P. 33.

Footnote 146:

The switching process is an interesting problem in itself. (Cf. Max

Levy-Suhl: Ueber Einstellungsvorgänge in normalen und anormalen

Seelenzuständen. Zeitschrift für Psychotherapie und Medizinishe

Psychologie, Bd. 11, Hft. 3, 1910.) An example is the well-known

psychological diagram which may be perceived at one moment as a flight

of steps and at another as an overhanging wall, according as which

perception of the same line is switched in.

Footnote 147:

Lectures not included in this volume.

Footnote 148:

In the case of Miss B., for example, Sally had absolute amnesia for

certain systems of subject-complexes (Latin, French, etc.) possessed

by the other personalities.

Footnote 149:

William Sharp, A Memoir, by Elizabeth A. Sharp.

Footnote 150:

My Life as a Dissociated Personality, _Journal of Abnormal

Psychology_, October-November, 1908, December-January, 1909.

Footnote 151:

The Dissociation, Chapter XXIII.

Footnote 152:

Provided, of course, this new knowledge is justified and not

contradicted by the facts and principles of life. In other words, it

must be believed, at least, to be the truth.

Footnote 153:

While these pages were in press, Lord Haldane in his Montreal address

(before the American Bar Association), which has attracted wide

attention, developed the psychological principle of “Sittlichkeit,” as

applied to communities, the nation and groups of nations. By

“Sittlichkeit” is meant the social habit of mind and action underlying

social customs, the instinctive sense of social obligation which is

the foundation of society. This plainly includes what is often called

the social conscience and actions impelled thereby. In further

definition of this principle Lord Haldane quotes Fichte as stating

“Sittlichkeit” to mean “those principles of conduct which regulate

people in their relations to each other, and have become matter of

habit and second nature at the stage of culture reached, and of which,

therefore, we are not explicitly conscious.” The point was made that

the citizen is governed “only to a small extent by law and legality on

the one hand, and by the dictates of the individual conscience on the

other.” It is the more extensive system of “Sittlichkeit” which plays

the predominant rôle. Out of this system there develops a unity of

thought and “a common ideal” which can be made to penetrate the soul

of a people and to take complete possession of it. Likewise there

develops “a general will with which the will of the good citizen is in

accord.” This will of the community (inspired by the common ideal) is

common to the individuals composing it. Lord Haldane goes on to make

the point that what is now true within a single nation may in time

come to be true between nations or a group of nations. Thus an

international habit of looking to common ideals may grow up

sufficiently strong to develop a general will, and to make the binding

power of those ideas a reliable sanction for their obligations to each

other. With this thesis, ably presented and fortified though it be, we

are not here concerned. The point I wish to make is that this

conception of “Sittlichkeit” which Lord Haldane in his remarkable

address, destined I believe to become historic, so ably develops and

applies to the solution of a world-problem is in psychological terms

identical with that of complexes of ideas and affects organized in the

unconscious.

Footnote 154:

Professor G. S. Fullerton, in the course of an essay, “Is the Mind in

the Body?” interestingly refers to this fact and points out that

common sense directs the common man in repudiating ancient doctrines,

and that it is “part of his share in the heritage of the race.” “The

common sense which guides men is the resultant attitude due to many

influences, some of them dating very far back indeed.” _The Popular

Science Monthly_, May, 1907.

LECTURE X

THE MEANING OF IDEAS AS DETERMINED BY SETTINGS

In the preceding lecture when describing the organization of emotional

complexes, I mentioned, somewhat incidentally, that their fuller meaning

was to be found in antecedent experiences of life; and that these

experiences conserved in the unconscious formed a setting that gave the

point of view and attitude of mind. It was pointed out also that if we

wish to know the reason why a given experience, like that of Voltaire

with Frederick, awakens a strong emotional reaction, and why the memory

of this experience continues persistently organized with the emotion or

gives rise to the emotional reaction whenever stimulated, we must look

to this setting of antecedent experiences which gives the ideas of the

complexes meaning. We need now to inquire to what extent the unconscious

complex in which the setting has roots may take part in the process

which gives meaning to an idea. It is a problem in _psychogenesis_ and

psychological mechanisms. As an imperatively recurring emotional complex

is an obsession the full meaning of any given obsession is involved in

the psychological problem of “Idea and Meaning.”

Let us, then, take up for discussion this latter problem as preliminary

to the study of that important psychosis—obsessing ideas and emotions.

A perception, or, what is in principle the same thing, an idea of an

object, although apparently a simple thing, is really, as a rule, a

complex affair. Without attempting to enter deeply into the psychology

of perception (and ideas), and particularly into the conventional

conception of perception as usually expounded in the text-books—a

conception which to my mind is inadequate and incomplete[155]—it is

sufficient for our immediate purposes to point out in a general rough

way the following facts concerning perception.

=Perception a synthesis of primary and secondary images.=—Perception may

be regarded both as a process and as a group of conscious elements some

of which are within the focus of attention or awareness and some of

which are outside this focus. As _a process_ it undoubtedly may include

much that is entirely subconscious and therefore without conscious

equivalents, and much that appears in consciousness. As a group of

conscious elements it is a fusion, amalgamation, or compounding of many

elements.

My perception of X., for example, whom I recognize as an acquaintance,

is much more than a cluster of visual sensations—I mean the sensations

of color and form that come from the stimulation of my retina. Besides

these sensations it includes a number of imaginal memory images some of

which are only in the fringe of consciousness and can only be recognized

by introspection or under special conditions. These secondary images, as

they are called, may be (as they most often are) visual, orienting him

in space and in past associative relations, according to my previous

experiences; they may be auditory—the imaginal sound of his voice or

verbal images of his name; or they may be the so-called kinesthetic

images, etc.; and all these images supplement the actual visual

sensations of color and form.

That such images take part in perception is of course well recognized in

every text-book on psychology where they will be found described. It is

easy to become aware of them under certain conditions. For instance, to

take an auditory perception from every-day life, you are listening

through the telephone and hear a strange voice speaking. Aside from the

meaning of the words you are conscious of little more than auditory

sensations although you do perceive them as those of a human voice and

not of a phonograph. Then of a sudden you recognize the voice as that of

an acquaintance. Instantly visual images of his face, and perhaps of the

room in which he is speaking and his situation therein, of the

furnishings of the room, etc., become associated with the voice. Your

perception of the voice now takes on a fuller meaning in accordance with

these imaginal images. In such an experience, common probably to

everybody, the secondary images which take part in perception are

unusually clear and easily detected.

Again, let us take a visual perception. You meet face to face a person

whom at first sight seems unfamiliar; then in a flash visual images of a

scene in a room where you first met, verbal images of his name, and the

sound of his voice rush into consciousness. The comparatively simple

perception of a man has now given place to a more complex perception

(apperception) of an acquaintance and has acquired a new meaning. This

new meaning is in part due to these images which have supplemented the

visual sensations; but it is also due to the coöperation of another and

important factor—the context—which I will presently consider.

Another situation of every-day life in which we become aware of the

images is when riding in a street car at night we look out of the window

and fail to recognize the individual buildings as we pass them though we

perceive them as houses. The neighborhood being obscured by darkness,

the buildings have no meaning from the point of view of their uses,

proprietorship, locality, etc., but only from an architectural point of

view. Then suddenly, by some apparently subconscious process, visual

memory images of the unseen neighborhood (hidden in darkness), and of

the interior of the buildings, flash into consciousness in conjunction

with the actual visual pictures of the buildings. In imagination we at

once see the locality and recognize (or apperceive) the buildings which

acquire a new meaning as particular shops, which we have often entered,

located in a particular locality, etc.

Again, take a tactual perception: If you close your eyes and touch, say

a point on your left hand, with your finger, you not only perceive the

touch but you perceive the exact spot that you touched. Your perception

includes localization. Now if you fix your attention and introspect

carefully you will find that you visualize your hand and see, more or

less vividly, the point touched (and the touching finger). If you draw a

figure on the hand you will visualize that figure. That is to say

imaginal visual images of the hand, figure, etc., enter into the tactual

perceptions. You will probably also be able to feel faint tactual

“images” of the hand (joints, fingers, etc.) which combine with the

visualization.[156] The whole complex is the perception proper.

The images which take part in actual perception, or in ideas of objects,

vary with the mode of perception (whether visual, auditory, tactile,

etc.) and with objects, and in different people. Reading, or the

perception of words, is in many people accompanied by the sound of the

words or kinesthetic images of words. If the printed words are those of

a person whose voice is familiar to us we may actually hear his

voice.[157] General kinesthetic images may occur in perception, as with

objects which look heavy, i.e., have secondary tactual sensations of

heaviness. Likewise tactile and olfactory images may enter the

perceptual field and supplement the visual sensations. When the

sensational experiences of perception are tactile, auditory, olfactory,

or gustatory visual images probably always take part in the perceptual

field if the object is perceived as, e. g., the perception of velvet by

touch and of an orange by smell. Summing all this up we may say, using

Titchener’s words: “perceptions are selected groups of sensations in

which images are incorporated as an integral part of the whole process.”

We may further say the secondary images give meaning to sensations in

forming a perception.

Now, before proceeding further in this exposition, I would point out

that if memory images are habitually synthesized with sensations to form

a given perception, and if perception is a matter of synthesis, then,

theoretically, it ought to be possible to dissociate these images.

Further, in that case, the perception as such ought to disappear. That

this theoretical assumption correctly represents the facts I have been

able to demonstrate by the following experiment which I have repeated

many times. I should first explain that it has been shown by Janet that

by certain technical procedures some hysterics can be distracted in such

a way that the experimenter’s voice is not consciously heard by them,

but is heard and understood subconsciously. The ordinary procedure is to

whisper to the subject while his attention is focused on something else.

The whisper undoubtedly acts as a suggestion that the subject will not

consciously hear what is whispered. The whispered word-images are

accordingly dissociated, but are perceived coconsciously, and whatever

coconsciousness exists can be in this way surreptitiously communicated

with and responses obtained without the knowledge of the personal

consciousness. In this way I have been able to make numerous

observations showing the presence of dissociated coconscious complexes

which otherwise would not have been suspected. Now the experiment which

I am about to cite was made for the purpose of determining whether

certain experiences for which the subject had amnesia were coconsciously

remembered, but the results obtained, besides giving affirmative

evidence on this point, furnished certain instructive facts indicative

of the dissociation of secondary images.

The subject, Miss B., was in the state known as BIVa, an hypnotic state,

_her eyes closed_. While she was conversing with me on a subject which

held her attention I whispered in her ear with the view of communicating

with coconscious ideas as above explained. While I was whispering, she

remarked, “Where have you gone?” and later asked why I went away and

what I kept coming and going for. On examination it then appeared that

it seemed to her that during the moments when I whispered in her ear I

had gone away. That is to say, she could no longer visualize my body,

the secondary imaginal visual images being dissociated with my whispered

words. At these times, however, she continued the conversation and was

not at all in a dreamy state. Testing her tactile sense it was found

that there was no dissociation of this sense during these moments. She

felt tactile impressions while she was not hearing my voice, but she

explained afterwards [while whispering, of course, I could not ask

questions regarding sensations aloud] that when I touched her, and when

she held my hand, palpating it in a curious way as if trying to make out

what it was, she felt the tactile impressions, or tactile sensations,

but not naturally. It appeared as the result of further observations

that this feeling of unnaturalness and strangeness was due to a

dissociation of the secondary visual images which normally occur with

the tactile images. (She described the tactile impressions of my hand as

similar to those she felt when she lifted her own hand when it had “gone

to sleep”; it felt dead and heavy as if it belonged to no one in

particular.

Testing further it was found that, _before abstraction_, while she held

my hand she could definitely visualize my hand, arm, and even face.

While she was thus visualizing I again abstracted her auditory

perceptions by the whispering process. At once the secondary visual

images of my hand, etc., disappeared. As with the auditory perceptions

she could not obtain these visual images, although a moment before she

could visualize as far as the elbow.

Desiring now to learn whether these dissociated visual images were

perceived coconsciously I whispered, at the same time holding her hand,

“Do you see my hand, arm, and face?” She nodded (automatically) “Yes.”

“Does _she_ [meaning the personal consciousness] see them?” (Answer by

nod) “No.” (The personal consciousness (BIVa) was unaware of the

questions and nodding; the latter was performed subconsciously.)

This experiment was repeated several times. As often as she ceased to

hear my voice she ceased to visualize my hand, though she could feel it

without recognizing it. It follows, therefore, that the dissociation of

the auditory perceptions of my voice having also robbed the subject’s

personal consciousness of all visual images of my body, her previous

tactual perception of my hand lost thereby its visual images and ceased

to be a perception.

Let us take another observation: We have seen that a tactual perception

of the body includes secondary imaginal visual and other sensory images

besides the tactile sensation. Now, of course, if sensation is

dissociated so that one has complete anesthesia, no tactile sensation

can be perceived. Under such conditions an anesthetic person

theoretically might not be able to imagine the dissociated tactile

sensations and the associated visual images included in tactile

perception. If so such a person would not be able to visualize his body.

In other words, in accordance with the well-known principle that the

dissociation of a specific memory robs the personal consciousness of

other elements of experiences synthesized with the specific memory, the

dissociation of the tactile images carries with it the visual images

associated in perception. This theoretical proposition is confirmed by

actual observation. Thus B. C. A. in one hypnotic state has general

anesthesia, so complete that she has no consciousness of her body

whatsoever. She does not know whether she is standing or sitting, nor

the attitude of her limbs, or her location in space; she is simply

thought in space. Now it is found that she can visualize the

experimenter, the room, and the objects in the room although she cannot

visualize any part of her own body. The dissociation of the tactual

field of consciousness is so complete that she cannot evoke imaginal

tactual images of the body, and this dissociation of these images

carries with it that of the associated imaginal visual images. Visual

images of the environment, however, not being synthesized with the

tactual body images, can be still evoked. So we see from observations

based on introspection and experimentation that perception includes,

besides primary simple sensations of an object, secondary imaginal

images of various kinds and in various numbers.

=Besides images the content of ideas includes “Meaning”.=—What I have

said thus far refers to perception and idea as the content of

consciousness—a group of conscious states. But this is not all when

perception is regarded as a _process_. The objects of experience have

associative relations to other objects, actions, conduct, stimuli,

constellated ideas, etc., i.e., past experiences represented by

conserved (unconscious) complexes. As a result of previous experiences

various associations have been organized with ideas and these complexes

form the setting or the “context” (Tichener) which gives ideas meaning.

As the secondary images give meaning to sensations to form ideas (or

perceptions), so these associated complexes as settings give meaning to

ideas. This setting in more general terms may be regarded as the

attitude of mind, point of view, interest, etc. Just as the context in a

printed sentence gives meaning to a given word, and determines which of

two or more ideas it is meant to be the sign of, so in the process of

all perceptions the associated ideas give meaning to the perception.

Indeed it is probable that the context as a process determines what

images shall become incorporated with sensations to form the nucleus of

the perception. Perception thus takes one meaning when it is

constellated with one complex and another meaning when constellated with

another complex.

“Meaning” plays such an important part in the mental reactions of

pathological and everyday life that I feel we must study it a little

more closely before proceeding with our theme.

The idea horse[158] as the content of consciousness includes more than

the primary and secondary sensory images which constitute a perception

of an animal with four legs distinguished anatomically from other

animals: The idea includes the meaning of a particular kind of animal

possessing certain functions, useful for particular purposes and

occupying a particular place in civilization, etc. We are distinctly

conscious of this meaning; and although we may abstract more or less

successfully the visual image of the animal from the meaning, and attend

to the former alone, the result is an artifact. Likewise we may as an

artifice abstract, to a large degree, the meaning from the image,

keeping the latter in the background, and attend to the meaning.

That meaning—just as much as the sensory image of an object—is part of

the conscious content of an idea becomes apparent at once, the moment

the setting becomes altered and an object is collocated with a new set

of experiences (knowledge regarding it). X, for example, has been known

to the world as a pious, god-fearing, moral man, a teacher of the

Christian religion. My perception of him, so far as made up of images,

is, properly speaking, that which distinguishes him anatomically from

other men of my acquaintance, that by which I recognize him as X and not

as Y. But my perception also has a distinctly conscious meaning, that of

a Christian man. This meaning also distinguishes him in his qualities

from other men. Now it transpires to every one’s astonishment that X is

a foul, cruel, murderer of women—a Jack-the-Ripper. My perception of him

is the same but it has acquired an entirely different meaning. A

bestial, villainous meaning has replaced the Christian meaning. So

almost all objects have different meanings in different persons’ minds,

or at different times in the same person’s mind, according to the

settings (experiences) with which they are collocated. My perception of

A has the meaning of physician, while one of his family perceives him as

father or husband. My perception of a snake, it may be, has the meaning

of a loathsome, venomous animal, while a naturalist’s perception may be

that of a vertebrate representing a certain stage of evolution, and a

psychologist holding certain theories may perceive it with a meaning

given by those theories, viz.: as a sexual symbol.

This fact of meaning becomes still more obvious when we reflect that the

meaning of a perception, as of A’s personality as a physician or father,

may occupy the focus of attention while the images of his face, voice,

etc., may sink into the background.

Every one is agreed then that every idea or combination of ideas has

“meaning” of some sort. Even nonsense syllables have in a psychological

sense some meaning, which may be an alliteration of sound, or a

symbolism of nonsense (e. g., “fol-de-rol-di-rol-dol-day”) or as

suitable tests for psychological experiments. I am speaking now, of

course, of meaning as dealt with by psychology as a content of

consciousness, and not as dealt with by logic. Every one also will

probably agree that the content of an idea is a composite of sensory

elements (images) and meaning—I would like to say of perception and

meaning; but the use of two abstract terms is likely to lead to a

juggling with words by turning attention away from the concrete facts

for which the terms stand, and by connoting a sharp distinction between

perception and meaning which, as I observe the facts, does not hold.

Indeed the common though useful habit of psychologists of treating

meaning as an abstract symbol without specific reference to those

elements of the content of consciousness for which it stands has, it

seems to me, led to considerable confusion of thought.

Mr. Hoernlé, who has given us one of the clearest expositions of _idea

and meaning_ that I have read,[159] designates that constituent of an

idea which is the psychical image of an object (e. g., “the visual

perception of a horse”) by the term “sign.” “Signs,” he states “are

always sensational in nature, whether they are actual sensations (as in

sense-perception) or ideas (images or ‘revived’ sensations).”

Accordingly an idea is a composite of sign and meaning, or, as Mr.

Hoernlé has well expressed it: “Both the idea[160] and its meaning,

then, must be present in consciousness. Or perhaps it would be more

accurate to say that they form together a complex psychical whole, a

‘psychosis,’ of which the different elements, however, enjoy different

degrees of prominence in consciousness or draw upon themselves different

amounts of attention.... Normally we apperceive merely the meaning, and

the image or sign remains in the background, in the shade as it were.

But of course we can make the image or sign the special object of

attention; we can apperceive it and correspondingly the meaning falls

into the background. But it does not disappear; it remains in

consciousness.” And again, “every idea is a concrete whole of sign and

meaning, in which the meaning, even when unanalyzed and ‘implicit’ is

what is essential and prominent in consciousness. The sign on the other

hand which we saw reason to identify with certain sensational elements

in this conscious experience is normally subordinate and I have called

this concrete idea a ‘psychic whole’....”

I quote these passages from Mr. Hoernlé as they are admirably clear

statements of the theory, but as descriptions they are a very incomplete

analysis of the content of ideas, and fall far short of what we require

to know when dealing with the problem of mental mechanisms. It is all

very well to speak of meaning in this general way; but to rest content

with such an abstract term is to only present the problem and there stop

short. Mr. Hoernlé rests content with the negative statement that

meaning “does not consist in images and other words.” What then does it

consist in?

It must be admitted that the problem is a very difficult one and

therefore it is, I suppose, that most psychologists, as if scenting

danger, seem to dodge the question and rest content to use meaning as a

symbol like the unknown _x_ and _y_ of algebra. If meaning is a part of

the content of consciousness it must be analyzable into specific

conscious elements (images, thoughts, words, feelings or what not)

representing to some extent and in some way past experiences.

Obviously a full rounded-out psychology of meaning must include an

analysis of the content of meaning.[161] I have no intention of entering

upon this task here and it is not my business. It would, however, be of

very great assistance in solving many of the problems of abnormal

psychology if the psychology of meaning were better worked out. But

conversely, I would say, considerable light on the psychology of meaning

can be derived from the study of abnormal conditions, and of the mental

phenomena artificially provoked by hypnotic procedures. Some of the

observations which I shall presently cite contribute, I believe, to this

end.

Permit me also to point out—as the point is one which has considerable

bearing on our theme—that the descriptive statement that ideas are a

composite of two distinct elements, perception (images, signs) and

meaning, is inadequate in another respect; it is too static and

schematic. Although it is convenient to distinguish between perception

and meaning, they shade into one another and indeed there does not seem

to be any justification for regarding them as other than one dynamic

process. As we have seen, perception is made up of a primary sensory

image of an object combined with a number of secondary images. This in

itself is a “psychic whole”, and, as I view it, contains meaning. My

perception of a watch contains secondary images which give it the

meaning of a watch and make it something more than a visual image. It

may have a still larger and different meaning, that of a souvenir of a

dead friend, and in this larger meaning the perception of the watch

becomes subordinate, as a sign or group of images, and sinks into the

background, while the added meaning occupies the focus of attention.

Indeed the primary image of a perception may sink into relative

insignificance in the background, while the secondary images become

all-important and practically constitute the actual perception (or idea)

as a psychic whole. Consider, for instance, what different secondary

images (and meaning) are in the focus and how the primary image of the

word “son” (spoken or written) almost disappears, according as the

context shows it to be _my_ son or _your_ son; and how correspondingly

different are those ideas. And so with a wider filial meaning of son. It

is safe to say that King Lear’s idea of “daughter” had not the filial

meaning conventionally ascribed to that relationship.

If all this that I have said is valid the difference between that which

we call perception and that which we call meaning is one of complexity.

The less complex we call perception, the more complex, meaning. Both are

determined by past experiences the residua of which are the settings.

This may be illustrated by the following: We will suppose that three

persons in imagination perceive a certain building used as a department

store on a certain street I have in mind now, in a growing section of

the city. One of these persons is an architect, another is an owner of

property on this street, and the third is a woman who is in the habit of

making purchases in the department store. When the architect thinks of

the building he perceives it in his mind’s eye in an architectural

setting, that is, its architectural style, proportions, features, and

relations. His perception includes a number of secondary images of the

neighboring buildings, of their styles of architecture, and of their

relations from an æsthetic point of view. In the perception of the owner

of property there are also a number of secondary images, but these are

of the passing people and traffic, of neighboring buildings as shops and

places of business. In the perception of the woman the secondary images

are of the interior of the store, the articles for sale, clothes she

would like to purchase and possibly bargains dear to every woman’s

heart. Plainly each perceives the building from a different point of

view. Each might perceive the building from the same point of view, but

the point of view differs because of the differences in the past

experiences of each.

In the case of the architect these experiences were those of previous

observations on the architecture of the growing neighborhood. In the

case of the property owner they were of thoughtful reflections on the

future development of neighboring property, on the industrial relations

of the building to business, and on the speculative future value of the

property. In the case of the woman they were of purchases she had made,

of articles she had seen and desired, of scenes inside the shop, etc.

Out of these experiences respectively a complex was built and conserved

in the mind of each. The idea of the building is set in these respective

experiences which therefore may be called its setting. The imaginal

perception of the building obviously has a different meaning for each of

our three observers, and it is plainly the setting which governs the

meaning, i.e., an architectural, industrial, or shopping meaning, as the

case happens to be; and we may further say the setting determines the

point of view or attitude of mind or interest. _Either the perception

proper of the building or the meaning may be in the focus of attention

and the other recede into the background or the fringe of awareness._

Further, different _affects_ may enter into each setting and, therefore,

into the perception. With the architectural perception there may be

linked an æsthetic joyful emotion; with the industrial perception a

depressing emotion of anxiety; with the shopping perception perhaps one

of anger. (This linking of an emotion, of course, has a great importance

for psychopathic states.)

The dependence of perceptions upon their settings for meaning has been

very beautifully expressed by Emerson in “Each and All”:

“Nothing is fair or good alone.

I thought the sparrow’s note from heaven,

Singing at dawn on the alder bough;

I brought him home, in his nest, at even;

He sings the song, but it cheers not now,

For I did not bring home the river and sky;

He sang to my ear—they sang to my eye.

The delicate shells lay on the shore;

The bubbles of the latest wave

Fresh pearls to their enamel gave,

And the bellowing of the savage sea

Greeted their safe escape to me.

I wiped away the weeds and foam,

I fetched my sea-born treasures home;

But the poor unsightly, noisome things

Had left their beauty on the shore

With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.”

=The practical application of the theory to emotional outbreaks of

everyday life.=—The significance of these principles for our purpose

lies in the fact that they enable us to understand numerous

psychological events of everyday and pathological life that otherwise

would be unintelligible. It is worth while then to study a little more

closely the practical application in everyday life of this principle of

settings before applying it to the more difficult problem of imperative

ideas or obsessions.

No psychological event, any more than a physical event, stands entirely

isolated, all alone by itself, without relation to other events. Every

psychological event is related more or less intimately to antecedent

events, and the practical importance or value of this relation depends

for the individual partly upon the nature of the relation itself, and

partly upon the ontological value of those anterior events, i.e., the

part they played and still play in the personality of the individual. No

event, therefore, if it is to be completely interpreted, should be

viewed by itself but only in relation to preceding ones. For example: a

husband good humoredly and thoughtlessly chaffs his wife about the cost

of a new hat which she exhibits with pride and pleasure. The wife in

reply expresses herself by an outburst of anger which, to the astonished

bystander, seems an entirely unjustifiable and inexplicable response to

an entirely inadequate cause. Now if the bystander were permitted to

make a psychological inquiry into the mental processes of the wife, he

would find that the chaffing remark had meaning for her very different

from what it had for him, and probably also for the husband; that it

meant much more to her than the cost of that hat. He would find that it

was set in her mind in a number of antecedent experiences consisting of

criticisms of the wife by the husband for extravagance in dress; and

perhaps criminations and recriminations involving much angry feeling on

the part of both, and he would probably find that when the hat was

purchased the possibility of criticism on the ground of extravagance

passed through her mind. The chaffing remark of the husband therefore in

the mind of the wife had for a context all these past experiences which

formed a setting and gave an unintended meaning to the remark. The angry

response, therefore, was dictated by these antecedent experiences and

not simply by the trivial matter of the cost of a hat, standing by

itself. The event can only be interpreted in the light of these past

conserved experiences. How much of all this antecedent experience was in

consciousness at the moment is another question which we shall presently

consider.

I have often had occasion to interpret cryptic occurrences of this

kind happening with patients or acquaintances. They make quite an

amusing social game. (A knowledge of this principle shows the

impossibility of outsiders judging the rightness or wrongness of

misunderstandings and contretemps between individuals—particularly

married people.) To complete the interpretation of this episode of the

hat—although a little beside the point under consideration: plainly

the anger to which the wife gave expression was the affect linked with

and the reaction to the setting-complex formed by antecedent

experiences. To state the matter in another way, these experiences

were the formative material out of which a _psychological torch_ had

been plastically fashioned ready to be set ablaze by the first touch

of a match—in this case the chaffing remark or associated idea. This

principle of the setting, which gives meaning to an idea, being the

conserved neurograms of related antecedent experiences is strikingly

manifest in pathological and quasi-pathological conditions. I will

mention only two instances.

The first, that of X. Y. Z., I shall have occasion to refer to in more

detail in connection with the emotions and instincts in a later

lecture.[162] This lady, on the first night of her marriage, felt deeply

hurt in her pride from a fancied neglect on the part of her husband. The

cause was trivial and could not possibly be taken by any sensible person

as an adequate justification for the resentment which followed and the

somewhat tragic revenge which she practiced (continuous voluntary

repression of the sexual instinct during many years). But the fancied

slight had a meaning for her which did not appear on the surface. As she

herself insisted, in attempted extenuation of her conduct, “You must not

take it alone by itself but in connection with the past.” It appeared

that during the betrothal period there had been a number of experiences

wounding to her pride and leading to angry resentment. These had been

_ostensibly but not really forgiven_. The action of her spouse on the

important night in question had a meaning for her of a slight, because

it stood in relation to all these other antecedent experiences, and

through these only could its meaning (for her) be interpreted. As a

practical matter of therapeutics it became evident that the cherished

resentment of years and the physiological consequences could only be

removed by readjusting the setting—the memories of all the antecedent

experiences with their resentment.

The second instance was a case of hysteria of the neurasthenic type with

outbreaks of emotional attacks in a middle-aged woman. It developed

immediately, in the midst of good health, out of a violent and

protracted fit of anger, almost frenzy, two years ago, culminating in

the first emotional or hysterical attack. Looked at superficially the

fit of anger would be considered childish because it was aroused by the

fact that some children were allowed to make the day hideous by firing

cannon-crackers continually under her window in celebration of the

national holiday. When more deeply analyzed it was found that the anger

was really _resentment_ at what she considered unjustifiable treatment

of herself by others, and particularly by her husband, who would not

take steps to have the offense stopped. It is impossible to go into all

the details here; suffice it to say that _below the surface_ the

experiences of life had deposited _a large accumulation of grievances_

against which resentment had been continuous over a long series of

years. Although loving and respecting her husband, a man of force and

character, yet she had long realized she was not as necessary to his

life as she wanted to be; that he could get along without her, however

fond he was of her; and that he was the stronger character in one way.

She wanted to be wanted. Against all this for years she had felt anger

and resentment. She had concealed her feelings, controlled them,

repressed them, if you will, but there remained a general

dissatisfaction against life, a “kicking against the pricks,” and a

quickness to anger, though its expression had been well controlled.

These were the formative influences which laid the mine ready to be

fired by a spark, feelings of resentment and anger which had been

incubating for years. Finally the spark came in the form of a childish

offense. The frenzy of anger was ostensibly only the reaction to that

offense, but it was really the explosion of years of antecedent

experiences. The apparent offense was only the manifested cause,

symbolic if you like so to express it, of the underlying accumulated

causes contained in life’s grievances.[163] After completion of the

analysis the patient herself recognized this interpretation to be the

true meaning of her anger and point of view.

Similarly in everyday life the _emotional shocks_ from fear in dangerous

situations, to which most people are subject and which so often give

rise to traumatic psychoses, must primarily find their source in the

psychological setting of the perception of the situation (railroad,

automobile, and other accidents). This setting is fashioned from the

conserved knowledge of the fatal and other consequences of such

accidents. This knowledge, deposited by past mental experiences—that

which has been heard and read—induces a dormant apprehension of

accidents and gives the meaning of danger to a perception of a present

situation, and in itself, I may add, furnishes the neurographic fuel

ready to be set ablaze by the first accident.[164]

-----

Footnote 155:

In that it takes into account only a limited number of the data at our

disposal and neglects methods of investigation which afford data

essential for the understanding of this psychological process.

Footnote 156:

It is of interest to note again in this connection that these

secondary images may emerge from a subconscious process to form the

structure of an hallucination. Various facts of observation which I

have collected support the thesis advanced by Sidis (loc. cit.) on

theoretical grounds “that hallucinations are synthesized compounds of

secondary sensory elements dissociated completely or incompletely from

their primary elements.” It would carry us too far away from our theme

to consider here this problem of special pathology. Sidis further

insists that hallucinations are not central, but always “are

essentially of peripheral origin,” a view which, it seems to me, is

incompatible with numerous facts of observation.

Footnote 157:

I once dictated into a phonograph a passage of a published work.

Whenever I read that passage now I hear the sound of my own voice as

it was emitted by the phonograph.

Footnote 158:

I intentionally do not here say idea _of_ a horse because the use of

the preposition (while, of course, correctly used to distinguish horse

as an idea from a material horse, or the former as a particular idea

among ideas in general) has led, as it seems to me, insidiously to

specious reasoning. Thus Mr. Hoernlé (Image, Idea and Meaning, _Mind_,

January, 1907) argues that every idea has a meaning because every idea

is an idea _of_ some thing. Although this is true in a descriptive

sense, psychologically idea-of-a-horse is a compound term and an

imagined horse. The idea itself is horse. The speciousness of the

reasoning appears when we substitute horse for idea; then the phrase

would read, a “horse is always a horse of something.” I agree, of

course, that every idea has a meaning, but not to this particular

reasoning by which the conclusion is reached, as when, for example,

Mr. Hoernlé when traversing James’ theory cites “image _of_ the

breakfast table” to denote that the breakfast table is the meaning of

the image. The image _is_ the (imagined) breakfast table. They are not

different things as are leg and chair in the phrase, “leg of the

chair,” where chair plainly gives the meaning to leg.

Footnote 159:

R. F. Hoernlé, Image, Idea and Meaning, _Mind_, January, 1907.

Footnote 160:

Idea, according to Mr. Hoernlé’s context, is here used in the sense of

a word, image or sign.

Footnote 161:

Of course the constituents of the content must vary in each individual

instance, but the kind of conscious elements that in general give

meaning to the sensory part of the idea can be determined.

Footnote 162:

P. 462, Lecture XIV.

Footnote 163:

Prince: The Mechanism of Recurrent Psychopathic States, with Special

Reference to Anxiety States, _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_,

June-July, 1911, pp. 153-154.

Footnote 164:

Ibid., p. 152. It is interesting to note that statistics show that

traumatic psychoses following railway accidents are comparatively rare

among trainmen, while exceedingly common among passengers. The reason

is to be found in the difference in the settings of ideas of accidents

in the two classes of persons. It is the same psychological difference

that distinguishes the seasoned veteran soldier from the raw recruit

in the presence of the enemy.

LECTURE XI

MEANING, SETTING, AND THE FRINGE OF CONSCIOUSNESS

=The content of the fringe of consciousness considered as a subconscious

zone.=—It is obvious that all the past experiences which originate the

meaning of an idea cannot be in consciousness at a given moment. If I

carefully introspect my imaginal perception or idea of an object, say of

a politician, I do not find in my consciousness all the elements which

have given me my viewpoint or attitude of mind toward him—the meaning of

my idea of him as a great statesman or a demagogue, whichever it be—and

yet it may not be difficult, by referring to my memory, to find the past

experiences which have furnished the setting which gives this viewpoint.

Very little of all these past experiences can be in the content of

consciousness, and much less in the focus of attention, at any given

moment, nevertheless I cannot doubt that these experiences really

determined the meaning of my idea, for if challenged I proceed to recite

this conserved knowledge. And so it is with everyone who defends the

validity of the meaning of his ideas.

The question at once comes to mind in the case of any given perception,

how much of past experience (associated ideas) is in consciousness at

any given moment as the setting which provides the meaning?

That the meaning must be in consciousness is obvious; else the term

“meaning” would have no meaning—it would be sheer nonsense to talk of

ideas having meaning. As I have said, the meaning may be in the focus of

attention or it may be in the fringe or background according to the

point of interest. If in the focus of attention, meaning plainly may,

synchronously or successively, include ideas of quite a large number of

past experiences, but if in the background it may be another matter. In

this case it may be held, and probably in many instances quite rightly,

that meaning is a short summary of past experiences, or summing up in

the form of a symbol, and that this summary or symbol is in the focus of

attention or in the fringe of awareness, i. e., is clearly or dimly

conscious. Thus, in one of the examples above given, the industrial

meaning of the owner’s idea of the building might be a short summing up

of his past cogitations on the business value of the property; in the

case of my idea of the politician, the symbol “statesman” or

“demagogue”—as the case might be—might be in consciousness and be the

meaning. All the rest of the past associative experiences in either case

would furnish the origin of the setting but would not be the actual

functioning setting itself.

It must be confessed, however, that the content of meaning, when it is

not in the focus of attention, often becomes very elusive when we try to

clearly revive it retrospectively and differentiate the particular

states of consciousness present at any given moment. It is probably

because of this elusiveness, as of something that seems to evade

analysis, that it was so long overlooked as an object of psychological

study. Yet if meaning is not something more than an abstract term, and

is really a component of a moment’s consciousness, we ought to be able

to analyze it in any given instance provided our methods of

investigation are adequate. The difficulty, I think, largely arises from

the fact that the minute we direct attention to such elements of the

content of consciousness of any given moment as are not in the focus of

attention they at once become shifted into the focus and the composition

of the content also becomes altered. Consequently we are never

_immediately_ vividly or fully aware of the whole content. The only

method of learning what is the whole content at any given moment is by

_retrospection_—the recovery of it as memory. Further, special technical

methods are required. Then, too, image and meaning are constantly

shifting their relative positions, at one time the one being in the

focus of attention, the other in the fringe, and _vice versa_.

When speaking colloquially of the content of consciousness we have in

mind those ideas or components of ideas—elements of thought—which are in

the focus of attention, and therefore that of which we are more or less

vividly aware. If you were asked to state what was in your mind at a

given moment it is the vivid elements, upon which your attention was

focused, that you would describe. But, as everyone knows, these do not

constitute the whole field of consciousness at any given moment. Besides

these there is in the background of the mind, outside the focus, _a

conscious margin or fringe_ of varying extent (_consisting of

sensations, perceptions, and even thoughts_) _of which you are only

dimly aware_. It is a sort of twilight zone in which the contents are so

slightly illuminated by awareness as to be scarcely recognizable. The

contents of this zone are readily forgotten owing to their having been

outside the focus of attention; but much can be recalled if an effort to

do so (retrospection) is made immediately after any given moment’s

experience. Much can only be recalled by the use of special technical

methods of investigation. I believe that the more thoroughly this

wonderful region is explored the richer it will be found to be in

conscious elements.

It must not be thought that because we are only dimly aware of the

contents of this twilight zone therefore the individual elements lack

definiteness and positive reality. To do so is to confuse the awareness

of a certain something with that something itself. To so think would be

like thinking that, because we do not distinctly recognize objects in

the darkness, therefore they are but shadowy forms without substance.

When, in states of abstraction or hypnosis, the ideas of this fringe of

attention are recalled, as often is easily done, they are remembered as

_very definite, real, conscious elements_, and the memory of them is as

vivid as that of most thoughts. That these marginal ideas are not

“vivid” at the time of their occurrence means simply that they are not

in such dynamic relations with the whole content of consciousness as to

be the focus of awareness or attention. What sort of relations are

requisite for “awareness” is an unsolved problem. It seems to be a

matter not only of synthesis but of dynamic relations within the

synthesis.

However that may be, outside that dynamic synthesis which we distinguish

as the focus of attention we can at certain moments recognize or recall

to memory (whether through technical devices or not) a number of

different conscious states. These may be roughly classified as follows:

1: Visual, auditory, and other sensory impressions to which we are not

giving attention—(e. g., the striking of a clock; the sound of horses

passing in the street; voices from the next room; coenæsthetic and other

sensations of the body.

2: The secondary sensory images of which I spoke in the last lecture as

taking part in perception.

3: Associative memories and thoughts pertaining to the ideas in the

focus of attention.

4: Secondary independent trains of thought not related to those in the

focus of attention. (As when we are doing one thing or listening to

conversation and thinking of something else. Very likely, however, what

appear to be secondary trains of thought are often only alternating

trains. I have, however, a considerable collection of data showing such

concomitant secondary trains in certain subjects (cf. Lecture VI). Such

a train can be demonstrated to be a precisely differentiated “stream” of

consciousness in absent-minded conditions, where it may constitute a

veritable doubling of consciousness.

Some of these marginal elements may be so distinctly within the field of

awareness that we are conscious of them, but dimly so.[165] Others, in

particular cases at least, may be so far outside and hidden in the

twilight obscurity that the subject is not even dimly aware of them. In

more technical parlance, we may say, they are so far dissociated that

they belong to _an ultra-marginal zone and are really subconscious_.

Evidence of their having been present can only be obtained through

memories recovered in hypnosis, abstraction, and by other methods. These

may be properly termed coconscious. Undoubtedly the degree of awareness

for marginal elements, i.e., the degree of dissociation between the

elements of the content of consciousness, varies at different moments in

the same individual according to the degree of concentration of

attention and the character of the fixation, e. g., whether upon the

environment or upon inner thoughts. It also varies much in different

individuals. Therefore some persons lend themselves as more favorable

subjects for the detection of marginal and ultra-marginal states than

others. Furthermore, according to certain evidence at hand, there is, in

some persons at least, a constant shifting or interchange of elements

going on between the field of attention and the marginal and the

ultra-marginal zone—what is within the first at one moment is in the

second, or is entirely subconscious, the next, and _vice versa_.

Amnesia develops very rapidly for the contents of the twilight region,

as I have already stated, and this renders their recognition

difficult.[166]

In favorable subjects memory of that portion of the content of

consciousness which is commonly called the fringe can be recovered in

abstraction and hypnosis. In these states valuable information can be

obtained regarding the content of consciousness at any given previous

moment,[167] and this information reveals that there were present in the

fringe conscious states of which the subject was never aware, or of

which he is later ignorant owing to amnesia. I have studied the fringe

of consciousness by this method in a number of subjects. A number of

years ago _a systematic study_ of the field of the content of

consciousness outside the focus of awareness, including not only the

fringe but what may be called the ultra-marginal (subconscious) zone,

was made in a very favorable subject (Miss B.), and the general results

were given in an address on the “Problems of Abnormal Psychology”[168]

at the Congress of Arts and Sciences held in St. Louis (1904). I may be

permitted to quote that summary here. The term “secondary consciousness”

is used in this passage to designate the fringe and ultra-marginal

(subconscious) zone.

"A systematic examination was made of the personal consciousness in

hypnosis regarding the perceptions and content of the secondary

consciousness during definite moments, of which the events were

prearranged or otherwise known, the subject not being in

absent-mindedness. It is not within the scope of an address of this sort

to give the details of these observations, but in this connection I may

state briefly a summary of the evidence, reserving the complete

observation for future publication. It was found that—

"1. A large number of perceptions—visual, auditory, tactile, and thermal

images, and sometimes emotional states—occurred outside of the personal

consciousness and, therefore, the subject was not conscious of them when

awake. The visual images were particularly those of peripheral vision,

such as the extra-conscious [marginal or ultra-marginal] perception of a

person in the street who was not recognized by the personal waking

consciousness; and the perception of objects intentionally placed in the

field of peripheral vision and not perceived by the subject, whose

attention was held in conversation. Auditory images of passing

carriages, of voices, footsteps, etc., thermal images of heat and cold

from the body were similarly found to exist extra-consciously, and to be

entirely unknown to the personal waking consciousness.

"2. As to the content of the concomittant (dissociated) ideas, it

appeared, by the testimony of the hypnotic self, that as compared with

those of the waking consciousness the secondary ideas were quite

limited. They were, as is always the experience of the subject, made up

for the most part of emotions (e. g., annoyances), and sensations

(visual, auditory, and tactile images of a room, of particular persons,

people’s voices, etc). They were not combined into a logical

proposition, though in using words to describe them it is necessary to

so combine them and therefore give them a rather artificial character as

‘thoughts.’ It is questionable whether the word ‘thoughts’ may be used

to describe mental states of this kind, and the word was used by the

hypnotic self subject to this qualification. Commonly, I should infer, a

succession of such ‘thoughts’ may arise, but each is for the most part

limited to isolated emotions and sensorial images and lacks the

complexity and synthesis of the waking mentation.

"3. The memories, emotions, and perceptions of which the subject is not

conscious when awake are remembered in hypnosis and described. The

thoughts of which the subject is conscious when awake are those which

are concentrated on what she is doing. The others, of which she is not

conscious, are a sort of side-thoughts. These are not logically

connected among themselves, are weak, and have little influence on the

personal (chief) train of thought. Now, although when awake the subject

is conscious of some thoughts and not of others, both kinds keep running

into one another and therefore the conscious and the subconscious are

constantly uniting, disuniting, and interchanging. _There is no hard and

fast line between the conscious and the subconscious, for at times what

belongs to one passes into the other, and vice versa._ The waking self

is varying the grouping of its thoughts all the time in such a way as to

be continually including and excluding the subconscious thoughts. The

personal pronoun ‘I,’ or, when spoken to, ‘you,’ applied equally to her

waking self and to her hypnotic self, _but these terms were not

applicable to her unconscious thoughts, which were not self-conscious_.

For convenience of terminology it was agreed to arbitrarily call the

thoughts of which the subject is conscious when awake the _waking

consciousness_, and the thoughts of which when awake she is not

conscious the _secondary consciousness_. In making this division the

hypnotic self insisted most positively on one distinction, namely that

the secondary consciousness was in no sense a _personality_. The pronoun

_I_ could not be applied to it. In speaking of the thoughts of this

second group of mental states alone, she could not say ‘I felt this,’ ‘I

saw that.’ These thoughts were better described as, for the most part,

unconnected, discrete sensations, impressions, and emotions, and were

not synthesized into a personality. They were not, therefore,

self-conscious. When the waking self was hypnotized, the resulting

hypnotic self acquired the subconscious perceptions of the second

consciousness; she then could say ‘_I_,’ and the hypnotic ‘_I_’ included

what were formerly ‘subconscious’ perceptions. In speaking of the

secondary personality by itself, then, it is to be understood that

self-consciousness and personality are always excluded. This testimony

was verified by test instances of subconscious perception of visual and

auditory images of experiences occurring in my presence.

"4. Part played by the secondary consciousness in (a) normal mentation.

The hypnotic self testified that the thoughts of the secondary

consciousness do not form a logical chain. They do not have volition.

They are entirely passive and have no direct control over the subject’s

voluntary actions.

"(b) Part played by the secondary consciousness in absent-mindedness.

(1) Some apparently absent-minded acts are only examples of amnesia.

There is no doubling of consciousness at the time. It is a sort of

continuous amnesia brought about by lack of attention. (2) In true

absent-mindedness there does occur a division of consciousness along

lines which allow a large field to, and relatively wide synthesis of the

dissociated states. The personal consciousness is proportionately

restricted. The subconscious thoughts may involve a certain amount of

volition and judgment, as when the subject subconsciously took a book

from the table, carried it to the bookcase, started to place it on the

shelf, found that particular location unsuitable, arranged a place on

another shelf where the book was finally placed. No evidence, however,

was obtained to show that the dissociated consciousness is capable of

wider and more original synthesis than is involved in adapting habitual

acts to the circumstances of the moment.

"(c) Solving problems by the secondary consciousness. [The statement of

the hypnotic self regarding the part played by the ‘secondary

consciousness’ has already been given in Lecture VI, p. 167.]

“The subject of these observations was at the time in good mental and

physical condition. Criticism may be made that, the subject being one

who had exhibited for a long time previously the phenomena of mental

dissociation, she now, though for the time being recovered, tended to a

greater dissociation and formation of subconscious states than does a

normal person, and that the subconscious phenomena were therefore

exaggerated. This is true. It is probable that the subconscious flora of

ideas in this subject are richer than in the ordinary individual. These

phenomena probably represent the extreme degree of dissociation

compatible with normality. And yet, curiously enough, the evidence

tended to show that the more robust the health of the individual, the

more stable her mind, the richer the field of these ideas.”

Of course it is a question how far the findings in a particular and

apparently specially favorable subject are applicable to people in

general. I would say, however, that I have substantially confirmed these

observations in another subject, B. C. A., when in apparent health. In

this latter subject the richness of the fringe and what may be called

the ultra-marginal region in conscious states is very striking. The same

is true of O. N. (cf. Lecture VI, p. 174). Again in psychasthenics,

suffering from attacks of phobia, association, or habit psycho-neuroses,

etc., I have been able to recover, after the attack has passed off,

memories of conscious states which during and preliminary to the attack

were outside the focus of attention. Of some of these the subject had

been dimly aware, and of some apparently entirely unaware (i.e., they

were coconscious). For the former as well as the latter there followed

complete amnesia, so that the subject was ignorant of their previous

presence, and believed that the whole content of consciousness was

included in the anxiety or other state which occupied the focus of

attention. Consequently I am in the habit, when investigating a

pathological case, like an obsession, of inquiring (by technical

methods) into the fringe of attention and even the ultra-marginal

region, and reviving the ideas contained therein, particularly those for

which there is amnesia. My purpose has been to discover the presence of

ideas or thoughts which as a setting would explain the meaning of the

idea which was the object of fear (a phobia), the exciting cause of

psycho-neurotic attacks, etc. To this I shall presently return.

If all that I have said is true, it follows that the _whole content or

field of consciousness at any given moment includes not only

considerably more than that which is within the field of attention but

more than is within the field of awareness_. The field of conscious

states as a whole comprises the focus of attention plus the marginal

fringe; and besides this there may be a true subconscious ultra-marginal

field comprising conscious states of which the personal consciousness is

not even dimly aware. We may schematically represent the relations of

the different fields by a diagram (Fig. 1).

It will be noted that the field of conscious states includes A., B., and

C. and is larger than that of awareness, which includes A. and B. The

field of awareness is larger than that of attention (A.), but the focus

of awareness coincides with the field of attention, or, as it is

ordinarily termed, the focus of attention. Of course there is no sharp

line of demarcation between any of these fields, but a gradual shading

from A. to D. Any such diagrammatic representation, although of help to

those who like to visualize concepts, must give a false viewpoint; as in

reality the relations are dynamic or functional, and the different

fields more properly should be viewed as different but inter-related

participants in a large dynamic mechanism.

[Illustration:

Fig. 1. A. Attention and focus of awareness.

B. Fringe of awareness.

C. Subconscious, i.e., coconscious states (ultramarginal).

D. Unconscious processes.

]

=The meaning of ideas may be found in the fringe of consciousness.=—Let

us now return from this general survey of the fringe of consciousness to

our theme—the setting which gives meaning to ideas.

It is obvious that, theoretically, when I attend to the perceptive

images of an idea, the meaning of that idea, not being in the focus of

awareness, may be found among the conscious states that make up the

fringe of the dynamic field. For instance, if my idea of a certain

politician, my knowledge of whom, we will say, has been gained entirely

from the newspapers, is that of a bad man—a “crook”—this meaning may be

dimly in the fringe of my awareness. It is not necessary that any large

part of this knowledge should be in the marginal zone of the content of

consciousness but only a summary of all the knowledge I have acquired

regarding him. The _origin_ of this meaning—a crook—I can easily find in

my associative memories of what I have read. But there would seem to be

no need of all these to persist as a functioning setting—a short summary

in the form of an idea, secondary image, a word or symbol of a bad man

would seem to be sufficient. The same principle is applicable to a large

number of the simple images of objects in my environment—a book, an

electric lamp, a horse, etc.

It is not easy with such normal ideas of everyday life to analyze the

fringe and determine precisely its contents. There is no sharp dividing

line between the various zones—the whole being a dynamic system. _The

moment attention is directed to the marginal zones they become the focus

and vice versa._ To obtain accurate knowledge of the marginal zones we

require individuals suitable for a special technique by which the

constituents of these zones can be brought back as memory.

For such purposes certain persons with pathological ideas (e. g.,

phobias)[169] are very favorable subjects for various reasons not

necessary to go into.

Now, as respects the simple normal ideas of everyday life, such as I

have just cited, a person can give very clearly his viewpoint. He has a

very definite notion of the meaning of his perceptions and can give his

reasons for them based on his associative memories of past experiences

which he can recall. But in the conditions to which I am now referring

_a person can give no explanation_ of a particular viewpoint which may

be of a very definite but unusual (abnormal) character. Nor can he

recall any experiences which would explain the origin of it. I have in

mind particularly the obsessions.

Now, according to my observations, we find in the marginal zones of the

content of consciousness conscious elements which in particular cases

may even give a hitherto unsuspected meaning to the pathological idea. I

have found in these zones thoughts which gave meaning to emotions and

other symptoms excited by apparently inadequate objects. Thus, in H. O.,

attacks of recurrent nausea and fear almost prohibiting social

intercourse were always due to thoughts of self-disgust hidden in the

fringe.

Let us take a concrete case, that of a person who has a pathological

fear and who, as we know is often the case, can give no explanation of

his viewpoint. The fear may be that of fainting, or of thunderstorms, of

a particular disease, say cancer, or of so-called “unreality” attacks,

or what not. This so-called “fear” is of course an idea of self or other

object linked with, or which occasions as a reaction, the strong emotion

of fear. It recurs in attacks which are excited by stimuli, of one kind

or another, that are associated with the idea. The patient can give no

explanation of the _meaning_ of this idea that renders intelligible why

it should occasion his fear. There is nothing in his consciousness, so

far as he knows, which gives an adequate meaning to it.

Thus, for example, C. D. was the victim of attacks of fear; the attacks

were so intense that at times she had been almost a prisoner in her

house, in dread of attacks away from home; and yet she was unable even

after two prolonged searching examinations to define the exact nature of

the fear which was the salient feature of the attacks, or, from her

ordinary memories, to give any explanation of its origin. She remembered

many moments in the last twenty years when the fear had come upon her

with great intensity, but she could not recall the date of its inception

and, therefore, the conditions under which it originated; consequently

nothing satisfactory could be elicited beyond an early history of

“anxiety attacks” or indefinable fear of great intensity attached to no

specific idea that she knew.

As a result of searching investigation by technical methods it was

brought out that the specific object of the fear was _fainting_. When an

attack developed, besides intense physiological disturbances and

confusion of thought, there was in the content of consciousness a

feeling that her mind was flying off into space and a definite thought

of losing consciousness or fainting, and that she was going to faint.

There was amnesia for these thoughts following the attacks. She never

had fainted in the attacks and, as it later transpired, had fainted only

once in her life. Here then, _dimly in the content_ of consciousness,

was the object of the fear in an attack. But the object was afterwards

forgotten; hence she could not explain what she was afraid of. Why

fainting should be such a terrible accident to be feared she also could

not explain.

The question now was, what possible meaning could fainting have for her

that she so feared it? This she did not know.

Now, on still further investigation, I found that there was always in

the fringe of consciousness during an attack and also during the

anticipatory fear of an attack, _an idea and fear of death_. This, to

use her expression, “was in the background of her mind”; it referred to

impending fainting. It appeared then that in the fringe or

ultra-marginal zone was the _idea of death as the meaning of fainting_.

_Of this she was never aware._ It was really subconscious. It was the

meaning of her idea of herself fainting. In consequence of this meaning

fainting was equivalent to her own death. She would not have been afraid

of fainting if she had not believed or could have been made to believe

that in her case it did not mean death. We might properly say that the

real object of the fear was death.

When this content of the fringe of attention was recovered, the patient

voluntarily remarked that she had not been aware of the presence during

the attacks of that idea, but now she remembered it clearly, and also

realized plainly why she was afraid of fainting,—what she had not

understood before. (It must be borne in mind that this meaning of

fainting, as a state equivalent to death, did not pertain to fainting in

general but solely to herself. She knew perfectly well that fainting in

other people was not dangerous; it was only an unrecognized belief

regarding a possible accident to herself.) Besides this content of the

fringe of attention it was also easy to show that the fringe often

included the thought (or idea) which had been the immediate excitant of

each attack. Sometimes this stimulus-idea entered the focus of

attention; sometimes it was only in the fringe. In either case there was

apt to be amnesia for it, but it could always be recalled to memory in

abstraction or hypnosis.

The content of consciousness taken as a whole, i.e., to include both the

focus and the fringe of attention, then would adequately determine the

meaning of this subject’s idea of fainting as applied to herself.

But why this meaning of fainting? It must have been derived from

antecedent experiences. An idea can no more have a meaning without

antecedent experiences with which it is or once was linked than can the

word “parallelopipedon” have a geometrical meaning without a previous

geometrical experience, or “Timbuctoo” a personal meaning without being

set in a personal experience, whether of missionaries or hymn-books.

I will not take the time to give the detailed results of the

investigation by hypnotic procedures that followed. I will merely

summarize by stating that the fear of death from fainting was a

recurrent memory, i.e., _a recurrence of the content of consciousness_

of a moment during an incident that occurred more than twenty years

before, when she was a young girl about 18 years of age. At the time as

the result of a nervous shock she had fainted, and just before losing

consciousness she definitely thought her symptoms meant death. At this

thought she became frightened, and ever since she has been afraid of

fainting. There was no conscious association between her phobia and this

youthful episode. When the memory of the latter was recovered she

remarked, “I wonder why I never thought of that before.”

But this again was not all. A searching investigation of the unconscious

(residua) in deep hypnosis revealed the fact that death from fainting

was organized with still wider experiences involving a fear of death. At

the moment of the nervous shock just before fainting (_fancied as

dying_) she thought of her mother who was dangerously ill from _cancer_

in an adjoining room, and a great fear swept over her at the thought of

what might happen to her mother if she should hear of the cause of her

(the patient’s) nervous shock and of her _death_. It further transpired

that the idea of death and fear of it were set in a still larger series

of experiences.[170] It had, indeed, dated from a childhood experience

when she was eight years of age. At that time she was frightened when a

pet animal died and a fear of death had been more or less continuously

present in her mind ever since, but not always consciously so; meaning

that it was sometimes in awareness and sometimes in the _ultra-marginal

zone_ of consciousness. She had been able to conceal the fear until the

fainting episode occurred and, as she in hypnosis asserted, fear

afterward had continued to be present more or less persistently,

although _she was not conscious of the fact when awake_ (excepting in

the phobic attacks) and it had attached itself to various ideas of

intercurrent illnesses. But these ideas could all be reduced to two,

_fainting and cancer_. Ever since her mother’s illness and death she had

a fear of death from cancer, believing she might inherit the disease.

This thought and the fear it aroused had been constantly in her mind but

never previously confessed. It was the real meaning of her fear of

illness which had been conspicuous and puzzling to her physician. She

had imagined that each illness might mean cancer, but had successfully

concealed this thought. The idea of death and the fear it excited had

thus become constellated in a large _unconscious_ complex derived from

past experiences which included the fainting episode, her mother’s death

from cancer and the possibility of having cancer herself. This last was

still _consciously believed_ and was very real to her.

Without pursuing further the details it is evident that although the

meaning of fainting—death—was in the fringe of consciousness and

subconscious, it had as a setting a large group of fear-inspiring

experiences, more particularly those involving cancer. But there was no

conscious association between her fear of fainting and that of cancer.

_Of this setting, during a phobic attack, only the ideas of fainting and

fear-inspiring death enter the various zones of consciousness._

As to why this apparently unsophisticated idea of death still

_persisted_ in connection with that of fainting is another problem with

which we are not concerned at this moment. We should have to consider

more specifically the content of the setting in which, besides the

cancer-belief, probably subconscious self-reproaches would be found.

=Meaning may be the conscious elements of a functioning larger

subconscious complex.=—However, whatever be its conscious constituents,

obviously meaning must be derived from antecedent experiences and

without such experiences no idea can have meaning. If, then, antecedent

experiences determine the meaning of the idea, it is _theoretically_

possible, particularly with insistent ideas, that the conscious elements

involved in meaning are, with many ideas at least, only part and parcel

of a larger complex which is for the most part unconscious. That is to

say, a portion of this complex—perhaps the larger portion represented by

the residua of past experiences—would, under this hypothesis, be

unconscious while certain elements would arise in consciousness as the

meaning of a given idea. Under such conditions a hidden subconscious

process would really determine the conscious setting which gives the

meaning. The whole setting would be partly conscious and partly hidden

in the unconscious. Such a mechanism may be roughly likened to that of a

clock, so far as concerns the relation of the chimes and hands to the

works concealed inside the case. Though the visible hands and the

audible chimes appear to indicate the time, the real process at work is

that of the hidden mechanism. To inhibit the chime or regulate the time

rate the mechanism must be altered. And so with an insistent idea: The

unconscious part of the complex setting must be altered to alter the

meaning of the idea. Of course the analogy must not be carried too far

as in the case of the clock the chimes and hands are only epiphenomena,

while conscious ideas are elements in the functioning mechanism.

Such a theory would afford an adequate explanation of the psychogenesis

and mechanism of certain pathological ideas such as the phobia of C. D.

At any rate, it is plain that an explanation of such ideas must be

sought, on the one hand, in their meanings and in the antecedent

experiences to which they are related, and, on the other, in the

processes which determine their insistency or fixation.

The facts which support this theory, to which our studies have led us,

we will take up for consideration in our next lecture.

-----

Footnote 165:

It is very doubtful whether vivid awareness is a matter of intensity

because, among other reasons, subconscious ideas of which the

individual is entirely unaware and elements in the fringe may have

decided intensity.

Footnote 166:

The development of amnesia seems to be inversely proportionate to the

degree of awareness, provided there are no other dissociating factors,

such as an emotional complex.

Footnote 167:

This is due to the well-known fact (demonstrated in a large variety of

phenomena) that ideas dissociated from the personal consciousness

awake may become synthesized as memories with this same consciousness

in hypnosis.

Footnote 168:

See _Proceedings_, also _The Psychological Review_, March-May, 1905.

Footnote 169:

All pathological processes are only the normal under altered

conditions.

Footnote 170:

Among them was the following: A few months later her mother died. C.

D. was in the room with the body, her back turned toward the bed where

the body lay. Suddenly she was startled by the window curtain blowing

out of the window. The noise and the partial vision of the curtain

gave her a start, for she thought the body had risen up in bed. At

this point, while in hypnosis, C. D. remarked, “Ah! that explains the

dream which I am always having. I am constantly having a frightful

dream of my mother lying dead and rising up as a corpse from the bed.

This dream always gives me a great terror.”

LECTURE XII

SETTINGS OF IDEAS AS SUBCONSCIOUS PROCESSES IN OBSESSIONS

In our last lecture we were led to two conclusions: (1) that the

conscious elements which are the meaning of an idea may be in the

marginal zones; and (2) more important, that “meaning” may be only a

part of a larger setting of antecedent experiences, which is an

unconscious complex.

Let us now consider the further question raised in the theory finally

proposed; namely, whether the submerged elements of a complex remain

quiescent or _whether, in some cases at least, this portion functions

subconsciously_ and takes part as an active factor in the whole process

by which the meaning of an idea and its accompanying emotional tone

invades the content of consciousness. If the latter be true, a hidden

subconscious process would, according to the theory (to repeat what was

previously said), really determine the conscious setting which gives the

meaning. Such a mechanism was roughly likened to that of a clock. If

such were the mechanism in insistent ideas, obsessions, and impulsions,

it would, as I have intimated, explain their insistency, their

persisting recurrence, the difficulty in modifying them, notwithstanding

the subject realizes their falsity, the point of view often inexplicable

to the subject, and the persistence of the affect. There is a constant

striving of affective subconscious processes, when stimulated, to carry

themselves to fulfilment. Consequently as we know from numerous

observations, the feelings and emotions (pleasantness and

unpleasantness, exaltation and depression; fear, anger, etc.) pertaining

to subconscious processes tend to emerge into consciousness;[171] and

likewise ideational constituents of the process often emerge into the

fringe of the content of consciousness and even the focus of awareness.

Given such a subconsciously functioning setting to an idea, it would

necessarily tend by the impulsive force of its emotion to make the

latter insistent, and resist the inhibiting control of the personal

consciousness.

In the case of C. D., cited in the last lecture, we were led to the

conclusion, as the result of analysis, that her insistent phobia might

be due to the impulsive force of such subconscious complexes. The whole

problem is a very difficult one, dealing as we are with complicated

mechanisms and such elusive and fluid factors as conscious and

subconscious processes. It is useless, therefore, to attempt to

formulate the mechanisms with anything like scientific exactness.

It must be borne in mind, further, that the method of analysis (employed

with C. D.), meaning thereby the bringing to light associated memories

of past experiences, cannot positively demonstrate that those

experiences take part as the causal factor in a present process. It can

demonstrate the sequence of mental events, and, therefore, each

successive link in a chain of evidence leading to the final act; or it

can demonstrate the material out of which we can select with a greater

or less degree of probability the factor which, in accordance with a

theory—in this case that of subconscious processes—seems most likely to

be the causal factor. Thus in the analysis of a bacterial culture we can

select the one which seems on various considerations to be the most

likely cause of an etiologically undetermined disease, but for actual

demonstration we must employ synthetic methods; that is, actually

reproduce the disease by inoculation with a bacterium. So with

psychological processes synthetic methods are required for positive

demonstration.

We have _available synthetic methods in hypnotic procedures_. These

give, it seems to me, positive results of value. If a subject is

hypnotized and in this state a complex is formed, it will be found that

this complex will determine, after the subject is awakened, the point of

view and therefore the meaning of the central idea when it comes into

consciousness, and this though the subject has complete amnesia for the

hypnotic experience. In this manner, if the idea is one which previously

had a very definite and undesirable meaning which we wish to eradicate,

we can organize a complex which shall include that idea and yet give it

a very different meaning, provided it is one acceptable to the subject.

To take simple examples, and to begin with a hypothetical case, but one

which in practice I have frequently duplicated: A subject is hypnotized

and although, in fact, the day is a beautifully fair one we point out

that it is really disagreeable because the sunshine is glowing and hot;

that such weather means dusty roads, drought, the drying up of the water

supply, the withering of the foliage, that the country needs rain, etc.

We further assert that this will be the subject’s point of view. In this

way we form a cluster of ideas as a setting to the weather which gives

it, fair as it is, an entirely different and unpleasant meaning and one

which is accepted. The subject is now awakened and has complete amnesia

for the hypnotic experience. When attention is directed to the weather

it is found that his point of view, for the time being at least, is

changed from what it was before being hypnotized. The perception of the

clear sky and the sunlight playing upon the ground includes secondary

images of heat, of dust, of withered foliage, etc., such as have been

previously experienced on disagreeable, hot, dusty days, and some of the

associated thoughts with their affects suggested in hypnosis arise in

consciousness; perhaps only a few, but, if he continues to think about

the weather, perhaps many. Manifestly the new setting formed in hypnosis

has been switched into association with the conscious perceptions of the

environment and has induced the secondary images and associated

thoughts, emotions, and feelings which give meaning. But it is equally

manifest, though many elements bubble up, so to speak, from the

unconscious setting into consciousness, that most of this setting

remains submerged in the unconscious.

In similar fashion I made a subject regard, metaphorically speaking, as

a cesspool for sewage a river which was being converted into a beautiful

water park by a dam.[172] It is scarcely necessary to cite additional

observations.

Manifestly such phenomena belong to the well-known class of so-called

“suggested post-hypnotic phenomena.” These we have already seen

(solution of problems predetermined actions, &c., Lecture VI) require

the postulate of a subconscious process. It is therefore difficult to

resist the conclusion that, when the suggested phenomenon is the

“meaning” of an idea, this also involves a subconscious process—that a

hypnotically organized setting functioning subconsciously ejects the

meaning into consciousness. In other words, the unconscious setting is a

part of the whole “psychosis” or complex, a factor in the functioning

mechanism; it is dynamic and not merely static, and is a functioning

part of the “psychic whole” of the given ideas (sign, perception, and

meaning). To use the analogy of the clock, the unconscious part of the

complex corresponds in a way to the works and determines what shall

appear in consciousness. In the case of the ideas of everyday life, and

particularly of pathological insistent ideas, unconscious complexes can

be shown, by methods of analysis and by interpretation, to be existent

and to be settings. We therefore infer that they similarly take part in

the functioning process of ideation. But, as I have said, as any idea

has many different settings and associated complexes, it is difficult to

determine by this method with positiveness which setting or other

complex, if any, is _in activity_ and takes part in the process. Hence

the different theories that have been offered to explain the precise

psychogenesis of insistent ideas.

=Therapeutic application.=—By similar procedures in a very large number

of instances, for therapeutic purposes, I have changed the setting, the

viewpoint, and the meaning of ideas without any realization on the

patient’s part of the reason for this change. This is the goal of

psychotherapy, and in my judgment the one fundamental principle common

to all technical methods of such treatment, different as these methods

appear to be when superficially considered.

It is obvious that in everyday life when by arguments, persuasion,

suggestion, punishment, exhortation, or prayer we change the viewpoint

of a person, we do so by building up complexes which shall act as

settings and give new meanings to his ideas. I may add, if we wish to

sway him to carry this new viewpoint to fulfilment through action we

introduce into the complex an emotion which by the driving force of its

impulses shall carry the ideas to practical fruition. This is the art of

the orator in swaying audiences to his views. Shakespeare has given us a

classic example in Marc Antony’s speech to the Roman populace.

The practical application to therapeutics of these principles of

rearranging the setting of a perception by artificial complex building

may be seen from the following actual case, which I have already cited

in previous contributions.[173]

I suggest to B. C. A. in hypnosis ideas of well-being, of recovery from

her infirmity; I picture a future roseate with hope, stimulate her

ambitions with suggestions of duties to be performed, deeds to be

accomplished. With all this there goes an emotional tone of exaltation

which takes the place of the depression and of the sense of failure

previously present. This emotional tone gives increased energy to her

organization, revitalizing, as it were, her psycho-physiological

processes [and by conflict represses the previously dissociating affect

and sentiment]. The whole I weave artfully and designedly into a

complex. Whatever neurotic symptoms were previously present I do not

allow to enter this complex. Indeed, the complex is such that they are

incompatible with it. The headache, nausea, and other bodily

discomforts, pure functional disturbances in this instance, are

dissociated and cease to torment. After “waking” there is complete

amnesia for the complex. Yet it is still organized, for it can be

recovered again in hypnosis. It is simply dormant. But the emotional

tone still persists after waking, and invades the personal synthesis,

which takes on a correspondingly ecstatic tone. The aspect of her

environment, her conception of her relation to the world and her past,

present, and future mental life have become colored, so to speak, by the

new feeling, as if under a new light. But, more than this, new syntheses

have been formed with new tones. If we probe deep enough we find that

many ideas of the dormant complex have, through association with the

environment (_point de repère_), become interwoven with those of the

previous personal consciousness and given all a new meaning. A moment

ago [her view was that] she was an invalid, incapacitated, exiled from

her social and family life, etc. What was there to look forward to? Now:

What of that? She is infinitely better; what a tremendous gain; at such

a rate of progress in a short time a new life will be open to her,

etc.—a radically new point of view. Now, too, she feels buoyant with

health and energy, ready to start afresh on her crusade for health and

life. Her neurotic symptoms have vanished. Such is the change that she

gratefully speaks of it as the work of a wizard. But the mechanism of

the transformation is simple enough. The exaltation, artificially

suggested in hypnosis, persists, altering the trend of her ideas and

giving new energy. The perceptions of her environment, cognition of

herself, etc., have entered into new syntheses which the introduction of

new _ideas_, new points of view have developed; thus the content of her

ideas has taken a definite, precise shape. Whence came these new ideas?

They seem to her to have come miraculously, for she has forgotten the

hypnotic complex. But forgetting an experience is not equivalent to its

not having happened, or to that experience not having been a part of

one’s own psychic life. The hypnotic consciousness remains a part of

one’s self (as a neurographic complex), however absolutely we have lost

awareness of it. Its experiences become fixed, though dormant, just as

do the experiences of our personal conscious life. The mechanism is the

same.

The following letter from this patient, received by chance after these

paragraphs were written, well expresses the psychological conditions

following hypnotic suggestion:

“Something has happened to me—I have a new point of view. I don’t know

what has changed me so all at once, but it is as if scales had fallen

from my eyes; I see things differently. That affair at L—— was nothing

to be ashamed of, Dr. Prince. I showed none of the common sense which

I really possess; I regret it bitterly; but I was not myself, and even

as [it was] I did nothing to be ashamed of—quite the contrary,

indeed.... Anyway, for some reason—I don’t know why, but perhaps you

do—I have regained my own self-respect and find to my amazement that I

need never have lost it. You know what I was a year ago—you know what

I am now—not much to be proud of, perhaps; but I am the work of your

hands, and a great improvement on [my poor old self]. I owe you what

is worth far more than life itself ... namely, the _desire_ to live.

You have given me life and you have given me something to fill it with

... I feel more like myself than for a long time. I am ‘my own man

again,’ so to say, and if you keep me and help me a little longer I

shall be well.”