II.
It was for this reason that I proposed to myself the task of collecting fresh documents, and of inquiring whether there are not great differences between one individual and another as regards the memory of impressions. This would explain the want of harmony among authorities on this point.
Having eliminated all vague and doubtful answers, and those which are not to the point, I have collected about sixty dossiers. Each person (all being adults, of both sexes, and various stages of culture) was directly questioned by myself, and the answers immediately noted. Besides these, I have received several long written communications, which I reckon among my best material. The nature of the questions asked will be sufficiently evident from the following summary, which contains the principal results of my inquiry. I shall confine myself to a bare statement of the facts; the interpretation will come later.
1. Images of taste and smell.—I was disposed to admit that they are not subject to any spontaneous revivability, and still less to a voluntary one, being, for my own part, quite incapable of recalling a single one, even in the faintest degree. The answers have put me completely in the wrong—the negatives being 40 per cent., the positives 60 per cent. More accurately, 40 per cent. persons revive no image, 48 per cent. revive some, 12 per cent. declare themselves capable of reviving all, or nearly all, at pleasure.
The majority of cases, therefore, allows of the spontaneous revival of some odours only. Those most frequently mentioned are pinks, musk, violets, heliotrope, carbolic acid, the smell of the country, of grass, etc. The conditions under which the image appears are various. For some persons this is unaccompanied by any visual, tactile, or other representation. With the majority, the imaginary odour ultimately excites the corresponding visual image (that of a flower, a bottle of scent, etc.). Many have first to evoke the visual image, and, in time, succeed in exciting the olfactory one. Two individuals affirm that, on reading the description of a landscape, they immediately perceive the characteristic odours. Here the sign is sufficient. One of them, a novelist, is sometimes conscious of thirst under the same conditions.
In the two following cases the “olfactory image” only exists in a single instance, and appears to be produced by the combined operation of concomitant circumstances.
Case 1. “I had been to the hospital, to see my friend B., who was suffering from a cancer in the face.... When he spoke it was necessary to come quite close in order to hear what he said, and thus, in spite of the antiseptic dressings, an acrid, fetid odour forced itself on one’s nostrils.... I was to go again to see him—I had promised to do so; but this prospect was intensely repugnant to me. While walking in a part of Paris, where neither space nor fresh air was wanting, I reproached myself silently for not having gone to see the poor patient.... At this very moment I perceived, as though I had been close to him, the same acrid odour, recognisable as that of a cancerous tumour—so suddenly that I instinctively held my sleeve to my nose in order to see whether I had not brought away the smell in my clothes. This, however, was immediately succeeded by the reflection that I had not been to the hospital for five days, and that, moreover, I was not wearing the same overcoat as on the occasion of my visit.”
Case 2. "I can only recall two odours: one inextricably connected with the memory of a sick-room—a stale smell of drugs and vitiated air, truly disagreeable when it recurs, as at the present moment....
“It has happened to me to discover a very peculiar and indefinable odour in the presence of a hypnotiser (M. R——) when he was putting me to sleep, and I had not quite reached the lethargic state. I have since noticed that very often (not always) the memory of this curious odour accompanies the recollection of the hypnotiser. This seems to me all the more convincing, because, the odour being very subtle when M. R—— is near me, the revival must be absolute to allow of the return of the sensation, in however slight a degree.”
I should hesitate to admit the spontaneous or voluntary revival of almost all odours, if this fact had not been affirmed to me, in perfect good faith, by educated and competent witnesses. I give some extracts from these declarations: “I can perceive nearly all characteristic odours, and can call them up at will; at this moment I am thinking of the country of the Rhine, and am fully conscious of its odour.” “I can recall the greater number of odours (but not all) either spontaneously or voluntarily. (In the latter case time is required.)—Can you perceive, here and now, the scent of roses, and, if so, of what kind?—I perceive it in genere; but, on further persevering, I find it to be the scent of withered roses. The visual representation occurs afterwards.” The only person who has told me that he finds all odours perceptible at will always finds a preliminary visual representation necessary.[[99]]
As to the recollections of tastes, by themselves, the answers are very vague. One remembers “easily, and at will, the taste of salt, with a very clear visual impression,” but less easily the other three fundamental tastes. Another, who uses for his throat three different kinds of lozenges, “feels the taste of them beforehand, as soon as he needs them, on either seeing or touching them.” In general, the revivability of tastes appears to me especially connected with that of ordinary food, and with the state of the alimentary canal (hunger).
2. Internal sensations.—My inquiry does not include the whole of these, but only the commonest and most easily observed.[[100]]
As regards hunger, I have received 51 definite answers, 24 persons saying they can distinctly recall it, 27 that they cannot. (The question has always been put at an hour when the real sensation did not exist, and some have told me that in their normal condition they never feel either hunger or thirst.) It is usually described as a tactile sensation in the œsophagus, or a twitching pain in the stomach, etc. One person only affirms that he can, “at will, feel hunger and thirst, even after having eaten and drunk.”
Thirst is imagined much more frequently than hunger, and, as it seems, more clearly (36 affirmative to 15 negative answers). It is described as dryness in the throat, heat, etc.
As regards the representation of fatigue, the answers have without exception been affirmative. The modes of representation are various. Some feel it (ideally) in the muscles; others under a cerebral form. Here are some examples: “muscular twitchings in the calves of the legs, the back, and the shoulders; the eyes feeling swollen, but no heaviness in the head;” “a feeling of relaxation, of a weight, localised in the shoulders, because, in a normal state, I find stooping very difficult;” “slowness of movement, with a feeling of weight in the head;” “general[“general] lassitude, of a diffused kind, especially a feeling of weight in the head, and mental weariness;” “pains in the joints, and a heavy feeling in the brain.” Although all my correspondents can revive the feeling of fatigue, three or four can only succeed in doing so “with difficulty and to a slight extent.”
We find the same results with regard to the representation of disgust. I find only three negative answers, all accompanied by the remark, “I have a good digestion.” One of these cases is the more singular because the subject has suffered from sea-sickness. In its acute form the representation is described as “like the beginning of nausea.” For others, it is “a pain in the stomach, with a retractile movement, connected with the idea of cod-liver oil, or of tainted meat.” Among those who have experienced the sensation of sea-sickness, I have not met with one who cannot easily revive it (giddiness, feelings of a rocking motion, which disinclines them to persist in reviving the impression). M. X—— (a very competent observer in psychological questions) says: “I have a pretty good visual memory, but no auditive, either musical or linguistic; I cannot spell a foreign language. Except for muscular memory, which in me is nil (so that I have never succeeded in acquiring any physical exercise, or playing on any instrument), I can revive all internal sensations: hunger, thirst, disgust, fatigue, giddiness, difficulty in breathing; I prefer not to insist upon this last state, as were I to think of it any longer I should actually bring it on.”[[101]]
3. Pains and Pleasures.—To the question, “Can you revive in yourself the memory of a given physical pain, a sorrow, a pleasure, or a pity?” the answer is nearly always in the affirmative. But, put in this bald way, it teaches us nothing. We require more detailed information. We here return to the main point of our subject, and I am obliged slightly to anticipate my conclusions. The observations, carefully taken, show that there are two distinct forms of emotional memory, one abstract, the other concrete. Later on, I shall insist on their differences; for the moment, I shall confine myself to the enumeration of facts.
Painful States.—Toothache, being very common, has supplied me with many answers. I note in nearly all of these the predominance of the motor elements: shooting and throbbing pains, contortions of the jaw, etc. When the extraction of a tooth is recalled there is a jarring of the whole head, a feeling of twisting, snapping, noises, etc. In many cases the painful element seems to be scarcely revived, or not at all; in many others it reappears with the utmost clearness.
Case 3. “I send you a personal observation made during the last few days. I had suffered from toothache, which was very acute, and certainly intenser than the unpleasant feeling experienced when the dentist operates on your teeth with his revolving machine. Yet when I think of it now, and try to recall, on the one hand the pain, on the other the rubbing of the teeth by the machine, it is the latter which seems to me, in my recollection, the most disagreeable. I explain this by the fact that this rubbing is accompanied by a noise which I can recall most vividly, and this auditive representation is by itself sufficient to evoke a disagreeable feeling. The pain in the teeth is also connected with different accessories: inclination of the head, closing of the eye on the side affected, movement of the hand to the corresponding cheek, etc., but these accessories have no great influence on me; they are not so characteristic of toothache as the peculiar noise of the machine. This last representation is very vivid; when I think of it I feel a chill run down my back and a slight trembling in the arms. The representation of the actual pain is, in my case, much more vague; it is diffused, I have to eke it out with verbal descriptions, and it does not act on me so disagreeably as the first.”
Cuts, burns, etc., are remembered tolerably well. “In my youth I was wounded by a pistol-shot; I have a perfect recollection of the shock, which first produced a tactile sensation radiating from a centre, and afterwards pain, but I have a difficulty in recalling the painful element in the sensation.” Another can well remember the vesical contractions of a cystitis; but not without the help of the motor elements, as in the case of toothache. M. B——, who appears to belong to the affective type (I shall explain later on what I mean by this), feels the beginnings of a lancinating neuralgia in the eye, a cramp in the stomach, a smarting of the anus, a bite on the tongue. Another (same type) says, “If I were to try, I could recall the feeling of neuralgia, but I cannot represent to myself the pain of a boil.” Another: “There are some pains which I can feel at will; I either feel nothing at all, or the representation is so vivid that it almost amounts to actual pain. This is true especially of cardiac pains.”
It was my intention to question those who had undergone important operations; but, from the very general use of anæsthetics, there was little to be hoped for from such an experiment. There remains a case of frequent occurrence—the pains of childbirth. The answers are contradictory. One woman, who has had five confinements, declares that “as soon as it is over, there is nothing more.” This is a woman of vigorous health and unshaken optimism. Another says, “As soon as the pain is over, I can forget it at once.” The physician of a lying-in hospital told me that “nearly all, during their confinement, say that nothing would induce them to undergo such suffering again; yet nearly all return to the hospital.” Others say that they have, afterwards, a very clear and precise recollection of the labour-pains. Though these answers are so contradictory, we shall see, further on, how they are to be reconciled with one another.
Case 4. No revivability of the impression of labour-pains. Nervous subject. Good visual memory; no auditive memory; cannot recall either a taste or a smell; has made observations on herself in view of the subject in hand, and has sent me the following notes:—
"The first acute pains appeared about every fifteen or twenty minutes; during these intervals of repose they vanished, leaving no trace. During the intervals between the crises, the patient tried to represent to herself the pain she had just passed through, and found it absolutely impossible to do so. She could describe the pain in words,—pains in the back, the side, etc.,—and it was this verbal description which came back to her whenever she tried to recall her feelings at the time. Afterwards the pains became more and more frequent, and she could make no more observations. When they were extremely acute, she screamed and talked the whole time. It is curious to note that she did not pronounce her words as usual, but uttered each syllable several times, as thus: ‘ça, ça, ça, ça, fait, fait, fait, fait, très, très, maaaaal.’ She entreated her husband to kill her, to cut her into small pieces, to tear her asunder, if only there might be an end of it. After five hours of suffering, the doctor declared that all these pains had in nowise advanced the situation—that everything was as at the beginning. This declaration produced an acute feeling of despair, added to the pain. Five hours later all was over. Next day, when she tried to represent the pain to herself, there came into her mind only the verbal description, and afterwards the sum of her utterances during labour; she remembered that she had been unable to contain herself, that she understood the absurdity of what she had been saying to her husband, but thought, at the same time, ‘People sometimes do absurd things—why should he not do what I ask him?’ She remembered clearly that, after the doctor’s declaration, she had a feeling of despair; but she recalled it in words, not as a feeling."
In conclusion, I will quote from Fouillée, in connection with physical pain, an interesting observation made on himself:—
“If I want to recall any given attack of toothache, I must form a mental image of the teeth where the pain was localised, and then of the word pain which serves as a sign; but how am I to form an image of the pain in itself? Some philosophers declare the thing impossible, and allege that we only reproduce perceptions, intellectual states, and words. This is, in fact, what usually happens; but one can also, in my opinion, reproduce in the consciousness (though incompletely) the painful element of toothache. To this end we must employ an indirect method. This procedure consists in directly calling up the images and motor reactions which accompany or follow toothache. I make the experiment, localising my thoughts in one of the molars on the right side; then I wait. The first thing to revive is a vague and general state, common to all painful sensations. Then this reaction grows more precise, as I concentrate my attention more and more on the tooth. At last I feel a greater afflux of blood into the gum, and even throbbings. Then I represent to myself a certain movement passing from one point of the tooth or gum to another; this is the passage of the pain. Thus I also revive the motor reaction caused by the pain, the convulsion of the jaw, etc. Finally, by thinking fixedly of all these circumstances, I end by feeling in a more or less dull way the rudiments of shooting pains. In an experiment just made, I have brought on real toothache in a molar, which, however, is subject to it.... The experiment leaves behind it a general irritability of the teeth, and an inclination to pass the tongue over the gums.”[[102]]
Except for a few exceedingly clear observations, which I shall give later on, I have only vague replies regarding the revivability of sorrow, or moral pain, after the elimination of the conditions in which it had its origin. One person represents to himself “a general inertia and a febrile condition.” Another, who, during his time of military service, underwent periods of depression and ennui, “a year later, when the recollection comes back to him, sees everything of a grey hue.” We shall see presently that in some individuals the revival of moral pain is as acute as the initial state.
Pleasant States.—The same results are obtained, mutatis mutandis, as with the preceding group. I note a very marked predominance of the motor elements. The pleasures most frequently mentioned are those of skating, swimming, the trot or gallop of a horse, and various physical exercises. Those who really revive agreeable recollections, describe a general state of excitement, a dilatation of the chest, a lighting up of the countenance, a tendency towards childish gestures. One, in thinking of his rides, feels the pleasure of rapid motion, the wind playing over his cheeks, etc. Musicians can easily revive their pleasure by means of inner hearing alone. We find one who cannot think of the Walkürenritt without feeling himself lifted as if by motor impulses.
4. Emotions.—The phenomena of this group, though more complex, are, in fact, only a prolongation of our third group. But, in order to obtain a correct notion of their revivability, we must not proceed by way of generalities. To ask any given individual whether he is capable of reviving past emotions would be a useless question. I have always asked persons to try and recall a particular case of a particular emotion (fear, anger, love, etc.). The answers are reducible to three categories, which I shall enumerate in the order of their frequency.
In the greater number of cases, only the conditions, circumstances, and accessories of the emotion can be recalled; there is only an intellectual memory. The past event comes back to them with a certain emotional colouring (and sometimes even this is absent), a vague affective trace of what has once been but cannot be recalled. In the affective order these subjects are analogous to those of moderately good visual and auditory memory in the intellectual order. C——, who, when standing on a rock, narrowly escaped being surrounded by the tide, sees the waves rising, and recalls his desperate rush for the shore, which he reached in safety; but the emotion as such does not return to him. At Constantine, some years ago, I nearly fell into the gorge of the Rummel. When I think of the incident I can see before me quite clearly the landscape, the state of the sky, all the details of the spot; but the only return of feeling is a slight shiver in the back and legs.
Others (far less numerous) recall the circumstances plus the revived condition of feeling. It is these who have the true “affective memory”; they correspond to those who have good visual or good auditory memories. This is the case with the majority of emotional temperaments. As we here touch on the most obscure and disputed part of our subject, it will be convenient to give some examples.
Irascible subjects, on hearing the name of their enemy, at the mere thought can revive the rising feelings of anger. The timid person shudders and turns pale when recalling the danger once incurred. The lover, thinking of his mistress, completely revives the state of love. If we compare the recollection of an extinct passion with the occurrence to the mind of a passion still existing, we shall clearly perceive the difference between intellectual and affective memory, between the mere recollection of the circumstances and the recollection of the emotion as such. It is a serious error to assert that only the conditions of the emotion can be revived, not the emotional state itself. I now only touch on this question, to which I shall return.
Several of my correspondents affirm that the memory of an emotion affects them as strongly as the emotion itself, which I have no difficulty in believing. Does not the recollection of a foolish action make one blush? One asserts that “her representation of emotions is more acute than the emotions themselves, and that she can recall them much better than visual, auditive, and other sensations.” But a few detailed observations will make the nature of true affective memory clearer.
Littré relates that, at the age of ten, he lost a young sister under very painful circumstances. He felt acute grief at the time; “but a boy’s sorrow does not last long.” At an advanced age this grief suddenly returned, without apparent cause. “Suddenly, without wish or effort on my part, by some phenomenon of affective automnesia, this same event reproduced itself with feelings no less painful, certainly, than those I had experienced at the moment of its occurrence, and which went so far as to bring tears into my eyes.” It was several times repeated in the course of the following days; then it ceased and gave place to the habitual recollection, i.e., to the purely intellectual form of memory.[[103]]
It is natural to suppose that emotional revival must be of frequent occurrence in poets and artists. M. Sully-Prudhomme, whose philosophical aptitudes are well known, has favoured me with a written communication on this subject, from which I extract some passages, with his permission.
"... It is my habit to separate myself from the verses I have written before finishing them, and to leave them for some time in the drawers of my writing-table. I even forget them sometimes, when the piece has seemed to me a failure, and it may happen to me to find them again several years after. I then re-write them; and I have the power of calling up again, with great clearness, the feeling which had suggested them. This feeling I pose, so to speak, in my inner consciousness, like a model which I am copying by means of the palette and brush of language. This is the exact opposite of improvisation. It seems to me that at such times I am working on the recollection of an affective state.
"When I remember the emotions aroused in me by the entry of the Germans into Paris after our last defeats, I find it impossible not to experience this same emotion afresh, simultaneously and indivisibly; while the mnemonic image of the Paris of that day remains in my memory very distinct from any actual perception. When I remember the kind of affection which, in my childhood, I felt for my mother, I find it impossible not to become, in some sort, a child again, at the very moment when I call up this memory—not to allow my heart of to-day to participate in the former tenderness due to recollection. I am almost inclined to ask myself if every recollection of feeling does not take on the character of a hallucination.
“When a student, I formed a connection in which I was grossly deceived; so everyday an occurrence that the correctness of my observations can probably be tested by most men from their own recollections. There was nothing very deep in my love, imagination being the principal factor, and I have long ago forgiven the injury, which, after all, chiefly concerned my vanity. Both rancour and affection vanished long ago. Under these circumstances, if I call up the recollection, I recognise at the outset that I am now a stranger to the feelings which I can remember; but I soon notice that I only remain a stranger to them so long as the memories are vague and confused. As soon as, by an effort of recollection, I make them more precise, they cease ipso facto to be memories only, and I am quite surprised to feel the movements of youthful passion and angry jealousy renewed in me. It is indeed only this revival which could enable me to retouch the verses which this little adventure of long-past years induced me to perpetrate, and to allow the expression of my former feelings to benefit by the experience acquired in my art.”
Case 5. H—— (20 years). On the memory of the feeling of ennui experienced on the first day in barracks.—"In order to represent to myself thoroughly this feeling of ennui, which was very intense, and lasted a whole afternoon, I shut my eyes and abstract my thoughts. I feel, first, a slight shiver down my back, a certain malaise, a feeling of something unpleasant which I should prefer not to feel over again. After this first moment comes a certain uncomfortable state, a slight oppression of the throat; this feeling is connected with vague representations which do not fix themselves. In the experiment here described, I first picture to myself the barrack-yard, where I used to walk; then this picture of the yard is replaced by that of the dormitory on the third floor. I see myself seated at a window, looking at the view, of which I can see all the details. This, however, does not last; the picture soon disappears; there remains only a vague idea of being seated at a window, and then a feeling of oppression, weariness, dejection, and a certain heaviness in the shoulders. At this point I break off the experiment and open my eyes, still experiencing a general sense of uneasiness, which soon passes off."
The whole experiment lasts a little more than ten minutes. To sum up, we have, first, a feeling of weight and oppression, a shudder in the back, but no clear representation of surrounding objects; then a feeling of discomfort becoming more and more intense, visual representations varying either in their nature or their intensity; and finally, the total disappearance of these visual representations, the feeling of ennui being persistent throughout.
Case 6. A woman, aged 28. “Three years ago, I used to go and see a relative who was undergoing treatment at an establishment in the neighbourhood of P——. My visits were very frequent, and always began with a long wait in a room overlooking the garden. If I wish to repeat the impressions of this time of waiting, which was always disagreeable to me, all I have to do is to sit down in a chair, as I was then seated, to close my eyes and put myself in the same frame of mind, which I can do quite easily. Not half a minute passes between the evocation and the clear and absolute reconstruction of the scene. First, I feel the carpet under my feet, then I see its pattern of red and brown roses; then the table with the books lying on it, their colour and style of binding; then the windows, and through them the branches of the trees, of which I hear the sound as they beat against the glass; lastly, the peculiar atmosphere of the room, its unmistakable smell. After this, I feel over again all the weariness of waiting, complicated by an intense dread of the doctor’s arrival, a state of apprehension ending in a violent palpitation of the heart, which I find it impossible to escape. When once I have entered on this train of thought, I have to follow it out to the end, passing through the whole series of states which I passed through at the time. If I wished to eliminate any of them I am sure that I could not do so, as when, in a dream, one tries, without ever succeeding, to avoid an unpleasant fall which one foresees.”
Here nothing is wanting, either the circumstances, or the repetition of the emotion itself; and this case shows that the complete revival of an emotion is the beginning of the emotion itself.
Lastly, there remains a third category of answers, of which I have only four cases. I mention these merely as a curiosity, and in order to omit nothing. These persons represent the emotion objectively to themselves, by localising it in another. One can only represent anger to himself under the force of some particular angry man. Another incarnates fear and hatred in a certain person whose countenance or attitude expresses fear or hatred. The emotional state is, for these, only represented under its bodily form.
Is this because they have, personally, little experience of these different emotions?