Pleasure And Pain

A Theory of the Energic Foundation of Feeling

Paul Bousfield, Bousfield, Paul

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2013
• Print ISBN:
  9781138882560
• eBook ISBN:
  9781136336041
• Topic: Medicine
• Subtopic: Health Care Delivery

This is Volume II of ten in the Physiological Psychology series. First published in 1926, this study looks at the areas of pain and pleasure in relation to tension, both unconscious and not, love and hate, a summary of present theories and Freud's theory's on masochism, the pleasure principle and the death instinct in relation to the study's hypothesis.

PLEASURE AND PAIN

Part I

TENSION, PLEASURE, AND PAIN.

§1

PSYCHOLOGY has produced various theories concerning the nature of pain and pleasure and the inter-relation of the two. In particular, the pleasure of enjoying pain, as in masochism, has presented serious difficulties. Attempts to trace the source of masochism have been made by means of analytical methods, but the difficulty which has always arisen in such analytical procedure has been that the memories of the subject could never be taken far enough back into childhood, and thus the ultimate causes remained largely speculative. I was fortunate enough to be able to collect some new data from observations on a case in which the subject remembered a series of stages in the formation of a masochistic temperament, which I shall refer to further in a later part of this thesis.

The problem of masochism occupied my attention primarily, but it led to the formation of a working hypothesis of the foundation of pleasure and pain, which is here put forward.

It will be seen that I have approached the matter from the point of view of negative or unpleasant feeling-tone rather than the positive or pleasant aspect, and I have taken for illustration the phenomena arising in connection with such sensations as hunger and thirst, which have the advantage of enabling us to make readier use of certain biological conceptions.

But since the nature of the problem I started with was a psychic one, viz., the feeling aspect of a very complex mental disposition (masochism), I had also to make use of the light thrown on the problem by various psychic states which have undeniably unpleasant feeling-tone. It appears, however, that the feeling-tone of the more complicated emotional structures with which the analyst deals will often be found to range itself, through association of ideas, with that of much more elementary states of feeling.

The hypothesis I formed has the advantage that it can be applied, not only to masochism or so-called enjoyment of pain, but to other problems that present themselves as well.

In this work I frequently use the terms pleasure and pain in the sense of pleasant and unpleasant affect, and the term pain may include both sensation and affect, for a distinction at this point does not seem to affect my hypothesis. Moreover, as will be seen, pain is no true antithesis of pleasure. I do not believe that those who are familiar with the results of mental analysis will object to the term painful as applied to the affect of various mental and psychic conditions, and I, therefore, have no hesitation in using such expressions as “pain-curve” and “tension manifested in consciousness as pain.”

Freud¹ and other writers tell us that pain and pleasure are related to the quantity of excitation present in the psychic life, and I might also mention the theory of Ziehen, that it is the dischargability of nervous excitation that determines the feeling-process.^† He says: “The affections have … to do with … excitation itself and its dischargability. … The positive feeling processes correspond to a greater readiness for discharge, the negative feeling processes to a smaller readiness.”

But we shall have to go further than this, and that is why I wish to consider especially the tension aspect of these states.

The difficulty of tracing causes far enough back by means of psychological analysis, determined me to begin at the other end of the argument, and to see if observations in biology, and deductions from physical phenomena, would lead to a point where the ground thus synthetically covered would meet with that previously explored by analysis.

Assuming that from the reactions of the lowest forms of life those of higher animals are developed, I commenced de novo with the question: What reactions are present in the lowest unicellular animals—that is to say, at a point in the scale of evolution at which neither consciousness nor feeling could be postulated? Could these reactions be described as instinctive? I had previously accepted, as axiomatic, at least two primitive instincts in the higher animals, viz., the instinct for self-preservation and the instinct for the propagation of the species; both these tending in a broad sense to secure the continuity of life.

When the unicellular animals were regarded from the point of view of instinct, neither of these so-called primordial instincts appeared to be necessarily present. Stimuli and reactions to stimuli there were, and though it is true that the reactions to stimuli tended to preserve the species, there seemed to be no evidence of any real instinct for such preservation. The same appeared to be the case with propagation. As far as one could see, fatigue, chemiotaxis, and other factors, led to propagation, but definite instincts for such could not be argued logically. In many cases the same reactions to stimuli take place in certain plants, yet we never speak of instincts of either self-preservation or self-propagation in plants. For instance, the propagation of the spirogyra is closely allied to the propagation of the paramæcium, and the fertilisation of ferns, in many instances, is very similar to that of vertebrates.

“Instinct,” in many ways, appears to have been too readily accepted as an explanation for various phenomena, which are as easily explained by a mechanical response to stimuli, frequently without any “psychic” intervention at all. If we accept as an instinct that phenomenon of “feigning death,” apparently used by many small animals (certain spiders, etc., etc.), we shall also accept as an instinct, exactly the same phenomenon when it occurs in plants. The Mimosa Pudica, for instance, is so sensitive to stimuli, that the disturbance caused by the footsteps of an approaching animal is sufficient to make all the leaves curl up and the branches droop. Heinrecker tells us that on entering a thick clump of bushes of the Mimosa Pudica, one is faced with a wall of tall, dense foliage, which, at each step taken, appears to recede before one, the original mass of rich vegetation transforming into an empty, burnt-out-looking space, enlarging with every forward stride. This appears to be protective, for it seems highly probable that the Mimosa avoids destruction of its leaves in a large degree by thus presenting an uninviting appearance to grazing animals; moreover, many authorities have stated that neither oxen, horses, nor goats, will eat Mimosa. They sometimes attempt to do so, but the sudden movement and closing of its leaves appears to embarrass, if it does not frighten them. This is not an isolated instance. The wood sorrel closes its leaves at the slightest touch. The tendrils of the Passion Flower, and of the Trumpet Flower (Bignonia) behave similarly.

We may also cite the large variety of carnivorous plants which behave as though they possessed instinct. One of the most striking of these is the Venus Fly Trap, which has flat leaves hinged across the middle, with six sensitive bristles on the surface. As soon as the insect touches one of these the flower closes on it, marginal teeth lock the trap, and digestive juices absorb the insect. A near relative of this plant is the Aldrovandia Vesiculosa which, however, feeds not on flies, but on water-creatures. Compare these two plants with the sea anemone, which reacts to stimuli in exactly the same way.

It seems, on considering these facts, that we must regard the spider and other animals, not as “feigning death,” but as reacting to certain stimuli purely in an automatic manner. That such a reaction leads to preservation of life is true, and “natural selection” tends to preserve those animals possessing forms of reaction to tension of this kind.

A similar explanation seems to hold good for many other so-called preservative “instincts.”

Let us turn our attention, with these thoughts in mind, to animals higher in the scale of evolution, and notice particularly various experiments conducted by Dr Chalmers Mitchell. All these experiments tended to show that, in the majority of cases, there appeared to be no knowledge of death nor of hereditary enemies, nor any instinct of fear in the animals observed, unless social heredity, i.e., early education and experience had first inculcated that fear.

Dr Chalmers Mitchell carried out experiments with young animals and snakes, since the snake was supposed to be the most terror-inspiring of all animals. He states that every one of these species experimented on showed “no special dread of snakes, nor the slightest instinctive fear or fore-knowledge of their approaching doom.”² Of further experiments, he states:—

“Nearly every kind of mammal that we tried was indifferent to snakes. Guinea-pigs and rats would run over them; a hyrax, which is both intelligent and which, from living in trees and on rocks, must often encounter snakes, was hardly even interested. …. Small carnivora—dogs, foxes, and wolves, sheep, antelope and deer, zebras, and donkeys—were either quite indifferent, or came up to the bars and sniffed,” and on finding that the snake was not something to eat, “moved away with an air of wearied disgust.”

He also states that frogs, which are the natural food of snakes in this country, showed no fear, nor did most monkeys. A certain amount of fear was shown by the higher monkeys and by one or two of the more intelligent birds. But this, Dr Chalmers Mitchell considers to be not so much a case of inherited fear as an intellectual fear, caused by the unusual appearance and movement of the snake, which the more highly developed brain appreciated, but could not understand.

Other experiments carried out by Benjamin Kidd are also most conclusive. He states:³

“I experimented with a number of wild species of British birds and mammals. In none of them did I find any trace in the young of an inborn, instinctive fear of the natural enemies which were regarded with fear and terror by the adult of the species. Young wild hares and young wild rabbits showed no inborn fear of either cats or dogs. Young wild rabbits and young wild hares became as friendly and playful from the beginning with specially trained cats to which they were introduced, as if they had been all of the same species. Young rabbits showing no inborn fear of dogs, would frisk and play with the hereditary enemy of their kind, by whom their species had been hunted for tens of thousands of generations. The young of our common wild birds showed no inborn fear of the cat when, fully fledged, they were, under proper conditions, introduced to it for the first time. Nor did they develop any fear afterwards. And so also when they were introduced under similar conditions to birds of prey like the hawk, or the carrion crow, trained to friendly relations.

“If it be asked now, whence comes the universal and ineradicable fear of natural enemies, which is present under natural conditions in the whole of the adult members of the species in these cases, the answer is of great interest. The conclusion which I arrived at was that in the numerous typical wild species experimented upon, the whole of this powerful influence, representing a most dominant and ineradicable habit of animal nature, was entirely the result of social heredity imposed on the young of each generation by training and example, and nearly always under conditions of strong emotion…. The record of a single example will exhibit the meaning that was found to be inherent in a great number of experiments. I came on a nest of the wild duck in a marsh as the young birds had just emerged from the eggs. The mother duck flew off and disappeared in the sedge, flapping a wing to which she pretended injury. I stood by the nest for some hours and watched the young birds. The greatest number were already active and displaying an interest in their surroundings. They began to try and get out of the nest, and I took them one by one in my hand and placed them in the water, where, in the stillness that reigned, they splashed and twittered and enjoyed themselves. They showed not the slightest fear of me, nestling from time to time on my feet, and turning intelligent eyes upwards to look at me, evidently quite ready to accept me in the fullest confidence as their guardian.

“The wild duck had been in these marshes for untold ages. She had been here even in the days when the woolly rhinoceros left its remains with those of the cavemen in the adjacent hills. During all this time her kind had been one of the most universally hunted among wild creatures. The spent cartridges of the modern sportsman strewed the bog around, yet here were her off-spring just entering on the world and showing no sign of any kind of inborn fear of this, the hereditary enemy of the species.

“After a time I moved away some distance to watch what would happen. The mother bird returned and alighted near by. The little ducks rushed towards her as she called. I could observe her. She was chattering with emotion. Every feather was quivering with excitement. The great Terror of Man was upon her. After a short interval I advanced towards the group again. The mother bird flew away with a series of loud warning quacks. The little ones scattered to cover, flapping their short wing stumps and cheeping with beaks wide open in terror. With difficulty I found one of them again in hiding. It was now a wild, transformed creature, t...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Table of Contents
• Preface
• Part I: Tension, Pleasure, Pain
• Part II: Unconscious Tension
• Part III: Love and Hate
• Part IV : Summary of Present Deductions
• Part V : Freud’s Theory and the Present Hypothesis