A Beginner's Psychology

by Edward Bradford Titchener

That is correct, so far as it goes; though, as we shall see in a moment, it does not go quite far enough. Meanwhile, you must clearly realise that the processes which compose the perceptions and ideas are extremely variable. We have already discussed this matter; we have seen that the perception of an object and the idea of the same object do not by any means correspond, term for term, like original and copy; the form of our ideas depends, in the first instance, upon our imaginal type, and secondarily upon the special circumstances under which they appear (pp. 139 f.). When, therefore, we speak of ‘the later appearance of an idea in the same situational context,’ we really mean the appearance of that complex of mental processes which, under the law of imaginal type and under the special circumstances of the moment, has taken the place of the original complex. In the next chapter we shall be discussing the ‘memory-image,’ and you will then be shown how radically an idea may be transformed; so radically, that it may be likened rather to a translation than a copy of the perception, rather to a rendering into another language than a reproduction. If you want a catch-phrase, to hold this fact of change in mind, think of association as a marriage by proxy; the marriage-bond, the situational context, remains the same, but the parties are represented by very variable mental complexes.

Now for the law once more! The formula does not go far enough; for while it covers the movement of ideas within a single situational context, it does not show how we may pass, as we undoubtedly do, from one situational context to another. Here a diagram will, perhaps, make things plain. Suppose that we start out with an idea a, composed of core and context, and lying within the wider situational context of the right-hand oval. The appearance of a is followed, let us assume, by the reappearance of b, which lies within the same situational context. The idea b may be followed, in its turn, by c. But since b belongs also to a second situation, represented by the left-hand oval, it may be followed instead by the idea x; and in that event we shall have travelled from the one situational context to the other. Whether c or x comes up is a matter which depends entirely upon the relative strength of the associative tendencies at the moment. The diagram, it is needless to say, is immensely over-simplified; we have placed a, c, and x within one situational context only, and we have made the ideas follow one another in single file; but it shows how our formulation of the law must be extended, if we are to ‘get in’ all the facts. We must add: If certain of these reappearing ideas belong also to a different situational context, they will tend to be accompanied, again according to circumstances, by the ideas which formerly occurred together (as perceptions or ideas) within that context. In point of fact, most ideas belong to very many different situations, so that the interweaving of the associative tendencies may be highly complicated.

These paragraphs will strike you as both difficult and clumsy; but, if you review the course of the whole chapter, you will perhaps agree that our attempt at formulation has been worth while. We began with Aristotle’s four rules, and found that they are logical and practical, and also that they may logically be reduced to one, the ‘law of association by contiguity.’ That law did not satisfy us; we agreed with James that the brain associates and that meanings are associated. So we went to the brain; and by the aid of meaningless syllables we traced the history of the associative tendencies. Coming back to psychology proper, we distinguished the fusion and the conjunction of mental processes, and noted that the experimental method does not yet permit us to follow the patterns of mental connection in the large; though the experiments already made furnish additional proof that the old ‘laws’ of association are psychologically valueless. Now, to conclude, we have sought, first, to bring all that we know of the associative tendencies under a single formula; and then, building upon that formula and upon our partial knowledge of the patterns of mental connection, to write a psychological law that shall replace the logical law of contiguity. We have had to safeguard and qualify, and to leave loose ends for individual variation; but at any rate we have something positive whereby to support our criticism of the doctrine of association.

[§ 37]. Practice, Habit, Fatigue.—The establishment of an associative tendency may be looked upon as the establishment of a habit of brain-function; the learning of series of syllables improves with practice; and continued learning gives rise to fatigue. It is natural, therefore, that we should here pause to say something about these three things in their relation to psychology.

All practice begins in the state of attention; but practice, once started, may go on when attention is distracted from the matter in hand. We give a great deal of attention to our first finger-exercises on the piano; presently, if we have continued them long enough, we may practise Chopin on the clavier while we are reading a book or thinking out a problem; the fingers do the practising for themselves. If we follow the course of practice, from day to day, we find that improvement is not steady; we gain very quickly at first, then come to a point at which we remain stationary for a while, then make another and slower gain, then rest at a second plateau or level of practice, and so on. It is doubtful, however, whether this stepwise advance is characteristic of practice itself, that is, of the nervous change produced by repeated stimulation of the same nerve-elements; it seems rather to be due to changes in our method of working, to the sudden discovery of some new trick of procedure, or the sudden release from some hampering peculiarity of method. We cannot speak in positive terms since, unfortunately for psychology, the investigators of practice have been more concerned with outward results and practical value than with description of the correlated mental processes.

In psychological experiments, the practised observer has a threefold superiority over the unpractised: his attitude to the stimuli, in successive observations, is more nearly uniform; his attention is sustained at a higher level; and his discrimination is more refined. This means that the focal mental processes are few in number; that they are extremely vivid; and that they are protected, by strong inhibitory forces, against intrusion from the outside. It is clear therefore that practice is very desirable; but it is clear also that experimental results may be compared only if the stage of practice at which they are obtained is the same. This rule has some odd examples: an observer, for instance, who is practised in the discrimination of lifted weights grows physically stronger with his practice, and may therefore judge quite differently from the unpractised observer.

Habit is, in general, the outcome of practice; if practice shows us a nervous set or disposition in the making, habit is the set taken, the disposition established; the plastic organ has hardened in some special way. Like practice, habit in its early stages requires attention; but it is to be noticed that a habit may be formed, not only by the repetition that practice brings, but also by any single stimulus that violently impresses the nervous system; the plastic mechanism may be thrown, by a sudden wrench, into a new and permanent arrangement; just as we may give a permanent bend to a fencing foil by a single violent lunge. We have already seen, in our discussion of the development of attention (p. 99), that habits already formed are the basis of new acquisition; and we may remark in passing that the moral and practical importance of habit has often been written upon and can hardly be overestimated.

In all experimental work of a serial kind, habit shows itself as a tendency to experience and report the same things. Suppose, for example, that we wish to ascertain the least perceptible difference of tonal pitch. We begin with two identical tones, and gradually separate them in the successive experiments of the series. The observer begins with the experience and report of ‘same’ or ‘alike.’ If, now, the differences between the tones are made very small, so that the series of observations is long drawn out, the observer may get into the habit of hearing and reporting ‘same’; although the tonal difference is definitely perceptible, it nevertheless passes without notice. The focal processes are here, as they are in the case of practice, few in number; but they run their course at a low level of attention; they are intrinsically obscure, and the report of them simply follows the line of least resistance. The observer is correspondingly liable to distraction from the outside; the inhibitory protection is weak. Habituation is consequently to be avoided, as practice is to be desired.

Fatigue appears to be due to a sort of blood-poisoning; waste-products thrown off by the other tissues are poured into the blood-stream and there accumulate. It shows itself first of all by way of muscular sensation (p. 46), and soon becomes a sense-feeling; whereupon the biological theory of feeling lays hold of it (p. 84), and bids us stop work because we are suffering harm. The feeling of fatigue, however, gives no sure evidence that the capacity of the nervous system is reduced; the biological theory signally breaks down; not only can we work effectively, but we often do our best work, after we have begun to feel tired. We should take our cue to rest not from the feeling of fatigue, but rather from the impairment of our work, in quantity and quality, on the one hand, and from derangement of the great bodily functions, such as digestion and sleep, on the other.