In my last talk, in treating of Habit, I chiefly had in mind our motor habits — habits of external conduct. But our thinking and feeling processes are also largely subject to the law of habit, and one result of this is a phenomenon which you all know under the name of ‘the association of ideas.’ To that phenomenon I ask you now to turn.
You remember that consciousness is an ever-flowing stream of objects, feelings, and impulsive6 tendencies. We saw already that its phases or pulses are like so many fields or waves, each field or wave having usually its central point of liveliest attention, in the shape of the most prominent object in our thought, while all around this lies a margin7 of other objects more dimly realized, together with the margin of emotional and active tendencies which the whole entails8. Describing the mind thus in fluid terms, we cling as close as possible to nature. At first sight, it might seem as if, in the fluidity of these successive waves, everything is indeterminate. But inspection9 shows that each wave has a constitution which can be to some degree explained by the constitution of the waves just passed away. And this relation of the wave to its predecessors10 is expressed by the two fundamental ‘laws of association,’ so-called, of which the first is named the Law of Contiguity, the second that of Similarity.
The Law of Contiguity tells us that objects thought of in the coming wave are such as in some previous experience were next to the objects represented in the wave that is passing away. The vanishing objects were once formerly11 their neighbors in the mind. When you recite the alphabet or your prayers, or when the sight of an object reminds you of its name, or the name reminds you of the object, it is through the law of contiguity that the terms are suggested to the mind.
The Law of Similarity says that, when contiguity fails to describe what happens, the coming objects will prove to resemble the going objects, even though the two were never experienced together before. In our ‘flights of fancy,’ this is frequently the case.
If, arresting ourselves in the flow of reverie, we ask the question, “How came we to be thinking of just this object now?” we can almost always trace its presence to some previous object which has introduced it to the mind, according to one or the other of these laws. The entire routine of our memorized acquisitions, for example, is a consequence of nothing but the Law of Contiguity. The words of a poem, the formulas of trigonometry, the facts of history, the properties of material things, are all known to us as definite systems or groups of objects which cohere12 in an order fixed13 by innumerable iterations, and of which any one part reminds us of the others. In dry and prosaic14 minds, almost all the mental sequences flow along these lines of habitual routine repetition and suggestion.
In witty15, imaginative minds, on the other hand, the routine is broken through with ease at any moment; and one field of mental objects will suggest another with which perhaps in the whole history of human thinking it had never once before been coupled. The link here is usually some analogy between the objects successively thought of — an analogy often so subtle that, although we feel it, we can with difficulty analyze16 its ground; as where, for example, we find something masculine in the color red and something feminine in the color pale blue, or where, of three human beings’ characters, one will remind us of a cat, another of a dog, the third perhaps of a cow.
* * * * *
Psychologists have of course gone very deeply into the question of what the causes of association may be; and some of them have tried to show that contiguity and similarity are not two radically17 diverse laws, but that either presupposes the presence of the other. I myself am disposed to think that the phenomena18 of association depend on our cerebral19 constitution, and are not immediate20 consequences of our being rational beings. In other words, when we shall have become disembodied spirits, it may be that our trains of consciousness will follow different laws. These questions are discussed in the books on psychology21, and I hope that some of you will be interested in following them there. But I will, on the present occasion, ignore them entirely22; for, as teachers, it is the fact of association that practically concerns you, let its grounds be spiritual or cerebral, or what they may, and let its laws be reducible, or non-reducible, to one. Your pupils, whatever else they are, are at any rate little pieces of associating machinery23. Their education consists in the organizing within them of determinate tendencies to associate one thing with another — impressions with consequences, these with reactions, those with results, and so on indefinitely. The more copious24 the associative systems, the completer the individual’s adaptations to the world.
The teacher can formulate25 his function to himself therefore in terms of ‘association’ as well as in terms of ‘native and acquired reaction.’ It is mainly that of building up useful systems of association in the pupil’s mind. This description sounds wider than the one I began by giving. But, when one thinks that our trains of association, whatever they may be, normally issue in acquired reactions or behavior, one sees that in a general way the same mass of facts is covered by both formulas.
It is astonishing how many mental operations we can explain when we have once grasped the principles of association. The great problem which association undertakes to solve is, Why does just this particular field of consciousness, constituted in this particular way, now appear before my mind? It may be a field of objects imagined; it may be of objects remembered or of objects perceived; it may include an action resolved on. In either case, when the field is analyzed26 into its parts, those parts can be shown to have proceeded from parts of fields previously27 before consciousness, in consequence of one or other of the laws of association just laid down. Those laws run the mind: interest, shifting hither and thither28, deflects it; and attention, as we shall later see, steers29 it and keeps it from too zigzag30 a course.
To grasp these factors clearly gives one a solid and simple understanding of the psychological machinery. The ‘nature,’ the ‘character,’ of an individual means really nothing but the habitual form of his associations. To break up bad associations or wrong ones, to build others in, to guide the associative tendencies into the most fruitful channels, is the educator’s principal task. But here, as with all other simple principles, the difficulty lies in the application. Psychology can state the laws: concrete tact31 and talent alone can work them to useful results.
Meanwhile it is a matter of the commonest experience that our minds may pass from one object to another by various intermediary fields of consciousness. The indeterminateness of our paths of association in concreto is thus almost as striking a feature of them as the uniformity of their abstract form. Start from any idea whatever, and the entire range of your ideas is potentially at your disposal. If we take as the associative starting-point, or cue, some simple word which I pronounce before you, there is no limit to the possible diversity of suggestions which it may set up in your minds. Suppose I say ‘blue,’ for example: some of you may think of the blue sky and hot weather from which we now are suffering, then go off on thoughts of summer clothing, or possibly of meteorology at large; others may think of the spectrum32 and the physiology33 of color-vision, and glide34 into X-rays and recent physical speculations35; others may think of blue ribbons, or of the blue flowers on a friend’s hat, and proceed on lines of personal reminiscence. To others, again, etymology36 and linguistic37 thoughts may be suggested; or blue may be ‘apperceived’ as a synonym38 for melancholy39, and a train of associates connected with morbid40 psychology may proceed to unroll themselves.
In the same person, the same word heard at different times will provoke, in consequence of the varying marginal preoccupations, either one of a number of diverse possible associative sequences. Professor Münsterberg performed this experiment methodically, using the same words four times over, at three-month intervals41, as ‘cues’ for four different persons who were the subjects of observation. He found almost no constancy in their associations taken at these different times. In short, the entire potential content of one’s consciousness is accessible from any one of its points. This is why we can never work the laws of association forward: starting from the present field as a cue, we can never cipher42 out in advance just what the person will be thinking of five minutes later. The elements which may become prepotent in the process, the parts of each successive field round which the associations shall chiefly turn, the possible bifurcations of suggestion, are so numerous and ambiguous as to be indeterminable before the fact. But, although we cannot work the laws of association forward, we can always work them backwards43. We cannot say now what we shall find ourselves thinking of five minutes hence; but, whatever it may be, we shall then be able to trace it through intermediary links of contiguity or similarity to what we are thinking now. What so baffles our prevision is the shifting part played by the margin and focus — in fact, by each element by itself of the margin or focus — in calling up the next ideas.
For example, I am reciting ‘Locksley Hall,’ in order to divert my mind from a state of suspense44 that I am in concerning the will of a relative that is dead. The will still remains45 in the mental background as an extremely marginal or ultra-marginal portion of my field of consciousness; but the poem fairly keeps my attention from it, until I come to the line, “I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.” The words ‘I, the heir,’ immediately make an electric connection with the marginal thought of the will; that, in turn, makes my heart beat with anticipation46 of my possible legacy47, so that I throw down the book and pace the floor excitedly with visions of my future fortune pouring through my mind. Any portion of the field of consciousness that has more potentialities of emotional excitement than another may thus be roused to predominant activity; and the shifting play of interest now in one portion, now in another, deflects the currents in all sorts of zigzag ways, the mental activity running hither and thither as the sparks run in burnt-up paper.
* * * * *
One more point, and I shall have said as much to you as seems necessary about the process of association.
You just saw how a single exciting word may call up its own associates prepotently, and deflect5 our whole train of thinking from the previous track. The fact is that every portion of the field tends to call up its own associates; but, if these associates be severally different, there is rivalry48, and as soon as one or a few begin to be effective the others seem to get siphoned out, as it were, and left behind. Seldom, however, as in our example, does the process seem to turn round a single item in the mental field, or even round the entire field that is immediately in the act of passing. It is a matter of constellation49, into which portions of fields that are already past especially seem to enter and have their say. Thus, to go back to ‘Locksley Hall,’ each word as I recite it in its due order is suggested not solely50 by the previous word now expiring on my lips, but it is rather the effect of all the previous words, taken together, of the verse. “Ages,” for example, calls up “in the foremost files of time,” when preceded by “I, the heir of all the”—; but, when preceded by “for I doubt not through the,”— it calls up “one increasing purpose runs.” Similarly, if I write on the blackboard the letters A B C D E F, . . . they probably suggest to you G H I. . . . But, if I write A B A D D E F, if they suggest anything, they suggest as their complement51 E C T or E F I C I E N C Y. The result depending on the total constellation, even though most of the single items be the same.
My practical reason for mentioning this law is this, that it follows from it that, in working associations into your pupils’ minds, you must not rely on single cues, but multiply the cues as much as possible. Couple the desired reaction with numerous constellations52 of antecedents — don’t always ask the question, for example, in the same way; don’t use the same kind of data in numerical problems; vary your illustrations, etc., as much as you can. When we come to the subject of memory, we shall learn still more about this.
So much, then, for the general subject of association. In leaving it for other topics (in which, however, we shall abundantly find it involved again), I cannot too strongly urge you to acquire a habit of thinking of your pupils in associative terms. All governors of mankind, from doctors and jail-wardens to demagogues and statesmen, instinctively53 come so to conceive their charges. If you do the same, thinking of them (however else you may think of them besides) as so many little systems of associating machinery, you will be astonished at the intimacy54 of insight into their operations and at the practicality of the results which you will gain. We think of our acquaintances, for example, as characterized by certain ‘tendencies.’ These tendencies will in almost every instance prove to be tendencies to association. Certain ideas in them are always followed by certain other ideas, these by certain feelings and impulses to approve or disapprove55, assent56 or decline. If the topic arouse one of those first ideas, the practical outcome can be pretty well foreseen. ‘Types of character’ in short are largely types of association.
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1
contiguity
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| n.邻近，接壤 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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foretell
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| v.预言，预告，预示 | |
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deflects
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| （使）偏斜， （使）偏离， （使）转向( deflect的第三人称单数 ) | |
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deflect
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| v.(使)偏斜，(使)偏离，(使)转向 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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entails
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| 使…成为必要( entail的第三人称单数 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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predecessors
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| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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cohere
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| vt.附着，连贯，一致 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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radically
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| ad.根本地，本质地 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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cerebral
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| adj.脑的，大脑的；有智力的，理智型的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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formulate
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| v.用公式表示；规划；设计；系统地阐述 | |
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analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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steers
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| n.阉公牛，肉用公牛( steer的名词复数 )v.驾驶( steer的第三人称单数 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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spectrum
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| n.谱，光谱，频谱；范围，幅度，系列 | |
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physiology
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| n.生理学，生理机能 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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etymology
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| n.语源；字源学 | |
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linguistic
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| adj.语言的，语言学的 | |
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synonym
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| n.同义词，换喻词 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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43
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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47
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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48
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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49
constellation
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| n.星座n.灿烂的一群 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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complement
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| n.补足物，船上的定员；补语；vt.补充，补足 | |
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52
constellations
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| n.星座( constellation的名词复数 )；一群杰出人物；一系列（相关的想法、事物）；一群（相关的人） | |
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53
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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54
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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55
disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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