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Rh essential to the very idea of development or growth. In trying, then, to conceive our psychological individual in the earliest stages of development we must not picture him as experiencing a succession of absolutely new sensations, which, coming out of nothingness, admit of being strung upon the “thread of consciousness” like beads picked up at random, or cemented into a mass like the bits of stick and sand with which the young caddis covers its nakedness. The notion, which Kant has done much to encourage, that psychical life begins with a confused manifold of sensations—devoid not only of logical but even of psychological unity—is one that becomes more inconceivable the more closely we consider it. An absolutely new presentation, having no sort of connexion with former presentations till the subject has synthesized it with them, is a conception for which it would be hard to find a warrant either by direct observation, by inference from biology, or in considerations of an a priori kind. At any given moment we have a certain whole of presentations, a “field of consciousness,” psychologically one and continuous; at the next we have not an entirely new field but a partial change within this field. Many who would allow this in the case of representations, i.e. where idea succeeds idea by the workings of association, would demur to it in the case of primary presentations or sensations. “For,” they would say, “may not silence be broken by a clap of thunder, and have not the blind been made to see?” To urge such objections is to miss the drift of our discussion, and to answer them may serve to make it clearer. Where silence can be broken there are representations of preceding sounds and in all probability even subjective presentations of sound as well; silence as experienced by one who has heard is very different from the silence of Condillac's statue before it had ever heard. The question is rather whether such a conception as that of Condillac's is possible; supposing a sound to be, qualitatively, entirely distinct from a smell, could a field of consciousness consisting of smells be followed at once by one in which sounds had part? And, as regards the blind coming to see, we must remember not only that the blind have eyes but that they are descended from ancestors who could see. What nascent presentations of sight are thus involved it would be hard to say; and the problem of heredity is one that we have for the present left aside.

The view here taken is (1) that at its first appearance in psychical life a new sensation or so-called elementary presentation is really a partial modification of some pre-existing presentation which thereby becomes as a whole more complex than it was before; and (2) that this complexity and differentiation of parts never become a plurality of discontinuous presentations, having a distinctness and individuality such as the atoms or elementary particles of the physical world are supposed to have. Beginners in psychology, and some who are not beginners, are apt to be led astray by expositions which set out from the sensations of the special senses, as if these furnished us with the type of an elementary presentation. The fact is we never experience a mere sensation of colour, sound, touch, and the like; and what the young student mistakes for such is really a perception, a sensory presentation combined with various sensory and motor presentations and with representations—and having thus a definiteness and completeness only possible to complex presentations. Moreover, if we could attend to a pure sensation of sound or colour by itself, there is much to justify the suspicion that even this is complex and not simple, and owes to such complexity its clearly marked specific quality. In certain of our vaguest and most diffused organic sensations there is probably a much nearer approach to the character of the really primitive presentations.

In such sensations we can distinguish three variations, viz. variations of quality, of intensity, and of what Bain called

massiveness, or, as we shall say, extensity. This last characteristic, which everybody knows who knows the difference between the ache of a big bruise and the ache of a little one, between total and partial immersion in a bath, is, as we shall see later on, an essential element in our perception of space. But it is certainly

not the whole of it, for in this experience of massive sensation alone it is impossible to find other elements which an analysis of spatial intuition unmistakably yields. Extensity and extension, then, are not to be confounded. Now, we find, even at our level of mental evolution, that an increase in the intensity of a sensation is apt to entail an increase in its extensity too. In like manner we observe a greater extent of movement in emotional expression when the intensity of the emotion increases. Even the higher region of imagination is no exception, as is shown by the whirl and confusion of ideas incident to delirium, and, indeed, to all strong excitement. But this “diffusion” or “radiation,” as it has been called, diminishes as we pass from the class of organic sensations to the sensations of the five senses, from movements expressive of feeling to movements definitely purposive, and from the tumult of ideas excited by passion to the steadier sequences determined by efforts to think. Increased differentiation seems, then, to be intimately connected with increased “restriction.” Probably there may be found certain initial differentiations which for psychology are ultimate facts that it cannot explain. As already said, the very beginning of experience is beyond us, though it is our business—working from within—to push back our analysis as far as we can. But some differentiations being given, then it may be safely said that, in accordance with what we have called the principle of subjective selection (see § 6), attention would be voluntarily concentrated upon certain of these and upon the voluntary movements specially connected with them. To such subjectively initiated modifications of the presentation-continuum, moreover, we may reasonably suppose “restriction” to be in large measure due. But increased restriction would render further differentiation of the given whole of presentation possible, and so the two processes might supplement each other. These processes have now proceeded so far that at the level of human consciousness we find it hard to form any tolerably clear conception of a field of consciousness in which an intense sensation, no matter what, might—so to say—diffuse over the whole. Colours, e.g. are with us so distinct from sounds that—except as regards the excitement of attention or the drain upon it—there is nothing in the intensest colour to affect the simultaneous presentation of a sound. But at the beginning whatever we regard as the earliest differentiation of sound might have been incopresentable with the earliest differentiation of colour, if sufficiently diffused, much as a held of sight all blue is now incopresentable with one all red. Or, if the stimuli appropriate to both were active together, the resulting sensation might have been not a blending of two qualities, as purple is said to be a blending of red and violet, but rather a neutral sensation without the specific qualities of either. Now, on the other hand, colours and sounds are necessarily so far localized that we are directly aware that the eye is concerned with the one and the ear with the other. This

brings to our notice a fact so ridiculously obvious it has never been deemed worthy of mention, although it has undeniably important bearings—the fact, viz. that certain sensations or movements are an absolute bar to the simultaneous presentation of other sensations or movements. We cannot see an orange as at once yellow and green, though we can feel it at once as both smooth and cool; we cannot open and close the same hand at the same moment, but we can open one hand while closing the other. Such incopresentability or contrariety is thus more than mere difference, and occurs only between presentations belonging to the same sense or to the same group of movements. Strictly speaking, it does not always occur even then; for red and yellow, hot and cold, are presentable together provided they have certain other differences which we shall meet again presently as differences of “local sign.”

12. In the preceding paragraphs we have had occasion to distinguish between the presentation-continuum or whole field

of consciousness, as we may for the present call it, and those several differentiations within this field which are ordinarily spoken of as presentations, and to which—now that their true character as parts is