Topic 6. RECOLLECTION AND MEMORY.
Section 51.
In direct connection with the association of ideas is our recollection
and memory, which are only next to perception in legal
importance in the knowledge of the witness. Whether the witness
wants to tell the truth is, of course, a question
which depends upon
other matters; but whether he can tell the truth
depends upon
perception and memory. Now the latter is a highly complicated
and variously organized function which is difficult to understand,
even in the daily life, and much more so when everything depends
upon whether the witness has noticed anything, how, how long, what
part of the impression has sunk more deeply into his mind, and in
what direction his defects of memory are to be sought. It would be
inexcusable in the lawyer not to think about this and to make
equivalent use of all the phenomena that are presented to him. To
overlook the rich literature and enormous work that has been devoted
to this subject is to raise involuntarily the question, for
whom was it all done? Nobody needs a thorough-going knowledge
of the essence of memory more than the lawyer.
I advise every criminalist to study the literature of memory
and recommend the works of Münsterberg, Ribot, Ebbinghaus,
Cattell, Kräpelin, Lasson, Nicolai Lange, Arreat, Richet, Forel,
Galton, Biervliet, Paneth, Fauth, Sander, Koch, Lehmann, Féré,
Jodl,[1] etc.
[[ id="n51.1"]]
H. Münsterberg: Beiträge II, IV.
H. Ebbinghaus: Über das Gedächtnis. Leipzig 1885.
J. M. Cattell: Mind, Vols. 11-15. (Articles.)
J. Bourdon: Influence de l'Age sur la Memoire Immédiate. Revue
Philosophique, Vol. 38.
Kräpelin: Über Erinnerungstäusehungen. Archiv. f. Psychiatrie,
XVII, 3.
Lasson: Das Gedächtnis. Berlin 1894,
Diehl Zum Studium der Merkfähigkeit. Beitr. z. Psychol. d. Aussage,
II. 1903.
Section 52. (a) The Essence of Memory.
Our ignorance concerning memory is as great as its universal
importance, and as our indebtedness to it for what we are and possess.
At best we have, when explaining it, to make use of images.
Plato accounts for memory in the "Theaetetus" by the image
of the seal ring which impresses wax; the character and duration
of the impression depends upon the size, purity, and hardness of the
wax. Fichte says, "The spirit does not conserve its products,—
the single ideas, volitions, and feelings are conserved by the mind
and constitute the ground of its inexhaustibly retentive memory.
. . . The possibility of recalling what has once been independently
done, this remains in the spirit." James Sully compares the
receptivity of memory with the infusion of dampness into an old
MS. Draper also brings a physical example: If you put a flat
object upon the surface of a cold, smooth metal and then breathe
on the metal and, after the moisture has disappeared, remove the
object, you may recall its image months after, whenever you breathe
on the place in question. Another has called memory the safe of the
mind. It is the opinion of E.
Hering[1] that what we once were
conscious of and are conscious of again, does not endure as
image but as echo such as may be heard in a tuning fork
when it is properly struck. Reid asserts that memory does
not have present ideas, but past things for its object, Natorp
explains recollection as an identification of the unidentical, of
not-now with now. According to Herbart and his
school,[2] memory
consists in the possibility of recognizing the molecular arrangements
which had been left by past impressions in the ganglion
cells, and in reading them in identical fashion. According to
Wundt and his pupils, the problem is one of the disposition of the
central organs. And it is the opinion of James Mill that the content
of recollection is not only the idea of the remembered object, but
also the idea that the object had been experienced before. Both
ideas together constitute the whole of that state of mind which we
denote as memory. Spinoza
[3] deals
freely with memory, and asserts
that mankind does not control it inasmuch as all thoughts, ideas,
resolutions of spirits, are bare results of memories, so that human
freedom is excluded.
Uphues
[4] distinguishes
between memory and the
conception which is presupposed in the recognition of an object
different from that conception. This is the theory developed by
Aristotle.
According to Berkeley and Hume recognition is not directed upon
a different object, nor does it presuppose one; the activity of recognition
consists either in the exhibition or the creation of the object.
Recognition lends the idea an independence which does not belong
to it and in that way turns it into a thing, objectifies it, and posits
it as substantial. Maudsley makes use of the notion that it is possible
to represent any former content of consciousness as attended
to so that it may again come into the center of the field of consciousness.
Dorner[5] explains
recognition as follows: "The possible
is not only the merely possible in opposition to the actual; it is
much more proper to conceive being as possible, i. e., as amenable
to logical thinking; without this there could be no recognition."
Külpe[6] concerns
himself with the problem of the difference between
perceptive images and memory images and whether the latter are
only weaker than the former as English philosophers and psychologists
assert. He concludes that they are not so.
When we take all these opinions concerning memory together
we conclude that neither any unity nor any clear description of
the matter has been attained. Ebbinghaus's sober statement may
certainly be correct: "Our knowledge of memory rises almost
exclusively from the observation of extreme, especially striking
cases. Whenever we ask about more special solutions concerning
the detail of what has been counted up, and their other relations of
dependence, their structure, etc., there are no answers."
Nobody has as yet paid attention to the simple daily events
which constitute the routine of the criminalists. We find little
instruction concerning them, and our difficulties as well as our
mistakes are thereby increased. Even the modern repeatedly
cited experimental investigations have no direct bearing upon our
work.
We will content ourselves with viewing the individual conceptions
of memory and recollection as occurring in particular cases and with
considering them, now one, now the other, according to the requirements
of the case. We shall consider the general relation of "reproduction"
to memory. "Reproduction" we shall consider in a
general sense and shall subsume under it also the so-called involuntary
reproductions which rise in the forms and qualities of past
events without being evoked, i. e., which rise with the help of unconscious
activity through the more or less independent association
of ideas. Exactly this unconscious reproduction, this apparently
involuntary activity, is perhaps the most fruitful, and we therefore
unjustly meet with unexceptionable distrust the later sudden "occurrence,"
especially when these occurrences happen to defendant
and his witnesses. It is true that they frequently deceive us because
behind the sudden occurrence there often may be nothing more than
a better training and instruction from experienced cell-mates;
though very often the circumstances are such that the suspect
has succeeded through some released prisoner, or by a blackened
letter, in sending a message from his prison, by means of which false
witnesses of alibi, etc., are provided. Distrust is in any event justified,
when his most important witnesses suddenly "occur" to the
accused. But this does not always happen, and we find in our
own experience evidence of the fact that memory and the capacity
to recall something often depend upon health, feeling, location,
and chance associations which can not be commanded, and happen
as accidentally as anything in life can. That we should remember
anything at all depends upon the point of time. Everybody knows
how important twilight may be for memory. Indeed, twilight has
been called the visiting-hour of recollection, and it is always worth
while to observe the situation when anybody asserts that some
matter of importance occurred to him in the twilight. Such an
assertion merits, at least, further examination. Now, if we only
know how these occurrences constitute themselves, it would not be
difficult to study them out and to estimate their probability. But
we do not know, and we have to depend, primarily, on observation
and test. Not one of the theories applied is supported by experience
altogether.
They may be divided into three essential groups.
1. What is received, fades away, becomes a "trace," and is
more or less overlaid by new perceptions. When these latter are
ever set aside, the old trace comes into the foreground.
2. The ideas sink, darken, and disintegrate. If they receive
support and intensification they regain complete clearness.
3. The ideas crumble up, lose their parts. When anything occurs
that reunites them and restores what is lost, they become whole
again.
Ebbinghaus maintains, correctly enough, that not one of these
explanations is universally satisfactory, but it must be granted
that now one, now another is useful in controlling this or that particular
case. The processes of the destruction of an idea, may be
as various as those of the destruction and restoration of a building.
If a building is destroyed by fire, I certainly can not explain the
image given by merely assuming that it was the victim of the
hunger of time. A building which has suffered because of the
sinking of the earth I shall have to image by quite other means
than those I would use if it had been destroyed by water.
For the same reason when, in court, somebody asserts a sudden
"occurrence," or when we want to help him and something occurs
to him, we shall have to proceed in different fashion and determine
our action empirically by the conditions of the moment. We shall
have to go back, with the help of the witness, to the beginning of the
appearance of the idea in question and study its development as
far as the material permits us. In a similar manner we must make
use of every possibility of explanation when we are studying the
disappearance of ideas. At one point or another we shall find certain
connections. One chief mistake in such reconstructive work lies
in overlooking the fact that no individual is merely passive when he
receives sensations; he is bound to make use of a certain degree of
activity. Locke and Bonnet have already mentioned this fact, and
anybody may verify it by comparing his experiments of trying to
avoid seeing or hearing, and trying actively to see or to hear. For
this reason it is foolish to ask anybody how it happened that he
perceived less than another, because both have equally good senses
and were able to perceive as much. On the other hand, the grade of
activity each has made use of in perception is rarely inquired into,
and this is the more unfortunate because memory is often proportionate
to activity. If, then, we are to explain how various statements
concerning contemporaneous matters, observed a long time ago,
are to be combined, it will not be enough to compare the memory,
sensory acuteness, and intelligence of the witnesses. The chief
point of attention should be the activity which has been put in
motion during the sense-perception in question.
[[ id="n52.1"]]
E. Hering: Über das Gedächtnis, etc. Vienna 1876.
[[ id="n52.2"]]
Cf. V. Hensen: Über das Gedächtnis, etc. Kiel 1877.
[[ id="n52.3"]]
Ethics. Bk. III, Prop. II, Scholium.
[[ id="n52.4"]]
G K. Uphues: Über die Erinnerung. Leipzig 1889.
[[ id="n52.5"]]
H Dorner: Das menschliche Erkennen. Berlin 1877.
[[ id="n52.6"]]
O. Külpe: Grundriss der Psychologie. Leipzig 1893.
Section 53. (b) The Forms of Reproduction.
Kant analyzes memory:
1. As apprehending something in memory.
2. As retaining it for a long time.
3. As immediately recalling it.
One might, perhaps add, as 4: that the memory-image is most
conformable to the actual one. This is not identical with the fact
that we recollect at all. It is to be assumed that the forms of
memory-images vary very much with different persons, because each individual
verifies his images of various objects variously. I know
two men equally well for an equal time, and yet have two
memory-images of them. When I recall one, a life-sized, moving, and moved
figure appears before me, even the very man himself; when I think
of the other, I see only a small, bare silhouette, foggy and colorless,
and the difference does not require that the first shall be an interesting
and the second a boresome individual. This is still clearer in
memory of travels. One city appears in recollection with size, color
and movement, real; the other, in which I sojourned for the same
length of time and only a few days later, under similar conditions of
weather, etc., appears like a small, flat photograph. Inquiry reveals
that this is as true of other people as of me, and that the problem of
memory is much differentiated by the method of recollection. In
fact, this is so little in doubt that at some periods of time there are
more images of one sort than of another and what is a rule for one
kind of individual is an exception for another.
Now there is a series of phenomena for which we possess particular
types of images which often have little to do with the things
themselves. So Exner says: "We might know the physiognomy
of an individual very accurately, be able to pick him out among a
thousand, without being clear about the differences between him
and another; indeed, we often do not know the color of his eyes
and hair, yet marvel when it suddenly becomes different."
Kries[1] calls
attention to another fact: "When we try to mark in
memory the contour of a very well-known coin, we deceive ourselves,
unbelievably—when we see the coin the size we imagine it to be,
we wonder still more."
Lotze shows correctly that memory never brings back a blinding
flash of light, or the over-powering blow of an explosion with the
intensity of the image in proper relation to the impression. I believe
that it is not necessary to go so far, for example, and hold that not
even the sparkling of a star, the crack of a pistol, etc., are kept in
memory with more than partial implication of the event. Maudsley
points out correctly that we can have no memory of pain—"because
the disturbance of nervous elements disappears just as soon
as their integrity is again established." Perhaps, also, because
when the pain has disappeared, the tertium comparationis is lacking.
But one need not limit oneself to pain, but may assert that we lack
memory of all unpleasant sensations. The first time one jumps into
the water from a very high spring-board, the first time one's horse
rises over a hurdle, or the first time the bullets whistle past one's
ear in battle, are all most unpleasant experiences, and whoever
denies it is deceiving himself or his friends. But when we think of
them we feel that they were not so bad, that one merely was very
much afraid, etc. But this is not the case; there is simply no memory
for these sensations.
This fact is of immense importance in examination and I believe
that no witness has been able effectively to describe the pain caused
by a body wound, the fear roused by arson, the fright at a threat,
not, indeed, because he lacked the words to do so, but because he
had not sufficient memory for these impressions, and because he
has nothing to-day with which to compare them. Time, naturally,
in such cases makes a great difference, and if a man were to describe
his experiences shortly after their uncomfortable occurrence he
would possibly remember them better than he would later on.
Here, if the examiner has experienced something similar, years ago,
he is likely to accuse the witness of exaggeration under the belief
that his own experience has shown the thing to be not so bad. Such
an accusation will be unjust in most instances. The differences in
conception depend to a large degree on differences in time, and
consequent fading in memory. Several other particular conditions
may be added.
Kant, e. g., calls attention to the power we have over our fancy:
"In memory, our will must control our imagination and our imagination
must be able to determine voluntarily the reproduction of ideas
of past time."
But these ideas may be brought up not only voluntarily; we have
also a certain degree of power in making these images clearer and
more accurate. It is rather foolish to have the examiner invite
the witness to "exert his memory, to give himself the trouble, etc."
This effects nothing, or something wrong. But if the examiner is
willing to take the trouble, he may excite the imagination of the
witness and give him the opportunity to exercise his power over the
imagination. How this is done depends naturally upon the nature
and education of the witness, but the judge may aid him just as the
skilful teacher may aid the puzzled pupil to remember. When the
pianist has completely forgotten a piece of music that he knew very
well, two or three chords may lead him to explicate these chords
forward or backward, and then—one step after another—he
reproduces the whole piece. Of course the chords which are brought
to the mind of the player must be properly chosen or the procedure
is useless.
There are rules for the selection of these clews. According to
Ebbinghaus: "The difference in the content of the recollected is
due to discoverable causes. Melodies may become painful because
of their undesirable obstinacy in return. Forms and colors do not
usually recur, and if they do, they do so with noticeable claims on
distinctness and certainty. Past emotional conditions are reproduced
only with effort, in comparatively pallid schemes, and often only
by means of the accompanying movements." We may follow these
clews, in some directions at least, to our advantage. Of course,
nobody will say that one should play tunes to witnesses in order to
make them remember, because the tunes have sunk into the memory
with such undesirable obstinacy as to be spurs to recollection.
It is just as futile to operate with forms and colors, or to excite
emotional conditions. But what has been said leads us back to the
ancient rule of working so far as is possible with the constantly
well-developed sense of location. Cicero already was aware of this
"Tanta vis admonitionis inest in locis, id quidem infinitum in hac
urbe, quocumque enim ingredimur, in aliquam historiam vestigium
possumus." Indeed he deduces his whole doctrine of memory from
the sense of location, or he at least justifies those who do so.
If, then, we bring a witness, who in our court house recollects
nothing, in locum rei sitae, all the mentioned conditions act
favorably.[2]
The most influential is the sense of location itself, inasmuch
as every point at which something significant occurred not only
is the content of an association, but is also the occasion of one.
It is, moreover, to be remembered that reproduction is a difficult
task, and that all unnecessary additional difficulties which are
permitted to accrue, definitely hinder it. Here, too, there is only a
definite number of units of psychical energy for use, and the number
which must be used for other matters is lost to the principal task.
If, e. g., I recall an event which had occurred near the window of a
definite house, I should have considerable difficulty to recall the
form of the house, the location of the window, its appearance, etc.,
and by the time this attempt has barely begun to succeed, I have
made so much effort that there is not sufficient power left for the
recollection of the event we are really concerned with. Moreover,
a mistake in the recollection of extraneous objects and the false
associations thereby caused, may be very disturbing to the correctness
of the memory of the chief thing. If, however, I am on the
spot, if I can see everything that I had seen at the time in question,
all these difficulties are disposed of.
We have still to count in the other conditions mentioned above.
If acoustic effects can appear anywhere, they can appear in the
locality where they first occurred. The same bell ringing, or a similar
noise, may occur accidentally, the murmur of the brook is the same,
the rustle of the wind, determined by local topography, vegetation,
especially by trees, again by buildings, varies with the place. And
even if only a fine ear can indicate what the difference consists of,
every normal individual senses that difference unconsciously. Even
the "universal noise," which is to be found everywhere, will be
differentiated and characteristic according to locality, and that,
together with all these other things, is extraordinarily favorable
to the association of ideas and the reproduction of the past. Colors
and forms are the same, similar orders may occur, and possibly the
same attitudes are awakened, since these depend in so great degree
upon external conditions. Now, once these with their retrospective
tendencies are given, the recollection of any contemporary event
increases, as one might say, spontaneously. Whatever may especially
occur to aid the memory of an event, occurs best at the
place where the event itself happened, and hence, one can not too
insistently advise the examination of witnesses, in important cases,
only in loco rei sitae. Incidentally, the judge himself learns the real
situation and saves himself, thereby, much time and effort, for he
is enabled in a few words to render the circumstantial descriptions
which have to be composed with so much difficulty when the things
are not seen and must be derived from the testimonies of the witnesses
themselves.
Whoever does not believe in the importance of conducting the
examination at the place of an event, needs only to repeat his examination
twice, once at the court, and again at the place—then
he certainly will doubt no more. Of course the thing should not
be so done that the event should be discussed with the witness at
the place of its occurrence and then the protocol written in the
house of the mayor, or in an inn half an hour away—the protocol
must to the very last stroke of the pen be written then and there,
in order that every impression may be renewed and every smallest
doubt studied and corrected. Then the differences between what
has passed, what has been later added, and what is found to-day
can be easily determined by sticking to the rule of Uphues, that the
recognition of the present as present is always necessary for the
eventual recognition of the past. Kant has already suggested what
surprising results such an examination will give: "There are many
ideas which we shall never again in our lives be conscious of, unless
some occasion cause them to spring up in the memory." But such
a particularly powerful occasion is locality, inasmuch as it brings
into play all the influences which our senses are capable of responding
to.[3]
Of course the possibility of artificially-stimulated memory disappears
like all memory, with the lapse of time. As a matter of
fact, we know that those of our experiences which concern particular
persons and things, and which are recalled at the sight of those
persons and things, become, later on, when the connections of images
have been broken, capable only of awakening general notions, even
though the persons or things are as absolutely present as before.
But very unfavorable circumstances must have been at work before
such a situation can develop.
It is characteristic, as is popularly known, that memory can be
intensified by means of special occasions. It is Höfler's opinion
that the Spartan boys were whipped at the boundary stones of their
country in order that they might recall their position, and even
now-a-days our peasants have the custom, when setting up new
boundary stones, of grasping small boys by the ears and hair in
order that they shall the better remember the position of the new
boundary mark when, as grown men, they will be questioned about
it. This being the case, it is safer to believe a witness when he can
demonstrate some intensely influential event which was contemporaneous
with the situation under discussion, and which reminds
him of that situation.
[[ id="n53.1"]]
v. Kries: Beiträge zur Lehre vom Augenmass. Hamburg 1892.
[[ id="n53.2"]]
Cf. Schneikert in H. Gross's Archiv, XIII, 193.
[[ id="n53.3"]]
Jost: Über Gedächtnisbildung.
Section 54. (c) The Peculiarities of Reproduction.
The differences in memory which men exhibit are not, among their
other human qualities, the least. As is well known, this difference
is expressed not only in the vigor, reliability, and promptness of
their memory, but also in the field of memory, in the accompaniment
of rapid prehensivity by rapid forgetfulness, or slow prehensivity
and slow forgetfulness, or in the contrast between narrow, but
intense memory, and broad but approximate memory.
Certain special considerations arise with regard to the field of
greatest memory. As a rule, it may be presupposed that a memory
which has developed with especial vigor in one direction has generally
done this at the cost of memory in another direction. Thus, as a
rule, memory for numbers and memory for names exclude each
other. My father had so bad a memory for names that very frequently
he could not quickly recall my Christian name, and I was
his own son. Frequently he had to repeat the names of his four
brothers until he hit upon mine, and that was not always a successful
way.[1] When
he undertook an introduction it was always: "My
honored m—m—m,"—"The dear friend of my youth
m—m—m." On the other hand, his memory for figures was
astounding. He noted and remembered not only figures that interested
him for one reason or another, but also those that had not the
slightest connection with him, and that he had read merely by
accident. He could recall instantaneously the population of countries
and cities, and I remember that once, in the course of an accidental
conversation, he mentioned the production of beetroot in a
certain country for the last ten years, or the factory number of my
watch that he had given me fifteen years before and had never
since held in his hand. He often said that the figures he carried
in his head troubled him. In this regard the symptom may be mentioned
that he was not a good mathematician, but so exceptional a
card player that nobody wanted to play with him. He noticed
every single card dealt and could immediately calculate what cards
each player had, and was able to say at the beginning of the game
how many points each must have.
Such various developments are numerous and of importance
for us because we frequently are unwilling to believe the witness
testifying in a certain field for the reason that his memory in another
field had shown itself to be unreliable. Schubert and Drobisch
cite examples of this sort of thing, but the observations of moderns,
like Charcot and Binet, concerning certain lightning calculators
(Inaudi, Diamandi, etc.), confirm the fact that the memory for figures
is developed at the expense of other matters. Linné tells that Lapps,
who otherwise note nothing whatever, are able to recognize individually
each one of their numberless reindeer. Again, the Dutch
friend of flowers, Voorhelm, had a memory only for tulips, but this
was so great that he could recognize twelve hundred species of tulips
merely from the dry bulbs.
These fields seem to be of a remarkably narrow extent. Besides
specialists (numismatists, zoologists, botanists, heralds, etc.) who,
apart from their stupendous memory for their particular matters,
appear to have no memory for other things, there are people who can
remember only rhymes, melodies, shapes, forms, titles, modes,
service, relationships, etc. V. Volkmar has devoted some space to
showing this. He has also called attention to the fact that the
semi-idiotic have an astounding memory for certain things. This
has been confirmed by other students. One of them,
Du Potet,[2] who
is perhaps the expert in the popular mind of the Austrian Alps,
has made it especially clear. As in all mountainous regions there
are a great number of those unfortunate idiots who, when fully developed,
are called cretins, and in their milder form are semi-human,
but do not possess intelligence enough to earn their own living.
Nevertheless, many of them possess astounding memories for certain
things. One of them is thoroughly conversant with the weather
prophecy in the calendar for the past and the present year, and can
cite it for each day. Another knows the day and the history of
every saint of the Catholic church. Another knows the boundaries
of every estate, and the name, etc., of its owner. Another knows each
particular animal in a collective herd of cattle, knows to whom it
belongs, etc. Of course not one of these unfortunates can read.
Drobisch mentions an idiotic boy, not altogether able to speak,
who, through the untiring efforts of a lady, succeeded finally in
learning to read. Then after hasty reading of any piece of printed
matter, he could reproduce what he had read word for word, even
when the book had been one in a foreign and unknown tongue.
Another author mentions a cretin who could tell exactly the birthdays
and death-days of the inhabitants of his town for a decade.
It is a matter of experience that the semi-idiotic have an excellent
memory and can accurately reproduce events which are really
impressive or alarming, and which have left effects upon them.
Many a thing which normal people have barely noticed, or which
they have set aside in their memory and have forgotten, is remembered
by the semi-idiotic and reproduced. On the contrary, the
latter do not remember things which normal people do, and which
in the latter frequently have a disturbing influence on the important
point they may be considering. Thus the semi-idiotic may be able
to describe important things better than normal people. As a rule,
however, they disintegrate what is to be remembered too much,
and offer too little to make any effective interpretation possible.
If such a person, e. g., is witness of a shooting, he notices the
shot only, and gives very brief attention to what precedes, what
follows, or what is otherwise contemporary. Until his examination
he not only knows nothing about it, but even doubts its occurrence.
This is the dangerous element in his testimony. Generally it is right
to believe his kind willingly. "Children and fools tell the truth,"
what they say bears the test, and so when they deny an event there
is a tendency to overlook the fact that they have forgotten a great
deal and hence to believe that the event had really not occurred.
Similar experiences are yielded in the case of the memory of
children. Children and animals live only in the present, because
they have no historically organic ideas in mind. They react directly
upon stimuli, without any disturbance of their idea of the past.
This is valid, however, only for very small children. At a later age
children make good witnesses, and a well-brought-up boy is the
best witness in the world. We have only to keep in mind that
later events tend in the child's mind to wipe out earlier ones of the
same kind.[3]
It used to be said that children and nations think
only of the latest events. And that is universally true. Just as
children abandon even their most precious toys for the sake of a
new one, so they tell only the latest events in their experience.
And this is especially the case when there are a great many facts—
e. g., repeated mal-treatment or thefts, etc. Children will tell only
of the very last, the earlier one may absolutely have disappeared
from the memory.
Bolton,[4] who has
made a systematic study of the memory of
children, comes to the familiar conclusion that the scope of memory
is measured by the child's capacity of concentrating its attention.
Memory and acute intelligence are not always cognate (the latter
proposition, true not for children alone, was known to Aristotle).
As a rule girls have better memory than boys (it might also be
said that their intelligence is generally greater, so long as no continuous
intellectual work, and especially the creation of one's own
ideas, is required). Of figures read only once, children will retain
a maximum of six. (Adults, as a rule, also retain no more.) The
time of forgetting in general has been excellently schematized by
Ebbinghaus. He studied the forgetting of a series of thirteen nonsense
syllables, previously learned, in such a way as to be able to
measure the time necessary to re-learn what was forgotten. At
the end of an hour he needed half the original time, at the end of
eight hours two-thirds of that time. Then the process of loss became
slower. At the end of twenty-four hours he required a third, at
the end of six days a fourth, at the end of a month a clear fifth,
of the time required at first.
I have tested this in a rough way on various and numerous persons,
and invariably found the results to tally. Of course, the
measure of time alters with the memory in question, but the relations
remain identical, so that one may say approximately how
much may be known of any subject at the end of a fixed time, if
only one ratio is tested. To criminalists this investigation of
Ebbinghaus' is especially recommended.
The conditions of prehensivity of particular instances are too
uncertain and individual to permit any general identifications or
differentiations. There are certain approximating propositions—
e. g., that it is easier to keep in mind rhymed verse than prose, and
definite rows and forms than block masses. But, on the one hand,
what is here involved is only the ease of memory, not the content
of memory, and on the other hand there are too many exceptions
—e. g., there are many people who retain prose better than verse.
Hence, it is not worth while to go further in the creation of such
rules. Forty or fifty years ago, investigations looking toward them
had been pursued with pleasure, and they are recorded in the journals
of the time.
That aged persons have, as is well known, a good memory for
what is long past, and a poor one for recent occurrences is not remarkable.
It is to be explained by the fact that age seems to be accompanied
with a decrease of energy in the brain, so that it no longer
assimilates influences, and the imagination becomes dark and the
judgment of facts incorrect. Hence, the mistakes are those of
apperception of new things,—what has already been perceived is
not influenced by this loss of energy.
Again, it should not rouse astonishment that so remarkable and
delicately organized a function as memory should be subject to
anomalies and abnormalities of all kinds. We must take it as a
rule not to assume the impossibility of the extraordinary phenomena
that appear and to consult the expert about
them.[5] The physician
will explain the pathological and pathoformic, but there is a series
of memory-forms which do not appear to be diseased, yet which are
significantly rare and hence appear improbable. Such forms will
require the examination of an experienced expert psychologist
who, even when unable to explain the particular case, will still be
able to throw some light on it from the literature of the subject.
This literature is rich in examples of the same thing; they have been
eagerly collected and scientifically studied in the earlier psychological
investigations. Modern psychology, unfortunately, does not study
these problems, and in any event, its task is so enormous that the
practical problems of memory in the daily life must be set aside for
a later time. We have to cite only a few cases handled in literature.
The best known is the story of an Irish servant girl, who, during
fever, recited Hebrew sentences which she had heard from a preacher
when a child. Another case tells of a very great fool who, during
fever, repeated prolonged conversations with his master, so that the
latter decided to make him his secretary. But when the servant got
well he became as foolish as ever. The criminalist who has the
opportunity of examining deeply wounded, feverish persons, makes
similar, though not such remarkable observations. These people
give him the impression of being quite intelligent persons who tell
their stories accurately and correctly. Later on, after they are
cured, one gets a different opinion of their intelligence. Still more
frequently one observes that these feverish, wounded victims know
more, and know more correctly about the crime than they are able
to tell after they have recovered. What they tell, moreover, is quite
reliable, provided, of course, they are not delirious or crazy.
The cases are innumerable in which people have lost their memory
for a short time, or for ever. I have already elsewhere mentioned
an event which happened to a friend of mine who received a sudden
blow on the head while in the mountains and completely lost all
memory of what had occurred a few minutes before the blow. After
this citation I got a number of letters from my colleagues who had
dealt with similar cases. I infer, therefore, that the instances in
which people lose their memory of what has occurred before the
event by way of a blow on the head, are
numerous.[6]
Legally such cases are important because we would not believe
statements in that regard made by accused, inasmuch as there
seems to be no reason why the events before the
wound should disappear,
just as if each impression needed a fixative, like a charcoal
drawing. But as this phenomenon is described by the most reliable
persons, who have no axe to grind in the matter, we must believe it,
other things being equal, even when the defendant asserts it. That
such cases are not isolated is shown in the fact that people who have
been stunned by lightning have later forgotten everything that
occurred shortly before the flash. The case is similar in poisoning
with carbonic-acid gas, with mushrooms, and in strangulation. The
latter cases are especially important, inasmuch as the wounded
person, frequently the only witness, has nothing to say about the
event.
I cannot omit recalling in this place a case I have already mentioned
elsewhere, that of Brunner. In 1893 in the town of Dietkirchen,
in Bavaria, the teacher Brunner's two children were murdered,
and his wife and servant girl badly wounded. After some time
the woman regained consciousness, seemed to know what she was
about, but could not tell the investigating justice who had been sent
on to take charge of the case, anything whatever concerning the
event, the criminal, etc. When he had concluded his negative
protocol she signed it, Martha Guttenberger, instead of Martha
Brunner. Fortunately the official noted this and wanted to know
what relation she had to the name Guttenberger. He was told
that a former lover of the servant girl an evil-mouthed fellow, was
called by that name. He was traced to Munich and there arrested.
He immediately confessed to the crime. And when Mrs. Brunner
became quite well she recalled accurately that she had definitely
recognized Guttenberger as the murderer.
[7]
The psychological process was clearly one in which the idea,
"Guttenberger is the criminal," had sunk into the secondary sphere
of consciousness, the subconsciousness,—so that it was only clear
to the real consciousness that the name Guttenberger had something
to do with the crime. The woman in her weakened mental condition
thought she had already sufficiently indicated this fact, so
that she overlooked the name, and hence wrote it unconsciously.
Only when the pressure on her brain was reduced did the idea that
Guttenberger was the murderer pass from the subconscious to the
conscious. Psychiatrists explain the case as follows:
The thing here involved is retrograde amnesia. It is nowadays
believed that this phenomenon in the great majority of cases occurs
according to the rule which defines traumatic hysteria, i. e., as ideogen.
The ideational complexes in question are forced into the subconsciousness,
whence, on occasion, by aid of associative processes,
hypnotic concentration, and such other similar elements, they can
be raised into consciousness. In this case, the suppressed ideational
complex manifested itself in signing the name.
All legal medicine discusses the fact that wounds in the head
make people forget single words. Taine, Guerin, Abercrombie, etc.,
cite many examples, and Winslow tells of a woman who, after considerable
bleeding, forgot all her French. The story is also told
that Henry Holland had so tired himself that he forgot German.
When he grew stronger and recovered he regained all he had forgotten.
Now would we believe a prisoner who told us any one of these
things?
The phenomena of memories which occur in dying persons who
have long forgotten and never even thought of these memories,
are very significant. English psychologists cite the case of Dr.
Rush, who had in his Lutheran congregation Germans and Swedes,
who prayed in their own language shortly before death, although
they had not used it for fifty or sixty years. I can not prevent myself
from thinking that many a death-bed confession has something to
do with this phenomenon.[8]
At the boundary between incorrect perception and forgetting
are those cases in which, under great excitement, important events
do not reach consciousness. I believe that the responsibility is
here to be borne by the memory rather than by sense-perception.
There seems to be no reason for failing to perceive with the senses
under the greatest excitement, but there is some clearness in the
notion that great excitement causes what has just been perceived
to be almost immediately forgotten. In my "Manual" I have
discussed a series of cases of this sort, and show how the memory
might come into play. None of the witnesses, e. g., had seen that
Mary Stuart received, when being executed, two blows. In the case
of an execution of many years ago, not one of those present could
tell me the color of the gloves of the executioner, although everyone
had noticed the gloves. In a train wreck, a soldier asserted
that he had seen dozens of smashed corpses, although only one
person was harmed. A prison warden who was attacked by an
escaping murderer, saw in the latter's hand a long knife, which turned
out to be a herring. When Carnot was murdered, neither one of
the three who were in the carriage with him, nor the two footmen,
saw the murderer's knife or the delivery of the blow, etc.
How often may we make mistakes because the witnesses—in
their excitement—have forgotten the most important things!
[[ id="n54.1"]]
Cf. S. Freud Psychopathologie des Alltagsleben.
[[ id="n54.2"]]
Du Potet: Journal du Magnetisme, V. 245.
[[ id="n54.3"]]
F. Kemsies Gedächtnis Untersuchungen an Schtüern. Ztsch. f.
pädago.
Psych. III, 171 (1901).
[[ id="n54.4"]]
T E. Bolton: The Growth of Memory in School Children. Am. Jour.
Psych. IV.
[[ id="n54.5"]]
L. Bazerque: Essai de Psychopathologie sur l'Amuesie Hystérique et
Epiléptique. Toulouse 1901.
[[ id="n54.6"]]
Cf. H. Gross's Archiv. I, 337.
[[ id="n54.7"]]
J. Hubert: Das Verhalten des Gedächtnisses nach Kopfverletzungen.
Basel, 1901.
[[ id="n54.8"]]
Cf. H. Gross's Archiv. XV, 123.
Section 55. (d) Illusions of Memory.
Memory illusion, or paramnesia, consists in the illusory opinion
of having experienced, seen, or heard something, although there
has been no such experience, vision, or sound. It is the more important
in criminal law because it enters unobtrusively and unnoticed
into the circle of observation, and not directly by means
of a demonstrated mistake. Hence, it is the more difficult to discover
and has a disturbing influence which makes it very hard to
perceive the mistakes that have occurred in consequence of it.
It may be that Leibnitz meant paramnesia with his "perceptiones
insensibiles." Later, Lichtenberg must have had it in mind when
he repeatedly asserted that he must have been in the world once
before, inasmuch as many things seemed to him so familiar, although,
at the time, he had not yet experienced them. Later on, Jessen
concerned himself with the question, and
Sander[1] asserts him to
have been the first. According to Jessen, everybody is familiar
with the phenomenon in which the sudden impression occurs, that
what is experienced has already been met with before so that the
future might be predicted. Langwieser asserts that one always
has the sensation that the event occurred a long time ago, and Dr.
Karl Neuhoff finds that his sensation is accompanied with unrest
and contraction. The same thing is discussed by many other
authors.
[2]
Various explanations have been offered. Wigand and Maudsley
think they see in paramnesia a simultaneous functioning of both
relations. Anje believes that illusory memory depends on the
differentiation which sometimes occurs between perception and
coming-into-consciousness. According to Külpe, these are the
things that Plato interpreted in his doctrine of pre-existence.
Sully,[3] in his
book on illusions, has examined the problem most
thoroughly and he draws simple conclusions. He finds that vivacious
children often think they have experienced what is told them. This,
however, is retained in the memory of the adult, who continues to
think that he has actually experienced it. The same thing is true
when children have intensely desired anything. Thus the
child-stories given us by Rousseau, Goethe, and De Quincey, must come
from the airy regions of the dream life or from waking revery, and
Dickens has dealt with this dream life in "David Copperfield."
Sully adds, that we also generate illusions of memory when we assign
to experiences false dates, and believe ourselves to have felt, as
children, something we experienced later and merely set back into
our childhood.
So again, he reduces much supposed to have been heard, to things
that have been read. Novels may make such an impression that
what has been read or described there appears to have been really
experienced. A name or region then seems to be familiar because
we have read of something similar.
It will perhaps be proper not to reduce all the phenomena of
paramnesia to the same conditions. Only a limited number of them
seem to be so reducible. Impressions often occur which one is
inclined to attribute to illusory memory, merely to discover later
that they were real but unconscious memory; the things had been
actually experienced and the events had been forgotten. So, for
example, I visit some region for the first time and get the impression
that I have seen it before, and since this, as a matter of fact, is not
the case, I believe myself to have suffered from an illusion of memory.
Later, I perceive that perhaps in early childhood I had really been
in a country that resembled this one. Thus my memory was really
correct; I had merely forgotten the experience to which it referred.
Aside from these unreal illusions of memory, many, if not all
others, are explicable, as Sully indicates, by the fact that something
similar to what has been experienced, has been read or heard, while
the fact that it has been read or heard is half forgotten or has sunk
into the subconsciousness. Only the sensation has remained, not
the recollection that it was read, etc. Another part of this phenomenon
may possibly be explained by vivid dreams, which also leave
strong impressions without leaving the memory of their having
been dreams. Whoever is in the habit of dreaming vividly will
know how it is possible to have for days a clear or cloudy feeling
of the discovery of something excellent or disturbing, only to find
out later that there has been no real experience, only a dream. Such
a feeling, especially the memory of things seen or heard in dreams,
may remain in consciousness. If, later, some similar matter is really
met with, the sensation may appear as a past
event.[4] This is all
the easier since dreams are never completely rigid, but easily modeled
and adaptable, so that if there is the slightest approximation to
similarity, memory of a dream lightly attaches itself to real experience.
All this may happen to anybody, well or ill, nervous or stolid.
Indeed, Kräpelin asserts that paramnesia occurs only under normal
circumstances. It may also be generally assumed that a certain
fatigued condition of the mind or of the body renders this occurrence
more likely, if it does not altogether determine it. So far as
self-observation throws any light on the matter, this statement appears
to be correct. I had such illusions of memory most numerously
during the Bosnian war of occupation of 1878, when we made our
terrible forced marches from Esseg to Sarajevo. The illusions
appeared regularly after dinner, when we were quite tired. Then
the region which all my preceding life I had not seen, appeared to be
pleasantly familiar, and when once, at the very beginning, I received
the order to storm a village occupied by Turks, I thought it would
not be much trouble, I had done it so frequently and nothing had
ever happened. At that time we were quite exhausted. Even when
we had entered the otherwise empty village this extraordinary
circumstance did not impress me, and I thought that the inside of
a village always looked like that—although I had never before
seen such a Turkish street-hotel "in nature" or pictured.
Another mode of explanation may be mentioned, i. e., explanation
by heredity. Hering[5] and
Sully have dealt with it. According to
the latter, especially, we may think that we have undergone some
experience that really belongs to some ancestor. Sully believes
that this contention can not be generically contradicted because a
group of skilled activities (nest-building, food-seeking, hiding from
the enemy, migration, etc.) have been indubitably inherited from
the animals, but on the other hand, that paramnesia is inherited
memory can be proved only with, e. g., a child which had been
brought up far from the sea but whose parents and grandparents
had been coast-dwellers. If that child should at first sight have
the feeling that he is familiar with the sea, the inheritance of memory
would be proved. So long as we have not a larger number of such
instances the assumption of hereditary influence is very suggestive
but only probable.
With regard to the bearing of memory-illusions on criminal cases
I shall cite only one possible instance. Somebody just waking from
sleep has perceived that his servant is handling his purse which is
lying on the night-table, and in consequence of the memory-illusion
he believes that he has already observed this many times before.
The action of the servant was perhaps harmless and in no way
directed toward theft. Now the evidence of the master is supposed
to demonstrate that this has repeatedly occurred, then perhaps no
doubt arises that the servant has committed theft frequently and
has had the intention of doing so this time.
To generalize this situation would be to indicate that illusions of
memory are always likely to have doubtful results when they have
occurred only once and when the witness in consequence of paramnesia
believes the event to have been repeatedly observed. It is not
difficult to think of numbers of such cases but it will hardly be possible
to say how the presence of illusions of memory is to be discovered
without the knowledge that they exist.
When we consider all the qualities and idiosyncrasies of memory,
this so varied function of the mind, we must wonder that its estimation
in special cases is frequently different, although proceeding from
a second person or from the very owner of the questionable memory.
Sully finds rightly, that one of the keenest tricks in fighting
deep-rooted
convictions is to attack the memory of another with regard
to its reliability. Memory is the private domain of the individual.
From the secret council-chamber of his own consciousness, into
which no other may enter, it draws all its values.
The case is altered, however, when a man speaks of his personal
memory. It must then assume all the deficiencies which belong to
other mental powers. We lawyers, especially, hear frequently from
witnesses: "My memory is too weak to answer this question,"
"Since receiving the wound in question my memory has failed,"
"I am already too old, my memory is leaving me," etc. In each of
these cases, however, it is not the memory that is at fault. As a
matter of fact the witness ought to have said "I am too stupid
to answer this question," "Since the wound in question, my intellectual
powers have failed," "I am already old, I am growing silly,"
etc. But of course no one will, save very rarely, underestimate
his good sense, and it is more comfortable to assign its deficiencies
to the memory. This occurs not only in words but also in construction.
If a man has incorrectly reproduced any matter, whether
a false observation, or a deficient combination, or an unskilled
interpretation of facts, he will not blame these things but will assign
the fault to memory. If he is believed, absolutely incorrect conclusions
may result.
[[ id="n55.1"]]
W. Sander: Über Erinnerungstäuschungen, Vol. IV of Archiv
für
Psychiatrie u. Nervenkrankheiten.
[[ id="n55.2"]]
Sommer: Zur Analyse der Erinnerungstäuechungen. Beiträge zur
Psych.
d. Aussage, 1. 1903.
[[ id="n55.3"]]
James Sully: Illusions. London.
[[ id="n55.4"]]
H Gross's Archiv I, 261, 335.
[[ id="n55.5"]]
E. Hering: Über das Gedächtnis, etc. Vienna 1876.
Section 56. (e) Mnemotechnique.
Just a few words concerning mnemotechnique, mnemonic, and
anamnestic. The discovery of some means of helping the memory
has long been a human purpose. From Simonides of Chios, to the
Sophist Hippias of Elis, experiments have been made in artificial
development of the memory, and some have been remarkably
successful. Since the middle ages a large group of people have done
this. We still have the figures of the valid syllogisms in logic, like
Barbara, etc. The rules for remembering in the Latin grammar,
etc., may still be learned with advantage. The books of Kothe and
others, have, in their day, created not a little discussion.
As a rule, modern psychology pays a little attention to memory
devices. In a certain sense, nobody can avoid mnemonic, for whenever
you tie a knot in your handkerchief, or stick your watch into
your pocket upside down, you use a memory device. Again, whenever
you want to bear anything in mind you reduce difficulties and
bring some kind of order into what you are trying to retain.
Thus, some artificial grip on the object is applied by everybody,
and the utility and reliability of this grip determines the trustworthiness
of a man's memory. This fact may be important for the
criminal lawyer in two ways. On the one hand, it may help to clear
up misunderstandings when false mnemonic has been applied.
Thus, once somebody called an aniline dye, which is soluble in water
and is called "nigrosin," by the name "moorosin," and asked for it
under that name in the store. In order to aid his memory he had
associated it with the word for black man = niger = negro = moor,
and thus had substituted moor for nigro in the construction of the
word he wanted. Again, somebody asked for the "Duke Salm" or
the "Duke Schmier." The request was due to the fact that in the
Austrian dialect salve is pronounced like salary and the colloquial
for "salary" is "schmier" (to wipe). Dr. Ernst Lohsing tells me that
he was once informed that a Mr. Schnepfe had called on him, while,
as a matter of fact the gentleman's name was Wachtel. Such
misunderstandings, produced by false mnemonic, may easily occur
during the examination of witnesses. They are of profound significance.
If once you suspect that false memory has been in play,
you may arrive at the correct idea by using the proper synonyms
and by considering similarly-pronounced words. If attention is paid
to the determining conditions of the special case, success is almost
inevitable.
The second way in which false mnemotechnique is important is
that in which the technique was correct, but in which the key to the
system has been lost, i. e., the witness has forgotten how he proceeded.
Suppose, for example, that I need to recall the relation
of the ages of three people to each other. Now, if I observe that M
is the oldest, N the middle one, and O the youngest, I may suppose,
in order to help my memory, that their births followed in the same
order as their initials, M, N, O. Now suppose that at another time,
in another case I observe the same relation but find the order of the
initials reversed O N, M. If now, in the face of the facts, I stop
simply with this technique, I may later on substitute the two cases
for each other. Hence, when a witness says anything which appears
to have been difficult to remember, it is necessary to ask him how
he was able to remember it. If he assigns some aid to memory as the
reason, he must be required to explain it, and he must not be believed
unless it is found reliable. If the witness in the instance above, for
example, says, "I never make use of converse relations," then
his testimony will seem comparatively trustworthy. And it is not
difficult to judge the degree of reliability of any aid to memory
whatever.
Great liars are frequently characterized by their easy use of the
most complicated mnemotechnique. They know how much they
need it.