adepts, the reading of the score becomes more and more mechanical; until at last, if we are skilful players, the bare sight of the printed sheet 'touches off' the movements of hands and feet; we fall instinctively into the right key, the right time, the right emphasis, etc. We may even carry on a conversation, and still play correctly, though we have never seen the score before. This is true ideomotor ac- tion.
The automatic movement differs from the reflex Automatic (§ 72) in the same two ways. It is the final degen- reflex^mov^e-^ eration-product of selective or volitional, not of simple "^^"*- impulsive action; and its mechanism is not inherited, but acquired during the individual life. This latter fact means, of course, that it is less stable than the reflex. It is a reflex movement while it lasts; but it may be forgotten, the habit of it may be broken up.
A man who writes much at a particular desk will dip his Instances, pen in the ink-bottle quite automatically, reflexiy. He does not need to gauge the distance or direction or the depth of dip; his eyes are not raised from the paper, and his attention does not slip for a moment from the subject in hand. So one may be able to write quickly and accurately with a typewriter, without having any certain idea at all of the position of the various letters: the striking here or there becomes entirely automatic.
Nevertheless, if the writing be given up for a time, the movement must be relearned: the pen is guided to the ink-bottle by the eye, and the typewriter strokes are prac- tised anew. On the other hand, a real reflex never lapses; a feather applied to the sole of your foot makes the foot jerk up, however long the interval since the last tickling.
Swimming and walking seem to stand half-way between the automatic and the reflex movements. Both are learned with care and effort; neither, it would appear, is ever quite forgotten. The reason is that though we do not inherit the The Complex Forms of Action The forms of action.
mechanism of the movements ready-made, we inherit strong tendencies or dispositions towards them.
For automatic movements cf. H.j 301; F., 739, 779. For the bodily machinery of the complex movement in general cf, F., § 107. The Classification of Action. — It will, per- haps, assist the reader to grasp the mutual relations of the various forms of action and movement, to see the motor side of n)ind, so to speak, in its right per- spective, if we give a complete Table here in the shape of a genealogical tree.
Primitive Action (Movement of whole body on attention: § 68) Simple Impulsive Action (Idea of own movement, Perception of Object, Idea of result: §§69, 70) Ideomotor Instinctive Complex Impulsive Complex Impulsive Action Movement Reflex Movement Mechanical Movement (of blood, intestines, Action Action (Idea of own move- (Idea of own move- ment, Perception of ment, Perception of Instinctive emotion-situation, sentiment-situation.
Idea of result: Action Idea of result: Selective Action Volitional Actiorr [Secondary] Ideomotor Action (§ 106) Automatic Movement (§ 106).
§ 108. The Compound Reaction. — Taking the sen- sorial form of the simple reaction as our starting- § io8. The Compottnd Reaction 259 point, we can build up, for introspective examination, artificial selective and volitional actions, and can trace experimentally their passage into ideomotor actions and automatic movements.
But we cannot pass from the sensorial reaction to Two kinds the 'choice reaction,' as it is called, at one step. For ^eaction^^^ there are two obvious differences between impulsive and selective action. In the former, the action-con- sciousness contains one idea of movement and one perception (or idea) of object In the latter, there are at least tzvo ideas of movement, and at least tzvo perceptions (or ideas) of object. Otherwise, of course, there could be no conflict of impulses. — If we are to have an artificial selective action, then, there must be a number of stimuli presented by the experimenter, and a number of responsive movements agreed upon between him and the subject. But it would be bad policy to introduce both of these complications at the same time. On the one hand, the subject would be confused; on the other, we should not know what the total reaction-time meant. Much of it might repre- sent processes that were very different from the process of choice which we desire to measure and introspect.
To avoid this difficulty, we first of all make reac- tion-experiments in which there are two or more stimuli, but only one answering movement. That done, we proceed to the more difficult experiments, in which every stimulus has its own particular move- ment of response. The subject thus has opportunity to observe the simpler forms of the action-conscious- ness, in ascending order, before he grapples with its most complex and most highly developed form.
The Complex Forms of Action Discrimina- tion and cognition reactions.
What is said here of the artificial selective action holds also, mutatis mutandis, of the artificial volitional action. This will become clear from a consideration of the actual experiments.
I. Experiments with a Number of Stimuli and One Move- ment,— Two forms of the reaction-experiment fall under this head.
1. The Discrimination Reaction. — In the simple sen- sorial reaction, the subject moves when he has apperceived a familiar stimulus, a sound or pressure which has become known to him by previous practice. In the discrimination reaction, he moves when he has apperceived some one of two or more familiar stimuli. He may be told, e.g., that he will hear either the tone or the noise with which his simple reactions have familiarised him; but he does not know which of the two stimuli will be presented in any particular experiment.
This reaction plainly stands at a higher level than the sen- sorial simple reaction. The subject comes to the work in the state of active attention; his mood is that of intellectual obscurity (§ 97). When the stimulus appears, obscurity becomes agreement or contradiction, according as his ex- pectation has tended in the right or the wrong direction. As soon as the sentiment has been resolved upon the at- home mood of recognition, and before the stimulus has called up associated ideas, verbal or other, the reaction- movement is made. - 2. The Cognition Reaction. — This differs from the dis- crimination reaction in the fact that the stimuli are known to the subject only in a vague and general way. Thus he may be told that he will hear a musical sound, and that he is to move when he has apperceived it; but he is not told (what the experimenter has decided) that the sound will be given upon some one of the three instruments, piano, violin and whistle.
§ io8. TJie Compound Reaction 261 Here the strain of active attention is greater than before; the mood of recognition takes shape more slowly; and it is very difficult to move before associated ideas crop up, — to keep to the rule of the experiment, and prevent the reaction from becoming an association reaction (§ 76).
The follovi^ing are some of the times of cognition reactions: Colour stimuli...300 sec.; Printed letters...320 sec.; Short words (printed)...320 sec.
The times of discrimination reactions are slightly less than the corresponding cognition times^ II. Experi7nents with a Nicmber of Stimuli, each of which Choice is coi^related either with a Specific Movement or with the ^^^*^^^^"s- Absence of Movement, — All these reactions are termed ' choice reactions.' The choice reaction may be either an artificial selective or an artificial volitional action. More- over, it may be based either upon the discrimination or upon the cognition reaction. Hence we have four experi- mental forms to consider.
1. The Choice Reaction as Selective Action.
a. The Discrimination Type, — The reactor is told, e.g,, ^ that he will hear either the familiar noise or the familiar tone; and that he is to react to the former by a movement of the right, to the latter by a movement of the left hand.
b. The Cognition Type, — The reactor is told that he will hear a musical sound, and that he is to react to what comes by naming it, by uttering aloud the name of the instrument which gives it. The movement is here a movement of the muscles of the larynx, etc., not a movement of the hand.
2. The Choice Reaction as Volitional Action, a. The Discriinination Type. — The subject is told that he will hear either the familiar noise or the familiar tone, and that he is to reply to the former by a movement of the right hand, but not to reply to the latter by any movement.
b. The Cognition Type. — The subject is told that he will reactions.
262 The Complex Forms of Action hear either a musical or an unmusical sound, and that he is to react to the former by naming the instrument which gives it, but not to react to the latter at all.
It is clear that we have, in these four instances, cases of true selective and true volitional action. The reaction-times are, naturally, longer than those of the discrimination and cognition reactions. Volitional action requires, upon the whole, a slightly less time than selective action.
Automatic 3. The Automatic Reaction. — If the conditions of the choice reaction are kept sufficiently simple, and if the sub- ject is held in steady practice for a long period of time, we get the first form of what is called the ^ automatic ' reaction, an artificial ideoniotor action (</. § 76). If, e.g., the stimuli are but two in number, and as different from each other as a tuning-fork tone and a rap upon a wooden block; and if the movements of response are made by the forefingers of the two hands; then the whole experiment may quite well become ' automatic ' in the course of an investigation which demands daily work for some months together. Should practice be continued still^ further, the ideomotor action may degenerate into true automatic or secondary reflex movement: this happens more readily with the selective than with the volitional reaction. At each stage of the descent, the reaction-time undergoes a marked shortening.
All these forms of the reaction-experiment are important. They enable us to introspect complex motives under standard conditions, and to trace th^ degeneration of the highest types of action into lower types.
Questions and Exercises I. The Compou7id Reaction. — By help of the side wire, all the compound reactions may be taken (in visual form) upon Professor Sanford's reaction-timer.
I. lo The Discrimi7iation Reaction. — Use three known stimuli: black, white and grey, or red, yellow and Qtiestions mid Exercises 263 blue. Vary the stimulus from experiment to ex- periment. Then repeat the experiments with four, %N^^ etc., known stimuli.
I. 2. The Cognition Reactioji. — Prepare a series of some twenty colours, and one of five brightnesses (from black to white, inclusive). Tell the subject that he will see 'a colour' or 'a brightness quality.'
For both these forms of the reaction-experi- ment, printed letters (small letters and capitals) and words of three or four letters may be used in place of the colours and brightnesses. Choose a heavy-faced type, with no flourishes to the letters. Mount the letters arid words separately, upon small pieces of white cardboard.
II. I. a. Selective Discrimination. — Take five known brightnesses, and let the subject react to each by the movement of a particular finger of the right hand. In this experiment the reacting hand is not placed upon the upper key before the experiment begins, but lies upon the table, close beside the instrument. Record the mis- taken movements, as well as the correct re- actions. Note the influence of practice in eliminating mistakes. — Or take ten known colours, and assign a particular colour to each of the ten fingers. In this case, the subject's two hands lie upon the table, at equal distances from the key.
II. I. b. Selective Cognition. — Tell the subject that he will see ^a colour.' Let him place his finger on the key before the experiment begins. He must 7iame the stimulus, and press his key down at the moment that he utters the word.
II. 2. a. Volitional Discri77iination. — Tell the subject that he will see either some one of five known colours or a neutral grey. He is to respond to the colours by moving the appropriate finger of the right hand (which lies upon the table); he is not to move at all in response to the grey. Record (i) the finger mistakes (use of second The Complex Forms of Action for third finger, etc.) and (2) the incorrect reactions (movements made in response to grey). Note the influence of practice.
II. 2. b. Volitional Cognition. — Tell the subject that he will see either a colour or a neutral grey. He is to react to the colours by naming them (pressing the key as he speaks); he is not to react to the grey.
III. I. IdeojHotor Action. — Take two known stimuli^ black and white. White is to be answered by move- ment of the right, black by movement of the left hand. Let the subject repeat ^ white — right, black — left,' until the connection of ideas is firmly established. Continue practice until the selective discrimination becomes ideomotor action.
III. 2. Automatic Movement. — Continue practice of III. i still further. Engage the subject in conver- sation during an experimental series, and note that he is able to react correctly while his attention is diverted from the experi- ment.
Fig. 18 shows a special form of the side wire, for use in compound reactions. The upper end carries a large metal disc, upon which six stimulus- discs of different colour or brightness can be placed. By turning the milled edge of the metal disc any one of the six stimuli can be brought behind the opening of the black screen. A spring catch at the back holds the disc in the required position.
Certain forms of compound reaction to auditory stimulus can be carried out on the pattern of the- association reaction to spoken words (p. 185). 2. We spoke in § 76 as if the association re- action were based directly upon the simple sensorial reaction. Is this strictly correct? Give instances, from history and fiction, (i) of selective action, (2) of volitional action and (3) of conflicts of ideas from which volitional action might have resulted, but did not, — /.^., of cases in which the no-movement id2as were stronger than the impulse to action.
Questions and Exercises 265 4. Can you illustrate the statement of § 102 that ^instinctive' selection is sometimes a better guide to conduct than ^de- liberative ' selection?
5. Name some of the automatic movements most commonly acquired by civilised man.
6. What is desire'? How does it differ from impulse?
7. On p. 255 it is said that ^Nature is working behind the scenes.' Can you translate this figure into scientific terms?
References James, Textbook^ ^'^, 124-126, ch.xxiii. Sully, Human Mind, vol. II., ch. xviii. Titchener, Outline, §§68, 69, 94-97. Wundt, Lectures, Lects. XV., XXIX. Wundt, 0?ttlines, § 14.
CHAPTER XIV Abnormal Psychology Sleep. § lOQ- Sleep and Dreams. — The series of waking consciousnesses (§ 17) is interrupted, at fairly regular intervals, by a period of sleep. From the physiologi- cal side, sleep is a rest or recuperation of the whole body, and more especially of the nervous system and its attachments (sense-organs and muscles). In pro- found sleep the brain is comparatively bloodless, and ^ therefore inactive. No impressions make their way inwards, through the channels of sense, from the external world; no excitations are sent outward to the muscles. The muscular system is relaxed, and the position that the body assumes is simply a matter of the relative weight of its parts {cf. the discussion of drowsiness: § 25).
Dreaming. During slccp of this profound character, consciousness seems to lapse altogether: for the time being there is no mind; the bodily conditions of mental process are not realised. In the lighter stages of sleep, on the other hand, we dream. Mental pro^ cesses appear, and consciousnesses are formed; the outside world finds access to the brain. Sometimes, though less often, we walk or talk in our sleep; excitations are sent out from the brain to the mus- cles. But the world of the dreamer and of the sleep- walker is not the real world of the waking life; their consciousness is abnormal, i.e., is in a different § I lO. Origin and Co^nposition of Dreams 267 state from the waking, attentive or inattentive con- sciousness. Dreaming has something in common both with attention and with inattention, but is dif- ferent from either. We must find out, briefly, how dreams arise, and in what their difference from the waking consciousness consists.
§110. The Origin and Composition of Dreams. — It Dreams set is generally thought that dreams arise ^inside the naislimufh head,' as the result of some excitement of the brain itself. Recent experiments and observations have, however, made it practically certain that dreams are set up as perceptions are, by the stimulation of some sense-organ. After eye or ear or internal organ has been stimulated, the brain goes on working indepen- dently (law of habit, § 57); just as, in the waking life, a single perception may start a long train of ideas.
Since every sense-organ is liable to chance stimu- Dreams lation, it follows that dreams may be made of any J^^°^ ^^^^" kind of sense-material: we may dream in sights or in sounds, in strains or in temperatures. As a matter of fact, by far the greater number of dreams (whatever their stimulus may be) are visual dreams. The incoming excitations are translated into visual terms (§ 50). If the bodily condition of the dream is a stimulation of the temperature organs, we may see ourselves ascending Etna or sleighing across an ice-field; if it is a cramped position of the muscles, we see an army of crabs advancing to pinch us, or a swarm of bees settling to sting; if it is a taste, we see ourselves eating somxe delicious or disgusting food; and so on.
268 Abnormal Psychology Dream \Ye take every precaution to avoid dreams: we go to sleep in a dark and quiet room, we rid ourselves of the friction of our clothes, we keep a constant temperature in the bedroom, we lie down, etc. Nevertheless, we cannot rule out the circulation of blood in the retina and the press- ure of the lids upon the eyeballs, the thump of the pulse in the vessels of the ear, the slipping down of the bed- clothes, the palpitation of the heart, the disturbances of in- digestion, etc. Any one of these may serve as the condition of a dream.
Why dreams ^^^ reason why the incoming excitations are so often translated into terms of sight is twofold. In the first place, the eye is extremely sensitive both to slight changes of Hght and to changes in the pressure of the eyelids, the state of circulation in the retina, etc.; and the sensations thus set up (sparks, flashes of colour) are reinforced by the cortical grey sensation (§ 17). If there were no subjective grey, the eye might have no advantage over the ear as a means of starting a dream; if the retina were not so sensitive, the subjective grey might lapse during sleep. The two things together — excitability of the sense-organ, and excitabihty of the cortex — favour the arousal of visual dreams. In the second place, we dream largely in terms of sight for the same reason that we remember and imagine largely in terms of sight; the eye is the most important of all the sense- organs, the organ most frequently used, and the organ most rehed upon for knowledge of the outside world. Hence the visual centre of the cortex has multitudinous connec- tions with all the other brain-centres, and is readily excited when any one of them is excited.
§ 1 1 1. The Characteristics of the Dream Consciousness.
— The tv^o chief differences bet¥/een the dreaming and the waking consciousness are (i) that the train of dream ideas is disorderly and fantastic in its ar- rangement, and (2) that in spite of this disorder the § III. Characteristics of Dream Consciousness 269 dream is taken for granted, and the reality of its inci- dents unquestioned. Both these facts call for ex- planation.
(i) The fantastic arrangement of dream ideas is Fantastic due to the total lapse of attention during sleep, of^drel^m " Attention is selective; while one thing is attended ^^^^2- to, others are attended from. In the sleeping cortex, on the other hand, every excitation has the same chances, so to say, as every other; the organism is free, for a few hours, from the special bias and leaning (§ 32) given it by the routine of daily employ- ment; there is as much likelihood of a play-channel being open as of a work-channel, of a childhood- channel as of a recently formed, professional chan- nel. So we have, in dreaming, an exaggeration of the flights and fancies of day-dreaming and reverie. The ideas that come up are all held together by association; but, since we are not attending to any particular topic, the range of association, the area /i of experience from which the ideas may arrive, is extraordinarily great.
Dreams, then, are not entirely disorderly. The law of Law of asso- ciation i: dreams.
association holds; the seeming disorder means simply that ^^^^^°^ ^" the range of associated ideas available for a consciousness is much larger than usual; and the range is larger, because no limit as to topic, period of time, etc., is set by attention. Nor are the bodily tendencies done away with: they are all there, in the cortex, so that no one of us could dream his neighbour's dreams. The difference is that, in the waking life, some tendencies are appealed to by daily business, by surroundings, etc., while others are left unreaHsed; whereas in the dream consciousness all the tendencies have the same prospect of realisation. There is nothing to guide the stream Abnormal Psychology Why dream events are taken for granted.
of processes, no environmental pressure upon the organism; an excitation is as likely to run into any one open channel as into any other.
(2) Our unquestioning acceptance of dream events, an acceptance that we are puzzled to account for on waking, is due to two things. In the first place, we have in dreaming no means of testing or checking what happens. In the waking life we compare event with event; in the dream there is nothing to compare the train of ideas with. In dreaming, e.g.^ the time is always present time; even if we are interviewing Alexander the Great, the interview is occurring now. Periods of time are foreshortened in the most arbi- trary way: we have the occurrences of a whole day in a few seconds, very much as we do in a novel or a play. As there is no standard to refer to, there can be no question in the dreamer's mind as to the possibility or impossibility, the correctness or absurd- ity, of the dream scenes.
In the second place, dream ideas are exceedingly vivid and impressive; and this vividness helps to make us accept them. If you are aroused in the morning by a tapping at your door, and if (as may easily happen) the sounds set up a dream before they thoroughly awaken you, you dream of thunder or the roar of artillery or the crash of a falling house, and are astonished when you wake to find how slight the intensity of the noise really is. In this respect, the dream consciousness resembles (or rather counter- feits) the attentive consciousness. One of the prin- cipal marks of the state of attention is the clearness and vividness of the idea attended to.
We take our dreams for granted, then, because we have nothing to compare them with, and because they are made up of clear and vivid ideas.
The physiological conditions of dreaming are but little The cortical understood. There must, apparently, be local activity in ^°" ^ |^"^ ^ the cortex, at the same time that there is general inactivity. The frontal lobes are, probably, entirely inactive (§ 37); the visual centre is in most cases more or less active.
The inactivity of the frontal lobes means the absence of all guidance of the train of ideas, the absence, i.e,^ of atten- tion. The local character of the excitement explains the fact that we have in dreaming no standard of comparison; the ideas come in single file, and are passively accepted as they come. It is not easy to account for the vividness of the ideas: perhaps the small part of the cortex that is active draws upon the energy stored up in all the other, inactive parts (^cf. p. 30, sup,). Lastly, the reason that we do not habitually talk and walk when we dream must be sought in a blocking of the nerve-paths that lead from the sensory to the motor centres, or from these to the muscles. If we had, in the waking life, ideas that even approached the dream ideas in vividness, we should undoubtedly move; there would be ideomotor action. Hence the problem is, not why we sleep-walk, but why we do not.
§ 112. Hypnotism. — The word 'hypnotism' is the general name for a group of abnormal phenomena, bodily and mental, many of which bear a close exter- nal resemblance to the phenomena of sleep and sleep-walking. The symptoms of the hypnotic state differ, not inconsiderably, in different cases. In general, however, three stages or phases of hypnosis may be distinguished. They are as follows: (i) Preliminaij Stage. — The subject is heavy or drowsy. The three His behaviour is very like that of a man just aroused from ^^^^^ ^ sound sleep, and not yet ^ come to himself.'
2/2 Abnormal Psychology (2) Light Hypnosis or Catalepsy, — The subject is to some extent anaesthetic, insensitive; his sense-organs are closed to all the ordinary impressions from the outside world. At the same time, he hears what is said to him by the opera- tor, and performs any action that he is commanded. He can do nothing without the word of command; so that he will maintain a position, however uncomfortable, until the order comes to relax it. On waking, he remembers cloudily what took place during hypnosis.
(3) Profound Hypnosis or So7nnambulism. — The anaes- thesia becomes more complete; and the subject not only acts but perceives at the bidding of the operator. On wak- ing, he has no memory of what has taken place.
In the second stage, e.g.^ the arm of a subject may be pricked with needles, and there will be no indication that either pressure or pain has been perceived; the skin is anaesthetic. Or the sub- ject may be laid out at full length upon a row of chairs, and these all removed except the two that support head and heels. He will remain motionless, in this tense attitude, until released by the operator. In the third stage, he perceives whatever he is told to perceive: takes coal for sugar, ink for wine, tapping on the table for the playing of a violin, etc.
Hypnotic phenomena have attracted much atten- tion, of late years, from psychologists and physicians. We have to-day a pretty complete understanding of them on the psychological side, though their full explanation will be impossible until our knov^ledge of brain physiology has advanced far beyond itB^ present limits.
The word ' hypnotism ' (Gk. hypnos^ sleep) was coined by James Braid (i 795-1 860), an English surgeon who wrote much on hypnotic phenomena in the forties. Braid's books are still well worth consulting by the student of hypnosis.
§ 113. The Conditions of Hypnosis. — The question of the mental conditions of the hypnotic state falls §113. The Conditions of Hypnosis 273 into two part-questions: What makes one hypnotis- able? and: How much has the operator to do with the production of the hypnotic state? We will con- sider them separately.
(i) The sole condition of hypnosis, in one's own Hypnosis an mind, is an entirely rapt or absorbed attention to auentTo^n. some particular person or thing. The depth of this attention surpasses that of any of the three phases of the normal attentive state (passive, active and second- ary passive attention); there is a total * surrender of the will,' as the popular phrase goes, to the person or thing attended to.
The hypnotic consciousness, then, resembles the dream consciousness in the fact that its ideas come singly, one after another; only one part of the cortex is in active function. Here, however, the resemblance ceases. In dreaming, there is no attention; in hypnosis, an exaggerated passive attention.