Simultaneous associations of ideas may be of three kinds: associations of peripherally aroused ideas, of centrally aroused ideas, and of peripherally and centrally aroused ideas. An association of the first kind does not occur in the developed consciousness, except in the form of a cognition; no complex of objects shown to us for the first time can be so utterly unknown and strange that it is not indefinitely recognised as a ' machine ' or ' some sort of a plant,' etc. When you are shown a seismograph tracing for the first time, you may be wholly unable to say what it represents; but at least you know that it is a scrawl, a tracing of some kind. An association of the second type, which is accompanied by the recognitive mood, is termed a 'memory.' The name * recognition ' is applied only to associations of peripherally and centrally aroused ideas.
A meinory^ then, is a centrally aroused idea, centrally supplemented, and attended by the mood of * at home.' The memory consciousness is the recognitive conscious- ness, with the single difference that the principal idea, the idea remembered, is of central origin. We have now (i) to examine the nature of the centrally aroused idea, and note the points in which it differs from the periphe- rally aroused, and (2) to enquire into the conditions of the central arousal of complex mental processes.
§ 75. The Memory-Idea. — If we have witnessed a bad accident, we are * haunted ' for some little time by mental pictures which represent it; the scene keeps repeating itself before our mind's eye. And we come home from the hearing of a light opera with ' our head full ' of airs; they sing themselves to our mental ear, whether we will or no.
In instances like these we have the most {primitive form of the incinory-idca. The memory-idea is originally a 2/2 Recognition^ Memory and Imagination sort of continued after-image (§ 24), an after-image which persists long after the peripheral effects of the stimulus have passed away. It is the mental counterpart of the central (cortical) portion of the total excitation set up by the stimulus.
The memory-idea, at this stage, does not differ in quality from its peripheral predecessor. The pallor of the injured man's face, the colour of his clothing, the blood issuing from the crushed limb, are all branded upon consciousness, and remain what they were. The memory-idea is, how- ever, less intensive, less clear in outline, and as a rule less permanent than the peripheral. We are not so liable to be sickened by our memory of the accident as we were by the sight of it, however vivid the memory may be; the details of the scene are less sharply cut than they were in reality; and there is a greater likelihood of the memory being ousted by other ideas, of its losing hold upon the attention, than there was while we were spectators of the actual occurrence. Although, therefore, the memory-idea is, on the side of quality, a representation or reprodnction of the accident or operatic air, the intensity, duration and extension of its component sensations are sufficiently dif- ferent from those of its original to prevent any danger of confusion.
But if at first the memory-idea gives a photographic reproduction of the qualities which it represents, it soon begins to lose its qualitative accuracy. It is thrust out of consciousness, and brought back again; it is overrun by other memories; it forms connections with a host of other ideas. It is no wonder, then, that as time goes on it becomes very dissimilar from its original. Indeed, if our memories were composed exclusively of reproductions, they would be untrustworthy as regards events which had occurred even within a few days of their recall.
Fortunately, however, the fact that every idea in con- sciousness tends to form connections with other ideas, — a fact which might have been the ruin of memory, — proves to be its salvation. A consideration of two points will make this clear, (i) Every experience, however com- plex, can be expressed by a number of words, a verbal description. Now we have seen that verbal association is one of the most important forms of simultaneous association; the associated word or words put the seal of finality upon the experience. And the word-idea, the visual, auditory and tactual complex (§ 53), is a relatively stable idea; it is one of those mental processes which have come to be used for the sake of what they mean, rather than for their own sake; its intrinsic interest has entirely worn off (§ 56). Hence it comes about that the word-idea, which originally served to clinch a simultaneous association of other ideas, tends to replace these; our memory of past events is very frequently nothing more than the reproduction of the form of words which we have associated to them; we say that we 'remember' hear- ing Patti sing twenty years ago, when all that we really remember is our own statement of the fact. (2) Every mind has, in virtue of its special constitution, a tendency to the formation of connections in one sense department rather than in others. Although we could localise a press- ure upon the back of the head either by organic sensa- tions or by a visual picture of the part touched, most of us do, as a matter of fact, use the visual picture. The ordi- nary consciousness is dominated by visual ideas {cf. §§4, 7, 16, 21, 43, 44); the average man and woman think only 2/4 Recognition^ Memory and Imagination of how they look, not of how they sound, or of how their favourite perfume may offend the noses of their fellow- men. Indeed, the word ' idea ' (form, image) bears suffi- cient witness to the fact, and further evidence is furnished by the phrases: 'Just imagine!' ' Figicrez vous! ' and * Stellen Sie sich vor! ' When our memory of a past event is reproductive, then, — instead of being merely verbal, — it will be reproduct- ive, as a general rule, upon the visual side; the auditory, olfactory, gustatory and tactual reproductions will, if they appear at all, be quite vague and wholly subordi- nate to their visual associates. Less frequent is the occur- rence of an auditory or tactual type of memory, of a consciousness dominated not by vision but by the ideas of hearing or touch. Memories of this kind have, how- ever, been described; and their existence follows natu- rally from the known differences of mental constitution.
It is to be noted that the predominance of one kind of mem- ory, the preference given to connections within a single sense department, is rarely carried so far that no other memories are at the disposal of consciousness. However strong one's tend- ency to visual thought, it is not probable that one will read a book entirely by eye, without faint auditory reproductions (words heard) and weak innervations of the muscles of the larynx (words spoken). Many people who have a definite leaning in, say, the visual direction, are nevertheless able, when occasion arises, to think in terms of hearing and touch; and these supplementary memories are susceptible of great improvement by education and practice. We must, therefore, recognise a * mixed ' memory type, alongside of the visual, auditory and tactual.
A ' mixed ' memory is, obviously, of greater practical service to its possessor than a '■ pure ' memory. In the first place, more aspects of the physical world can be reproduced in consciousness, /.^., memory is more complete; and secondly, what is remembered is remembered in more ways, i.e., memory is more reliable. Just as we ' hear ' a lecturer better if we keep our eyes upon his face, so we remember an event better if various senses are called upon to furnish the idea which reproduce it.
We have a good instance of the customary predominance of vision in the fact that dream-ideas are almost exclusively visual. The organic sensations attending an indigestion are translated, as it were, into the visual picture of a monster seated upon our chest; the pins and needles of a cramped arm are translated into the picture of an acquaintance who nips us with a pair of pincers, etc.
Since the raw material of memory-ideas consists, in every case, of centrally aroused sensations, it is natural that memory should obey Weber's law in every instance where the law holds for the corresponding peripheral sensations. Thus our memory for bright- nesses is relative; the distribution of light and shade in a painting is accepted as a correct representation of reality, although the landscape painted was, absolutely, very much brighter than any- thing on the painted canvas can be. Our memory of a melody is also relative (§ 50); we recognise it, as it is now played, although it may be played in a different key from that in which we have heard it rendered on former occasions. On the other hand, our memory for colours is absolute.
§ 76. Retention. — An idea is formed, in correspondence with an object or process of the outside world. It lapses from consciousness, to be recalled after a certain interval. What becomes of it in the meantime }, So long as the idea was regarded as a permanent 'thing,' an unchanging 'bit' of mind, there could be but one answer to this question. The idea must be somehow conserved, retained, from the time of its formation; it is laid away, unregarded, in the outermost fringe of con- sciousness; but it still persists, as a conscious fact, only 2/6 Recognition, Memory and Imagination waiting its time to attract the attention and come to the front again.
We have rejected the view that the idea is a thing, and have regarded it always as a process, a becoming. But even if we had not, we should be unable to obtain from introspection any warrant for the view that the mind is a storehouse, containing all the ideas which have at any time formed part of our experience, (i) There are many occasions when we wish to remember an event or a name or a date, but cannot do so; when we cannot find the desired idea, search consciousness as closely as we may. If the idea were there, it would surely be discoverable, (2) Consciousness is complex enough; but there is no evidence that it is so enormously complex as the theory would require. We can hardly imagine what would be the complexity of the adult consciousness, if every single conscious process had to be stored away. In other words, the fact that we forget is as indubitable as the fact that we remember. Some events never are remembered.
(3) The fact that we forget may be brought out in another way. If all our ideas were retained by consciousness, we should have a complete panorama of our past life; we could pass from idea to idea without a single break. The adult reader will need very little introspection to assure him that his memory is really fragmentary, that there are great gaps in his reproduction of past experi- ence. A diary written forty years ago will speak of incidents which cannot be reconstructed; and the friends referred to familiarly by their initials will have dropped out of mind so completely that the letters are entirely meaningless.
There is no such thing as mental retention, the persistence of an idea from month to month or year to year in some mental pigeon-hole from which it can be drawn when wanted. What persists is the tendency to connec- tion (§ 55). The view from my window reminds me of a certain Swiss landscape. It may be that certain visual qualities or arrangements presented by it were also pre- sented by the Swiss landscape; it may be that the form of words which I use to describe its beauties is in part the same as that which I use to describe the Swiss scene. In either case, the idea of the Swiss landscape is formed afreshy r^-formed (under the general conditions of associa- tive supplementing), whenever it is suggested by a glance from my window. Certain elements in the given idea or its supplements have formed certain habits of connec- tion; and these tendencies to connect are realised under favourable conditions. The idea of the Swiss landscape is 'available' (§ 53); but I do not keep it by me, ready made. When the connection is formed, I have the recognitive mood; I recognise parts of the view as parts of the Swiss landscape, and feel at home in regard to them. — How definite the recognition is, in a particular case, will depend upon circumstances; I may have simply the indefinite idea that I have 'seen something like this view before.'
' Nevertheless, there must be retention somewhere/ the reader may object; ' for how could the tendency to connect persist with- out it?' The objection is valid. But we must look for retention not in consciousness, but in the physiological processes which constitute its condition. The cerebral cortex is retentive. When a certain group of cells has been exploded in a certain way, it retains a disposition to explode again in the same way; every exercise of nervous function leaves behind it a functional dispo- sition. The Swiss landscape cells, having been all exploded together, are disposed to explode together again, when any one 2/8 Recognition^ Memory and Imagination member of the group is exploded by a present stimulus. The strength of the functional disposition in a particular case depends upon practice, i.e., the frequency of common functioning in the past, and upon bodily tendency.
§ "jy. Memory and Cognition. — We have seen that a peripherally aroused idea, if it is of frequent occurrence, ceases to be recognised and becomes cognised. Its cen- tral supplements drop off, and the * at home ' mood changes to the * of course ' mood.
We have a precisely parallel process in the case of memory. A centrally aroused idea, if it is of frequent occurrence in consciousness, ceases to be remembered, and becomes cognised. Its central supplements fall away, and the recognitive mood gives place to the cognitive.
We solve a geometrical problem, e.g., by the help of definitions, axioms, postulates, and the results of our solu- tion of previous problems. As we work, these postulates and previous solutions occur to us; their ideas are centrally aroused. But they need not bear the memory mark: they need not be supplemented by the ideas of the book from which we learned them, of our early struggles with their difficulty, of the schoolroom, of the master who taught us, etc., and they need not bring the mood of familiarity with them, — they may be matters of course. Under these cir- cumstances we must call them not memories but cognitions. K§ 78. The Investigation of Memory. — The experimental investigation of memory, like that of recognition, is still in its first beginnings. Three problems suggest them- selves: (i) How shall we determine the subject's memory type, and how educate his less developed memories t (2) How long does a reproduction retain its quality, i.e., resist the influence of the other contents of consciousness, and § y8. The Investigation of Memory 279 remain what it originally was, an exact photograph of a physical object or process? (3) What is the range of memory; i.e., how many connections can be formed in a given time?
No one of these three questions has been satisfactorily answered, though something can be said upon each topic.
Method. — (i) The best way to determine memory type is to examine one's memory-ideas introspectively, to ascertain what one's memory of a given event actually is. This method, how- ever, can be safely used only by a highly practised and impartial observer. Consciousness must be taken ' off its guard,' at all times and seasons, and all sorts of memories scrutinised. It is important to note not only what has been remembered, but also what has been forgotten: the subject must imagine the total event, which his memory represents, and see how much of the imagina- tion is indicated by the memory.
Another method is that of description. Write out all that you remember of an occurrence, and go over your description care- fully, noting what kind of incidents are recalled (things seen, things heard, etc.), and what omitted. — Something may also be done by judicious questioning, by the method of suggestion. Suggest some familiar event to the subject, and note how accu- rately he is able to reproduce it. Introspection by the subject himself will be of great assistance here.
. A rudimentary memory can best be trained by the method of reproduction. If the subject has a poor visual memory, show him series of simple visual designs, and let him reproduce them on paper after a brief interval. As his memory improves, the com- plexity of the designs must be increased, and the interval length- ened. If he has a poor auditory memory, let him have passages read aloud to him, and attempt, after a given interval, to repeat what he heard. If he has a poor tactual memory, let him practise a finger-exercise upon the piano keyboard, until his fingers run ' of themselves '; or let him close his ears, and repeat some famil- iar sentence aloud, until he has the ' feel ' of the words in his 28o Recognition^ Memory mid Imagination throat. The attention must, of course, be concentrated as exclu- sively as possible upon that aspect of the stimulus which it is desired to remember.
(2) The method of description is, perhaps, the best for testing the quahtative accuracy of memory. No investigation, however, has as yet been made. Another possible method is that of cojn- parison. The subject calls up a memory-idea, visual, auditory, or what not, and when it has become quite clear in consciousness, is asked to compare it with a given impression. The impression is something which more or less nearly resembles the object which the subject's memory-idea represents.
(3) The range of memory may be tested as follows. Prepare a number of nonsense syllables, each consisting of two consonants and a vowel, — say, 1000 in all. Form series, quite at random, making the series of different lengths: 5, 10, 15, etc. Read a series aloud, repeating the reading until you can say the syllables through ' by heart.' Note the time, i.e., the number of repetitions, required for the memorising of the different series. Care must be taken to read always at the same rate, in the same rhythm, and with the same degree of attention.
You will find that, with fairly short series, the range of memory is proportional to the time spent in memorising, i.e.,- to the num- ber of repetitions. The longer you take to learn, the oftener you go over the series, the better you remember.
The investigation of memory is rendered peculiarly dif- ficult by the fact (§ 75) that our memory of an event is not a reproduction, an exact representation of it. For prac- tical purposes, we may congratulate ourselves that memory- ideas, like v^ords, come to be attended to not for what they are in themselves, but for what they mean. Even when they are, in part, reproductive (as we assumed in our dis- cussion of Retention, and as is the case when we recall a scene by visual memory, or an air by auditory), the repro- duction is exceedingly incomplete, and is attended to not § /S- TJie Investigation of Memory 281 as a reproduction but as a symbol of a total experience. But when we set to work to examine memory, by psycho- logical methods, we are at once confronted by the ques- tion: What is the particular symbol, reproductive, verbal, etc., which this particular subject employs in his memories } Until this question has been answered, — and its answer is by no means easy, — further investigation is impossible.
It follows from our description of recognition and memory that we cannot recognise and remember an affection. We can, of course, recognise and remember an idea of affection (§ 59). But when we wish to revive a pleasantness or unpleasantness we do so by fixing the attention upon the ideas to which it attached: we call back the (pleasant or unpleasant) 'situation.' The mem- ory-ideas, which represent the original experience, are, naturally, accompanied by the affection which coloured that experience.
The more complete and accurate the reproduction of the situa- tion, the stronger is the affection which attaches to it. As a rule, however, the reproduction is so fragmentary, and the new connec- tions which its part-processes have formed so numerous, that the ' revived ' affection is very considerably weaker than its original. Indeed, it may have changed to the opposite quaHty. However vividly we recall a punishment of our school-days, we cannot feel the unpleasantness now as we felt it at the time. And if we suffer the reproductive ideas to bring into consciousness the ideas which have become associated to them in our subsequent life, the un- pleasantness may not be felt at all: we may smile as we recall the experience; unpleasantness has changed into pleasantness.
In Chapter VII we refused to make any distinction between the perception and the idea. It may now occur to the reader that the refusal was ill-advised; that to distinguish recognition from memory we have been compelled to distinguish the peripherally aroused from the centrally aroused idea; and that it would make our psychology easier if we said that perceptions were recognised and ideas remembered.
282 Recognition^ Memory and Imagination As a matter of fact, it is just because the distinction is of practi- cal importance only, and not of scientific value, that we refused to make it. Practically, in everyday life, there is a difference between the recognitive and the memory consciousnesses; scien- tifically, there is no difference. No centrally aroused idea, that is to say, is intrinsically a memory-idea: its qualities are the quali- ties of peripherally aroused ideas, and its mode of formation does not differ from theirs. It is only in virtue of a certain function or meaning that it becomes a memory-idea.
It might be well, perhaps, to reject the term * memory ' alto- gether, and to speak only of recognition. But ' memory,' like the phrase 'association of ideas,' has been employed by psychology for so many centuries, and is rooted so deeply in popular thinking, that we can do no more, at present, than give a psychological analysis of it, and emphasise the fact that it is not a specific mental process or mental faculty.
§ 79. The Nature and Forms of Imagination. — Psy- chologists distinguish two forms of imagination: the reproductive or passive, and the productive, active or constructive.
(i) Reprodtictive Imagination. — No idea can enter the adult consciousness for the first time without being in some way supplemented. There must be part-processes in it which, as constituents of other ideas, have formed habits of connection. We speak of reproductive imagination in cases where the supplementing of a new idea is a re- productive supplementing, a supplementing in kind. I read a traveller's description of an African forest, and picture the forest as I read; or I receive the score of a new opera, and the music si^igs itself to me as I run my eye over the printed notes. The visual ideas of the forest are derived from the memories of forests which I have actually seen; and the auditory ideas are aroused because § 79- '^^^^ Nature and Forms of Imagination 28 0 the printed notes have, from past experience, definite con- nections with musical sounds. But the total experience is neither a memory nor a recognition. I have neither seen the forest nor heard the opera; and though the reproduc- tions have the recognitive mood attaching to them, the central ideas, the printed pages, have not.
Imaginations of this kind are only possible in consciousnesses whose corresponding memories are in part reproductive. If my reproductive memory is exclusively auditory, I cannot picture the African forest, though I can imagine its mysterious noises. If my reproductive memory is exclusively visual, I cannot imagine how the opera sounds.
It is to be noted that memory-ideas, especially if they are ver- bal, may have among their supplements reproductive ideas which are really imaginative, though introspection would regard them as true memories. When I say 'I heard Patti sing twenty years ago,' the form of words may be all that I remember. But as I think or utter the words, they arouse in my mind ideas of a stage, of the singer, etc., so that there is every appearance of a visual memory. The visual ideas in this case are not reproductions of the original scene; they are a new construction of it, suggested by the words. It is impossible to distinguish this ' secondary reproductive mem- ory ' from the true reproductive memory, unless we can compare our ideas with a more trustworthy account of the event remem- bered. Thus I may be sure, from ' memory,' that the singer wore a pink dress when I heard her. The form of words has somehow become connected in consciousness with the reproductive idea of a pink dress, and the whole complex brings the recognitive mood with it. My neighbour, however, has positive evidence that the dress was white, and not pink. I have imagined the pink, then; although from the point of view of introspection, the experience is a memory.
(2) Constructive Imaginatiott. — The processes which we have so far discussed in this chapter, — recognition, mem- 284 Recognition, Memory and Imagination ory and reproductive imagination, — are all, so far as they are composed of ideas, instances of simultaneous association. We may have recognition at different levels of definiteness, in one experience; as in the illustration * University man ' (indefinite recognition), ^ Smith ' (less indefinite), ' that Smith ' (definite recognition). This whole process may be described as a successive association; and as each of its three terms is accompanied by the recognitive mood, it is tempting to speak of it as a process of recognition, and so to make recognition itself a successive association. But as a matter of fact, the experience contains three succes- sive recognitions, each of which is complete in itself. — We may have, in the same way, a train of memory-ideas: but * a ' memory is a simultaneous association. The same thing holds of reproductive imagination.
In constructive imagination, on the other hand, we have an instance of successive association, — of association after disjunction. Some of the ideas associated may be central and some peripheral, or all alike of central origin.
Thus suppose that a poet desires to give a description of a storm at sea. He has a mass of memory-ideas and of reproductive imaginations in consciousness. His attention turns from one to another of these, selecting the striking incidents, and rejecting those of minor importance. Now it may happen that a severe thunderstorm comes within his actual experience. The presented ideas are taken into consciousness, and worked over by the attention along with the rest. The poem is written after the moving in- cidents have been detached from their settings, and reas- sociated by the attention.
The result of imagination here is a poem, a series of successive verbal associations (judgments). Had we taken § 8o. Ilhisions of Recognition and Memory 285 the inventor, in place of the poet, for an illustration, we should have had as the result of imagination some machine or instrument. This is a closer copy of the associations found within the imaginative consciousness than the poem could be; the poem is a translation of the imaginative ideas, standing to them as a verbal description of the in- strument stands to the designer's imagination of it. The process of imagination, however, is the same in both cases: it is a ' thinking ' or judging not in words, but in reproduct- ive ideas.
Psychologically, then, there is no difference between the 'imagination' of the poet and the * thought' of the inventor. Both consciousnesses alike are composed pre- dominantly of reproductive ideas. The only difference is in the material (printed words on bits of metal) which expresses the associations found among them.