such as this carries with it the insistent
suggestion that the trouble lies, not primarily in the nature of the
subject-matter, but in our conception of the problem. "The matter of a
science," as James says, "is with us." And if the distinction of focus
and margin constitutes the starting-point and justification for a
science of psychology, a better understanding of this distinction will
mean a more adequate appreciation of the problem with which psychology
has to deal.

As a starting-point for a reconsideration of focus and margin, we may
take those experiences in which the distinction of clearness and
obscureness is presented as an experienced fact. Let us then turn once
more to the familiar illustration of the visual field. "When we look at
a printed page, there is always some one portion of it, perhaps a word,
which we see more clearly than we do the rest; and out beyond the margin
of the page we are still conscious of objects which we see only in a
very imperfect way."[43] That is, we appreciate the distinction between
what lies in the center of our visual field and what is more remote,
just because in this experiment we are trying to see what lies beyond
the center without turning our eyes in that direction. We set ourselves
the task of seeing what is on the page, and at the same time we
interpose an artificial obstacle. Hence the sense of effort, and the
contrast between what is clear and what is obscure. The present
experience is obscure, not inherently, but only with reference to a
certain problem or question. It is inadequate as an anticipation of
further experience. The contrast between clear and obscure is created by
our attempt to overcome the difficulty, and is therefore absent from
ordinary, unobstructed visual perception.

The situation described in the following familiar quotation from James
is an illustration of the same thing: "Suppose we try to recall a
forgotten name. The state of our consciousness is peculiar. There is a
gap therein; but no mere gap. It is a gap that is intensely active. A
sort of wraith of the name is in it, beckoning us in a given direction,
making us at moments tingle with the sense of our closeness, and then
letting us sink back without the longed-for term."[44]

'I met this man on the train, and later at the reception; but what is
his name?' The struggle rends our consciousness in twain. The occasions
of our meeting, his appearance, his conversation, are solid fact, yet
al