compound ideas of object and result are both alike supple- mented by the idea of one's own movement, and the atten- tion oscillates from the one to the other. A friend meets me on the street, and says: ' Come out for a walk! ' I have now in consciousness the impulse to walk and the impulse, previously formed, to go home and work. There is a conflict of impulses, and action follows when one of the two has gained the upper hand over its rival. — Selec- tive action, then, stands to impulsive precisely as active attention stands to passive.
It follows from this that there will usually be more effort in the experience of selective action than in that of impulsive; active attention means more effort than passive (§ -^Z^. The conscious conditions of the two movements also differ considerably in com- position: 'impulse' is a simultaneous association of three ideas, two of which (the ideas of mov^ement and result) are pleasant, while the third (idea of object) may be either pleasant or unpleas- ant j ' choice ' or ' selection ' presupposes alternate attentions to two such associations, accompanied by the sentiment of doubt or mood of indecision (§ 90).
The impulse which wins is the impulse which is favoured by mental constitution, the impulse whose cortical excitations are reinforced by a bodily tendency (§ 35). The parallel between the victorious impulse, in selective action, and the victorious idea, in active attention, is so close that no more need be said here about selective action in general.
(2) Volitional action arises when we have in conscious- ness two sets of ideas, which are both strongly pleasant or unpleasant, but one of which is supplemented by the idea of our own movement while the other is not. The conflict is now not between two impulses, but between an impulse, on the one hand, and attention to a set of ideas which do not suggest action of any kind, on the other 256 Vohintary Movement. Analysis of Action (§ 69). Which complex gets the upper hand, — whether action or no action results, — depends upon the capacity of each to hold the attention. Thus I hear my alarum-clock, and have the impulse to get out of bed. The impulse is opposed by the idea of another half-hour's sleep. If the impulse-ideas, the ideas of the time, of my day's work, etc., can hold the attention, I get up.
(3) Just as active attention may become passive, — when, e.g., we grow * absorbed ' in the problem before us, — so may a selective or volitional action pass into a reflex- like form, which is termed automatic action. Some par- ticular impulse may habitually gain the victory over its rival impulses, or over the ideas which compete with it for the attention. When this is the case, the idea of move- ment, contained in the impulse, and the organic sensations aroused by actual movement, gradually cease to attract notice: the whole movement becomes indifferent, and is relegated to the lower nervous centres for guidance. In its earlier stages, however, automatic action differs from reflex action in the fact that the ideas of object and result do not entirely lapse from consciousness. I look out of window and see the postman approaching, and say: 'I'll go down and get the letters.' The movement of walking follows upon attention to the ideas of object (postman) and result (letters); it is itself performed quite automatically. Or a practised piano-player sits down to play a score at sight. He has the idea of the score, and some idea of the result of his playing (he knows that the composition is a march or a sonata); but the movements of hands and fingers are automatic.
At a later stage the whole action becomes automatic. While I am writing, I dip my pen into the ink time after time, without having any idea of the ink-bottle, of the result of my dipping, or of the movement. So with walk- ing: walking was originally a volitional action, but is now completely automatic.
Automatic actions of this latter kind are true reflexes, — re- flexes which have taken shape from selective or volitional actions within the Hfetime of an individual. They are sometimes called ' secondary reflexes,' the adjective ' secondary ' serving to mark them off from the reflexes which have been formed from impulsive actions, during the lifetime either of the individual or of the race.
Most of the actions of our everyday life are of a mixed charac- ter, beginning as volitional or selective, but running their farther course as impulsive or automatic. — The same advantage follows from the growth of automatic action that follows from the passage of active into passive attention (§38). The less we have to attend to the unessential, the more time and energy have we to attend to the essential. As more and more organic functions are discharged by the lower nervous centres, the frontal lobes are left more and more free to undertake new duties.
Putting together the results of this chapter, we obtain the fol- lowing table of the development of Action.
Involuntary Movements. Voluntary Movements.
(i) Action upon Presentation.
I Action upon Representation.
(2) Impulsive Action.
I (3) Reflex Action. (4) Instinctive Action. (5) Selective and Volitional Action.
I (6) Automatic Action.
It is tempting to regard the involuntary movements as ex- tremely reflex reflexes, i.e., as movements which spring from an original impulsive source, but are now so far removed from it as to show no trace of their origin. There does not seem, however, to be any real warrant for the assumption. s 258 Voluntary Movement. Analysis of Action § 69. Inaction. — Every instance of attention in the primitive consciousness means movement of the primitive organism. So long as consciousness is inattentive, the organism is inactive. The first condition of inaction, then, is (i) a generally inattentive ('scatter-brained') state of consciousness.
(2) Later on, when action upon presentation has given place to action upon representation, voluntary movement ^ does not follow upon attention unless one of the ideas attended to is the idea of one's own movement. While >he impulsive action is still imperfectly developed, the ' idea of movement will, it is true, be liable to attach to almost any presented idea: the child stretches out its arms for the moon. Nevertheless, there is now a second possible condition of inaction: the association of the ideas of object and of movement will be broken up in all cases where the object is found to be unattainable. It soon becomes a matter of experience that reaching after the moon is fruitless, and has no pleasant consequences. Hence the moon-idea ceases to be supplemented by the idea of movement. Impulsive action passes into inaction, because the movement-idea has ' dropped off ' certain ideas to which it was once associated.
Inaction may result (3) from a conflict of equally strong impulses. If the impulses to go for a walk and to go home and work (§ 6^) were of precisely the same strength, I should be obliged to stand still; I should be inactive, until one of them was reinforced, and so gained the upper hand in consciousness.
An instance of this sort of inaction, so often quoted that it has become proverbial, is to be found in the Sophisms of M. Buridan, a rector of the University of Paris in the 14th century. We are asked to imagine the case of an ass, which is hungry and thirsty in equal degree, and is placed just midway between a basket of oats and a pail of water. The impulses in both directions being exactly equal, the animal would starve.
Inaction may result also (4) from the fact that the ideas which rival the impulse are the stronger of the two com- plexes. When I hear my alarum-clock, I have the impulse to get out of bed. But the idea that I have nothing especial to do, combined with the feeling of present com- fort, may overcome the impulse: I stay where I am. — In the first of these instances we have inaction in place of selective action, in the second we have it in place of volitional action.
The last illustration shows that there are certain ideas, in the developed consciousness, to which the idea of move- ment has never been associated at all. We must suppose that at the period when impulsive action was emerging from action upon presentation, a movement-idea was associated, as a matter of course, to every idea that caught the attention. But the association ceased to be universal as soon as the idea of movement ' dropped out of ' cer- tain impulses, leaving them not impulses, but ordinary associations. Henceforth the idea of movement formed connections as other ideas did: it had no advantage over them. And just as we do not associate the idea of * black ' to that of 'grass,' so we do not associate the idea of our own movement to the ideas of * organism,' 'concept,' * ocean ' and a thousand others. Here, then, is another condition of inaction: (5) we do not act, because there is nothing in the nature of the object attended to which should call up the movement-idea.
Finally, we have cases of pathological inaction (6) in 26o Voluntary Movement. Analysis of Action the paralysis of the organism during a violent emotion, e.g.^ that of extreme terror. There is here no crouching down or running away; all movement is inhibited.
Since in the primitive consciousness every case of attention means the performance of an action, the organism has a strong inherited tendency to movement. Hence it comes that we never attend, never have a clear idea of anything, — i.e., never feel, — without also moving (§ i^^. The nervous system is built upon a motor plan; it is never disturbed by an excitation without sending an excitation out again, to some part of the body. If the con- ditions of voluntary movement are not fulfilled, this outgoing excitation gives rise to involuntary movements; pulse is changed, the viscera move, etc. In the normal man, therefore, inaction, the absence of voluntary movement, does not mean a state of total quietude: whenever he attends (feels), certain of his organs are the seat of involuntary movements.
PART III CHAPTER XI Recognition, Memory and Imagination § 70. The Nature of Recognition. — Certain objects and processes of the outside world are familiar to us. When their ideas appear in consciousness, they have attaching to them a mark or sign of familiarity, just as pressures at different parts of the body or objects lying at a distance from us in the field of visual space have attaching to them a mark or sign of locality (§ 44). The local sign makes a given cutaneous impression a ' back of the head ' impres- sion; the familiarity mark makes that or another im- pression a * known ' or ' recognised ' or * remembered ' impression.
The problem of recognition, then, is very similar to that of localisation. We have, in each case, a particular idea or group of ideas which differs from others in the fact that it is marked or qualified in a particular way. The mark is a conscious process or group of conscious processes; and our business, in each case, is to analyse and reconstruct it, by the help of introspection, and to ascertain its physiological conditions.
Suppose that you are entering a street-car. As you enter, you run your eyes over the line of faces before you. The first half-dozen of your fellow-passengers are strangers; their faces arouse no interest, do not arrest your gaze. At the end of the car, however, you see some- 262 Recogiiitiony Memory arid Imagination one whom you know; you recognise him. A sudden change occurs in your consciousness; you call him by name, take a seat at his side, and begin to converse with him. — What was it that happened in consciousness, at the moment of recognition? What are the conscious processes involved in * recognising ' t For one thing, your visual idea of your friend was supplemented by a number of other, centrally aroused ideas. As you looked down the line of strange faces, your present train of ideas was not interrupted: the visual ideas were indifferent to you. But as soon as you receive this visual idea, a host of other ideas, derived from your past intercourse, flock into consciousness: will the weather spoil the excursion that you were planning } has he solved the problem that was bothering you both last night.? did the morning paper say anything about that election.? and so on. —The first characteristic of the recognitive consciousness, in this instance, is the supple- menting of the given impression by a large number of ideas. Recognition has meant the formation of a highly complex simultaneous association.
At the same time that the association is being formed, your mood\i?i^ changed. As you entered the car you were, we will suppose, thinking indifferently upon your imme- diate business. When you see your friend, the mood of indifference changes to a mood of pleasantness, which we cannot describe better, perhaps, than by the phrase ' feel- ing at home.' The mood contains, besides the pleasant affection, a complex of organic sensations, set up by an 'easy' bodily attitude. — The second characteristic of the recognitive consciousness, then, is a pleasurable mood.
Putting the various components together, we have (i) the presented idea; (2) its centrally aroused supplements; and (3) the mood of 'feeling at home.' The union of these three factors gives us a * recognition.'
Since the supplementary ideas come to mind in obedience to the law of association, i.e., because certain part-processes are common to them and to the visual idea of your friend, they serve to define the place of that visual idea in your total mental experi- ence. In this sense every such group of supplementary ideas may be termed, metaphorically, a ' local mark '; for it locahses the given idea in time and in place. A ' local mark ' of this kind, plus the 'at home ' mood, constitutes the mark of famiharity. — The mood of recognition is a weakened survival of the emotion of relief (fear unfulfilled). To an animal so defenceless as was primi- tive man, the strange must always have been cause for anxiety {cf. the derivation of the word 'fear ': § 57). The bodily attitude which expresses recognition is still that of relief from tension, that of ease and confidence.
Every recognitive experience is intrinsically pleasant. Its pleasantness may, however, be outweighed by the unpleasantness of the recognised idea. If the face which I recognise in the street-car belongs to an individual whom I am particularly anxious to avoid, the total experience is unpleasant: an unpleasurable emotion is set up, and the pleasantness of the organic sensations contained in the recognitive mood is forced into the background of consciousness. We have something very similar to this in the instances of impulsive and instinctive movements away from an object. The sensations evoked by the movements would, of themselves, be accompanied by pleasantness; but the idea of the object may be so fearful or loathsome that the pleasantness is not felt.
§ 71. The Forms of Recognition. — While the local signa- ture of visual and cutaneous impressions differs consider- ably in different consciousnesses, it is always something quite definite, a complex of well-defined sensations. The 264 RecognitioUy Memory and Imagination knowledge that a pressure had been made * somewhere * on the surface of the body, or that an.object was lying * somewhere ' in visual space, would be of little service to us. The local sign, if it is to be of any value, must indi- cate some particular part of the skin or some particular point in visual space. On the other hand, the familiarity mark — supplementary ideas and mood of * at home ' — may be of any degree of definiteness or indefiniteness.
Recognition will thus have two typical forms, definite and indefinite recognition, — forms which, nevertheless, pass over into each other by a large number of intermedi- ate forms. It is hidefinite when the sole supplement of the given idea is the word 'known' or 'familiar.' We pass some one on the street, and say to our companion: * I'm sure I know that face! ' Here the familiarity mark consists of the word * known ' and the recognitive mood. Less indefinite are those cases of recognition in which the presented idea calls up a general classificatory term. As we glance down the line of strangers in the street-car, we may think to ourselves: ' Lawyer, — farmer, — com- mercial traveller.' We have recognised them, indefinitely: the familiarity mark consists of the word ' lawyer,' etc., and the recognitive mood. Lastly, recognition may be defi- nite; the supplementary ideas may be so numerous and unequivocal that the given idea calls up quite definite situ- ations and incidents in our past experience. Thus we may be accosted with the words: ' Don't you remember me } ' We recognise the speaker, indefinitely, as a University man; but that is all. * Don't you remember Smith.? ' Recognition becomes more definite; but we have known several Smiths, and do not yet definitely recognise this one. *■ Don't you remember the Smith who was with you § yi. The For 7) IS of Rccognitioii 265 on the Brocken in 'Zj? ' Now we have a crowd of sup- plementary ideas, representing incidents experienced in common with this particular individual; the mood reaches its full intensity; recognition is definite.
When we classify recognitions as definite and indefinite, we are thinking of them as already completed. Recogni- tion is definite when the supplementary ideas are definite, indefinite when they are indefinite. We can now classify recognitions, from another point of view, as direct and indirect. In this instance, we are thinking of the way in which recognition is brought about, not of its character as an item of actual experience.
Recognition is direct or immediate, when the presented idea is at once supplemented by other ideas, and the recog- nitive mood at once aroused. It is indirect or mediate when the familiarity mark is not called up by the presented idea, but only by some idea successively associated to it.
Thus the recognition of your friend in the street-car is an illustration of direct recognition. You no sooner see him than the supplementary ideas are flocking into con- sciousness, and the recognitive mood is in course of forma- tion. The recognition of Smith, on the other hand, is an indirect recognition. The first vague supplements of the visual idea do not enable you to recognise it as the idea of an old acquaintance; you would have passed by, without knowing that you had met a former friend. The verbal (auditory) idea ' Smith ' is now associated to the visual idea, and the visual-auditory complex has new supple- ments. Still recognition is not definite. The verbal ideas of ' Brocken ' and * 1887 ' are now further associated to the visual-auditory complex; the new complex has many sup- 2^6 Recognition, Memory and Imagination plements, and starts a definite train of ideas, — recognition is complete.
If we reduce the process of indirect recognition to its lowest terms, we get the following formula. We have an idea, abc: say, the visual idea of a person. At first this idea stands alone in con- sciousness; it does not call up other ideas. Then it is supplemented by other ideas, xyz: say, the auditory complex ' I was with you on the Brocken in '87.' Among the supplements of xyz are the ideas of the walking-tour to which they refer, /^r, and of our friend, as he was then, bed. Here, then, is a successive association of ideas: abcxyz gives place to xyzpqj'bcd. The recognitive mood attaches primarily to the common elements, be; it is extended to the re- maining element a (a beard, or grizzled hair, or a different mode of dress) simply because this element is given in connection widi be. We should not have recognised abexyz except by way of the idea xyzpq7'bed; the recognition is indirect.
§ 72. Recognition and Cognition. — In course of time, as we know, the affective processes in emotion may become so far weakened that the emotion passes over into a mood. With still further repetition, the affective processes in the mood disappear altogether, and we are left with a ' mood of indifference.' The recognitive mood of 'feeling at home ' is no exception to the rule; its pleasantness wears off, and its organic sensations, becoming indifferent, are disregarded.
Thus we do not ' recognise ' the clothes which we put on every morning, or the pen with which we are accus- tomed to write: we take them for granted. When famil- iarity has gone thus far, — when the familiar has ceased to call up supplementary ideas and to be pleasant, — we say that recognition has become cognition. We cognise our pen as our pen, and our clothes as our clothes, without any intermediation of centrally aroused ideas or of the § 72. Recognition and Cognition 2,6'/ recognitive mood. Cognition, that is, is a recognition which has become automatic and mechanical; it stands to recognition very much as reflex stands to impulsive action.
At the same time, it does not seem true to say that cognition has no psychological conditions of any kind, that there is no conscious cognition-mark belonging to the ideas of pen and clothes. The organic sensations which formed part of the original recognitive mood are disre- garded; but they have not altogether disappeared from consciousness. They are present, weakly and vaguely, whenever we cognise; so that if we describe the pleas- urable mood of recognition by the phrase * at home,' we may say that cognition has a special mood of indifference, best described, perhaps, by the phrase 'of course.'
Introspection of the cognitive consciousness does not reveal any trace of centrally aroused, supplementary ideas. It is true that the sight of pen and clothes evokes certain movements. But these do not involve the idea of movement; they are secondary reflexes (§ 68). And my cognition of the picture which always hangs upon a particular wall in my study does not even evoke a movement. Cognition, therefore, seems to be brought about solely by the aid of the ' of course ' mood. What we called the ' local mark ' has wholly vanished.
On the other hand, we have good evidence of the presence of the mood. Introspection bears out the statement that when we cognise we have, besides the idea cognised, a vague complex of organic sensations which proceed from the bodily attitude assumed in face of the ' of course ' impression. These sensa- tions are best observed on occasions when our cognition of an object is for some reason prevented. We look at our inkstand, and find that the pen, which we ahvays keep in it, has disap- peared; or we glance round the breakfast-room, and discover that a picture which has always hung upon a certain wall is absent. We have not been in the habit of recognising pen and picture; they are too much matters of course to call up the recognitive mood and supplementary ideas. But now that they are gone, our indifferent ^ of course ' mood is jarred; and we are at once on the alert to discover the reasons for their absence. At the moment of jar, at the instant when the attention is caught by the unexpected event, the sensations which make up the ' of course ' mood are plainly apparent; but their clearness is hardly more than momentary.
It may seem paradoxical to assert that cognition comes later, in the course of mental development, than re-cognition; as para- doxical as it would be to say that the re- presentation of an object can occur before its presentation. The paradox, however, is merely a matter of terminology, and ceases to be a paradox when we know just what we mean by the words '■ recognition ' and 'cognition.' We have had something similar in the fact that instinctive movements are made by the animal before the instinct, the conscious condition of instinctive action, has taken shape § 73. The Investigation of Recognition. — Four principal problems are suggested by the foregoing Sections: (i) Is direct or indirect recognition the commoner experience "i (2) Can the line of distinction between definite and in- definite recognition be drawn with any degree of sharp- ness.-* (3) After how long an interval is recognition possible.-* (4) What is the importance of verbal associa- tion in recognition } We cannot return any very complete answer to these questions. Experimental work upon them has been begun, but is confined so far to cases of recognition under very simple conditions in particular sense departments.
Method. — (i) Prepare a large number of solutions of odor- iferous substances. Take care that the bottles which contain them I are all of the same appearance, that the different colours of the liquids are not visible, etc. Let the subject smell them, one after another, and write a description of the conscious processes which each scent sets up. You will be able to check his description by your observation of his facial expression during the experiment; the mood of recognition and the mood of uncertainty give rise to different expressive movements of the facial muscles.
In an investigation made with a series of 62 scents it was found that the cases of direct recognition amounted to 79.5% of the total number. In 44.9 %, supplementary ideas of all kinds at once flocked into consciousness; in 27.6%, a definite name was at once associated to the impression; in 7 %, the word '■ famihar ' was the sole associate. The remaining recognitions were indirect.
(2) The written records made by the subject in the experi- ments just described will, evidently, enable us to classify his recognitions as definite or indefinite. Experiments upon this question can also be carried out as follows: A series of tones or colours is presented, term by term, to the observer. After a cer- tain interval, a single tone or colour is given, and the subject required to say whether it was or was not contained in the original series, and in the former event what place it occupied there. If he says: ' I had it before, but I don't know where it came,' the recognition is indefinite; if he says: ' It was the third of the series,' the recognition is definite. The number of terms in the series, the order in which they are given, the sense depart- ment from which they are taken, and the interval separating the series from the single impression, must all be varied in different sets of experiments. — If the other conditions are kept the same, definite recognition will be found to be uniformly dependent upon the length of the time interval, so that the dependence is expres- sible by a mathematical formula.
(3) A grey disc, which we will call the standard grey, is shown to the observer, say, for 5 sec. After a given interval, he is shown either the standard grey, or a grey which is somewhat lighter or darker than the standard, and required to say whether or not it is the same as the standard. The time interval is increased until mistakes begin to be made; and the amount of error which 2/0 Recognition, Memory and Imagination each increase of interval brings with it is noted by the experi- menter.
(4) There can be no doubt that verbal association is extremely important for recognition. Experiments can best be made by a method similar to that described under (2) above.
Prepare two series of discs, of different brightnesses. Each series must begin with white and end with black, but one is to contain five terms in all, and the other nine. The difference between every successive pair of greys must be the same for sensation; i.e., you must choose your discs in accordance with Weber's law (§ 27).
Present a series to the subject, going in regular order, from black to white or white to black. After a brief interval, show him some member of the series, taken at random, and ask him what place it occupied in the original series. As long as you test him by the 5 -series, he will make no mistakes; he is able to remem- ber the discs by the verbal associations * black,' ' dark grey,' '■ grey,' * light grey,' ' white.' But when you take the 9-series, he is con- stantly making mistakes; he has no verbal association to guide him.
You can convince yourself that it is really the verbal association which is doing the work of recognition by the following variation of the experiment. Show the series of nine brightnesses, and name each disc as you show it: * one, two, three,' etc. The observer's mistakes at once decrease; he recognises a given grey not by any grey-name, but by help of the number-name ' four ' or ^ five.'
§ 74. Recognition and Memory. — We have seen that the recognitive consciousness consists of three sets of pro- cesses: a presented idea, the centrally aroused supple- ments of this idea, and a mood. So far as it is composed of sensations and their derivatives, we have in it a simul- taneous association of ideas.