It is certainly conceded by all who come in general estimation within the category of thinkers, that psychology, as formerly studied, without basis in physiology, was most unfruitful, as compared with the modern study of it upon that basis. It is therefore quite remarkable to find in quarters of repute, where psychological problems are discussed, some into which enter, even inferentially, either momentary obliviousness, or temporary disregard of truths that are held indisputable by modern thinkers within the lines of the subjects indicated. Yet such contradiction and conflict are found in the constantly recurring attempted demonstration of the dual nature of the mind or the soul, call the entity what one will. That man has within his organisation tendencies which are relatively higher or lower than others within himself, is not to be disputed; but that such mixture of nature is to be regarded as constituting him of dual mental nature, is a proposition untenable coincidently with the maintenance of the proposition that he is in nature physiologically single. It has been maintained lately, that he is physiologically double, but this view has not met with any acceptance worthy of the name. In short, it would seem, from all that we know, that in every individual, psychical being must bear the same relation to physiological that the latter does to physical, and that they are all interdependent. And if this be true, the same relations must hold good when the physical and physiological nature degenerate into the pathological, and we find by observation that they do hold good. So far, therefore, as the lesson inculcated by Stevenson's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde presents to the popular mind the idea of dual mental nature in man, it is false. Viewed from the scientific standpoint, the case exhibits nothing more or less than a phase of physical, physiological, and psychical action, terminating in pathological manifestations. Gradually, the physical, physiological, and psychical natures suffer, pari passu, and the whole being exhibits profound retrograde metamorphosis, through the continuous degenerations that have been so often and so ably described by Dr. Henry Maudsley, in which all will-power passes away, the whole being becomes involved, and direful death of all higher attributes finally ensues. That, during the struggle in this decadence between the will and the instincts it is natural that it should seem to the outside uninstructed view, and even to the individual sufferer himself, that the phenomenon witnessed is evidence of a dual nature of mind, is not surprising; but it is surprising to find any one of the present day who deems himself scientific, implying that the observed changing mental, moral, and bodily manifestations are not witnesses to co-ordinated change; it is surprising that any scientific inquirer should lend the slightest countenance to the belief that changed psychical phenomena are possible without changed physical and physiological conditions, and yet that is what we often see proclaimed through maintenance of the proposition of the duality of mental nature.

The point mentioned belongs to the most flagrantly unscientific view of the relations and effects of the forces in play under the conditions discussed. But there may be in the inclusive subject-matter of the question minor points as to which erroneous views are sometimes presented to the public as emanating from sources otherwise scientific. Such a one it is my intention to make the principal subject of this paper. In the October number of The Monist, in the article "The Magic Mirror," Max Dessoir, the author, says, pages 111 and 112:

"The theory from which I shall proceed in attempting an explanation, has already been frequently touched upon in the course of this article; for certain observations indicated it so clearly that mention of it was not to be avoided. It is the doctrine of the double consciousness of the human soul. Acts are done in the course even of our every-day life, which presuppose for their origin and execution all the faculties of the soul, yet nevertheless occur without the knowledge of the individual; they require a sort of consciousness and a separate memory beyond the cognisance of the normal person. One of the most frequent cases in practical experience is where the thoughts of a person reading aloud wander and become occupied with an entirely different subject; and where despite this aberration the person in question reads correctly with the proper emphasis and expression, turns the leaves, and in short performs acts which without intelligent control are hardly conceivable. An English psychologist, Mr. Barkworth, has acquired such expertness in the practice of this, that during an animated debate he can rapidly and correctly add long columns of figures without having his attention diverted in the least. This points not only to an unconscious intelligence, but—which is of still greater consequence—to an unconscious memory. Mr. Barkworth must keep two series of figures in his mind in order to obtain from them a third; this latter sum he is again obliged to retain in order to add to it a newly acquired fourth; and so on. The latter chain of memories, let it be remarked, performs its office entirely independently of that upon which the recollection of the debate is constructed; and it may therefore be reasonably maintained that there exists beyond the cognisance of the individual, both consciousness and memory; and if the essential components of the ego are found in these two last-mentioned factors, then every person conceals within himself the germs of a second personality. I designate the two halves of consciousness that thus operate in greater or less independence of each other,—in a figurative sense of course,—as super-and sub-consciousness, and comprehend the whole as the doctrine of double consciousness or the double ego."

No one will at this late day, it is to be presumed, dispute the existence in the same individual of subconsciousness, as contra-distinguished from superconsciousness; superconsciousness being that which is more familiarly known as self-consciousness, and subconsciousness as that latent consciousness of which we are not at all conscious, and which yet receives impressions which may or may not rise soon, late, or at all into the sphere of self-consciousness; an impress which cannot be summed into self-consciousness by an effort of will, for the obvious reason that the memory has yet taken no cognisance of them. That this subconscious function of the brain is simply a phenomenon dependent upon cell-storage of the brain, the product of which may or may not ever reach self-consciousness, is proved by many circumstances attested by our memory of collated facts concerned in our waking and dream life. Sir Walter Scott, in his story of the "Tapestried Chamber," gives an admirable account of its working under the lead of a sleeper's unconscious cerebration risen to self-consciousness, for let it be here parenthetically noted that it is absurd, as is sometimes attempted, to rule dream-thoughts out of the realm of self-consciousness, the individuality of the dreamer never being lost, however modified the mental and moral ideation of that individuality may be.

But Max Dessoir evidently confounds subconsciousness with unconscious cerebration. He makes subconsciousness, in the intellection described, a primary factor in execution. Now subconsciousness is the mere tablet, as it were, upon which impressions are made, and unconscious cerebration that faculty of the brain which, without immediate, and perchance future, cognisance of self-consciousness, may evolve from all brain-impressions, whether subconsciously or self-consciously received, thought of which not even the individual himself becomes aware that he is the possessor until it is presented to him as a free gift. This proceeds during sleep as well as during waking, sometimes anticipating, coincidently with waking, the routine subject of thought for the day. It sometimes in sleep, as well as in waking moments, presents itself with the startling effect of a revelation. Subconsciousness, therefore, is a condition of passivity, and unconscious cerebration one of activity, although, of course, of even unknown existence unless a product of it reaches self-consciousness. They are not to be crudely conceived of as different manifestations of the same thing, any more than an emotion is to be thought of as another aspect of the sensation which produced it, the emotion being qualitatively an entirely new departure from the sensation. Both sensation and emotion represent conditions of activity, whereas, so far as self-consciousness is equal to differentiating them, subconsciousness and unconscious cerebration respectively represent passivity and activity.

But the admission of the coexistence in the same individual of unconscious cerebration with self-consciousness does not involve the concession of the existence of dual mentality, any more than recognised possession of striped and unstriped, voluntary and involuntary muscle, involves the concession that man is physically dual in mechanical motive power. Yet it is upon the basis of the recognised coexistence of double consciousness in man that Max Dessoir reaches the conclusion that, figuratively speaking, as he says, there is a double ego, by means of whose duplex action different mental processes are simultaneously carried forward. Now, neither figuratively nor otherwise, as should be clearly apparent from what has been said, is there in man a double ego. For although while there is life subconsciousness must exist, and unconscious cerebration proceed, nothing is more open to observation than that subconsciousness and unconscious cerebration, although always present, do not always rise into the sphere of self-consciousness. That, during self-conscious activity of thought on a particular subject, if continued for a long time, subconsciousness may, through unconscious cerebration, in a measure yield tribute to self-conscious thought is undeniable, for we see their effect sometimes visible in the sudden inspiration of the orator and the writer, but that they are factors in ordinary thought-evolution, for immediate use, within very limited spaces of time, is impossible, for we by definition limit subconsciousness and unconscious cerebration to pure unguided automatism, while to self-consciousness we concede the direction of all automatic processes that represent conceptions of the mind. Obviously, to imagine that we direct that which may or may not appear at all in the sensorium, to be directed, and which from its nature, as known from observation, is not likely to appear within moderate time-limits of special thought-evolution, is inadmissible, involving the assertion of two contradictory propositions, for, as matter of experience, we know that the product of unconscious cerebration, even when it appears clearly recognisable as such, seldom manifests itself before the lapse of a few hours.

The simple and complete explanation of the phenomenon observed, in what are deemed simultaneous mental processes, is that they are not absolutely simultaneous. The best illustration that can be given of the manner in which they take place is afforded by the system known as synchronous multiple telegraphy, in which, by means of an admirable apparatus, points on discs, representing makes and breaks of electric current, are, at stations distant from each other, adjusted to synchronous relations with each other, by means of electro-magnetic agency, tuning-forks, and self-adjusting varying resistances to the currents, so that receiving and transmitting proceeds with a continuousness just short of perfect continuity. I am not attempting to liken the rapidity of thought to that of electricity, even when electricity is embarrassed and slowed by mechanism of man's construction; but otherwise the analogy between so-called simultaneous mental processes and the results obtained from so-called synchronous multiple telegraphy, is as perfect as any analogy can be. Thus the make and break impulses of the will direct the self-conscious flow of nerve-force in receiving and transmitting impulses of almost synchronous time upon various subject-matter successively taken up and dropped. The thought for each is not simultaneous, nor of equal duration, but so nearly simultaneous as to appear so, and of duration sufficient for its task. The individual thought-times are not, therefore, represented, as in the telegraphic instrument described, by equal spaces of time, but bear due relations to the respective difficulties of the subject-matter almost synchronously attacked. It is self-conscious thought that is here involved, whether in sleeping or waking, that is, will-directed thought, for even in sleep we observe the will as imperfectly directing; striving, however, always to direct. As has been admitted, if the process of self-conscious cerebration last over a long space of time, it is possible that some fragment derived from unconscious cerebration may contribute to the grand total of primary flow. This, however, is not of normal occurrence, seeing that unconscious cerebration often deals with matter entirely alien to present self-conscious mental occupation. The fruits of such cerebration are therefore impossible to be counted upon, and therefore cannot be insisted upon as proving from the experience cited by Max Dessoir the existence, even figuratively speaking, of double consciousness construed as forming with self-consciousness a double self; while the well-known action of subconsciousness, unconscious cerebration, and conscious cerebration, as related to one another, amply explain all the phenomena in waking, sleep, and even in hypnotism if we include in that hysteric diathesis.

When, in abstraction, in wrapt attention to a single idea, we are carried past the door at which we had intended to stop, or continue to read aloud, unobservantly of the sense of words, or otherwise betray that we are buried deep in one absorbing thought; it is not, in the first case, that our automaton has unwontedly borne us along, or in the second, that we are not permitting it to take a partial holiday, for it is our automaton that serves our commonest daily needs; but only that we have, in the first case, forgotten to arrest its movements in due time, and in the second, have not thought it worth while to do so; for when decrepitude overtakes us, and our automaton, sharing in the misfortune, toils wearily along, or requires intense purposiveness for special brain-accomplishment, ideation can no longer afford to give to it its former liberty, but dwells in concentration on a single action; unless, indeed, when that still lower grade is reached, when the automatic man is almost all that remains, and ideation but the fitful glow that may start to futile movement the once efficient mechanism of the human frame. By easy stages, receptivity and communicability, ever lowering in degree, in quantity, and in quality, may dwindle to a single point, and movement be but faint automatic habit; the former high being now occupying the opposite extreme from rapid thought-transmission and receipt, and bodily response to ideation, upon the basis of life's whole energised experience.

Max Dessoir remarks, in a passage shortly following the one already quoted at length:

"Closer investigation teaches further, that in dreams, states of intoxication, in somnambulistic and epileptic attacks, not only does a consciousness different from the normal consciousness rule, but that also between successive periods memory-links of greater or less stability are wont to form."

As to the greater or less closeness, as well as greater or less stability, of the memory-links to which Max Dessoir refers, there can be no dispute; but it is demonstrable that sleeping and waking consciousness of both kinds exactly correspond. The difference observable in waking and dream thought-evolution does not chiefly relate to modified consciousness, but to modified conscientiousness; the defect in both being the necessary consequence of temporary abeyance of normal co-ordination between the nerve-centres. Determinately directed thought, which is necessarily waking thought, proceeds upon the basis of memorabilia that are the cash in hand of the kind of currency that is temporarily available for logical transactions; while in sleep, conscious cerebration only partially controls its treasures, and often regretfully sees them squandered before its face. Determinately directed thought is necessarily derived from the will, unless one believes with Lord Kames, that thought preserves unbroken heredity; in which case the ego becomes only the witness through life of pure automatism—a position which is easily refuted. The will directs the thought upon the basis of cognate memorabilia, be the channels many or few, by means of semi-synchronous, rotative attention.

The great lapse of time during which the action of subconsciousness may remain unrevealed until, through unconscious cerebration, it reaches self-consciousness, through the medium of recognition of a particular event as of actual occurrence, and how, finally, this recognition, as true, of a particular event, may be restricted for a while to the condition of sleep, and after a long period of incubation at last rise to waking knowledge, is so admirably exemplified by an experience of my own that I here put it on record.

About five years ago I had a dream of a landscape, where there were rocky escarpments partially covered with trees, with a plain as foreground, upon which a carriage drew up to take me home after a day's topographical surveying. Both in dreaming and upon awaking I was vividly impressed with the idea that the place was one in which the topography remained to be finished by me. But when awake, I fruitlessly went over in memory all parts of the coast where I had ever executed topographical surveys, and where by any chance, at any time, I could have left unfinished anything that I was in duty bound to finish. Some time elapsed, and I had the same dream again. Coming at once to the conclusion that, if I should dream it a third time, I should be told (as I should be, if I mentioned it at the second to any indifferent person) that I had dreamed that I dreamed it, I at once described in detail to a member of my family the landscape, the rocks, the trees, the plain, and the coming of the carriage, and requested that all these be memorised. Some months again passed, and the dream in all its vividness recurred, and was repeated to the same person, agreeing as to its details with those introduced in the recital of the preceding ones.

I never had from the first a doubt that the dream had a foundation in some one concrete fact, but from the lapse of time without a solution of it being afforded, I was all but hopeless that its subject-matter would ever rise into the sphere of full waking knowledge. However, at moderate intervals I dreamt it again and again, each time simply saying to my confidant, "I have had that dream again," and at length, without any special effort directed to its solution, that which had heretofore eluded all efforts to explain, was presented solved.

The uncomfortableness of the dream, it is to be borne in mind, lay in the impression, although contradicted by memory, that I had neglected to finish some piece of topography which it was my duty to finish. Hence the direction of self-conscious thought towards its solution had always been wrong. There was no piece of work of any kind that I had ever neglected to finish. There was, however, a piece of topographical work, which, when I was about to finish it, I was prevented from completing by orders taking me away from the locality to another far distant. The whole tract originally intended to be executed in topography was of about one hundred square miles, a tract of much geological as well as topographical interest, over a portion of which I had been accompanied two or three times by Prof. James D. Dana, who was deeply interested in the execution of the topography, on account of his development from it of the minute geological characteristics of the region. At one boundary of the area mentioned there was a ridge and summit of some nine hundred feet in height, densely covered with a stunted growth of trees. How to get the contours of this ridge by some original plan I had been obliged in advance to settle in my mind, for on the ridge itself nothing could, on account of the dense growth, be seen for any great distance, and over it no roads passed. I had concluded to have simultaneous horizontal and vertical angles taken to staffs, from a line of foot-hills lying parallel with the ridge, when I was ordered to Florida to make there a survey. This was succeeded by surveys in other far-distant localities during successive years. Not, however, as it appears, until seven years after leaving the locality intimately described, did the first dream related to it take place, and not until rather more than two years thereafter did its repetitions cease with its solution. I said to my confidant when, about three years ago, that solution was reached, "I shall never have that dream again," and it has never since appeared; as why should it, the mystery with which the uncoÖrdinated ego struggled being solved?

We can readily comprehend, from such an experience as this, how it has been possible, as we have learned from well authenticated cases, for a person to lead two somewhat independent thought-lives. What, however, is clearly shown by it is the possibility, for it has been proved, of subconscious record remaining for years dormant, proceeding at last through unconscious cerebration to reach conscious cerebration, but even then conscious cerebration only during sleep, until finally conscious cerebration of waking moments being reached, the judgment seat of co-ordinated faculties, the dream departs, no longer abusing the curtained sleeper, nor ghost-like rising to disturb his waking self-consciousness.

R. MEADE BACHE.