Forgotten Ideas, Neglected Pioneers

Richard Semon and the Story of Memory

Daniel L. Schacter

• Publisher: Psychology Press
• Year: 2012
• ISBN:
  9781135897314
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Psicología
• Subtopic: Historia y teoría en psicología

Richard Semon was a German evolutionary biologist who wrote, during the first decade of the twentieth century, two fascinating analyses of the workings of human memory which were ahead of their time. Although these have been virtually unknown to modern researchers, Semon's work has been rediscovered during the past two decades and has begun to have an influence on the field. This book not only examines Semon's contribution to memory research, but also tells the story of an extraordinary life set against the background of a turbulent period in European history and major developments in science and evolutionary theory. The resulting book is an engaging blend of biographical, historical and psychological material.

1Introduction

The treasures of the past are often cloaked in improbable disguises. Intellectual detectives investigating the mysteries of antiquity—archeologists, paleontologists, and historians are some of the most persistent—eventually learn that they cannot afford to overlook the unexpected but intriguing clues that point their explorations in previously unplanned directions. A clay cup and perfume bottle found by archeologists off the coast of Italy ultimately led to major advances in understanding colonization patterns of the early Greeks; seemingly innocuous bits of information have also triggered surprising revelations in other domains. As with the Grecian cup and bottle, the clues that gave rise to this book were unanticipated but irresistibly suggestive. They pointed to a little-known scientific figure from the past, and intimated that a cache of intellectual riches was hidden behind the deceptive veneer of the stranger's obscurity.

The stranger was a German biologist named Richard Semon. Semon wrote, in the first decade of the 20th-century, two books on the psychology of memory that are virtually unknown to modern memory researchers.¹ My interest in him was aroused by several references to his work that suggested that Semon's ideas merited more attention than they had received. Kurt Koffka, the eminent Ge-stalt psychologist, provided one of the initial hints. Koffka alluded to Semon's theory of memory in a footnote tucked away within his massive Principles of Gestalt Psychology: “I refrain from giving a survey of Semon's theory and from discussing how far it agrees with the one here presented and how far it is different. … I must add, however, that this omission is not due to a lack of appreciation of Semon's great achievement (1935, p. 598).” Koffka's acclaim was matched by homage from the prominent neuroanatomist J. Z. Young, who asserted that “many modern ideas on the subject [of memory] go back to Richard Semon (1965, p. 288)” Erwin Schrödinger further heightened the aura of mystery surrounding Semon. This Nobel Prize winning physicist wondered why a physiological model of Semon's memory theory had not been developed, “important though it would be for the advancement of our knowledge (1964, p. 14).” Semon's work also received enthusiastic advocacy from no less a figure than Bertrand Russell, who devoted an entire chapter of his 1921 treatise, The Analysis of Mind, to the presentation of Semon's theory. He flatly stated that “The best writer on mnemic phenomena known to me is Richard Semon (1921, p. 83).”

As a student of human memory with a keen interest in the history of the field, I was perplexed by these testimonies to a man whose ideas have had no detectable influence on modern memory research. If Semon's work was not sufficiently important to have attracted the attention of memory researchers, why did the likes of Russell and Schrödinger praise him with such enthusiasm?

I spent some time exploring possible answers to this question; the investigation yielded an intellectual harvest that exceeded my expectations. The first discovery was that the claims of Koffka, Russell, Schrödinger, and Young concerning the importance of Semon's work seemed entirely justified: His innovative ideas anticipated numerous developments in recent memory research. In fact, Semon coined one of the best known terms in psychology—the word “en-gram”²—although few are aware that he originated the term. I also became convinced that Semon's analysis of memory could not be properly grasped without a thorough understanding of the intellectual contexts in psychology and biology from which his ideas derived. These contexts turned out to be as intriguing, and almost as unknown, as Semon's work itself. In addition, my attempts to understand why Semon's ideas had gone unrecognized for so many years led me to investigate other cases of scientists whose work was ignored for lengthy periods of time. Consideration of these cases raised basic questions about the recognition and neglect of ideas in science, and also provided a broader perspective on the fate of Semon's work.

In these initial explorations, then, I confronted a variety of historical and psychological problems that were relevant to, but more general than, the investigation of Semon's work itself. As my involvement with the case deepened, I became increasingly curious about the circumstances of Semon's personal life: What sort of man was Richard Semon? Where did he live? Under whom did he study? How did he respond to the neglect of his work? Answers to these questions emerged slowly, over time, as I uncovered and fit together the various pieces of Semon's life. Although not all of the pieces could be found, and some of them were difficult to understand, it became clear to me that an extraordinary human drama had been played out during the fifty-nine years of Richard Semon's existence. The drama seemed sufficiently abundant in personalities, adventure, romance—and ultimately, tragedy—to render it comparable to a play or novel that is not entirely believable.

This book grew out of my initial investigations. The book is concerned both with the tale of Richard Semon's life, and with the historical and psychological issues raised by his work. By telling Semon's story in conjunction with the analysis of more general intellectual issues, I hope to place each of these pursuits in a richer context than would be possible if they were treated separately. In the first part of the book, we follow Richard Semon's evolving personal odyssey through its labyrinthine course, including various subplots, twists, and turns. In the second part, our attention shifts to Semon's biological and psychological work. We explore in some depth the historical contexts that constitute the relevant background to his work; we also confront a number of key questions in the psychology of science that emerge from consideration of the reception of Semon's work by the scientific community. Before we begin this polymorphic journey, however, it will be useful to delineate both the major characters in the story and the broader questions that are confronted during the course of the book.

STORY AND CHARACTERS

Although this book contains much biographical material, it is not intended to be a comprehensive biography of Richard Semon. My primary intent in the biographical section of the book is to recapture the many different facets of Semon's life; all relevant historical, cultural, and familial contexts are used. Thus I pay more attention to the characters and issues surrounding Semon's story than one usually finds in a traditional biography, and less attention to filling in the missing bits and pieces of Semon's life than would a professional biographer. Indeed, there is a great deal of biographical information about some parts of Semon's life, but relatively little about others. One of the problems encountered when writing about an unknown scientist such as Semon is that the wealth of information preserved about major figures like Darwin, Freud, or Einstein is simply not available. Where the biographical record is spotty—and there are numerous such places—I have attempted to smooth the gaps by drawing attention to relevant cultural and situational contexts.

A number of fascinating characters played major parts in Semon's life. Several of these characters—his mentor Ernst Haeckel, his friend and scientific ally August Forel, and his wife Maria—influenced Semon in important ways and formed part of the fabric of his life for long periods of time. I extensively consider both Haeckel and Forel: They are among the most interesting figures in late 19th- and early 20th-century science, and their role in Semon's life is best understood in the context of their own personalities and achievements. As for Maria Semon, although she influenced the direction of her husbands life in a dramatic fashion, little is known about her as a person; the fragmentary bits of information that are available surface during the course of the story.

I also pay some attention to Semon's family. The plight of his parents, Simon and Henrietta, is explored in the early chapters; the impressive triumphs and ultimate downfall of his brother Felix occupy our attention at other points. I argue at the conclusion of the first section of the book that consideration of the experiences of Simon, Henrietta, and Felix Semon may increase our understanding of Richard Semon. It should be noted, however, that I make no attempt to offer psychoanalytic or other psychodynamic interpretations of Semon's actions, words, or intentions. To be sure, I analyze where appropriate any clues to Semon's personality that are provided by various sources; but my emphasis is on psychological description rather than psychodynamic explanation.

ISSUES: HISTORY AND PSYCHOLOGY OF SCIENCE

The issues confronted during the course of this book can be broadly categorized as (1) those pertaining to history—more specifically, to scientific theorizing about memory in late 19th- and early 20th-century psychology and evolutionary biology; and (2) those concerning the role of various psychological processes in the pursuit of science. Let us consider each of these topics in turn.

Beyond the Freud and Darwin “Industries”

Richard Semon was trained as a marine zoologist in the 1880s, pursued anatomical and evolutionary research during the 1890s, and wrote two books during the first decade of the 20th-century that approached problems of memory with conceptual tools that were provided both by psychology and by evolutionary biology. Since the contexts from which these two books emerged will be central to our later examinations of Semon's work, it seems important to comment upon modern perspectives on the psychology and evolutionary biology of Semon's time.

I want to make a strong claim about our historical understanding of this epoch: It is dominated by the lengthy shadows cast by two men, Charles Darwin and Sigmund Freud.³ Darwin, as the father of evolutionary biology, and Freud, as the father of psychoanalysis, have commanded our attention in a way that is rivaled by few figures from the scientific past. Although they may seem like whimsical labels, the “Darwin Industry” and the “Freud Industry” have very real existences; the number of scholars whose bread is buttered by the study of these two giants of science is impressive. The matter can be most simply illuminated quantitatively. Consider the number of books listed under the subject headings “Sigmund Freud” and “Charles Darwin” in a recent catalogue of a large university library.⁴ Freud accounts for 202 entries; Darwin, a somewhat more modest 90. What of other figures in psychology and evolutionary biology of that time? Wilhelm Wundt, the father of experimental psychology, is mentioned in seven entries; Edward Bradford Titchener, the influential Cornell psychologist, accounts for even less with two; and John B. Watson, the founder of Behaviorism, registers a paltry one. The picture is similar in evolutionary biology. Ernst Haeckel, a major figure in his day, is represented by 14 entries in the subject index; August Weismann, one of the most respected neo-Darwinian theorists of his time, is barely visible with two entries; and Alfred Russell Wallace, co-founder of the theory of evolution and natural selection with Darwin, accounts for six entries.

There is one sense in which the historical domination of Darwin and Freud is neither surprising nor inappropriate.⁵ They exerted profound effects both in and beyond their respective fields—certainly none of the other figures listed above wielded such pervasive influence—and the enormous consequences of their work have rendered almost every aspect of their lives an object of intense scrutiny. But a price has been paid for all this attention, because there is a limit to the number of questions of contemporary consequence that can be posed about the life and work of these great scientists. Precisely because their influence has been so massive, studies of Darwin and Freud inform us about the conditions that contribute to the making of one kind of scientist—a hugely successful one. But not all scientists are hugely successful, and not all the important lessons of history can be gleaned from the scrutiny of those who are. One of the major purposes of this book is to demonstrate that the study of an historically unknown scientist can raise important questions about the nature and function of the scientific enterprise, questions not encountered in analyses of triumphant historical figures. Of course, this is not to say that continued study of highly influential figures such as Darwin and Freud will prove entirely unrewarding, but it is to suggest that new lessons may be learned by searching beyond their imposing historical shadows.

A second consequence of the attention paid to Darwin and Freud is that other interesting figures from their era have been overlooked. Whatever their influence, Darwin and Freud were by no means the only creative psychologists or evolutionary biologists at work in their time—quite the contrary. The more one studies the evolutionary biologists and psychologists of the late 19th- and early 20th-centuries, the more one is impressed by the intellectual richness of the epoch; the sheer number of original thinkers who were active in each field is impressive. However, too many of the period's most creative minds have been neglected in the rush to study Darwin and Freud. Such figures are frequently given no more than cursory mention as background characters in studies principally concerned with the two great men. Fortunately, the light has begun to dawn, and some of the important thinkers obscured in the shadows cast by Darwin and Freud are now receiving appropriate credit for their unique contributions. The theories of James Mark Baldwin, the psychologist from Toronto, Princeton, and Johns Hopkins who promulgated important ideas in both psychology and evolutionary biology, have been brought to light in recent work (Broughton & Freeman-Moir, 1981; Ross & Kerst, 1978); the ideas of Wilhelm Fliess, long considered an ancillary curiosity to the Freud story, have received serious treatment in Sulloway's (1979) revealing book; and Gould's (1977) study has taken a long second look at the ideas of evolutionary biologists such as Haeckel, Alpheus Hyatt, and Edward Drinker Cope. One hopes and expects that more such thinkers will be considered in future analyses of this bountiful intellectual epoch. Innovative scientists such as Morton Prince, Pierre Janet, Ernst Meumann, August Forel, George John Romanes, Wilhelm Roux, Théodule Ribot, and Thomas Laycock, to name just a few, have more to teach us than can be communicated in a footnote to the next biography of Darwin and Freud.

One of the purposes of the present book is to contribute to the understanding of the fertile turn-of-the-century era, and some of the foregoing names appear in the following pages. But Richard Semon is the central character of this exercise in intellectual archeology. His ideas, absorbing in their own right, also serve to illuminate some important but little known features of the psychology and evolutionary biology of the time. As we proceed, I hope to show that Semon's work, and the contexts in which it occurred, are related in an interactive manner. Semon's efforts lead us to examine the relevant context, and the insights garnered while exploring that context contribute to a more refined appreciation of Semon's work and its reception. It should be kept in mind that no attempt is made here to lionize Semon as a cruelly misunderstood scientific hero, or to elevate him into a class with Darwin or Freud. Their insights have had profound effects on both science and society; Semon has had no such effects. As stated earlier, however, that is one reason why Semon's work is such a potentially rich source of questions that are not usually posed in analyses of major historical figures.

Just as our study of Semon's work requires an understanding of the key features of the intellectual contexts that are relevant to it, consideration of the neglect of his ideas about memory, and Semon's psychological responses to that neglect, leads us to some engrossing problems in the psychology of science. Let us now explore some of the salient background to these problems.

The Human Scientist

The scientist is a man who wears a white coat and works in a laboratory. … He is a dedicated man who works not for money or fame or self-glory, but… for the benefit of mankind and the welfare of his country … The scientist is a brain. He spends his days indoors, in a laboratory, pouring things from one test tube into another. His work is uninteresting, dull, monotonous, tedious, time consuming.

It is unlikely that many practicing scientists would recognize themselves in the above characterization, but the image of dour white-coated men was reported by many subjects in Mead and Metraux's (1957, p. 387) study of high school students’ attitudes toward scientists. Although it is tempting to regard such descriptions as harmless statements born of benign naivete, it should be remembered that similar notions have long typified the psychological conception of the scientist among large segments of the lay public, as well as in some sectors of the intellectual community. The image of a cold, dispassionate searcher after truth—somehow immunized against the intrusion of annoying human traits such as bias and egoism—has been temporally resilient. Although students of behavior such as Lawrence Kubie (1954) have long called for a more realistic appraisal of the psychological forces that enter into the pursuit of scientific truth, the storybook image of the cooly detached scientist has wilted only during the past decade: The scientist has finally been brought out of the closet as a human being.

This change of perspective can be traced to several sources. First, and perhaps foremost, has been the explosion of research in the rapidly developing sociology of science. Sociologically-based analyses of science are found in the early work of George Sarton (1931) and Alfred North Whitehead (1919) among others, but the major figure behind the recent surge of interest is, unquestionably, Robert K. Merton. Merton's myriad applications of sociological theory to the scientific enterprise have placed the pursuit of science in a broad social perspective. The important topics broached by Merton have included revealing analyses of reward systems ...