasure-pain, but the first cognition could not have been so 
complex as an interpretation of the pleasure-pain value of ob- 
ject paining, much less a pre-perception of object as about to 
pain. Cognition at first is merely with the pain, not of the 
pain ; it is accompaniment of the pain, but it does not view the 
object in relation to the pain. The association of the cogniz- 
ing and the pain is a mechanical, not a perceived connection 
which implies consciousness of consciousness. If cognition is, 
from the first, sense of experience value as well as sense of 


object, then emotion is indissolubly bound up with the whole 
course of cognition. That the pain incites to consciousness of 
object, and that there is experience of pain going on simulta 
neously is certain, but the pain is not at first attached by the 
mind to the object. The object is felt, but its significance is 
not known. Possibly in human conscious life we may have 
something analogous. If I say, ' I feel a tooth coming,' I may 
mean a peculiar combination of pain and cognition, a mere 
feeling the object without emotion. A tooth-ache of this form 
is certainly extremely transient, for we are soon aware of our 
experience as such, and interpretations from the past and fears 
for the future quickly enter, and there is the inextricable 
tangle of feeling, knowing, willing, consciousness of conscious- 
ness, consciousness of self, which is the normal state of ordi- 
nary human consciousness. However, there is a simple union of 
cognition and emotion, which is expressed by ' feeling hungry,' 
for instance, wherein feeling is so predominant that we natu- 
rally use the word * feel.' In this sense all early cognitions are 
feelings, and we can say the object is felt when cognition is 
but a dim and slight event in a mass of pain. 

The object is not then from the first invested with its 
pleasure-pain quality. The object is perceived merely, and is 
avoided or sought as prompted by the pain or pleasure. But 
there is no cognizance of the impelling feelings, and though 
the object its known by its pleasure-pain effects, it is not yet 
known for them. When we see a thing we always see in it, 
its pleasure-pain quality, or even if we do not know its par- 
ticular form, we know it as having some feeling potency. 
This is an instinct in our knowing, and the outgrowth of an 
immense deal of experience. It is the sole value and function 
of knowledge that it should not simply apprehend the thing 
but its pleasure-pain-giving nature. But still the first moment 
in cognition must be termed bare apprehension of object, the 
feeling being behind the knowing and supporting it, and not 
a knowing of feeling quality, and a feeling about this. The 
first moment in all cognition is bare apprehension, which is 
soon followed by ascribing to the object its feeling signifi- 

How then from mere concomitancy of feeling and cogni- 


tion of object is cognition of the feeling quality of the object 
achieved ? How is object perceived as related to experience, 
as potent for pleasure or pain? How is the pain-giving object 
perceived as such ? 

It is commonly said that association and memory explain 
'this. Upon seeing a hurtful thing we know it to be such from 
past experience when we cognize the same object while it 
was hurting, and so related pain to the object. But this 
sense of experience and relation is just what we have to ex- 
plain ; and we have also to show how the suggestive cognition 
is brought about, how we see the thing at all before it exer- 
cises any real feeling effect on us. There is no doubt that 
when any object often causes intense pain, cognition of this 
object is stimulated, and finally pre-perception occurs, but just 
how is quite obscure. A low organism will repeatedly be 
injured by some thing, as a sharp object, will plainly suffer 
pain and have some concomitant knowing to stimulate and 
direct will-effort, while yet no premonitory knowing or pre- 
perception is apparent. There seems to be no sense of the 
experience value of the object even while it is having pain 
and knowing object. It is pained but not frightened. 

Cognition certainly occurs at instance of less and less pain, 
as also do volition reactions, but yet it must, whether as pre- 
perception or otherwise, have some feeling initiation, which 
must always be traced. Can we suppose now that a study of 
revivals will help us in this, or in determining how sense of 
experience-value originates ? Repeated experiences with the 
sharp rock enable the organism at expense of less pain, but 
with clearer and fuller cognition, to escape severe injury. As 
a fixed sequence of experiences tend to recur together there 
will follow upon the cognition revival waves of pain before 
any actual increase of pain is really inflicted in the given case. 
These waves stand for, and are the echoes of, the former real 
pain sequences of cognition. Thus the perception of a great 
mass of ice will often cause a shivery feeling, a painful sensa- 
tion, which was correlated with former cognition experiences. 
Even the image or representation, the purely and consciously 
ideal cognition, may bring in painful feeling, as when I say, ' It 
makes me shiver to think of it.' Here the sensation-bringing 


idea is cognized as such, but the representation here is the 
occasion of a direct painful sensation, and evidently does not 
imply fear or other emotion. 

While not arising from actual injuries, revivals strengthen 
both cognition and volition. They have recurred before 
further hurtful experiences with the rock which originally 
incited them. These revival pains of previous sequences to 
the cognition, and which are carried along with the present 
cognition, are real enough in themselves, yet they are object- 
ively anticipatory of actual injury. The whole order of pre- 
vious experience is by the nature of mind and nervous system 
re-enacted before the actual injuries are inflicted. It is always 
a race between mind and nature, but it is a prime function of 
mind to anticipate practically the movements of nature. Mind 
by its revival forms accomplishes this, but if it lags in its work 
the real injuries are mercilessly inflicted by slow but sure 
nature. When the sequence of revival is quicker than the 
objective sequence, the reactions anticipate objective order, 
and thus is achieved a manifest economy. But pain revivals 
of this kind are not fear, nor is there a real pre-perception. 
Since the revival forms are, to the observer's point of view, 
incentive to anticipatory reaction, psychologists must often, 
especially with low organisms, mistake them for fear; the 
animal is often, doubtless, merely suffering revival pains when 
it appears to be fearing pain. Thus we may suspect that 
organisms which seem to fear shadows or real objects are 
often merely suffering revival pains brought up in conjunction 
with the cognition, and not really fearing as result of perceiv- 
ing feeling quality inherent in the object. Manifestation of 
pain must often be mistaken for manifestations of emotion, 
and there is as yet no accurate objective determination for 
fear or other emotions. That we always see in things the 
possibility of feeling and sensation, and this inevitably and 
naturally, blinds us both to the problem and to its difficulty. 

How we perceive a thing before it is in the least experi- 
enced in pleasure-pain terms is then wholly unexplained by 
revivals. Revival pains are not representations of pains as in 
some way coming from object. Emotion requires representa- 
tion, and cannot occur in any presentation or re-presentation 


chain. True pre-perception is not merely perceiving the 
thing before its effects in feeling are experienced, but it is a 
representing the feeling quality of the object before, in any 
given case, this quality is directly experienced. This obvi- 
ously rests on past experience, but the connecting of object 
with pleasure-pain experience is at all times, as before inti- 
mated, equally a problem. Emotion and representation are 
built not of revivals but upon them perceived as such. At 
some critical moment in some rather early period in mental 
development a consciousness which was pain plus sense of 
object, realized, under the pressure of struggle for existence 
the feeling quality of the object, and there arose painful 
emotion with the knowledge of object as pain-giver. And as 
soon as object is not merely cognized, but cognized as pain- 
giver, it may be feared. The moment that object was known 
as a pain agent then fear of the object came, and thus true 
anticipatory action arose. We are said, indeed, to fear objects, 
to fear men, animals, etc., but, in truth, the fear is never of 
the object as such, but only in view of its pain agency. The 
cognizing the experienced and experienceable as such seems 
then a peculiar and distinct process in fear and in all emotion, 
a genus apart which cannot be constituted by interaction of 
simple elements. The growth of mind is largely in multiply- 
ing and enlarging the signs of experience. 

Fear as involving pre-perception of the painful nature of 
object is obviously based on some direct experience where the 
pain was immediately perceived as related to object. The 
genesis of fear is really in this immediate form ; the moment 
that pain experience is connected with object, the moment the 
child playing with fire perceives that the object, fire, hurts, 
then fear is born. Fear originates as soon as pain agency of 
objects is realized in any direct experience. The germ of fear 
is reached whenever the knowledge expressed by words, ' it 
hurts/ is attained. The first stage of fear rests upon the pain 
relation which is being experienced from object, not a pain 
having been experienced. The present hurtful objects per- 
ceived as such incite to fear. 

The connecting of object with pain once achieved, it be- 
comes increasingly easy to cognize the feeling value of objects, 


and before full and extreme pain experience therefrom to pre- 
react through emotion. Thus emotion saves both direct pain 
and injury. As it becomes a permanent tendency and an 
impulse of consciousness to proceed from all pure feelings to 
cognition of object, so also to cognition of object in its feeling 
quality, and thus by inherent tendency it ultimately comes 
about that there is attaching of pain to various objects cog- 
nized, even when there is no immediate experience of pain to 
be connected therewith. Finally the precedent inciting pains 
to cognition become such minor factors, and knowledge arises 
with such apparent spontaneity, that emotion as involving pain 
significance becomes dominant rather than the immediate pain. 
An order of consciousness becomes established in which the 
notable event is cognition of experience values as bringing in 
emotion rather than an order of pleasure-pain inciting cogni- 
tion. But at the first it is evident that fear was but a slight 
event in a consciousness which was mainly absorbed in imme- 
diate pain experience and some sense of object. It is so habit- 
ual and instinctive for us to perceive all things as having 
feeling value that it is most difficult to appreciate the stand- 
point of a consciousness which is just attaining emotion life. 

The preliminary elements to simple primitive fear as 
expressed by any such phrase as, ' it hurts/ are at least four ; 
pain, cognition of object, cognition of the pain, cognition of 
the pain agency of object. These operations as being at first 
successive do not necessarily imply, however, sense of time. 
The consciousness of a pain is certainly, at first, consciousness 
of pain really past, yet not consciousness of it as past. The 
pain stands as immediately antecedent act to the consciousness 
which is cognition of it, but sense of experience is not thereby 
sense of experience in time. The sense of time-relations of 
experiences is wholly subsequent to the simple sense of expe- 
rience. All experience is, of course, in time, but far from being 
of time. 

The earliest fear is not then in view of the experienceable, 
in view of experience as future fact; fear, at first, is mani- 
fested only when and so long as pain is being cognized as 
from object. As soon as this sense of immediate relation 
ceases, fear ceases, for its foundation is gone. So long as hurt 


is felt from object, object is feared. The higher and the ordi- 
nary form of fear in human psychic life is based on this lower 
fear. An organism which has repeatedly suffered knowingly 
from an object and so feared, attains at length the power of 
fearing antecedent to any real injury. This seems to be 
brought about somewhat in the following manner. If I in 
any way, as by a pin pricking, rouse a sleeping animal to a 
cognition of an object which has often injured it, and which it 
has often feared, immediately there would re-occur the origi- 
nal concomitants of the cognition in the previous cases, there 
would be pain, cognition of pain, ascription to object, and 
fear, all merely revivals, and happening most probably before 
any actual injury, etc., received in the present case. Now 
these revivals, as before insisted, do not and cannot in them- 
selves alone form a new fear. This is only constituted when 
the revival pains are known as such, when they are not merely 
presented in consciousness, but represented as belonging to 
past experience of thing, and so to be experienced. The thing 
is thereby truly interpreted for its feeling value. Not merely 
pain as being experienced is connected with thing, but as hav- 
ing been experienced, and to be experienced. Thus only arises 
that sense of the experienceable, that real apprehension for the 
future, which is so valuable an acquisition in the struggle for 
existence. Feeling quality comes thus to be assigned as real 
and permanent property of things, and every cognition comes 
to imply representation of feeling value, and so to be a basis 
for emotion. But all sense of experienceability is founded on 
sense of experience ; the sense of things as possibilities of sen- 
sation and feeling is based on actual relatings of feelings to 
objects in simple direct experiences. 

Fear is in itself pre-eminently a painful state, and we have 
to inquire as to the origin and nature of this pain. The state- 
ment of the problem in general form is, how does that which 
does not yet please or pain, but is only cognized as about to 
do so, give immediate pleasure or pain ? 

We have already expressed the opinion that fear is based 
on more than mere pain revivals ; there must be true repre- 
sentation, the revival must be appreciated as representation of 
past experience and indicative of future. The painful agita- 


tion consequent on prospect of pain seems, indeed, to include 
as pain element more than revival pain, but it is only seeming. 
Where does the pain come from which a person feels at the 
mere prospect of pain unless from the past ? The pain is, of 
course, not the identical pain feared. Again, one cannot see 
how a cognition in itself entirely empty of feeling can cause a 
pain except as acting as a link in a chain of association whereby 
conjoined past pains are revived. So far as fear is pain, it is 
revival, for representation of pain is not pain and cannot cause 
pain. The pain which arises from cognition of pain to be ex- 
perienced appears in a strict analysis to be wholly re-occur- 
rence stimulated thereby, and not any new and peculiar mode 
of pain at pain. That this is the case is apparent from the 
fact that we can only have the pain of fear so far as we have 
experienced pain. Poignant pains experienced are the basis 
of poignant pain in fear. The knowledge that you are soon 
to re-experience an intense pain leads to an intense dread in 
which the intense pain is revived from former experience. 
There are, to be sure, in the phenomena of fear in highly de- 
veloped consciousness complex pains which cannot be ascribed 
to revivals, reflexes upon consciousness of the great tension 
and agitation thereof, pain of loss of self-possession and self- 
power, and other modes which proceed from consciousness of 
consciousness, but this does not bear upon the question how 
mere cognition of pain as to be experienced can in itself give 
pain, how there arises from mere apprehension, a pain which 
is more than and distinct from the revival pains. 

But, however we may be puzzled to see how mere cogni- 
tion of experienceable pain develops a peculiar pain which is 
the essence of fear, yet we must acknowledge its production 
to be a fact. We may say, indeed, that the bare thought of 
pain even when conveyed by the printed word the abstract 
sign of an arbitrary vocal name is not without a tinge of a 
peculiar fear-pain which does not wholly consist of revivals. 
When preparing to go out into the storm on a very cold day I 
have pain in anticipation of the pain I am to receive from the 
bitterly cold wind. Now I may have preliminary shiverings, 
and there may be recurrent painful sensations as I look in- 
tently at the raging elements, pains which return from actual 


experiences which I have before undergone and at the time 
knowingly connected with wind and snow. But all these 
revivals, while the basis of my fear, do not give the distinct 
pain quality of the fear. The pain which I do experience 
when I actually step into the biting blast I know at once to 
be entirely distinct in quality from that which I before felt at 
the anticipation, the real pain, of fear. Again, when I say, ' I 
was deeply pained to hear of it/ and when I say, ' The noise 
pained me greatly,' I indicate that difference between purely 
mental distress and sensuous pain, between pain at represen- 
tation and pain referred to presentation, which is to be em- 
phasized in all our study of emotion. The tortures of fear 
with a man in the hands of hostile Indians are quite distinct in 
quality from the tortures actually endured. The agony of 
fear is a genus apart from the agony of physical pain. 

Again, if the pain in fear were derived from revivals, then 
the nature of the pain in different states of fear would be as 
different as the sensations feared. But as a matter of fact the 
pain in fear of cold, fear of heat, of famine, of punishment, etc., 
is substantially of the same quality. I may fear one more 
than another, but the real mental agitation and pain which 
constitute the fear are in all cases essentially the same. If the 
pain in fear were sensation revivals, then fear of cold and fear 
of heat would be quite diverse and contrary in quality of pain 
value, but we all know that the dread of a cold day and of a 
hot day are in themselves essentially the same in nature. As 
far as the states are pure fear and have a pain quality, the 
conscious activity in both is entirely similar. 

Further, if the pain in fear were wholly of revival nature, 
not only should we expect fear of different sensations to be 
correspondingly distinct, but we should also expect the pain 
in fear to never exceed in amount and intensity the pain feared 
as indicated by measure of past experience. But we know 
that our fears are often much more painful than pain feared 
and than our experience of past pain. The pang of fear, of 
sudden fright, is often more acute and intense than any direct 
pain we have ever experienced. The terrible convulsions of 
fear which we see in the insane give evidence of pain which 
could not have been reflection from direct experience. That 


excessive and sudden fear which turns men's hair gray in a 
few hours and transforms their whole physical system is 
plainly not any revival from the individual's past experience. 
As revealed by its effects it is often, perhaps, greater than the 
whole amount of pain they have ever suffered. Where, in the 
direct-experience form, pain is greater in the fear than the real 
pain suffered, we express the fact by the common phrase, 
1 more scared than hurt.' In all such cases the pain in fear is 
not the revival of past experiences of the object feared. 

Fear is, in the main, the peculiar pain coming from con- 
sciousness of experienceable pain, but in general in all complex 
consciousness it is marked by dissolution and weakening of 
mental force. There is a shrinking of will, and a clouding of 
cognition, a general unsettling of all mental elements, a com- 
motion or agitation which destroys the organic consensus of 
consciousness. But any excessive functioning of some ele- 
ment in consciousness, of emotion life, as fear, or of any other 
form, is unbalancing and detracts from normal activity of the 
whole. Fear, however, in its normal measure and form arose 
and was developed as a desirable stimulant ; where it becomes 
paralyzing in its force, it is pathological in quality. Also 
where fear is pathologically intense it tends to disappear in 
sensation feared. Cognition becomes so weakened that sense 
of representativeness is lost, the thing feared is no longer 
brought before the mind in its potential quality, but is imme- 
diately apprehended as present in its influence though really 
objectively absent hallucination is produced, and fear natu- 
rally reverts to its earliest and direct form in immediate ex- 
perience. As cognition is still further weakened the sense of 
object as giving pain is lost, and fear in any form entirely dis- 
appears. The pain is not felt which before was feared to be 
felt. Fear thus in the general order of its disappearance 
repeats the order of its appearance and growth. 

Fear always includes some sense of object. The apprehen- 
sion of something evil to happen is the basis of all fear, but 
the thing, or, subjectively speaking, the objectifying, may be 
extremely vague. We may fear that some harm is to befall 
us, but what and how, we know not. We must suppose that 
in early stages this bare objectifying of approaching pain was 


a regular incipient form, that an indefinite fear preceded every 
case of defined fear. We, as a rule, attain a full objectifying 
with such ease and rapidity that this form does not often 

A complete fear movement, then, with reference to cogni- 
tion includes four stages : first, a very general sense of object 
as about to give pain ; second, an increasing definition of 
object up to the maximum of clearness, thus marking the 
highest efficiency of the fear function ; third, a decreasing defi- 
nition of object till, fourth, a purely indefinite objectifying is 
again reached. Every fear, if it attains a normal life, will rise, 
culminate, and decline in this way. Even in man, where the 
full development of single simple psychoses rarely proceed 
undisturbed, there is yet observed a general tendency toward 
these stages. I awaken in the night at a sudden noise with 
slight and vague fear ; suspicious sounds increase my fear and 
I listen and look more intently till I see clearly and quite fully 
crouching near the bed a dark body which I make out to be 
an armed burglar; as he approaches with his pointed weapon 
fear will most likely become so intense that I see less and less 
clearly, and a shot might terrify me into vague but very in- 
tense fear. If the object is discerned to be not a burglar but 
a chair, the fear quickly lapses. At a certain point of maximum 
clearness either a weakening or an intensifying of fear weakens 
cognition. Too much or too little pain is equally injurious to 
the knowing activity. Low psychisms examine and clearly 
define only that from which they have something to fear or 

The qualitative relation of the pain of fear to the pain 
feared varies greatly with the evolution of mind. Fear-pain 
could not have originated as a substitutionary function for the 
real pain except by being at the first somewhat less in quality 
than the pain to be endured, otherwise there would be no 
economy in the function. The progress of this function is to 
secure at less and less expense of fear-pain the suitable reac- 
tion. The function of fear being to escape a greater direct 
pain by a less indirect one, the progress of the function is in 
diminishing the amount of fear-pain for required effectiveness. 
The small original gain in the ratio is increased by small in- 


crements till in the highest minds proportion of fear-pain to 
pain feared might be represented by ^-. The pain in the 
usual fear which commonly induces me to step from the track 
before an approaching train, or which enables me after read- 
ing some advice on the subject to take precautions against the 
cholera, is evidently in infinitesimal relation to the pain feared. 
When fear is unsuccessful, as in anticipating a visit to the 
dentist, we, of course, suffer a double pain, both the fear-pain 
and the pain feared. 

Often we must observe that the pain of fear is equal to or 
greater than the experience feared, and we have to ask how 
this disadvantageous excess could have been evolved. Often 
the pain of anticipation turns out to be far greater than the 
pain anticipated. However, a little reflection assures us that 
the excess of fear in many cases is only in appearance. We do 
not fear too much upon the judgment we have formed as to 
the coming pain, but we have by error of judgment assigned 
too much value to the pain. When a person being initiated 
into a secret society trembles with fear at being told to jump 
from a precipice, when he really is to jump but a few feet 
downward, his fear was perfectly just according to his judg- 
ment. If his belief is perfectly assured, the mortal fear will 
make him offer the most strenuous resistance and most likely 
secure his release from the ordeal. In all such cases the feel- 
ing is right enough, but the estimate of future experience is 
inaccurate. When an animal is terrified at its own shadow 
the fear is justly proportioned to the estimate of danger, 
which, however, happens to be erroneous. In the evolution 
of mind in the struggle for existence, more and more accurate 
calculations of possible injury are attained, and fear becomes 
more and more rational. Educated men fear only what is 
worthy of fear; they fear many things that lower minds do 
not, and do not fear many things they^do. The true excess 
of fear is where we fear against judgment, as when, know- 
ing the safety of travel by rail, I am yet constantly in fear 
while aboard a railway train. When I still continue to fear 
though I know the fear to be groundless, this is a true hyper- 
trophy of fear. We constantly observe those who are fearful 
and timid against their own reason. When dangers known 


are compared with dangers obscure or unknown and per- 
ceived to be unknowable, the fear of the unknown often pre- 
vails against the fear of the known, and we prefer with Hamlet 
to fear the ills we have than fly to others we know not of. 

I must in conclusion express my conviction that while the 
physiological and objective study of fear and other emotions is 
of very considerable value, yet it is only introspective analysis 
which can reveal the true nature and genesis of fear and all 
emotion. What fear is and what is the process of its develop- 
ment can only be determined by the direct study of conscious- 
ness as a life factor in the struggle for existence. This I 
attempt in the present paper with the main result that fear, as 
indeed every emotion, does not consist of pain or cognition- 
revivals in any form, but is a feeling reaction from the repre- 
sentation of the feeling potency of the object. 



Columbia College. 

In undertaking to describe some experiments in the per- 
ception of magnitude and distance, I ought first to mention 
certain peculiarities of my own eyes that are quite different 
from the majority of cases, and that exempt my results from 
the difficulties which most observers have to encounter and 
which often render their judgments doubtful or illusory. I do 
not refer to any structural peculiarities, nor to defects of any 
kind : for, as far as I have been able to ascertain, my eyes are 
quite symmetrically constructed and are free from all usual 
defects whatsoever. There are no traces of myopia, astigma- 
tism, or similar obstructions to perfect vision, and hence for 
all distances my sight is remarkably good a fact, however, 
which has no interest except to remove certain suspicions 
which might be entertained regarding the experiments I expect 
to describe below. But the peculiarities to be mentioned con- 
cern the dissociation of certain functions which are very close- 
ly associated in general experience. I refer first to the various 
degrees of convergence which I can practise without any in- 
terference with the normal functions of vision. For instance, 
I can cross the eyes and walk about the streets, the fields, or 
the woods with as great ease and freedom from error as in 
their natural position. No pain or discomfort accompanies the 
process, but only a feeling of effort and fatigue after some per- 
sistence in it. Still more noticeable is the fact that where 
most persons suffer from greatly blurred images, I am com- 
paratively free from this disturbance. This is true, however, 
with qualifications which must be noticed. Thus the blurring 
is only slight until the fusion of similar images, when the vision 
becomes normally clear. Thus I may compare with mine the 



experience of others whom I have often besought to verify my 

If two circles are drawn a short distance apart and the 
eyes crossed so as to produce fusion, I generally find that the 
images are so blurred by the failure to accommodate the eyes 
suitably, when others perform the experiment, that no reliance 
whatever can be placed upon their judgment of the results, no 
matter what they claim to see, while in my own case there is 
no blurring whatsoever. The images are as clear and distinct 
as if I had not converged my eyes. I can freely move my 
eyes from one to the other of the three circles in the field of 
vision and back, and up or down, without in the least disturb- 
ing the fusion, the clearness of the perception, or the apparent 
localization and perspective of the figures. I can carry on 
observations as well under these conditions as when the focal- 
ization is natural. Indeed so easy and free from discomfort is 
the process that, if the field of vision is constituted by some 
large surface covered with uniform figures, in a few minutes 
the new position becomes so natural that it is with difficulty 
disturbed and the normal condition restored. I can carry on 
the parallel movements of the eyes under these circumstances 
without any tendency to disturb the convergence, or the 
localization, which in these cases corresponds to the degree of 
convergence, or approximately so. I should not even know 
that my eyes were crossed but for the slight influence un- 
doubtedly exerted by a surface which is not exactly uniform, 
or whose figures do not produce absolutely identical images. 

So much for the effects of convergence within the plane of 
the paper upon which the circles are drawn. It is similar 
when I focus the eyes beyond the paper, so as to produce 
fusion, for all distances greater than about eighteen inches 
from the eyes. With others I find blurring exceedingly great 
under these circumstances. They suffer also from the still 
greater difficulty of keeping the fixation upon one point and 
the attention upon another either horizontally in the indirect 
field or in different points on the median line. But neither 
of these conditions presents any difficulty to my eyes, with the 
exception just indicated. If I hold the paper more than eight- 
een inches from the eyes, or place it at any distance within 


the limits of fusion by focussing beyond it, and these may be 
as much as fifteen feet from me, there is no blurring whatever, 
and I am free, not only to move my eyes over the field with 
ease and without disturbing the fixation, but also to carry on 
observations as distinct and clear as normally. Within the 
eighteen-inch limit the result varies. At first the lines of 
the circles are somewhat blurred, though the circles are 
quite distinct and observations comparatively undisturbed. 
But by a little practice or after a few minutes the blurring 
diminishes and often ceases altogether until the paper comes 
within twelve inches of the eyes, when it is noticeable again. 
But even here the effect produces very little influence upon 
perception and its accuracy, as the blurring is too slight to 
affect it. But with these qualifications my vision is as clear 
and as easy under the circumstances described as under nor- 
mal conditions. The fact will attach some importance to the 
following experiments and observations. 

I wish to put to the test certain theories of space percep- 
tion and to ascertain how they conform to the facts of experi- 
ment. Ever since Berkeley, much has been made of the muscular 
and motor influences affecting the problem. But these have 
been almost wholly confined to the perception of distance or 
solidity, all parties being influenced by the fact that this quality 
could not be represented in the retinal impression. The prob- 
lem has been, therefore, to devise either a sensorial or a motor 
explanation of this additional datum. The phenomena of con- 
vergence, binocular fusion, and translocation of images have 
been the starting-points of discussion and theory, and hence, 
finding certain coincidences between them and the localization 
of objects, the natural supposition was to connect the conscious- 
ness of distance with the motor functions involved. The whole 
question of magnitude, however, in connection with the same 
functions seems to have been wholly neglected, though its phe- 
nomena might be used by both parties to the controversy. On 
the one hand they seem to confirm the motor-sensation theory, 
and on the other to suggest such an anomalous relation to sen- 
sorial functions, and such a modified conception of the whole 
process of space perception, that they throw considerable 
doubt upon the very theory which they seem to confirm. I 


shall, therefore, take up first the perception of magnitude, 
which I find in all my experiments to be variable with the 
degree of convergence necessary to produce combination of 
images. Its peculiarities must be very carefully noted. 

I shall first describe some very simple experiments with 
natural objects, which it is possible others can confirm without 
difficulty, though I have never seen any allusion to them in the 
literature of space perception. Thus if I close one eye quickly 
while looking at an object, say a lamp-shade, a plate, a sheet of 
paper, a window, a house, or anything whatever, there is a 
most decided impression of diminished magnitude. I cannot 
say how great the decrease of magnitude seems, but it is dis- 
tinct and uniform enough to dispute the suspicion of ordinary 
illusion. Ever since I detected the fact the phenomenon has 
been absolutely without exception, even when I tried to over- 
come it by thinking the judgment illusory. The moment that 
the closed eye is opened the magnitude of the object is appar- 
ently enlarged. Nor is the effect due to relaxed binocular ad- 
justment and disparity of images caused by closing and opening 
of the eyes, for the same effect is noticeable by shoving a piece 
of card-board between one eye and the object and removing 
it at once. Besides, the effect does not resemble that which is 
due to disparity of images. Of course this phenomenon does 
not illustrate the effect of convergence upon magnitude, as 
mentioned above. On the contrary, it rather illustrates senso- 
rial influences and probably confirms Prof. James's doctrine of 
voluminousness in sensations. But it also distinctly suggests 
other than motor influences affecting spatial properties in our 

The next class of common experiments illustrates the con- 
nection between magnitude and the degree of adjustment. 
Thus if I cross the eyes and combine the images of two similar 
windows, say on the opposite side of the street, the diminution 
in the apparent magnitude of the windows is very distinct, a 
diminution that continues as long as convergence increases, 
until the window seems a mere miniature of what it is nor. 
mally. The degree of convergence will, of course, vary either 
with the distance between the windows, or with the distance 
of the eyes from the windows. This fact requires no comment, 


but it indicates the conditions under which the observations 
can be most favorably made, because my vision is more clear 
and distinct during fusion than before or after it ; that is, than 
when the images are not on corresponding points. But I must 
remark that the general effect is the same whether the images 
are fused or not. The diminution of magnitude begins with 
the change of convergence and continues with it without 
regard to fusion. Besides, the location of the window seems 
to be nearer than in the normal position, and this locus is more 
distinct and definite during fusion than at any other time. 
Neither one of these results can be confirmed by the ordinary 
student, and this is not to be wondered at when we consider 
his lack of experience in such matters. But even trained experi- 
menters may fail to be assured of the effect, because the whole 
field of vision is equally affected by the process, and because 
of the cohesion between adjustment and accommodation which 
makes all images indistinct that are not normal. The phe- 
nomenon of localization in this case, however, would probably 
not be regarded as anomalous: for it is in reality the same 
effect as translocation in the case of binocular parallax in the 
combination of geometrical figures drawn for stereoscopic 
purposes, except that this parallax is not present in the instance 
described. Hence I need not dwell upon this part of the 
experiment. But the modification of magnitude is not so 
easily explained. Nor has any one alluded to it within my 
knowledge. We might expect accommodation to have a fixed 
relation to convergence and thus to diminish or enlarge the 
image according to the usual law by making it indistinct. 
But such is not the case, and the diminution may be due to the 
alteration of the pupil and not the lens, so that the image is 
actually made smaller by virtue of the decreased aperture for 
the light. This might take place from the habitual connection 
between accommodation and convergence on the one hand, 
and between accommodation and the modification of the pupil 
on the other. But I have no means of proving such a suppo- 
sition, as I cannot observe my own eyes in the operation. I 
can only conjecture that habit and association may establish a 
more or less fixed relation between functions which are in their 
nature distinct, and whose effects become particularly clear 


when blurring does not occur from an altered accommodation. 
Accommodation in these cases is perfect, for there is no obscur- 
ity from unfocussed rays of light. Only the images appear 
smaller, and hence if the connection between the area of the 
pupillary aperture and the degree of convergence remains 
more fixed than that of accommodation and convergence, so 
as to decrease with the increase of convergence, we might 
suspect what the cause is. But as I do not find any alter- 
ation of the magnitude of images from the artificial dilation of 
the pupils, I may well doubt the influence of their modifica- 
tion, while also raising the question whether they necessarily 
undergo any change from the alteration of convergence and 
without any change in the brilliancy of the light from the 
objects. This suspicion is more than confirmed by the fact 
that in no instance, where I have changed the illumination upon 
an object, have I noticed any modification of magnitude follow 
the contraction or the expansion of the pupil, as the case may 
be. It is only when convergence takes place that this effect is 
noticeable and without any alteration of the light from the 
object. Further proof of this will be given again after further 
illustrations of the effect. 

A very beautiful effect can be produced in the following 
manner. If I look at a large surface, say the side of a build- 
ing having some regular and uniform decoration, and cross 
the eyes so as to combine certain similar portions of it, the 
windows for instance, the fusion takes place over the whole 
area, representing distinctly every point or mark in the field of 
vision, except on the margin of the indirect portion. But the 
figures are much diminished in magnitude, and this diminu- 
tion, as before, increases with the degree of convergence, and 
becomes a comparative miniature of the real size. If the point 
of fixation is as near as two feet, the whole surface seems dis- 
tinctly within reach though the wall be fifty or one hundred 
feet away, and I can put out my hand and touch it or write 
upon it as it were, the illusion being perfect except for the 
absence of tactual sensation. I can move my eyes about over 
the whole field and by retaining the fixation for two or three 
minutes can eliminate all feelings and associations of the real 
distance until I seem to be before one of the delicate models 


we so often see of various forms of architecture. The moment 
that I break the convergence the sudden change to the normal 
distance and size of the wall with its figures creates a kind of 
shock or surprise, so distinct is the contrast and sense of illu- 
sion. The same phenomenon shows itself when I cross the 
eyes to combine the figures of wall-paper, the size and titles of 
two similar books, the letters of two similar pages of reading, 
the squares of a screen, or any similar figures whatever. The 
magnitude is diminished in proportion to the convergence. 
Indeed resemblance in the form of the figures is not an essen- 
tial condition of the effect, only it prevents rivalry and aids in 
an easy and agreeable retention of a given degree of adjust 

Now the next question is whether I can produce an appar- 
ent enlargement of size by focussing the eyes beyond the plane 
in which the figures to be combined may lie. Unfortunately 
there are decided limitations to the performance of this ex- 
periment. It is impossible to try it with objects at a con- 
siderable distance or more than a certain space apart from each 
other. Nevertheless I have been able to do so under favorable 
circumstances and within the limits referred to. Thus I have 
taken two books of the same kind and titles, and by focussing 
the eyes beyond them combined the letters and effected a very 
considerable enlargement of them. I get the same result from 
a similar combination of any figures capable of it. But both 
the diminution and enlargement of magnitude can be illus- 
trated, as I have described them, by the following experiments, 
and perhaps some clue to an explanation obtained at the same 

I take two circles as represented in Fig. i, drawing them 

FIG. i. 

only a short distance apart from each other. If I cross the 
eyes until the circles fuse there will be three circles in the field 


of vision, all of them perfectly clear and distinct. No suppres- 
sion of the external circles takes place unless I concentrate 
attention very strongly upon the central circle, and then they 
may wholly disappear, to return again when attention has been 
relaxed. But the central of the three circles, which is the com- 
bination of the images cast upon the external halves of the 
retinas, seems distinctly smaller, and very generally somewhat 
nearer than the other two, but all of them smaller than the 
original circles. The following figure (Fig. 2) represents the 
appearance of the three circles after fusion, and, as nearly as 
I can make them, in the proportion between their several magni- 
tudes, and also in the proportion between the magnitudes of the 
apparent and the magnitudes of the two original circles in 
Fig. i. It must be remarked, however, that the magnitudes 
of the three circles vary with the degree of convergence 
required to combine the two, and hence is proportioned to the 
distance between the original figures, and it is most remark- 

FlG. 2. 

able that the distance of the eyes from the paper does not 
affect the apparent magnitude of the circles any more than it 
does in normal vision. This accords with the law of converg- 
ence, which increases and decreases, ceteris paribus, with the 
distance from the eyes of the objects combined. This incident 
will be the subject of comment later in the discussion. But 
some conception of the effect will be found by comparing Fig. 
2 with Fig. i, since the three circles represent, as nearly as I 
can determine it without mechanical measurement, which is 
impossible in the case, the modifications of magnitude accom- 
panying combinations of the two circles in Fig. i. So far from 
there being any illusion about it varying with the judgment of 
the facts, in the many thousands of experiments I have tried 
there has not been one variation from this result, the only differ- 


ence being in the size of the original circles. The diminution 
is then proportional. 

Now in regard to the explanation of the fact, it is clear 
that it cannot be attributed to a contraction of the pupil. 
This supposition might account for the decrease of magnitude 
compared with the circles in Fig. i, but it will not account 
for the smaller diameter of the central circle in Fig. 2 com- 
pared with the external circles, because the pupillary contrac- 
tion is the same for all of them. There is, of course, the con- 
clusive fact already alluded to, that a modification of the pupil 
in normal vision is not followed by a corresponding alteration 
of the apparent size of the object. But in spite of this we 
might be tempted to consider such an influence as possible in 
artificial convergence and yet the anomaly in Fig. 2 effectually 
excludes this hypothesis. Nor does it fare any better with 
the supposition that the modification of the lens produces the 
effect. This influence might again account for the diminution 
in comparison with Fig. i, but the same difficulty as before 
occurs when the difference between the central and the ex- 
ternal circles is considered. The force of this supposition in 
the first instance, that is, in the comparison between the 
original circles and those after combination, cannot be lightly 
ignored. For, other things remaining the same, an alteration 
in the convexity of the lens will affect the magnitude of the 
image a well-known optical law. Now if the mere habit of 
altering the lens to suit the direction of the rays of light and 
in perfect consonance with the degree of convergence is likely 
to affect its convexity that is to say, if the association of a 
given degree of convexity with a given degree of converg- 
ence is likely to be strong, then the mere convergence of the 
eyes to produce fusion artificially may be accompanied with 
the corresponding degree of accommodation, and this in- 
crease of convexity in the lens would produce a diminution 
of the image and a corresponding decrease in the apparent 
magnitude of the circle. Whether such an associative con- 
nection between accommodation and convergence exists or 
not, I am not able to say. But the supposition, though 
probably true for most persons, as indicated by the indis- 
tinctness of the images, has its difficulties in my case. For 


the circles are as clear and distinct after convergence as 
before it. Now as we suppose accommodation to be instigated 
solely by the direction of the rays of light, and as these remain 
exactly the same under both conditions, the focus for the 
retinal image must be the same, and as the image is clear there 
is no optical reason for a modification of the lens. Ft would 
seem, therefore, that there must either be an obscurity or a 
blurring of the image, or the absence of all modification of the 
lens. Hence while associative influences might account for a 
real diminution of the retinal image, they conflict with retinal 
distinctness and the optical reflex which is the primary agency 
in accommodation. But whatever strength the supposition 
might have in comparing the decrease of magnitude with the 
magnitude of the original circles, as already remarked, it is 
fatally contradicted by the difference in magnitude between 
the central and external circles of Fig. 2, or the difference 
which I have described is an illusion. It is too distinct, how- 
ever, for me to suppose the latter alternative, and I must 
adhere to the former conditions whether they offer any diffi- 
culties or not. Nor will the functions constituting converg- 
ence help us to explain the whole phenomenon, for we en- 
counter the same difference between the central and the 
external circles while the adjustment remains the same for 
both. If, however, we can suppose that the apparently nearer 
localization of the central circle represents a correspondingly 
greater degree of muscular tension, or sensory effort at fusion, 
if sensory it be, than for the localization of the external circles, 
which is purely monocular, we might readily admit the influ- 
ence of convergence in the case. For we might refer the 
diminished magnitude of the external circles compared with 
the originals in Fig. i to the contraction of the lens with the 
consequent diminution of the retinal image, and the magnitude 
of the central circle in Fig. 2 to this contraction of the lens 
plus the binocular tension involved in convergence and fusion. 
A confirmation of all this is found in the reversed effects of 
combining the circles by focussing the eyes beyond the plane 
in which the figures lie. If I do this there are three circles in 
the field as before. But the central figure, which is the com- 
bination of those on the internal halves of the retina, appears 


larger than the other two, and all of them larger than the 
originals, while the central circle appears very distinctly both 
farther from the plane of the two on 
the paper, and farther off than the 
two external circles, ostensibly at 
the point of fixation. This whole 
result is illustrated in Fig. 3, which 
has been drawn under the same con- 
ditions and with the same propor- 
tions, if possible, as in Fig. 2. Here 
we have an effect which is just the 
opposite of convergence within the 
plane, and it illustrates what would 
take place could we apply the pro- 
cess to objects and surfaces in 
general as we can the convergence ^*" ****>^ 

just mentioned. For the sake of ^^ ^*\^ 

brevity and clearness I shall speak / \ 

of convergence within the plane on / \ 

which the figures lie as positive, and I J^ 

beyond it as negative. Now if posi- 1 / 

tive convergence shows a tendency \ J 

to diminish magnitude both in the \^ / 

case of geometrical figures drawn v^^^ ^^S 
on a plane and in that of real ob- 
jects, figures, etc., on walls and 
large surfaces, we should expect an 
enlargement of this magnitude in 
the case of negative convergence, 
and so we find it, though there are 
limitations to the application of the 
process generally, which are deter- 
mined by the limited extent to 
which negative convergence is pos- 
sible. But there is every reason 
from what occurs in Fig. 3 and 
from the case of the book titles, 
already described, to believe that 
the effect of enlargement under negative convergence would 


be as universal as diminution is under positive convergence, 
if only these limitations did not interfere. However we have 
here the whole principle illustrated, and that is a tendency 
to enlargement of magnitude with negative convergence. 

Now as to explanation, it is not necessary to go through the 
whole length of criticising the supposition of pupillary expan- 
sion, which may be considered as rejected once for all. Nor 
need we emphasize the difficulties attaching to the differences 
of magnitude between the three circles : for we have only to 
suppose a combination of binocular adjustment and the expan- 
sions of the lens to account for this difference, and this hypoth- 
esis has fewer difficulties to contend with than the similar one 
under positive convergence, because within the distance of 
eighteen inches from the eyes the images are blurred, a fact 
that accords exactly with the possibility of a fixed, natural or 
associative, connection between accommodation and converg- 
ence. Beyond the eighteen inches the focus may be so nearly 
the same for all distances, and the modification of the lens so 
complex and peculiar, as not to affect the distinctness of images, 
so that no unquestionable fact would thus stand in the way 
of the supposed possibility mentioned. Confirming this, in a 
measure at least, is the fact that within certain narrow limits I 
can voluntarily contract the lens of the eyes without modifying 
or changing the degree of convergence, but beyond these 
limits the effort invariably results in convergent movements. 
The relation between accommodation and convergence is, 
therefore, not an absolutely fixed one, so that there may be 
variations often and large enough to account for the dis- 
crepancies supposably due to the ordinary laws of optics. If 
so, all the phenomena are closely connected with the processes, 
sensory or motor, of combination and adjustment. 

A very interesting negative confirmation of this comes from 
the observations of some of my students who are fortunate 
enough to get any results at all. Usually I find that they 
cannot see the two external circles, but occasionally a student 
is found who can see them. But quite invariably they can dis- 
tinguish no difference of magnitude between them and the 
central circle, nor any difference in the localization of the cen- 
tral circle in the third dimension. Besides, they find all the 


circles so blurred that a comparison would be somewhat diffi- 
cult. I hope still to discover some who are free from this 
difficulty. But as long as this obstacle remains and they can- 
not detect a difference of apparent tri-dimensional distance 
between the central and the external circles, there should be 
no surprise at the failure to perceive a difference of magnitude. 
For, as indicated, this might depend upon a difference between 
binocular tension in convergence and monocular tension in 
the contraction of the lens, and we have no a priori reason to 
suppose that this either must or may take place. But, not to 
say anything of the influence of association and the develop- 
ment of the phenomenon by practice, the connection between 
accommodation and convergence may be so fixed in most 
cases, which the fact of blurred images in the cases at hand 
favors, that a difference of tension between the two functions 
might not arise. It is plausible, therefore, to regard the failure 
as a negative confirmation of the hypothesis advanced. 

Nevertheless, plausible as such an hypothesis might be, it 
is not easy to sustain. In the first place there are two prob- 
lems here ; the general modification of magnitude, and the 
difference of magnitude between the three circles. If the gen- 
eral diminution is caused by convergence, all three circles 
should be of the same size and located in the same plane. This 
fact would also be true if the effect were produced only by 
accommodation, either the adjustment or the acccommodation 
being the same for ail the images. But to suppose a difference 
between the tension of binocular convergence and monocular 
accommodation is only to suppose that what accommodation 
does for the external circles it must do for the central instance, 
and that would be to locate them in the same plane. More- 
over, how little accommodation has to do with the effect would 
naturally be inferred from the enormous disparity between 
the reduction of magnitude and the degree of modified accom- 
modation supposable. Thus if I look at an extended surface, 
fifty or one hundred feet distant, decorated with windows, 
frescoes, and other similarly symmetrical figures, and combine 
identical forms, the diminution of magnitude, if the converg- 
ence is considerable, is so great that we can hardly conceive 
that it is explained by supposing a corresponding decrease of 


the retinal image. Distance has more to do with this than 
accommodation. Windows that are twenty feet long and five 
or six feet wide and fifteen feet apart, at sixty feet distance 
will appear under fusion to be possibly not more than one 
fourth their real size, a mere miniature of the original. Such 
a reduction by an alteration of the lens, while the image re- 
mains quite clear, seems impossible. But a judgment of this 
kind is not proof and the matter will require much more care- 
ful analysis to settle it. 

But I must first prove the fact and the amount of modified 
magnitudes. The layman's objection, and that of the scholar 
also who cannot perform the experiment, would be the query 
as to the evidence for what is here asserted. No direct com- 
parison, other than one's own feelings, can be made between 
the size of natural objects or geometrical figures and that of 
the images seen under altered adjustment. The comparison 
has to be made through memory, and this is liable to illusions, 
But the first plain reply to an objection of this kind is the fact 
that when the objects or figures combined are a considerable 
distance apart, the modification by adjustment is so great that 
the charge of illusion would make memory unreliable for dis- 
tinguishing the magnitudes of a silver dollar and a silver ten- 
cent piece seen separately at an interval of four or five seconds. 

Fortunately I am not left wholly to subjective impressions 
and judgments for the evidence of modified magnitudes in the 
several illustrations chosen. I have been able to measure cer- 
tain cases of them, and can state in inches or parts of inches 
the variation of size from that of the original objects or figures. 
This I effected in the case of the circles by passing a wire 
through the central circle of the three so as to form its diam- 
eter, one end terminating in the circumference, and then 
marking where the circumference intersected the wire at the 
opposite end of the diameter. This is done at the point of 
fixation where the central circle seems to be. This diameter 
can then be measured and compared with that of the original. 

In Fig. i the circles are just one inch in diameter. Com- 
bining them by positive convergence at a distance of six 
inches from the eyes the central of the three circles has a 
diameter of -$ or % of an inch. At one foot's distance it is 


also T \, and at two feet distance it is still the same, so that the 
distance from the eye does not affect the result. But if the 
two circles in Fig. I are placed farther apart that is, farther 
from the median line, the decrease in magnitude in connection 
with convergence is much more marked. Thus when the 
circles are two inches apart, the diameter of the fused central 
circle, as represented in the manner of Fig. 2, is, as near as I 
can determine it, only -Jf of an inch, at the same distance from 
the eyes as before mentioned. This is only a little over one 
third of the diameter of the original circles. The difference 
or reduction is still greater when the distances between the 
circles is greater. 

In order to ascertain whether the same law held true for 
negative convergence I drew the circles upon a plate of glass, 
making them i inches in diameter, as they were drawn with 
a fifty-cent silver piece, and to make the experiment practi- 
cable the circles were separated by only f of an inch interval, 
so that the point of fixation would not be beyond the reach of 
my arm. Combining them by negative convergence, focussing 
beyond the glass, with the circles only six inches from the 
eyes, I first guessed the apparent diameter of the central circle 
and made it four inches, and found by measurement, as before, 
that it was exactly this. At nine inches distance the diameter 
was still the same four inches ; at twelve inches the focus was 
beyond the reach of my arm, but by the aid of a second person 
the measurement was effected and the diameter was still four 
inches. This shows the same law as for positive convergence. 
In this case the magnitude of the external circles was not 
measured. But it was decidedly smaller than the central 
circle and apparently much nearer the eyes. But the magni- 
tude of the external circles for positive convergence can be 
measured and compared with that of the central circle. This 
is effected by keeping the measuring wire in the same plane 
as the central circle, that is, in the horopter, and measuring 
off the apparent diameter of the external circle, which I can 
do by turning the eyes to the right or the left, as the case may 
be, without altering the convergence. In Fig. I, I find in this 
way that the external circle measures T 9 ^ of an inch in diam- 
eter. If the circles are larger the difference is more notice- 


able and more easily determined. There is great danger of 
error in the measurement of the external circles because the 
wire would necessarily show a greater diameter as we ap- 
proach the plane of the paper. The same would be true of 
the central circle were it not for the facts that it is so dis- 
tinctly located at the point of fixation, and that the wire 
appears double and beyond the circle if placed beyond this 
point. At that given point, of course, the wire would give 
only T \ of an inch for the original circles on the paper, as 
actual measurement shows, so that the measurement of the 
external circles must be made in the same plane. Hence it 
appears that the diminution of the central circle compared 
with the external two is connected with fusion, while the 
diminution of the other two, less than the central circle, is 
connected with the general convergent condition. 

This measurement of magnitudes, showing a difference 
between the central and external circles, and the remarkable 
ratio of decrease in size with the degree of convergence, taken 
along with the perfect clearness of the images, create consider- 
able difficulty for the hypothesis that the effect is or may be 
due to associative contraction of the lens. For this contrac- 
tion must be the same for both the binocular and the monocu- 
lar circles, and hence ought to affect both alike. But it does 
not. In the second place we can hardly imagine that the con- 
traction would be so great as to reduce the diameter of the 
retinal image by one half. And with circles farther apart this 
reduction may be to one third or even one fourth of the origi- 
nal. It does not seem that the contraction of the lens could 
be so great. Moreover, as more distinct proof of this, the 
diminution of magnitude does not take place when one eye is covered 
or closed and attention fixed within or beyond the plane of the 
paper, until a marked degree of convergent tension is reached, 
such as puts a strain on the eyes, except, of course, such 
diminution as I always remark on closing one eye, and which 
I have described above. But blurring- of the images in this case 
is always observed, while within extreme limits no diminution 
of magnitude like that of binocular combination occurs. 
There is a slight illusion of it, as would be natural and to be 
expected from association. But the effect is so distinct from 


that of binocular fusion that the two cannot be compared, as 
any observer who can repeat the experiment will readily ob- 
serve. The uniform indistinctness of the binocular images in 
this instance is the proof of one difference, and the marked 
difference between the monocular and the binocular effect is 
another fact of importance rather inconsistent with the sup- 
position of associative ciliary influence and diminished retinal 

(To be concluded?} 


Princeton University. 

In a recent article in Mind-* entitled Imitation, I endeav- 
ored to show the order of rise of the child's various conscious- 
nesses of himself, distinguishing in order three stages of 
development which I called ' projective,' * subjective/ and 
1 ejective,' respectively. The first of these was grounded on 
so-called phenomena of ' personality-suggestion,' which I wish 
in this paper to submit to further analysis. 

In the way of general definition, the following may be 
quoted from my earlier article (loc. cit. p. 40) : 

" One of the most remarkable tendencies of the very young 
child in its responses to its environment is its tendency to 
recognize differences of personality. It responds to what I 
have elsewhere called ' suggestions of personality.' (Science, N. 
Y., 1891, p. 113.) As early as the second month it distinguishes 
its mother's or nurse's touch in the dark. It learns character- 
istic methods of holding, taking up, patting, kissing, etc., and 
adapts itself by a marvellous accuracy of protestation or acqui- 
escence to these personal variations. Its associations of person- 
ality come to be of such importance that for a long time its hap- 
piness or misery depends upon the presence of certain kinds of 
' personality-suggestion.' It is quite a different thing from the 
child's behavior towards things which are not persons. Things 
get to be, with some few exceptions which are involved in the 
direct gratification of appetite, more and more unimportant: 
things get subordinated to regular treatment or reaction. But 
persons get constantly more important, as uncertain and dom- 
inating agencies of pleasure and pain. ... A person stands for 
a group of experiences quite unstable in its prophetic as it is in 

* New Series, m., Jan. 1894, pp. 26-55. 



its historical meaning. This we may for brevity of expression, 
assuming it to be first in order of development, call the * pro- 
jective stage ' in the growth of personal consciousness." 

The phenomenon of ' personality-suggestion ' is so impor- 
tant in the growth of the child's consciousness of himself, of 
his belief in realities about him, and of his social life, that it 
should be closely scrutinized. This is the more important be- 
cause such an analysis has never been made upon the basis of 
actual observation of children. The treatment which follows 
is based upon most detailed and watchful inspection of my two 
children H. and E., with especial reference to the develop- 
ment of the sense of their own relation to the persons who 
moved about them. 

As outcome of this kind of observation, and with no inter- 
mixture of interpretation, which may be now left over, I find 
no less than four phases of experience involved in what after- 
wards becomes the so-called ' social sense/ I say ' afterwards 
becomes ' because all of them belong in the ' projective ' stage 
of the child's sense of self, i.e., they all go to furnish data which 
he afterwards appropriates to himself as ' subject.' These four 
phases are indescribably subtle and indescribably intermixed 
in the subjective ensemble of the growing child. So much so 
that I shall not attempt in all cases to cite actual situations to 
justify each point : rather the view I take rests upon innumer- 
able situations, and their differences from one another. Just 
as one is utterly unable to give examples of his own phases 
of attitude expressive of the nuances of meaning which the 
actions of others bring out of him, so entirely a matter of 
insight and intuition must his sense be of what is in the child's 
mind in the various social situations which confront him from 
day to day. Nevertheless the drift of the infant's develop- 
ment is very clear to the sympathetic observer ; and I think 
the instances which I cite will be sufficient to excite in all 
those familiar with little children a sense of the truth of the 
general portrayal. 

i. The first thing in the environment of the infant which 
it notes apart from the ordinary fixed and static stimulations, 
such as sounds, lights, etc. are movements. The first attempts 
of the infant at anything like steady attention are directed to 


moving things a swaying curtain, a moving light, a stroking 
touch, etc. And further than this, the moving things soon 
become more than objects of curiosity ; these things are just 
the things that affect him for pleasure or pain. It is move- 
ment that brings him his bottle, movement that regulates the 
stages of his bath, movement that dresses him comfortably, 
movement that sings to him and rocks him to sleep. In that 
complex of sensations, the nurse, the feature of moment to 
him, of immediate satisfaction or redemption from pain, is this 
movements come to succor him. Change in his bodily feel- 
ing is the vital requirement of his life, for by it the rhythm of 
his vegetative existence is secured ; and these changes are 
accompanied and secured always in the moving presence of 
the one he sees and feels about him. This, I take it, is the 
first and great association of the infant with other persons, the 
earliest reflection in his consciousness of the world of person- 
alities about him. At this stage his ' personality-suggestion ' 
is this pain-movement-pleasure psychosis : to this he reacts with 
a smile, and a crow, and a kick.* 

Many facts tend to bear me out in this position. My child 
cried in the dark when I handled her, although I imitated the 
nurse's movements as closely as possible. She tolerated a 
strange presence as long as it remained quietly in its place : but 
let it move, and especially let it usurp any of the pieces of 
movement-business of the nurse or mother, and its protests 
were emphatic. The movements tended to bring the strange 
elements of a new face into the vital association, pain-movement- 
pleasure, and so to disturb its familiar course : this consti- 
tuted it a strange ' personality.' 

It is astonishing, also, what new accidental elements may 
become parts of this association. Part of a movement, a gest- 
ure, a peculiar habit of the nurse, may become sufficient to 
give assurance of the welcome presence and the pleasures 
which the presence brings. Two notes of my song in the 
night stood for my presence to H., and no song from any one 
else could replace it. A lighted match stopped the crying ot 

* Undoubtedly this association gets its value from the other similar one in which 
the movements are the infant's own. It is by movement that he gets rid of pain 
and secures pleasure. 


E. for food,* although it was but a signal for a process of food- 
preparation lasting several minutes: and a simple light never 
stopped her crying under any other circumstances. So with 
this first start in the sense of personality we find also reasons 
for the differences of different personalities : but this consti- 
tutes the next phase. 

2. It is evident that the sense of another's presence thus 
felt in the infant's consciousness rests, as all associations rest, 
upon regularity or repetition : his sense of expectancy is 
aroused whenever the chain of events is started. And this 
is embodied at this stage largely in two indications: the face 
and the voice.f But it is easy to see that this is a very meagre 
sense of personality : a moving machine which brought pain 
and alleviated suffering could serve as well. So the child 
begins to learn in addition the fact that persons are in a measure 
individual in their treatment of him, and hence that individu- 
ality has elements of uncertainty or irregularity about it. This 
growing sense is very clear to one who watches an infant in 
its second half-year. Sometimes its mother gives a biscuit, 
but sometimes she does not. Sometimes the father smiles and 
tosses the child ; sometimes he does not. And the child looks 
for signs of these varying moods and methods of treatment. 
Its new pains of disappointment arise directly on the basis of 
that former sense of regular personal presence upon which its 
expectancy went forth. 

This new element of the child's ' social sense ' becomes, at 
one period of its development, quite the controlling element. 
Its action in the presence of the persons of the household be- 
comes hesitating and watchful. Especially does it watch the 
face for any expressive indications of what treatment is to be 
expected : for facial expression is now the most regular as well 
as the most delicate indication. It is unable to anticipate the 
treatment in detail, and it has not of course learned any prin- 
ciples of interpretation of the conduct of mother or farther lying 

* Observation made in her fourteenth week. 

f I have special observations on H.'s responses to changes in facial expression 
up to the age of twenty months. Her changes of attitude indicated most subtle 
sensibility to these differences and normal children all do, I think. Animals show 
the same remarkable ' projective intuition,' if the expression be allowed. 


deeper man the details. It is just here, I think, that imitation 
arises, as I have said elsewhere,* and becomes so important in 
the child's life. This is imitation's opportunity. The infant 
waits to see how others act, because its own weal and woe 
depends upon this ' how ' ; and inasmuch as it knows not what 
to anticipate, its mind is open to every suggestion of move- 
ment. Its attention dwells upon details, and by the regular 
principle of motor reaction which imitation expresses, it acts 
these suggestions out. 

All through the child's second year, and longer, his sense 
of the persons around him is in this stage. The incessant 
' why ? ' with which he greets any action affecting him, or any 
information given him, is witness to the simple puzzle of the 
apparent capriciousness of persons. Of course he cannot un- 
derstand ' why ' : so the simple fact to him is that mamma will 
or won't, he knows not beforehand which. 

But in all this period there is germinating in his conscious- 
ness and this very uncertainty is an important element of it 
the seed of a far-reaching thought. His sense of persons- 
moving, pleasure-or-pain-giving, uncertain but self-directing 
persons is now to become a sense of agency, of power, which 
is yet not the power of the regular-moving door on its 
hinges or the rhythmic swinging of the pendulum of the clock. 
The sense of personal actuation ' projective agency ' is now 
forming, and it again is potent for still further development 
of the social consciousness. 

3. With all this, the child's distinction between the persons 
who constantly come into contact with him grows on apace in 
spite of the element of irregularity of the general fact of per- 
sonality. As before he learned the difference between one 
presence and another a difference which was overcome in 
the discovery that every presence is of irregular value : so 
now he learns the difference between one character and an- 
other the regularity of personal agency as opposed to the 
regularity of mere associations of movement. Every character 
is more or less regular in its irregularity. It has its tastes and 
modes of action, its temperament and type of command. This 

* Mind, loc. cit. p. 41 f. 


the child learns late in the second year and thereafter. He 
behaves differently when the father is in the room. He is 
quick to obey one person, slow to obey another. He cries 
aloud, pulls his companions, and behaves reprehensibly gener- 
ally when no adult but his nurse is present, who has no au- 
thority to punish him. This stage in his ' knowledge of man ' 
leads to those active differences of conduct on his part which 
give to imitation, and the discipline of obedience, a sword with 
two edges, one for good and one for evil. This general appre- 
ciation of character, together with the full-blown social feeling, 
which constitutes the fourth phase in my division, may be 
left for later discussion.* 

To sum up : * personality-suggestion ' is the general term for 
the stimulations to activity which the child gets from persons. 
It develops through three or four roughly distinguished 
' stages,' all of which illustrate what I have called his 'projec- 
tive' sense of personality i.e.: i. A bare distinction, on the 
ground of peculiar pain-movement-pleasure complexes, of 
persons from things ; 2. A sense of the irregularity of the be- 
havior of these persons, which is the germ of his sense of 
agency, as opposed to the regular causal series of conditions 
which things go through ; 3. His distinction, vaguely felt but 
reacted to with great exactness, between the characteristic 
modes of behavior or personal character of different persons ; 
4. After his sense of his own subject-agency arises by a pro- 
cess of imitation, he gets what is really social-feeling: the 
sense of others as ' ejective,' i.e., as like and equal to himself. 

* I have noted in the article already referred to in Mind, pp. 44 ff., the function 
of this stage of personal consciousness in the genesis of the moral sense. 



University of Illinois. 

Mr. H., who in the fall of 1892 was the * coach ' of a uni- 
versity foot-ball team, had his left forearm broken in a hotly- 
contested game, while playing his eleven against that of 
another institution. The surgeon who was called did his 
work in such a bungling manner that, after the bones had 
begun to knit, the arm had to be broken over again in order 
to set it properly. To keep it in the correct position a plaster 
cast was made which held it firmly. This plaster-of-paris case 
extended from the knuckles to a point above the elbow. After 
three months the case and bandage were removed. Of course, 
during the entire period when encased in the plaster, the fore- 
arm had not been moved either at the wrist or at the elbow. 
I then endeavored to test the sensibility of the skin on this 
arm which had not been moved for so long a time. To do 
this I applied the points of a pair of dividers or compasses 
which were separated more or less widely, after the manner 
of the usual aesthesiometric tests. The forearm was divided 
into four different areas for purposes of more accurate com- 
parison with the sensitiveness of the skin on the uninjured 
right forearm of the same person. Without going into detail, 
it should be stated that on the left forearm the one so long 
immovable when the two points touching the skin at a given 
locality were separated by as much as 55 millimeters, they 
were felt as one instead of two ; while on the right forearm 
they would only have to be about 20 millimeters apart in 
order to be perceived as two. On the back of the ' lame ' 
arm at a different locality from that just mentioned, it was 
found that even when the two points of the dividers were 75 



and 80 millimeters apart, they were felt as one ; while at a 
corresponding locality on the right arm the skin was so sensi- 
tive that points but 17 millimeters apart could be felt as two. 
It must also be observed that this particular person, with 
reference to a large number of activities, had always previ- 
ously been practically ambidextrous indeed, he never had to 
favor the left arm at all. In his position as gymnasium in- 
structor, he could (before the accident) manipulate the dumb- 
bells, Indian clubs, play base-ball, hand-ball, and the like, with 
the left hand as well as with the right. It would seem, then, 
that the sensibility of the skin over the injured forearm was 
lost simply because that member was for so long a time im- 
movable. This has an important bearing on the oft-mentioned 
principle to the effect that " the localizing power is delicate 
in proportion as the skin covers a movable part of the body." 


Yale University. 

Given the measurements a, , # a , . . ., a n , to find the best 
representative value. 

The use of the arithmetic mean 

involves the assumption that the deviations from the average, 
V l = a, a, V^ = a^ a, . . ., V n = a n a, occur with prob- 
abilities according to Gauss's law, 

where y is the probability of any deviation V, and w is the 
probability for V= o. 

Bernoulli's theorem justifies the substitution of the actual 
frequencies for the probabilities when n is very large, thus 
enabling us to test the law by actual experience. The law 
has been verified for careful measurements in physical and 


astronomical work. It does not hold good for statistical and 
psychological measurements. 

The use of the geometric mean 

* = a, X a, X . . . X a n 
involves the assumption that 

y = w. exp ( 7rw [logai logo]). 

This distribution of deviations has been approximately veri- 
fied for statistical and psychological results. 

As n can be made large only on exceptional occasions, the 
choice of the representative value is thus left largely to the 
discretion of the investigator. To avoid this uncertainty 
Fechner has proposed the use of the median or central value, 
whose position in the series of separate results arranged 
according to size is given by 

That is, if all the results are to be arranged in the order of 
their size, the median value will be just in the middle. Since 
with finite units of measurement there will be a number of 
results having the same value around the middle, the value a 
will be determined by interpolation. The importance of the 
use of the median lies in the fact that it involves no assump- 
tion in regard to the distribution of the separate deviations. 
When the results follow Gauss's law the median is the same as 
the arithmetic mean ; when their logarithms follow this law it 
is the same as the geometric mean. The arbitrary assumption 
of either law is thus excluded. 

This method of adjustment, which seems logically the only 
correct one, has been employed for some time in my labora- 
tory. The calculation of the median can often be performed 
mentally where that of the arithmetic mean requires pencil 
and paper and that of the geometric mean requires loga- 
rithms also. Cases have frequently arisen where the arith- 
metic mean unquestionably misrepresents the results, whereas 
I have never found any objection to the median that is not 
common to all representative values. 



The articles by M. Egger in the Revue Philosophique for July and 
August upon * Judgment and Similarity ' are a striking illustration of 
that most salutary psychological law that every one who thinks is 
sure to refute himself. He says that the judgment is not contained 
even potentially in the concept, although it is evident that the chief 
object of his articles is to get the concept out of the judgment. 
Strange that he fails to see how real his success is. Also he op- 
poses those who have asserted the reducibility of association by con- 
tiguity to that by similarity, but says himself that all judgments are asso- 
ciations by similarity, and this, unless I be very much mistaken, is 
exactly what his imaginary foes have always meant. Throughout M. 
Egger builds more wisely than he knows. 

The collective idea becoming abstract,' which is M. Egger's defi- 
nition of the judgment, is just what modern psychology means by 
conception. M. Egger unfortunately thinks of a concept rather than 
of conception, and from the concept, as the abstract idea or logical 
class, which, like its blood-relations, the idea-centre and the spiritual 
soul, has been exiled from psychology, it is not strange that he is 
unable to derive the judgment. 

The abstract idea, that passed for the concept so long, was the 
unifying principle of a manifold of experiences. As Kant could write 
of space as a priori form, before the psychology of space as founded 
on movement or action, on the association of muscular sensations and 
' local signs,' had been reported, so in general the abstract idea, as a 
formal principle, could be recognized and seriously used in psycho- 
logical theory, before the processes of organic functioning, as the sub- 
ject-matter of physiology, were exposed. But, just as now a priori 
space means nothing but the power of perfectly free movement, so the 
abstract idea, as a principle of unity, stands for free action ; the ab- 
stract idea is not an idea at all, but an act : conception, from being 



classification, has become organization ; it is co-ordination of, or ad- 
justment to, not logical or abstract unification of, a manifold. 

With this view of conception it is easy to see that M. Egger has 
hit upon a very important principle when he banishes all relations 
of extensity or contiguity to the terms of the judgment, refusing to 
recognize any but judgments by similarity, the copula naming only sim- 
ilarity. As he says, with less emphasis than we could wish, the process 
of judgment has too long been explained through its merely external 
expressions in language, in some particular language of course, in 
French, or English perhaps, or German, so that the differences between 
thinkers have had rather a grammatical than a psychological basis. 
The judgment makes but is not the sentence. Also, and here is an 
idea only very darkly and deeply implied in M. Egger's final definition 
of judgment, so long as words, sentences, and the like are conditions 
or incidents of judgment, the act of judgment, as, for example, the 
assertion that A is B, is as much a judgment of space as my now see- 
ing yonder chair in the corner of my study is a judgment of space. 
Surely all symbols are spatial. The concept element, then, in any 
judgment is the functional movement or adjustment that the symbol 
represents. The terms of any judgment are the inhibited movements, 
or rather the organization or adjustment, which demands the inhibi- 
tions, as attribute or predicated quality the ' abstract idea ' of former 
days, and the spatial images, symbols, or characters which the inhibi- 
tions bring to consciousness as subject or substantive. Moreover, 
within the subject properly belong all the facts of spatial relationship 
or quantity or contiguity. 

The judgment defined as the collective becoming abstract is but 
another way of saying that the limit of conception is second nature or 
habit, and that, so long as habit is not yet acquired, the judgment, that 
is, consciousness in general, exists. So long as habit is not acquired 
there is a tension between substantive and attribute, between spatial 
symbol and the ' abstract ' organizing act ; with the acquisition the 
judgment passes into a definition. 

As geometry is the complete definition of space, and as it is a 
possible science only to such organisms as possess the fully developed 
power, or habit, of free movement, so definitions in general, in which 
both subject and predicate are quantified, the tension having ceased, 
are real, or possible, only to such natures as have realized the freedom 
which is defined. Science in general, as purely quantitative, has its 
psychological foundation in habit, freedom, perfected adjustment. 

In conclusion, and with some repetition, the real judgment is always 
the consciousness ; it is not, as logicians and psychologists, even M. 


Egger among the others, in spite of his coming so near to the truth, 
have usually imagined, the external sentence, which may interest the 
grammarian, but is sure to mislead the philosopher who looks no 
deeper. Language is no longer the heaven-sent blessing that we used 
to imagine it. But, secondly, the judgment in consciousness is a ten- 
sion, a ' becoming,' which has its ' abstract ' limit in the definition. 
The tension, finally, as between the abstract idea, or quality, one ex- 
treme of M. Egger's natural judgment, and the collective and substan- 
tial object, which contains within itself more or less precisely deter- 
mined spatial relations of contiguity and quantity, and is the other 
extreme, ceases as the concept becomes realized in habit. Of course 
habit, as the realized concept, the acme of abstraction, is one and the 
same with definition ; it sets or establishes the relations on which all 
science of the contiguous and quantitative rests. 




Psychology : descriptive and explanatory. A treatise of the phenomena, 
laws, and development of human mental life. GEORGE TRUMBULL 
LADD. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1894. 8vo. pp. xiii>, 

The fairest way to judge this book would seem to be to take it as 
the middle section of a complete treatise on psychology of which the 
author's Physiological Psychology should stand for the first part. A 
* psychology ' planned on this scale is as yet unparalleled in literature, 
but there appears little reason to doubt that if the good years be 
accorded him, Prof. Ladd will complete the task. Not only is his 
characteristic untiring quality present in all the pages of this great vol- 
ume, but it has a fresher style and spirit, it seems to us, than either 
the Physiological Psychology or the Introduction to Philosophy ', and sug- 
gests a tide of energy more characteristic of morning, or at least of 
noonday, than of evening, in the writer's intellect. I begin by notic- 
ing this partial nature of the present work, because it is not adver- 
tised as prominently as it should be either on the title-page or in the 
preface ; and many readers, finding it to give so little development to 
physiological conditions on the one hand, and to theoretical discussion 
on the other, may judge it defective, from failing to perceive that it is 
only, as it were, the second play of a psychological trilogy of which the 
crowning piece is yet to come. 

The word ' descriptive ' on the title-page covers more of the con- 
tents than the word * explanatory.' For while the book is by far the 
most minute and copious description ever written of mental opera- 
tions as they offer themselves to the merely introspective eye, it deals 
very little with what most people chiefly have in mind when they ask 
for ' explanation,' namely, with the logical grounds or the efficient 
causes of the facts described. This preponderatingly descriptive- 
character also makes a summarized compte rendu both difficult and un- 
profitable. The author has almost no opportunity for original opinions 
sweeping enough to quote, and the faithfulness to detail, which is the 



virtue to which he is mainly held, is demonstrable only by reading the 
original. Nevertheless I will attempt a brief notice of the course of 
his argument, before passing to what may be said in the way of criticism 
or appreciation. 

Expressed in the broadest terms, Prof. Ladd's aim may be called 
the unravelling of the fibres of consciousness. Consciousness, like a 
rope, has for Prof. Ladd a fibrillated structure. Any portion of it 
which we may examine " is complex with an irreducible threefold com- 
plexity : . . . it is fact of intellection, fact of feeling, fact of conation. . . . 
One of these three 'aspects' may be emphasized, as it were, at the expense 
of the others ; but no one of the three can be destroyed without destroy- 
ing the psychic fact itself as an object of discriminating consciousness. 
. . . Each of the three ... is peculiar in quality, unique, not to be con- 
fused with the others, or expressed in terms of the others. Intellection 
cannot be described in terms of feeling ; neither can conation " (p. 
58). Every concrete 'psychosis,' without exception, however one-sidedly 
one may for practical purposes name it, as an 'emotion,' a 'cognition,' 
or a ' volition,' is constituted of all three elementary kinds of fibre, in- 
extricably interlaced. Yet in spite of this inner complexity every 
psychosis is a " living unity, ... a marvellous and indescribable fulness 
of active life." And the whole series of these ' fields of consciousness ' 
forms " a continuum, for the total expression of which the meagre sepa- 
rateness of processes and faculties seems a totally insufficient account " 
(p. 66 1). This continuity of development of the spiritual being always 
trebly living in this way is kept in view throughout the book. As in 
Spencer's psychology, every feature that is later evolved was germi- 
nally and nascently there already. " Out of the unconscious, somehow, 
does the conscious seem to come ; the organization of mentality out of 
the confused and chaotic material of sensation and representation. 
Science can never put its finger on any definite moment and say, re- 
specting the truly psychological, ' Now it is, for the first time, there ! ' 
Psychological investigation no matter how, or how faithfully, con- 
ducted cannot describe the mode in which elementary faculties come 
to be, without implying that they have already begun to do their work. 
But then this is not a disadvantage (if it be, indeed, a disadvantage at 
all) peculiar to psychology. Every physical science has to assume 
much more than this ; it has certainly to assume formed conscious 
faculty as already at work ; its universal formula is : In the beginning 
was Mind, already equipped to see and hear and remember and imagine 
and think" 

Experience unquestionably does evolve in this gradual way, so that 
we find faculties stealing so insidiously upon us that we know not how 


they arose. An exposition that seeks, like Prof. Ladd's, to be almost as 
gradual as the facts, must throw away the old-fashioned sharp parti- 
tions ; and although it may gain by this in veracity, it loses in distinct- 
ness and literary effect. For instance, just as an immense number of 
special affective, intellective, and conative fibres go to constitute by 
their several interlacements the three great primary strands of conscious- 
ness, so these strands, according to Prof. Ladd, interlace in the higher 
unity of the Self or Subject, which at the same time that it discrimi- 
nates them from itself and from each other, also relates itself and them 
together. Yet in the chapter on ' Consciousness and Self-consciousness,' 
where all this is set forth in detail, I find it impossible to be sure from 
the text whether self-consciousness is said to be there from the start or 
not (cf. pp. 32-35). I find a similar difficulty in chapters vm, xv, and 
xvi, which deal with the consciousness of space. The * problem ' here 
is to ' explain ' how things come to be perceived outside of us and 
spread out and related to one another in space (321). "Strictly 
speaking," says Prof. Ladd, " what we are seeking has to be at some 
point in the course of our descriptive and explanatory science assumed 
as already existing. ... At some point every investigator is obliged to 
confess that his data of explanation begin to fail him " (322). Just 
where this ' point ' of realizing the distinctively spatial quality lies in 
the development of the mind the text does not make clear. ' Exten- 
sity,' as an original sensation-content, Prof. Ladd does not believe in 
(144, 151, 327, 353). All the space-determinations ultimately perceived 
grow up gradually " by a constructive and interpretative mental activity 
that has been developed through experience " and in which the influence 
of motor processes fusing with passive sensation-complexes plays the 
essential part. They steal upon us, in a word, unawares. Nevertheless 
at the successive stages of the * stealing ' they have a definitely objective 
form of some sort ; and the really instructive thing for an inquiry like 
Prof. Ladd's would have been by a process of unwrapping, as it were, 
and peeling off the later layers of the finished space-intuition, to 
disclose to the reader what the successively earlier cores of it felt 
like when they were the last results achieved. The space at last so 
explicitly apprehended would thus be revealed in its nascency and 
implicitness. But the account which the book gives, minute as it is, 
hardly enlightens the reader at all in this respect. 

Among the most original parts of the work are the chapters on Feel- 
ing and Emotion. Prof. Ladd disbelieves in all the current theories 
as well indeed he may. Feeling is neither a cognition of the well- or ill- 
being of the organism under the stimulus, or of the ideas under each 
other's hindrance or furtherance, nor is it a matter of mere pleasure or 


pain, without specific quality. We feel, as well as know, the flow of the 
current of consciousness (178), the mind feels itself (565), in countless in- 
dividual ways that psychologically are inexplicable ex alio, although 
physiologically Prof. Ladd suggests instructively their condition. He 
finds it in the ' semi-chaotic surplus ' of action set up in the brain- 
centres by stimulations and conditions that have not yet grown so con- 
solidated as to occupy perfectly definite paths. This vague irradiation 
of currents forms " a melange which gives conditions to one's affective 
disposition, or mood, or temporary impulse, so far as it is a matter of 
bodily feeling. When this melange corresponds with that to which we 
are habitually accustomed, we feel ' like ourselves '; when it corresponds 
to any one of several familiar characteristic types, we feel in one of our 
several ' moods '; when it is largely unaccustomed, we feel * queer' and 
* not a bit like ourselves ' " (175). It is consonant with this physiologi- 
cal view that Prof. Ladd should think lightly of the teleological func- 
tion of pleasures and pains. The severer pains usually come too late to 
serve as effective warnings, and we must " confess that neither the ex- 
istence nor the purpose of the definite amounts of pain and pleasure 
connected with certain activities of body and mind can be satisfactorily 
explained by psychology" (199). Of the emotions, too, "it is doubt- 
ful, taking all the facts of experience into the account, whether they 
are on the whole ' life-saving ' and ' growth-promoting ' functions of 
body and mind in the merely biological meaning of the words 'life' 
and ' growth.' In the excessively intense form in which they all tend 
to recur, unless checked by the forces of an ideational and ethical de- 
velopment, the emotions expend life and hinder growth. . . . They are 
all significant of an * overplus ' which quickly becomes an ' overflow ' of 
cerebral disturbance. ... If the final purpose of life were merely to 
conserve and propagate itself, there would seem to be as little use for 
so many and strong emotions as for so much and such qualitatively 
varied pain. At this point psychology is compelled to hand over to 
ethical philosophy rather than to biology the larger problems started by 
the study of human feeling" (558). Between feelings, emotions, pas- 
sions, and sentiments no sharp line can be drawn (199), it is merely a 
matter of the less or greater complexity of psychic elements in the me r - 
lange, and of the position of the emphasis. Prof. Ladd does not believe 
in the theory which would explain emotional feeling by the sensation 
of the ' bodily resonance ' which the object or idea sets up. The reso- 
nance is due rather to the emotion itself (544), but its effects, return- 
ing to consciousness, reinforce and strengthen the original feeling and 
give it a ranker and more physical quality. * Sentiments ' are emotions 
with this coarse secondary accompaniment left out. The sentiment of 


the ' ought ' is perhaps the most unique one of them all (583). It at- 
taches to all acts judged right; but we have "no special faculty of 
'conscience* as a matter of pronouncing judgments merely. ... In 
making up the judgment [of right, or wrong], any amount of reasoning 
is admissible, for it is an affair of evidence more or less " (580-1). 

The intellective processes are treated by our author in a peculiarly 
concrete and thorough fashion. Every real ' state ' of mind being a 
state of knowledge, feeling, will, all three in each state (264), he keeps 
all the factors well in hand in his description. An ' idea ' is ' life-like,' 
for example, just in proportion as the same feeling-tone and the same 
motor-impulsiveness cling to it which cling to the ' sensation ' of which 
it is a copy (246). In the stream of ideation he allows for automatic 
(or non-associative) processes by which irrelevant ideas may suggest 
themselves (260) ; and he considers that as an abstract principle of 
association ' similarity ' can claim no legitimate place, contiguity being 
enough for the formulation of the facts (275-6). Where like suggests 
like, it is only because previous notice of the likness has already made 
the ideas contiguous. Thus the mind's discriminative, relational, and 
selective activity is both constantly deflecting the lines of experience 
and as constantly breaking up and remodelling what otherwise would 
be a passively unfolded associative content (290). From * primary 
intellection ' onwards Prof. Ladd traces this attentive, comparative, 
and synthetic activity which from the very first consciousness is aware 
of exerting upon its * content.' It begins by noticing resemblance, and 
ends by the most elaborated rational thought. The higher intellective 
processes, memory, conception, judgment, reasoning, etc., are described 
with great wealth of detail, but our space forbids a resume'. The 
author's treatment of * knowledge ' is a little peculiar, and to us not 
quite clear. It is not conceived dualistically as a relation between the 
mind and a thing outside the mind, nor yet purely psychologically as a 
relation between conscious activity and its ' content.' It is a subjec- 
tive fact (511), a mental procedure (512), described as a 'belief in 
reality' (513); but the reality is not as in Bain and Baldwin, e.g., 
the mind's ' object,' but a ' being, existing in some state,' and " the 
specific character of this belief, in contrast with other beliefs, may be 
brought out by calling it * metaphysical ' " (513). Thus knowledge is 
a transcendent function, not an immanent content merely, but a func- 
tion also immanent, since there would seem to go with it conscious- 
ness of itself. It seems as if Prof. Ladd ought to have led us either 
farther, or not quite so far into the puzzles of Erkenntnisstheorie. 

The chapters on Conation, generally, including attention, impulse, 
instinct, desire, and will, strike me on the whole as being the best part 


of the book. The account of the Will in particular is an admirable 
performance. Whether this be due to an insight more felicitous here 
than elsewhere on the author's part, or to the fact that the volitional 
life, with its hesitations, inhibitions, and decisions, has a dramatic 
character which lends itself easily to striking literary treatment, I know 
not, but I am sure that there has nowhere yet appeared a psychological 
account of volition as concrete and life-like as the one contained in 
chapter xxvi of this book. Volitions without effort have been de- 
scribed, and so have volitions with effort, by previous authors. It is 
strange that no one should have emphasized like Prof. Ladd the class 
of volitions with the exact opposite of effort. These, says he, " are 
marked by a wonderfully grateful sense of relief. The will to ' let go/ 
to ' surrender the struggle,' to ' yield to desire,' etc., are volitions of 
this sort. So also, in cases where deliberation has been long and pain- 
ful, the making of the choice is characterized by the very opposite of 
the feeling of effort. Even where the task set by the volition is in 
itself a severe one, whether of obvious bodily movements or of the 
control of attention and the train of ideas, it seems lightened as it is 
voluntarily assumed so conspicuous is the feeling of relief accom- 
panying and following the resolution of the nisus and the perfecting of 
the deed of will " (615). 

There are so many opinions concerning details expressed in Prof. 
Ladd's book that we make no pretence whatever of enumerating them. 
The vital thing about it is its consistent holding to the view that each 
individual mind is an organic life that develops its own destiny. 
This life, though integral, is complex, and conscious of itself, of its 
' passions ' (in the older sense of the word) and of its actions, in the 
same indivisible ' state ' in which it is conscious of its * objects ' or 
' content.' Its ' ideas ' are not entities, any more than its * faculties ' 
are. Its total self is the only entitative reality ; and all accounts of it 
by abstracted elements are mutilations and abridgments of the truth. 

As regards the originality of this treatise, it is strictly true that it is 
independent from beginning to end. The period of assimilation is past 
for the author ; the raw materials have been brought into solution, and 
have crystallized out again spontaneously and naturally in the form 
that characterizes his mind. In this sense his pages are mellow and 
alive, and full of native observation and expression of belief. But 
with all the concreteness, honesty, veracity, and shrewd humor that 
I find, I can, with the best will in the world, find no one idea or 
argument that abides with me as an unforgetable addition to the sub- 
ject. What does strike me with the force of freshness is the amazing 
thoroughness with which Prof. Ladd realizes the intricacy of his facts. 


It seems to me little short of wonderful that a man should be able to 
make so many subdivisions, and find so many distinct things to say on 
the descriptive level. In this sense he is original, for no one has yet 
attained to writing up the subject in as fine-grained a way as this. But 
to be perfectly frank and here I fully realize that the critic writes down 
his own shortcomings even more plainly than those of the author on 
whom he presumes to animadvert with his subjective epithets I find this 
whole descriptive sort of treatment tedious as few things can be tedious, 
tedious not as really hard things, like physics and chemistry, are 
tedious, but tedious as the throwing of feathers hour after hour is 
tedious ; and I confess that when I think of the probable number of 
virgin-minded youths and maidens, hungry for spiritual food, who, 
through the length and breadth of this great land, will now certainly 
be led over all these pages of fine print merely to get back, 

"Statt der lebendigen Natur 
Da Gott den Menschen schuf hinein," 

all these terrific abstract words and sentences, I feel a sort of shudder 
at the violence done to human want. It is not that Ladd qua Ladd is 
a tedious writer, I could name many eminent psychologists who are 
more tedious to me than he, but that mere description as such, mere 
translation into words of what we already possess in living fulness in 
our bosoms, is bound to be tedious under any circumstances. To speak 
more soberly, could not the words have been much fewer, and yet have 
contained all the abstract truth one needs to know ? 

These groans of mine no doubt proceed from the same idiosyn- 
crasy that makes me demand that psychology shall be a * science ' in 
a sense different from that by which Prof. Ladd is satisfied. I desid- 
erate 'conditions'; for Ladd ' analysis ' and ' tracing of genesis and 
growth ' are enough (p. 8). I cry for a ' Galileo or a Lavoisier ' to lift 
us from this flat descriptive level, whilst my colleague says that he does 
not sympathize in the least with such " a confession of weakness for 
example because * psychology is still in the condition of chemistry 
before Lavoisier,' nor look forward with the expectation that soon 
some Lavoisier will arise to rescue it from its depressed condition " 
(659). He thinks that all attempts to assimilate psychology to the 
other natural sciences are ' misleading ' (ibid.). To me this lack of 
craving for insight into causes is most strange. Here is a flagrant 
mystery, that of the union of mind with brain, and we are apparently 
told that we must seek no reasons for it in a deeper insight into either 
factor ! told, in other words, that a mere narrative of the life of the 
spiritual being with its ' unique unity,' developing according to its 


equally unique laws, is the uttermost ideal of research for Prof. 
Ladd's contention is hardly distinguishable from this. To me, on the 
other hand, it seems as if * methodologically ' the crudest cerebralistic 
theories, or the wildest theosophic ones about the seven principles of 
human nature, lead in a more healthy direction than this contented 
resignation. And as the theories of inheritance have killed the taxo- 
nomic and biographic view of natural history by merely superseding it, 
and reduced the older books of classification to mere indexes, so will 
the descriptive psychologies be similarly superseded the moment some 
genuinely causal psycho-physic theory comes upon the stage. Not 
that they will be judged false, but that they will then seem insignifi- 
cant. Alas that my learned Yale co-editor will not join with me in 
saying : 

"Ring out, ring out, our mournful rhymes, , 
But ring the fuller minstrel in " ! 

W. J. 

The Senses and the Intellect. A. BAIN. Fourth Edition. (To be pub- 
lished in April 1894.) 

After a considerable interval of time, in the course of which psy- 
chological investigation and discussion, both in Europe and in 
America, has been more actively carried on than during any former 
period of philosophical history, I now, for the last time, re-issue this 
work, with such additions, modifications, and emendations as have 
commended themselves to my mind. I have endeavored to take full 
advantage of the numerous suggestions in contemporary philosophical 
literature, and, while adhering to the main points of doctrine, and the 
general plan of arrangement, I have introduced improved forms of 
statement, and corrected what I deemed either inaccurate or imperfect 
in the expression. 

In regard to the physiological portions, the chapter on the Nervous 
System has been entirely rewritten. This task has been executed by 
Dr. W. Leslie Mackenzie, medical officer of health for the counties of 
Kirkcudbright and Wigton, who has spared no pains to embody the 
results of the latest authorities. I have profited by his assistance, also, 
in improving the physiology of the senses. My conviction of the pro- 
priety of bringing these topics before the student, notwithstanding the 
adverse opinion of many, has been strengthened rather than otherwise. 
It is not merely that the definitions and the doctrines of physiology 
have a direct application, and that their absence would make psychol- 
ogy poorer in its own province, it is, further, that the expression of 
mental states is, in many ways, aided by reference to their physical 


adjuncts. Even when such adjuncts are so imperfectly known as to 
have only a hypothetical rendering, the mention of them is still valu- 
able in improving our scanty resources of subjective delineation. Per- 
haps it may be said that the student should refer to works of anatomy 
and physiology for this special instruction, which is quite true. At 
the same time, the including of a suitable physiological selection in a 
treatise of psychology proper has high expository value. 

It is now generally recognized that systematic psychology should 
be disburdened of metaphysics that is, the problem of knowing and 
being however closely they may be connected. To analyze subject 
and object is a strictly psychological task : the nature of our percep- 
tion of a material world is something different and apart. Likewise 
what is now termed epistemology has psychological relationships, but 
is pursued into issues of a specific character, lying outside pure psy- 

The chapter on Instinct, which contains the fundamentals of pleas- 
ure and pain, together with their physical embodiment and expression, 
and the germ of volition, has been so far recast as to make more 
explicit the distinction between the physical and the mental, while 
assigning due force to each. 

The supposed origination of our mental products, known to us 
only in their maturity, has entered largely into psychological inquiry. 
Whether certain fundamental conceptions such as space, time, cause, 
the moral sense, the ego or personality are instinctive, or grow out of 
experience and education, has long been the battle-ground of the 
philosophy of mind. The controversy may have a somewhat factitious 
importance ; at all events, it is regarded with more than merely specu- 
lative curiosity. The argumentative treatment, however, has assumed 
a new aspect from the doctrine of evolution, taken in the guarded form 
of the hereditary transmission of foregone aptitudes or acquirements. 
Instead of Kant's contention that the notion of space, as a * form of 
thought,' is prior to any experience on the part of each individual, the 
question now is whether or not we possess at birth a large contribution 
towards the full realizing of the three dimensions of the extended 
world. Such a mode of looking at the problem changes the whole 
character of the research into origins ; depriving us of the right to 
define the absolute commencement of any of the great fundamental 
notions, and leaving us merely to watch their accessions of growth 
within the sphere of our observation, and to reason by analogy as to 
their probable course or manner of growth before entering that sphere. 
It may, however, be still argued without fear of rejoinder, that experi- 
ence or acquisition is the remote genesis of what transcends our avail- 


able sources of knowledge. The qualifications introduced in the pres- 
ent edition of this work, having reference to experience as opposed to 
instinct, have taken shape in accordance with the leading hypothesis 
above sketched. 

The plan and object of the present work, as well as of its continua- 
tion, The Emotions and the Will, having been conceived more exclu- 
sively with a view to practical results, I have seen no ground for 
materially altering the expository order and the proportions, in the 
laying out of the details. 

The retentive power of the mind, which occupies the largest divi- 
sion of the intellectual powers, has received some additions, with a view 
to elucidate still further the more complex bearings of the recuperative 

I recognize, in the broadest sense, the possibility of advancing 
psychological doctrines by means of well-contrived experiments. The 
researches usually called psycho-physical have already borne some 
fruits, and hold out still greater expectations for the future. They 
can, at best, cover but a small portion of the wide domain of psycho- 
logical research ; but, if pursued with a clear recognition of introspec- 
tive concurrence, they may accelerate the pace of psychological inves- 
tigation, more especially on the side of practical usefulness. 

The account of the psychology of Aristotle, contributed by Grote 
to the previous edition, having been embodied in his own posthumous 
work on Aristotle, is here omitted. 

Subsequently to the publication of the former edition, I appended 
a postscript, containing a minute and exhaustive criticism of the psy- 
chological parts of Darwin on Expression. This has been retained in 
the present edition. It serves the purpose of expanding the treatment 
in the text, and also of illustrating at length the alternative positions 
as to the respective priority of emotion and volition in the order of 
development. [Preface.] A. BAIN. 


Grundriss der Psychologie. O. KULPE. Leipzig, Engelmann, 1893. 
pp. 478. 

The psychological literature in Germany has shown during recent 
years a surprising lack of comprehensive expositions. While the Eng- 
lish literature has produced the works of James, Sully, Ladd, Bald- 
win, Dewey, and others, Germany has only a few corresponding books. 
Appearances indicate, however, that a change will soon come. Psy- 
chologies by Kiilpe, G. E. Miiller, and Ebbinghaus are announced, and, 
as it may be expected that all these works will be quite modern and 


yet written from very different standpoints, the blank will be filled in 
a short time and in the most desirable way. The book by Klilpe is 
now in our hands, and it may be said at the outset that it is a very 
original, valuable, and suggestive contribution to modern psychology. 

The chief part (400 pages) of the work is divided into two halves, 
the first giving the elements of consciousness, the second treating 
the combinations of psychical elements. Besides this main part, 
thirty pages on the purpose, methods, and literature of psychology 
form the beginning of the book, and thirty pages at the end are taken 
up with states of consciousness. The part on the psychical elements 
is then divided into a larger chapter on sensations and a smaller on 
feelings, while the part on combinations (Verbindungen) is divided 
into fusions (Verschmelzungen) and connections (Verkniipfungen). 

The first principal division, then, discusses sensations. Their classi- 
fication is made from a purely physiological standpoint ; all other 
points of view are expressly rejected. Sensations are those simple pro- 
cesses of consciousness which are in the relation of dependence upon 
special nerve-organs, and the first appearance of which needs the 
stimulation of peripheral organs. As the latter is not necessary for 
subsequent repetitions, the sensations are classified into such as are 
produced by peripheral stimulation and such as are of central origin 
only. These sensations are separated into groups merely by the 
difference of the sense-organs. For instance, the skin sensations are 
only one group, since we do not know the anatomical differences be- 
tween the organs for touch sensations and those for temperature sen- 
sations ; if we knew these anatomical differences, these sensations would 
make up two different groups. 

A sensation can have four primary characteristics : quality, in- 
tensity, extension, and duration ; on the other hand, the tone of feeling 
is not a property of the sensation itself. Only quality and duration 
are characteristic for every sensation ; extension belongs only to op- 
tical and tactual sensations, and intensity is wanting in optical sensa- 
tions, since all the variations of the intensities of optical stimuli pro- 
duce variations of quality. The optical sensations are therefore not 
mentioned at all in the whole chapter on intensities and on Weber's 
law, but the questions relating to them are discussed in the extremely 
original part on the quality of visual sensations. In the following 
chapter on sensations of central origin not only their qualities and 
immediate presuppositions are discussed, but also the general condi- 
tions of their existence, especially memory and imagination. A valua- 
ble criticism of the doctrine of association and a discussion of the 
motives and of the exactness of reproduction are here in the fore- 


ground. Kiilpe here brings forward a dynamic theory as opposed to 
the usual cell theory of association-paths ; it is not on the difference 
of anatomical relations, but on the difference of physiological func- 
tions, that the associative relations are based. 

For the second group of psychical elements, the feelings, the possi- 
bility of a classification is denied. A detailed treatment is given to 
the elementary aesthetic feelings, which are interpreted as resulting 
from the relation of the perceived impression to the reproductions 
which it suggests. As a physiological condition for the feelings 
special central processes are presupposed. Opposition is made to the 
existence of a psychical element which corresponds to the will ; the 
processes of the will arc represented in consciousness by sensations 
and feelings only. 

The second part, which treats the combinations of psychical 
elements, describes them from the point of view which considers 
whether the elements in the combination fuse or not. A fusion exists 
especially for sounds, but also for light and color-tone, and finally in 
emotions and impulses. Emotions and impulses are all those states 
in which a fusion of sensations and feelings exists. In the objective' 
emotions the bodily sensations preponderate, in the subjective the 
feelings, while in the impulses those sensations are predominant which 
result from the movements that correspond to the feelings. Those 
psychical combinations which are not in a state of fusion are mere 
connections. From this point of view the connections in space and 
time are studied and the extension and duration of sensations and 
their relations in space and time examined with much force. As ex- 
tension and duration are just as much properties of the sensation as 
quality and intensity, the task is only to show the dependence of the 
detailed spatial and temporal factors upon our psycho-physical organ- 
ization. The problem of space, which is reduced to the problem of 
extension and distance, is discussed at first for the tactual sense and 
then for the eye. Particularly is the attempt made to prove that the 
idea of space is independent of the movements of the eyes. The 
problem of time leads to a discussion of the duration of sensations, of 
the comparison of intervals, and of temporal order and frequency 
Next come the special mutual relations of elements which are con- 
nected in space and time. In the field of space the contrast of light 
sensations is emphasized, in the field of time the processes of simple 
and complicated reaction. Finally the last chapter discusses the state 
of attention, which is interpreted as a psycho-physical condition of 

This short review is unable on the one hand to do justice to the 


richness of valuable details, or on the other hand to accentuate all 
those points which to most psychologists will appear debatable or 
absolutely untenable. But even this glimpse of the book makes clear 
its principal points of weakness. As such I consider above all the 
narrow limitation of the material. The book is not a psychology, but 
only the middle part of a psychology. The book treats the psychical 
elements and the forms of their combination, but we miss on the one 
hand the description of the special combinations and on the other 
hand a general discussion of fundamental psychological notions. The 
book appears to me like the second volume of a psychology of three 
volumes, the first volume of which was to have discussed the general 
problems and the third the special presentations, judgments, emotions, 
will, personality. I miss especially a thorough treatment of those 
questions which are on the borderland between psychology and epis- 
temology. To be sure Kiilpe is not at all one of those who consider 
a detailed discussion of epistemological problems superfluous, but all 
that he offers in this book is in a way left unfinished and indecisive (for 
instance, in the question how far a causal connection of psychical 
facts as such can exist at all) or, when it comes to a definite state- 
ment, often entirely erroneous. For instance, consciousness itself is, 
according to Kiilpe, given in space and time because it has the sensa- 
tions of duration and extension, and the difference between the 
physical and the psychical world is that, while both are experiences, 
only the psychical experiences are dependent upon our psycho-physical 
organization. It seems to me that both worlds are experiences from 
an epistemological standpoint, but from this standpoint no psycho- 
physical organism exists ; on the other hand, from the standpoint of 
empiricism, which is presupposed in the acknowledgment of a psycho- 
physical organization, the physical processes are not at all experiences, 
but processes that are independent of experience. 

If we confine ourselves to those questions of psychology which are 
really discussed, the general plan seems to suffer especially from the 
classification of the material. I think it wrong to classify the sensa- 
tions from a purely physiological point of view, and to explain the 
whole doctrine of association, memory, imagination in the chapter which 
describes the characteristics of reproduced sensations. Above all I 
regard it impossible to treat all the complex phenomena from the stand- 
point of fusion. To be sure the notion of fusion is of highest impor- 
tance, but it cannot be the basis of a classification. Notwithstanding 
the fact that Kiilpe gives only types of fusing and non-fusing combina- 
tions, each group contains entirely different things, while often the 


closest relations are severed. Harmony belongs to one main division, 
the sequence of sounds to the other, and so forth. 

In regard to details, most erroneous of all seems to me the way in 
which he combats the doctrines of associationism. His own account 
of the facts suggests nothing else than a purified associationism. But 
in the place of this he tries to substitute a psycho-physical theory which 
gives up the advantages of associationism without gaining anything. 
It seems to me that Kiilpe does not recognize clearly enough the real 
difficulties. For instance, attention, which it seems to me he regards 
in the only right way as an inhibitory function, cannot be explained 
according to Kiilpe by the mutual influence of psychical elements, but 
only by the help of a special inhibitory organ. The very difficulty is 
indeed to explain how the functions of this organ are continually under 
the influence of psychical motives ; the inhibiting organ should have 
again a special brain at its disposal. In any case the simpler theory 
seems to be that the inhibitions result directly from the action of the 
psycho-physical elements. In a similar way I do not see what the dy- 
namic theory of association can substitute for the theory of separate 
association-paths. Kiilpe is right in saying that the sensorial centres 
are dependent upon the sense-organs just as the muscles are dependent 
upon the motor centres. But that very fact opposes his theory. A suc- 
cession of muscular movements results solely from a succession of 
central motor impulses. The corresponding fact would be that central 
sensorial processes follow one another only when successive peripheral 
stimuli are given. But the question of association is exactly this how 
central sensorial processes can succeed each other when no peripheral 
stimulations are given. Between muscle and muscle, therefore, no direct 
connection is necessary, while the presupposition of a connection 
between the central sensory organs is the only possibility of a psycho- 
physical explanation, and such connection is possible only if the 
different psychical qualities correspond to local differences in the 
central system. Besides this a difference of elementary central function, 
corresponding to the different muscular actions, is acknowledged by 
the usual theories to exist in the varying intensity of sensation. The 
weakest part of the book seems to me the chapter on space. It is to be 
regretted that Kiilpe makes too little use of the non-German, especially 
of the English, literature. 

More important, however, than pointing out the failings of the book 
is, it seems to me, the mention of its essential merits. As especially good 
I regard the chapters on the conditions and measurement of sensibility, 
on the quality of visual sensations, on the fusion of tones, on the quali- 
ties of the will, on the emotions, and on reaction. But in addition to the 


single sections I must mention certain general characteristics which are 
predominant in the entire work and which are especially important for 
psychologists. The book is extremely clear. The reader always 
knows exactly what Kiilpe means. In the second place it is always con- 
sistent in the use of the various conceptions ; the conceptions are not 
worked up differently for the various chapters, but are resolutely re- 
tained, although the problems themselves are not always as resolutely 
thought out to the finish. In the third place Kiilpe knows exceedingly 
well how to separate the essential from the unessential, and how to save 
the reader from the latter. With the exception of the methods for 
measuring sensations, the treatment of which is too extended, the choice 
of subjects seems to me excellent. Even Hipp's chronoscope is not 
mentioned in the whole book. In all these respects the book seems to 
me to far surpass Wundt's treatment of the same fields. In other re- 
spects also Kiilpe's book is thoroughly original and independent. This 
appears first in the classification of the material and is seen on nearly 
every page. The book has nothing in common with a mechanical text- 
book. It has a thoroughly individual character, and no psychologist 
can afford to ignore it. 

Unfortunately I am forced by the state of affairs to add a word in 
regard to a more formal aspect of the book. Heretofore Kiilpe has ap- 
peared mostly as a critic merely, partly in critical articles, and partly as 
a regular critic in the Literarisches Centralblatt. Even in the present 
book Kiilpe the critic makes himself strongly felt, often more by what 
he openly ignores than by what he attacks. Kiilpe's method of criti- 
cism, however, deserves the severest censure. To be sure he did not 
invent the method, it has grown up with the Philosophische Studien, and 
many younger members of the Leipzig school thoroughly concur with 
Kiilpe in this misuse of criticism. The essential feature of this method 
consists in the ability to act as if there is nothing but light in the writ- 
ings of friends and nothing but darkness in the writings of opponents, 
although in both light and shadow may be equally divided ; but above 
all in making a personal mention of friends only when agreeing with 
them and in bringing in opponents only when attacking them. If one 
reads Kiilpe's writings and criticisms, one learns, e.g., that Wundt and 
I represent the extremes of psychology, in the sense that Wundt, whose 
assistant Kiilpe is and to whom the book is dedicated and with whose 
praise the book is full, represents the highest point ; while I, who have 
written only the most pitiable trifles, which are really worthy of no 
serious criticism, represent the lowest point of weakness in psychologi- 
cal literature. Whoever examines the contents of the book seriously 
finds that, with the possible exception of the doctrine of movements of 


expression, Kiilpe is really never in agreement with Wundt. In- 
deed the whole book is an energetic and, with the exception of the 
doctrine of space, a decidedly successful struggle against Wundt. On 
the other hand I am pleased to see that Kiilpe agrees with me in the 
most essential points and is now in harmony with me even on those 
questions in which not long ago he opposed my standpoint in a most 
unfriendly manner. To be sure such unjustifiable attacks trouble me 
(and probably everybody) personally very little. But in the interests 
of science it cannot be too energetically pointed out how much science 
must suffer when scientific and personal matters are confused. Of 
course I could easily have made use here of the same method and 
could without trouble have brought together everything in Kiilpe's book 
that is to be criticised and passed over in silence all that deserves 
praise. Instead of this I emphasize with great pleasure my belief that 
Kiilpe's book is one of the best psychological productions of recent 
years, and express my hope that an English translation will soon be 
forthcoming. H. M. 

Psychologic des Erkennens vom empirischen Standpunkte. GOSWIN K. 
UPHUES. Erster Band. Engelmann, Leipzig, 1893. 8vo, pp. 

We are glad to welcome a new book by Professor Uphues, and are 
not disappointed in our expectations of finding it learned and thought- 
ful, as are his others. I need not here speak of his earlier works, 
which are so well known that to do so would be superfluous. Before 
plunging, however, into a criticism of his ' Psychology of Cognition,' 
it may not be amiss for me to mention (as it can hardly be known 
except to those directly interested in education) his extreme kindness 
to our American students who have wandered abroad in search of phi- 
losophical culture a kindness which has laid not only those who have 
profited by it, but also their teachers, under no small obligation. 
Those who are acquainted with the facts to which I make this passing 
reference will feel quite as much indebted to him for his labors in this 
direction as for his literary productions, for we still believe on this side 
of the water that it is the function of a teacher to teach, and that time 
spent in opening a path for younger scholars is by no means time lost. 

The volume before us is largely taken up with the problem of per- 
ception and the genesis of our idea of an external world. In the 
preface we are promised a second volume, which is to treat of the 

Prof. Uphues rightly distinguishes between psychology and meta- 
physic ; and maintains that in the former we study merely mental 


states, and are justified in putting to one side, as belonging to another 
discipline, what has been regarded as their implication, a ' transcend- 
ent,' an external correlate which is represented by them or in them, 
but which is itself wholly distinct from them and beyond them. The 
question of the existence or non-existence of such a 'transcendent' he 
thinks must be relegated to metaphysics, but the fact that we do have 
states of consciousness which we must regard as * images ' of a tran- 
scendent he accepts as a purely psychological fact, and one which 
must be reckoned with in any scientific investigation of cognition. 

" The scientific investigation of knowledge has, hence, first of all to 
fix its attention upon knowledge of the transcendent. One may here 
raise the question whether we really know the transcendent the ques- 
tion as to the truth of our knowledge of the transcendent ; and it is 
only in the answer to this question that we can find an answer to the 
questions concerning the possibility of a knowledge of the transcend- 
ent, and concerning the existence of the transcendent. All these 
questions are metaphysical and have to do with the transcendent 
which constitutes the object of metaphysics. But one may also raise 
the question, how this knowledge of the transcendent is effected, 
making complete abstraction from the questions whether this knowl- 
edge is a true or merely a seeming knowledge of the transcendent, 
whether knowledge of the transcendent is possible, and whether a 
transcendent exists. This question of psychological fact constitutes 
the object of the psychology of cognition. Knowledge of the tran- 
scendent presents itself to us immediately as a conscious state, and 
thus as an image of the transcendent. To this we can and must hold 
fast, even if there be no transcendent, if a knowledge of the transcend- 
ent be for us impossible, or if our knowledge of the transcendent lacks 
all truth and is a mere semblance of knowledge. That our knowledge 
of the transcendent is in this sense an image of the transcendent is a 
fact of consciousness which no one can deny. An image is an image 
only in virtue of its correspondence or agreement with something ; but 
the thing need not be real, it may be fictitious" ( 45). 

In every percept we are thus concerned with the transcendent, and 
our percept is #/" something external, it has objective reference. Meta- 
physic may decide there is no such external object, but our percept 
remains what it is, and still seems to be a knowledge of such an object. 
What this transcendent may be Prof. Uphues does not attempt to 
state. In analyzing our percepts he distinguishes between the impene- 
trability of an object and all its other qualities, reserving to the former 
the name 'thing.' He recognizes that the whole object as known (the 
* thing' with its qualities) is a complex in consciousness, and contains 


no element which may not be described as a consciousness element. 
Nevertheless the percept is of the transcendent, and in it the tran- 
scendent somehow ' comes to consciousness.' I shall cite one more 
passage, which brings out clearly his position and contrasts it with 
others : 

" In psychology we leave it wholly undetermined whether transcen- 
dental objects exist or not, and that not merely as regards objects 
which are not things, but also as regards things. For us, things and 
objects that are not things stand in this respect upon precisely the 
same plane, in contrast to the assumption of the common conscious- 
ness, which regards the sense of touch, in so far as it gives us informa- 
tion about things, as peculiarly the sense through which we gain a 
knowledge of reality. Our view is in contrast also to that of many 
philosophers, according to whom things and things only constitute the 
unknowable transcendent, while objects that are not things are 
merely immanent. It is in contrast, finally, to the view accepted 
in natural science, which distinguishes between the mechanical and 
mathematical and the 'secondary' qualities. According to it, the sec- 
ondary qualities are subjective, that is, they are in themselves only 
sensations, while the mathematical (the extension, at least) and cer- 
tainly the mechanical (resistance, density, weight) pass as objective, as 
the transcendent, real, so-called mechanical correlates of the second- 
ary qualities. For us, all these qualities, the mechanical and mathe- 
matical as well as the secondary, are primarily sensations in which we 
represent to ourselves something transcendent, and which in so far 
constitute an expression of the transcendent, that is, of a something 
which is not a state of consciousness. I say primarily, for, since for 
our consciousness the sensations are inseparable from the qualities, the 
latter form the first element in the concept of the former. Yet the 
names which we give to the qualities can, properly and strictly, only 
apply to the transcendent, and hence we can best define the qualities 
as the transcendent, of which we become conscious in these sensa- 
tions" ( 97). 

Thus we see that the external world is for Prof. Uphues simply a 
transcendent, a something closely resembling the Unknowable of Mr. 
Spencer. Locke's distinction between the primary and secondary 
qualities of bodies is not ignored, but the difference is not made to lie 
in the fact that certain qualities have external correlates while others 
have not. All qualities alike are, from one point of view, states of 
consciousness, and the only thing beyond states of consciousness is 
this vague and indefinite transcendent. States of consciousness and 
qualities are not distinct things, but the same thing regarded from dif- 


ferent points of view. The statement that the names we give to the 
qualities can, strictly speaking, apply only to the transcendent must 
not be taken as favoring the Lockian view that qualities can exist 
beyond consciousness. It rests upon the familiar fact that we all 
speak of things as round, hard, heavy, colored, and never so speak of 
the ideas of the things. This fact is undisputed, and it has, of course, 
its significance, but one may well question whether the average man in 
so speaking ever dreams that he is applying his adjectives to a tran- 
scendent of the sort accepted by Prof. Uphues. His thought is prob- 
ably much more in harmony with that of Locke, who held substantially 
the view accepted in natural science. If one accept external correlates 
to percepts bundles of real qualities, so to speak, in a real external 
world one may mean something definite in saying that external things 
are round, hard, and heavy ; but if one hold that all roundness, hard- 
ness, and heaviness must be found in consciousness, and that no deter- 
minations can be given to what is beyond, it does not seem to mean 
anything in particular to say that the transcendent is round, hard, and 
heavy. One may thus express, if one choose, the belief that round, 
hard, and heavy are in consciousness, and that there is a transcendent 
without, but it does not appear to add to the thought to call the former 
an 'expression' of the latter. 

In thus abandoning the natural-science point of view, Prof. Uphues 
has, it seems to me, abandoned the psychological standpoint and 
passed over to the metaphysical. He does, as we have seen, distin- 
guish between psychology and metaphysics, and leave to the latter all 
questions relating to the existence of the transcendent and the way in 
which we come to know it. But he keeps his transcendent in psy- 
chology as a seeming at least, it comes to consciousness (whether it 
exist or not), and its coming to consciousness is what makes certain 
mental states knowledge. I cannot but think, however, that this tran- 
scendent, which is grasped through sensations, and which is in no sense 
an external world as it exists either to common thought or to science 
I cannot but think that this has no place in psychology at all, and 
that it must not be used to distinguish between some mental states 
and others. I have so lately printed in this Review a discussion of the 
psychological standpoint that I need not enter at length into the ques- 
tion here. Suffice it to say that the position taken by the psychologist 
appears to me to be substantially the same as that taken by the student 
of natural science, who accepts unquestioningly a real external world ; 
not the world of a vague and indefinite transcendent, a Ding an sich, 
but the phenomenal world of matter and motion. The psychologist 
distinguishes between things in such a world and his ideas of them, 


regarding the latter as in some sense copies or representatives of the 
former. To him the copy and the original are not one thing looked 
at in two different ways, but two distinct things. With a transcendent 
underlying the external thing the phenomenal thing he has, as psy- 
chologist, nothing to do. 

Prof. Uphues does not, as the citations given above show, accept 
this distinction between the thing as a bundle of qualities and the idea 
of the thing as a representative of this. In the conscious states we are 
to find both ideas and qualities, the distinction being rather a logical 
than a real one. Nothing lies beyond consciousness but the tran- 
scendent, and this is a mere postulate ( 54) and in no sense contained 
in sensations ( 78). Yet conscious states are to be distinguished as 
1 grasping' or not 'grasping the transcendent. What does this mean ? 
It cannot mean simply that the mental states in themselves considered 
differ from each other, and mean no more than that. If that be all, 
why bring in the transcendent ? What has a transcendent to do with 
the matter ? The fact is that Prof. Uphues, after drawing a clear line 
between conscious states and a transcendent beyond them, overlooks 
the division and really makes the conscious states reach across and 
appropriate what is beyond. The language that he uses would 
almost unavoidably lead him to forget from time to time that the two 
spheres of being are supposed to be quite cut off from one another. 
He speaks of conscious states as 'directed to' the transcendent ( 7), 
and of the transcendent as ' coming to consciousness ' in sensations 
( 37> 67, 75); it is a fact of consciousness that knowledge of the 
transcendent is an image of the transcendent ( 45) ; some knowledge 
is consciousness of an object beyond consciousness ( 71, 72); per- 
ception is a representation of the transcendent in sensations ( 74) ; 
both perceptions and ideas are directed to transcendent objects, and 
in both cases the objects are really present to consciousness ( 79) ; the 
transcendent is grasped in its expression in consciousness, and is, in 
perception, inseparable from its expression, the percept ( 77). In 
speaking thus it certainly seems to me that Prof. Uphues either drags 
the transcendent into consciousness, or allows consciousness to tran- 
scend itself and go out to the transcendent in some (to me) incompre- 
hensible way. If the use of these expressions be justifiable, I do not 
see the need of a metaphysical postulate to guarantee us the existence 
of this transcendent. We are conscious of it, and what more do we 
want ? But then, if we are really conscious of it, it is not a transcend- 
ent at all, and the distinguishing mark of a percept must not lie in its 
reference to a something beyond consciousness. 

It may be objected that the psychological position, as I understand 


it, and as, I think, it is generally understood, admits one's right to thus 
reach beyond a conscious state and relate it to its object. This is 
true. But there is an important difference between referring a percept 
to its external correlative as one does in psychology, and referring it 
to a transcendent of the sort accepted by Prof. Uphues. The external 
world accepted by the psychologist is in no sense regarded as a postu- 
late, a something merely assumed and for the existence of which no 
direct evidence is forthcoming. On the contrary it is held to be given 
in experience, and the psychologist's reasonings concerning his own 
mind and other minds proceed upon the assumption that it is so given. 
The psychologist who infers from the actions of another man's body 
the ideas in the other man's mind assumes that he perceives the other 
man's body, and he does not merely postulate it as a metaphysical 
entity underlying what he really perceives. And he feels justified in 
passing from the actions in question to the ideas they are supposed to 
reveal, because he regards himself as having direct experience of a 
connection of ideas with bodily expressions in the case of his own 
body. When he goes on to the conclusion that every consciousness is 
shut up to the circle of its own ideas, and can have no direct and 
immediate knowledge of anything beyond, he undoubtedly maintains 
what is inconsistent with his primary assumption, i.e., that he has 
direct evidence of the existence of his own body and other bodies. 
This inconsistency I do not think it is incumbent upon him as a psy- 
chologist to remove. He may leave it to the epistemologist. What is 
important to note here is that the psychologist, having drawn a dis- 
tinction between ideas and external things, does not regard the things 
the external correlates as merely postulates, but bases his notion 
of the correspondence of idea and thing upon experience. He may 
say that any particular man cannot know whether his supposed per- 
cepts are really percepts or mere hallucinations, but his whole con- 
struction demands that both percept and thing be given in experience 
somewhere, and to some one, for all his reasoning is based upon such 
an assumption. With a transcendent which can only be gained by 
* the leap of a postulate ' the psychologist, as such, has nothing to do ; 
its title is vested in the metaphysician. 

It is because Prof. Uphues abandons the natural-science stand- 
point, and reduces his external world to a transcendent of this descrip- 
tion, that I have accused him of leaving psychology for metaphysic. 
However, the position he takes is not an uncommon one, and he is in 
good company where he is. He certainly intrenches himself with skill 
in his position. 

So much for the main thesis of the book. have criticised it with- 


out turning aside to pay the author merited but unnecessary compli- 
ments merited, because the volume contains so much that must seem 
admirable even to one who dissents from the doctrine it contains ; and 
unnecessary, because one knows what to expect in a volume from Prof. 
Uphues' pen. We anticipate with pleasure the publication of his sec- 
ond volume, and also that of the Psychology of Volition which he has 
announced. G. S. F. 

Appearance and Reality : a Metaphysical Essay. By F. H. BRADLEY. 
London, Swan Sonnenschein & Co., 1893. pp. xxiv, 558. 

The humorous aphorism * once an advanced thinker, always an ad- 
vanced thinker ' is one of Mr. Bradley's titles to fame. Tjiis book is 
another. It is among the solidest of the contributions to philosophy 
in recent years. It is reasoned with a minuteness that is quite Teu- 
tonic it is a pleasure to read an author who so bristles with points. 
Unhappily the book is, for the same reason, difficult in any brief space 
to review. 

Appearance and Reality is a constructive argument for the Absolute, 
with answers to objections. In the barest outline Mr. Bradley's main 
position is this : experience (which is co-extensive with consciousness) is 
a maze of inconsistency, so far at least as any finite individual knows it. 
It is not therefore reality, but appearance merely; for reality must be 
consistent that is its distinguishing mark. But on the contrary all 
experience must be reality, and reality is one. Hence the problem, 
how can a consistent whole be formed of parts that are inconsistent ? 
The solution is in principle striking by its lack of novelty : the incon- 
sistency in the parts is perceived upon but a partial view ; a complete 
view might well show a perfect harmony. But since this harmony must 
exist, and since it is not impossible that it should exist, therefore it 
does exist, though how it can, passes human understanding. 

That all experience as finite individuals find it is a maze of incon- 
sistency, is too large a subject to be dealt with here. Mr. Bradley 
handles it under a dozen such commanding heads as Relation and Qual- 
ity, Space and Time, Causation, Activity. I shall simply say that on 
his own premises his treatment is strong ; but havoc might be made 
among his premises. The next point, however, is compact something 
may be done with it. It is that consistency is the distinguishing trait 
of reality. We should suppose just the contrary we require proof of 
that. Since all experience, as we know it, has just been proved incon- 
sistent, and since it is undoubtedly real, the natural presumption would 
be that some reality, maybe all, is inconsistent. Mr. Bradley's reply is 
(p. 136) that reality must be consistent because we have all along as- 


sumed that it is. This sort of proof by previous assumption is not 
infrequent in the book. Mr. Bradley adds (pp. 136-7) that we are 
obliged to assume it that either in endeavoring to deny it, or even in 
attempting to doubt it, we assume it, tacitly. 

That one cannot help assuming a thing is ample cause for assum- 
ing it, but is not a warrant in logic for doing so. That one cannot 
doubt a thing without assuming it may in point of logic be the best of 
grounds for pushing doubt to the extreme. Those who urge the con- 
trary are singularly short-sighted. Their stock example is the reply to 
the sceptic. " You try," they say, " to prove that human faculties are 
incapable of knowledge, and employ them to do so. But if they are 
incapable of knowledge, your conclusion cannot be true." " That is 
just the point," says the sceptic ; " if human faculties lead to conclusions 
which cannot be true, they confess themselves unsound they commit 
suicide." Mr. Bradley's reality confesses itself unsound commits sui- 
cide. All reality we were told is consistent, and all experience is real- 
ity. Holding fast by these two assumptions, we reached a conclusion 
which contradicts them viz., that experience is inconsistent. It would 
seem that we must doubt some part of our assumption. Either reality 
is not consistent or experience is not reality. Mr. Bradley finds it more 
logical to cling the more closely to the assumption which has failed him. 
I assumed it all along, he says ; I cannot abandon it now. It must be 
true, for it has proved contradictory. " What can be more irrational," 
asks Mr. Bradley farther down the page (137), "than to try to prove 
that a principle is doubtful, when the proof through every step rests on 
its unconditional truth ? " One should rather ask, what can be more 
irrational than to cling to a principle the consistent assumption of which 
leads to its contradictory ? 

But Mr. Bradley anticipates this turn to do him justice there are 
few turns which he has not anticipated. What he says in bar of your 
objections may not satisfy you it may be merely a reference, a word, 
curt as you please but he has at least anticipated you considered 
the matter your way. He has done so here. " It would, of course, 
not be irrational," he says (p. 137), "to take one's stand on this cri- 
terion (of consistency), to use it to produce a conclusion hostile to 
itself, and to urge that therefore our whole knowledge is self-destruc- 
tive, since it essentially drives us to what we cannot accept. But this 
is not the result which our supposed objector has in view, or would 
welcome. . . . He is not prepared to give up his own psychological 
knowledge, which knowledge plainly is ruined if the criterion is not 

But I do not understand that this is the alternative. It is quite 


true that if the criterion of consistency is not absolute, one's knowl- 
edge of psychology and of everything else is logically bankrupt, but no 
Humean (and the objector may well be a follower of Hume) ever sup- 
posed that his knowledge was logically sound. Science, the Humean 
would say, does not pretend to logical soundness it accepts the 
human faculties ; the basis of science in the last resort is not logical 
but psychological that is the very point of departure that science 
makes with metaphysic. Metaphysic must be logically sound, science 
need not. Metaphysic cannot say " Men think thus and so, it is the 
very nature of their faculties to assume such and such, therefore such 
and such shall be unquestioned." All other branches of knowledge do 
that it is the distinction of metaphysic to do otherwise, to be more 
thorough, to question all presuppositions, to be logical or nothing. 
Science says to the intellect ' You are a laborer work for me.' 
Metaphysic interposes and adds ' Perhaps you are a mountebank 
come, lift yourself by your boot-straps.' The ambitious clown tries 
and fails. ' Away,' says Metaphysic, in derision, ' I will have nothing 
to do with you.' ' But I will,' Science says. ' But he can't lift himself 
by his boot-straps,' says Metaphysic in the person of Mr. Bradley. * I 
don't require,' Science may reply, ' that he should. . He is not perfect, 
but he's the best I can get, and I'm accustomed to put up with him.' 

About the unity of the Absolute Mr. Bradley's remarks are too 
voluminous to be dealt with here. One may however say something of 
a single paragraph (pp. 141-2). He affirms that to be many is to be 
related, and to be related is to be dependent. One is moved to wonder 
whether Mr. Bradley ever settled in his own mind what he means by 
the Absolute : whether he means the utterly independent or that 
which is capable of being so ; that which has no relations or that 
which need have none ; that which actually is not relative or that 
merely which is not necessarily so. The first is of course a mere knot 
of contradictions one cannot even declare it incomprehensible with- 
out making it relative as an object of curiosity, or speech, or un- 
certainty, or what you will. If it is for the Absolute in this sense that 
he is arguing, his reasoning refutes itself the mere fact that he reasons 
about it at all destroys his conclusion. But if by Absolute he means 
the essentially independent, then his argument does not hold. One's 
own consciousness and that of some one say in Central Africa may 
be two and be essentially independent of one another. Things in rela- 
tion do not necessarily cease to be absolute in the sense of independent. 
There are many relations in which the terms are independent of each 
other and of the relation, and in which the relation alone is dependent. 
X's consciousness is like mine, let us suppose, but I have never seen 


nor heard of X, nor X of me. In what sense is my consciousness 
dependent on his or on the likeness it bears to mine ? No alteration in 
his consciousness will affect mine it may even be destroyed, and mine 
will rest unchanged. There was no sign in mine of the relation while 
it lasted, there is no sign now that the relation is gone in what sense 
did its existence make my consciousness dependent ? In the sense that, 
as an object similar to something else, my consciousness varied with its 
variations, and with its destruction was destroyed ? But my conscious- 
ness varied not at all and suffered no destruction ; it was the relation 
only that varied and was destroyed what better proof could be asked 
that my consciousness was independent, and that what was not inde- 
pendent was the relation ? A change in either of the terms alters the 
relation the relation can be altered in no other way ; but a change in 
the relation has no influence on the terms. 

But I confine myself, you will say, to my own consciousness. It is 
quite true that within that bound my consciousness does not vary with 
X's and with the relation that X's bears to mine. But I forget that it 
is not in my mind that the relation exists ; it exists only in the mind of 
some third person, who knows both my consciousness and X's and their 
similarity ; and that in that person's mind my consciousness does vary 
with X's and with the relation that X's bears to mine. To that person 
my consciousness is one thing while the relation lasts, and quite a 
different thing the instant the relation is changed ; to that person my 
consciousness is at first a thing similar to X's, and afterwards a thing 
dissimilar to X's. But to this there is a very plain reply. It is an 
example of the psychologist's fallacy it attributes to either term of the 
relation what belongs only to the thinker that knows them both. 
Within the bounds of my consciousness it was admitted that no change 
in my consciousness took place ; but it did take place in the mind of a 
third person. Can a change in my consciousness take place outside of 
my consciousness ? 

But Mr. Bradley thinks that the mere fact that my mind and X's 
are known by a third would make them dependent. " If it [the mind] 
is known by another, then forthwith it cannot be self-existent, since this 
relation must clearly belong to its essence " (p. 143). Who was it said 
that when a metaphysician assumes what he cannot justify he states 
it with * clearly ' ? A mind's existence is in no sense conditional upon 
its being known to another mind. It is enough if it knows itself. 
Whether it is known by another is the least essential of accidents and 
in any strict sense one mind cannot be known by another ; it can at 
most only be inferred or perhaps merely imagined. 

But this, it will be said, destroys the possibility of minds being in 


relation at all being similar, or different, or many ; for, to be at all, 
a relation must be known, and how can it be known unless both its 
terms are in one mind ? Let it rather be said that this destroys the 
notion that a relation to be at all must be known. " Plurality has no 
meaning unless the units are somehow taken up together," says Mr. 
Bradley (p. 141) ; it is quite sufficient, I reply, that they be capable of 
being taken up together that my mind and X's are two, whether they 
are ever known to be so or not, providing they are capable of being 
known to be so (and capable, it may be, only through the defective 
medium of mental representations). In a word, the principle that esse 
is percipi does not apply to relations ; to perceive that two things are 
different works no alteration in the things ; if they are numerically dif- 
ferent now, and have not changed from what they were before they 
were perceived to be so, they were numerically different then. 

I cannot of course stay to justify this position in detail. Indeed 
my remarks have already taken on proportions that will tempt the 
editorial Procrustes, and yet there was another word I thought I should 
have room to say. " A separate real which is wholly self-dependent 
must . . . fall entirely beyond our knowledge. We have therefore no 
ground and hence no right to suppose it possible," says Mr. Bradley 
(p. 142). But this complaisant premise permits itself to be contra- 
dicted twenty times on the pages following. On every step in the 
argument for a wider harmony in which contradictions are reconciled, 
Mr. Bradley is perpetually telling us " we don't know how it is quite 
beyond our knowledge but since it is not /^possible, we must affirm 
it." But apart from this admission the fact is not obscure. It is quite 
beyond my knowledge that there are other minds than my own my 
belief that they exist is founded on evidence confessedly inconclusive, 
worked up by a process of inference which is psychologically unavoid- 
able and logically ridiculous. I cannot help making the guess, but I 
know it is a leap in the dark. Does Mr. Bradley mean to say that it is 
not only not proved that other minds than mine exist, but is impos- 
sible ? " But if the being," he says (p. 142), " exists outside of all 
knowledge, assuredly to us it can be nothing." To us assuredly, but not 
to itself ? " If it knows itself as what it is, then, since it falls within 
itself, it so far is the universe, and certainly is not [so far ?\ one being 
among others" (pp. 142-3). If Mr. Bradley would add the words I 
have inserted in brackets, one might admit this, but where would his 
argument be ? A. L. HODDER. 



The Inadequacy of ' Natural Selection ' : Professor Weismann' s Theories : 
A Rejoinder to Professor Weismann. HERBERT SPENCER. Con- 
temporary Review, Feb., Mar., May, and Dec. 1893. 

The All-Sufficiency of Natural Selection. A. WEISMANN. Contem- 
porary Review, Aug. and Sept. 1893. 

The history of biology during this century will be known in the 
next as marked by three great discussions relating to evolution. First, 
that between Cuvier and St. Hilaire, culminating in the famous debate 
in the French Academy in 1830, touching the methods of thought 
which were then leading to the discovery of the law. Second, that of 
1858, caused by the revival of the law itself by Darwin and Wallace, 
and led by Huxley in England and Haeckel in Germany. Third, the 
present discussion which began in 1883, when Weismann first chal- 
lenged the principle of Inheritance of Acquired Characters as a factor 
of evolution. This discussion probably culminates in the recent papers 
under review. 

The supreme confidence of both parties is expressed in the titles of 
these papers The Inadequacy of ' Nattiral Selection] as Spencer's firm 
conclusion, is faced by The All- Sufficiency of Natural Selection, as 
Weismann's. The last word on each side is an unwavering confidence 
in the position originally taken, and a total rejection of the arguments 
advanced by the opposite side. Spencer's original article seemed so 
strong that his supporters in England imagined it would be conclusive, 
yet Weismann certainly gives an equally strong reply, bringing forward 
as a new and apparently irrefutable argument the case of the evolution 
of the neuter insects, in which most marvellous adaptations appear, for 
which the Lamarckian explanation cannot be advanced, because 
these insects leave no descendants. Yet in Spencer's rejoinder this 
argument is met in the most clever manner, by the assumption that 
these adaptations in sexless forms were established in the earlier social 
states of ants, bees, and wasps before they became sexless and while 
acquired characters could still be transmitted. In short, this discus- 
sion leaves every reader exactly where it finds him, because the honors 
in logic are evenly divided. Both sides are strong in attack and weak 
in defence. 

While inconclusive it is most stimulating and has attracted wide 
attention, because the question bears with equal force upon problems 
of ethics and psychology as upon all lines of biological thought which 
run in the direction of the life-histories of organisms lower than man. 


To no one is the issue so vital as to these two famous disputants. 
With Spencer we may say his whole system is at stake, and the perma- 
nence of the philosophy to which he has given his life. Weismann has 
a sudden notoriety to lose and a permanent reputation to gain, because 
if he is in the right, as the first opponent of the Lamarckian principle 
of inheritance, and, with Wallace, the champion of the exclusive selec- 
tion theory of evolution, he will go down to posterity as the greatest 
biological thinker of this century after Darwin. Now in the issue it- 
self there is no half-way ground ; the final result must be the total rout 
of one side or the other, and under such stress we should find in this 
discussion the strongest presentation possible of the two positions. 
This we do not find. It is the purpose of this review, therefore, not to 
follow arguments, which are so readily accessible and intelligible to all 
readers, but to show that the position of both Weismann and Spencer 
is defective because neither has brought forward inductive evidence. 

In fact, the reason these papers, interesting and able as they are, 
leave no final verdict in the mind is that neither meets the tests of 
scientific truth. When we look beneath the surface and recover from 
the first blinding effects of the brilliant style which characterizes both 
attack and reply, we see that both set forth mainly the modes in 
which nature may be supposed to act, rather than the mode in which 
nature does act. Nature, if anything, is illogical in many of her forms. 

Weismann's strength lies in his exposure of the weakness of Spen- 
cer's position in relation to heredity. His weakness lies in the purely 
theoretical nature of the support of his own. He brings this charge 
against himself in the striking passage : 

" What is it then that nevertheless makes us believe in this progress as actual, 
and leads us to ascribe such extraordinary importance to it? Nothing but the power 
of logic;* we must assume natural selection to be the principle of explanation of 
the metamorphoses, because all other apparent principles of explanation fail us, 
and it is inconceivable that there could be yet another capable of explaining the 
adaptations of organisms, without assuming the help of a principle of design. In 
other words, it is the only conceivable natural explanation of organisms regarded as 
adaptations to conditions" 

Have thirty-five years of research under the stimulus of the selec- 
tion hypothesis failed to bring forth a single fact or group of facts 
which Weismann, as one of the best informed of all living naturalists, 
can cite ? He could have made no stronger array of evidence against 
his cause than his dependence throughout these essays upon theoreti- 
cal considerations in support of his position that the selection principle 
acts upon any and every minute shade of character in the organism. 

* Italics are our own. 


In the absence of fact, he presents the group of speculations which have 
grown up in the Neo-Darwinian school, namely : the refinement and 
apotheosis of selection ; the- utility or adaptiveness of, and intense 
premium upon, every variation ; selection as a sustaining power ; the 
cessation of selection or panmixia, and finally the reversal of selec- 
tion : all processes spun out of the human mind, without an iota of 
direct evidence in their favor. 

This absence of evidence drives us to the conclusion that, so far as 
inductive proof is concerned, natural selection now stands, not as Dar- 
win originally proposed it (in the extreme form revived by Weismann), 
but as Darwin left it in his later judgment, namely, as the arbiter 
of fitness in groups, species, varieties, individuals, and in single char- 
acters when they are of sufficient importance to weigh in the scale of 

When, however, we turn to Spencer as the champion of Lamarckism, 
we find him open to precisely the same criticism : he discusses proba- 
bilities rather than facts. This is partly because in the very broad 
field of science and philosophy which he has attempted to cover so 
broad that in the present advanced state of knowledge one must sacri- 
fice depth to breadth in the attempt he has not kept pace with the prog- 
ress of biology. His standpoint is exactly similar to that of his Prin- 
ciples of Biology published many years ago, and of his more recent 
essay Factors of Organic Evolution. This pardonable unfamiliarity 
with recent work is the apparent cause of his failure to give his attack 
upon Weismann the inductive basis, which was within his reach ; but 
more than this it has led him to a statement of his position which is 
absolutely fatal to his whole case and which Weismann has surpris- 
ingly overlooked. It occurs in the conclusion of his first article : 

"See, then, how the case stands. Natural selection, or survival of the fittest, is 
almost exclusively operative throughout the vegetal world and throughout the 
lower animal world, characterized by relative passivity. But with the ascent to 
higher types of animals, its effects are in increasing degrees involved with those 
produced by inheritance of acquired characters ; until, in animals of complex 
structures, inheritance of acquired characters becomes an important, if riot the 
chief, cause of evolution." 

Now the reverse of this principle is established by the researches of 
recent embryology ; for, as the physical and mechanical basis of inheri- 
tance has now proved to be the same from the lowest to the highest 
organisms, the transmission of acquired characters must either extend 
from the lowest to the highest, or, as Weismann believes, it must 
diminish from the lowest to the highest. When Spencer says that this 
transmission increases towards the highest organisms he is not only 


wrong in his facts but he cedes the case to Weismann, for adaptations 
in plants and in lower organisms are precisely the same in kind as those 
in the higher and the law of heredity must be the same. 

The weakness in Spencer's attack on evolution by selection ex- 
clusively is further seen in his failure to take advantage of the evidence 
afforded by palaeontology and by human anatomy that the funda- 
mental postulate of the selectionists that adaptive structures arise out 
of the fortuitous play of adaptive and non-adaptive variations is 
negatived by direct evidence to the contrary. Palaeontology shows 
conclusively that there is an adaptive trend in variation under the 
operation of some law; whether this is the Lamarckian law or some un- 
known law remains to be determined. 

This discussion, at least in its theoretical phase, has reached its 
climax in this controversy. It must now enter the new phase of test 
by induction. Theoretically the subject is talked out, and Spencer 
and Weismann render their chief service in showing that ingenuity and 
logic on the two sides can be so evenly arrayed against each other. It 
is evident to the few biologists who have been able to keep cool in this 
heated period that we must now suspend speculation and turn to the 
more exact methods of science. The reaction towards the inductive 
tests of the problem is already well under way. 




Histoire (Tune Idee Fixe. PIERRE JANET. Revue Philosophique, 
xxxvu. 121-168. Feb. 1894. 

In this article Janet gives another of his monographic studies of the 
* hysteric ' condition. The patient was a woman of forty, of psycho- 
pathic heredity, who from early childhood had had fears and spas- 
modic attacks, and who, at the age of 17, in consequence of having 
assisted at the ' laying out ' of two cholera patients, was seized with a 
haunting fear of this disease, which in three years made of her a wreck. 
Her worst feature consisted in frequent convulsive attacks of dread of 
the cholera, with vomiting, purging, and hallucinations of every sense. 
This condition had already lasted twenty years when Janet first saw the 
patient. The treatment consisted first in altering, by suggestions made 
during the attacks, now one and then another element of the terrifying 
hallucinations, until their whole character was changed. This cured 
the attacks ; but the original state of waking choleraphobia returned. 


M. Janet found that the nucleus of this emotion was the insistent pres- 
ence of the word ' cholera ' on the lips, as a phenomenon of motor au- 
tomatism. He soon transformed the obsessive word as he had trans- 
formed the more complete hallucinations of the attack, by substituting 
other syllables, making chocolate, coqueluche, cocoriko, etc. The 
chronic state of fear departed with the dreadful word ; but all sorts of 
other morbid ideas and impulses then showed themselves, partly due 
to accidental suggestions, and each easily cured by counter-suggestion, 
but each presently succeeded by another, so that the woman's condi- 
tion remained on the whole deplorably abnormal. From this state of 
suggestibility, aboulia, and scatter-wittedness he rescued her by a year 
of pedagogic training, gymnastic and intellectual. His patience must 
have been great, for the whole narrative of treatment covers three 
years. The article is full of acute psychology, e.g., the remarks on the 
nature of an 'idea' on p. 126, and on the definition of ' suggestion' on 
p. 141, and is of course most instructive practically. 

Duplex Personality. R. OSGOOD MASON. Journal of Nervous and 

Mental Disease, xvm. 593-598. 1893. 

The case has been ten years under Dr. Mason's observation, the 
primary personality being a young neurasthenic woman, thoughtful, 
dignified, and exhausted by much suffering. The second personality, 
which first supervened spontaneously after a syncope when she was 24 
years old, was that of a sprightly child with a limited and quaint 
vocabulary, free from pain, able to take food, and fairly strong. Its 
visits came at intervals through several years, and lasted from a few 
hours to several days. During these years the patient, whose health 
had improved, got married. Later ' Twooey' announced one day that 
she never should return, but that another visitor would take her place. 
Accordingly, after a syncope of several hours, a third personality calling 
itself 'the Boy' supervened, serious and more like the primary self in 
character. The second and third selves had less acquired knowledge 
than the first one. Neither of the two former seems to have had memory 
or other direct knowledge of the other. But 'the Boy' seems to be 
directly aware of both the preceding selves [?]. They all know about 
each other by hearsay, however, and 'Twooey' and 'the Boy' have 
been very anxious to make ' Number One' well. ' The Boy' has some- 
times lasted for weeks. ' Number One' seems to have had phenomena 
resembling clairvoyance; ' Twooey' to have shown 'sagacity amounting 
almost to prevision' ; 'the Boy' to have exhibited 'peculiar perceptive 
powers ' (reading what people said by watching their lips, when stone- 
deaf). The case would seem to deserve a fuller account than the 
rather provokingly incomplete one which the writer gives. 


JLa reconnaissance des phe'nomenes nouveaux. B. BOURDON. Rev. Phi- 
losophique, xxxvi. 629-631. Dec. 1893. 

M. Bourdon pronounces series of letters or of words before a subject 
who is required to say when he recognizes one that has already been 
pronounced. Errors are not infrequent : a word will be recognized as 
recurring which only resembles a previous word, and sometimes it will 
even be so recognized when no word that resembles it has gone before. 
The author concludes that the mysterious sense of ( having had the 
same experience before' is an error of identification. The present is 
judged the same with some more or less resembling real past, whose 
points of difference are overlooked, and the telepathic hypothesis of 
Lalande (see report supra, p. 94) is unnecessary. 

A propos de la paramnesie. J. LE LORRAIN. Ibid, xxxvu. 208-210. 

Feb. 1894. 

M. Le Lorrain maintains the same conclusion. The mysterious 
sense of having previously experienced the same is a real recollection, 
either of some merely similar experience, or of an identical experience 
unnoticed at the time but registered subconsciously. The resurrection 
of the thitherto subconscious record gives (apparently) the emotion of 
mystery to the phenomenon. 

The Annales des Sciences Psychiques for Sept.-Oct. 1893 contains three 
articles on thought-transference. 

Dr. Dariex, being in another part of Paris from a cancer-patient 
whose sufferings he was relieving by hypnotism, mentally willed that 
she should sleep. Three times running she fell asleep at the time 
when he was exerting the volition. The fourth time the effect was 
less complete ; the fifth time there was no effect, but the conditions 
were here different, and the author inclines to admit that the first four 
-experiments were probably cases of cause and effect. 

Dr. Tolosa-Latour, who was treating a hysterical patient by hyp- 
notism, relates how, one day, whilst in a railway-carriage in France, 
she being at Madrid, he willed that she should have a convulsive 
attack [!!!], which she had with great severity at about the same hour, 
such attacks being at that time rare in her experience. 

Professor Tamburini reviews Gurney's ' Phantasms of the Living ' 
.at considerable length, concluding that the subject of veridical halluci- 
nations merits the most careful study. The ' telepathic ' hypothesis of 
their production supposes that a stimulus starting from the distant 
agent's mind impresses the mind of the seer, not necessarily with the 
content of the agent's consciousness, as in thought-transference, but 
often with another idea altogether. [Thus agent, whilst dying, has his 


mind filled with images of seer's person, but seer has a vision of agent's 
person, not of his own.] T. seeks to diminish this paradox by recall- 
ing those illusions in which the object perceived is unlike the stimulus, 
as when a noise made by birds will be heard as human speech. The 
most original part of the article is a suggestion that if the word telepa- 
thy do denote a real process in nature, it may be a process obtaining 
between different portions of one and the same brain, and that thus 
the train of our ideas may be partly determined by a sort of factor 
of which no account has yet been taken. The author includes or 
appends eight unpublished cases of veridical hallucination, dream, or 
impression, one of them relating to a shipwreck, the seven others to as 
many deaths. W. J. 

Les phenomenes de synopsie (audition colorte). CH. FLOURNOY. Paris, 
Alcan, 1893. pp. 259. 

Under this title M. Flournoy gives the principal results of an 
investigation begun in February, 1892, by M. Claparede and himself. 
The data collected are gathered up in a theory of colored audition 
(audition colorte), which deserves careful examination. 

I. As is always the case, the greater part of the 2600 question-papers 
sent out were never returned ; some 700 were filled out, half of which 
described phenomena growing out of colored audition. Even if we 
reckon all that were lost as negative, these figures give one case of 
colored audition to every seven persons. Bleuler and Lehmann had 
found before one case in eight. It is probable that further research 
will show an even greater frequency of this phenomenon, formerly con- 
sidered more exceptional. It would be desirable to find the ratio for 
certain classes in society. Flournoy attempted this for professors and 
students, but without success, as the public do not understand the 
importance of these investigations. Per contra, the author was able to 
verify several of the answers by direct questions and thus eliminate 
from them the uncertainties attached to information obtained by corre- 

The material gathered together might be treated in two different 
ways : it might be simply tabulated, and the theory afterwards erected 
upon it ; or the theory might be presented at once and verified by 
mixing in fragments of the observations. The writer has chosen the 
latter method ; this has the effect of giving greater prominence to a 
theory ; from other points of view one might have preferred to see the 
data thrown more in relief, and to have each observation preserve its- 


own characteristics without being cut off from the rest, or given piece- 
meal. Observations in many respects identical might have been super- 
posed, as it were, so as to form groups which would be 'composite 
portraits ' of various types of colored audition. This would not have 
overburdened the book, and each individual subject would have 
retained his physiognomy, his character, his type of mental imagery, 
which the reader would have been glad to examine in order. The 
author had all the data necessary for this, and readers will regret being 
deprived of them. 

II. But these are criticisms of details. Let us pass to the work 
itself. As investigations of colored audition have increased in number, 
its domain has grown larger ; to-day it includes various phenomena 
bearing merely a faint analogy to it. Still the terminology has been 
but slightly modified, often by chance alone, whence a confusion which 
Flournoy seeks to remedy by adopting a more precise vocabulary. If 
the word syncesthesia (synesthesie, <rvv aio'-dr/o'is) denote well enough 
any association of different sensations, then synopsia (synopsie) would 
include such as rest on a visual basis. Cases of synopsia are divided 
in turn into : photisms, when a color is associated with a sound ; schemata 
and diagrams (schemes et diagrammes), when the phenomenon takes the 
form of a spatial representation realized at once or developing itself in 
series ; personification, where the figures, etc., are represented in the 
form of persons. 

Each of these phenomena may occur in varying degrees of intensity, 
from a mere thought (e.g., the logical schematism) up to an image 
localized and almost hallucinatory. The three classes may thus be 
developed and compared by a common formula. To render this com- 
parison even more exact, the author advises us to distinguish in each case 
of synopsia between the inducer and the induced : the former determines 
the appearance of the latter, which is in some way within its sphere of 
attraction ' in its aureole.' This seems to us of particular importance 
to those who are endeavoring to find an objective sign of colored 
audition in the rapidity of association-time : it is not immaterial whether 
we associate the inducer with the induced, or the induced with the 
inducer. Such is the nomenclature proposed ; the only question is 
whether the study of colored audition is far enough advanced for terms 
to remain without variation. If so, we believe it will be adopted, for it 
is very systematic. 

III. Thus we find first of all photisms, the most typical phenomena 
of colored audition. Flournoy received specimens of every variety of 
it : the coloring of vowels and diphthongs, of consonants, words, and 
musical notes, of numbers, days, and even odors and tastes. He 


observes, also, that certain subjects, who do not themselves 'color 
letters,' are annoyed at hearing such and such a color attributed to 
certain letters ; this is less than the real * colored audition ' and more 
than philistine indifference. Flournoy calls it negative photism. The 
study of this type may help us to understand the coloring process in 
positive photisms. The utmost irregularity prevails in the coloring of 
these. Only the rule formerly found by Beaunis and Binet throws a 
little light upon the question : ' Of the vowels / and a, one is red, black, 
or white ' about 95 times in 100. 

The author appears to be more fortunate in his attempt to formu- 
late what he calls the law of brightness, which he states as follows : i. i 
and e bright in a majority of cases. 2. u and ou dark in a majority 
of cases. 3. a and o medium, fluctuating between bright and dark. 

This law is not sufficient to account for the coloring of vowels, but 
it reaches the principal factor, viz., light. It permits Flournoy to form, 
in accordance with the results of the principal investigations, a table of 
brightness together with a table of coloring, including the results of 
Fechner, Bleuler, Lehmann, and Claparede. 

If we knew the law of coloring for vowels, we should have the law 
of their diphthongs also, for the one regulates the other ; relying on 
this fact, the author is able to formulate these rules of coloring : 

1. Juxtaposition of colors : o yellow, a black, / red, gives oi yellow 
and red. 

2. Optical mixing of colors : a red, / blue, e white, gives ai violet. 

3. Adoption of one of the component colors : ai white, from / red 
and a white. 

Does the knowledge of the theory of complementary colors, etc., 
influence the manner in which the subject colors diphthongs ? We 
have few details on this point. As to the coloring of consonants and 
figures, their laws are still more difficult to formulate than those of 

Between photisms and schemata lies a distance such as separates 
a luminous sensation from a colorless representation. Flournoy dis- 
tinguishes two kinds of schemata : the diagram, which unfolds itself in 
space, interpreting the sensations of changes experienced successively 
on reviewing a series ; and the symbol, which interprets rather the entire 
impression of a single thing. Of these two the diagram is the more 
important and the more varied. The author has given several figures 
of numerical, weekly, annual, chronological, etc., diagrams. As in the 
case of photisms first in the series we find localized and almost objec- 
tive diagrams, which impose themselves upon the subject ; and farthest 
removed from them, on the other hand, are the logical diagrams, plastic, 


modified by the possessor in conformity to his memory, or for fixing 
dates, abstract ideas, the figures in a calculation, etc. These are real 
mnemonic aids.* In a curious chapter full of ingenious views the 
author shows us next how these diagrams usually appear in childhood, 
develop until maturity, and sometimes disappear in old age. Finally 
the carefully-verified study of a family nearly all the members of which 
had such diagrams reveals the importance of heredity in these matters. 
This is unfortunately very meagre, and the author wishes it could have 
been more thorough. The personifications form the subject-matter of 
the final chapter quite brief, since this phenomenon touches colored 
audition only at certain points. 

IV. It remains to speak of the theory of these phenomena ; it runs 
through the entire work, but is found especially at the beginning. It 
is well known that colored audition is dependent upon none of the 
4 classic ' laws of association ; still it occurs too frequently not to obey 
some law. Flournoy proposes three, but they are of unequal impor- 
tance. There is first a law of affective association, which unites two 
sensations on account of analogy in their emotional character, even 
when their objective contents have nothing in common. They affect 
the organism similarly, and that is sufficient to unite them. Next 
comes the law of habitual association, binding together two heterogene- 
ous sensations which habitually occur together. Lastly, the law of 
opportune association (association privile'giee) takes account of a host of 
connections which gain a footing in our mind at their first occurrence, 
because they come in at an opportune time. 

We may pass rapidly over the second law, to which the author 
attaches little importance, and which derives its results from other 
laws, for the frequent coming together of two sensations is not a 
matter of chance, but has a cause. This cause, when it is not one of 
the ' classic ' laws, would be sometimes their identical emotional char- 
acter (law of affective association), sometimes certain affinities which 
are still obscure (law of opportune association). To these obscure 
affinities Flournoy allows much less importance than to analogies of 
emotional character ; yet they seem to cover an equal number of facts. 
In these affinities, sprung from the depths of our nature, where the 
past prepares them and calls them up, will be found the explanation of 
the artists' colored auditions. From this point of view they deserve to 
liave indicated their important role in the psychical moulding of the 
child, as the author has done in a very happy, and we believe very 

* It is rather curious to note that even the blind can make use of them. This 
fact is not the least striking of the surprises in an investigation on the aztdition 
coloree of the blind, the results of which the present reviewer hopes to publish shortly. 

322 VISION. 

exact, manner. Still the chief principle in these associations is what 
Flournoy calls the identity of the affective coefficients. It is perfectly 
conceivable that two sensations absolutely heterogeneous and not ad- 
mitting comparison of objective content (e.g., the color red and the 
sound i) may nevertheless admit of comparison and more or less 
resemble each other in their organic effects. This emotional factor 
which accompanies them becomes the bond of union between them. 
This is a very important point, and very well brought out by the 
author. Doubtless the proposed law is not yet so clear as future re- 
search will make it ; it is still vague and quite general, for the data on 
colored audition are still insufficient. It shows indeed that bright 
colors in general unite with sounds of high pitch ; but it does not 
show what color a given sound will choose. It also leaves untouched 
the question concerning the ultimate substratum of these associations. 
Are they of psychological or physiological origin ? Most probably 
sometimes one, sometimes the other, according to the circumstances 
which give them birth. Nothing here is really established yet, as 
Flournoy warns us ; the same must be said concerning the centre of 
such associations, the search for which is especially tempting to the 
psycho-physiologist, since he is here in the presence of a phenomenon 
which is the more conspicuous because it is not universal. 

Flournoy merely notices these last two questions ; he has, however, 
done his share to render their solution easier. His study, well fur- 
nished as it is with data and cleverly written, has the double merit of 
being at once pleasant reading and the work of an earnest psychologist.* 



Studies of the Phenomena of Simultaneous Contrast- color ; and on a Pho- 
tometer for measuring the Intensities of Lights of Different Colors. 
A. M. MAYER. Am. Jour, of Science, XLVI. 1-22. 1893. 

Prof. Mayer obtains the colored shadow effect by means of a screen 
composed of an inner disk of thick white cardboard and an outer disk 
of translucent white paper, which is illuminated on one side by lamp- 
light (to which different colors may be given by colored glass) and on 
the other by daylight. By this arrangement, the contrast-colors ob- 
tained are so saturated as to cause astonishment even in those who are 
familiar with similar experiments. The colors were matched upon the 
color-wheel, being brought close to it by mirrors, and it was found that 
the petroleum flame of a Belgian burner was matched by a mixture of 
* Translated by H. C. Warren, Instructor in Psychology, Princeton. 


chrome yellow and red lead with twenty per cent of white, and its con- 
trast-blue by Prussian blue and a little green with thirty per cent of 
white. (The contrast-color was therefore, roughly speaking, quite as 
saturated as the actual orange-yellow.) The matched colors thus 
obtained were then combined upon the color-wheel, and found to be, 
sufficiently nearly, complementary. To show that the original colors 
are complementary, the following experiment was made. A grating 
composed of alternate strips of cardboard and of translucent white paper 
of equal width was illuminated on one side by lamplight and on the 
other by daylight, and then looked at through a calc-spar prism, which 
was rotated " till the blue bands of the grating are superposed on the 
orange bands, when, if the surface of the grating is equally spaced, the 
superposed surfaces appear white when compared with the white of the 
screen, W. Without the screen, the eye has no term of comparison and 
may take a yellowish white for white." But this experiment seems open 
to objection. The contrast-blue is not a color that has any objective ex- 
istence it is only produced upon the retina as a side effect of yellow ; 
it cannot therefore be moved about by a calc-spar prism. What hap- 
pens objectively, before any image has reached the eye, is that the 
yellow strips are exactly superposed upon the white strips; an even sur- 
face of yellowish white is therefore what throws its image upon the 
retina. There is no possibility of the production of any other color- 
sensation, neither a real (strong) yellow nor a contrast-blue, unless 
in the two end bands, which are seen singly. That the intervening 
portion looked purely white must therefore have been due to some 
other cause, possibly to some judgment-illusion produced by the 
yellow and blue (?) end bands. Experiments were made to determine 
the time required for the simultaneous contrast-colors to be produced. 
The electric flash of a Holtz machine was seen reflected from the first 
and from the second surface of a piece of green glass; the latter image 
was green (being formed by light which had gone twice through the 
thickness of the glass), and the former showed a contrast-red. The 
interval between the flash and the perception of the colors was less 
than T *g- of a second ; " on viewing the flash and the illuminated sur- 
faces [of a similar experiment] at the same time, no interval could be de- 
tected by this mode of observation as existing between the instant of 
the flash and the perception of the colors, and we certainly could have 
detected a shorter interval than ^ of a second had it existed." This 
interval of time is evidently too short for the observer to exercise his 
judgment and divide between the two images a difference of color 
which is in reality only a departure from white on the part of one of 
them, as the psychical explanation of the phenomenon would require 

324 VISION. 

him to do. There can therefore be no doubt (as has been shown be- 
fore in many other ways) that what is called simultaneous contrast is a 
sensation due to an actual physiological process in the visual substance, 
and not to an error of judgment. This is a question of fact ; Helm- 
holtz has believed that it is an affair of the judgment, and Hering has 
believed that it is not, and it now appears that Hering is in the right. 
But fairness requires one to point out that Helmholtz' theory of color- 
sensation does not necessarily stand nor fall with his explanation of 
contrast ; though Helmholtz himself, of course, does not yet find it nec- 
essary to take refuge in this fact, and it is quite possible that he would 
consider his judgment-illusions an integral part of his theory. Prof. 
Mayer says : " According to Hering's hypothesis of color-sensations, 
when a portion of the retina is stimulated, adjoining portions of the 
field of view are affected by a sort of inductive action ; so that changes 
are produced which are antagonistic or complementary to those portions 
of the retina actually stimulated." But it is open to Helmholtz, if once 
he were convinced of the fact, to say the same thing, in the very same 
words. The changes in question can only be produced through the in- 
tervention of reflex nervous action, on Hering's theory ; and by that 
means one process can be produced in the adjoining portion of the 
retina as well as another. If on any theory the sensation of yellow 
were due to a vibration of nerve-fibres to the east, then an induced 
sensation of blue could be accounted for as a vibration of nerve-fibres 
to the west ; and this would be no harder for reflex nervous action to 
accomplish than a change in assimilation or in dissimilation. Hering 
has done much to establish the theory it is almost better to say the 
fact that contrast is of a physiological nature ; and Prof. Mayer has 
here added important confirmation to his proof. But one should be on 
the guard against supposing that this is any confirmation of his theory 
as a whole. Prof. Mayer himself points out that the process induced 
in the adjoining portion of the retina may just as well be a comple- 
mentary process as an antagonistic one. 


Theorie des Farbensehens. H. EBBINGHAUS. Zeitsch. f. Psychol., vol. 

v. 145-238- May 1893. 

When Professor v. Helmholtz published the first edition of his 
Physiologische Optik in 1867, the theory of color-vision there developed 
represented the most advanced science. Now when the second edition 
is in course of publication the theory is antiquated. Nothing could 
bear more notable witness to the advance of science. The Young- 
Helmholtz theory of color-vision is pre-evolutionary and pre-psycho- 


logical. The theory is pre-evolutionary because we must believe that 
in the animal series the discrimination of light and darkness preceded 
the perception of color. It is absurd to require three kinds of fibres 
and the like of the protozoa. The theory is pre-psychological partly 
because the special facts discovered or elaborated since 1867 cannot 
be adjusted to it, partly because the assumption that sensations of red 
and green or yellow and blue may be judged white is not now admis- 
sible. Professor Hering in 1874 saw the failure of the Young-Helm- 
holtz theory in these two directions, and in a somewhat fragmentary 
fashion has developed one much more adequate. But the further 
progress of physiology and psychology has made the assumptions of 
Hering unlikely, and the newer facts do not fit naturally into his theory. 

New theories have naturally resulted, and one advocated by the 
authority and ability of Professor Ebbinghaus deserves especial atten- 
tion. Ebbinghaus begins with a searching criticism of the theories of 
v. Helmholtz and Hering. Against the Young-Helmholtz theory he 
points out especially the destructive testimony of the colorless spectrum 
of the completely color-blind and of the normal eye with faint illumi- 
nation. He also notices the failure of the more exact color-equations 
of Konig and Dieterici to coincide with the requirements of the theory. 
Against the theory of Hering he adduces experiments of his own, 
showing that the intensities of grays of different composition do not 
remain the same when the illumination is altered. Mrs. Franklin has 
also made this observation with pigments, and indeed it must be 
evident to any one who has made color-equations. The writer has 
known for many years that when an equation has been made for a 
given illumination both intensity and color become different when the 
illumination is altered, and this would indeed seem to be a necessary 
consequence of the Purkinje phenomenon described in 1825. Ebbing- 
haus also points out the difficulty in the way of assuming antagonistic 
processes of assimilation and dissimilation, and the failure of Hering's 
theory to account for the types of color-blindness. 

Ebbinghaus then proceeds to develop his own hypothesis. He 
identifies the visual purple or rod-pigment (Franklin's preferable name) 
of the retina with the ' blue-yellow ' substance of Hering, and assumes 
another pigment (' red-green ') complementary in objective color and 
present only in the cones whence their lack of color. A third ' white r 
substance, present throughout the retina, is not objectively visible. 
The dissimilation of the last-mentioned substance gives the white and 
gray sensations. These also accompany dissimilation of the other two 
substances, but such dissimilation is in addition accompanied by sensa- 
tions of color. In the case of the ' blue-yellow ' substance (the rod- 


pigment), for example, the first part of the process of dissimilation 
gives rise to the sensation of yellow and its final destruction to blue. 

Ebbinghaus thus follows Bonders (whose theory he does not 
mention) in substituting partial decomposition of the visual substances 
for the antagonistic processes of dissimilation and assimilation assumed 
by Hering. The supposition that sensations accompany processes of 
assimilation is certainly unlikely ; at the same time it must be allowed 
that this assumption does account for the neutralization of comple- 
mentary colors, whereas Ebbinghaus simply states that ' sie haben 
etwas Antagonistisches und storen sich gegenseitig.' His theory like 
that of v. Helmholtz exactly fails to explain the fact which makes a 
theory necessary. It is certainly an advantage to identify the hypo- 
thetical visual substance with a real physiological substance, but it 
seems that the alterations in sensation scarcely correspond with the 
known reactions of the rod-pigment. The correspondence of the 
objective colors of the rod-pigment with the complementary colors in 
sensation is not exact, and is more specious than convincing. Ebbing- 
haus' theory fits better than Hering's with the facts of intensity and 
color-blindness, but when Hering is convinced of the facts he can 
readily adjust his theory. 

This short notice cannot do justice to the careful working out of 
the details of criticism and construction which Ebbinghaus accom- 
plishes with German thoroughness and German * leisureliness.' The 
writer must, however, admit that he finds the theory less satisfactory 
than those of Wundt, Bonders, and Franklin. It should be remem- 
bered that in all cases assumptions are made which must be veri- 
fied by physiological research. All recent theories are, in spite of their 
names, not theories of color-vision, but hypotheses concerning the 
physiological processes which precede vision. So long as we are 
ignorant of these actual physiological processes the writer finds most 
satisfaction in assuming that the continuity of physical vibration is 
transmitted through the retina to the brain, where inertia, summation, 
and inhibition intervene to produce the changes which are correlated 
with consciousness. J. McK. C. 


An Experimental Study of Simultaneous Stimulations of the Sense of 
Touch. WILLIAM O. KROHN. Jour, of Nervous and Mental Bis- 
ease. March 1893. 

The writer, in connection with Mr. Bolton of Clark University, 
performed a series of experiments " to determine the relative sensitive- 


ness of different portions of the skin, to find the nature and direction 
of the errors in localization, and to study the influence of attention 
upon the localization and interpretation of the simultaneous touch 
stimulations." An investigation of the interesting problem of attention 
was also made, with especial reference to the question of how many 
sensations of touch the mind can attend to or grasp at one time. The 
effect of practice was also carefully examined. The touch stimuli were 
applied by means of small cork points attached to adjustable tambours, 
which were connected with a common air-chamber by means of separate 
pipes. Pressure brought to bear upon the confined air in the cham- 
ber caused the cork tips to touch the skin at various parts of the body 
synchronously, or practically so. Altogether about 2500 tests were 
made, perhaps the larger number upon students at the University of 

The following conclusions are substantiated as a result of these 
experiments. It was shown : (i) that the skin over the joints is more 
sensitive than elsewhere, permitting greater accuracy of localization ; 
(2) that touches on the back are more distinctly felt, more clearly 
remembered, and therefore better localized than touches on the front 
of the body ; (3) that on the left side touches are not so well local- 
ized as on the right side ; (4) that localizations are more correct 
when the touches occur at points removed from the median line 
touches on the median line being very poorly located ; (5) that ex- 
posed surfaces localize better than portions usually covered with cloth- 
ing ; (6) that piliferous parts are more sensitive ; (7) that errors in 
localization follow certain fixed rules ; (8) that the influence of atten- 
tion is very marked ; (9) that the effect of practice is plainly shown ; 
(10) that two pressure stimulations are often fused into one single sen- 
sation, localized at a point removed from either of those at which the 
stimulations were received ; (n) that there is a strong tendency to 
perceive dermal sensations of purely subjective origin ; (12) that 
bilateral asymmetry of function is plainly evident in dermal sensations. 
These experiments have opened a new and interesting field. 



An Experimental Study of Some of the Conditions of Mental Activity. 
JOHN A. BERGSTROM. Am. Jour. Psychology, vi. 247-274. Jan. 

Mr. Bergstrom's study is excellent reading for those who credit 
experimental psychologists with an overweening desire ' to make the 


facts agree with their theories,' since the thoroughness of the investi- 
gation is no more marked than the modest conservatism of the conclu- 
sions. The problem was the discovery of the * natural rhythm/ if 
there be one, of mental processes. The method consisted in the ac- 
curate timing of definite intellectual operations at different periods, 
about two hours apart, throughout the day and evening. The results, 
which are given in tabulated and in graphic form, include experiments 
on seven subjects of whom five were connected with the psychological 
department of Clark University : in all cases the daily routine was 
similar. The tested process, except in the case of one subject, con- 
sisted, in the first experiments, in sorting a pack of eighty cards, 
of eight distinct sorts, into ten piles. The experiments were continued 
through 17, u, n, 10, 8, and 5 days respectively, for different subjects ; 
they certainly show the existence of a ' natural rhythm ' of mental 
activity, but the periodicity is individual, not general. The most con- 
stant factor is the depression, shown by all the records except one, 
from morning to night. In the case of two subjects, Mr. Bergstrom 
compares the relative variation of different processes : reading, adding 
and multiplying numbers, and learning nonsense-syllables. The experi- 
ments show very slight changes, at different hours, for the simpler pro- 
cesses, and very striking variations for the more complex. Thus the 
mean averages of each test are 1.02, 1.55, 2.37, and 7.95 seconds re- 
spectively for the operations just named. A comparison of the 6 P.M. 
records after ' exciting physical exercise ' with those taken at 4 P.M. 
shows, in general, a relative stimulation of the simpler processes but, 
in most cases, a depression of the more difficult : in the records taken 
after walking, the difference is seldom observed. An observation of 
the rapidity of the pulse-rate, in connection with the different records, 
shows in one case a change from 71.3 to 53, while there was no change 
in the rate of the mental processes, so that ' mental activity can evi- 
dently not be said to vary with the pulse-rate.' 

In the second part of his paper Mr. Bergstrom tabulates and 
slightly enlarges the results of his earlier study (Am. Jour. Psych. , v. 3), 
and indicates the evident influence of the interference of associations, 
as shown in the averages of Ebbinghaus, for his eight memory-series, 
105, 140, 142, 146, 146, 148, 144, 140 seconds. 'The great increase of 
the second above the first and the slight difference afterwards ' accords 
exactly with Mr. Bergstrom's results, and is explained through the facts 
that the first series is always best learned, and that the effect of prac- 
tice later counterbalances that of interference. In conclusion Mr. 
Bergstrom considers cases of * surprising retardation ' in thought, such 
as persisting errors, and emphasizes the prominence of interference as 


an influence which hinders mental processes, and the significance of 
the inevitable decrease of interference as a negative explanation of the 
reassertion of the mental energy. The theory is not put forth as a 
complete one, but it is certainly far more credible than the usual 
hypotheses which attribute the recovery of the correct associations 
1 to unconscious cerebration, to summation of stimuli, or to rest.' 



1. La MJmoire des Joueurs d'Echecs qui jouent sans voir. A. BINET. 

2. La Psychologic des Auteurs Dramatiques. A. BINET et JACQUES 

PASSY. Revue Philosophique, Feb. 1894, 222-240. 

1. M. Binet, in announcing a forthcoming work on cases of extraor- 
dinary memory, reports as a specimen and as typical of the class to which 
they belong, the experiences of Dr. Tarrasch. T. plays from six to eight 
games at a time without sight of the board, and he here tells how he 
does it. His main reliance is on a very vivid imagination of the board 
and of the arrangement of the men. The board, which is persistently 
present during the play, is visualized in a small diagram of about 8 cm 
square, with the squares light and dark ; the men are visualized with 
something of color and form, but with no regard whatever to material. 
Next in importance is the power to recall the progress of the game, 
and here the memory is greatly aided in the case of a good game by 
the logical order of events. A third factor is the memory of words, 
e.g. of the judgments interiorly formulated at different points concern- 
ing the character of the play. The main thing in playing several games 
at once is to keep the games distinct. When the opponent's move for 
a particular game is first announced, it is often found necessary to 
recall deliberately how that game opened and to trace its history in 
detail to the point where the stated move becomes significant ; but as 
the games develop they get more clearly differentiated and such 
detailed reproduction becomes unnecessary. T. seems to have a good 
but nowise remarkable general memory ; in mental arithmetic he 
reports himself as distinctly deficient. 

2. The second article, designated as a study of the conditions of 
creative imagination, deals principally with the experiences of a com- 
paratively new author, M. de Curel. M. de Curel's method is to invent 
a situation suggesting a problem, and then to proceed at once to com- 
position. The problem is not worked out logically, but the play grows 
by a sort of 'crystallization': the original situation becomes very 

330 RHYTHM. 

likely changed in character and dramatic value, and the psychology 
only appears as an ' extract ' from the facts. The author writes rap- 
idly, the average time for a play being about three weeks. While com- 
posing, he hears his personages rather than sees them, having an 
especially vivid impression of the inflections of their voices as revela- 
tions of their character ; the scenes are those of real life, not those of 
representation on the stage. The most interesting feature of the 
author's state of mind while composing . its pronounced duality 
(dedoublemeni), approaching the morbid type. At first he is distinctly 
conscious of inventing his personages, and is interested in them and 
their fortunes ; later he becomes personally indifferent to their for- 
tunes, the characters are formed as it were within him, and express 
themselves, so far as their sentiments are concerned, while he, the 
author, maintains voluntary control of all the rest. As he himself puts 
it, he is for the time being ' completely in their skin,' his pen is, in a 
manner, ' moved ' by them, and even w) en writing is interrupted by a 
visit or conversation, the work of composition still goes on, ' because 
the interior personage continues his office.' The writers of the article 
find that M. de Curel alone of all the dramatists they have consulted 
exhibits this duality of consciousness in this form. They designate it as 
dedoublement reel as distinguished from de'doublement litteraire (where the 
author tries to obtain himself the sentiments of his characters in order 
to put them, with conscious art, into their mouths), and are surprised 
to find this mental * disaggregation,' which French psychologists have 
hitherto regarded as a symptom of weakness, in an author of such 
power. The investigation is worth continuing. The present writer 
knows of at least one novelist with whom something of the same sort 
happens, and is inclined to suspect that, allowing for some exaggeration 
in description, the phenomenon is not so altogether uncommon. Even 
M. de Curel is not completely possessed by his imaginary personages, 
for he admits that sometimes he mingles his sentiments with theirs 
and is obliged later to make the necessary corrections. 



Rhythm. THADDEUS L. BOLTON. American Journal of Psychology, 
vi. 145-238. Jan. 1894. 

About one third of this paper is devoted to a review of the rhythmic 
processes discernible in nature both inorganic and organic, and of their 
artistic application in music and poetry, with special reference to 


English verse of which several philosophies are cited. In the experi- 
mental investigation which follows, an attempt is made " to reduce 
rhythm to a more fundamental activity of mind." This task involves 
the solution of various problems, the first of which is to determine 
what the mind does with a series of simple auditory impressions abso- 
lutely uniform in intensity, pitch, quality, and time-interval. Such 
sounds are obtained from the telephone connected in an induction 
circuit, provided the primary circuit be broken at regular intervals 
when the secondary is closed, the secondary being open when the 
primary is closed. The breaks were effected by five arms fixed on the 
drum-shaft of a Wundt chronograph and playing upon ten keys, which, 
when pressed down, closed first the primary and then the secondary 
Circuit. By properly arranging the arms and using extra coils, a more 
intense click could be thrown in at will. 

" The subject was requested to group the sounds, not by voluntary 
effort, but only so far as it was found easy and spontaneous." The 
records of thirty observers are given, most of whom had some musical 
talent and training. A detailed protocol shows the effect of the click- 
intervals upon the grouping, and the various images suggested by the 
sounds. These interesting accounts would perhaps be easier to com- 
pare if the same intervals had been used for all the subjects. Wundt's 
statement that it is impossible to restrain the grouping absolutely is 
disproved by these results and explained by the variations in the 
metronome-beats which Dietze employed. On both points the author 
agrees with Schumann, though no reference is made to the Schumann- 
Wundt discussion. The conclusion drawn from the observations is 
that rhythmical grouping results from a sequence of acts of attention, 
in each of which the auditory impressions are so subordinated as to 
form a unit in consciousness. 

In determining the essential conditions for constituting this unity, 
the first step was to ascertain how many sounds might be grouped. 
One test was the ease and pleasure which the subject felt in grouping. 
It was found that rhythmical grouping takes place between a lower 
limit of 1.58 sec. and an upper limit of about 0.115 sec - I n nearly all 
the subjects there was a tendency to group by fours, the average length 
of the 4-group being 1.228 sec. For the 8-group, which was the 
highest tested, the average length was 1.16 sec. 

A second test was applied by giving, at different rates, first a series 
of uniform clicks, then a series in which every sixth click was accented, 
and finally one in which every eighth click was accented. The results 
agree closely with those obtained by the other test, and accentuation 
seems to make little or no difference. Comparison, however, of the 

332 RHYTHM. 

tables is not entirely satisfactory, as the record is complete for one 
subject only. 

The inherent nature of a rhythmical group was investigated by three 
methods. In the first place, the subject was asked how he grouped 
sounds of uniform intensity, and upon what sounds the accent, if any, 
was placed. The answers showed that in the 2-group the first sound 
was accented, and in the 3-group and 4-group the first and third 
sounds. In this case the first was stronger than the third. When a 
certain grouping was suggested, any other was found difficult or im- 

By the second method, a regularly recurrent set of sounds of differ- 
ent intensities was given, in order to see where the mind would most 
naturally divide them into rhythmical groups. Experiment proved that 
as a rule the group must have either a strong sound at the beginning or 
a weak one at the end ; but certain arrangements of the sounds con- 
flict with this principle. 

The third method, employed with special reference to poetical 
rhythms, consisted in varying the length of the sounds. By rotating 
a notched disk between a tuning-fork and its resonator, regular inter- 
ruptions were secured, the length of the sounds depending on the 
number of degrees covered by the notches. It was found that the 
longer sound, the most important element in the group, comes last, just 
as the most common foot in modern poetry is accented on the final 

The muscular movements and the associations which most observers 
noticed are, with Ribot, regarded as the conditions, not as the results, 
of rhythmical grouping. The pleasurable feelings that accompany 
certain intervals are due to the fact that the length of the group corre- 
sponds to the normal wave of attention. If the rate be much faster or 
much slower than this normal, there is neither pleasure nor organic 

The general principle is thus stated : " The conception of a rhythm 
demands a perfectly regular sequence of impressions within the limits 
of about i.o sec. and o.i sec. A member of the sequence may contain 
one or more simple impressions. If there are a number of impressions, 
they may stand in any order of arrangement, or even in a state of con- 
fusion, but each member of the sequence must be exactly the same in 
the arrangement of its elements." E. A. PACE. 




Jugement et Ressemblance. V. EGGER. Rev. Philos., XVIII An., Nos. 
8 et 9. 1893. 

All judgments are reducible to statements of identity, not to con- 
cepts. The concept does not contain the duplication that the state- 
ment of identity involves. Accordingly the commonly accepted theory 
is wrong in regarding judgments as analytical in the sense of being 
analyses of concepts. The concept does not contain the duplicating 
and identifying copula. The concept is but A, for example ; the 
judgment is A A, or A is A, or A is B, or A is b -f- <:, B and b -\- c 
simply being the analyzed A as attribute of itself. Of course the pro- 
cess of the concept is in the judgment, as from being a purely formal 
identification it passes into a definition ; but the concept does not 
afford an adequate account of the identification itself. 

Is the principle of identity a priori 1 Not at all. Psychology does 
not need even to harbor the Platonic realism that metaphysics exiled 
long ago. The natural forces of the mind, its most ordinary processes, 
offer a perfectly satisfactory explanation. 

In children judgments exist as unexpressed associations. Adults 
supply the implied is. The copula only names the association, the 
resemblance becoming object of a special consciousness. Judgments 
are stated associations of things similar. 

Judgments are never associations of things contiguous. Association 
by contiguity is not reducible to association by similarity. Contiguity 
in its proper character is without the is ; it belongs wholly within the 
terms that the is unites ; it is not an object of judgment, although it 
enters into thought as material of judgment. If objection be made 
that language, when similarity is really meant, uses some word of com- 
parison, saying, not A is B, but A is as B, the obvious reply is that 
A is B includes A is as B, as the abstract includes the concrete, by 
having outgrown it. 

As against Mill, whose 'verbal' and 'real' propositions are con- 
sidered at length, we are told that judgment does not affirm of two 
terms in relation their relation ; it affirms one term of another. 
A judgment of which the attribute or the subject is a relation is arti- 
ficial. Mill, with his interest in induction, was too much of an artist. 
For him as for Hamilton propositions were only so many words ; their 
conversion was only a purely verbal operation. Not relation, not con- 
tiguity, but similarity is the real object of the natural judgment. 

Judgment develops psychologically in these stages : (i) Subject and 


predicate both individual. This is that. But the that tends ever to 
become more general and abstract. Cf. the child's unexpressed asso- 
ciation of two concrete, individual things. (2) Subject individual, or 
distributive, or collective, but always quantified ; predicate, or attribute, 
abstract, not quantified. A substantive for subject, adjective for attri- 
bute. Cf. Aristotle's propositions ; also the theory of Remusat, who 
regarded subject and attribute irreducible. (3) Two substantives, 
second having place rather than role of attribute. Both subject and 
predicate quantified. Mathematical propositions, definitions. Cf. 
Hamilton. (4) Two attributes. Theoretically, neither term quantified. 
Cf. the propositions advocated by Stuart Mill, who tried to relegate 
quantification to the copula. Natural language does not recognize 
these propositions ; they are contrary to the habits of the mind. 
Indeed, natural language recognizes judgment only as in the second 
and third stages. 

The form in the third stage is really a return to the first. As to the 
distinction in consciousness between subject and attribute, a distinc- 
tion that is sharpest in the second stage, the judgment, by bringing 
together the two extremes of thought, the subject as extensive with 
intension implicit and the predicate as intensive with extension implicit, 
only shows their psychological continuity. The judgment is language's 
way of representing the class, or concept, as a collective idea becoming 
abstract, language being able to express this becoming only through the 
use of the extremes. A. H. LLOYD. 



Zur Theorie der cerebralen Schreib- und Lesestorungen. R. SOMMER. 
Zeitsch. f. Psychol., v. 305-322. 1893. 

Sommer observed a 6o-year-old peasant, who a year and a half 
before had had an apoplectic attack with resulting paralysis of right 
arm and leg. Paralysis disappeared after two weeks. Loss of ability 
to recognize certain letters and words remained, other letters being 
permanently recognizable, and still others intermittently so. Sommer's 
chief conclusions from this case are these : 

Ability to read cannot be explained as result of recognition of let- 
ters and ability to retain their sounds in memory. The combination 
of sound-series into words is a psychologically separate function, with- 
out, however, a separate brain-centre. Such combination depends 
possibly on the ability to think the sounds in succession so rapidly 
that they unite into a word. It occurs in case of partial letter-alexia 
that the letters which can be recognized cannot be written to dicta- 

NOTES. 335 

tion. On the other hand, in writing to dictation, characters can be 
produced which cannot be recognized in reading. Moreover, coupled 
with almost complete inability to write down letters to dictation 
occurs the ability to write certain connected words. This proves that 
the presence in consciousness of the sounds corresponding to the 
singly produced letters is not absolutely necessary. The writer takes 
occasion also to answer some criticisms of his recent ' Zur Psychologic 
der Sprache' (Zeitsch. fiir Psych, n. 143). E. B. DELABARRE. 



Basal Concepts in Philosophy. A. T. ORMOND. New York, Scribners, 
1894. Pp. viii, 308. 

Practical Lessons in Psychology. WILLIAM O. KROHN. Chicago, The 
Werner Company, 1894. Pp. 402. 

Geschichte der neueren deutschen Psychologic, i. Bd. Von Leibnitz bis 
Kant. MAX DESSOIR. Berlin, Duncker, 1894. M. 13.50. 

Pleasure, Pain, and ^Esthetics. HENRY RUTGERS MARSHALL. New 
York, Macmillan & Co., 1894. $3. 

Art in Theory : an Introduction to the Study of Comparative ^Esthetics. 
G. L. RAYMOND. New York, Putnams, 1894. Pp. xviii, 266. 

Social Evolution. BENJAMIN KIDD. New York and London, Mac- 
millan & Co., 1894. Pp. 348. 

Some Applications of Logical and Psychological Principles to Grammar. 
PETER MAGNUS MAGNUSSON. Minneapolis, University of Minne- 
sota, 1893. Pp. 125. 

Les Jmules de Darwin. A. DE QUATREFAGES. Bibliotheque scient. 
internat., 2 vols. 1894. 

Zur Analyse des Apperceptionsbegriffs. J. KODIS. Berlin, 1893. 

L' action. Essai d'une critique de la vie et d'une science de la pratique. 
M. BLONDEL. Paris, Alcan, 1893. Pp. xxv, 495. 

Les caracteres. FR. PAULHAN. Paris, Alcan, 1894. Pp. xii, 274. 

Nypnotismus und Suggestion. M. BENEDIKT. Wien, Breitenstein, 1894. 
M. 2. 


Messrs. Macmillan & Co. have published The Proceedings of the 
American Psychological Association (29 pp., 25 cts.). This contains 
accounts of the Preliminary Meeting (1892) at Clark University, the 
First Annual Meeting (1892) at the University of Pennsylvania, and 
the Second Annual Meeting (1893) at Columbia College. The Pro- 
ceedings include short abstracts of the papers read (twelve at the first 

336 NOTES. 

meeting and fifteen at the second), many of which have not as yet 
been published elsewhere. 

The University Press of Columbia College will publish a series 
of contributions to Philosophy, Psychology, and Education under the 
editorial supervision of the instructors in the department. These 
contributions will consist of dissertations and monographs too long or 
too technical for publication in existing reviews. 

Messrs. D. C. Heath & Co. have published part of a Laboratory 
Course in Psychology by Dr. SANFORD, Assistant Professor of Psychol- 
ogy in Clark University. The part issued (pp. 183) gives instructions 
for experiments on the senses with full bibliographies. 

M. BINET announces the appearance next year of a new Annte 
Psychologique, which will contain " resumes of psychological literature 
appearing in all countries during the year." The subscription (price 
5 fr.) may be sent in advance to him at the Laboratoire de psychologic, 
Sorbonne, Paris. 

M. BINET is also on the point of issuing (in April) an Introduction 
a la psychologic experimental. 

Professor LLOYD MORGAN is preparing for the Contemporary 
Science Series a work entitled ' An Introduction to Comparative Psy- 
chology,' some extracts from which are included in an article in the 
April number of The Monist. 

Professor JODL of the University of Prague announces a Lehrbuch 
der Psychologic to appear in 1895. 

In January the first number of a new monthly, Rivista di pedagogia 
e scienze affine, was published by G. B. Paravia e Comp., Rome. The 
review is edited by Professor SERGI with the co-operation of the 
leading Italian writers on pedagogy. 

Professor SERGI has in press a volume on Pain and Pleasure, which 
is the first part of a systematic treatise on psychology. 

Professor LIPPS of Bonn has accepted a call to the chair at Munich 
vacated by the removal of Professor Stumpf to Berlin. 

Professor PAULSEN has been promoted to a full professorship at 
Berlin, and Dr. KULPE to an assistant professorship at Leipzig. 

The present number of THE PSYCHOLOGICAL REVIEW is somewhat 
enlarged. Between six and seven hundred pages will be printed 
annually, but the prompt publication of articles and reviews can be 
best secured by varying somewhat the size of the separate numbers. 

VOL. I. No. 4. JULY, 1894. 



cok des Hautes-tudes , Paris. 

I use this phrase to designate a group of facts which have 
not yet been studied methodically, but which have been cited 
by many authors and described in different words. These 
facts consist of illusions or hallucinations of orientation, which 
arise spontaneously either when we waken in the darkness of 
night, or during the day when awake. These illusions do not 
appear to be experienced by a great number of persons, as is 
shown by the fact that nearly all the individuals whom I have 
questioned for a long time have not been able to discover in 
their past experience any instance of this * reversal ' of orienta- 

The first indication which I find is in a letter of Henry 
Forde, published in Nature (Aug. 17, 1873) following a commu- 
nication of Darwin published in the same journal (Apr. 3, 1873). 
The following is Forde's letter: " In the wild parts of the state 
of West Virginia even the most experienced hunters who fre- 
quent the woody mountains of this wild region are subject to 
a kind of shock, so that they suddenly lose their heads and 
leel that they are going in a direction directly contrary to that 
which they intended to follow. It is useless for their compan- 
ions to reason with them and show them the position of the 
sun. Nothing can conquer this feeling, which is accompanied 
by a great nervousness and by a general sensation of distress 
and of uncertainty. The nervousness comes only after the 
seizure, and is not the cause of it." 

* Le Rcnvcrsement de V Orientation. 



These observations are also cited in an article of M. Viguier,* 
who has added no personal contributions. I myself have pub- 
lished some observations upon this point in Mind (1884), m an 
article entitled Vertigo of Direction. This title is very inexact 
since there is never produced, at least to my knowledge, an illu- 
sion of a movement of objects, or a true feeling of vertigo. 
Again, M. Flournoy, in his recent work Les Synopsies (p. 188), 
speaks incidentally of these phenomena, which he has observed 
in himself at the moment of waking. " Who has not happened," 
says he, " to waken in the darkness of the night with the curious 
idea that the room is turned in some way. We recall our- 
selves, and know certainly that we are lying in bed with the 
right side toward the wall, and in spite of this we feel that we 
have the wall to the left and the room to the right and are 
amazed at the tenacity of this illusion, which remains for many 
seconds in spite of reason ; until, extending the arms, the con- 
tact with the wall causes it suddenly to vanish and brings the 
mental images back to their proper position. It is to be pre- 
sumed that this reversal at awakening from sleep is due to the 
prolongation of a dream in which one has thought himself in 
another chamber." 

I may now report the observations which I have collected.f 
I shall follow these by my personal observations, and then re- 
view the whole by presenting a general description of the phe- 
nomena in question. 


(By H. BEAUNIS, Professor in the Faculty of Medicine at Nancy ; Director of the 
Laboratory of Psychology at Paris.) 

" Formerly I often made the trip from Paris to Nancy, and each 
time I observed in myself the following illusion, very difficult to de- 
scribe in a way to make it easily comprehensible to the reader. On leav- 
ing Paris I had, as every one has, a sensation of going in a definite 
direction ; in other words, the direction of my passive movement sus- 
tained a definite relation to the landscape which the train traversed. 

* The Sense of Orientation and its Organ in Animals and Men (Rev. Phil., July 

f These observations have been collected among my immediate associates: 
they come from persons whom I see daily, whom I have long known, and iawhom 
I place all confidence. All these persons have habits of close observation. 


This sensation remained the same, fixed, until at a short distance from 
Nancy. Then suddenly, at a given instant, at the moment when I 
turned my eyes to the landscape, I had the sensation of a sudden 
change of direction, or rather I had a clear sensation that the relation 
of the landscape to the direction of my passive movement had suddenly 
changed. I cannot better express the sensation which I felt than by 
the expression ' being turned around ' (renversement). It seemed to me 
that the landscape turned itself about, and that I travelled in a direc- 
tion opposite to that which I followed on leaving Paris. This sensa- 
tion was produced equally whether I rode forward or backward. I 
was living at that time in Nancy very near to the railroad, a little in 
front of the station ; and the sensation of being turned around was pro- 
duced only when I reached a region which was entirely familiar to me. 

" This sensation was not produced when I made the journey in the 
opposite direction, i.e., from Nancy to Paris. It was not caused when 
I travelled from Nancy to Strassburg or from Strassburg to Nancy a 
journey which I seldom made, however. 

" The principal point of explanation, in my opinion, is that the sense 
of being turned around was produced only when I entered a region in 
which the smallest details, the roads, the houses, the gardens, etc., were 
familiar to me ; and at the precise moment when I laid my eyes on 
this landscape. I have at different times tried to hold my eyes fixed 
on the landscape for a long enough time to see whether and by what 
means this sensation would be produced. But fatigue very soon obliged 
me to withdraw my gaze, and fix it upon the immovable parts of the 
interior of the car ; and the sensation appeared only at the moment 
when my eyes moved from the car to the landscape. 

" A further explanation is this, that, owing to the location of the two 
stations at Paris and Nancy, the train in starting from Paris goes from 
south to north, while at the arrival at Nancy it is directed from north 
to south (approximately). It is possible that this change of direction 
impresses me only when I arrive at a region all the details of which are 
known. I should add that my faculty of orientation is not well 

We remark that M. Beaunis, in trying to describe the im- 
pression felt, has used precisely the word (retournemenf) employed 
by Forbes, although he had no knowledge of the description 
of the latter. M. Beaunis cannot explain the illusion. He 
states that it is always produced in the same external condi- 
tions, during a railroad journey and at the arrival of the train 
at a certain place. 



(By M. JACQUES PASSY, Chemist.) 

This second observer gives to the phenomena the name of 
disorientation, i.e., not a total loss of sense of direction. We 
shall see that it deals with precisely the same illusion, although 
the conditions in which it is produced are different. 

" I clearly recall three cases of disorientation, together with the 
cause which produced them. But the effect has been produced 
oftener, perhaps nine or ten times altogether, without my having 
remembered the details. In general, I possess a good enough sense of 
direction; for it guides me in dense woods or in Paris. I also remem- 
ber very well the names and appearance of streets. 

" I was proceeding toward the Latin quarter, and had to cross the 
Rue de Reine, with the Mont Parnassus station on the right, the Boule- 
vard St. Germain station on the left; and I proceeded with the idea of 
coming to the Rue de Reine. Probably lost in thought, I crossed this 
street without perceiving it. I continued my way persuaded that I had 
it before me. At the end of some moments, not recognizing where I 
was, I retraced my steps, reading the names of the streets. I came to 
the Rue de Reine with the station on the left, the boulevard on the 
right. My confusion was extreme, and I found myself for some time 
in a state of complete disorientation, and unable to comprehend the 
situation. This state did not at all resemble that which is produced 
in an unknown place in a forest, for example, where one has gone 
astray and does not know where he is. Here you know very well 
where you are. You have a very clear sense of direction and you 
know perfectly where things ought to be; only this direction and this 
place are just the opposite of their real position. The station of Mont 
Parnassus ought to be on the right, and I did not understand why I did 
not see it there. What we have then in this particular case is a com- 
pletely false orientation. All the objects and streets occupy positions 
exactly opposite to those which they should. When you recognize 
the objects you realize that you are under an illusion, but the 
illusion does not disappear. I remember that while a child, return- 
ing home one day from the Bois de Boulogne, 1 asserted to those 
who went with me that we were following a road exactly opposite 
to the right direction, and I found the direction which they forced 
me to take absurd to such a degree that I wanted to cry, and my 
error disappeared only when near the house. At the end of a 
certain period of conflict, three or four minutes perhaps, the illusion 


disappeared. And when it disappeared for one street or one object, 
it disappeared for all. I could then immediately take the road and 
direct myself correctly. Further, the same illusion is produced in 
identical conditions. I crossed, in the same way, the Boulevard Sebas- 
topol without perceiving it, and the illusion was of exactly the same 

" Very lately, coming from the Place de la Republique, I went to 
a house situated about the middle of the left side of the Rue de Temple. 
The person whom I went to see lived in a court with many entries. 
My visit ended, I started to go out, when, all at once, instead of taking 
the right to return to the Place de la Republique, I took the left toward 
the Hotel de Ville. How did I realize my mistake ? Whether it was 
a simple distraction, or whether I had lost in the court the sense of 
direction, or had simply not recalled whether the house was on the right 
or on the left, I do not know. It is certain that while on my way I 
felt sure of meeting the Place de la Republique. Thus my confusion 
was extreme on coming to the Hotel de Ville. As before, I was some 
moments in recognizing it. Then I recognized the Hotel de Ville, 
without destroying the illusion. It disappeared, however, very quickly, 
and, I think, like the others, when I understood the cause of my 

"In all the cases that I have cited, the imaginary direction was 
exactly opposite to the real direction. I do not recall having an im- 
pression of a direction at right angles to the real direction. We often 
learn of errors arising from failure to estimate angles ; but these easily 
rectify themselves without giving place to anything which resembles 
vertigo, of which I have just cited three cases." 


(By M. VICTOR HENRI, Student of Science.) 

I now record two observations of exactly the same kind as 
those which precede. The details alone are different. I attach 
particular importance to them because they come from a man 
who has the habit of analysis. 

"First Observation. In the month of September, 1893, I went 
with some people to the bridge of Austerlitz to take the boat and go 
either to Charenton or to Auteuil. This had not been decided on 
beforehand. On coming to the bridge we decided to go to Auteuil, and 
we took the boat on the left side of the Seine. The boat was turned 
in the direction of Charenton. We sat down in the cabin at the back 
of the boat. I did not notice how the boat was turned. In passing 


before the church of Notre Dame I saw it, for the first time, through 
the cabin-windows. I had a strange feeling akin to astonishment. I 
looked again and again, as if I did not see well, or as if I did not 
believe what I did see; for it seemed to me we were going in the direc- 
tion of Charenton and not to Auteuil. When I was not looking through 
the window it seemed as if we were going to Charenton. Looking out, 
I was obliged to admit that I was deceived. It is a very painful 
feeling. When I went outside I saw with astonishment that the Palais 
de Justice was on the left and not on the right. When I descended 
into the cabin the illusion disappeared. 

" Second Observation. (Made on the morning of January i, 1894.) 
In my chamber the bed is in front of the window. I have to lie on my 
left side to see the window. The curtains are thick and let in very little 
light. In the evening I lay on my left side, and do not recall having 
turned during the night. I slept well. In the morning I awoke, 
opened my eyes, tried to see if it was day, and looked fixedly before 
me so as to see the window. But I could see nothing at all, not a trace 
of light. Then, suddenly ', I had the vague feeling that something was 
wrong, only I knew not what. I said to myself, ' I am lying on my 
right side: the door is there [I indicated the opposite direction], so that 
I ought to see the window before me; but I do not see it.' Then I 
made a movement with my hand and touched the wall. I felt it with 
astonishment, recognizing that I was very much deceived. Turning, I 
saw the window on the other side, and felt at the same moment that I 
had deceived myself as to the direction of the door. During the night 
I had turned over without knowing it. The result was the same, 
therefore, as if the bed had been turned 180." 


(M. PHILIPPE, Chief Assistant in the Psychological Laboratory at Paris.) 

This observation differs from the preceding in that the illu- 
sion of direction which is here described is not relative to the 
objects present, but to objects represented in memory. 

" When I think of a place, a street, a monument in Lyons, I myself 
being at Paris, I picture to myself a map of Lyons turned around. A 
certain side of Lyons is nearest to Paris, that by which I enter Lyons 
in going as the crow flies from Paris to Lyons. I invariably picture 
Lyons in such a way that the wrong part of it is brought around in the 
direction of Paris. . . . This habit of orientation takes such hold upon 
me that prefer to arrive in Lyons at the depot on the side which I 


picture toward Paris, although the other depot would be more con- 


(M. COURTIER, Demonstrator in the Psychological Laboratory at Paris.) 

In the .following observation the illusion is very slight and 
it is not certain that it is of the same kind as the others. 

" One night I took the train from Rouen to Paris. At the end of 
a half-hour I fell asleep. At Vernon I suddenly awoke and, going 
out, walked a few moments on the platform of the station. After 
entering the car again I had the sensation of returning to Rouen. It 
seemed as if I were going away from Paris, although I took the same 
seat. There were at the station, the instant when I descended, two 
trains from opposite directions; and although I had not crossed the 
track, and although I did not think I had crossed it, I asked myself 
for one or two minutes whether I had not been deceived in the train. 
I was somewhat anxious, and found it necessary to ask my neighbors 
as to the fact. When I had been assured that we were going toward 
Paris, the illusion still persisted for some minutes. It was half -past 
nine in the evening and very dark. I have made this trip a hundred 
times in ten years, and have suffered the illusion but this once." 


(By M. P. THLOHAN, Chief of the Histological Laboratory at the College de France.) 

" I have often felt complete change of direction on the railroad or 
in a carriage. It has been generally on waking from a more or less 
profound sleep, or after some degree of drowsiness, that I have had 
this illusion. For example, being asleep in the car, I was at a given 
moment awakened by the arrival of the train at a station, and by the 
noise in the depot. Then sleep began to seize me. The departure of 
the train caused an awakening more or less complete, and it then 
seemed to me that the direction of the journey was absolutely changed. 
I remember very clearly having had under these conditions a moment 
of very disagreeable anxiety, of real pain. It was only after some 
moments that, after thoroughly waking, I recognized my error, by com- 
paring the relative situations of the different objects." 

This observation seems to be comparable with those of 
MM, Beaunis and Courtier. 



(By M. ROBB, Bachelor of Science.) 

Although very succinct, this observation puts before us very 
tersely the fact that during the derangement of orientation we 
may cease for a moment to recognize familiar objects. 

" One day I was going toward the Rue Royale from the side of the 
Rue de Provence. At the Madeleine, instead of going to the left as I 
should have done, I turned to the right. Reaching the Rue Tronchet, 
I did not recognize either the street or the gate of the Madeleine. Two 
or three minutes passed before I discovered that I had taken the Wrong 


(By M. PORTIER, Demonstrator in Physiology at the Sorbonne.) 

This curious observation suggests that of M. Philippe. 

" I arrived for the first time at Croisic one morning at break of day. 
I had slept in the train on leaving St. Nazaire, and it was only a few 
moments before arriving at Croisic that I was wakened by the voice of 
one of my travelling-companions. He showed us the sea just coming 
into view in the distance. It was at this moment that from the direc- 
tion of the river (only a small part of which I saw) and from the gen- 
eral direction of the railroad I deduced the direction of the north and 
the sea. I left the train with this orientation. Croisic is situated on 
a peninsula, so that in going through the town and its surrounding coun- 
try I often saw the sea in different directions. I then chose uncon- 
sciously that one of the directions which coincided with the orientation 
which had been established in my mind at the moment I left the train. 
I repeated this many times, visiting Croisic and its surroundings, and 
comparing everything with this orientation. I discovered that this was 
false by seeing a boat start out from the pier for a certain destination 
which I thought lay in quite the opposite direction. 

" By means of a compass I corrected the error. During the rest of 
my stay at Croisic I had two very distinct orientations: the first, the 
false one, which had imposed itself on my mind, persisted in spite of 
me; and the second, the true one, which I found only at certain 
moments thereafter by reflection with a marked effort of will. When 
I was in the streets of the town or in a house, I suffered no annoyance 
from this fact; but when I made an excursion into the surrounding 
country, or when some one mentioned to me the name of a distant 


place, Belle-Isle, England, New York, I suffered very great inconven- 
ience in representing the place to myself in its true situation. This an- 
noyance, this indefinable distress, slightly comparable to that which 
one suffers when dizzy, persisted during the whole time of my stay at 
Croisic (about a month and a half). This state left an impression in 
my mind so disagreeable that now, whenever I arrive in a place which 
I do not know, I take care to orientate myself properly." 

M. Portier, in trying to show by a sketch the false orienta 
tion of which he speaks, compared to the true, finds that they 
are not exactly the reverse of each other, but show a relative 
displacement of from 60 to 100. 


(By the Author.) 

I have had these illusions of direction for a number of years. 
The first which I remember dates from 1876; and as lately as 
three weeks ago (March 1894) I experienced it again. I have 
taken note of about a dozen different cases which have occurred 
to me all very similar. From 1880 to 1882 I often visited the 
Louvre and became quite familiar with the halls of painting 
and sculpture. But I have never taken pains to keep my 
direction in these rooms, and have made very many dttours to 
right and left ; so that, regularly, at the end of a quarter of an 
hour I lose the sense of direction entirely. The majority of 
the rooms receiving their light from above, or being lighted 
by windows opening into an interior court, one has very few in- 
dications from which to get one's direction. Further, I was care- 
ful not to keep any direction, my attention being concentrated 
upon the works of art. Now in these conditions this is what I 
observed on one occasion. By chance my walk brought me 
into a hall of which the windows opened upon the Quai de 
Seine, known to be on the right. I approached the window in 
order to look at the Quai a moment, and then suddenly I had 
a feeling of ' reversal.' I saw the Seine rolling before me from 
left to right ; but it seemed quite wrong, for in the position in 
which I found myself the Seine ought, as I thought, to roll in 
the opposite direction : the landscape seemed to be turned 
around. This was a common experience. Often, after several 
intervening days, I have felt this particular illusion reproduce 


itself, accompanied by a painful sensation. Then I ceased to 
frequent the Louvre, and I did not have another opportunity 
to observe this. A year ago I tried it again. Going to the 
museum I made no effort to keep my direction, and at the end 
of an hour of walking approached a window opening upon the 
Quai de Seine, but the illusion was not produced. 

About eight months ago (August 1893) I went to walk with 
my family in the forest of Fontainebleau. We abandoned the 
roads and turned into the woods to observe the lake (Mare des 
Marches). The sun was hidden by foliage, the atmosphere was 
obscure, and we had no known point of reference from which 
to get our direction. But we had left the road at a crossing 
where two roads met, one of which goes off to the Bois-le-Roi, 
and the other to the Corbuisson. These two roads intersect 
at a little less than a right angle, and, as we knew that the 
Mare des Marches occupied a region situated approximately 
equidistant from the two roads, we followed, in a straight line, 
the bisectrix of the angle formed by these two routes. At 
the end of a rather long walk which lasted nearly a half-hour, 
we came to a road without a guide-post no indication of any 
sort. We found that this road ran into another on our right. 
We then discussed our position ; one lady and myself express- 
ing the opinion that the route continued to the right and 
ended at the Corbuisson, and we thought we could recognize 
the latter in the distance. Our conviction on this subject came 
from the idea that while we were walking through the woods 
we had followed a straight line, having the Corbuisson at our 
right and the Bois-le-Roi on the left. One lady of the com- 
pany thought, on the contrary, that we had not walked in a 
straight line through the woods, but that we had described a 
semicircle toward the left, and the road followed to the right, 
would lead to the Bois-le-Roi. Two other persons, gentleman 
and lady, had no opinion. Testing the matter we found the 
road on the right to be the Bois-le-Roi. My lady companion 
and myself were therefore entirely wrong ; but after verifying 
our position the illusion persisted. We could not drive out 
the idea that the Bois-le-Roi was occupying the position where 
the Corbuisson ought to be. Even to-day when I take this walk, 
I imagine the direction to be as I first conceived it, although 


I know now that it is wrong; and it is only as I go on that, 
little by little, the sight of familiar objects corrects my error. 

Several years ago I went one evening to attend a con- 
ference in the mayor's house at Neuilly. I then lived at 
Neuilly, and my road in coming back was to take the avenue 
which runs from the Pont de Neuilly to the Arc de Tri- 
omphe. In returning along this avenue, after leaving the 
mayor's house, I had a clear sense of being turned around. 
On coming into the avenue I had the Arc de Triomphe on my 
left hand and the Pont de Neuilly on my right. It seemed to 
me that as if by a stroke of a magic wand the Arc de Triomphe 
and the bridge had changed places. The illusion was accom- 
panied by a very disagreeable feeling of distress a state carry- 
ing with it a slight degree of stupor, as is expressed by the 
English word amazement. If I had been alone I do not know 
that I should have been able to find my way. The illusion 
disappeared by degrees, and, once over, I tried in vain to 
reproduce it in memory. This case impressed me very much, 
and I immediately wrote a description of it. It is exactly as 
if the world turned around with a man as a centre : when he 
opens his eyes he finds all the articles in his room displaced 
1 80 by rotation. 

The two following examples of this illusion contain each a 
very interesting particular. In an omnibus in Paris about four 
months ago I thought I recognized my terminus in the dis- 
tance, a station situated in a street which ran toward the 
Seine. I was deceived. The street in question looked 
toward the west. I thought, therefore, that the street which 
looked toward the east did really look toward the Seine: 
an error of 90, and not of 180 as in the earlier cases. 

Tuesday, March 21, I took the omnibus of the Odon to 
St. Sulpice. It was eight o'clock in the evening. I sat in the 
back on the right, so that the horses were on my right hand. 
When the omnibus arrived in the Rue de Richelieu I was 
conscious of a gradual turning of objects about me. Then I 
had the feeling perfectly distinct that the omnibus was going 
in the opposite direction (i.e., away from the Boulevard des 
Italiens, which is at right angles to the Rue de Richelieu). I 
was only a moment under this illusion. I was not the dupe of 


it, because I knew very well that the omnibus could not have 
taken the opposite direction without my perceiving it. I was 
very calm, and having been studying this phenomenon for 
some months I was very glad to get it again. I can now make 
this illusion artificially by thinking a moment of the state of 
the omnibus. Further I find myself incapable when I go back 
to it in thought, of imagining the omnibus going in the right 
direction. I find myself again in exactly the same mental 
situation, and I again experience the same illusion without 
being able to correct it. To continue the account : I descended 
with my friends to the station of the Boulevard des Italiens, 
and we were directed toward the Theatre du Vaudeville on 
this street. To this day, although I am perfectly acquainted 
with this quarter, I am no longer able to keep the direction of 
the Vaudeville. When I think of a certain point in our jour- 
ney, the illusion returns. I recall a magazine of arms illumi- 
nated by electric light ; and I again see it with the false 
localization which I attributed to it then. The illusion dis- 
appeared little by little, without my losing consciousness 
of what was going on in me. I have not been able to 
understand how the rectification was made, yet I feel myself 
capable not only of reproducing the illusion, but of repro- 
ducing the rectification. On arriving before the Vaudeville, 
things were readjusted after a moment. The illusion had 
lasted in all nearly three minutes. It did not appear again for 
the rest of the evening nor the next day. 

I have reported this observation at considerable length 
because it is the second instance in which the illusion of orien- 
tation was produced while the body remained unmoved. I 
was seated immovable in the omnibus for about a quarter of 
an hour: that is, I did not change my seat. This case then 
recalls that of M. Beaunis. 

It remains to attempt some explanation. As all the obser- 
vations have clearly indicated, the illusion rests upon the 
orientation of objects. One observes upon his right, for exam- 
pie, the objects which, the actual position of the body of the 
observer being given, ought to be on the left ; or one perceives 
before him objects which should be behind. This is the basis 
of the illusion in all the observations which we have recounted. 


We can distinguish three cases: (i) normal orientation in 
which the points of reference recognized confirm the former 
sense of direction ; (2) disorientation one has no sense of 
direction at all, and if he meets a familiar point of reference he 
accepts it and orientates himself properly ; (3) inexact orien- 
tation one meets a point of reference, finds it in contradiction 
with his earlier system ; the false system persists, even though 
he knows it to be false, just as an illusion persists. This last 
is the case now under discussion. 

As to the force of the illusion, the experiences are slightly 
varied. Sometimes the illusion is relatively slight, and one 
recognizes familiar objects and is conscious of the contradic- 
tion between the two directions suggested. In one of my own 
cases, however, the illusion is so vivid that one has difficulty in 
recognizing objects well known and familiar. The illusion is 
accompanied almost always by distress and anxiety. 

Generally the illusion is equivalent to the effect of a rota- 
tion of 1 80, and that is why most writers compare their 
impressions to a turning or 'reversal.' But we have cited 
two cases in which the reversion of objects appeared to be 
only 90. The illusion appears in the most diverse circum- 
stances : in the waking state, after a walk, or during rest on 
the railroad, boat, or omnibus. The active movements of the 
body are not, then, necessary for the illusion. The most 
important thing to consider is that the illusion can be led up 
to by conscious or unconscious judgments. In one of the 
observations of M. Passy we have a very striking example of 
it : in coming from the Bon March he had to cross the Rue 
de Rennes ; he was consequently convinced that by crossing 
this road he would have the Mont Parnassus station on his 
right. It was this false orientation by reasoning which im- 
posed itself upon him in spite of the contradiction of facts, and 
created the illusion. And the same explanation appears to be 
suitable for one of the cases which I report that of the forest 
of Fontainebleau and equally to the case of M. Portier. 
Perhaps the remark which M. Beaunis makes in regard to the 
stations at Nancy and Paris may explain his illusion. In other 
circumstances we may suppose, with some appearance of truth, 
that the subject has made a subconscious or even quite uncon- 


scious orientation of objects, and that it is this which, when 
brought into conflict with actual perceptions, produces the 
illusion. Thus M. Henri, not perceiving that the boat had 
turned, unconsciously orientated the objects about him as if the 
boat which carried him had been moved only in a straight 
line. What was curious in this case was that the observer 
took no pains to orientate himself. The orientation was 
made automatically, while he was occupied with something 
entirely different. We can, by hypothesis, extend the same 
explanation to my personal case in the Louvre, supposing that 
during my promenades in the halls I had made an unconscious 
orientation of the objects. I localized the north in such a 
direction without thinking of it, and when I looked out of the 
window I was seized with the sense of its incorrectness. But 
there are cases in which the illusion appears suddenly, without 
any one being able to give account of the mode of production 
(for example, my personal case last cited, that of M. Thelohan, 
etc.). The anxiety which accompanies the illusion is explained 
by its gravity ; it extends to the relation of all objects to the 
body. It has been remarked, and I think very justly, that the 
state of anxiety follows the illusion and does not produce it. 

We still need to know whether the illusion is produced or 
not by a particular derangement of one sense-organ possibly 
the semicircular canals of the inner ear. In experimental studies 
that have been made on the sensation of vertigo, no one has, 
to my knowledge, produced such illusions of the orientation 
of objects. The question is interesting and certainly deserves 
more study.* 

* Translated from the author's MS. by J. N. Dodd, Fellow of Princeton 


Yale University. 

There are not a few problems in experimental psychology 
and some of these by no means the least interesting and im- 
portant which require no apparatus and comparatively little 
expenditure of time. Among such, one was brought promi- 
nently to my notice several years ago while endeavoring to 
discover how far visual dreams depend upon the arrangement 
of the light- and color-spots in the retinal field. (See Mind, 
Second Series, No. i.) As, at first, an incidental affair, I then 
found out that their arrangement could, in my case at least, be 
brought under control of the will. This power grew rather 
rapidly with continued practice. That is to say, I was soon 
able, by attentively willing for perhaps some three to five 
minutes, to cause a cross, or a circle, or two concentric circles, 
or some other simple figure, to appear in the retinal field. 

I have recently been experimenting with a class of sixteen 
advanced students three seniors and the remainder graduate 
students to see whether this power of control over the retinal 
field is at all common. The results have been exceedingly 
interesting and, in some respects at least, decisive. Let it be 
understood that all these experimenters understood the prob- 
lem perfectly well and, having studied psychology from two 
to six years, were quite competent to answer it intelligently. 
What they were asked to do was briefly this : to close the 
eyes, allow the after-images completely to die away, and then 
persistently and attentively to will that the color-mass caused 
by the Eigenlicht should take some particular form, a cross 
being most experimented with. They were to notice the 
effects of time and fatigue, and were also to see whether the 



color as well as the form of the object thus willed was at all 
under control. It should be borne in mind that here was no 
question of the effects merely of imagination, or of visual hal- 
lucinations projected into space. The primary question was, 
Can the retinal sensations which arise with the eyes closed and 
motionless be made to respond to volition with respect to the form 
and color which they assume ? 

The results obtained were as follows : Of the sixteen per- 
sons experimenting with themselves, four only reported no 
success ; nine had a partial success which seemed to increase 
with practice and which they considered undoubtedly de- 
pendent directly upon volition ; and with the remaining three 
the success was marked and really phenomenal. It should be 
said, however, that of the four who reported 'no success/ 
only one appears to have tried the experiment at all per- 

The nature of the partial success attained by nine of the 
class can best be understood by quoting from my notes of the 
reports made to me. Miss C. at first had no success at all. 
But by persistent trying, lines corresponding to the limbs of a 
cross began to appear in the retinal field ; and once she got a 
complete cross. This experimenter thinks that her failure at 
first was largely due to looking too near ; for several times, 
after she had tried in vain for some minutes, the limbs of the 
cross would suddenly start up in the distance, as it were. 
Miss C n succeeded two or three times in getting the verti- 
cal bar of a cross which would remain for a second or two, 
then scatter, and then gather again. Mr. M., too, not infre- 
quently succeeded in getting the vertical bar, but could only 
get the horizontal bar in a 4 flickering ' way ; and then, while 
he was trying to make it lie over the other stationary bar, it 
would disappear. In his case the effect of fatigue in dimin- 
ishing success was quickly apparent. Mr. S. also succeeds 
invariably in getting the vertical bar of the cross, but finds 
the horizontal bar more coy and flickering. The color of the 
figure in his case is uniformly light at first, and then changing 
to dark. 

Mr. M y reported that at first he could do nothing in the 
way of making the desired cross appear. But by persistent 


effort he soon succeeded in making two complete dark crosses 
arise in the retinal field, one of which he thought he traced to 
the retina of each eye. A yellow upright cross with a short 
horizontal bar, on one occasion, started up at apparently about 
two feet distant. Mr. C. also, on practice, could produce at 
will a perfect cross, with the vertical bar darker, which 
would after a brief time disappear and then reappear with the 
bars of a complementary color. Mr. D., like several of his 
colleagues, had on the first trial no success whatever. But, on 
the second trial, he by persistent willing developed a vertical 
bar which remained stationary ; while the required horizontal 
bar, although it appeared to order, persisted in sliding up and 
down the vertical bar. The third time, however, he got a 
perfect square cross which finally changed to an X shape. 
He could also obtain a circle at will. This experimenter 
found that, to obtain the best results, he must not be fatigued 
by more than five to seven minutes of trial ; and that fre- 
quently the desired image ' jumped' into being all of a sudden 
when he was about to cease trying. Of the three others who 
had a partial success, one could sometimes get the vertical 
bar ; another could get both bars separately, but could not get 
them to cross ; and the third could generally get an upright 
and perfect cross within three minutes of beginning to try. 

I have reserved the three most remarkable cases for a 
somewhat more detailed statement. Of these three Miss S. is 
very extraordinary in her control over the color of the object 
produced at will ; her control over the shapes is less complete. 
An unusual color-sense appears, indeed, to be congenital in the 
family, having been possessed by the father and several of the 
children. This includes the power to match very delicate 
shades of color, almost infallibly, by memory. At first Miss S. 
obtained only a ' flickering ' cross ; but after trying daily for 
several days, she became able to get this figure, or a circle, 
every time at will. The period ordinarily required for the 
complete control of the effect was from ten to twenty minutes 
of as steadfast willing and waiting as was possible. Then at 
least one particular form of a cross could be got, at will, in 
ill the principal colors except red. The violet and the purples 
'ere, however, easiest to obtain. An intensely bright but not 


a dark blue could always be got ; the green, on the contrary, 
was always dull, and the yellow and orange imperfect and 
tinged with brown. The violet cross was especially brilliant 
and seemed to start into the field suddenly, after the requisite 
period of trying. At my suggestion, the eyes on being 
opened after these voluntary crosses were obtained were 
immediately focussed on a sheet of white paper, and the cross 
found to appear on the paper in the complementary color. 

Mr. B r is also somewhat unusual, not to say abnormal, 
in his powers of vision. His eyes have some defects, espe- 
cially in localizing promptly and correctly. His success is 
best at night, when a perfect cross or circle can readily be 
produced at will. The color-mass which the volition arranges 
into this shape is usually of a grayish color. The form gen- 
erally appears to be located very near ; but it may at will be 
set at a great distance, and then the cross appears as though 
seen through a long tube. Upon the cross a circle can be 
projected at will, which is usually best secured when the 
intensity of the color-mass is ' moderate/ This circle can 
then, by somewhat persistent willing, be separated from the 
cross and located near the bottom of the vertical bar on either 
side, but with varying degrees of difficulty. 

A square cross is generally selected as * most pleasing ' ; but 
the cross can be made to assume the figure of an X. This 
experimenter noticed that the strong light from a gas-jet 
falling on closed eyes is not an uncontrollable color-mass ; but 
a definite brilliant cross can be planted within it by an act of 
will. Mr. B r finds that the effect of fatigue is to make the 
cross persistent in the retinal field ; and this effect is some- 
times so marked that he is obliged to open his eyes in order 
to dispel it. 

Mr. D s, who has studied art considerably, has a very 
vivid color-sense. He can produce a perfect cross, of various 
forms and colors, at will, almost instantly. He, too, like 
Miss S., found the complementary color appearing on a white 
background upon opening the eyes. The cross ' has a ten- 
dency ' to appear in red of a very intense and brilliant hue (the 
complementary color was described as a * very bright silvery 
blue'). So strong is the effect of gazing at this voluntarily 


produced figure that the experimenter feels an almost irresist- 
ible tendency to vertigo, and can sometimes scarcely avoid 
losing consciousness. The colors of the cross are apt to run 
through the order of red, orange, yellow, green, and blue. 
They can be arrested by opening the eyes ; and after closing 
the eyes again, they can be made to begin at any point in the 
series. Mr. D s thinks the emotional conditions have a 
great influence on the result. He also finds his eyes in a con- 
dition of strain, and the result of fatigue with him is to make 
the images grow fainter and fainter. His testimony is that 
he has thus seen crosses of all shapes, sizes, and colors ; and 
apparently he has no difficulty in their construction at will. 

I leave this very interesting and, I think, fruitful subject 
with others to continue the experiment, after noting two or 
three particulars. One trivial circumstance is that the verti- 
cal bar of the cross seems much the easier to produce and to 
hold steadily in the retinal field. Again, all the experimenters 
are agreed that the phenomenon is one of will, and that the 
power grows somewhat rapidly with practice. None of them 
with the exception, possibly, of Mr. D s, who speaks of a 
feeling rather of muscular * strain ' experience in the produc- 
tion of these images any movement of the eyes. The effect of 
fatigue seems to vary somewhat ; while with most it impairs 
the result, we have seen that it may operate with one experi- 
menter to make the images disagreeably persistent. 

Finally, I venture to affirm at least in a tentative way 
that we have here an experimental demonstration of the 
unique and inexplicable power of the volition of the ego to 
induce changes in the cerebral centres and the connected 
organs of sense, and in this case, apparently, without any 
use of the muscular system to control the nature of those 


University of Wisconsin. 

During the past summer I had the opportunity of making a 
few tests and observations upon Helen Kellar, the blind and 
deaf girl whose life and education, in many respects, offer a 
still more interesting and attractive subject than the remark- 
able career of Laura Bridgman. These notes are altogether 
meagre and fragmentary and offer nothing more than indica- 
tions of the special development of her faculties. I am urged 
to print them simply because no more thorough study has as 
yet been undertaken. The tests were made for the most part in 
the Psychological Laboratory in the Anthropological Building 
at the World's Fair, Chicago ; and for a more complete de- 
scription of some of the apparatus used I would refer to the 
Official Catalogue of the Anthropological Building, pp. 50-60. 

My first tests related to her powers of touch and move- 
ment. For the pressure sense two series of weights, the first 
increasing by ^ the second by -fa, beginning with a standard 
weight of 300 grammes, were to be arranged in order. Both 
sets were correctly arranged, and in a rather brief time. As 
these weights were raised by the hand the main sense involved 
was the muscle sense ; about one third of all persons tested with 
these weights were able to arrange both sets correctly. The 
test accordingly indicates nothing more than a muscle sensibil- 
ity at least normally delicate. Accurate tests would have re- 
quired more time than was at my disposal. 

An sesthesiometer applied to the tip of the forefinger of the 
left hand indicated that with a distance of 1.5 mm between 
the points they were clearly felt as double, while points sepa- 



rated by i mm felt like one broad point. The sensibility was 
not finer than this on the tip of her tongue. On the palm 
of the hand points 3 and 4 mm apart were felt as distinct. 
The normal sensibility for these parts of the skin is differently 
given by various writers ; but if I may trust to the averages 
obtained from experiments upon a general public, Helen's fin- 
ger-tips and the palm of her hand (a region interesting because 
it is here that the impressions of the manual finger-alphabet 
which she ' reads ' are in part received) are decidedly more 
acute than in the average individual. 

In the next test two series of five graded surfaces were 
presented to her forefinger (right hand), and by passing the fin- 
ger across the wires she was to obtain a notion of their rela- 
tive roughness or coarseness, and indicate their order in this 
respect. The surfaces were produced by tightly wrapping 
brass wires of various grades around an iron form. In the first 
series the wires increased in diameter by J, beginning with a 
wire .051 inches in diameter, and in the second series they in- 
creased by -J. Helen arranged both series in order correctly 
and with considerable confidence in her judgment. Less than 
one fourth of all persons tested succeeded in doing this, and 
there was rarely any confidence in the correctness of the 

I attempted a more accurate test of the delicacy of the 
' form-sense ' of her finger-tips by means of the very service- 
able touch-apparatus which has been devised by Prof. Miin- 
sterberg. In this instrument small wire forms of several sizes 
and shapes are applied to the skin in order to determine to 
what extent the form can be distinguished. The best evi- 
dences of acute sensibility that I obtained were as follows : a 
right angle 10 mm on each side was correctly called such and 
distinguished from an angle of 60; a set of 8 points set upon a 
wire circle 10 mm in diameter was at first called 10 points and 
then 8, set in a ' round ' ; a series of 10 points set 3 mm apart, 
with the two central ones separated by 5 mm, was called 
'nearly ten,' and some 'not the same distance apart.' A few 
tests with raised types were made, but with no noteworthy re- 
sult ; the statement of her teacher, Miss Sullivan, that Helen is 
not a rapid reader is interesting in this respect. 


Furthermore a few observations with tuning-forks were ex- 
tremely suggestive. The vibrations of a tuning-fork with a 
pitch of 1024 were distinctly, almost painfully, perceived when 
the finger-tip was placed lightly on the prong ; and the same is 
true of one with a pitch of 1365, while the vibrations of a fork 
of about 5000 were not perceived. With the one of 1024, par- 
ticularly, the vibrations could be felt by the finger when or 
J of an inch away from the fork. This suggests a sensitive- 
ness to the vibration-sense or sense of jar which has frequently 
been noted by the deaf, and has been well described by Dr. 
Kitto in his ' Lost Senses.' Further experiments in this direc- 
tion are desirable. Helen's motor faculties seem not unusually 
well developed and are doubtless far surpassed by many blind 
persons. Miss Sullivan has observed that she is not skilful in 
finding her way about nor in knowing where things are in a 
familiar room. In the apparatus for testing the accuracy of 
the perception of lengths by finger-movements, the task is to 
arrange in order two series of five lengths, the one advancing 
by T 2 7 , the other by -^, from a standard of 150 mm. The first 
series was correctly arranged, in the second there was one 
error, and in both there was considerable hesitation and uncer- 
tainty. I next arranged a board about 2 ft. square, ruled off in 
inch squares. A needle was set in a convenient wooden handle, 
and a thumb-tack was placed at various points upon the board. 
Helen's finger was first guided to the tack, then taken away, 
whereupon she attempted to place the needle upon the tack. 
She was seated with the centre of the board opposite to the 
centre of the body and moved the needle on an average through 
a distance of 12 to 15 inches. Her errors in four trials were 
35> I5> 15, and 25 mm, a degree of accuracy which may well be 
equalled by a seeing person with his eyes closed. 

The rapidity of her movement seems also below normal, 
A single test indicated a maximum finger-movement of about 
2.5 per second, where the normal (for adults) is about 5 per 
second. Helen is right-handed, and the attempt to move the 
two hands simultaneously to an equal extent, away from the 
centre of the body, indicates the same fact. For left-hand ex- 
cursions of 133, 138, 169, and 99 mm the right-hand equivalents 
were 210, 168, 253, and 162 mm. The attempt to draw lines of 


equal length, or mark off equal distances by making a series of 
dots on a strip of paper, showed about a normal degree of 

Tested with Prof. Cattell's pain-tester she declared a just- 
perceptible degree of pain when a pressure of 3.75 kilogrammes 
was brought to bear upon the tip of the forefinger of her left 
hand (average of three trials.) The usual result for adult 
women is about 5 kilogrammes, but the variation is large 
owing to the subjective difficulty of indicating the pain limit. 

I attempted also a few tests of the quickness and scope of 
more complex processes. Beginning with a simple reaction- 
time, I touched her left hand and required her to respond by 
touching a key with her right hand. The times, in hundredths 
of a second, measured by a D'Arsonval chronoscope, were 36, 
17, 1 6, 34, 1 6, 14, 15, 25. When the functions of the right and 
left hand were reversed the times were 28, 32, 16, 16, 20, 22. 
In the first series the two long reactions were clearly due to 
an awkward manner of closing the key. Omitting these, the 
first series gives an average time of 17 hundredths of a second 
which for a child of 14 years is probably a quick reaction. 
In the next series if I touched her right shoulder she was to 
press a key with her right hand, if I touched the left shoulder 
the left-hand key with her left hand, thus involving a distinc- 
tion of the location of contact and a choice of movements. 
The times in hundredths of a second were 18, 20, 25, 22, 16, 
36, 29, 24, 22, 26, 32, 29, or an average of 25, making a differ- 
ence of 8 hundredths of a second for the combined distinction 
and choice. Compared with the average record of persons 
unused to reacting this is a decidedly creditable record. 

My final notes deal with various memory tests, which 
were performed by the aid of Miss Sullivan, who spelled upon 
Helen's hand the letters, numbers, or words which I dictated, 
whereupon Helen would speak vocally the letters, numbers, 
or words as she remembered them. It should be mentioned 
that Helen is so entirely accustomed to vocal utterances that 
this mode of speech seems to have taken the place in her men- 
tal habits of her more primitive mode of answering in the 
finger alphabet. This was shown by her very strong tendency 
to murmur the words or letters as she interpreted the move- 


ments of Miss Sullivan's fingers. Such motor innervations 
clearly offered an aid to the memory, and it was with difficulty 
that she succeeded in repressing this tendency when I re- 
quested her to do so. It should be added that her control of 
the finger alphabet is remarkable. She accepted with great 
glee my challenge to speak with her fingers Longfellow's 
" Psalm of Life " as rapidly as possible, and succeeded in 
forming nearly seven letters in a second throughout the reci- 
tation. This is a rapidity sufficient to test the utmost capacity 
of a sign-reader to keep up with it. Helen had not at the 
time a set of single signs for the numerals ; to convey to her i, 
it was necessary to spell o-n-e. She at once learned a set of 
signs for use in my tests, but the newness of the acquisition 
clearly acted to the disadvantage of her memory. I shall 
therefore omit the tests with numerals, which show about a 
normal memory-span. 

Beginning with letters I have the following, in which the 
columns O are the original series and R the recalled series. 

o. R. 

b b 

m m 

o o 

s s 

k k 

r r 

y y 

b b 
c c 

V V 

With less than 10 letters in a set there were rarely any 
errors, the series being correctly reproduced in order. With 
the above series of n, 12, and 13 letters there are a few errors. 
It is interesting to note that the tendency to recall the first 

* In this series she was told there was one error, and immediately corrected the 
u by a w. 



























































































members of the series and the last is as marked in this variety 
of tactual motor memory as in the auditory or visual. 

I also tried nonsense syllables, but these seemed very con- 
fusing, six syllables being as many as she could repeat. With 
monosyllabic words, such as the following, gate, bell, moon, foot, 
nest, kite, meal, chair, nail, toy, she several times succeeded in 
repeating thirteen words correctly and in order ; while with 
ten or eleven one could count upon a faultless reproduction. 
A few of these memory-tests were made in the evening ; in 
the morning of the following day Helen was still able to repeat 
correctly the series of thirteen words she had learned the 
evening before, but had repeated them to herself a few times 
during the interval between the two trials. I have collected 
comparable data for a few hundred individuals, but they have 
not yet been finally computed. However, upon the basis of a 
preliminary survey of my material I have no hesitation in pro- 
nouncing Helen's verbal memory decidedly above the normal, 
and particularly when the correctness of the order is taken 
into account. How far this may be due to the concentration 
of her attention upon one sense, and to her acquiring through 
verbal means what to us is visible or audible, is an open ques- 
tion. The account of her mental habits given by Miss Sulli- 
van (Helen Kellar: The Volta Bureau, Washington, 1892) 
amply corroborates the extraordinary powers of her literary 

I cannot conclude these notes without commenting upon 
the remarkable alertness and receptivity of mind displayed by 
her in visiting the exhibits at the World's Fair. By the cour- 
tesy of the officials the universal admonition * Do not touch ' 
was disregarded in her case ; and it certainly was most inter- 
esting to observe the rapidly-varying expressions of her ani- 
mated features, and listen to her comments, as one specimen 
after another from the ethnological collections was placed 
in her hands with some brief description of its character com- 
municated to her through Miss Sullivan. The acuteness of 
intellect, breadth of interest, wholesomeness of emotional sen- 
sibility, along with such confined avenues of intercourse with 
the outer world, could not but impress the psychological 
observer as an admirable illustration of the relative functions 


of the senses, and the faculties that interpret and assimilate 
the facts of sensation in the economy of the mental life. 

My obligations are due not only to Helen Kellar herself 
for her cheerful compliance with my somewhat arduous 
demands, but to her able teacher Miss Sullivan, and to the 
distinguished scientist who has so generously espoused her 
cause, Dr. Alexander Graham Bell. 


Princeton University. 


Modern psychology has had its principal development in 
Great Britain, Germany, and France. Germany has undoubt- 
edly had greatest influence in this movement, considered in all 
its branches. The two main currents of development pre- 
vious to the rise of the new so-called * scientific ' psychol- 
ogy, designated as * speculative ' and * empirical/ had their 
initial impulse, as well as their fruitful pursuit, respectively 
in Germany and Britain. German psychology down to the 
rise of the Herbartian movement was a chapter of deduc- 
tions from speculative principles; English psychology was a 
detailed analysis of the experiences of the individual con- 
sciousness. Kant, Fichte, and Hegel may sufficiently repre- 
sent the succession in Germany ; James Mill, John Stuart Mill, 
Hume, Reid, and Bain, that in Great Britain. 

The work of Herbart and his school tended to bring a 
more empirical treatment into German thought, and its signi- 
ficance was twofold : it excited opposition to the speculative 
method, and it prepared the Germans for the results of Eng- 
lish analysis. It is further a legitimate supposition that the 
spirit of experimental inquiry which has swept over Germany 
in this century was made more easily assimilable by workers 
in this department, also, by the patient and extraordinary 
attempt of Herbart to construct a * mechanic ' and ' static ' of 
mind in his * Psychologic als Wissenschaft ' (1824). 

* Part of the material to be used in different form in a ' Historical and Educa- 
tional Report,' prepared by the author (by request) in his capacity as ' Judge of 
Award ' for this subject at the World's Columbian Exposition. 



To German thinkers also belongs the credit due to origina- 
tors of all new movements which show their vitality by 
growth and reproduction, in that the experimental treatment 
of the mind was first advocated and initiated in Germany. 
But of this I write more fully below. 

The contribution of France to psychology has been de- 
cidedly of less importance ; yet the work of its writers has 
also illustrated a fruitful and productive movement. It has 
been from the side of medicine that French work has influ- 
enced current wide-spread conceptions of consciousness. 
Mental pathology and the lessons of it for the theory of the 
mind have come possibly most of all from France ; or at any 
rate not to disparage the admirable recent work of English 
and German investigators the tendency, so to speak, of the 
French treatment of consciousness has been to approach men- 
tal operations from the abnormal side. 

In America the influences which have tended to control 
psychological opinion have been mainly theological on one 
side and educational on the other. The absence of great 
native systems of speculative thought has prevented at once 
the rationalistic invasions into theology which characterized 
the German development, and the attempts at psychological 
interpretation which furnished a supposed basis of fact to the 
idealistic systems. In Germany various 'philosophies of 
nature ' sought to find even in objective science support for 
theoretical world-dialectic : and psychology fared even worse, 
since it is, par excellence, the theatre for the exploitation of 
universal hypotheses. But in America men did not speculate 
much : and those who did were theologians. So naturally 
the psychologists were theologians also. Jonathan Edwards 
had a doctrine of the agent because free-will was a question of 

The educational influence was auxiliary merely to the the- 
ological. The absence of large universities with chairs for re- 
search ; the nature of the educational foundations which did 
exist under denominational control ; the aim of education as 
conceived in the centres where the necessity for supplying 
growing towns with pastors was urgent ; the wholesome fact 
for our civilization that the Puritans had traditions in favor 


of the school and the religious school all these things rr>ade it 
only necessary that books sound in their theological bearings, 
or affording homiletic lessons in living, should be written, in a 
topic of such central importance. Even the term ' psychology ' 
is only now getting domesticated : * mental ' and ' moral ' 
philosophy were the titles of courses of instruction on the 

The type of philosophy which these conditions encouraged 
was, it may easily be imagined, realistic ; and it is probably 
for the reasons which I have indicated that the Scottish 
Natural Realism was the American type of thought, and is 
now, except in the great university centres where systematic 
philosophy has become an end in itself apart from its duty to 
theology and education. As far as psychology was concerned, 
this realistic tendency was a great good. It led to a magnifi- 
cation of mental reality, to a reverence for the ' utterances of 
consciousness,' to a realistic interpretation of the ' immediate 
knowledge of self/ to the firm settling of the great ' intuitions,' 
cause, time, space, God, etc.; and in as far as this led to the 
direct examination of consciousness and to the testing of 
philosophical claims by consciousness, it prepared the way for 
a better and broader method. This tendency is marked even 
in the more influential works in theology. Channing and 
Emerson no less than Smith and Charles Hodge lay the cor- 
ner-stone of argument again and again in the proof ' from con- 

This tendency to a psychological view of philosophy and 
its basis in the religious motive is seen also in Scotland, the 
home of realism : and it is there a part of the British method 
of thought which I have already spoken of. The works on 
psychology written in America up to 1880 were, as we should 
expect, from the hands of theologians and educators, usually 
both in the same person ; for it is a further proof of the associ- 
ation of psychology and theology that the mental and moral 
philosophy in the colleges was almost without exception put 
in the hands of the president of the college, and he was by 
unanimous requirement a preacher. So were written a series 
of works which are landmarks of American scholarship, props 
of evangelical theology, disciplinary aids of the highest value 


to the growing student, and evidences to revert again to my 
argument of the twofold influence I have indicated. Edwards's 
1 Freedom of the Will ' (1754), Tappan's ' Review of Edwards ' 
(1839) an d ' Doctrine of the Will determined by an Appeal to 
Consciousness' (1840), Hickok's 'Rational Psychology' (1848) 
and ' Empirical Psychology ' (1854), Porter's ' Human Intel- 
lect' (1868) and 'Moral Science' (1885), McCosh's ' Psy- 
chology ' (1887) and ' First and Fundamental Truths ' (1889) 
these and other books like them show the psychology of 
America up to about 1880. 

Speaking for psychology alone, not for philosophy, it is easy 
to point out their merits and defects, not in my individual 
judgment, but as compared with the standards of the present 
year of the Exposition. It is necessary, however, rather to 
show this by sketching the present and showing the new 
elements which have modified the American work and whence 
they came. 

Coming to the present state of psychological thought, my 
task is made easier by reason of the divorce which has been 
forced between psychology as a science on one hand and 
metaphysics on the other. As was said above, Herbart, while 
failing in his attempt to apply mathematics to mental ' permu- 
tations and combinations,' yet prepared the way for a new 
treatment of mental phenomena. After his attempt it began 
to be seen that the facts of conscious life were first in order of 
importance and were capable of treatment in a detailed way 
quite independently of the questions of Being, the Absolute, 
and the like. The works of Volkmann, ' Lehrbuch der Psy- 
chologic ' (4th ed., 1894), and Lipps, ' Die Grundthatsachen des 
Seelenlebens ' (1883), illustrate this. 

This was only to begin to do what had been doing in Eng- 
land since Locke. But the Germans now went further : they 
asked the question which had been groped upon before by 
Descartes, by Leibnitz, and by Reid how can psychology be 
a science when one of the evident conditions of the flow of 
mental states, of their integrity and their trustworthiness, the 
brain, is left quite out of account ? What is the law of connec- 
tion of mind and brain? And is it possible to modify the 
brain and so to modify the mind ? If so, then that great in- 


strument of scientific work, experiment, may perform a part 
for the psychologist also, and his resources be magnificently 

This is the question of Experimental Psychology. It was 
answered in Germany in the affirmative. Lotze, in my view, 
deserves the credit of it, the credit of the great-minded con- 
structive pioneer ; and Wundt is the founder of the science in 
the sense that he first realized the expectations of Lotze's 
genius by actually planning and executing experiments on a 
large scale which made the affirmative answer an irreversible 
fact of history. Lotze's ' Medicinische Psychologic ' appeared 
in 1852, Wundt's ' Grundziige der Physiologischen Psychologic ' 
in 1874. Between the two, however, came Fechner, whose theo- 
retical construction of the new work and its methods shows 
all the exactness of treatment of similar discussions of natural- 
science principles by electricians and chemists, and published 
the formulas in which he attempted to give universal state- 
ment to the discoveries of E. H. Weber on the intensity of 
sensation-states. Fechner's * Elemente der Psychophysik ' 
appeared in 1860. 

Apart from the actual development of this new method a 
point to be spoken of later on it has profoundly modified the 
general conception of psychology even where its validity as a 
method has been denied. There has been nothing less than a 
revolution in the conception of psychology since the publica- 
tion of the works just named. One of the motives of this revo- 
lution came thus from Germany. The other for it has two 
great phases is due to English thinkers : the evolutionists, of 
whom Herbert Spencer (' Principles of Psychology,' 1855) is 
the chief. These two influences are seen in two great points 
of contrast easily made out between the psychology of to-day 
and that of yesterday in America. The latter I have described 
above. Its two main characteristics, for purposes of the pres* 
ent contrast, are first, its character as so-called * faculty-psy- 
chology ' ; and second, its character as holding to what I may 
call a ' ready-made ' view of consciousness technically an ' in- 
tuition ' view of consciousness. In opposition to these charac- 
ters, current psychology is ' functional ' holding to mental 
' functions ' rather than to mental faculties ; and finds this 


function to be 'genetic* rather than intuitive the functions 
' grow,' instead of being ' ready-made.' 

The old conception of ' faculties ' made the different phases 
of mental process in large measure distinct from one another. 
Memory was a * faculty/ a ' power ' of the mind ; thought was 
another, imagination a third. The new functional conception 
asks how the mind as a whole acts, and how this one form 
of activity adapts itself to the different elements of material 
which it finds available. The old terms * memory ', ' thought,' 
etc., are retained ; but with the distinct understanding that 
they do not stand for divisions in the mind, or different pro- 
cesses, one of which may be held in reserve when another is 
acting, etc. On the contrary, the process in consciousness is 
one; and it is a psycho-physical process as well. The par- 
ticular way in which this one function shows itself is a matter 
of adaptation to the changing conditions under which the ac- 
tivity is brought about. This transition is due in part also to 
the insight of Herbart and to the demand for unity insisted 
upon by the evolutionists. 

The other point of contrast is equally plain. The ' genetic ' 
point of view in current discussion is opposed to the older 
1 intuitive ' point of view. The mind is looked upon as having 
grown to be what it is, both as respects the growth of the man 
from the child, and as respects the place of man in the scale of 
conscious existences. The understanding of mental facts is 
sought in the comprehension of their origin as well as their 
nature : and the question of the validity or worth of ' intuitive ' 
beliefs in consciousness is subordinated to the question as to 
how the mind came to have such beliefs. 

Both of these points of contrast have been further defined 
by the progress of general philosophy in America. The 
demand for unity in mental interpretation has not come from 
naturalistic evolution alone (John Fiske, ' Outlines of Cosmic 
Philosophy,' 1874; Thompson, 'System of Psychology,' 1884); 
an equally pressing demand has come from idealistic meta- 
physics, which seeks for continuity in the natural series as 
zealously as does the advocate of evolution. The influence of 
Hegel, as interpreted in the works of Green, and later in those 
of Caird, has been potent in effecting this transformation, It 


is easy to see also that the same union of forces is quite feasible 
as respects the genetic development of consciousness, although 
the new idealists have not done justice to this growing ten- 
dency in modern psychology. 

The line of cleavage, in the current discussions of general 
psychology, is drawn on the question of the interpretation of 
mental * function ' : both sides claiming the same full liberty of 
genetic research and the same resources of analysis and experi- 
ment. The ' Associationists,' on one hand, carrying on the 
tradition of the British empiricists, construe mental function 
after analogy with the ordinary interplay of forces in the 
objective world ; the ' Apperceptionists,' on the other hand, 
hold that mental function is a form of irreducible cosmic pro- 
cess. Apart from original monographs on special topics, no 
work on psychology to-day commands much attention, either 
from psychologists or from students of philosophy, which does 
not show itself alive to this main issue. The works of Lotze 
and Wundt have had great influence upon Americans in the 
direction of this general statement of the problems of psy- 
chology : and it is especially the philosophy of Lotze which is 
replacing by a reasoned and critical realism the earlier theo- 
logical dogmatic view so long prevalent in the United States 
by inheritance from Scotland. 

On the literature of present-day psychology I can do no 
better than quote the following passage freely translated from 
the most recent German work on general psychology, itself 
fully representative of the present state of knowledge * Grund- 
riss der Psychologic,' by Professor Kiilpe of the University of 
Leipzig (pp. 27 ff.) : 

" About the middle of the nineteenth century experimental 
and psycho-physical psychology began its course in Germany. 
While Herbart recognized a threefold influence of the body 
upon the mind, ... it was Lotze who made a thorough begin- 
ning in the employment of the data of physiology. Lotze, 
indeed, began his work with certain metaphysical expositions 
after the manner of the older German writers, and is very far 
from the recognition of a universal psycho-physical parallelism. 
But he does not hesitate to speak of the nervous conditions of 
mental processes, and he had the good fortune to suggest 


hypotheses of value where exact knowledge was wanting. 
The real foundation of Experimental Psychology was laid, 
however, by G. T. Fechner, who sought to carry out in a 
thorough-going way the conception of a functional relation 
between mental and physical processes. Although the mathe- 
matical form which he gave to this relation . . . does not hold, 
yet he gave to the exact science of psychology an extraordi- 
nary impulse, by reason of the new conceptions which he intro- 
duced, the methods of procedure which he both formulated 
and applied, the working over which he gave to the material 
he had in hand, and the observations and researches which he 
himself carried out. . . . The union of the experimental and 
psycho-physical was finally accomplished by Wilhelm Wundt 
... in his classical ' Grundzuge der Physiologischen Psycho- 
logic ' (1874, 4th ed. 1893). By this unity of conception and by 
his comprehensive treatment of all mental phenomena ... he 
has made the current phrase 'modern psychology' applicable. 
. . . Wundt gave a further important impulse to the cultiva- 
tion of experimental psychology by founding the laboratory in 
Leipzig in 1879, an d establishing the ' Philosophische Studien,' 
a journal devoted mainly to the publication of researches from 
his institute. 

" Additional works may be mentioned of very recent date, 
which must be reckoned in their character as belonging to the 
modern psychology thus founded by Wundt, although they 
differ more or less essentially in system and in theory from 
him and from one another : Hoffding, ' Psychologic in Um- 
rissen/ 2d ed., 1893, German translation from the Danish 
(English translation, 1891); Ladd, 'Elements of Physiological 
Psychology,' 1887; Sergi, 'La Psychologic Physiologique ' 
(translation from the Italian, 1888) ; W. James, ' The Principles 
of Psychology/ 1890; Ziehen, ' Leitfaden der physiologischen 
Psychologic ' (1891 ; 2d ed., 1893) ; Baldwin, ' Handbook of Psy- 
chology,' 1891 (2d ed. ; isted., 1889-90) ; J. Sully, ' The Human 
Mind/ 1892. 

" We may mention also certain periodicals which repre- 
sent the same current of psychological thought : ' Philosophi 
sche Studien/ edited by W. Wundt (vols. 1-8, 1883 ff.) ; 'The 
American Journal of Psychology/ edited by G. S. Hall (vols. 


1-5, 1887 ff.); 'Zeitschrift fur Psychologic und Physiologic 
der Sinnesorgane,' edited by H. Ebbinghaus and A. Konig 
(vols. 1-5, 1890 ff.)-" 

The part taken by American students in the present psy- 
chological movement is seen in the fact that of the seven 
works thus cited by Kiilpe three are by Americans, and to them 
must be added ' Psychology : Descriptive and Explanatory ' 
(1894), by G. T. Ladd, and the journal 'The Psychological 
Review/ edited by J. McK. Cattell and J. Mark Baldwin (vol. 
I, 1894). Another important French work of recent date is 
1 La Psychologic des Idees-Forces/ by A. Fouillee (1893). The 
position of psychology in the American colleges and univer- 
sities is described in a further section below. 

Other important contributions to Experimental Psychology 
apart from the long series of monographs and research 
articles published in Germany and America are Helmholtz, 
' Physiologische Optik' (1867, 2d ed. f. 1886, French translation), 
and ' Tonempfindungen (1863, English translation); Stumpf, 
' Tonpsychologie ' (1883-90); and Munsterberg, ' Beitrage zur 
experimentellen Psychologic/ Parts I-IV (1889-93). 

The contribution from the side of mental pathology has 
become important on account of the rapprochement which has 
obtained in recent years between the alienist and the psychol- 
ogist. The works of Pierre Janet, 'Automatisme psycholo- 
gique'(i889) and ' L'Etat mental des Hysteriques' (1892-93), 
and of Bernheim, ' Suggestive Therapeutics* (English trans- 
lation, 1889), and 'Etudes de la Suggestion* (1892), are most 
important. To them should be added the works of Ribot, 
* Diseases of the Will/ English translation (5th French ed., 
1888); ' Diseases of Memory/ English translation (5th French 
ed., 1888) ; * Diseases of Personality' (2d ed., 1888 ; English trans- 
lation, 1891), together with the many original contributions on 
the subject of hypnotism and aberrations of personality pub- 
lished in the ' Revue Philosophique ' (edited by Th. Ribot, 
vols. i-xxxvi, 1876 ff.) and summed up in part in 'Les Alte"- 
rations de la Personality (1893) of Alf. Binet. 

Further, the treatment of psychology in accordance with 
the British tradition, from the point of view of description and 
analysis, has been carried forward by Ward in the article 


1 Psychology ' in the Encyclopaedia Britannica, Qth ed. This 
type of research has also had its organ of publication in 
' Mind : a Journal of Psychology and Philosophy,' edited by 
G. Groom Robertson (vols. i-xvi, 1876 ff.) and by G. F. Stout 
(New Series, vols. i-m, 1892 ff.). 

Finally, the genetic treatment of consciousness has been 
advanced by the works of Spencer, ' Principles of Psychology/ 
1855 (sd ed., 1880); Romanes, 'The Origin of Human Faculty,' 
1884-1888; Morgan, 'Animal Life and Intelligence' (1891); 
and Galton, ' Inquiries into Human Faculty ' (1883) and ' Natu- 
ral Inheritance' (1889). 



To say that this is the age of science is only to repeat what 
is now trite and what no student either of philosophy or of his- 
tory needs to be told. It is the age of science because it is the 
age of devotion to science and of results in science. But it is 
a very different thing to say that this is the age of scientific 
method. Former ages have seen devotion to science and re- 
sults in science, but I venture to say that no former age has, as 
an age, realized a scientific method. So prevailing, however, 
has the new method now become, and so customary to us, that 
it is only by historical study that we are able either to see that 
it is new, or to work ourselves into that degree of intellectual 
sympathy for the old which the earnest endeavor and unflag- 
ging patience of the heroes of philosophy in the past rightfully 
demand for all time. 

In characterizing our time by the word ' scientific,' as re- 
gards method, I mean to say something which is true in phi- 
losophy, politics, literature, as well as in the investigation of 
nature; and to dwell only on the department of thought in 
which such a method has been, and is, most difficult to realize. 
In philosophy it is not fully realized ; and yet I believe that 
any class or school of philosophic thinkers who do not face 
toward the scientific east are steering up-current and will be 
absent when science and philosophy enter a common barge 
and together compass the universe of knowledge. For it is a 


part of the same conviction as to scientific method that neither 
science nor philosophy will ever succeed in compassing it alone. 
However painfully this advance may have been won and how- 
ever loudly the dogmatists may deny its justification, it is suf- 
ficient here to signalize the fact that philosophy has in the 
present half-century thrown open her doors to the entrance of 
critical and empirical methods, and that the results already ac- 
cruing are evidence of the bigness of her future harvest. 

In general philosophy what has been called scientific method 
is better known, as I have said above, in a twofold way, as em- 
pirical and critical. Retrospectively what we now have to 
rejoice in in philosophy is due about equally to two traditions, 
represented by Hume and Kant. The burden of current ideal- 
ism, as far as it is worthy of consideration in our time, is to 
purify and conserve the work of Kant. And the burden of em- 
piricism, under the same restriction, is to refute Kant with the 
only weapons which he himself considered of worthy temper. 
The battle is drawn at these close quarters, and round them 
both is thrown a common ring of scientific procedure. 

In psychology the modern transformation comes most 
strongly out. Here we find an actual department of knowl- 
edge handed over to a new class of men for treatment, so 
remarkable is the demand for scientific method. It is no longer 
sufficient that a psychologist should be familiar with general 
philosophy and its history, or capable of acute logical criticism 
of systems ; it is necessary, if he would deal successfully with 
the new problems and gain the ear of the advanced philosoph- 
ical public, that he should reason from a basis of fact and by an 
inductive procedure. In short, he must not bring his philos- 
ophy as speculation into psychology, but must carry his psy- 
chology as fact, in its connection with physiology, ethnology, 
etc., into general philosophy. 

To illustrate this change, and its effect on general theories, 
recent discussions of the idea of space may be cited in com- 
parison with its earlier and more speculative treatment. The 
reasonings of James, Wundt, Bain, Spencer, differ so essentially 
from the argumentation of Kant and earlier men that it is al- 
most impossible to find common ground between them. No 
one among those who accept Kant's results depends in our 


day very largely upon his reasons : the question is shifted to 
another field. The physiologist has as much to say about 
it to-day as the psychologist, and the speculative philosopher 
must recognize them both. 

This tendency of the day in philosophy may be expressed 
by a chemical figure as a ' precipitating ' tendency. We are 
endeavoring, and successfully too, to throw all questions which 
are capable of such treatment to the bottom, as a precipitate 
a psychological precipitate and are then handing them over 
to the psychologist for positive treatment. As long as our data 
remained in a solution of ninety parts water (which, being in- 
terpreted, means speculation), it was difficult to handle them 
scientifically. While admitting the utility and necessity of 
ontology in its place, current psychology claims that its place 
must be better defined than formerly it has been, and that 
whenever we can secure a sediment, a residuum, a deposit, apart 
from a speculative solvent, this is so much gain to positive 
science and to truth. 

One of the ideas which lie at the bottom of the so-called 
' new psychology ' is the idea of measurement. Measurement, 
determination in quantity and time, is the resource of all de- 
veloped science, and as long as such a resource was denied to 
the psychologist he was called a scientist only in his function 
of description and classification, not in the more important 
functions of explanation and construction. And the justifica- 
tion of the application of measurement to psychological facts 
has come, not from theoretical considerations for they were 
all opposed, and still are, in many of the books of the new ideal- 
ism but from practical attempts to do what philosophy de- 
clared to be impossible. That is, experiment has been the 
desired and only ' reagent.' It is true that theoretical justifica- 
tions are now forthcoming of the application of experiment to 
consciousness, but they are suggested by the actual results and 
were not in sufficient currency to hinder the influence of Kant's 
ultimatum, for example, that a science of psychology was im- 

By experiment in this connection is meant experiment on 
the nervous system with the accompanying modifications it 
occasions in consciousness. Efforts have been made in earlier 


times to experiment upon states of consciousness directly. 
Descartes deserves credit for such efforts, and for the intima- 
tion he gives us, in his theory of emotions, of an approach to 
mind through the body. But the elevation of such an approach 
to the place of a recognized psychological method was not 
possible to Descartes, Kant, or any one else who lived and 
theorized before the remarkable advance made in this half-cen- 
tury in the physiology of the nervous system. And even as it 
is, many questions which will in the end admit of investigation 
from the side of the organism are still in abeyance till new 
light is cast upon obscure processes of the brain and nerves. 

A little further reflection will show us that the employ- 
ment of experiment in this sphere proceeds upon two assump- 
tions which are now generally admitted and are justified as 
empirical principles, at least by the results. They are both as- 
sumptions which the physical scientist is accustomed to make in 
dealing with his material, and their statement is sufficient to 
exhibit their elementary importance, however novel they may 
sound to those who are accustomed to think and speak of 
mind as something given to us in entire independence of or- 
ganic processes. The first of these assumptions is this : that our 
mental life is always and everywhere accompanied by a process 
of nervous change. This is seen to be necessary to any method 
which involves the passage of mind to body or the reverse by 
the interpretation of effects. Which is cause and which effect, 
the mental or the physical change, or whether they both are 
effects of an unknown cause, is immaterial to consider such a 
question would be to introduce what I have called the ' specu- 
lative solvent.' It is sufficient to know that they are always 
together, and that the change in one may be indicated in sym- 
bols which also represent the change in the other. The second 
assumption is based upon the first, viz., that this connection 
between mind and body is uniform. By this is meant what in 
general induction is called the uniformity of nature. Any re- 
lation sufficiently stable to admit of repeated experiment in the 
manipulation of its terms is in so far uniform. Experiment 
would be useless if the relation it tends to establish were not 
stable, since the result of such experiment would give no 
antecedent likelihood as to the result of others under similar 


circumstances. Experimental psychology, therefore, rests 
upon the assumption that a relation of correspondence be it 
coexistence or causation once clearly made out between a 
mental and a nervous modification, it must hold good under 
any and every repetition of the same experiment under the 
same conditions. 

These two assumptions made, we have at once the possibil- 
ity of a physical approach to the facts of consciousness. The 
result is a relative measurement of such facts in terms of the 
external stimulation of the nerves, in regular and normal con- 
ditions of the activity of attention. 

Further, it is apparent that such a means of experimentation 
may become available either under artificial or under natural 
conditions, according as the nervous stimulation is due to an 
external excitation, or arises from some unusual condition of 
the organism itself. All cases of brain or nervous disease, on 
the one hand, offer opportunities for boundless observation ; 
the unusual manifestations being changes due to the organic 
disturbances of disease. Here nature has arranged and actually 
performed the experiment for us ; the only difficulty being the 
physiological one, that the cerebral states may be as obscure 
as the mental states which they are used to explain. All such 
cases of mental changes due to internal organic changes are 
classed together under the name of Physiological Psychology. 
It includes all questions which relate to nerve physiology and 
pathology, illusion, hallucination, mental disease, hypnotism. 

On the other hand, experiments may be arranged for the 
normal stimulation of the sense-organs skin, muscles, special 
senses under artificial conditions as explained in part below. 
This is Experimental Psychology. On these lines modern ex- 
perimental psychology falls into two great departments. As the 
normal properly precedes the abnormal, it is well to consider 
the line of researches based upon external experiment, confin- 
ing ourselves to a more or less cursory view of results of his- 
torical interest.* 

*In the official report, sections are included on 'Psycho-physics' (Weber's 
Law) and ' Mental Chronometry ' (Reaction-times). 



We are now prepared to consider the exhibits made in the 
interests of Experimental Psychology at the Columbian Expo- 
sition. It is evident that departments in which progress is in 
the main abstract and immaterial such as the social, moral, 
and theoretical sciences cannot show their work to the eye, 
and so have heretofore appeared at the world's great exposi- 
tions only as their results have been embodied in more prac- 
tical life, in education, and in institutions. It is, however, 
unfortunate that this should be so : for the more ideal and 
spiritual aspects of a nation's life are just the aspects in which 
popular instruction is defective, and these are the aspects 
which should least of all be omitted in a survey of the con- 
ditions of present-day civilization. Yet it is so ; and it be- 
comes easy to see, therefore, that it is only as psychology has 
become experimental and so has found it possible to state her 
problems and results to a degree in forms which allow of 
diagrammatic and material representation that she is able to 
'exhibit* herself. What psychology showed, therefore, at the 
Chicago Exposition was the experimental side, as I have 
sketched its problems and methods in what precedes. 

The exhibits bearing on psychology in its scientific aspects 
as apart from the educational aspects, of which I speak later 
on may be placed in order thus : 

(A) A collected exhibit made by the department of Anthro- 
pology, of which Professor F. W. Putnam of Harvard Univer- 
sity was chief, under the immediate direction of Professor 
Joseph Jastrow of the University of Wisconsin, consisting of a 
Psychological Laboratory in operation with all its accessories. 

(B) A collection of instruments shown in the German Edu- 
cational Exhibit under the heading ' Psychophysics.' 

(C) Instruments shown in the general exhibit of the 
' Deutsche Gesellschaft fur Mechanik und Optik.' 

(D) The private exhibits of particular instrument-makers. 

(E) Exhibits made by single universities, i.e., those by the 
University of Pennsylvania and the University of Illinois. 

I may consider these briefly in order. 


(A) The Laboratory for Experimental Psychology, gathered by 
the Department of Anthropology (Ethnology). This laboratory 
constitutes the first attempt ever made to exhibit at an inter- 
national fair the state of progress of the world in this branch. 
When taken in connection with the other laboratories exhib- 
ited by this department, i.e., in Anthropology and Neurology, 
it may be accepted, in its main features, as an adequate his- 
torical index of the psychological progress of the nineteenth 
century. The general features of the working laboratory 
cannot be better described than in the words of the director, 
Professor Joseph Jastrow.* 

The Psychological Laboratory. " The object of this labora- 
tory is to illustrate the methods of testing the range, accuracy, 
and nature of the more elementary mental powers, and to col- 
lect material for the further study of the factors that influence 
the development of these powers, their normal and abnormal 
distribution, and their correlation with one another. The 
laboratory is thus designed, not as are those connected with 
universities, for special research, or for demonstrations and 
instruction in psychology, but as a laboratory for the collec- 
tion of tests. As in physical anthropometry the chief propor- 
tions of the human body are systematically measured, so in 
mental anthropometry the fundamental modes of action upon 
which mental life is conditioned are subjected to a careful 
examination. In both cases the first object is to ascertain the 
normal distribution of the quality measured. With this deter- 
mined, each individual can find his place upon the chart or 
curve for each form of test and from a series of such compari- 
sons obtain a significant estimate of his proficiencies and defi- 
ciencies. It should not be overlooked that mental tests of 
this kind are burdened with difficulties from which physical 
measurements are comparatively free. Our mental powers are 
subject to many variations and fluctuations. The novelty of 
the test often distracts from the best exercise of the faculty 
tested, so that a very brief period of practice might produce a 
more constant and significant result. Fatigue and one's physi- 
cal condition are also important causes of variation. It is im- 

* Official Catalogue of Exhibits, Department M, in which full descriptions may 
be found. 


possible in the environment of the present laboratory to secure 
the necessary time and facilities for minimizing these objec- 
tions. They detract more from the value of an individual 
record than from that of the combined statistical result. So 
much remains to be done in this line of investigation that at 
every step interesting problems are left unanswered. But 
what has been done emphasizes the importance and probable 
value of further research. The problems to be considered 
when once the normal capacity has been ascertained are such 
general ones as the growth and development with age of 
various powers ; what types of faculty develop earlier and 
what later ; how far their growth is conditioned upon age and 
how far upon education ; again, the difference between the 
sexes at various ages, differences of race, environment, social 
status, are likewise to be determined. The relation of physi- 
cal development to mental, the correlation of one form of 
mental faculty with others, the effect of a special training, 
these, together with their many practical applications, form 
the more conspicuous problems to the elucidation of which 
such tests as are here taken will contribute. In addition to 
the interest in his or her own record, the individual has thus 
the satisfaction of contributing to a general statistical result." 

(B), (C), (D), (E) The Exhibits of(B) the German Educational 
Department, (C) the ' Deutsche Gesellschaft fur Mechanik und Op- 
tik] (D) Individual Private Instrument-makers, and (E) Separate 
Universities. The two German agencies mentioned as (B) and 
(C) send what may be considered as on the whole the best 
indication when taken in connection with the special pieces 
of apparatus sent from German workshops to the collective 
exhibit of the department of Anthropology of the application 
of modern mechanical skill to the construction of instruments 
of the delicacy required for psychological experiment. These 
instruments are mainly adaptations of well-known principles, 
and often of well-known apparatus, used in experimental phy- 
siology, physical optics and acoustics, electricity, etc. The 
instruments shown by the German Mechanical and Optical 
Society are almost entirely common to psychology and these 
sciences. The pieces in the German Educational Exhibit are 
largely the special arrangements found useful in the labora- 


tory at Leipzig, and so show very inadequately the real 
progress of the science in Germany. Yet they are of great 
historical interest. The collection is much less complete than 
that made by the German instrument-makers in connection 
with the collective exhibit in the Department of Anthropol- 
ogy. In this connection it should be mentioned that the 
account given of Experimental Psychology in Germany by 
Professor Wundt in the official book, * Die deutschen Univer- 
sitaten' (ed. by W. Lexis, 1893), is not adequate if considered 
(and probably the author did not intend it to be so considered) 
as an exponent of the present condition of this science and the 
place it occupies in the German universities. 

(D) The private exhibits of individual firms should be 
noted in the attempt to make one's conception of psychologi- 
cal activity complete. French exhibitors did not combine as 
the Germans did, and so lost both in effect and in local posi- 
tion. Yet much of the finest work is done in Paris, as is wit- 
nessed by the cases of surgical, physical, and psychological 
instruments grouped in the north end of the Anthropology 
building. An examination of the catalogues of the exhibitors 
(for example, that of Ch. Verdin of Paris) may serve for the 
details of this class of exhibits, as the united catalogues of the 
other collections mentioned serve in respect to them. The 
German makers have done their work more largely in connec- 
tion with great university laboratories, and so have subserved 
better the needs of particular students in solving particular 
problems in physics and psychology: the French, on the other 
hand, have found the demand more marked from the side of 
clinical medicine and experimental physiology. 

(E) The separate university exhibits of the Universities of 
Pennsylvania and Illinois were located respectively in the 
Liberal Arts and the Illinois State building. The aim of the 
former was to present a working laboratory restricted to a 
small number of topics. This original purpose was not sub- 
served through the failure to provide attendants to collect 
experimental data ; yet the arrangements for experiments in 
reaction-times and the visual aesthetics of form were instruc- 
tive to visitors. Two pieces of new apparatus were exhibited 
by Dr. Lightner Witmer, the designer of them : a complex 


color-wheel which permits the alteration while in motion of 
the proportion of colors mixed, and a graphic movement ap- 
paratus involving new features. 

The exhibit of the University of Illinois was mainly of 
instruments which were also included in the main collection of 
the Department of Ethnology. It was in charge of Professor 
W. O. Krohn of that university. 


The educational aspects of the new work in psychology 
are of great importance. It is evident that education has 
two claims to make upon this study ; one of these claims the 
old psychology aimed to meet, the other it was incapable of 
meeting. The first of these two duties of psychology to edu- 
cation is this: it should take its place as a factor in liberal 
collegiate culture in both of the functions which a great 
branch of learning serves in the university curriculum, i.e., 
undergraduate discipline and instruction, and post-graduate 
research discipline. 

The older psychology, especially in America where it was 
hampered by the conditions pointed out in an earlier section, 
did, as I say, aim to instruct undergraduates. But even in 
this it was a means to another end : it was propaedeutic to 
a philosophy and to a theology, both of which, as far as their 
demands upon ' mental science ' were concerned, were dog- 
matic and intolerant. But the graduate disciplinary function 
was never served in any sense by the faculty psychology nor 
by the philosophy founded upon it in America. 

The second great educative function of psychology is this : 
it should mould and inform educational theory by affording a 
view of mind and body in their united growth and mutual 
dependence. Education is a process of the development under 
most favorable conditions of full personality, and psychology 
is the science which aims to determine the nature of such per- 
sonality in its varied stages of growth, and the conditions 
under which its full development may be most healthfully and 
sturdily nourished. One of the first duties of psychology, 
therefore, is to criticise systems of education, to point out ' the 


better way ' in education everywhere, and to take no rest until 
the better way is everywhere adopted. This duty the old 
psychology did not realize : indeed, by its method and results 
it was cut off from the realization of it. It shall now be my 
aim to show how contemporary psychology is addressing 
herself to all these undertakings. 

A. Psychology as Research Discipline. I begin with this 
point because it is the most striking fact about the present 
state of psychology in all countries where the experimental 
idea has been given entertainment. Probably students and 
general readers hear more about * research ' in connection 
with psychology than with any other branch. And it is odd 
indeed to workers in other departments amusing that 
all this claim to research ability, and talk about 'original 
contributions to knowledge,' is by professors who are yet 
smooth-faced and generally quite inexperienced in university 
affairs. A physicist who makes contributions to knowledge is 
extremely rare, but the ' new psychology ' has two men of 
research to every competent college instructor in its ranks. 

This, I take it, is a hopeful and encouraging state of things, 
and has its origin in two influences : first, the new impulse 
has come from Germany, where the university-function corre- 
sponds very nearly to the graduate-discipline function in the 
few American institutions where graduate work is encouraged ; 
and second, because the actual state of the subject is such that 
research is a matter of comparatively less difficulty than in the 
older scientific branches. Yet the actual value of this con- 
dition of things in the permanent development of the subject 
must be held to be disciplinary and educational ; for the more 
serious and philosophical of the psychologists do not expect 
these first results of the new methods to be revolutionary in 
their value, nor have the researches so far published been 
much more than suggestions of what may be done when the 
method is held under better control and those who apply it 
have had adequate discipline and training in its use. 

Accordingly, in my view, the very marked tendency to 
' research ' evident in the management of the new laboratory 
foundations of the colleges in this country is of main value 
as offering training to the future instructors in psychology 


throughout the land, rather than as offering contributions to 
knowledge. The students in these laboratories come largely 
from colleges where experimental psychology is unprovided 
for or held up for criticism by professors of philosophy. The 
utilization of their results, except in problems whose solution 
properly involves ignorance, crudity, and liability to individual 
variation, is manifestly impossible. 

The research discipline offered by graduate work is indis- 
pensable, however, as discipline, since it is at present the only 
substitute for undergraduate discipline. This, indeed, is the 
function of graduate work in the other departments of science 
in the universities. It is emphasized, however, in psychology 
since, as I shall show below, undergraduate instruction in 
experimental psychology is still in an inchoate condition even 
in the few larger institutions in which it has been added to the 
B.A. course of study. 

Chairs in Experimental Psychology occupied by men whose 
principal function is graduate discipline although in some 
institutions the undergraduate function is being recognized are 
now no longer novelties. Abroad the German universities 
take the lead in such instruction ; yet the instructors are gener- 
ally professors of philosophy or of psychology who offer 
experimental courses. Laboratory foundations began in Ger- 
many in 1878 with the Institute at Leipzig (Professor Wundt); 
they are now to be found as well at Berlin (Professor Ebbing- 
haus, now at Breslau), Gottingen (Professor Miiller), Bonn 
(Professor Mautius), Prague (Professor Hering), Munich (Pro- 
fessor Stumpf, now at Berlin), and Heidelberg (Professor 
Krapelin). As for other European countries, a chair of Experi- 
mental Psychology was founded at Paris in the College de 
France in 1886 (Professor Ribot), and a 'Laboratoire de Psy- 
chologic physiologique ' opened in the Sorbonne in connection 
with the Ecole des Hautes-Etudes in 1891 (Professors Beaunis 
and Binet). Other such Continental foundations are to be found 
at Geneva (Professor Flournoy) and at Rome (Professor Sergi). 
At Florence a laboratory and museum of Psychology and 
Criminal Anthropology has recently been instituted (Professor 
Mantagazza). In Great Britain and her possessions the ana- 
lytic method has not given way to the experimental. In Canada 


alone, at the University of Toronto (Professor Baldwin, now 
Dr. Kirschmann), a well-equipped laboratory was opened in 
1891, although a little later a small sum was secured for the 
purpose of beginning work of this kind at the University of 
Cambridge, England. Lectures are given, however, both by 
physiologists (Professor Hill at University College, London, 
1894) and by professed psychologists (Professor Alexander, 
Owens College, Manchester, 1893). Japan follows with one 
such laboratory that at the University of Tokio (Professor 

In the United States the extension of this method of treat- 
ment has been rapid, and the establishment of chairs and of 
laboratories extraordinary. The first laboratory was estab- 
lished in 1883 at Johns Hopkins University (Professor Hall), 
but it has since been closed. This was followed in 1888 by the 
establishment at the University of Pennsylvania of the first 
chair of Psychology alone with a laboratory (Professor Cat- 
tell). Here the first undergraduate laboratory instruction was 
given. Later, chairs for Experimental Psychology alone have 
been erected at Columbia College (Professor Cattell), Harvard 
University (Professor Miinsterberg), where an additional Pro- 
fessorship in General Psychology exists side by side with it 
(Professor James), the College of New Jersey at Princeton 
(Professor Baldwin). Professorships either in Psychology as 
a whole, or as associated with Education, exist at Clark Uni- 
versity (Professors Hall and Sanford), Wisconsin University 
(Professor Jastrow), Cornell (Professor Titchener), Chicago 
(Professor Strong), Indiana (Professor Bryan), Illinois (Pro- 
fessor Krohn), Stanford (Professor Angell), Catholic Univer- 
sity at Washington (Professor Pace), Wellesley College (Miss 
Professor Calkins). At all these institutions laboratories with 
equipment have been provided ; and such provision has been 
made in others where no separate professorships have yet been 
erected, i.e., Yale (Professor Ladd), Brown (Professor Dela- 
barre), Minnesota (Professor Hough), Nebraska (Professor 
Wolfe), Michigan (Professor Dewey, now of Chicago). 

The nature of these laboratories is illustrated by the large 
exhibit already spoken of. That at Harvard University is the 
largest, best equipped, and most freely patronized by graduate 


students. A Harvard pamphlet-catalogue of the apparatus in 
the laboratory, containing also illustrations, bibliographies, and 
a list of topics under investigation (23 in number), was prepared 
by Professor Miinsterberg for the collective university exhibit. 
The rooms given to this science, however, in the universities 
are usually inadequate and ill-adapted. The only such labo- 
ratory yet planned and constructed especially with regard to 
the requirements of this work is that at the university of 
Toronto, of which a description with plan is to be found in 
1 Science,' xix, 1892, p. 143. The most extensive accommoda- 
tion provided for this work in America is probably that at 
Yale, where a house with fifteen rooms is devoted to it. A 
description of the Yale laboratory is also to be seen in ' Science/ 
xix, 1892, p. 324. 

The following selected topics set recently for original 
investigation in two of the institutions may be taken as typical 
of the kind of themes through which the graduate discipline 
acquired in all these foundations is secured. 

COLUMBIA (1893-4): " After-images their duration and 
nature as a function of the time, intensity, and area of stimu- 

" The time of perception as a measure of differences in 
intensity, and the correlations of time, intensity, and area." 

" The perception and attention of school-children." 

PRINCETON (1893-4): "The progressive fading of memory 
for size of visual figures." 

" Investigation of memory-types by means of reaction- 

" Size and color contrast effects on the retina." 

" Complex illusions of rotation." * 

The treatment of general psychology is adequate as never 
before, also, in the graduate instruction of the country. The 
courses of lectures and the instruction by the Seminar method 
gather large numbers of students who have already graduated 
in less pretentious colleges. The publication in recent years 
of so many systematic treatises, especially in America, has 

* Similar topics of research at Harvard are to be found (23 in number) in the 
Catalogue of the Harvard Laboratory already mentioned, and those at Yale in the 
" Studies from the Yale Laboratory," 1893. 


contributed to this; a dominating influence in this matter 
being a work which has proved to be a vade mecum to psycho- 
logical inquirers the ' Principles of Psychology' of Professor 
Wm. James. 

B. Pyschology as Undergraduate Discipline. The position of 
psychology in the undergraduate curricula of the leading insti- 
tutions also invites remark. Two important changes may be 
discerned in recent years, both indicating the permanent break- 
ing away of this discipline from its earlier hampering connec- 
tions : first, the recognition of the aim of the science as self- 
knowledge and self-control; and second, the introduction of 
the experimental method of instruction. 

The first of these tendencies is shown in the remarkable 
change worked (and still working) in the qualifications and 
training of the occupants of chairs in Philosophy and Psychol- 
ogy. Even the smaller denominational institutions are follow- 
ing the lead of the great eastern foundations, and of the 
progressive state universities, in seeking men who are trained 
to the same rigorous interpretation of fact and search for it 
that are the first requisites of the genuine Naturforscher in 
other branches of science. The guardianship of this impor- 
tant realm, the mind, from outside, in the supposed but mis- 
taken interests of religious and ethical truth, has had its day 
in many institutions at least in any sense that denies to the 
investigator and teacher the full liberty of disputing hypothe- 
ses which facts do not support, and of stating those, however 
novel, which well-observed facts do support. Consequently 
Philosophy and Psychology are now self-controlling depart- 
ments in the colleges ; and so the courses of psychology are 
arranged with view both to the adequate instruction of the 
student in its history and results, and with view to that high 
discipline which the pursuit of the * moral ' as opposed to 
' physical ' and ' natural ' sciences undoubtedly gives. 

Second, the introduction of the experimental method of 
instruction has had its beginning. It consists in the actual 
demonstration of the leading facts of Experimental and Phy- 
siological Psychology in the class-room with added opportu- 
nities for students to perform them upon one another, and, 
under certain topics, upon the dissected nervous systems of 


animals. One of the results is the greater concreteness and 
interest given to the subject for younger students and the 
correspondingly increased election of all the branches of the 
tree of philosophy in the later years. The union of the two 
functions of introspection and experimental observation thus 
secured renders this branch, in my opinion, of unique and as 
yet undeveloped value in the total discipline of college life. 

It is evident that this undergraduate service cannot be 
adequately realized until the science which aims to render 
it is itself well developed and sufficiently categorized. The 
actual condition of things suggests encouragement, therefore, 
but not enthusiasm. It is evident that such a method of 
instruction is at present impossible to any but the original 
workers in this field, and they indeed are each a law unto 
himself. There are very few experiments of a psycho-physical 
or psychological kind which are of such evident importance 
and value as to be recognized by all as available for class 
demonstration. And a more radical defect is that there are 
very few principles as yet formulated which can be adequately 
demonstrated by single or grouped experiments. Add to this 
the fact that the whole exhibit of apparatus at Chicago con- 
tained very few things which are suitable and convenient for 
untrained use or illustration, and the difficulties become in 
part apparent. It is a duty which experimental psychology 
owes to education to meet this need by bringing her results 
into line with the more elementary principles of general 
psychology, of providing simple apparatus which can be used 
by less expert instructors, and of preparing text-books for 
junior classes. While no text-book to-day exists for this pur- 
pose, it is yet gratifying that two such ' Courses in Experi- 
mental Psychology ' have already been announced by compe- 
tent writers, both Americans (Professor Cattell of Columbia 
College and Professor Sanford of Clark University). 

Reference to the latest catalogues of Brown, Wisconsin, 
and Michigan Universities (not to mention many others) may 
serve to show the nature of the courses offered in institutions 
where the work is as yet mainly undergraduate. 

C. Psychology in its Bearings on Pedagogy. Finally, the re- 
lation of psychology to the science of education may be given 


a word after the discussion of its place in practical education. 
Pedagogy as a science treats of the application of psychologi- 
cal principles to the development of normal and cultured per- 
sonality. The ground-work of such a science must be afforded 
therefore by psychology : and inasmuch as the teacher has to 
do with body as well as mind and with mind principally 
through the body, it is experimental or psycho-physical psy- 
chology to which this duty to theoretical education mainly 
comes home. It is needless to say that there is no such 
science of pedagogy in existence. Most of the books which 
have heretofore appeared in America on this topic and their 
name is legion are unworthy of serious attention. Further, 
the importation of the German a priori ' Systems of Pedago- 
gics ' finds its main service in keeping awake the expectation 
and the amour penser of teachers: not in affording them much 
empirical assistance in their task. Yet it is encouraging that 
the phrases ' child-study/ ' self-activity/ ' apperception,' * scien- 
tific methodology,' are in the air, in this year of the Exposition, 
and every teachers' convention listens to hours of paper on 
such topics. 

Contemporary psychology is becoming aware of this duty 
also, however far she may yet be from performing it. Chil- 
dren are being studied with some soberness and exactness of 
method. Statistical investigations of the growth of school- 
children, of the causes and remedies of fatigue in school pe- 
riods, of the natural methods of writing, reading, and memoriz- 
ing, are being carried out. The results of several such 
inquiries were plotted for exhibit in the department of An- 
thropology at Chicago. Questions of school hygiene are now 
for the first time intelligently discussed. The relative values 
of different study-disciplines are being weighed in view of the 
needs of pupils of varying temperaments and preferences. 
And it only remains for the psychologists themselves 
teachers to set the problems and establish the methods, and 
all the enthusiasm that is now undirected or misdirected will 
be turned to helpful account. Among those who have ad- 
dressed themselves to this task in this country with infor- 
mation and influence two names may be mentioned, that of 
W. T. Harris, U. S. Commissioner of Education, Editor 


of the ' International Education Series/ which now includes 
24 volumes, and President G. Stanley Hall of Clark Univer- 
sity, Editor of the ' Pedagogical Seminary ' (vol. i-m, 1891-4). 
Another journal which is doing good work for sound educa- 
tion is the ' Educational Review/ edited by Professor N. M. 
Butler of Columbia College (vols. i-vn, 1891-4). 


It is necessary, in conclusion, in order that this report may 
adequately present the conditions under which psychology 
exhibits herself and her historical progress, to speak briefly 
of the relations which this topic sustains to the other ' moral ' 
forces which make up largely the culture element in our pres- 
ent-day social environment. The traditional connection with 
philosophy is not severed by the new directions of our effort, 
but on the contrary they are made more close and reasonable. 
The change in psychological method was due in part, as I 
have said above, to changes in philosophical conception ; and 
it is only part of the same fact that scientific psychology is 
reacting upon philosophy in the way of healthful stimulus. 
Both the critical idealistic and the critical realistic methods of 
philosophy are richer and more profound by reason of the 
lessons of the new psychology. It was only just that the science 
which owed one of its earliest impulses in this country to a 
book from an advanced thinker of the former school, the * Psy- 
chology ' of Professor John Dewey of the University of Mich- 
igan, should repay the debt by its reconstruction of the 
Kantian doctrine of apperception in terms acceptable to the 
later thinkers of that school. And it is no small gain to both 
schools that their issue should be joined, as it is to-day, on 
ground which stretches beyond their old battle-fields by all 
the reach of territory covered by the modern doctrines of 
Naturalistic Evolution, and the Association Psychology. Phi- 
losophy escapes the charge of Lewes that her discussions are 
logomachy, when the disputants on both sides are able to look 
back upon those even of the late period of Lewes and admit 
the essential truth of both of their hotly-contested formulas. 
As far as this is the case, I venture to say that it is due to the 


progress of psychology in giving content to the terms of the 
logomachy and in enabling the best men to reach more syn- 
thetic and more profound intuitions. 

The relation of psychology to theology also is now as close 
as ever, and must remain so. And the obligation must become 
one of greater mutual advantage as psychology grows to adult 
stature and attains her social self-consciousness in the organi- 
zation of knowledge. The benefits which theology might 
have gained from psychology have been denied in great 
measure through the unfortunate attempt to impose the the- 
ological method upon the treatment of the whole range of 
mental fact. The treatment of * Anthropology ' included in 
the text-books of systematic theology bears about the same 
relation to that of current Psychologies like Hoffding's and 
James* as the physiology of the philosophers not long since 
bore to the work of the neurologists and morphologists. It 
is evident, however, that this condition of things is now hap- 
pily mending ; and it is to the credit of one man, ex-President 
James McCosh of Princeton College, that he first of the theo- 
logians who were teaching philosophy in this country wel- 
comed and advocated the two new influences which I have 
taken occasion above to signalize as the causes of the better 
state of things : the influence of the German work in psychol- 
ogy (Preface to Ribot's ' German Psychology of To-day,' 
1876) and that of the evolution theory in biology (' Religious 
Aspect of Evolution,' 1888). 

Finally, I may note the growth of a new department of 
psychological study which aims to investigate the mental and 
moral life of man in its social and collective conditions. The 
evident need in such subjects as Sociology and Criminology 
is the knowledge of the laws of human feeling and action 
when man is found in crowds, orderly or disorderly, and in 
organizations, legitimate or criminal. This need is now begin- 
ning to be felt both by sociologists and by psychologists, and 
we may hope that the questions already started in Italy by 
Ferri, Sighele (' La foule criminelle,' 1893), in France by 
Tarde (' Les Lois de 1' Imitation ') and Guyau (' Education and 
Heredity,' Eng. trans. 1892), and in England by Spencer, may 
receive fruitful development in this country. It is an interest- 


ing sign of the times in education that the theological schools 
are beginning to realize the need of such knowledge of col- 
lective man, as part of the training of the ministry. Instruc- 
tion in social questions is made a separate department in the 
Yale Divinity School and in the Chicago Theological Semi- 
nary, as well as in other such institutions. 

En rtsumt, I have only to add that psychology is now the 
branch of knowledge which is developing in most varied and 
legitimate ways ; and that the exhibition made at the Colum- 
bian Exposition, while not adequate in many respects, yet 
served, to those who studied it intelligently, to indicate the 
present gains and the future prospects of the science. 



If the differences of view between Professor James and me as to the 
nature, aims, and present condition of psychology were a matter of 
merely private import, I should not think it worth while to discuss 
them. But they seem to me, on the contrary, of the highest importance 
for the future development of the science in this country. It will not 
be out of place, therefore, to speak of them briefly in the REVIEW ; 
especially since I cannot take the statement of them in his, for the 
most part, appreciative notice of my book as representing me fairly. 

Professor James says truthfully that " the word * descriptive ' on the 
title-page covers more of the contents [of my book] than the word 
* explanatory.' " The same thing is true of every scientific treatise on 
mental phenomena that was ever written ; or, indeed, for that matter, 
ever will be written. Moreover, it is also true for every form of 
' natural science,' from astronomy, which can describe the aurora and 
the sun-spots, for example, but cannot at all adequately explain them, 
to biology, which, with all its wealth of descriptive details, is almost 
absolutely powerless as yet to state any of " the logical grounds or the 
efficient causes of the facts described." This discrepancy between 
description and explanation, between our knowledge of facts and our 
knowledge of causes, belongs to the very nature and progress of all 
human science. Has my critic never read through the detailed descrip- 
tion of the embryology of the chick ; and does not he see that it is 
just this careful, loving regard for facts as shrewdly observed and 
honestly reported, in which all the modern sciences of life are per- 
petually laying anew the basis for their advancement ? 

When, however, Professor James says that there is 'very little' 
explanation in my book, I quite decline to acknowledge the force of his 
criticism ; unless I am allowed to add very little, relatively, of the 
kind of explanation which my critic thinks is the only acceptable kind. 
And this brings me at once to one of the chief points of variance 
between us. For in a somewhat emotional statement toward the close 
of his review Professor James declares : " I desiderate ' conditions ' ; 
for Ladd 'analysis' and 'tracing of genesis and growth' are enough." 
But in another place I am given rather unusual credit for skill in * un- 



ravelling the fibres of consciousness,' for realizing the intricacy of my 
facts with ' amazing thoroughness,' and for holding consistently to the 
view that ' each individual mind is an organic life that develops its own 
destiny.' Now has all this nothing to do with * explaining ' the 
phenomena of consciousness, with tracing the conditions, the grounds, 
the efficient causes, in the case of a study like that of the mind's life ? 
Only the student who is predetermined to claim that cerebral psychol- 
ogy is the sole scientific psychology, and that the sole efficient causes 
are conjectural brain-states, could possibly answer ' No ' to this inquiry. 
But such a negative answer throws out of the category of psychological 
science almost the entire body of the work now being done in our 
psychological laboratories, all the collection of statistics and all the 
experimentation in child-psychology, all the study of ethnic psycho- 
logical peculiarities, and of the actual life of the mind, as undoubted 
experience brings it before us. And what does it actually substitute, or 
even promise, for this growing wealth of scientific material? I am 
quite willing that my critic's own voluminous essay in psychology, so 
far as it is distinctly one in cerebralistic theory, should be the answer. 

Professor James distinctly declares that the * crudest cerebralistic 
theories, or the wildest theosophic ones,' lead in a ' more healthy direc- 
tion ' than my resignation to the patient examination of the facts and 
to the working out carefully, in detail, of the various perplexing 
problems which our science proposes. This is exactly the opposite of 
my opinion. And if I thought that our somewhat like a score of 
psychological laboratories in this country were founded to serve such a 
method of advancing the so-called science, I would most willingly see 
them all perish in a single night. 

How, nevertheless, Professor James can hold me up as not ' desid- 
erating ' the conditions of mental life, so far as they lie in cerebral and 
other nervous changes, I find it difficult to comprehend. Have I not 
written two books treating chiefly of this very subject and one of 
them as big as, and even more ' tedious ' than, the ' Psychology, Descrip- 
tive,' etc. ? Even in this latter treatise are not the ' physiological con- 
ditions,' so far as they are known or can reasonably be conjectured, 
somewhat elaborately discussed in connection with almost every kind of 
mental phenomena ? For ' the crudest cerebralistic theories,' as well as 
' the wildest theosophic ones,' I admit I have no taste ; nor will I ever 
indulge myself in such flights of mere fancy, even if I have to remain 
forever on the level ground of known facts, faithfully studied and made 
the basis of cautious generalizations. But that I should also be accused 
of a lack of ' craving for insight into causes,' and of desire to know 
about the mystery of * the union of mind with brain,' is even yet more 


strange. This, in the face of the fact that the voices of the critics have 
scarcely died away who accused me of taking up altogether too much 
space with this very problem of brain and mind, not to speak of Pro- 
fessor James's own correct conjecture that I have in preparation more 
on the same subject. 

It would appear, then, that one point of difference between us is this. 
I regard psychology as the science which describes and explains the 
facts of consciousness. Unravelling the fibres of consciousness, trac- 
ing its genesis and growth, generalizing the laws that relate its states 
together, expounding the conditions of every sort on which the mental 
life unfolds itself this is for me the science of psychology. Professor 
James, on the contrary, holds that there is only one kind of conditions 
which the student of scientific psychology cares to know about, and these 
are the brain-states ; and that until some Galileo or Lavoisier has arisen 
with a psycho-physic law that will sweep the board, as it were, we can 
have no science of psychology. I, on the contrary, assert that such a 
view perverts and misconceives the entire subject, substitutes * wild ' 
and unverifiable conjecture for genuinely scientific treatment of ascer- 
tainable facts, and surrenders to the charge of being * unscientific ' by 
actually becoming so. 

But perhaps the differences of ' temper ' between us if I may ven. 
ture to use the word are quite as strongly marked as the differences of 
expressed views. As to these I certainly should not remark, did I not 
consider that the ' cause ' is somewhat interested in these differences, 
too. Professor James finds my whole ' sort of treatment tedious as few 
things can be tedious.' If he deemed me the only or the chief sinner 
in this way, I should regard his criticism as merely personal and pass 
it by. But he has been kind enough to say that there are many emi- 
nent psychologists who are more tedious to him than I am. And else- 
where he has spoken freely enough of ' dear old ' Fechner's ' patient 
whimsies,' and of the intolerable * Herbartian jargon,' to say nothing of 
the ' Kantian machine-shop ' and the ' strenuously feeble ' prattle of 
Professor Green. Now different things are tedious to different people 
even if they are all alike students of psychology, whether from the 
empirical or from the speculative point of view. But is this the spirit 
of a genuine student of ' natural science ' ? Fortunately we do not all 
get tired in the same way. And it is not the patient unravelling of 
the fibres of consciousness, the careful tracing of the genesis and 
development of the mind's life, but rather wild cerebralistic and theo- 
sophic theories which make the genuine student of psychological science 

All this is, however, for only two individuals of little or no account. 


It makes no difference what seems ' tedious ' to Professor James or 
what seems interesting to me ; or whether it is the same things that 
interest or tire us both. Such differences may be matters of tempera- 
ment or of temporary digestion. But it does make a vast difference 
with the welfare of psychology whether the * virgin-minded youths and 
maidens ' are given by their teachers to understand that the patient 
mastery of details is indeed ' tedious ' ; that they themselves already 
carry it all in their ' bosoms ' ; and that it is a ' violence done to human 
want ' to ask them patiently to acquaint themselves with facts and 
proved principles. When they are ' hungry for spiritual food,' their 
hunger should, I suppose, be fed on cerebralistic or theosophic theories ; 
or else it should be made to wait meal-time until the psychological 
Lavoisier has arisen to substitute his strong meat for my 'milk for 

Now he who knows American youth their needs, their faults 
characteristic or readily acquired, and their fine capacities will be sure 
to judge, I think, that nothing can well be worse for them than to 
receive gladly such instruction as this. Doubtless they do carry much 
psychology in their bosoms ; just as they carry much anatomy and 
physiology in their thoracic and abdominal cavities. But at the very 
time when America and young America, too is stepping rapidly to the 
very front rank of the world's students of psychological science ; when 
the youths and the maidens are offering themselves for patient and 
enthusiastic work at our laboratories and lecture-halls in genuine scien- 
tific spirit and method, it seems to me immensely unfortunate that 
one whom they so justly admire should voice such reactionary and 
debilitating sentiments. 

In closing I will only say that Professor James's 'learned Yale 
co-editor ' is ready to join him in ' ringing in ' the expected ' Lavoisier,' 
with his grand generalization that shall lift our knowledge of mental 
behavior to a level with that certainty which the behavior of the 
planets has for the mind that knows the law of gravitation ; if only 
this great reformer of psychology ever arrive. But in this region he is 
not expected. And meantime we shall not spend our time longing and 
sighing for him. Meantime we shall go plodding on as best we may, 
even if we are thought tenfold more ' tedious ' by our brilliant col- 
leagues, in the future than in the past. Besides all this, we believe that 
the science itself, which is more than any Lavoisier, is with us now ; and 
that this same patient study of facts, and this earnest but slow pushing 
forward of the realm of law on the basis of such study, is the very thing 
in behalf of which the bells should be rung, if they are to be rung at 




A few years ago Dr. Carl Hess examined carefully the change of 
tone produced in a given spectral color by the circumstance that the 
eye had already been fatigued by gazing at another color. The 
experiment was conducted in the following manner. The observer 
looked into the telescope of a suitably arranged spectroscope, and saw 
in one half of the field a given color, the fatiguing color ; by fixating a 
minute bright point in the centre of the field, the effect of this color 
was confined to one half of the retina. After a certain lapse of time 
(varying, in the different experiments, from 30 to 75 seconds) another 
color, the reacting color, was allowed to fall upon this same half of the 
retina, and upon the other, unfatigued, half such a spectral color as the 
observer found, by moving the collimator-tube, to match it exactly. 
The wave-lengths of the three color-tones, the fatigue-color, the react- 
ing-color, and the comparison-color, were all taken ; hence the experi- 
ment would seem to be of a commendable degree of accuracy, and not 
to consist only of schwankende Schdtzungen, to use Helmholtz' phrase 
in criticising it. 

A large number of trials were made, of which the following may 
serve as examples : 

After looking at red, violet becomes bluish green, green becomes 
greenish blue. 

After looking at violet, red becomes reddish yellow. 

After looking at blue, red becomes reddish yellow (more yellow 
than above). 

It will be seen that in each of these cases (as happened in all the 
cases tried) the effect is the same as if the reacting color were mixed 
with a very considerable amount of the color complementary to that 
first gazed at. Now this fact is nothing new for Helmholtz ; he men- 
tions it explicitly in the first edition of the Physiological Optics (p. 
368). The question is whether the explanation given by Helmholtz 
of the after-image which causes the result is sufficient to account for 
the amount of change produced. The situation can be made plain 
with the aid of a diagram representing Konig's color-triangle. Sup- 
pose that fatigue has taken place for the fundamental blue, and that a 
slightly yellowish green, x, is then looked at. In accordance with the 
principles of the color-triangle, the effect upon x of a diminution of 
the blue contained in it is found by drawing a line from Bl to x, and 
producing it beyond x. But if this line be produced to the very 



border of the color-triangle, that is, to the very limit of sensations 
ever experienced ; in other words, if the power of the retina to pro- 
duce the blue sensation is completely exhausted, the sensation which 
results cannot be beyond that represented by y, whose color-tone, 
found by joining y to w, differs very little from that of x. But the 
actual color-tone observed is found to be somewhere near the line zw t 

and quite saturated ; hence it can only be accounted for on the 
hypothesis that there has been a very considerable admixture of a sat- 
urated yellow. For Helmholtz, this can only be obtained as a residue 
of the self-light of the retina after it has been exhausted for blue. 
For the after-effect of blue upon red the case is still worse, since 
spectral red contains absolutely no blue. Helmholtz himself distinctly 
says, in the new edition of the Physiological Optics, where he discusses 
this work of Hess (p. 518), that for a theory in which any of the spec- 
tral colors corresponded to only one, or only two, fundamental colors, 
or for which the self -light of the retina was assumed to be small, the 
objection would be justified. In his present paper* Hess shows that, 
even with these conditions, the cause assigned is not sufficient to 
account for the effect ; that even if the exhaustion had proceeded so 
far that the blue first looked at had turned to gray (what was far from 
being the case), and if the amount of the self-light was much greater 

* Ueber die Unvereinbarkeit gewisser Ermudungserscheinungen des Sehorgans 
mit der Dreifasertheorie. C. HESS. Archiv fiir Ophthalmologie, xxxix. 2, 45-70. 


than is usually attributed to it, it would still be impossible to account 
for the presence of a yellow of so much color-quenching power. 

As already said, the phenomenon here exhibited has already been 
stated by Helmholtz to occur, and to its full extent. There is a simple 
experiment of Hering's, also, which ought to become classical, in which 
the amount of the after-effect is shown in a way which cannot be im- 
proved upon : one has only to look fixedly upon a patch of color illu- 
minated by the light of a lamp, and then to partly turn down the lamp, 
when the patch, still looked at with open eyes, will appear to be spread 
over with the complementary color. This shows beyond question that 
the after-effect is something of very considerable intensity. While this 
paper of Hess, therefore, makes no distinct addition to our knowledge 
of facts, it is still very important in calling renewed attention to the 
necessity for admitting that when an after-image is produced, some 
very pronounced physiological process is taking place in the retina. 
But this does not establish an incompatibility with the Young-Helm- 
holtz theory. Helmholtz at present assumes a photo-chemical process 
in the retina, the nature of which he does not farther particularize. 
There is no reason to suppose that, if he found it desirable, he might 
not add some such assumption as would enable him to assign a physio- 
logical basis to the after-image. It is not necessarily a fundamental 
part of his theory to give so much play as he does to illusions of judg- 
ment. They must evidently play some role, for everywhere else the 
principle of the relativity of sensation is extremely important ; if 
Helmholtz proves to have been mistaken in assigning to them too 
important a role as an intensifier of after-images, it is, beyond question, 
a mistake that might easily be corrected. It is an error of reasoning 
far too commonly made to suppose that all explanations of phenomena 
given by the individuals who uphold a theory are an essential part of 
the theory, and that to discredit them is to upset the theory itself. 
And in particular there is nothing in the facts adduced by Hess which 
is incompatible with a ' three-fibre ' theory, but only with the explana- 
tion which Helmholtz has hitherto given of the after-image. 

We have pointed out in the May number of this REVIEW (page 324) 
that the case is the same for the phenomena of simultaneous contrast ; 
that they are of a physiological nature is not incompatible with the 
Young-Helmholtz theory (and still less with every three-color theory), 
but only with the attribution of an unnecessarily exaggerated im- 
portance to an admitted effect of illusion of judgment. It is essential 
to set this forth with explicitness in the interests of sound reasoning, 
but it must not be taken as giving any appreciable amount of aid and 
comfort to the upholders of the Young-Helmholtz theory. The single 



fact that that theory requires us to interpret white (not the physical 
cause of the sensation, but the sensation itself) as a mixture of red, 
blue, and green is enough to make it an absolutely impossible theory 
to the psychologist. So the fact that Bering's theory requires us to 
attribute equally useful functions to decay and to growth makes that an 
impossible theory to the physiologist, except as the last resource of an 
exhausted scientific imagination. But every one who is interested in 
these theories is either a physiologist or a psychologist. Hence the 
necessity of substituting for them both an hypothesis free, upon the 
threshold, from objection of so critical a nature. 




The Psychic Factors of Civilization. LESTER F. WARD. Boston, Ginn 

& Co., 1893. Pp. xxi + 369. 
Social Evolution. BENJAMIN KIDD. New York and London, Mac- 

millan & Co., 1894. Pp. vi + 348. 
Civilization during the Middle Ages. GEORGE B. ADAMS. New York, 

Charles Scribner's Sons, 1894. Pp. vi + 463. 
History of the Philosophy of History. ROBERT FLINT. New York, 

Charles Scribner's Sons, 1894. Pp. xxvii -f 706. 

An attempt to state the foundations of a sociology definitely 
based upon psychological methods and data has an interest for psy- 
chologists quite independent of its worth for students in the social 
field. This interest is a double one : it is worth while to see what sort 
of psychological ideas are used to lay the basis of another science, 
and it is worth while to note the reaction of their social application 
upon the ideas themselves to note, that is, how psychological ideas 
look when handled by one whose chief interest is in therr efficiency to 
explain the development of social life. Accordingly I shall consider 
Mr. Ward's work on both sides : how in his essay psychology contrib- 
utes to sociology, and how sociology in his hands supplies valuable 
data to the psychologist. And if I am led to the conclusion that Mr. 
Ward gives back considerably more to the psychologist than he 
succeeds in borrowing from him, the conclusion only adds to the psy- 
chologist's interest in the work, however it may square with Mr. Ward's 

There are two questions of paramount interest in sociology: one, 
the question of the nature of the social forces ; the other, the question 
of their control. As it happens, both of these questions are psychical 
questions. The force which keeps society moving is a psychical one, 
the 'soul,' using the term soul not in a theological or even techni- 
cal philosophical sense, but in its popular meaning the feelings taken 



collectively. The power which gives direction to these forces is also 
psychical the intellect. Now, on one hand, according to Mr. Ward, 
these considerations suffice to overthrow the reigning biological method 
in sociology, as represented by Spencer, in its theory, and still 
more as to the practical conclusions (laissez-faire] drawn from it. As 
to this save to suggest that possibly Mr. Ward takes Spencer some- 
what more seriously than a psychologist would take him, and to regret 
that the somewhat irritating self-consciousness of Spencer's style should 
occasionally have infected Mr. Ward's way of putting things we have 
nothing to do. We are concerned with his subjective psychology, or 
account of feeling as psychical motor, and his objective psychology, 
or intellect as psychical director. 

Mr. Ward's psychology of feeling and action is a compound (not a 
happy one, as I shall try to show) of the old-fashioned psychology of 
sensation, dating from Locke, and Schopenhauer's theory of will. The 
crudeness of his account of sensation and idea may best be gathered 
from his own words : " When the end of the finger is placed against 
any material object two results follow. There is produced a sensation 
depending upon the nature of the object, and there is conveyed to the 
mind a notion of the nature of the object " (p. 16). If the sensation is 
indifferent as to pleasure and pain, attention will be fixed upon the 
notion conveyed, and abstracted from the sensation. In this case 
perception occurs. What sort of thing the percept of an object will be 
independent of the qualitative character of the sensation, Mr. Ward 
does not try to say : he only tells us that " the sensation and the 
notion are not one and the same, but two distinct things." This com- 
plete dualism (he tells us of the ' dual ' nature of mind, p. 12) lies at 
the basis of his conception of feeling as psychical and social force, and 
intellect as directing power. 

While indifferent sensations are neglected for the notion which they 
convey, the intensive sensations meet a different fate. Pleasure and pain 
are connected with them, and this fact occasions movement : movement 
which is definite and purposeful * away from object when there is pain, 
towards it when pleasure. These acts are the simple impulsive move- 
ments. But besides this sensori-motor apparatus, there is an ideo- 
motor apparatus, which gives rise to rational acts. These acts, Mr. 
Ward asserts (p. 33), come as clearly as the sensori-motor within the 
generic definition of being the result of sensations and away from pain 
and towards pleasure. This may be true ; but how it can be true with- 

* If this be true in the unqualified way in which Mr. Ward states it, it is difficult 
to see why the intellect should ever be needed to 'direct.' 


out a complete reconstruction of his original dualism between the 
' subjective ' sensation and the * objective ' idea, I fail to see, the * idea ' 
having been defined as wholly without pleasurable or painful quality. 

Desire is the next stage of development, and is ' the recorded and 
remembered pain and pleasure.' Since the representative states are 
much more important in our life than presentative sensations, our 
whole being becomes a theatre of desires seeking satisfaction, but 
checked in many ways, so that there results a perpetual striving to 
obtain the objects of satisfaction. From this time on the psychology 
of will completely supersedes that of sensation : the appetites of hunger 
and thirst, love, aesthetic and moral cravings, all springs to action, 
are included under desire, and language is strained to exhibit " all 
animated nature burning and seething with intensified desires " (pp. 
52-3). We are next told that all desire is a form of pain, while effort 
aroused by desire is simply to satisfy it, that is, allay the pain. " All 
the enormous exertions of life are made for the sole purpose of getting 
rid of the swarm of desires that goad and pursue every living being 
from birth to death " (p. 55). That a remembered pleasure as well as a 
remembered pain should be of itself desire, that it should be pain (not 
simply painful), and that of itself it should know how to terminate 
itself, and that this termination should be pleasure all this will 
probably strike the psychologist as curious enough ; but the end is not 
yet. The satisfaction of desire terminates it, and the subject returns, 
psychologically, to its previous condition. But this of itself leads to 
the pessimistic conclusion : the sole spring to action is desire, desire is 
pain, and the satisfaction of desire is simply the cessation of pain. 
Yes, replies Mr. Ward, all this would be true if the act of gratifying a 
desire were absolutely instantaneous (p. 65). But the sensation of grati- 
fication is continuous ; it takes time ; in the higher form of love, in- 
definite time. " So long as the object is present the pleasure abides " 
(p. 68). Now I do not intend to question this as a fact; but, again, I 
do not see how the statement can be true if Mr. Ward's previous psychol 
ogy be true. All gratification of desire implies the presence of desire ; a 
non-existent desire can hardly be gratified, and all desire is pain. Ergo, 
as long as there is gratification there is pain at most a mixed state of 
pleasure-pain. This is Mr. Ward's only logical conclusion. The object 
whose permanence gives permanent satisfaction is a visitor from 
another sphere than that of sheer feeling which forms, with memory, 
the whole of Mr. Ward's data. The contradiction becomes oppressive 
when we are further told (p. 74) " that, provided the means of supply- 
ing wants can be secured, the greater the number and the higher the 
rank of such wants, the higher the state of happiness attainable." 


While feeling (pleasure) is the result of desire psychologically (or 
for the individual), function is the result so far as nature is concerned. 
The satisfaction of the desire to eat builds up the whole system's 
further structure, and that develops organic function. There is still 
another result, totally (p. 79) different from either feeling or function. 
In satisfying desire the individual puts forth action, and this is a 
condition of building up structure. It is the connecting link between 
pleasure and function the consequence of the former, the condition 
of the latter. The transformations thus wrought constitute material 
utilities, material civilization. Of these neither the individual nor 
nature is the beneficiary, but society. Thus there are three distinct 
ends function for nature, pleasure for the individual, and action, with 
its products, for society. 

I mention these points for their negative rather than their positive 
value. All these separations, with the contradictions previously 
indicated, result logically from the original premises. Let the funda- 
mental thing be conceived as impression resulting from contact with 
an object, and thought, perception, must be another sort of thing; 
desire and action can be brought in from passive feeling only by a 
virtual contradiction, while nature, the individual, and society have 
independent ends. 

For, to begin with the last point, it is simply the insertion of a pas- 
sive impression between the ' object ' and the feeling and idea that 
makes such a break in the respective ends of nature, individual, and 
society as Mr. Ward introduces. Let once the standpoint of action be 
taken and there is a continuous process : the sensory ending is a place, 
not for receiving sensations and starting notions on their road to the 
mind, but a place (viewed from the standpoint of nature) for trans- 
forming the character of motion ; the brain represents simply a further 
development and modification of action, and the final motor discharge 
(the act proper) the completion of this transformation of action. 
Whether the discharge is sensori-motor or ideo-motor depends simply 
upon the intermediate transformation which the original motion under- 
goes. Now while the psychological description of the process may 
employ different terms, it cannot involve a different principle. To 
suppose that feeling starts off action attributes a causal power to a 
bare state of consciousness at which many of the * metaphysicians,' 
before whom Mr. Ward so shudders, would long hesitate. What 
feeling adds is consciousness of value of action in terms of the in- 
dividual acting. While this appreciation of value marks a tremendous 
factor in the development of life, it is altogether too much to suppose 
that its introduction means the introduction of a new agency : the 


abdication of * natural ' energy (motion) and the substitution for it of 
a new power-feeling.* 

Furthermore, there is no reason to make function the ' end ' of 
nature : its ' end ' (like its beginning) is activity, or motion ; the struc- 
tural organization (and the corresponding functioning which goes 
along with it) being simply the objective manifestation of the transfor- 
mation of motion. Even from the standpoint of * nature,' function 
(or rather structure, which I take Mr. Ward to mean, since function 
always is action) is instrumental, not final. Only because Mr. Ward 
tries to get action out of passive states of feeling (pleasures and pains) 
does he have to reverse this natural order, and make action the inter- 
mediate term between feeling (the individual's end) and function 
(nature's end). Once adopt the united and continuous standpoint of 
action, and our three different ends resolve themselves into one an 
end which may be termed valuable (felt) functional activity. 

It probably is hardly necessary to deal at length with the weakness 
of Mr. Ward's treatment of original and representative action. The 
ignoring of impulse, save as representative, or the memory of previous 
pain and pleasure ; the reduction of both ideo-motor and sensori-motor 
action to response to feelings of pain and pleasure, leaving out of 
account both the qualitative side of sensation and ideas, and also the 
connection of sensation (directly) and ideas (indirectly) with impulse ; 
the account of desire as representative pleasures, which are suddenly 
asserted to be a state of pain ; the abrupt appearance of permanent 
objects of satisfaction all this is its own sufficient commentary. 

When, however, we remember that Mr. Ward's original text is the 
need of relatively less attention to the intellect and more to the motive 
side of mind, and that his object is to get a basis for social dynamics 
on the side of its motor powers, we have an instructive object-lesson. 
All this unsatisfactory and self-contradictory analysis results from the 
fact that Mr. Ward is so under the spell of an old psychology of sensa- 
tion that he fails to recognize the radical psychical fact, although just 
the fact needed to give firm support to his main contentions I mean 
impulse, the primary fact, back of which, psychically, we cannot go. 

* It may avoid misapprehension here if I remark that I am not arguing that the 
' external ' motion is the cause of the ' internal ' state of consciousness. To 
treat one as cause of the other is to suppose one independent of the other, and thus 
to break the continuity. My point is, that if one chooses to take the standpoint of 
physical science and describe as far as possible the psychical occurrence, this 
occurrence is one of the transformation and complication of motion. The fact 
of feeling and of the existence of ideas must be recognized, but they must be treated 
from the standpoint of the development of action. 


Starting with impulsive action, Mr. Ward would have, I think, no 
difficulty in showing the secondary or mediate position occupied by 
intellect. In order to secure this, his main purpose, he could well 
afford to sacrifice both the theory of feelings of pleasure-pain as 
stimulus to all action, and the old myth of sensation somehow walking 
from the object over into the mind. He would secure both a consis- 
tent psychology and a unification of the ends now attributed to three 
different existences by a psychology which states the mental life in 
active terms, those of impulse and its development, instead of in pas- 
sive terms, mere feelings of pleasure and pain. 

It is a pleasure to turn from these somewhat negative results to the 
other field the light which Mr. Ward throws upon psychology from 
the standpoint of sociological evolution. I must omit more than bare 
reference to Mr. Ward's account of the reaction upon environment 
resulting from the introduction of specialized psychical phenomena. 
The points he makes (pp. 84-89) regarding the effects upon vegetable 
life in the way of the evolution of flowers and fruit, of the appearance 
of mind (in insect and bird organisms), and concerning the effect upon 
physical characters, including the brain, of the male animal of the 
development of sexual appetite in the female, are well worth attention. 

But Mr. Ward's main contribution in this direction is in the theory 
which he propounds regarding the growth of intelligence, and the dif- 
ferentiation of the male and female types. It would perhaps hardly 
be safe to say that there is anything absolutely original in the points 
urged by Mr. Ward, but I do not know any writer who has made them 
in so striking and effective a way. 

The key-word to the whole evolution of mind is advantage. Gain 
consists in increased ability to satisfy desire ; hence the arousing of 
direct effort, of that striving which we call brute force. But many 
desires cannot possibly be satisfied by the primary method of direct 
effort. When a desire having a certain amount of active vigor at 
command meets obstacles, the result is that the animal is no longer 
simply checked ; while external motion is arrested internal motility is 
increased. In this way the animal may continually change its position 
or point of attack, and thus by an indirect or flank movement finally 
reach its goal. This advantageous method would be selected and per- 
petuated until, finally, the power of mental exploration is developed. 
This incipient power leads up to ' intuition,' defined as the " power of 
looking into a complicated set of circumstances, and perceiving that 
movements which are not in obedience to the primary psychic force 
are those which promise success." 

Intelligence is thus indirection checking the natural, direct action, 


and taking a circuitous course. This accounts for the touch of moral 
obliquity attaching to all words naming primitive intellectual traits 
shrewdness, cunning, crafty, designing, etc. It also accounts for the 
large part played by deception in historic social life military strategy, 
political diplomacy, and, at present, business shrewdness. It is the 
legitimate consequence of this stage of mental development. So far 
as nascent intelligence is directed towards other sentient organisms 
(as it is where the getting of food or avoiding of enemies is concerned), 
intelligence is egoistic, living at the expense of other organisms. But 
a further development takes place when it is directed to inanimate 
objects. Ingenuity is substituted for cunning, and in so far intelli- 
gence becomes objective, impersonal, disinterested. When the savage 
makes a bow and arrow, his ultimate aim, indeed, is still gratification of 
appetite ; but for the time being his attention must be taken up with a 
purely objective adjustment with perception of relations of general 
utility, not of simple personal profit. In this way intelligence gradu- 
ally, through the mediation of invention, works free from subjection to 
the demands of personal desire. It sets up its own interest, its own 
desire, which is comprehension of relations as they are. Scientific dis- 
covery and speculative genius are simply farther steps on this same 

The ordinary biological theory of society does not see beyond the 
egoistic, exclusive development of intelligence. Its practical conclu- 
sions are, therefore, all in the direction of laissez-faire. But a psycho- 
logical theory must recognize the change in the conditions of evolution 
wrought by the development of the non-personal, objective power of 
intelligence. True legislation is simply the application in the sphere 
of social forces of the principle of invention of objective co-ordina- 
tion with a view to increase of efficiency, and preventing needless waste 
and friction. Given a social science and a psychology as far advanced 
as present physical science, and laissez-faire in society becomes as 
absurd as would be the refusal to use knowledge of mechanical energy 
in the direction of steam and electricity. Mr. Ward, however, does 
not hold that psychology justifies the extreme socialistic conclusion, 
but rather leaves action a matter of specific conclusion : Let society 
do as the individual does do what seems best after detailed study of 
the relevant facts. This seems good sense, but I doubt if Mr. Ward 
has duly considered the possibility of this outcome if, as he has previously 
urged, society has one end, viz., action, and the individual has another, 
feeling. If this opposition of ends exists, any possible development of 
intelligence can, it seems to me, only bring the conflict into clearer 
relief, and bring out definitely the necessity of choosing whichever is 


considered more important and sacrificing the other. In other words, 
what is needed is not the substitution of a psychological theory (in 
terms of individual feeling) for the biological theory (in terms of 
function), but rather an interpretation of the latter into its psycholog- 
ical equivalents a theory of consciously organic activity.* 

At an early period a differentiation into two main types of intuition 
occurs : male, whose course we have already followed, and female. 
Male intuition develops with reference to reaching remote ends ; 
it works out means ; it is essentially planning or contriving. It de- 
velops new schemes, etc. Female intuition develops with reference 
to the immediate present ; it is a question not of getting food at 
a distance, against obstacles, but of protecting herself and young 
against present danger. Female intuition develops, therefore, in the 
line of ability to ' size up ' the existing situation ; it reads signs : it is 
essentially interpreting, not projective or contriving. This seems to 
me the nearest approach yet made to putting the psychology of the 
sexes on something approaching a scientific basis. When Mr. Ward 
goes on to argue that the male intelligence is radical, the female con- 
servative, I cannot follow him so unreservedly. It seems to me that 
both the facts and a legitimate deduction from his own theory justify 
the conclusion that the male intelligence is radical as to ends, but cau- 
tious as to immediate methods to be followed that is, while entertain- 
ing new projects easily, is slow in coming to a conclusion as regards 
their execution. The peculiar abstractness of the male intelligence 
results from this combination. The female intelligence, while hesitat- 
ing in the consideration of radically new ends, is decidedly radical in 
its adoption of means with reference to ends its tendency is to take 
the shortest course, irrespective of precedent. The prevalent theory 
of the essentially conservative nature of woman's intelligence seems to 
me a fiction of the male intelligence, maintained in order to keep this 
inconvenient radicalism of woman in check. 

I cannot conclude without adding that Mr. Ward's book is ex- 
tremely suggestive as well for what it does not accomplish as for 

* Before passing on to the next topic, I wish to remark that Mr. Ward's general 
theory of the evolution of intelligence seems to me to promise a much more hopeful 
reconciliation of the a posteriori and the a priori than Spencer's method. The 
' raining in ' of an external environment upon the organism until its main features 
are reproduced in the organization of the latter offers more difficulties than it 
solves. From Mr. Ward's standpoint, the development is always controlled by 
the organism itself it occurs in the process by which the latter reaches its own 
end, and in that sense (probably the only tolerable one) is a priori, while the whole 
process is itself an experimental one. 


what it does. Its moral (to my mind) is pointing to a step which 
the book does not itself take. The current theory of mind undoubt- 
edly needs reconstruction from the sociological standpoint ; it needs 
to be interpreted as a fact developing with reference to its social utili- 
ties. The biological theory of society needs reconstruction from the 
standpoint of the recognition of the significance of intellect, emotion, 
and impulse. Mr. Ward seems to me, when all is said and done, to 
give a compromise and mixture of the two older standpoints, rather 
than a re-reading of either of them. 

Three ideas run through and through Mr. Kidd's book, repeated 
and intertwined without much regard to the logic of formal presenta- 
tion, and yet so put each time as not to convey the effect of wearisome 
reiteration. These ideas are : I. Progress is always effected through 
competition and struggle. There is infinite narrow variation, some 
variations tending slightly below, others slightly above, the existing 
average standard. There is in these variations no essential tendency to 
progress. Progress comes only through selection of favorable differ- 
entiations, and there is no selection save where there is rivalry and 
struggle. This biological law (with regard to which Dr. Kddd follows 
Weismannism in its extreme form) holds of human as of animal his- 
tory. Its scene of operation is simply transferred to the rivalry of 
nations and of industrial life. 

On this point Mr. Ward and Mr. Kidd seem to me to provide neces- 
sary correctives of each other. The positive evolutionary significance 
of conflict seems hardly to be recognized by Mr. Ward ; he seems to 
think that intellectual progress can now cut loose from the conditions 
under which it originated, namely, preferential advantage in the struggle 
for existence. To me it appears as sure a psychological as biological 
principle that men go on thinking only because of practical friction 
or strain somewhere, that thinking is essentially the solution of tension. 
But Mr. Ward is strong where Mr. Kidd appears defective : in the 
recognition of the part which coherent, organized science can play in 
minimizing the struggle, and in rendering effective that residuum neces- 
sary to maintain progress. The elimination of conflict is, I believe, a 
hopeless and self-contradictory ideal. Not so the directing of the 
struggle to reduce waste and to secure its maximum contribution. It 
is not the sheer amount of conflict, but the conditions under which it 
occurs that determine its value. Mr. Kidd seems practically to ignore 
this possibility of increasing control of conflict, and to leave the indi- 
vidual at its mercy ; the individual, according to him, is a tool of the 
conflict in evolving progress, not the conflict a tool of man. 

This brings us to the second point. II. Progress implies the sacri- 


fice of the individual to the race ; the individual has to suffer from the 
conflict in order that the race may enjoy the benefits of progress. This 
position of itself offers nothing new ; the problem has been felt ever 
since man became conscious of progress. The contention between 
Herder and Kant in Germany, between Malthus and the ' perfectionists ' 
in England, represent it. But the use to which Mr. Kidd puts the idea 
is, so far as I know, original, and marks a mind of scope and daring. 
As man becomes conscious of the extent to which he is sacrificed to a 
progress in whose benefits he does not share, and as he gains in rational 
power, he will squarely propound to himself this problem : Why should 
I continue to suffer simply for the sake of progress ? Go to ; let us make 
the best of the present and eliminate struggle and conflict. And from 
the standpoint of reason this position is logically justified ; there is no 
rational sanction for progress. This is the psychological basis of 
socialism, for socialism is simply extreme rationalism applied to the 
existing conditions of life. It proposes to put a stop to the suffering 
which struggle inflicts on individuals ; though this implies a brake on 

III. Where then is the sanction for progress, science, or rational 
method utterly failing to justify it ? In feeling subjectively, or religion 
objectively. The sociological function of religion is to cultivate in the 
individual passive resignation to or even active co-operation in his 
sacrifice to the good of future generations. Only in this way can the 
universality, historical and psychological, of the religious consciousness 
be explained. The scientific man in his ignoring of, or attack upon, 
religion fails to notice this sociological, evolutionary meaning, and in- 
directly plays into the hands of the socialist. 

I have given, I think, a fair account of Mr. Kidd's main intentions ; 
what I have not given is his force of statement and his wealth of illus- 
trative material. Any detailed criticism upon such radical and far- 
reaching propositions is out of the question, but I cannot refrain from 
two suggestions. If the individual is continually sacrificed to the con- 
ditions of progress, where is the progress ? Mr. Kidd speaks as if sacri- 
fice to progress and sacrifice to welfare of future humanity were the 
same (see p. 291). But this cannot be ; the benefit which will accrue 
to the future generations must, when their turn comes, be incidental to 
the sufferings attendant upon conflict as a condition of further progress. 
The process never amounts to anything, never has any value, unless it 
has it both now and then, i.e., all the time. Mr. Kidd seems to me to 
have fallen into the old pit of a continual progress towards something. 
This indicates my second suggestion. The antithesis which Mr. Kidd 
makes between what constitutes the happiness of the individual and the 


conditions of progress appears to be overdrawn and out of perspective. 
Overlooking the fact that the sense of contributing to progress is an 
important, and to many an indispensable, rational ingredient of happi- 
ness, what ground is there for the assumption that the individual's 
rational conception of happiness excludes all suffering arising from 
struggle? I do not see that the case stands otherwise for the con- 
ditions of happiness (individual welfare) than for the conditions of 
progress (general welfare). A certain intensity and, so to speak, taut- 
ness of activity appear requisite to happiness ; and rivalry or struggle, 
for anything we know, is