A Beginner's Psychology

by Edward Bradford Titchener

The task before us is, therefore, not easy; but it is straightforward; and that is the next best thing. We want to find out how associative tendencies in the brain are set up; and to do this we must, evidently, find some way of creating a bond between one nervous process and another; we must devise experiments in which we make or construct brain-connections. We need not look far afield; for we make such connections whenever we learn anything new; so that we have only to learn under experimental conditions, and the task is accomplished. But what shall we learn? what stimuli shall we employ in the experiments? ‘Words,’ you will say; and words have many advantages for learning; but they have, in this case, the supreme disadvantage that they are ingrained meanings. Words therefore will not do; but something very like them will. The question of the stimuli to be employed was, in fact, answered for us, thirty years ago, by the German psychologist Hermann Ebbinghaus, who—by one of those happy thoughts that come after long and intensive occupation with a subject—hit upon the notion of the meaningless syllable. Ebbinghaus made up over 2000 meaningless ‘words,’ all consisting of a vowel or diphthong between two consonants; syllables standing in the same relation to his own language that leb, rit, mon, yup, kig, wes, der, zam, for instance, bear to English. See the advantage of this kind of material for the work we have in view! The syllables are just like words, in that they may be seen, heard, or felt in the throat; they are unlike words, and vastly superior to them, in that they have no habitual associates; they lack context and meaning; every syllable in a series may be considered to have the same chances of making connections as every other. The material is so rich and varied that endless experiments can be made; it is so simple and uniform that the results of one experiment may be compared directly with the results of another; it may be drawn from any language, and so may be used in the laboratories of any country. Moreover, it is absolutely under control; it is just the kind of material that we need when we are tied down to strict and accurate method; we can vary at will the manner of presentation to the learner, the number of syllables in a series, the rate at which they follow one another, and so on; and the report required from the learner himself is easy and natural; there are no long descriptive phrases; he has only to say or to write the syllables he has learned. Lastly, we may proceed from experiments with this meaningless material to experiments with real words, words that mean; and we may hope in that way to pass beyond the bare essentials of the brain’s associative function, and to get a clue to the complex interplay of associative tendencies in real life. All in all, it is not too much to say that Ebbinghaus’ recourse to meaningless syllables, as means to the study of associative tendencies, marks the most considerable advance, in this chapter of the psychological system, since the time of Aristotle.

[§ 33]. The Establishment of Associative Tendencies.—The use of meaningless syllables has brought with it a whole armoury of technical methods for the study of the associative tendencies. We have here no space to treat of these methods in detail; fortunately, the results that we shall mention speak for themselves; and it may be added that all the methods of experiment are, in principle, changes rung upon one simple model, in which the observer sits down before a series of syllables, reads them through, so-many times over, in a state of attention, and then, either immediately or after an interval of time, repeats them ‘from memory.’ We proceed, then, to answer the question: How are associative tendencies established in the brain?

Their establishment depends, first and most obviously, upon the number of syllables in the series presented to the observer. While he can recite correctly, after a single reading, a series of 6 or 7, a longer series simply throws him into confusion. The first and last terms have a definite advantage; they may, indeed, be the only syllables that can be repeated after a single reading of a 12-term series. Secondly, the tendencies are strengthened by repetition. The first reading is more important than any other single reading; after that, there is for a while little if any improvement; then the results take a sudden step up; and thenceforward progress is fairly steady until the limit of the experiment is reached. Thirdly, the tendencies are furthered by a grouping of the syllables. The observer learns a series more quickly if, for instance, he throws it into a rhythm. Fourthly, it is important to distribute the readings in time. Two readings a day for 12 days give better results than four a day for 6 days, or eight a day for 3 days, although the total number remains the same. Fifthly, the rate of reading has its effect; the syllables must not follow one another too fast or too slowly. There are great differences between individual learners; but we may say in general that the syllables should at first be presented at a moderate rate (perhaps two in the second), and that the rate should be slowly increased as the readings proceed. Sixthly, not only repetition itself, but also the manner of repetition, makes a difference. Meaningless syllables are learned somewhat better if the whole series is read through, over and over, from end to end, than if they are taken a few at a time, in small lots. Lastly, recitation or reading aloud is ordinarily more effective than silent reading; largely, perhaps, because the separate pronouncing of every syllable equalises attention; every term of the series is brought out sharply and clearly, and there is no chance to slur.

Here, however, we must remember the differences of imaginal type (p. 138); and it is true that a markedly visual learner will profit less by recitation than an auditory-motor learner. These experiments have, indeed, revealed other typical differences between individuals, such as those of slow and quick, and of receptive and ingenious learning. Some of us, it seems, are naturally quick, and some are naturally slow learners, just as some work best at night and others in the morning. Some observers, again, accept the series of syllables, passively and without question; others embroider and interpret the meaningless forms in all manner of ways; mon becomes man, and kig king, and wer where, and so on. We know nothing at present of the correlated differences in the nervous system.

The results just given may be compared with those obtained when meaningful stimuli are employed. Thus, 8 or 9 one-syllable words, and 10 to 12 one-place numbers, can be recited after a single reading. Meaningful material, which is grouped or unified by its topic, may be learned ten times as quickly as meaningless syllables. It may also be presented more rapidly; iambic and trochaic verses, for instances, may be taken at double the rate of the syllables. Dates of historical events, and the words of a foreign language, are best learned like the meaningless syllables; and connected meaningful material, like a poem or an oration, should very decidedly be read as a whole, from end to end, in the successive repetitions. If there are brief passages of unusual difficulty, they may, of course, be gone over by themselves, in the intervals between the total readings; the general rule, however, is to learn by wholes. This appears, in fact, to be the procedure generally followed by bards and tellers of folktales; and actors who play many rôles in quick succession are able to ‘wing a part,’ as the phrase goes, by reading it through several times over at brief intervals. Children who memorise a poem in sections, a stanza now and a stanza to-morrow, waste a great deal of time.

Let us now come back to the meaningless syllables, and ask what is the net result of all the influences that we have listed. Suppose, in other words, that a series of syllables has been presented at a certain rate, thrown into a certain rhythm, repeated a certain number of times with fitting distribution in time, recited at every repetition: what is the final outcome, as regards the establishment of associative tendencies in the brain? It is this: that a strong connection has been set up between the successive terms of the series, in the order of their presentation; and that weaker connections have been set up between every term and every other term, whether the terms are near or remote in the series, and whether they are taken forwards or backwards. Let us illustrate by reference to the alphabet. If the alphabet represents a series of meaningless syllables, then there is a strong connection between a and b, b and c, ... y and z; but there are also weaker connections between a and d, ... v and z; and further, there are connections backward between z and y, z and x, ... d and a. The series of syllables has thus impressed the brain with a very complex meshwork of associative tendencies, stronger in some places (direct forward connection) and weaker in others (remote and backward connection), but still functionally interconnected through all its parts.

[§ 34]. The Interference and Decay of Associative Tendencies.—If a set of associative tendencies, such as we have just described, is left to itself, and neither disturbed nor renewed, it gradually disappears; the loss is at first very rapid, then proceeds more slowly, and thereafter goes on only at a snail’s pace. To make the matter concrete, we may think of the meshwork of tendencies as a meshwork of channels, deeper and shallower, in the substance of the brain; then the rule is that the channels tend to fill up,—the shallow ones speedily, the deeper ones at first quickly and then more and more slowly,—until everything is smooth again. This is a mere figure, but it carries the meaning that we desire. The same thing happens with the tendencies set up by meaningful material; they too slowly die away; but it is doubtful if they ever wholly disappear; in their case the brain, if it has been thoroughly impressed, seems never wholly to ‘forget.’ Ebbinghaus learned some stanzas of Byron’s Don Juan, for experimental purposes, and did not look at them again for 22 years; yet he relearned those stanzas in 93 per cent. of the time required to learn new stanzas; a saving of 7 per cent. Some stanzas that he had learned more thoroughly were not read again for 17 years; these were relearned with a saving of nearly 20 per cent. He had no memory whatever of the verses formerly learned; but his brain ‘remembered’; the associative tendencies had not completely disappeared.

As a rule, however, a particular set of tendencies is not allowed to die a natural death; it is interfered with by others. All associative tendencies need a certain time to establish themselves, to settle down; and if this time is not granted, but stimulus treads on the heels of stimulus, there is no impression of the meshwork, and no connections are formed; we have seen that a series of excessive length simply throws the learner into confusion. A recently acquired connection may even be abolished, as most of us know to our cost, by interruption of the train of thought; you have just got to your point, to the insight, the phrasing, the argument, that will clinch things; you are distracted by some irrelevant matter; and when you come back to your work, the point has gone. So nicely balanced and so easily disturbed are the associative tendencies, that you may never recover it; no wonder that the constructive worker, in literature, in science, in affairs, ‘hates to be interrupted’!

With meaningful material, interference may arise in other ways. Take the alphabet again; a is connected with b through the frequent repetition of abc, but is also connected with z by the phrase ‘a to z.’ If, then, a appears; and if the b-tendency and the z-tendency are of approximately equal strength; then there may be no connection at all; the two tendencies cancel or inhibit each other. A question may leave you dumb, not because you have no answer, but because you have so many different answers that no one of them can force through to expression. This sort of interference, which comes at the end of the associative process, is called terminal inhibition; there is another kind, coming at the beginning of the process, which we may call initial inhibition. If a is already connected with b, then it is difficult to connect it with k; b gets in the way. You have some particular fault of style, or you have fallen into the habit of spelling wrongly some particular word; you want to correct the fault, to spell aright. But every time that you are off guard, the mistake recurs; the existing connection a-b heads off the desired connection a-k.

Fortunately, there are compensations. If a group of tendencies, for instance, does escape interference, then the brain settles down of itself. Schoolboys, with a keen sense for economy of effort, learn their lessons only partway overnight, and find that a hasty review next morning is enough to fix them; the associative tendencies work while their owners sleep. The practised speaker, knowing that he has to talk on a certain subject at a certain date, marshals his present ideas in half-an-hour of concentrated attention, and then drops the whole thing; his brain incubates it for him; and when the appointed day comes near, he finds that his associative tendencies have practically prepared his address. Besides, the tendencies may converge, as well as interfere; we have seen how continued attention opens the mind to relevant facts and closes it against the irrelevant (p. 98). If they did not, it would be impossible for us to follow the thread of a paragraph, to say nothing of a chapter or of a whole book. Convergence thus offsets interference. We shall meet it in various forms later (§§ 42, 45, 65); meantime we leave the brain, and pass to the mental processes themselves. How are they connected?